Front matter (continued 4)

Shackford brushed back the hair from his wet forehead, glanced coolly about him at the runners on the bases and to see that his own men were all ready, then quickly drew back his arm and sent the ball in swiftly and directly over the plate.

"One strike!" called the umpire, and shrieks and calls resounded from the crowd.

Before Ward could prepare himself Shackford swiftly drew back his arm and sent in another ball.

"Two strikes!" shouted the umpire, and cheers and jeers alike could now be heard. Indeed, many more of the spectators arose to depart, for it seemed to be evident that the end had come. Only one more ball might be necessary.

Shackford sent in the ball again, but this time Ward was ready. He hit it squarely, and with all his force. Only realizing that the ball was going, he started swiftly toward first base. It seemed to him that pandemonium had broken loose behind him. Shrieks, calls, shouts, and cheers were all mingled.

As he touched the first base and started toward second he looked at the ball. He had sent it far out over the center-fielder's head, and not yet had he caught up with it. It was a terrific hit, and all of Ward's long pent up feelings seemed to have found vent in the force with which he had struck. On and on sped the ball, and on and on ran Ward.

Before he had gained the third base both of the runners in advance of him had scored. He touched the third base, and putting forth all his speed started toward home. The applause was deafening now. He was dimly conscious of a mass of waving banners and flags off on his right, and that "Hi! yi! yi!" could be heard on every side.

"Go it, Ward! Go it!" shouted Jack intensely as he ran outside the line to encourage his friend; and Ward was "going it" at his very best.

He bent low and rushed forward. He could hardly breathe now, but his speed did not slacken. On and on he ran, until it seemed to him he never could gain the coveted base.

Putting forth all the last remnant of his strength he obeyed Jack's warning, and throwing himself on the ground touched the base just as a last, loud, prolonged yell came from the crowd.

With his hand on the plate he for the first time glanced behind him. The ball had just been thrown in and Shackford had caught it. The game with the Burrs was won, and Ward Hill's long hit had won it.

CHAPTER XVIII

A PUZZLING QUESTION

Ward at first was only conscious that there was a scene of great excitement being enacted all over the grounds. He had exerted himself to the utmost and breathless and hardly able to stand he dimly realized that a crowd of boys had surrounded him, and that the game was won. Soon, however, he recovered, and with a beaming face looked out upon the actions of his friends. Hats were thrown into the air, shouts and cheers could be heard on every side.

Silence only was to be found among the supporters of the Burrs, and they were already departing from the field. The treble shouts of the girls had ceased, the banners and streamers which had been flung out were nowhere to be seen now, but the very absence of all the signs of cheer among the friends of the opposing nine only served to make more emphatic the frantic joy of the Weston boys.

It was the first game they had won in more than two years from their sturdy opponents, and naturally the long pent up feelings now broke forth with the reserve of the time past.

For a long time the confusion continued. The cries would die away in a measure, and then some enthusiast would lead in a cheer, and the entire school and all its friends would take up the response, and it would seem that all the previous enthusiasm would be redoubled.

Boys who had not spoken to Ward since his return to Weston now rushed forward, eager to do him honor. He was the center of a constantly increasing group, for those who had been foremost to praise him did not depart when others came with their offering.

"Hill, I wish to congratulate you."

Ward turned as he heard the words, and saw Shackford, the captain of the Burrs, standing before him with outstretched hand.

"I want to congratulate you," said Shackford again cordially. "That was a magnificent hit. I never saw a heavier one. Of course I'm sorry we lost the game, and I know that such a hit as that doesn't reflect very much credit upon the pitcher of the Burrs, but all the same, I don't want to be the last to honor the fellow that did it."

"Thank you," said Ward, highly pleased over the cordial expression. "You needn't say a word about the pitcher of the Burrs. I thought when you caught me napping with that second strike of yours that it was good-bye with me. I wanted to hit you," he added laughingly, "but I was afraid I couldn't, so I feel all the better that it has turned out as it has."

"After your work last year, I was surprised when I heard that you were not to play to-day. At first I felt afraid that if you were off the nine, it must be that the Weston boys had found some still better material, and I knew if that were true we had a great contract on our hands. It wasn't long though before I was chuckling because you were not in the game, and I can tell you I didn't rejoice very much when I saw you throw off your coat and start for left field. Still, I hope I'm not so small as not to be able to appreciate a good play even when it's made by the other side, and I must say, Hill, that hit of yours was great. It just won the game, and the Weston school ought to erect a monument in your honor; they ought to, honestly."

Shackford's words served to increase the eagerness of the boys who had crowded about Ward, and much as he enjoyed the novel experience he soon began to feel somewhat abashed. He caught sight of Little Pond looking at him with longing eyes from the border of the assembly, and pushing his way toward him, Ward was soon grasping his youthful admirer by the hand.

"O Ward, I'm so glad," said Little Pond eagerly. "Everybody's praising you."

"Are they?" replied Ward, laughing as he spoke. "Well, I'm glad we won the game."

He started to depart from the grounds now, but a crowd of boys still followed him, all eager to honor the senior who had won the day and saved the honor of the school.

And Ward Hill was happy. His heart was exulting over his success, and the praise of his fellows was doubly sweet to him after his long period of trouble. He knew he had done well, and the consciousness that Tim Pickard at last had been compelled to come to him for aid, was perhaps not the least of the sources of his enjoyment.

As the boys came up to the campus and turned the corner by the chapel, Tim and Ripley stood there talking with some of the Burr boys. They could not fail to perceive Ward in the midst of the crowd, but neither Tim nor Ripley gave any signs of recognition.

Ward turned to Jack and laughed aloud, so loudly that both Tim and Ripley heard him, and a flush of anger spread over their faces.

"Tim would rather have lost the game than have had it won in the way it was," said Ward, as he started to leave Jack and go to his own room.

"Oh, well," replied Jack gleefully, "you can't blame Tim for making a wry face over swallowing his dose; but it may do him good, after all."

"Perhaps so," said Ward dubiously.

In his heart just at that moment he cared but little about Tim Pickard's feelings toward him. In the flush of success and the apparent return of his popularity he could afford to be magnanimous, and Tim and all his petty torments seemed now to be too slight to be heeded.

