Stopping for a few moments at Mrs. Lyle’s, he went on to school again. There was a conference with Mr. Stimson, professor of mathematics, at two-thirty, and after that Barry was free for the day. He watched tennis for a while and finally wandered farther afield, to where, on track and gridiron and diamond, candidates were assembling. The school was generously provided with space for athletic activities. There were two gridirons,――one inclosed by the quarter-mile running track,――two diamonds, and, in winter, three hockey rinks on the surface of the pond lying in the southwest corner of the field. The pond was formed by the East Fork River, that small but bustling stream which skirted the farm that Barry had noticed, crossed the road under a picturesque stone bridge, and wound through the corner of the Broadmoor estate. Pond and stream afforded natural hazards on the nine-hole golf-course which started and ended in home territory but wandered back and forth along the gentle slope of a near-by hill. Hills were all about: Pine Knob rising behind the field on the east, Town Hill nearer the village, Crow Hill to the west, with the road hugging its base as it turned toward The Falls and Fairmount, and finally, two miles to the northwest, Mount Sippick, its double peak frequently veiled by clouds. To-day the slopes showed scarcely a hint of autumn and the acres of turf were as green as in summer. A surprising number of football candidates had appeared by the hour set for the first day’s practice, boys of many sizes, ages, shapes, and degrees of promise. Barry lingered in one of the two stands for a while and watched proceedings. He picked out Clyde and Hal Stearns and the boy they had called Goof; and, because Clyde had indicated him that morning, the coach, Major Loring. The Major had dropped his title with the ending of the war, but Broadmoor clung to it proudly. Even in old flannel trousers and a gray jersey bearing the single broad purple band of the football squad he was a fine figure of a man. Barry tired of the entertainment soon and crossed to the nearer diamond and took a seat in a shaded corner of the covered stand. Some two dozen fellows were having batting practice and a tall, loose-jointed youth was pitching to the plate. Of those grouped near by, each in turn selected his favorite bat and faced the pitcher until he had delivered two hits and a bunt. Having had his turn, he relieved one of the players in the field. One of those coming in from the fielding looked familiar to Barry, but it wasn’t until the broad-visored cap was momentarily relieved that Barry recognized him. He was Crawford Jones. Barry was pleased when Jones connected with the first offering and lined it far into left.