_At evening, when twilight is falling And the birds to their nests are all gone, We'll gather around in the gloaming, And mingle our voices in song. Yes, in song. The bright stars are shining above us, Keeping their watch and ward. We'll sing the old songs that we love, boys. Out on the Esplanade._ Stover listened, pressing his knuckles to his lips, raised out of himself by the accord of voices and the lingering note of melancholy that was in the hour, the note of the dividing of the ways. Again in deeper accents a song arose: _We sing the campus, green and fair. We sing the 'leven and nine Who battle for the old school there And guard the base and line. No cause for fear when they appear And the school flag floats above our head. When the game begins 'tis Lawrence wins, While we cheer the Black and Red. When the game begins 'tis Lawrence wins, While we cheer the Black and Red._ The song ended in lingering accents. Dink shut his eyes, clenching his fists, seeing wonderful days when the school should gather to cheer him, too, and lay its trust in him. Suddenly near him in the road came the crunching sound of footsteps, and a voice said: "Is that you, Bill?" "Yes." "Bill, I wanted to say a word to you." "Well?" "We've only got a few days more in the old place. I don't want to go out with any hard feelings for anybody, do you?" "No." "Let's call it off! Shake hands." Stover listened breathless, hearing little more, understanding only that a feud had ceased, that two enemies on the verge of the long parting had held each other's hands, slapped each other's backs with crude, embarrassed emotion, for the sake of the memories that lived in the shadow of a name. And something like a lump rose again in Dink's throat. He no longer thought of his loneliness. He felt in him the longing to live as they had lived through the glorious years, to know the touch of a friend's arm about his shoulders, and to leave a name to stand with the names that were going out. He raised his fists grotesquely, unconsciously, and swore an oath: "No, I won't give up; I'll never give up. I'll come back. I'll fight it out!" he said almost aloud. "I'll make 'em like me. I'll make 'em proud of me." X _My father sent me here to Lawrenceville, And resolved that for college I'd prepare; And so I settled down In this ancient little town, About five miles away from anywhere._ _Five miles away from anywhere, my boys, Where old Lawrenceville evermore shall stand. For has she not stood since the time of the flood. About five miles away from anywhere?_ The school was returning after the long summer vacation, rollicking back over the dusty, Trenton highway, cheering and singing as they came.