But still St. Timothy’s did not abandon the scene of their defeat. They waited loyally in front of the athletic house to welcome and console their team when it should emerge. Collingwood led the players out, and the crowd gave them a good one. Collingwood said, with a smile, though in an unsteady voice, “Much obliged, fellows,” and waved his hand. Then the crowd dispersed; slowly they all walked away. That evening, as Irving was about to leave his room to go down to supper, a boy brought him a telegram. It was from his brother; it said,— “We licked them, twelve to six. Feeling fine. Lawrence.” At the table Irving tried not to appear too happy. He apologized for his state of mind and told the boys the cause; those who, like Carroll, were Harvard sympathizers derived a little cheer from the news, and the others seemed indifferent to it. Westby was not there. The training table was vacant, and at the other tables were empty chairs where substitutes on the team had sat. Mrs. Barclay was entertaining the football players. “I wish I was breaking training there,” said Carroll to Irving; “she has the most wonderful food.” In the discussion of the game there seemed to be little disposition to blame Westby. “After all,” said Blake, “he was only a sub, and he never got so very much practice in handling punts. I don’t think fellows ought to be sore on him.” “No, he’s just sore on himself,” said Carroll. “It’s hard luck, anyhow; except for that one thing he played mighty well.” The mail boy passed, leaving a letter for Irving. It was in his uncle’s handwriting; and his uncle never wrote to him; it was his aunt who kept him posted on all the news of home. Did this mean that she was ill—or that some disaster had befallen? Irving determined that if it was bad news, he would reserve it until he should be alone; he put the letter in his pocket and waited anxiously for the meal to end. When he was again in his room, he tore open the envelope and read this letter:— DEAR IRVING,—I have not helped you and Lawrence much financially. I thought it would do you and him no harm to try out your own resources. But I always meant to give you a lift whenever it should seem wise, and whenever a lift could be most advantageously arranged. Your father was never able to lay up any money; his work was of a kind that did not permit that. But he would always have shared with me whatever he had. I have had it in mind to do the same by his children. I have sold half the farm—the western half—your half and Lawrence’s. There is four thousand dollars in cash for each of you, and four thousand on a mortgage for each of you at six per cent. You had better draw out of school-teaching as soon as possible and study law—if that is still what you most want to do. Your aunt is well and sends her love. We are both looking forward to seeing you and Lawrence at Christmas. Your affectionate uncle,