The tooting of a horn summoned us back to headquarters. Trunks were put in place, blankets and the camp toggery brought forth; we exchanged our city clothes for the latter, and life at Camp Harvard began. Consulting the bulletin, I found myself assigned to duty as "table-boy," with one of the fellows who came up on the train as my associate. It was new work for me, but one of the masters took hold with us. The table was soon set and a steaming hot dinner was brought from the cookhouse. Grace was said by one of the masters, the company all standing with bare heads; then caps were resumed and hungry appetites began to be appeased. Great milk-cans, each holding ten quarts, were brought up from the icehouse. The supply of bread, vegetables, or meat needed constant replenishing. When dinner was over and the table had been cleared and the floor swept, my duties ceased until supper-time. The camp work was done by detachments of boys whose assignments varied with each day. A bulletin containing the assignments for the following day was posted each evening, so that every boy knew in advance what was required of him. All campers, masters included, shared the daily labors. The plan succeeded admirably. Each boy grew to be particular in the discharge of his duties, for neglect was seen to be a boomerang. For instance, if the boy whose special care happened to be drinking-water, failed to keep up a fresh supply, the other fellows who had to suffer for his shortcomings made life a burden to him; and so the whole camp acted as a sort of police force to keep each member up to the mark. This arrangement transferred much responsibility from the masters to the boys themselves, and a sense of responsibility is a good thing for anybody. After supper, a roaring camp-fire was built, and by this time we all were very well acquainted, and gradually came out of our shells. The masters were plied with questions, and yarns were spun. Perhaps the pleasantest feature of camp life was the evening gathering around the blazing logs, and the nine o'clock horn always seemed to toot ahead of time. The brother of one of the masters had spent a year among the mines and ranches of Colorado, and his graphic descriptions and thrilling tales were admirably adapted to our willing ears. Songs we always had. They may not have ranked high as literary productions; any lack in this respect, however, was more than made up by their spirited rendering. Here is one, to the tune of "It's a way we have at old Harvard": "It's a way we have at Camp Harvard, It's a way we have at Camp Harvard, It's a way we have at Camp Harvard, To pass the time away. If I'd a son or a ward, sir, A 'dig,' a prig, or a bard, sir,-- I'd send him to Camp Harvard, sir, To pass the time away. "For we'd like to have you know, sir, That shirking is no go, sir; First work, then play, and so, sir, We pass the time away.