"He insists that it was Roy, but he didn't see him near to at all, so I don't see how he can tell." "Don't you think it was Roy?" asked Jack. Harry's indignant look was eloquent. "Of course it wasn't! He says so!" There was a mysterious exodus of Middle and Junior Class boys from the campus to the boat-house that evening after supper. And, when, an hour later, they came straggling back every face bore the impress of a high and noble resolution. It had been unanimously resolved--after a good deal of pow-wow--that they should proceed in a body on the following afternoon to Farmer Mercer's grounds and fish in Wissick Creek. Behold them, then, at the time appointed, marching across the fields and through the woods for all the world like a band of young crusaders, each armed with a fishing pole and line! There were not enough "truly" poles to go around, so many of the party were forced to cut branches from the willows. On to prohibited territory they marched, eighteen strong, Sidney Welch, having sought and received permission to absent himself from practice, in command. In full view of the white farm-house they lined the bank of the stream and threw in their lines. To be sure, many of the lines were guiltless of flies or even worms, but that was a detail. The minutes passed. One boy actually hooked a trout, but was so surprised that the prey escaped before he could land it. And still the minutes passed, and the irate voice of the tyrant sounded not. The sportsmen began to tire and grew bored. Many of them had never fished before and didn't care about it. A few tossed aside their rods and fell to playing stick-knife. And then, just when Sid had decided to give up and lead his defeated hosts back to school, a figure ambled toward them across the meadow. "He's coming!" whispered Sid hoarsely. Fully half of the group exhibited unmistakable signs of alarm; half a dozen edged toward home and were summoned back by the stauncher members. "He can't do anything to us," said Sid nervously. "We're too many for him--even if he is big!" "Well, boys, what you doin'?" inquired the farmer amiably. There was a moment of constrained silence. Then, "Fishing," answered Sid bravely. "Caught anything?" asked the farmer as he joined the group and looked curiously at the huddled poles. "Not yet, sir," answered Sid. "Too sunny, I guess," was the reply. The trespassers darted bewildered glances along their front. This awful calm was worse than the expected storm.