lounge--a piece of personal property of which he was very
proud--reading Kenilworth.

"Hello!" cried Joel, "why aren't you over at the lab? Isn't this your
day for exploding things?" Sproule looked up and yawned.

"Oh, I cut it. What's the good of knowing a lot of silly chemistry stuff
when you're going to be an author?"

"I should say it might be very useful to you; but I've never been an
author, and perhaps I'm mistaken. Want to go to the station?"

"What, to meet that stuck-up Remsen? I guess not. Catch me walking a
mile and a half to see him!"

"Well, I'm going," answered Joel. An inarticulate growl was the only
response, and Joel took the stairs at leaps and bounds, and nearly upset
Mrs. Cowles in the lower hall.

"Dear me, Mr. March!" she exclaimed, as together they gathered up a load
of towels, "is it only you, then? I thought surely it was a dozen boys
at least."

"I'm very sorry," laughed Joel. "I'm going to the station. Mr. Remsen
is coming, you know. Have I spoiled these?"

"No, indeed. So Mr. Remsen's coming. Well, run along. I'd go myself if I
wasn't an old woman. I knew Mr. Remsen ten years ago, and a more
bothersome lad we never had. He had Number 15, and we never knew what to
expect next. One week he'd set the building on fire with his
experiments, and the next he'd break all the panes in the window with
his football. But then he was such a nice boy!" And with this seemingly
contradictory statement the Matron trudged away with her armful of
towels, and Joel took up his flight again, across the yard to Academy
Road, and thence over the fence into Turner's meadows, where the hill
starts on its rise to the village. Skirting the hill, he trudged on
until presently the station could be seen in the distance. And as he
went he reviewed the five days of his school existence.

He remembered the strange feeling of loneliness that had oppressed him
on his arrival, when, just as the sun was setting over the river, he had
dropped down from the old stage coach in front of Academy Hall, a
queer-looking, shabbily dressed country boy with a dilapidated leather
valise and a brown paper parcel almost as big. He remembered the looks
of scorn and derision that had met him as he had taken his way to the
office, and, with a glow at his heart, the few simple, kindly words of
welcome and the firm grasp of the hand from the Principal. Then came the
first day at school, with the dread examinations, which after all
turne