Room No. 1, being located at the rear of the school building, had a separate entrance, and in reaching it, the boys were obliged to cross one end of the campus. As Fred and Bronson made their way to it, they saw several of the students kicking footballs. "Are you on the team?" asked the newcomer. "No, only Firsts make the School team. But I hope to make my Form team." "Then how is it Montgomery could make the ball team and win the Landon game?" "Because it's different with baseball. Any one can try for that. The Head says it isn't so dangerous." By this time the two had reached No. 1, which was already swarming with students busily moving their belongings from their old desks to the ones they had just drawn. "This will be a good chance for you to meet the Form," said Fred. And he introduced Bronson to Margie Newcomb, Grace Darling, Taffy Brown, Soda Billings, Shorty Simms and Ned Tompkins. "You mustn't take what we do too seriously, Mr. Bronson," said Margie, as she cordially shook the newcomer's hand. "You will soon get accustomed to us. Oh, Alice," she cried, as the girl who had first espied Bronson when he mounted the steps entered the room, "Come here a minute." But the girl, noting the presence of the new student, turned on her heel and went out. At this snub, Margie bit her lip. "Alice is miffed because Fred has more manners than her brute of a brother," explained Grace. "You'd better leave her and Mary alone, Marg." "So she's Mr. Montgomery's sister?" asked Bronson, an amused light shining in his eyes. "They do seem alike." "Oh, don't mind her. That's just the Montgomery way," interposed Fred. "She's really a mighty nice girl--when you know her. Come on, and I'll show you through the building." After inspecting all the recitation rooms, the laboratory, and the gymnasium in the basement, the boys returned to No. 1. As Fred and Bronson reached a spot whence they could see the latter's desk, both were surprised to behold an envelope attached thereto by a clothespin. "Wonder what that is?" exclaimed Fred. Seizing the envelope, he glanced at the address, then handed it to his companion. "A letter for me?" murmured the newcomer, in surprise. "Whom do you suppose it's from?" "Why not open it and find out?" suggested Fred, striving to restrain a smile, for he had recognized the round, flourishing writing of Soda. Quickly Bronson did this, his face assuming a look of perplexity as he scanned the contents. Twice he read the note, then asked: "Who are the 'Big Six,' and where is 'The Witches' Pool'?" Recognizing a plot of his chums to have fun with the newcomer, Fred said, ignoring the questions: "Let me see the note." But Bronson refused to give it to him. "How can I tell who sent it, if I can't see the handwriting?" demanded Fred, surprised at such action. "But I can't show it to you." "Why?" "The note says I mustn't."