For two or three days Ward's long hit was the one theme of the school. Not all of the boys, however, joined in singing his praises, for Tim was not without his followers, and his influence was sufficiently strong to hold them back; but the enthusiasm of the others more than atoned for the failures, and Ward Hill was far happier than he had ever been since he became a student in the Weston school.

The consciousness of having done good work in his classes was the main foundation of it all. The appeals of Little Pond, and the manner in which he himself, with Jack's aid, had met and stopped the stacking of his room, also helped him now, and he rejoiced that he had not stooped to retaliate in Tim's room, as he had been sorely tempted to do.

It may be that his success, and the sudden change which had come in his standing in the school, may have led Ward unknowingly to assume a new air. If he did, it was done wholly unconsciously, but in some way he had come to glance sneeringly at Tim whenever he met him. He felt so strong now that he could afford to condescend even to Tim Pickard himself.

One morning, three days after the game, and when the excitement which had followed it had somewhat abated, as Ward, after passing Tim on their way out from Mr. Crane's room, and returning the glance of hatred which the captain of the nine had given him, was recalled by Mr. Crane, he stopped a moment in front of his desk.

"I haven't seen you to speak to you since the game," said Mr. Crane kindly. "I wanted to tell you that I rejoiced in your success, but perhaps you may have heard all the words of that kind that you care to hear."

"Not from you," replied Ward, his face flushing with pleasure.

"What are you reading in your Greek now?" inquired Mr. Crane.

"Homer," said Ward, wondering what that had to do with the game with the Burrs.

"Do you recall the term which Homer applies to Achilles?"

"Yes, 'swift-footed' is one of them."

"And what is the term which is so frequently given the Greek heroes?"

"Why they're called 'well-greaved,' and 'great-souled,' 'great-hearted,' and, and----"

"That's the word I wanted. The great-hearted, great-souled men. There's a Latin word which is almost the equivalent of the term, and the word was such a good one that it has been retained in many languages, and has come down to us in a form but slightly modified. Do you know what the word is?"

Ward hesitated a moment, and then, as his mind always worked rapidly, his face lightened up as he said, "Why, it's the word 'magnanimous,' isn't it?"

"That's the very word. And what does that word literally mean, then?"

"Large-minded."

"That's right. I mustn't detain you any longer or you'll be late for your Greek. Come and see me some time soon, Hill."

Ward went out of the room, but he was somewhat puzzled over his interview with the teacher. What did Mr. Crane mean by asking him those questions? Was he only trying to test his knowledge? Ward knew better than that. Mr. Crane was not one to put idle questions to him, especially at such a time as he had chosen for the brief interview. But what could he mean?

Ward entered the Greek room, but he only partially heard what Dr. Gray was saying to the class. Boy after boy was called upon to recite, but Ward was giving slight heed to what was occurring about him. His thoughts were upon Mr. Crane's strange questions. What could he mean by them? He never assumed that manner, his eyes slightly twinkling as if there was some concealed joke in his mind and his grave, quiet ways being all the more impressive, without having something more than the mere questions in his mind.

The recitation was about half done, when suddenly Ward started up in his seat. His face flushed as he almost spoke aloud.

Jack looked at him in astonishment, but Ward made no reply as he hastily turned again to his book, and apparently was only following the recitation. And yet in a flash it had come to him what Mr. Crane had meant by his questions. At first he felt somewhat resentful, but as his mind ran rapidly over the events of the past few days, he could not conceal from himself the fact that he had given too much justification for the implied rebuke of his teacher.

All through the day his mind kept going back to that brief interview with Mr. Crane, and the recollection was not always a source of pleasure.

That evening a group of boys was assembled in his room, Little Pond, Jack, and Big Smith all being there, as well as Ward and his room-mate. The conversation had been almost entirely on the game with the Burrs, which to them at least, and most of all to Ward, was still a topic of great interest.

"Well," Jack was saying, "we've got this game, thanks to Ward, and even if we lose the return game in the spring we're not so badly off as we might be. The valedic will help us out then too, won't you, Ward?"

"There's no knowing who the valedic will be, I'm thinking. Your friend Luscious is making a pretty strong bid for it, and Little Pond here says his big brother is coming back next week."

"Is that so?" said Jack eagerly, turning to the lad as he spoke. "Is that so? Why I thought he wasn't coming back till after the Christmas vacation."

"He didn't expect to," replied Little Pond; "but it's turned out so that he can come next week, and I'm expecting him next Wednesday."

"That's fine," said Jack enthusiastically. "I tell you, Pond's got the right stuff in him. Now Luscious has had a good influence on me, and I've braced up wonderfully under his valuable example, and if Pond comes back I think I shall make a try of it myself for the valedic. 'Us four, no more,' will be in it then."

The boys laughed at Jack's declaration that he was about to try for the honors of the class, for they all knew that the impulsive boy was not over fond of study, and that the improvement in his class work had been almost entirely due to the efforts which Berry had made in his behalf.

"I don't see why it is," said Big Smith solemnly, "that I don't receive more recognition in the school. I've tried to do my best, and yet I'm left out of everything. It sometimes seems to me that if a fellow is wild, or gets into scrapes and then reforms, there's a good deal more of a time made over him than there is over a fellow who just plods on and never does anything bad at all. I can't understand it."

Ward's face flushed, for it seemed as if Big Smith meant to be personal. Perhaps the recent return of his own popularity was the more marked because of its very contrast with his previous record and position.

An angry reply rose to his lips, but in a moment the interview with Mr. Crane flashed into his mind, and he bit his lips and remained silent. "'Great-hearted,' 'large-minded,'" he thought. "I suppose Mr. Crane was trying to get me to stretch my soul a bit, and I'll try not to be petty and small to-day, anyway."

"Big Smith," said Jack solemnly, rising and moving his right arm up and down after the manner of a pump-handle as he spoke, "there's a great truth in what you say. I've suffered from the effects of it, lo, these seventeen years. I've often thought if I'd fallen into evil ways or joined in a few scrapes, that when the school saw, as the fellows all must see now, the mighty change in me, they'd give me a good deal more credit than they do. But they just take it all for granted, you see, and expect me to do well every time."

"You can laugh all you please," said Big Smith, "but it's true. Now look at Ward. He's been in more scrapes than I, for I never was in one since I came to Weston; but just see how all the fellows, or almost all of them, are talking him up on every side. They never talk in that way about me, and yet I've tried to do right all the time."

