AT one of the children's treats in the green fields, some boys were playing at cricket. The game went on with great spirit, and the first side had had a good “innings,” while the second batch were nearly all bowled out without getting many runs.
The game seemed likely to remain in the hands of the first team, for the last boy who took the bat was lame and sickly, and, of course, there was no hope that he would be able to do much. Just then an active youth standing by asked to be allowed to take the lame boy's place and play for him. No one objected to this, and the new player sent the ball flying through the air time after time, till at last he had really won the game.
Then the lame boy jumped up from the spot where he had been lying watching the game and cried, "I've won it," "I've won it," "No," said some of the lads, "you've done nothing to win the game, it's your friend or substitute who has done it, and it's his game." But the little fellow persisted in his cry saying, “He did it for me, so it's my game. He did it for me. And surely the boy was right in this.