The annual celebration was drawing to a close. Another group of lads would leave Milton to go out into the world, mounting upward yet another step. From then on the ways of many who had been jolly good comrades together would diverge. Some might cross again; others be as wide apart as the poles. The fire died down. The big piano box commandeered by "Swipes" was but a heap of ashes. The fun was over. There were cheers for the departing senior lads, who, in turn, cheered the others who would take their places. Then came tributes to the industrious freshmen. "Good night! Good night! Good night!" was shouted on all sides. Less and less brilliant grew the fire. Now it was but a heap of glowing coals that would soon be gray, dead and cold ashes, typical in a way, of the passing of the senior boys. And yet, phoenix-like, from these same ashes would spring up a new fire--a fire in the hearts that would never die out. Such are school friendships. Of course there were forbidden little feasts in the various rooms to mark the close of the term--spreads to which monitors, janitors and professors discreetly closed their eyes. Andy and his friends gathered in his apartment for a last chat. They were to journey to their home town on the morrow and then would soon separate for the long summer vacation. "Well, it was a rare old celebration!" sighed Tom, as he flopped on the bed. "It sure was!" agreed Chet, with conviction. "I hope I have as much fun as this if I go to Harvard." "Same here, only I think I'll make mine Princeton," added Ben. "Oh, but it's sort of hard to leave Milton!" "Right you are," came from Andy, who was opening ginger ale and soda water. And, after a time, quiet settled down over the school, and Dr. Morrison and his colleagues breathed freely again. Milton had stood steadfast through another assault of "bonfire night." The next morning there were confused goodbyes, multiplied promises to write, or to call, vows never to forget, and protestations of eternal friendship. There were arrangements made for camping, boating, tramping and other forms of vacation fun. There were dates made for assembling next year. There was a confused rushing to and fro, a looking up of the time of trains, hurried searches for missing baggage. And, after much excitement, Andy and his chums found themselves in the same car bound for Dunmore. They settled back in their seats with sighs of relief. "Hear anything more of Mort and his crowd?" asked Tom of Andy. "Not a thing." "I did," spoke Chet. "They were nearly arrested for making a row in town after we got through with 'em." "Hum!" mused Andy. "I s'pose Mort will blame me for that, too. Well, no use worrying until I have to." At Churchtown, where the train stopped to give the boys at least a last remembrance of Kelly's place, several passengers got on. Among them was a young man who seemed familiar to Andy and his chums. A second look confirmed it.