Two of the number had been obliged to pack their trunks and depart during the afternoon without waiting for the banquet. The whole class were at the station to see them off. They did it in the old-fashioned way, with much cheering and singing, and the old custom of lifting them up and putting them through the car windows. Then after each man had shaken the hands of those departing, and said, "God bless you, Tommy," they had watched while the little train rolled down the grade and became smaller and smaller, and they cheered until the two men waving their hats on the rear platform were hidden behind the curve. Then they marched solemnly back across the campus again, and tried to go on with the packing of their own trunks. But few had been able to remain very long in the lonely, old, familiar dens. There were too many things to suggest the old times which sent big wedges into throats, and they realized that there were to be few enough opportunities of being with those fellows out under the trees to waste time in dreary packing. "It's too deuced hot up there in my room," said Harry Lawrence to Billy Nolan. For the most part they had spent the afternoon in silent, moody wanderings, in groups of twos and fours and half dozens, all about the old, dear, familiar landmarks of the campus. Now at evening they were gathered together as a body again. This was to be the last time. And that thought kept recurring to each man on the steps. It was about dusk now. The front campus was wrapped in that strange half-glow that sometimes comes at late senior singing time. It was very much in keeping with other elements of the scene, and it had its effect upon the fellows. Old North seemed solemn and dignified, but somehow more gentle and caressable than formerly. Even the old elms, who have seen this thing happen so many, many times, ceased whispering for a space and listened. John, the college policeman, left Reunion for his home down William Street, and Sam, the night watchman, said, "Good-night, John," and took his place. Bill Leggett took down his lantern and started around to light the campus lamps as he always did at this hour. The village street seemed far off, and its lights and its bit of life seemed part of another world. There was a pause in the singing. It lasted a long time. Tucker scratched a match on the stone steps. The crack seemed very loud. Those near by turned and watched him light his pipe and watched him throw the match to the ground. It kept on burning for a little while. They watched it until it went out. Presently Doc. Devereaux, the leader, said, "Fellows, there are a lot of chairs and benches scattered about. Let's drag them up here in front of the steps and make a circle." They all arose and did it as if it had been a command.