ng ladies," answered Reddy Brooks,
"and I'll do it if I have to shed somebody's blood in the attempt."

"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed the big tramp, clapping his hands to his sides and
almost dancing a jig in his amusement.

In the meantime Reddy had cast his eyes about for some kind of a weapon.
There was not a stick nor stone in sight. The only thing he could find
was a pile of winter apples that had evidently been collected by the
owner of the orchard to be barreled next day.

Reddy made a rush for the pile, to the amazement of his fellow-students,
who imagined for a moment that he was running away. They soon found out
his purpose, however, when the apples came whizzing through the air with
well-aimed precision.

The first one hit the biggest tramp squarely on the chin and almost
stunned him. Each boy then chose his man and the five ruffians were soon
running across the orchard to the wood, the boys after them, their
pockets bulging with apples. Laughing and yelling like wild Indians,
they pelted their victims until the men disappeared in the forest.

The girls, who had forgotten their fright in the excitement of the
chase, were laughing, too, and urging on the attacks exactly as they
would have done at one of the college football games. Perhaps they had
had a narrow escape, but it was great fun, now, especially when Reddy
Brooks threw one of his famous curved balls and hit a tramp plump on the
back of the head.

"Oh," cried Nora, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, "I never had
such a good time in all my life! Wasn't it great?"

"Wasn't it though?" grinned Reddy, as the boys returned from the field
of victory. "Lots more fun than throwing balls at dummies at the county
fair, wasn't it, fellows?"

"You girls ought to be careful how you walk out here alone at this time
of the year," said Jimmie Burke. "There are a great many tramps around
now, going south in bunches to spend the winter in Palm Beach, no
doubt."

"We'll never do it again," answered Grace.

"Never again!" exclaimed Nora, raising her right hand to heaven.

"I suppose Farmer Smithson will wonder what became of his apples,"
observed Reddy.

"Oh, well, he has so many acres of orchards, I don't suppose he'll miss
this one little pile."

And the crowd started gayly off to town.

But the girls of the freshman class had not forgotten--or forgiven--the
Black Monks of Asia.

All along the walk Grace was turning over and over in her mind some
schem