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THE lawn at Clairmont made a brilliant spectacle, all
laid out with different croquet sets. The turf was
like velvet, and adjoining every ground was a pretty
tent, with seats and every commodious provision for repairing
at once any temporary derangement of the feminine toilet.
The fluttering of gay flags and pennons from these various
tents gave an airy and breezy look to the scene, and immediately
we formed ourselves into sets, and the games began.
It had been arranged that the preliminary playing should
take place immediately, and the match game be reserved
till after lunch. The various fancy costumes of the players,
lit up by the bright sunshine, and contrasted with the
emerald green of the lawn, formed a brilliant and animated
picture, watched with interest by groups of non-combatants
from rustic seats under the trees. Of course everybody was
a little nervous in the trial games, and there was the usual
amount of ill luck, and of “Ohs and Ahs” of success or
failure. I made myself a “booby” twice, in that unaccountable
way that seems like fatality. Then suddenly, favored
of the fates, made two wickets at once, seized an antagonist's
ball, and went with it at one heat through the side
wicket, the middle and other side wicket up to the stake and
down again, through the middle wicket to the stake again,
and then struck back a glorious rover to join my partner.
It was one of those prodigiously lucky runs, when one's ball
goes exactly where it is intended, and stops exactly in the
right place, and though it was mostly owing to good luck,
with the usual prestige of success I was covered with glory

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and congratulations, and my partner, Miss Sophie Elmore,
herself a champion at croquet, was pleased to express most
unbounded admiration, especially as our side came out
decidedly victorious.

Miss Sophie, a neat little vigorous brunette, in a ravishing
fancy croquet suit, entered into the game with all that
whole-hearted ardor which makes women such terrible
combatants.

“Oh, I do hope that we shall be in at that final match-game!”
she said, with a charming abandon of manner. “I
should so like to beat Eva Van Arsdel. Those Van Arsdels
always expect to carry all before them, and it rather provokes
me, I confess. Now, with you to help me, Mr. Henderson,
I am sure we could beat.”

“Don't put too much faith in my accidental run of luck,”
I said; “`one swallow does not make a summer.”'

“Oh, I'm quite sure by the way you managed your game
that it wasn't luck. But you see I want to try with Eva Van
Arsdel again, for she and I were held to be the best players
at Newport last summer, and she beat in the last `rubber'
we played. It was so provoking—just one slip of the mallet
that ruined me! You know, sometimes, how your mallet
will turn in your hands. She made just such a slip and took
the stroke over again. Now that is what I never will do,
you see,” &c., &c.

In short, I could see that for pretty Miss Sophie, at present,
croquet was to all intents and purposes, the whole game of
life, that every spangle and every hair-pin about her were
vital with excitement to win.

After lunch came the ballot for the combatants who were
to play the deciding game, and the parties elected were:
Miss Sophie Elmore, Miss Eva Van Arsdel, Mr. Sydney, and
myself.

“Miss Van Arsdel,” said Mr. Sydney, “you must be my
captain. After the feats that you and Mr. Henderson have
been performing it would be impossible to allow you both
on one side.”

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“I think just as likely as not you will be worsted for your
pains” said Eva. “I know Sophie of old for a terrible
antagonist, and when she pulls on her croquet-gloves like
that, it means war to the knife, and no quarter. So, my
dear, begin the tournament.”

The wickets were arranged at extra distances upon this
trial ground, and it was hardly prudent to attempt making
two wickets at once, but Miss Sophie played in the adventurous
style, and sent her ball with a vigorous tap not only
through both the first wickets, but so far ahead that it was
entangled in the wires of the middle wicket, in a way that
made it impossible to give it a fair stroke.

“Now, how vexatious!” she cried.

“I have two extra strokes for my two wickets, but I shall
make nothing by it.” In fact, Miss Sophie, with two nervous
hits, succeeded only in placing her ball exactly where with
fair luck the next player must be sure to get it.

Eva now came through the two first wickets, one at a time,
and with a well-directed tap took possession of Miss Sophie,
who groaned audibly, “Oh, now she's got me! well, there's
no saying now where she'll stop.”

In fact, Miss Eva performed very skillfully the rôle of the
“cat who doth play, and after—slay.” She was perfect
mistress of the tactics of split-shots, which sent her antagonist's
ball one side the wicket and hers the other, and all
the other mysteries of the craft, and she used them well,
till she had been up and hit the stake and come down to
the middle wicket, when her luck failed.

Then came my turn, and I came through the first two
wickets, struck her ball and used it for the two next wickets,
till I came near my partner, when with a prosperous
split-shot I sent her off to distant regions, struck my partner's
ball, put it through its wicket, and came and stationed
myself within its reach for future use.

