“Dear, dear!” said Mr. Dennison sympathetically. “Most unfortunate! Well, I think your mother is quite right, my boy. You’ll be better fitted to face the――er――the responsibilities of life if you have supplied yourself with an education. Hm! Yes. Now, let me see. I gather from what your former principal writes that you have been a very steady, hard-working student. You like to study and learn, Faulkner?” “Yes, sir. That is, I like to study some things. And, of course, I want to learn. Mr. Senter said he thought there wouldn’t be any trouble about my getting into the junior class here, sir. I’ve only missed about seven weeks.” “I see.” Mr. Dennison thoughtfully folded the letters in his hands, observing Joe the while. What he saw prepossessed him in the boy’s favour. Joe was large for his age, sturdy without being heavy, and had the healthful colouring and clear eyes of a youth who had divided his time fairly between indoors and out. You wouldn’t have called him handsome, perhaps, for his nose wasn’t at all classic, being rather of the tip-tilted variety, and his chin was a bit too square to meet the Greek standard of beauty. Perhaps it was the chin that had suggested spunk to Aunt Sarah. Anyhow, it suggested it to Mr. Dennison. In fact, the whole face spoke of eager courage, and the gray eyes looked out with a level directness that proclaimed honesty. For the rest, he had light-brown hair, so light that one hesitated at calling it brown, but had to for want of a better description, a forehead that matched the chin in breadth and gave the face a square look, and a mouth that, no matter how serious the rest of the countenance was, seemed on the point of breaking into a smile. On the whole, summed up the principal, a healthy, honest, capable appearing boy, and one likely to be heard from. “Yes,” said Mr. Dennison after a moment’s silence, “yes, I think the junior class is where you belong. At least, we’ll try you there. I don’t want to set you back unless it’s quite necessary. You may have to work hard for a month or so to catch up, but I think you can do it. How old are you, Faulkner?” “Sixteen, sir, on the fourth of last August.” Other questions were asked and answered and the answers were entered on a filing card. Then: “Can you start in tomorrow?” asked the principal. “Yes, sir, I’d like to.”