Mrs. Twilliger bristled up instantly; the description fitted her eldest son-in-law too closely for her liking. However, Mrs. Gooch had an unexpected ally in the master of the house. “Thet’s my idee; Piny’s harum-scarum ’nough without gittin’ in with these chaps ’round yere. We hev ’nough o’ them fellers in the fambly a’ready.” Breakfast over, every one hurried to get a good start for the last part of the journey to Bentville. The Twilliger outfit was a span of fat mules and a light wagon. They took the lead, and the oxen were soon far behind. “You’d better push on, Kid,” advised Dan Gooch as the oxen toiled up the last foothill before reaching the valley. “Yon’s Bentville—almost in sight. Zeb Twilliger will be thar an hour ahead of us. Nick hez sperit ’nough ter ketch up ter ’em stid of pokin’ ’long so powerful slow.” Kid took the advice. As he reached the top of the hill, he reined Nick in for a moment to look at the panorama of colour which spread below him. There were fields of corn and hemp threaded with a narrow, silver path of water. Beyond the valley, on a little plateau, was the white tower of a chapel. The trees were thick, but they could not entirely screen the angular outlines of the college buildings occupying the highest part of the little town. The boy’s heart beat fast. He had never been more than ten miles away from home in all his life before. Somehow the blacksmith’s trade did not seem so alluring as it had yesterday; perhaps Pete and Isaac were right after all. He was proud of them anyhow. Down, down toward the bridge which crossed Brushy Fork and the Big Hill Pike with the hard part of the journey behind him, Kid overtook the Twilligers. He exchanged a few remarks, then cantered past, and joined the long procession of vehicles and horsemen, all headed in the same direction. This beat a circus, it beat Talitha’s description carefully recalled from last year. Kid was beginning to get excited. He passed team after team with a cheery hail, and forged straight up the hill. Nick did not need to be urged; he galloped directly into the crowd, and then past, only slowing down on the main street for Kid to gaze with fascinated eyes at the booths of popcorn, candy, peanuts, and ice cream. Everywhere were students spreading their wares in tempting proximity to the passersby. On all sides signs read: “This Way to the Campus.” “Visit the Chapel Tower.” “See the Industrial Building.” “Don’t Miss the Homespun Fair!”