He had met Gerald Pennimore three or four times since the day they had walked back from the gymnasium together, but only for a moment on each occasion. Once they had passed on the stairs and perhaps thrice they had nodded and spoken in Oxford. But Kendall had not taken advantage of the other’s invitation to call. Since he had learned that Gerald was the son of John T. Pennimore, whose fame had reached even to Roanoke, Kendall had doubted the sincerity of that invitation. It didn’t seem reasonable that a boy of Gerald Pennimore’s position should really want to make a friend of him. To-day, though, he would have given a good deal for Gerald’s companionship. But the door at the end of the hall was closed and it was more than likely that the room was empty. Kendall descended the stairs and, with no objective point in mind, mooned along the path toward the field. The tennis courts were filled and he stood for some time and looked on. On the baseball diamonds two games seemed to be in progress and the shouts and laughter of the players reached him at the courts. But when he took up his journey again his steps led him toward the boathouse where a number of figures were visible about the float. Up and down the river in the warm afternoon sunlight many gayly hued canoes were gliding. At the boathouse Kendall loitered for some minutes, watching several craft start away and wishing that some of the merry crews would invite him along as a passenger, since he knew no more about paddling or rowing than the average boy whose life has been spent on a farm where the largest body of water within five miles is a six-foot brook. But none of the mariners asked him to accompany them on their voyages and after awhile Kendall left the float and wandered downstream along the bank of the river. On the other side was Meeker’s Marsh, and at intervals enticing little inlets emptied into the larger stream. Kendall wished he were over there that he might explore some of them. It was quite warm, in spite of the breeze that blew across the marsh, and Kendall pushed his straw hat away from his forehead, dug his hands into his pockets and loitered slowly along, whistling a tune. He was a little bit lonely, if the truth is to be told, a little bit inclined for the first time to be homesick. He wondered if he would ever know fellows and enter into the good times about him.