Why is it that most boys are so afraid to acknowledge that they are ever homesick? Is it the fear that they may appear too dependent and less manly if they confess their longing for home? Certainly no boy who comes from a good home detracts from his own strength of character by acknowledging that he misses the home from which he has gone. Indeed, is it not a reflection upon the boy and the home alike, if he declares when he goes from his father's house that he misses nothing? To yield to the feeling of homesickness, to permit it to overmaster one and prevent him from performing his tasks in the place wherein he finds himself may be a confession of weakness, but to suffer nothing from it is to declare a weakness or defect greater still. And Will Phelps, though he was silent as to his own feelings, was suffering keenly in the early days of his life in Winthrop. A week had elapsed since the events recorded in the preceding chapter and Will and Foster were studying busily in their rooms one evening, striving to hold their wearied minds to their work, for there had been an unexpected written test that day in their Greek and both were somewhat anxious as to the results of their efforts. Suddenly the door opened and in walked Peter John, who had already acquired the collegiate habit of never inquiring if his presence was welcome in the room into which he came. His face was beaming and it was at once evident to both Will and Foster that their classmate had something of importance to declare. "How'd you get along in the test to-day, fellows?" was Peter John's first question. "Not very well," replied Will, motioning for his visitor to be seated. "I just killed it." Will and Foster laughed as they heard Peter John already indulging in college slang. It seemed so out of keeping with his general bearing and appearance. The gap between his trousers and his shoes had never been so apparent, his splotches so vivid, nor his hair so belligerent as now. "There's that question, 'Who were the mercenaries of the Greeks, and what was a mercenary?' I got that right, I know I did." "How did you answer it?" inquired Foster. "Why, I said 'a mercenary was a man that sold himself to some one,' and I showed what I meant by illustrating it." "How?" "I said the professors were the mercenaries of the college." "You did?" exclaimed Will, sitting instantly erect. "Yes, sir; I did. What's the matter?" he added, as both boys began to laugh loudly. "Isn't it true?" "Oh, it's too good to be true. Tell us some more, Peter John." "I can't see what you fellows are laughing at," said Peter John soberly. "That answered the question all right. I'll get an 'A' on that paper. Then there was that question, 'What was the Greek law and conception of vengeance?' That bothered me a bit at first, but I got it, I'm sure." "What did you say?" inquired Will.