CHAPTER I.GOOD NEWS AND BAD. Summer still lingered in the land when Wellington College opened her gates one morning in September. Frequent heavy rains had freshened the thirsty fields and meadows, and autumn had not yet touched the foliage with scarlet and gold. The breeze that fluttered the curtains at the windows of No. 5 Quadrangle was as soft and humid as a breath of May. It was as if spring was in the air and the note of things awakening,... more...

OVERTON CLAIMS HER OWN "Oh, there goes Grace Harlowe! Grace! Grace! Wait a minute!" A curly-haired little girl hastily deposited her suit case, golf bag, two magazines and a box of candy on the nearest bench and ran toward a quartette of girls who had just left the train that stood puffing noisily in front of the station at Overton. The tall, gray-eyed young woman in blue turned at the call, and, running back, met the other half way. "Why,... more...

THE RIGHT PROMETHEAN FIRE   Emmy Lou, laboriously copying digits, looked up. The boy sitting in line in the next row of desks was making signs to her. She had noticed the little boy before. He was a square little boy, with a sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of the nose and a cheerful breadth of nostril. His teeth were wide apart, and his smile was broad and constant. Not that Emmy Lou could have told all this. She only knew that... more...

CHAPTER I AN AUTOMOBILE RIDE "Everybody ready?" "Yes, Dave; let her go!" cried Phil Lawrence. "How about you folks in the other auto?" queried Dave Porter, as he let off the hand brake and advanced the spark and lever of the machine he was about to run. "We are all ready," responded Roger Morr. "Been ready for an hour," added Ben Basswood, who sat beside Roger. "Oh, Ben, not quite as long as that!" burst out Laura Porter, who was one of... more...

CHAPTER I. "Dearest mother, do not grieve for me, it breaks my heart." The sweet, sad voice of the speaker quivered with unshed tears, as she knelt before the grief-bowed figure on the sofa, and took one of the little, shrunken, tear-wet hands in both her own, with the devotion of a lover. "Have you not often told me of the sin of distrusting the All-wise Being, who has cared for us all our lives thus far? Let us put our trust in Him, and He... more...

CHAPTER I “BACK TO THE COLLEGE AGAIN” “Oh, Rachel Morrison, am I too late for the four-ten train?” Betty Wales, pink-cheeked and breathless, her yellow curls flying under her dainty lingerie hat, and her crisp white skirts held high to escape the dust of the station platform, sank down beside Rachel on a steamer trunk that the Harding baggage-men had been too busy or too accommodating to move away, and began to fan... more...

From his place on the floor of the Hemenway Gymnasium Mr. Elbridge G. Mavering looked on at the Class Day gaiety with the advantage which his stature, gave him over most people there. Hundreds of these were pretty girls, in a great variety of charming costumes, such as the eclecticism of modern fashion permits, and all sorts of ingenious compromises between walking dress and ball dress. It struck him that the young men on whose arms they hung, in... more...

CHAPTER I THE FOUL Shannon, the old Blue, had brought down a rattling eleven—two Internationals among them—to give the school the first of its annual "Socker" matches. We have a particular code of football of our own, which the school has played time out of mind; but, ten years ago, the Association game was introduced, despite the murmuring of some of the masters, many of the parents—all old Amorians—and of Moore, the... more...

The End of the Holidays "Ingred! Ingred, old girl! I say, Ingred! Wherever have you taken yourself off to?" shouted a boyish voice, as its owner, jumping an obstructing gooseberry bush, tore around the corner of the house from the kitchen garden on to the strip of rough lawn that faced the windows. "Hullo! Cuckoo! Coo-ee! In-gred!" "I'm here all the time, so you needn't bawl!" came in resigned tones from under the shade of a large fuchsia.... more...

I That old bell, presage of a train, had just sounded through Oxford station; and the undergraduates who were waiting there, gay figures in tweed or flannel, moved to the margin of the platform and gazed idly up the line. Young and careless, in the glow of the afternoon sunshine, they struck a sharp note of incongruity with the worn boards they stood on, with the fading signals and grey eternal walls of that antique station, which, familiar to... more...