The fellows were practising long shies and bowling lobs and slow twisters. In the soft grey silence he could hear the bump of the balls: and from here and from there through the quiet air the sound of the cricket bats: pick, pack, pock, puck: like drops of water in a fountain falling softly in the brimming bowl.
In modern times, with the kind of bats we have these days, the sounds have changed a bit, and we also hear shards of ice cracking along with drops of water falling softly. Maybe it depends on the hearer as well.
By and by, you can read Joyce's book here, and that chapter here.
