Another long silence as they strolled along, strangely happy, in the fresh caressing night. “I say, Kit.” “Yes, old chap!” “Let’s you and Jim and me room together at college next year.” “Right o! I’ve hated to think of college next year just on account of that—we used to plan to, you know.” “Yes, I know.” “Well, it’s all right now. Hard though it’s going to be to leave the old school.” “Mighty hard, Kit.” Another silence; close step; shoulder to shoulder. “I say, Tony.” “Yes, old boy.” “Let’s swear never to let this sort of thing happen again. Let’s swear always to talk it out. No matter what, never to break again.” “All right—I swear—never to break again—absolutely—so help me, God.” “And I, I swear!—so help me, God.” They wrung each other’s hands. “Say—Tonio old sport,” said Kit after another pause. “What is it, Kitty?” “Reg Carroll’s a brick, don’t you think?” “He certainly is. By the by, Kit, is Betty coming down for the dance to-morrow night?” “Yes, gets here to-morrow afternoon; Bab too.” “Good work. Tell her, will you, before to-morrow night that you and I have made it up.” “I won’t need,” answered Kit; “I never let her know we had fallen out.” Tony gasped with astonishment. “Well, by Jove, kiddo, you _are_ a perfect corker.” And so they strolled on, talking by fits and starts, in the sweet fragrant May night, glad of heart, the gladder that for long they had not known each other’s friendship. The next few weeks were wonderful ones to Tony and his friends. On that bright Saturday a worthy rival had come from western Cæsarea to meet their baseball team and had bit the dust. Jimmie Lawrence, captain of the team now, had played first without an error and had knocked a home-run, bringing in three men—a pleasant augury for the Boxford game in mid-June. In the evening there had been the dance in the Gymnasium, and Betty Wilson had been there, lovelier than ever it seemed to Tony, as his eyes fluttered in the light of her eyes and he thrilled with a strange, nice, happy little thrill at the touch of her hand in his. And Barbara Worthington was there, and Kit too was beaming. As yet the shadow of the final good-byes had not fallen upon them. There were still three golden weeks for the reunited crowd. * * * * * One night, not long after the dance, Tony sat late in Mr. Morris’s study, as he was apt to do these last weeks, talking things over with his older friend. “This has certainly been a bully term,” said Tony, with a contented sigh, “I don’t think I have ever been so happy. I can’t bear to think of leaving.” Morris had been happy too, but for him the shadow was already falling. “Ah—that’s the hard part of school life—the going and the being left behind.... But you will be coming back often—that’s a comfort. I never cease to be thankful that Kingsbridge is so near.”