stand in a group, wiping their grimy faces and discussing the state of
the game; for at the end of forty minutes the goals are changed and
there is a slight interval.

And now the last hour is to prove whether there are good men bred in the
hungry North as any who live on more fruitful ground and beneath warmer
skies. If the play was desperate before, it became even more so now.
Each member of either team played as if upon him alone depended the
issue of the match. Again and again Grey, Anderson, Gordon, and their
redoubtable phalanx of dishevelled hard-breathing Scots broke away with
the ball; but as often the English quarter and half-backs, by their
superior speed, more than made up for the weakness of their forwards,
and carried the struggle back into the enemy's ground. Two or three
time Evans, the long-kicker, who was credited with the power of reaching
the goal from almost any part of the ground, got hold of the ball, but
each time before he could kick he was charged by some one of his
adversaries. At last, however, his chance came. The ball trickled out
of a maul into the hands of Buller, who at once turned and threw it to
the half-back behind him. There was no time to reach him. He took a
quick glance at the distant goal, a short run forward, and his long limb
swung through the air with tremendous force. There was a dead silence
of suspense among the crowd as the ball described a lofty parabola.
Down it came, down, down, as straight and true as an arrow, just grazing
the cross-bar and pitching on the grass beyond, and the groans of a few
afflicted patriots were drowned in the hearty cheers which hailed the
English goal.

But the victory was not won yet. There were ten minutes left for the
Scotchmen to recover this blow or for the Englishmen to improve upon it.
The Northerners played so furiously that the ball was kept down near the