r had told Father Regan when awarding the scholarship,--"if he can
only keep the track. But he has a bold spirit, and it will be hard on him
among all those 'high-steppers' of yours at Saint Andrew's. He is likely
to bolt and break away."

But Dan had been too busy with his books all the year to mind
"high-steppers." His patched jacket kept the head of the classes, and his
stubby-toed shoes marched up every month to get the ticket, and he had
helped more than one heavy-witted "high-stepper" through conditions that
threatened to put him out of the race. Most of the Saint Andrew's boys
were manly youngsters, with whom jackets and shoes did not count against
brain and brawn; and strong, clever, quick-witted Dan had held his place
in schoolroom and playground unquestioned. But there were exceptions, and
Dud Fielding was one of them. He had disliked the "poor scholar" from the
first. Dud was a tall, handsome fellow, filled with ideas of his own
importance; and Dan had downed him more than once in field and class-room,
to his great disgust. Worst than all, in appreciation of his careful
costuming, Dan had alluded to him as "Dudey,"--a boyish liberty which,
considering the speaker's patched jacket, Master Fielding could not
forgive. It was the repetition of this remark, when Dud had appeared
garbed in a summer suit of spotless linen, that had precipitated
yesterday's fight.

Altogether, with all the restraints and interests of school time removed,
vacation was proving a perilous period to the "left-overs" at Saint
Andrew's. Dan realized this as, turning his back on the book-lined room,
with his hands thrust in his pockets, looking gloomily out of the broad
window that opened on the quadrangle, he stood awaiting "judgment." He
expected no mercy: he felt grimly he had no claim to it. Maybe if he had a
rich father or uncle or somebody grand and great to speak up for him, he
might be given another chance; but a poor boy who, as Dud Fielding said,
ought to be "ditch digging"--Dan choked up again at the thought that,
after all, perhaps Dud was right: he was not the sort to be pushing in
here. He ought to be out in his own rough world, working his own rough
way. All those fancies of his for better, higher things had been only
"pipe dreams."

But jing, it would be hard to give up! Dan looked out at the quadrangle
where he had led so many a merry game; at the ball field, scene of battle
and victory that even Dud Fielding could not di