Then came Mr. Sydney with a vigorous succession of hits,
and knocked us apart; sent one to one side of the ground,
and one to the other, and went gallantly up to his partner.

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By this time our blood was thoroughly up, and the game
became as Eva prophesied, war to the knife.” Mohawk indians
could not have been more merciless in purposes of
utter mischief to each other than we, and for a while it
seemed as if nothing was done but to attack each other's
balls, and send them as far as possible to the uttermost part
of the grounds. As each had about equal skill in making
long shots the re-union however was constantly effected,
and thus each in turn were beaten back from the wickets, till
it seemed for a while that the game would make no
progress.

At last, however, one slip of our antagonists threw the
power into our hands, and Miss Sophie used it to take herself
and me up through three wickets to the stake, and
thence down again till the intricate middle wicket stopped
our course.

A burst of cheering greeted her success, and thedark little
lady seemed to glow like a coal of fire. I wasn't sure that
sparks did not snap from her eyes as she ended her performance
with a croquet that sent Eva's ball spinning to the
most inaccessible distances.

A well-pointed shot from Wat Sydney again turned the
tide of battle, and routed the victors, while he went to the
rescue of the banished princess, and took her back to
position.

Every turn of the tide, and every good shot was hailed
with cheers, and the excitement became intense. There
were points in the battle as hard to carry as the Malakoff,
and we did nothing but fight, without advancing
a step. It seemed for a while that none of us would
ever so far get the advantage of another as to pass that
downward middle wicket. Every successive step was
won by battles. The ladies were so excited that they
seemed two flames of fire. Every nerve in them was
alive, and we men felt ourselves only clumsy instruments
of their enkindled ardor. We were ordered about, commanded,
rebuked, encouraged, and cheered on to the fray

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THE MATCH GAME.
"I knelt down, and laid my mallet at her feet. 'Beautiful princess!'
said I, behold your enemies, conquered, await your sentence.'"
(Page 349.) [figure description] Image of Harry kneeling down in front of a beautiful woman and handing her is croquet mallet, as a knight would with his sword. There are a large number of people in the background of the picture, some close enough to watch the scene with amusement. The woman is reaching to take the mallet from Harry, while her friend watches sullenly. Both women are dressed in elaborate gowns with hats.[end figure description]

p467-382 [figure description] Page 349.[end figure description]

with a pungency and vigor of decision that made us
quite secondary characters in the scene. At last a fortunate
stroke gave Miss Sophie the command of the game,
and she dashed through the middle wicket, sent Eva's
ball to farthest regions up, and Mr. Sydney's down to
the stake, took mine with her in her victorious race
through wicket after wicket, quite through to the stake,
and then leaving me for a moment she croqueted Sydney's
ball against the stake, and put it out. A general
cheer and shouts of “victory” arose.

“We've got it! We're quite sure to go out the next
move!” she said, in triumph, as she left her ball by my
side. “She never can hit at that distance.”

“I can try, thought,” said Eva, walking across the ground,
and taking her place by her ball, pale and resolved, with a
concentrated calmness. She sighted the balls deliberately,
poised her mallet, took aim, and gave a well-considered
stroke. Like a straight-aimed arrow the ball flew across
the green, through the final wicket, and struck Sophie's
ball!

A general cheering arose, and the victorious markswoman
walked deliberately down to finish her work. One
stroke put Sophie out of the combat, the next struck
upon me and then from me up to the head of the two
last wickets that yet remained to be made. She came
through these with one straight stroke, and hit me again.

“Now for it,” she said, setting her red-slippered foot firmly
on the ball, and with one virulent tap, away flew my ball
to the other end of the ground, while at the same time
hers hit the stake and the victory was won.

A general shout, and three cheers, and all the spectators
started from their seats like a troop of gay tropical birds,
and came flocking around the victors.

I knelt down, and laid my mallet at her feet. “Beautiful
princess!” said I, “behold your enemies, conquered,
await your sentence.”

“Arise, Sir Knight,” she said, laughing; “I sentence you

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to write a ballad describing this battle. Come, Sophie,”
she added, turning gayly to the brunette, “let's shake
hands on it. You shall have your revenge of me at
Newport this summer,” and the two rival fair ones shook
hands in all apparent amity.

Wat Sydney now advancing presented the prize with a
gallant bow, and Eva accepted it graciously, and fastened
the blue scarf that floated over her shoulder with it, and
then the whole party adjourned to another portion of the
lawn, which had been arranged for dancing; the music
struck up and soon we were all joining in the dance with
a general hilarity.

And so ended the day at Clairmont, and we came home
under a broad full moon, to the sound of music on the
waters.

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