A grand stand was not an accomplished fact at Hazelnook, but for all practical purposes the upper rail of the fence surrounding Farmer Clarke's field was as good a position for the enthusiasts as seats on the bleaching boards. The spectators, therefore, that were gathered together to witness the game between the Plainvilles and the home team sat on the fence like a row of birds on a telegraph wire, and among them were Ned Payne and a large party from Plainville. Gay was not there; he was on the diamond in close conversation with Captain Carver.

"You know about what I can do," Gay was saying, at the very moment the game was advertised to begin.

Lyman was silent; his sense of propriety was not largely developed, and since he had known Gay he had lost all prejudice against the presence of the gentler sex in the field of sport, but he was not certain that all those present would share his views.

"They may think it odd to see a girl play," he said at length.

"No matter about that," Gay said, carelessly. "I don't think they'll say much about it!"

"Play ball, can't you?" shouted the boys on the fence.

"Fellows!" shouted Captain Carver, in response to this cry, "one of our men has gone back on us. It is not exactly his fault; his stepmother's baby died this morning, and they won't let Will out, although the youngster is only his half-sister, and they are not going to bury her this afternoon, and Will isn't really needed at home, but——"

Here Lyman shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that the ways of some people were beyond his comprehension; then he continued, "But I've got a substitute: Brown Walcott, of New York."

The Hazelnook boys cheered lustily when Lyman ceased speaking, for Gay was now the heroine, or hero, as the reader prefers, of the village; his treatment of his guests at the memorable party, and his reply to the minister, declaring himself "a radical," having now given him that distinction. In recognition of this evidence of his popularity Gay stepped forward, and with a radiant and comprehensive smile, said:

"How are you, fellows?"

The boys expected a speech, and the hum and din of the field immediately ceased, but Gay did not go on, and the Plainville faction soon recovered its voice.

"No girls in mine!" shouted one of its members.

Then a succession of derisive remarks were shot off like a bunch of fire-crackers, one after another:

"Make her a short-stop; she can't stop long!"

"Her petticoats will be out on a fly, if she isn't!"

"Put her in the box!"

"She'll get in a box, fast enough!"

"Send her out in the field—to grass!"

"Don't do that; she's the same color, and it would mix everybody up!"

This was more than high-spirited Gay could bear in silence, and he shouted:

"When you get over your bad attack of mouth I'll show you my real color! Unless you're color-blind you won't call it green!"

This quick and truly unfeminine reply so amazed the Plainville boys that they ceased to jeer, and Ned Payne took the time to say:

"I've seen her play."

This quiet remark was more convincing than a long description of Gay's good points. "I've seen her play" hinted at remarkable achievements. There were a few more comments, the reverse of complimentary or chivalrous, but they were promptly frowned down, and cries of "Play ball!" once more rent the air.

Gay was placed, and he was the first to go to the bat.

The pitcher smiled, as if to say, "Fair, high, or low ball, it will be just the same to a girl, I guess."

Gay saw the smile and it increased his determination to do his best and to help win the game for the home team.

"Play!" called the umpire, and the game commenced.

The pitcher, thinking he had nothing to fear, began by putting the ball right on the bat. Gay astonished him by driving it well towards the right field and taking two bases.

This hit delighted Gay's admirers. "Take the third, Brown," one of them shouted.

"What's the color of the grass, now?" cried another.

"The color of two bases," answered a third.

"A two-bagger the first hit!" Ned remarked, casting a triumphant glance at his Plainville neighbors.

"Don't crow too soon," one of them advised. "One hit doesn't make an inning. When Jones goes to the bat he'll beat her pace."

Jones was the crack player of the Plainvilles, and the one that the home team feared most. But this did not seem to Ned to be any reason why he should not say "Oh, Jones!" with a rising inflection that made his companion's face flush.

Gay's successor at the bat helped him to third base and a fumbled ball of centre's sent him over the home base. This led to an exchange of compliments.

"The green grass doesn't grow under her feet, does it?" Ned demanded with an exasperating smile as Gay touched the plate.

"She can't keep it up," replied his companion stoutly. "That's the beauty of Jones; he'd be good for nine times nine innings."

