"Well, six to one would be worse," replied the master. "Besides, their first two games were taken by a kind of fluke. We didn't know their play. You will notice they have taken only one in the last three-quarters of an hour."

"I doubt they are too big for you," continued the minister.

"Isn't altogether size that wins in shinny," said Mr. Craven. "Hughie there isn't a very big man, but he can hold any one of them."

"Well, I hope you may be right," said the minister. "I am sorry I have to leave the game to see a sick man up Kenyon way."

"Sorry you can't stay, sir, to see us win," said Craven, cheerfully, while Hughie slipped out to see his mother before she went.

"Well, my boy," said his mother, "you are playing a splendid game, and you are getting better as you go on."

"Thanks, mother. That's the kind of talk we like," said Hughie, who had been a little depressed by his father's rather gloomy views. "I'm awfully sorry you can't stay."

"And so am I, but we must go. But we shall be back in time for supper, and you will ask all the team to come down to celebrate their victory."