The angry word this time almost escaped Ward's lips, but before he could speak Jack quickly replied, and as Ward looked at Big Smith again he was glad he had not spoken. It was evident the big fellow was in "dead earnest," as the boys phrased it, and Ward thought he even saw traces of moisture in his eyes. Surprise overcame his feeling of resentment, and he stopped to listen to Jack, who had resumed his pump-handle gesture.

"The trouble with you, Big Smith, is that you are a prig. It isn't that you don't do wrong that makes the fellows feel toward you as they do. In their hearts there isn't a fellow who doesn't respect the chap who tries to do right, and they wish they were like him too. But you're a regular grandmother, Big Smith. You've been a big fellow in your own town, and when you went away to school you thought you were doing a big thing. Then you come up here and the first thing you do you go to reaching out and patting all the rest of us bad little boys on our heads. You rebuke us; you think we're all on the downward road because we don't do just what you want us to; and then you expect everybody to do for you instead of trying to be of some use to the fellows. Why, from the time last Mountain Day, when you left others to carry the luggage and then when night came took all of Pond's bedquilt to yourself, every fellow in the school thought you were for Big Smith first, last, and all the time."

"But I was cold that night," said Big Smith solemnly.

"And what did you think of Pond? And whose bedquilt did you think that was? Now Pond never was in any scrape, and yet the fellows all take to him. You're never in any scrape, either, but you've got to do more than that, let me tell you. You heard about the man who never said a foolish thing and never did a wise one, didn't you? Well, let me tell you that a fellow has got to have something more than negative goodness to make him count in the Weston school."

The boys looked with wonder at Jack as they heard him speak. It was all so different from his usual manner that not one of them could understand him, and almost in consternation they turned to see how Big Smith was receiving the lesson.

CHAPTER XIX

JACK'S SERMON

"I don't just know that I understand what you mean," said Big Smith slowly. "Isn't doing right the same as not doing wrong? That's what I've been taught, that a good fellow was one who didn't drink and swear and steal."

"You've got the cart before the horse, my distinguished friend," replied Jack. "A fellow isn't good because he doesn't do those things, but he doesn't do them because he is good. Now I know a place where there are more than a thousand men living all together. They neither drink, swear, nor steal; they don't even fight. Not one of them."

"That must be a fine community, Jack," said Big Smith quickly.

"Well, it isn't. It's one of the toughest places 'in all this broad land of ours,' to quote from Ward's last speech. Not much. I don't think you, even you, Big Smith, would like it there, even with all the virtues I have mentioned, and they're not half of them, let me tell you, either. I could give you a catalogue more than a yard long, just like them."

"I don't see, Jack. I think you must be joking. What's the place?"

"Never was more serious in all my life," replied Jack lightly. "Now listen, and I'll give you the name of the place. It's the State prison."

Big Smith looked blankly at Jack for a moment, while all the other boys present burst into a loud laugh. It was not so much what Jack had said as the expression of amazement which spread over Big Smith's face as he heard the words.

The laughter of the boys continued for several minutes, and at last Big Smith said slowly: "I never in all my life before thought of it in that way, Jack. Up where I live, when they speak of a good boy they always mean one who doesn't do anything bad."

"And right they are," said Jack, with a laugh; "that is, right as far as they go. The only trouble is they don't go far enough. Any old pumpkin out in the field doesn't do any of these things either, but they don't call the pumpkin 'good' on that account, at least as far as I've ever observed. Did you ever go to a circus, Big Smith?"

"I never did."

"Well, that's all right; I'm not telling you you ought to. All I mean is that if you should happen to go some time, just to take the children, you know, of course, you'd probably see a lot of cages there. And the cages would be full of awful beasts. Wild animals, you know. There'd be the hyena, he's a very cheerful bird; and there'd be the rhinoceros, and the elephant, and the tiger, and the mosquito, and the lion, and all sorts of gr-o-w-ling, savage beasts of the field," and Jack's voice became low as if he were trying to imitate the sounds of the animals he named. "Now, Big Smith, if you ever were so naughty as to take the children to see such sights, you'd feel perfectly safe, because not one of those monsters was ever known to devour a man, woman, or even one of the children, for whose sake you probably had gone. You see they're held back by the bars, and they can't do any damage, no matter how tempting your tender flesh might appear to be. But, Big Smith, honestly, you wouldn't feel any warmer toward the gentle hyena, or the mild and smiling tiger, would you? or think it any safer to leave those tender little infants you had gotten together, and for whose sake alone you had gone to the circus--I mean just to see the animals, of course--there in the tent, if the bars were all taken away, although not one of those animals had ever done any damage to any man?"

"I--I--don't just see the point," said Big Smith, somewhat bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"Alas! alas!" said Jack in mock despair. "Well, what I mean is just this. You don't trust a lion or a tiger in the menagerie because he hasn't done any harm. So you don't always take to a fellow just because he's never done anything very bad, either. He may be held back, he may be afraid, he may not know anything about the bad, and so not do it because he doesn't know enough to do it. Now, Ned Butler, who graduated last year, you know, or Little Puddle's big brother, why either or both of those fellows just gripped the whole school, you see. They never were in any of the mean things, but there was something besides that. They tried not only not to do wrong, but they also tried to do right. Every fellow in the school knew that both of those boys were just doing their level best to do the square thing every time, as well as keep out of the mean things. It wasn't half so much what they did not do as what they did do that counted, let me tell you. They had good, red blood in their veins every time, and the boys knew and felt it too, but it seemed just as if they used every ounce of muscle they had to do something. They weren't thinking of the things they didn't do."

"I--I--think I'm beginning to see what you mean," said Big Smith quietly.

"I'm mighty glad you are able to see the point once in your life," said Jack good-naturedly.

"You'd better be glad," interrupted Ward, who sympathized somewhat with Big Smith in his manifest trouble, "you'd better be glad that you were able to make the point plain enough to be seen for once in your life, Jack, as I've told you so many times lately."

The lad laughed heartily, for he was one of the few boys who was willing to receive as well as give the bantering of the school.

Turning again to Big Smith, and noting the unusual seriousness of his manner he said, in a far more gentle tone than he had before used, "Honestly, Big Smith, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. You started the thing you know, and asked me what I thought was the reason you didn't stand better with the fellows, and I told you just what I thought. It was none of my business, and I ought not to have done it. Who am I to preach to you? I'm one of those who do just exactly the opposite of the very thing I've been urging on you, for I leave undone those things which I ought to have done, and do the things which I ought not to do. Forgive me if I've said what I ought not to have said," and Jack, in his impulsive way, stretched forth his hand.

