oked
right at me, just when he came to that place."

"But, Brown, how do you mean you owe a hundred pounds? You
haven't read much certainly; but you haven't hunted, or gambled,
or tailored much, or gone into any other extravagant folly. You
must be dreaming."

"Am I though? Come up to my rooms and I'll tell you all about it;
I feel better already now I've let it out. I'll send over for
your commons, and we'll have some lunch."

Hardy followed his friend in much trouble of mind, considering in
himself whether with the remainder of his savings he could not
make up the sum which Tom had named. Fortunately for both of them
a short calculation showed him that he could not, and he gave up
the idea of delivering his friend in this summary manner with a
sigh. He remained closeted with Tom for an hour, and then came
out, looking serious still, but not uncomfortable, and went down
to the river. He sculled down to Sandford, bathed in the lasher,
and returned in time for chapel. He stayed outside afterwards,
and Tom came up to him and seized his arm.

"I've done it, old fellow," he said; "look here;" and produced a
letter. Hardy glanced at the direction, and saw that it was to
his father.

"Come along and post it," said Tom, "and then I shall feel all
right."

They walked off quickly to the post-office and dropped the letter
into the box.

"There," he said, as it disappeared, "_liberavi animam meam_. I
owe the preacher a good turn for that; I've a good mind to write
and thank him. Fancy the poor old governor's face to-morrow at
breakfast!"

"Well, you seem to take it easy enough now," said Hardy.

"I can't help it. I tell you I haven't felt so jolly this two
months. What a fool I was not to have done it before. After all
now I come to think of it, I can pay it myself, at least as soon
as I am of age, for I know I've some money--a legacy or
something--coming to me then. But that isn't what I care about
now."

"I'm very glad, though, that you have the money of your own."

"Yes, but the having told it is all the comfort. Come along, and
let's see whether these boys are come. The old Pig ought to be in
by this time, and I want them to dine in hall. It's only ten
months since I came up on it to matriculate, and it seems twenty
years. But I'm going to be a boy again for to-night; you'll see
if I'm not."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE LONG VACATION LETTER-BAG.

"June 24, 184-.

"My Dear Tom,--Your letter came to hand this