A summer of control from unhealthy habits had done this for me, a summer of life, naked, in the open air, plus exercise. I had learned a great lesson. To Barton I owe it that I am still alive, vigorously alive, not crawlingly ... but I suffered several slumps before I attained and held my present physique. For the world and life afford complications not found in "Perfection City." * * * * * The school hill lay before my eyes again. From it spread on all sides the wonderful Connecticut valley. Up and down the paths to the dining hall, the buildings in which classes were held, the Chapel crowning the topmost crest, wandered groups of boys in their absurd, postage-stamp caps, their peg-top trousers, their wide, floppy raglan coats. I was a senior now. At first my change in bodily build and bettered health rendered me hardly recognisable to my friends. The very first day I reached Hebron again I was out on the wide, oval field, lacing around the track. In a month would come the big track-meet and I was determined this time, to win enough points to earn me my "H." * * * * * Principal Stanton sent for me, the second day after my arrival. "I wanted to have a long talk with you before you got settled, Gregory." His steely, blue eyes gleamed through his gold-rimmed eyeglasses. "Sit down." And we had a talk lasting over an hour ... about religion mainly. He was surprised to learn that I knew a lot about the early Church fathers, had read Newman, and understood the Oxford controversy ... had read many of the early English divines.... "Gregory," he cried, putting his hand on my knee, "what a power for God you would be, if you would only give over your eccentricities and become a Christian ... a chap with your magnetism--in spite of your folly!--" He impressed on me the fact, that, now I was a senior, more would be expected of me ... that the younger boys would look up to me, as they did to all seniors, and I must be more careful of my deportment before them ... my general conduct.... He asked me what I intended making of myself. "A poet!" I exclaimed. He spread his hands outward with a gesture of despair. "Of course, one can write poetry if necessary ... but what career are you choosing?" "The writing of poetry." "But, my dear Gregory, one can't make a living by that ... and one must live." "Why must one live?" I replied fervently, "did Christ ever say 'One must live'?" "Gregory, you are impossible," laughed Stanton heartily, "but we're all rather fond of you ... and we want you to behave, and try to graduate. Though we can't tell just what you might do in after-life ... whether you'll turn out a credit to the School or not." "Professor Stanton, I have a favour to ask of you before I go," I asked, standing. "Yes?" and he raised his eyebrows. "I want to know if I can have that room alone, over the platform, in Recitation Hall."