Tom finally reached Australia, and set out on another voyage in time to rescue his parents from some savages on one of the Pacific islands. So it was such qualities as these, and those developed when Tom had other adventures, set forth in the third book, “Tom Fairfield in Camp,” that made our hero keep on instead of turning back when he found what had happened to Mr. Skeel. In camp Tom and his chums succeeded in clearing up the mystery of the old mill, though for a time it seemed that they were doomed to failure. But Tom was not one to give up easily, and this, I think, was more fully shown, perhaps, in the volume immediately preceding this, called “Tom Fairfield’s Pluck and Luck.” True, Tom did have “luck,” but, after all, what is luck but hard work turned to the best advantage? Almost any chap can have luck if he works hard, and takes advantage of every opportunity. And now, after many weeks of tribulations, Tom found himself at the beginning of the Christmas holidays, and he and his chums had in prospect a very enjoyable time. But just at the present moment they would have given up part of anticipated pleasures, I believe, not to have had the snowball accident happen. “It _is_ Skeel,” murmured Tom, as though at first he had doubted the evidence of his own eyes. “Of course it is,” said Jack. “And we’re in for trouble, or I miss my guess,” added Bert. “I wonder what in the world he is doing in these parts?” came from George. “You thought you’d seen the last of him, didn’t you, Tom, after the wreck of the _Silver Star_?” “I certainly did.” “And yet he bobs up again,” went on George. “What does he want? Is he trying to get back on the faculty of Elmwood Hall?” No one answered his questions, nor did Tom, or any of the others, rebuke Why for his queries. They had too much else to think about. “Well, young men, well!” began Professor Skeel in his pompous voice. “Well, are you responsible for this?” “I--I’m afraid we are,” said Tom. He did not add “sir,” as once he would have done. He had lost the little respect he had for the former teacher, and when a man loses the respect of a manly youth, it is not good for that man. “Humph! Yes, you certainly have done mischief enough,” went on Mr. Skeel, in snarling tones. “My cutter is broken, I am thrown out, and may have sustained there are no telling what injuries, my horse has run away and may be killed, and you stand there like--like blithering idiots!” he cried, with something of his old, objectionable, schoolroom manner. “We--we didn’t mean to,” said Tom. “We just made a big snowball and rolled it down,” George said, determined to take his share of the blame. “Hum! Yes, so I see--and so I _felt_, young men!” cried the irate man, as he brushed the snow off his garments. The boys had not yet gotten over the surprise of identifying Professor Skeel. They could not understand it.