At the same time Captain Carver was offering good advice to Jones's rival. "Take it easy, Brown," he said, quietly, "Don't let them work you up."

Gay sat down on the ground, drew his knees up under his chin and watched the game intently. Lyman threw a jacket over Gay's shoulders and stood by his side, measuring the ability of his own and the rival team. Gay made every error of the Plainvilles an excuse to say something to his late deriders—I said in the beginning that Gay was not a model boy!

The home team went out in order and Jones went to the bat amid considerable applause. It was evident that he was away up in the opinion of his team. He swung the bat from one hand to the other, made a strike or two against the air, exchanged that bat for another and whirled that around till it sung, rejected it for a third, which seemed to suit, for he tapped the plate smartly as much as to say, "This bat'll do; I'm ready now to wipe out the Hazelnooks."

"Jonsey'll do!" was the audible comment after this by-play with the bat.

"Play ball!" shouted an impatient urchin.

Jones smiled invitingly at the pitcher, who replied with a swift ball. Jones put out a short fly; second base, centre and right field went for it, the ball dropping between them, and that sent Jones to second base, from whence he gradually worked home. His slow, safe playing was in direct contrast to Gay's dash and vim and did much to advance the latter in popular favor in which it seemed to be understood the two players were rivals.

Gay's work when the Plainvilles were at bat was good, but not such as to excite envy. When he again took his place at the plate he hit splendidly and came all the way on a ball that centre field started for and misjudged badly.

Then a shout arose from the Hazelnook boys, to which the Plainvilles did not enjoy listening, although they continued by way of encouragement to flatter their own boys and slander their opponents after the manner of players of greater skill. Their spirits rose when Jones was next at bat, and hit heavily and got third base with ease; but when he was put out in trying to get home, their spirits dropped again. The fact was Jones was not playing nearly as well as the rest of the Plainville boys, and he knew it, which was, of course, in Gay's favor.

When Gay went to bat the third time he hit fairly, but took his bases easily, stealing second, and getting third by a walk-over, while the ball sent up by muscular Robert was trying to kiss the sky, and making home by a clever sprint.

"Good for you, Brown!" shouted Ned from the fence, and the rest of the boys echoed his cry. As for Captain Carver, his enthusiasm knew no bounds.

"Brown," said he, in an earnest aside, "I always thought before I knew you that girls were a pretty slow lot, but you—you beat any boy I've seen, and give him an hour's start, too."

Gay was silent. There were times when praise made him uncomfortable. It didn't seem fair that Lyman and the other boys should be deceived as to the true reason for his skill and strength, but what was he to do? Confess the truth? "Not yet!" he always said to himself in answer to these silent questionings.

"Don't be too sure of my doing much to-day," he said to Lyman. "The game is too close; a little stupid playing will give it to them."

The game went on, and in the ninth inning, when the score was twelve to eleven in the home team's favor, the pitcher began by tossing a ball over the plate that a baby might have hit, and Gay sent it, for the second time, almost to the right field fence, and took first base.

"Come home!" shouted the boys; "you can do it."

Gay took second base with caution, and third with a dash, and still the fielders were after the ball.

"Come home!" his friends shouted. "Come, for all you're worth!"

And Gay came.

"Look out for your skirt!" somebody shouted; "it's slipping down."

Gay reached frantically for the unloosened skirt, but it dropped below his grasp, caught him at the knees, and tripped him while he was at full speed. He fell heavily on his right side, and lay there motionless.

"Get up!" the boys shouted. "They're sending the ball home."

"Home! home!" cried centre, clapping his hands encouragingly.

By this time Gay was on his feet, and the dress skirt was on the ground.

"Here," centre cried, continuing to clap his hands; "we'll put her out as easy as rolling off a log!"

The ball came whizzing through the air; Gay made a dash forward; centre made a bad fumble, and Gay touched the plate, but his face was strangely white.

"Play the game, boys," he said, faintly, "and don't—tell—mother! My—arm—I——"

Then he fell like a log.

"She's got a fit!" cried the pitcher.

"I'm afraid it's worse than that," said Lyman, a moment later. "I think her arm is broken!"