with raised mallets, they sat waiting, their eyes fixed upon the red flag in the umpire's hand.
Their adversaries, six married men, at the opposite end of the field, were well able to cope with them, if one might judge from their appearance and that of their ponies. The figures of these men were fine and athletic; their costume was of dark blue and yellow stripes.
"Are you ready? One, two, three, go!" said the umpire; the red flag was dropped and the ball thrown into the middle of the ground.
Flash! crash! went the twelve ponies and their twelve riders, dashing toward each other at lightning speed, each and every one determined to have the first blow at the little white wooden ball, which lay peacefully on the grass.
It was a grand stroke, the first one, dealt by the mallet of a white player, who to most of the spectators was a stranger.
