Arnold went home in the afternoon, Toby and Phebe accompanying him as far as the station at Riverport. After that the remainder of the Christmas vacation simply melted away, much as the snow did on Monday when the easterly gale swept around to the south and a radiant sun smiled down on the dripping world. It didn’t seem to Toby that he had been away from Yardley Hall more than a half-dozen days, but here it was Tuesday and he was on his way back again! But going back wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, if anything had happened to prevent his going back he would have been a most unhappy youth. There was lots to look forward to, hockey, amongst other things, for Toby had by now decided that it was his bounden duty to go to the aid of the School in its commendable endeavor to turn out a winning seven. As there was a whole hour and a quarter to spend before he was to meet Arnold at the station, he set out, not without trepidation, to purchase one of those invaluable little blue-covered books which tell you how to perform every sort of athletic stunt from swinging Indian clubs to throwing a fifty-six-pound weight. Of course Toby wasn’t interested in clubs or weights just now. What he was after was a handbook on hockey, and after some searching up and down and across the town, with one eye on the clock, so to speak, he found it. You may be sure that Toby’s scant funds lay at the bottom of his most inaccessible pocket. Had he so much as sighted a brown overcoat he would have run! When Arnold found him he was sitting in a seat in the waiting-room, his feet on his old yellow valise and his eyes glued to page 19 of “How to Play Hockey.” They boarded the ten-forty train and were soon gliding through the long tunnel on their way back to school and duties. But they didn’t sit in a parlor car this time. Toby would have none of such luxury, and rather than be parted from him Arnold shared his seat in a day coach. There were some twenty or thirty other Yardley fellows on board and the time went swiftly, and almost before they knew it they were crossing the little bridge and the school buildings were smiling down welcomingly from the hill and the trainman was calling “Wissining! Wissining!” at the top of his voice.