ng its own way on green and campus, is forever
attempting the conquest of path and road. The warm red bricks of the
college buildings are well-nigh hidden by ivy, which, too, is an ardent
expansionist. And where neither grass nor ivy can subjugate, soft,
velvety moss reigns humbly.

In the year 1901, which is the period of this story, the enrolment in
all departments at Erskine was close to six hundred students. The
freshman class, as had been the case for many years past, was the
largest in the history of the college. It numbered 180; but of this
number we are at present chiefly interested in only two; and these two,
at the moment when this chapter begins--which, to be exact, is eight
o'clock of the evening of the twenty-fourth day of September in the year
above mentioned--were busily at work in a first-floor study in the
boarding-house of Mrs. Curtis on Elm Street.

It were perhaps more truthful to say that one was busily at work and the
other was busily advising and directing. Neil Fletcher stood on a small
table, which swayed perilously from side to side at his every movement,
and drove nails into an already much mutilated wall. Paul Gale sat in a
hospitable armchair upholstered in a good imitation of green leather and
nodded approval.

"That'll do for 'Old Abe'; now hang The First Snow a bit to the left and
underneath."

"The First Snow hasn't any wire on it," complained Neil. "See if you
can't find some."

"Wire's all gone," answered Paul. "We'll have to get some more. Where's
that list? Oh, here it is. 'Item, picture wire.' I say, what in
thunder's this you've got down--'Ring for waistband'?"

"Rug for wash-stand, you idiot! I guess we'll have to quit until we get
some more wire, eh? Or we might hang a few of them with boot-laces and
neckties?"

"Oh, let's call it off. I'm tired," answered Paul with a grin. "The room
begins to look rather decent, doesn't it? We must change that couch,
though; put it the other way so the ravelings won't show. And that
picture of--"

But just here Neil attempted to step from the table and landed in a heap
on the floor, and Paul forgot criticism in joyful applause.

"Oh, noble work! Do it again, old man; I didn't see the take-off!"

But Neil refused, and plumping himself into a wicker rocking-chair that
creaked complainingly, rubbed the dust from his hands to his trousers
and looked about the study approvingly.

"We're going to be jolly comfy here, Paul," he said. "Mrs