Big Smith took it, but made no reply, and in a few moments slipped quietly out of the room.

As soon as he was gone Jack began to upbraid himself for the words he had spoken, and in a brief time he too departed. None of the boys ever knew of the visit he immediately made in Big Smith's room, nor did they ever hear of the long conversation between the two boys which followed.

It was soon evident, however, that a change of some kind was coming over Big Smith. Many of his ways were greatly modified, and his devotion to Jack Hobart became as marked as it was strange.

None of the boys, however, thought very much of the matter, for Jack was universally popular, and no one could long retain a grudge against him, and to that fact was probably attributed the new departure in the case of Big Smith.

Pond returned to the school on the following week, and great was the rejoicing among his friends. The boy had but little money, and while in his calm, quiet way he never concealed the fact nor hesitated to give it as a reason for not entering into many of the projects of his companions, he never obtruded it nor referred to his poverty as if he gloried in it. He was one of the most popular boys in the Weston school, thoroughly respected and warmly loved for his genuine manliness.

He had continued his studies during his absence, and had been able to keep well up with his class, and as soon as he returned Ward at once perceived that Pond was determined to retain the laurels he had won in the preceding year if hard work would accomplish it.

It soon became manifest that the struggle for the first place in the class lay between Ward, Pond, and Berry, but the three boys lost none of their regard for one another in the contest.

Ward learned more easily than either of the other two, but he lacked the steady, dogged, even ways of Pond. There were occasions when he was strongly tempted to neglect his work, and indeed did even neglect it, but not for a long time. He had been taught a severe lesson, and with the higher impulses now in his heart, and the longing to carry home to his father a report which he was well aware would give him higher pleasure than anything else he could do for him, he held himself well to his work in the main, and was recognized as one of the leaders in his class.

In the even lines of the school work there came many pleasant breaks. On Mountain Day the summit of the great hill was climbed as it had been in the preceding year by the most of the boys of the Weston school, and many of the experiences which have already been recorded were repeated.

The party of friends, with Little Pond and Big Smith occasionally added, tramped over the hills in quest of chestnuts, and never failed to return with a goodly store. On the brief half-holidays, until the snow came, they would take their luncheons and start forth to explore some of the beauties of the region in which Weston lay, and the hills would echo and re-echo with the sounds of healthful boyish shouts and laughter, the best sounds in all this world.

Ward Hill was happy. The past seldom rose before him now, or if it did come for a moment and awaken a sharp pang, it was soon put aside as the consciousness of the efforts he was then making came to take its place. And Ward was working faithfully. He was doing so much more and so much better than ever he had done before, that it seemed to him as if he was working intensely. He had yet to learn some of the necessities and possibilities in that line.

The enmity of Tim Pickard and the "Tangs" still continued, but for the most part it was expressed in sneers and attempted slights rather than by any open manifestations; but Ward felt that he could endure all that easily now in the knowledge he had of the regard with which most of the boys looked up to him since the day of the great game with the Burrs. And then too, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he was not neglecting his work, and that results were already becoming more and more plain.

Once, it is true, his room was "stacked" again, when he had carelessly left the door unlocked, but he did not care so much for that as he did that Pond's room was also upset on the same day. Coming up the stairs together they discovered two of the younger boys at work in very midst of the mischief. They administered a sound "seniorly" spanking, and made the little fellows confess that Tim Pickard had told them to do what they were doing.

As soon as the chastening and some good advice had been given, Pond insisted upon going at once to Tim's room and "having it out with him" as he expressed it. Nothing loth, Ward assented, and the two boys at once went down to Mrs. Perrins' and found Tim by chance in his room.

The presence of his visitors evidently confused the lad at first, but soon assuming a bold manner he listened to what Pond had to say.

"We've come down here to tell you, Tim, that you're not to set any more of the little fellows up to stacking our rooms again."

"I haven't stacked your rooms," said Tim boldly.

"I'm not talking about that," said Pond, speaking in a quiet manner, frequently deceiving to those who were not well acquainted with him. He was seldom angry, but his very quietness gave the impression that it would not be wise to push him unduly. "I'm not talking about that," repeated Pond. "All I said was that you were not to set any more of the little fellows up to such tricks as stacking our rooms."

"Have the little imps gone and squealed? I'll fix----"

"Now look here, Tim," said Pond, still speaking quietly, and his manner betrayed no excitement, "you know me and I know you. There isn't any use in dodging this thing. Ward and I caught the little fellows right in the act, and we spanked them till we made them own up. It wasn't their fault but ours if they told, and it wasn't their fault that they were in such petty business, either. I don't think they will be in it again."

"What'll you do to stop it?" sneered Tim. "Go and tell the doctor, won't you?"

"I'm not making any threats," replied Pond; "all I'm saying is that this has got to stop. You can't afford to do it, Tim, and as for me, it costs me too much to come up here to have anybody rob me of what I came for. I haven't any time to spend in setting up my room. I need all the time I can get to hold my place in the class," and he turned and smiled slightly at Ward as he spoke. "Now you know, Tim, what I've come for, and that's all there is to it. I'm after the work, and I haven't a spark of the nonsense some of the fellows talk about, putting up with all sorts of tricks, to call them by no worse names, that any one may feel disposed to play on them. That's what I came for, and now I've said all I have to say. Good-night, Tim."

Tim did not reply to the salutation as Ward and Pond turned and went out of the room.

At the door they met Jack, who had just come down for his supper, and to him Ward related all that Pond had said and done.

Jack whistled when he had heard all and said, "That's what you may call bearding the lion in his den. Maybe it will work all right and maybe it won't. They won't bother you again till after Christmas, but my opinion is that you'll have to look out then."

"What'll he do? Why will he wait until after Christmas?" said Ward.

"Nobody knows what he'll do; it won't be stacking your room, though, I'm thinking. I think he won't dare to stir things up before that time, for he knows he's on his good behavior himself; but it'll come somehow, I'm sure, for Tim's fighting mad."

Jack's prophecy, so far as nothing being done before Christmas, proved to be correct. Nothing occurred to disturb the quiet and harmony of the school.

