Without losing a moment’s time I sprang out of bed and scrambled into my clothes as best I could in the few minutes I had to spare. The night’s rest had refreshed me completely, and had relieved my head of all sense of pain, although the purple bruise had deepened in color, and the swelling had scarcely diminished. As I hurried down stairs and across the campus, the last taps of the college bell were sounding, so that I reached the chapel just as the doors were being closed. A small crowd of tardy students were pressing in, and they kept the main door open just long enough to prevent my being shut out. I was the last one in, and all alone I walked down the aisle to my seat, the object of the curious gaze of over one hundred and fifty pairs of eyes. This I was well accustomed to, for I prided myself on the exactness with which I could calculate the time needed to reach morning prayers, and I was usually one of the very last to enter. But this morning my appearance must have been interesting, and it certainly aroused attention. A snicker ran along the lines of students as I passed the various pews, and several of those nearest the aisle plucked at my coat and gave vent to such whispered exclamations as “Oh, what an eye!” “Who built that lump on your forehead, Harry?” and so on. As I took my seat Rod Emmons, who sat next to me, said, “That’s a bad bruise, Harry. How did you get it?” “I don’t know,” I replied. “What an answer!” he exclaimed. I laughed. “I mean it all the same,” I said. “I got that bruise in the dark last night, and I am looking this morning for the fellow that hit me.” Further conversation was interrupted by Professor Fuller, who came forward to the pulpit at this moment, and began prayers. At the close, when the students were streaming out, some to breakfast and others to recitations, I received inquiries and expressions of sympathy from all sides; but though I made no secret of my mishap, no one seemed to know more of the affair than myself. As the morning progressed without my obtaining any new light on the subject, I concluded that the students whom I had interrupted the night before must have had a special reason for keeping silent. “And besides,” I thought, “perhaps after all they were not students at all, but town fellows trespassing on the campus, and frightened off by my voice, thinking I was the proctor.” In the belief that the matter would solve itself, if a solution was forthcoming, I decided to let it drop, and accordingly gave up inquiring about it. During the recitation hour between four and five o’clock that afternoon, as I was speculating on the chances of my being called upon next to recite, some one nudged me, and a small, folded piece of paper was slipped into my hand. This, on opening, I discovered to be a note, which read as follows: DEAR HARRY: