“It’s just like old times,” he explained to Allan and Hal, the latter having come in to recount the wonderful things which had happened to him during his visit home. “Out in Colorado, I was most always on probation. Used to feel downright lonesome when I wasn’t.” “That’s all well enough,” said Hal, “but you want to be careful, for old Levett’s the very dickens if you get too gay with him. First thing you know, you won’t know anything.” “Don’t now,” answered Pete, promptly and cheerfully. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if something did drop. The fact is--” he hesitated, sighed dolefully, and shook his head, “the fact is, I’ve been feeling lately that something unpleasant is going to happen to me. I guess it’s a--a premonition.” His tone was quite sad, and Allan and Hal stared at him in silent surprise. Then-- “What’s the matter with you, you idiot?” asked Allan. “Nothing; I dare say it’s just foolishness, but somehow--” He sighed again. “Well, _that’s_ all right,” he went on, with an evident effort at cheerfulness. “Have a good time, Hal?” “You’re off your feed, that’s what’s the matter with you,” said Hal, severely. “Your liver’s out of whack. Better see the doctor.” “What’s probation, anyway?” asked Allan, lightly. “It’s likely to happen to any one.” “It isn’t that,” Pete replied, dolefully. “But I don’t want to talk of my troubles,” he continued, with martyr-like complacency. “Tell us what you did, Hal.” “Oh, you’re plumb woozy!” exclaimed the latter. Nevertheless, he consented to tell again of the remarkable events which had transpired during his absence, and Pete’s melancholy disappeared. It was a peculiar feature of it that during the following week it possessed him only occasionally. But when it did, he seemed in the uttermost depths of melancholy--a melancholy quite as mysterious and remarkable to his friends as the celerity with which he recovered on each occasion. Hal declared over and over that he was “woozy”--a term of doubtful significance, but quite satisfying to the user--and Tommy hinted at overstudy. This was among themselves. When Pete was present, they merely called him a fool, and let it go at that. It was the first day of December that witnessed the advent upon the scene of a new character in our story. A wagon stopped in front of Mrs. Purdy’s in the afternoon and an expressman deposited a small box inside Allan’s door. He found it there when he returned from his last recitation. It had slats nailed across the top, and from its dark recesses came strange sounds. Allan stared. The sounds resolved themselves into the plaintive mewings of a kitten, and Allan recollected his request to his mother--a request long since forgotten by him, but evidently well remembered by her. He tore off a couple of the slats and lifted out a six-weeks-old kitten.