The little flurries of snow were soon followed by heavier falls, and the wintry winds began to be heard throughout the valley. The crests of the hills were the first to be covered by the snow, but soon it crept down the sides and over the meadows, and when at last the end of the term had come, the snow lay deep over all the landscape, one of the heaviest falls ever known in Weston, even the oldest inhabitants declared.

Of Ward's welcome home, of the good time he had, and the happiness which this time was his, we cannot write here.

When his report came, Ward found that he was third in his class. He knew then that both Pond and Berry must be in advance of him, and he felt somewhat disappointed. The pride and rejoicing of his father over the improvement, however, were so great, and as Ward himself was aware that he had done good work, he did not refer to his own feelings, but he resolved none the less that he would try to show both Pond and Berry that in the coming term if they held their laurels it would be only by the strongest kind of effort.

The "coming term," however, was to be an unusual one even in the annals of the Weston school, but Ward's heart was light, and not a shadow of the future at this time darkened it.

The vacation at last was ended, and Ward and Henry departed from Rockford in the midst of a severe snowstorm. The storm changed to rain before they arrived at the end of their journey, and that night there was a sharp freeze.

In the morning, when they left their room to go to their breakfast, they found that the crust of the snow was strong enough to bear their weight, and in every direction they could see the boys running, sliding, slipping, falling over the smooth surface, while all the time shouts and laughter could be heard on every side.

CHAPTER XX

DOWN WEST HILL

"Come on, Henry, let's go over to Jack's room," said Ward as they came out of the dining hall together.

The zest of the meeting with the boys was not yet gone and as they came into the hall or went together down the steps, the boisterous laughter still continued.

But Ward was not entirely jubilant, and as he looked about him at his noisy companions, perhaps he was somewhat suspicious that all were not so happy as the sounds of their laughter might lead an inexperienced observer to believe.

The winter term was the long, hard term of the year. In the fall, while each boy was aware that a long stretch of weeks intervened between him and the joyous Christmas time when he would again be at home, there were yet the re-unions after the long vacation, and the formation of new friendships as well as the renewal of the old ones; there was the excitement of the outdoor athletic sports, and the long tramps over the hills and through the valleys, to say nothing of the Mountain Day, which was one of the features of school life at Weston.

In the spring, in addition to the fact that the term itself was a brief one, there was also all the joy which the returning summer brought, and the thought of a speedy return home.

But the winter term was long and sometimes dreary. Storms swept over the valley, the fierce winds piled the heavy fall of snow into mountain-like drifts, and there was not very much to vary the monotony of the school life. It was the time when the hardest work was demanded and done, and the natural consequence was that as the Weston boys came thronging back to the school after the Christmas vacation time more than one of them returned with hearts that were somewhat heavy within them.

But all the boys had a dread of even the appearance of homesickness, and by every available method each sought to create the impression that he at least was not suffering from that dreaded disease.

Just why this was so, no one could explain. Surely no boy had any cause to feel ashamed of his love for his home and his desire to look again upon the faces of those whom he loved and those who loved him. But whatever the explanation, or lack of explanation, it was still true that many of the boys looked forward with anything but pleasure to the days of the winter term, and yet few were willing to acknowledge their feelings.

Ward Hill was no exception to the general rule at Weston. As he came out of the dining hall that evening and the cold, wintry air struck him full in the face, he lifted his eyes and looked at the snow-clad hills which shut in the valley. The towering monarchs seemed to be absolutely pitiless and forlorn in the starlight. Snow and leafless trees, and cold and lifeless landscapes seemed to be all about him and even the laughter of the boys sounded noisy and unnatural, as if his boisterous companions either were striving to drown their thoughts by their protests, or were endeavoring to force themselves into some kind of a belief that they really were glad to be back together in school again.

He was sharing in the general depression, and in addition to his desire to see Jack was the longing to be cheered, and perhaps compelled to forget the immediate pressure by the contagious and irresistible good nature of his friend.

Henry gladly yielded assent and in a few moments they entered Jack's room and had received his somewhat noisy welcome. Berry also was there, and Pond and his brother came a little later, and in the presence of such friends Ward's gloomy thoughts soon vanished.

"And how are all the good people at Rockford?" said Jack eagerly. "That's the best town I ever was in in my life. I don't see why they need any churches or preachers there for my part; a fellow has to make a desperate effort if he wants to do anything bad there."

Ward smiled at Jack's words as he replied to his question. He thought he might be able to explain to his friend that even Rockford was not free from all temptations, but Jack soon broke in again.

"If I didn't want Pond here to come to New York and take charge of the church I attend just as soon as he's ready to begin to preach, I'd say to him go up to Rockford. They are awfully good up there."

"Yes, some of us 'too good to be true,' I'm afraid," said Ward quietly.

"You don't suppose I'm going to a place where I'd have nothing to do but loaf, do you?" protested Pond. "No sir! I'm going to a place where there's work, and plenty of it too."

Ward glanced quickly at Henry and noticed the pained expression upon his face at Pond's innocent reference to the position of a preacher in Rockford. He was well aware of the almost passionate devotion with which Henry regarded his father, and indeed the feeling was somewhat shared by Ward himself as he pictured to himself even then the saintly beautiful face of Dr. Boyd.

"I don't know about that, Pond," he said quickly. "My impression is that Henry's father doesn't think he's lying in a bed of roses with such a scapegrace as I am to look after. I rather think it depends upon the man almost as much as it does upon the place he's in whether he works or not."

"That isn't what I mean," said Pond, perceiving at once that he had said something which might better have been left unsaid. "I know there's work even in Rockford, and there's a worker for the work too. I was only speaking for myself, and what I meant was that the place where there's the most to be done is the one which appeals most to me."

"Good for you, Pond," said Jack hastily. "My church is the place for you. The men there think if they give lots of money, and pay a good big salary to the preacher they've done all that's required of them. But honestly I'm most afraid the missionary part was left out of me. I like a good time. And fellows," he hastily added, "I've brought something back with me just for that very purpose. I got one and Tim Pickard's got one too. He brought his up on the same train with me."

"What's that you've got?" said Ward, voicing the immediate interest of all in the room.

"I've the daintiest bob you ever saw. Come out in the hall and see it."

The boys followed the eager lad, and there in the hall stood the long sled which Jack had brought. It was shod with slender steel runners, and in its narrowness appeared to be even longer than it really was. It was beautifully upholstered and equipped with the most approved steering apparatus.

