Yes! It was too true! As we reached the edge and looked down on the coveted dell the first sight which greeted our eyes was a party of Low Heathens, sporting the day boys' colours spread out luxuriously on one of the sloping banks, solacing themselves with provender and songs and leap-frog! I never saw twenty Philosophers look more blank than we did when slowly we realised the horror of the situation. We were done! There could be no doubt that the enemy had got wind of our purpose and had deliberately forestalled us; and was now only waiting to enjoy our discomfiture, and make merry over our disappointment. As to the possibility of their being as sick at the sight of us as we were at the sight of them, it never even occurred to one of us. Our first impulse was to eject them by force. Our next was to expostulate. Our third was to ignore them. "Come on, you chaps," said Langrish, leading the way to the bank facing that in the occupation of the enemy, "here's our place. Squat down and make yourselves comfortable." The Philosophers followed the cue, and, apparently unaware of the presence of any strangers, took possession of their slope, and tried to be as jolly as possible. "I wonder where the day-boy cads go for their tucks," said Trimble in an audible voice, evidently intended for the opposition. "Some one was saying they were trying to get up a kids' club; ha, ha! I'd like to see it." "Such a joke, Quin," said a voice over the way, evidently pitched to carry across to us. "You know those kids in Sharpe's? they've started a society. What do you think their motto is? Oh my, it's a screamer!" "What is it?" asked the voice of Quin. "Keep it dark. I wouldn't like it to get out I told you. It's _Mens sani in corpore sanorum_, or something like that. You should have seen Redwood yell over it." "Now, you fellows, let's have our grub," said Langrish encouragingly. "Chaps must eat, you know. _Corpore sanum_ is our motto, you know. Ha, ha! What do you think I heard one of the day louts call it? _Corpore sanorum_!" "Ha! ha! ha!" shrieked we. "Ho! ho! ho!" shrieked the Urbans. In the midst of which hilarities we produced our provender (greatly to the relief of our pockets), and fell to. The operation evidently did not pass unheeded by the other side. "I say, Flitwick," cried some one, "do you know what Philosophers eat?" "No; what?" "I never knew till just now. Inky bread and cold bacon-fat sandwiches, or else sherbet, if their tongues are long enough to reach to the bottom of the bottles." "Have some of this fizzing pork pie, Jones?" asked Coxhead ostentatiously. "Thanks. You have some of my sardines," replied I. "Rummy name for a chap, Sarah, isn't it?" said the voice of the captain's fag opposite. "There's a new chap in Sharpe's house this term, one of the biggest mules you ever saw--his name's Sarah."