THE BOYS OF GRAND PRÉ SCHOOL The “B. O. W. C.” Series By Prof. James De Mille Illustrated Boston: Lee And Shepard, Publishers. New York: THE BOYS OF GRAND PRÉ SCHOOL I. _The Camp in the Woods.--Weapons of War.--An Interruption.--An old Friend.--A Mineral Bod.--Tremendous Excitement.---Captain Corbet on the Rampage.--A Pot of Gold._ THE spring recess was over, and the boys of the Grand Pré School were now to turn from play to study. The last day of their liberty was spent by the “B. O. W. C.” at their encampment in the woods. They found it in so good a condition, that it was even more attractive than when they left it. The dam had proved water-tight; the pool was full to the brim; the trees overhung with a denser foliage, while all around the fresh-turned earth was covered with young grass, springing forth with that rapidity which marks the growth of vegetation in these colder regions. It was early in the day when they came up, and they were accompanied by the Perpetual Grand Panjandrum, who carried on his woolly head a basket crammed to the top with a highly-diversified and very luxurious lunch, which it had been the joy of that aged functionary to gather for the present occasion. “Dar!” he exclaimed, as he put down his burden. “Ef you habn’t enough to feed you dis time, den I’m a nigga. Dar’s turkeys, an mutton pies, an hoe-cakes, an ham, an ginger-beer, an doughnuts, an de sakes ony knows what. All got up for de special benefit ob de Bee see double bubble Bredren, by de Gran Pan dandle drum. You’ll be de greatest specims ob chil’en in de woods dat ebber I har tell on. You gwine to be jes like wild Injins, and live in de wilderness like de prophets; an I’m gwine to be de black raven dat’ll bring you food. But now,” he added, “de black crow must fly back agen.” “O, no, Solomon,” said they, as he started. “Don’t go. The ‘B. O. W. C.’ won’t be anything without you. Stay with us, and be the Grand Panjandrum.” “Darsn’t!” “O, yes, you must.” “Can’t, no how.” “Why not?” “Darsn’t, De doctor’d knock my ole head off. De doctor _mus_ hab ole Solomon. Can’t get along widout him. Yah, yah, yah! Why, de whole ’Cad-emy’d go to tarnal smash ef ole Solomon clar’d out dat way. Gracious sakes! Why, belubbed bred-ren, I’m sprised at you. An’ me de Gran Pandrum!” “True,” said Bart, gravely. “Too true. It was very thoughtless in us, Grand Panjandrum; but don’t say that we asked you. Keep dark.” “Sartin,” said old Solomon, with a grin. “Dar’s no fear but what I’ll keep dark. Allus been as dark as any ole darky could be. Yah, yah, yah!” And he rolled up his eyes till nothing could be seen but the whites of them, and chuckled all over, and then, with a face of mock solemnity, bobbed his old head, and said,-- “Far well, mos wos’ful, an’ all de res ob de belubbed breddren.” And with these words he departed.