"Isn't she a beauty?" said Jack enthusiastically. "I wouldn't dare tell you what my father paid for her. I just hinted that I wanted the best affair in all the city, and behold! just before I started for the train, this bob put in an appearance."

The enthusiasm of the boys was almost equal to that of the sled's owner, as they noted its good points and examined it critically.

"We'll have some fun on her," said Jack. "She's like an arrow almost. What is it we sing in chapel, 'Swift as an arrow cleaves the air'? Well, that's what this bob can do. She's a good ten feet in length, and I think she won't tarry very long on her way down West Hill, do you?"

"How many will she carry, Jack?" inquired Ward.

"All I can put on her. I can pack away ten or twelve, and maybe more. We'll soon see. Come up on West Hill to-morrow afternoon after study hour, will you, fellows?"

All the boys eagerly accepted the invitation, and on the following afternoon joined Jack and together dragged the long, slender bob up West Hill.

West Hill was a long hill with several bends in the road and a number of very sharp descents, between which were long stretches where the road ran downward, but in a gradual incline. From the place where the boys at last stopped, to the street on which the school buildings stood it was at least a mile, and they were all eager to see in what time the new bob could carry them that distance.

The pathway was almost like ice, for the cold weather still continued and the recent sharp freeze had left a hard coating over all the snow. When at last the party of seven boys halted, for both Big and Little Smith had joined them, they were far above the valley. The trees had a coating of frost and glistened in the afternoon sunlight. The pathway was hard and firm and did not yield beneath their weight. The air was crisp, but the boys were clothed to meet that and no one thought of the cold.

"Get ready there!" shouted Jack, as he took his seat in front on the sled and grasped the little ropes by which he was to steer. He braced his feet against the ice to hold the sled in its position and waited for the boys to take their positions behind him.

One after another took his place on the sled, carefully bracing his feet and grasping the body of the boy in front of him tightly with both arms. Ward was to have the position in the rear and was to give the push which should start them on their long journey.

"All ready?" shouted Ward taking his place.

"All ready! Let her go!" shouted Jack in reply.

Ward began to push, and as the sled began to move slowly gave it one more hard shove and it had started. Then running swiftly behind it he leaped quickly upon it, braced his feet and tightly grasped Henry, who was seated next before him.

The sled began to move slowly at first, but in a moment its speed increased and soon it seemed to the excited boys as if they were almost flying over the smooth and slippery surface. Faster and faster sped the long sled and the sharp air seemed almost to cut their faces like a knife.

Down the long descent the sled swept on and soon came to the first of the sharp falls. It seemed then almost to leap from the ground and shoot through the air, as indeed it did for a number of feet, then struck the ground and swept onward with an ever-increasing speed.

Ward thought of Jack's reference to the arrow cleaving the air, and it seemed as if that was just what the swift-flying sled was doing.

On and on, swifter and swifter sped the party. Around one of the bends in the road they passed, and the boys clung more tightly to one another, for it seemed at first as if they would be flung from their places; but Jack was doing nobly as steersman and held his beloved sled well to its place in the road. Down another of the sharp descents they passed and the speed was again increased. It seemed as if nothing could move more swiftly than they were sweeping down the long hillside. The vision of the fences by the roadside and of the few scattered farmhouses and barns was all confused and indistinct so rapidly did they pass. Down, down, and ever downward sped the sled, and the excitement of the breathless boys increased each moment.

Another of the bends in the road lay before them, and almost before they were aware of it they were sweeping around the curve, and before them lay the last of the sharp falls in the road.

As they turned the bend a loud warning cry burst from Jack's lips, and as the frightened boys glanced quickly before them, they had an indistinct vision of another party of boys coming up the hill dragging a long bob behind them. The warning cry was heard just in time, and the startled boys only succeeded in swiftly leaping to one side before Jack's sled was upon them. It just grazed the edge of the other sled, and then before any one could utter a word was yards away down the hillside. Not one of the boys spoke, but their faces were white and drawn, and the peril they had barely escaped caused their hearts to beat wildly.

Again the sled seemed to leap and shoot through the air as it came to the last fall, and swift as its motion had been before, it became even swifter now. The fences and trees seemed to fly past them. It was even difficult to breathe in the cold and rushing air. On and on swept the sled with its load, until at last the long road had been traversed and they approached the little hill which was near the village.

Up the ascent the sled plunged on its way, then down the hillside on the farther side, then up again on its way to the last of the rises in the ground before they approached the school buildings.

But the upward movement now began to tell even on the swiftly flying bob and its speed visibly slackened. Slowly and still more slowly it moved, and when at last it had gained the high ground on which West Hall stood it came to a standstill.

With a heavy sigh the boys leaped off and stood together facing Jack, who was holding the ropes by which he had steered, in his hand.

"Whew!" said Jack enthusiastically. "That's what I call coasting, fellows!"

"Coasting!" said Ward. "That isn't any name for it. That's flying, that's what it is--just flying. I feel as if we'd been shot through the air and didn't, even touch the ground. I say, Jack, I've got a name for your bob."

"What is it?"

"'The Arrow.' ,'Swift as an arrow cleaves the air,' you know. You can't improve on that name if you try ten years. Call her 'The Arrow,' Jack."

"All right," said Jack laughingly in reply. "'The Arrow' it is then. I'll have her all painted up in colors in a day or two. Come on, fellows, and we'll try it again."

The boys turned to follow Jack up West Hill again; but no one spoke for a time, as the excitement following the swift ride had not yet disappeared.

Ward was walking by Jack's side assisting in dragging the sled, and when they were half-way up the hillside they quickly called to their companions to "look out," and then swiftly darted to one side of the road drawing the long sled with them. Just before them they could see the other bob coming swiftly on its way, and as it swept past them they discovered that Tim Pickard was steering it. Doubtless it was his bob, and the party consisted of his boon companions.

"I say, Jack," said Ward soberly, "this is lots of fun, but it's dangerous too. You don't suppose Tim would leave his bob so that we might happen to strike it on our way down, do you? It would be all day with us if he should do such a thing."

"No, I don't believe Tim would do that," replied Jack lightly, although Ward thought he could see that his friend was troubled by the suggestion. "No, I don't believe Tim would do that," repeated Jack. "He's got the disposition to upset us, but I don't believe he'd do it. He thinks too much of his bob to run the risk of a collision."

