There was no student who had not at some time felt the kindly influence of Professor Fuller, but it was the boy in trouble who always had special cause to be grateful. To him the students turned instinctively when in need of guidance or advice, and no one ever came away disappointed. It was this that had won for him the title of “the old governor,” which was no disrespectful name, but a genuine term of endearment, and was used by the fellows with feelings of the utmost affection. It was no idle thought, therefore, that suggested Professor Fuller’s name to me, nor a vain hope that led us to seek his counsel in our trouble. Immediately after breakfast the following morning I sought out Ray Wendell that we might lose no time in making our call on the professor. We met at the post office, and one glance at his face showed me that Ray’s mind was scarcely more at ease than my own. Few words were exchanged as we walked along the shady lane at the left of the college grounds, leading to Professor Fuller’s house. This was situated quite a distance back from the gate, in the midst of a large lawn, which was cut off from the street by a high hedge of evergreens. As we approached we heard just on the other side of this hedge a female voice calling to Sport, the professor’s large collie dog, who was burrowing under the bushes. On entering the gate, we saw Miss Nettie Fuller leaning forward over a bank of flowers. She was a bright and attractive girl of sixteen and was held in the highest regard by the students who were fortunate enough to know her. Both of us being acquaintances of long standing, we stopped to speak to her. She did not notice us at first, for her face was hidden by a large sunbonnet, and her attention was engaged in her work, and in keeping the dog out of mischief. “Sport, Sport, come here and leave that poor squirrel alone!” she called, turning her head toward the hedge. At this moment the squirrel broke cover, and rushed across the path directly in front of us, Sport after it in hot pursuit. Immediately we dashed for him. Sport saw us coming, shied to one side, and brought us all down in a heap on the gravel path, Ray, however, retaining a firm hold on the dog’s collar. There was a sharp scuffle, a yelp from Sport, and the three of us rolled over and over in a confused mass. Miss Nettie screamed faintly as she turned round; then, taking in the situation, she burst into a peal of laughter, while we disentangled ourselves, and got up. “We were trying to make ourselves useful, Miss Nettie,” said Ray, as he picked up his hat and dusted off his clothes. “I hope we were, for we have ruined our chances of being ornamental.” Thinking that she had perhaps laughed too hard at us, Miss Nettie blushed and sobered down. “I hope you are not hurt,” she said. “Please excuse my laughing so. I fear you think I am very rude to receive visitors in such a manner.” “Not when visitors call so informally,” returned Ray, with a smile.