"And you sat in the corner and glowered--I could see nothing, but I _felt_ eyes. That will be one of the times we shall remember, Dan, when we look back on our young days--all together, and so happy and free. I had a melancholy turn during that cone-burning, one of the shadows that fall upon one causelessly in the midst of the sunshine, but that was only a bit of the happiness, after all. It's rather wonderful to be twenty, Dan, and never to have known a real big sorrow! Most of the girls here have come through something, some of them a great deal. I feel such a babe beside them. It isn't good for one, I suppose, to have things _too_ smooth." "I hope they'll continue smooth for a long time to come. You're too young for troubles, Darsie," said Dan hastily. He sat silent for a few moments, his chin poking forward, his thin, expressive lips twitching as if struggling with difficult speech. A canader came gliding slowly by, the man and girl occupants chatting gaily together, unconscious of the watchers in the tree on the bank. Their words fell absently on Darsie's ear, she was waiting for what Dan had to say. "When they _do_ come, you know you can depend on me. I'm not much of a hand at social life, so it's best to keep out of the way and let other fellows chip in who can make a better show, but if there's anything useful to be done, you might give me a turn. We're very old friends." Darsie gave him an affectionate glance. "Indeed I will. I should feel you a tower of strength. Thank you, dear Oak-tree." "Thank you, Apple-blossom!" returned Dan quite gallantly, if you please, and with a laugh which followed the passing seriousness vanished. For the next half-hour they laughed and sparred, capped stories, and made merry, more like a couple of happy children than hard-worked students on the verge of examinations; and then, alas! it was time to return to work, and, sliding down from their perch, Dan and Darsie walked forward to assemble the scattered members of the party. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. DISASTER.