Nothing more was said by either of the boys, and in a brief time they arrived at the summit of West Hill and prepared once more for the long ride.

The party was arranged just as it had been in the preceding ride, and as soon as Ward saw that all the boys were ready, he began again to push the heavy load and as the sled started, he ran lightly behind it and then leaped upon it in his former position.

CHAPTER XXI

THE ARROW AND THE SWALLOW

Again the swift descent of the long hill was made, and then once more the boys climbed back to the starting point.

Tim Pickard and his friends were passed each time, but no trouble came, the owner of the other bob either not caring to disturb them then, or else, as Jack suggested, he feared the damage which might come to his own sled from a collision.

When at last the boys returned to their rooms, they were all enthusiastic over the sport of the afternoon and were eagerly looking forward to the following day when the experience might be repeated.

Indeed it was not long before the entire school seemed to feel the contagion of the sport, and sleds and improved bobs were to be seen every afternoon upon the long course of West Hill. Even the towns-people came to share in the coasting, and many strange looking sleds soon made their appearance.

One in particular attracted much attention. It was made of two rude low sleds such as the farmers used to draw their heavy loads of wood in the winter. It was an immense affair, and frequently fifteen or twenty young men would be packed together upon it, and when the rough-looking contrivance made its appearance it was sure to have every right of way, as no one cared to stand in its path.

Even the ladies soon joined in the sport and West Hill presented a gay appearance, covered as it frequently was by the merry crowds. Some of the towns-people had horses to drag the heavy sleds back up the hill and to enable the ladies to avoid the trouble of climbing, but the Weston boys did not consider it much of a task to retrace their steps; and indeed the pleasure was perhaps increased by the difficult ascent.

Jack soon had the name which Ward had suggested painted in bright colors on his bob, and the fame and the speed of "The Arrow" seemed to increase daily.

Among the coasting contrivances none seemed to be equal to it except the bob which Tim Packard owned and which he had named "The Swallow," perhaps from some fancied resemblance between its swiftness and the flight of that bird.

The school had "gone mad," as Jack phrased it, over the coasting on West Hill. The time between supper and the evening study hour also was given up to the sport, and instead of soon tiring of it, the interest and excitement seemed to increase with every passing day.

But among all the sleds and bobs none appeared to belong to the class of "The Arrow" and "The Swallow," and they were soon the acknowledged leaders of them all. The events which followed were perhaps only a natural outcome of that fact and a trial between the two soon came to be talked of among the boys.

"Ward," said Jack, one evening about two weeks after the beginning of the winter term, "Tim wants to have a race between his bob and mine. What do you think of it?"

"I didn't think he'd condescend to race with us," replied Ward, almost unconsciously assuming a partial ownership in "The Arrow." Jack apparently did not notice that there was anything of assumption either in Ward's words or manner, for while the generous-hearted boy had fully shared the pleasures of his bob among the boys of the school, his love for Ward had led to his being a member of every party formed. He declared that Ward alone knew just how to start "The Arrow" aright, and that much of its success was due to that very fact. And Ward in his joy had not stopped long to consider the matter, and soon came almost to regard the swift-flying bob as a joint possession.

"Condescend?" said Jack. "It's no condescension on his part, let me tell you, to have a race with 'The Arrow.' His old tub isn't to be mentioned with it."

"That's all right; I wasn't referring to the bobs, but to Tim's present feelings."

"Well, I fancy Tim did have to swallow hard once or twice before he could bring himself up to the point of challenging 'The Arrow.' But, you see, so many of the fellows are interested and have talked so much about the two bobs that Tim probably couldn't stand it any longer. So the upshot of it all is that he wants a race."

"I think we can accommodate him," said Ward. "When does he want it to come off?"

"Next Saturday afternoon's the time he mentioned. I suppose we can suit ourselves about that, though. When do you think is the best time?"

"Oh, that'll do as well as any. That is, if the weather holds good. How many are to be in each party?"

"We shall have you and me, of course, and then there'll be Luscious, and Henry, and Big and Little Smith, and Puddle and his big brother. That'll be eight all together."

"Why do you take the little fellows?"

"Oh, it'll be fun for them," replied Jack. "Tim'll carry the same number, eight."

"Yes, but his load will be heavier. Little Pond and Little Smith are both so light that they won't count for very much, I'm afraid."

"Oh well, never mind that. They'll get some fun out of it anyhow, and that'll be almost as good as winning the race. But I'm not afraid, even if Tim does have a heavier load. I guess 'The Arrow' will cleave the air all right."

The race was soon arranged and at once became the exciting topic in the school life. Three days only intervened and the boys of the rival parties were not idle. Daily they went up on West Hill, and Jack tried several new methods of steering, while Ward practised the "send-off," upon which they all relied.

Saturday dawned clear and bright, and the afternoon promised to be almost ideal for the race. Long before the time when it was to occur, the boys of the school took various positions along the roadside to watch the race, although many of them preferred the place in front of West Hall, which was to be the terminus, and there they could witness the finish and at once determine which had won.

Ward had suggested that the race should be "on time," that is, that each bob should go over the course alone and that the time occupied by each should be carefully kept, and the merits of the bobs be determined in that manner. There would be less danger by adopting that method, and he could not disguise the fact, in spite of his excitement, that the race was fraught with more or less of peril. The unanimous protest of all his companions, however, had served to do away with his suggestion, and he had said no more.

It was arranged that the course should be gone over three times and that the bob which won two of the three races should be declared the victor.

Much time had been spent in polishing the long, slender steel runners of "The Arrow," and everything which was likely to add to its speed and safety was carefully looked to.

At last the appointed time arrived and the eight boys who were to comprise "The Arrow's" load started up West Hill, each grasping the long rope and assisting in drawing the bob after them.

A cheer from their friends followed them as they started forth from West Hall, and at intervals along the road they were greeted by the plaudits of the boys. It was evident that most of the school desired them to win, though Tim was not entirely lacking in supporters.

As they drew near the hilltop, it was seen that the rival party was already there, and a crowd of boys stood about "The Swallow" admiring her strength and speed, and talking over her various good points.

Many of the boys who were there to see the start, planned to go down the hill after the first race and be with those who were assembled near West Hall to witness the finish in the succeeding races. Mr. Blake was to be the starter, while Mr. Crane was to be the judge at the end of the course, and they had left him with the crowd in the village.

The excitement was now at the highest pitch. Lots were soon drawn for choice of sides in the road, and as Jack won he selected the right, although there was no advantage in that, and the allotment had been made only to insure perfect fairness for all. The bobs were soon in position and Ward took his stand behind "The Arrow" ready to make the start, while Ripley was waiting to do a similar work for "The Swallow."

The pathway was all cleared and the boys along the roadside were to see that the way was kept clear throughout the course. Ward could see the eager faces of those who were assembled at the starting-place as he glanced about him. They stood back from the road, but were leaning forward intent upon every movement of the rivals.

Jack and Tim had taken their positions in front, for each was to steer his own sled. Tim's face betrayed no feeling, but as he glanced at Ripley, Ward could see that in spite of his apparent indifference he felt confident of winning. Indeed, as he returned Ward's glance a sneer spread over his face, which served to rouse his rival still more. How Ward did wish to win that race! They must have it! And the eager lad determined to give "The Arrow" such a start as she never before had.

"Are you ready?" called Mr. Blake, his tall, angular form bending in the excitement which he shared with the boys. "When I count three you're to start."

He took his watch from his pocket and then glanced once more about him to see that all were ready for the signal to be given.

"One! Two! THREE!"

Instantly Ward bent to his task and "The Arrow" began to move before him. Harder and harder he pushed, and as the speed instantly increased he leaped lightly into his seat and tightly grasped the body of Big Smith who was seated directly in front of him. Unmindful of the frantic cheers of the boys in the assembly behind him he turned to look at "The Swallow." Neither side apparently had gained any advantage in the start, and now the two bobs were speeding onward side by side.

The speed increased, but the two sleds still kept the same relative positions. On down the hillside swept the rivals, and soon they were almost flying through the air. The cold wind made their eyes water, but as yet neither Jack nor Tim had for a moment withdrawn his attention from the task before him. Both fully realized the necessity of constant watchfulness and were resolved that not an advantage should be lost.

Cheers arose from the boys waiting by the roadside, but almost before they could be heard they sounded far away behind them. Both sleds were well handled and were doing nobly.

Around the first bend in the road they swept almost together, and soon the first of the steep descents was gained. Almost as if they were not touching the ground the sleds shot through the air, but the increasing swiftness apparently was equally shared by them both. Side by side the two sleds swept onward. The speed increased each moment, and as yet it was impossible to determine which was gaining the advantage. On and on they sped, "swifter than the wings of the wind."

Around the next curve, then on down the next fall in the road, then around the next bend. More than half of the course had now been covered and still the sleds sped forward side by side.

Before them lay the last of the steep places, and as in an instant they seemed to be upon it, Ward gave a shout as he saw "The Arrow" push slightly forward in advance of its rival. The advantage was very slight but still it was an advantage, for he was nearly abreast of Tim Pickard, who was seated in front on "The Swallow" and steering his own sled, as we know.

Before them now there lay the two little hills. The issue of the race would be decided by the ability to withstand the slackening of speed which was sure to come there.

Up the first little hill both sleds went, and Ward's shouts redoubled as he saw that "The Arrow" was forging slightly ahead. They were just about a sled length beyond their opponents now, and it seemed to him that he could almost hear the labored breathing of Tim Pickard who was just behind him. The lighter load was a very decided advantage now, Ward thought, in climbing the hill, and he blamed himself for having made any protest against the younger boys being made members of the party.

As they passed down the little hill "The Swallow" gained slightly, but as they began the ascent of the last remaining hill again the lighter weight of "The Arrow's" load began to tell, and when at last they gained the summit it was once more a full length in advance.

They could see West Hall in the distance now, and as the descent was begun they all knew that the last stretch of the course was at hand. The waiting boys had already obtained a glimpse of the racers and their shouts in the distance could be distinctly heard. Plainer and plainer grew the sounds, but Ward's heart sank as he glanced behind him and saw that "The Swallow" was slowly creeping up on them. Her heavier load began to tell now as the descent was fairly entered upon. Ward felt as if he must get off and push the bob before him. What was the trouble? Why was it that "The Arrow" seemed to drag on her way? Slowly and yet steadily he could see that "The Swallow" was gaining. First Tim Pickard came alongside, and then one after another was directly by his side. On and on moved the sleds and soon "The Swallow" was a little in advance.

The cheers of the waiting assembly redoubled now that the bobs were in plain view and the end of the course had been almost gained.

Still "The Swallow" pushed ahead, and when at last the end had been gained she crossed the line more than a length in advance of her rival.

Shouts and cheers greeted the outcome of the first race, even the boys who had not favored "The Swallow" shouting till they were almost beside themselves in their excitement.

Ward and his companions rose from their seats, but they were downcast and disheartened.

"Never mind, Ward," said Jack lightly as they started again up the hill, "'one swallow doesn't make a summer,' you know. They haven't won the race yet. It's the best two out of three and we've a good fighting chance left."

"'The Arrow's' the swifter bob," said Ward disconsolately. "There's no doubt at all about that. They beat us by their heavier load. We were ahead up to the top of the hill, but when we started down then their weight put in its fine work. We'd have beaten them easily if we'd carried as many pounds of weight as they did."

"Never mind that," said Jack quickly, glancing behind him as he spoke to see whether either of the younger boys had overheard the words. "It's an experience they'll always remember, and it's as great fun to see them have a good time as it is to win. Maybe we'll win this time."

Ward made no reply, nor did he speak again before they had gained the summit of the hill. Many of the boys had left it now to go down to West Hall to witness the finish of the race.

The sleds were soon in readiness for the second race, and this time Jack's prophecy proved to be correct, for "The Arrow" won by three full lengths.

Each had now won once and the third trial would be the deciding one. The excitement of the spectators as well as the boys engaged in the race became more intense now. Nearly all had gone from the summit when for the third time the sleds were drawn up there.

They were quickly reversed and placed in position, and then at the word of Mr. Blake started swiftly down the long course for the third and decisive trial in the race.

CHAPTER XXII

THE MISHAP OF THE ARROW

In spite of his excitement, Ward Hill was not unmindful of the danger which attended the race. While the long road was kept clear of vehicles and passing teams by the boys who were stationed at intervals along the course, yet the speed with which the bobs swept over the smooth surface was terrific, and any little mistake on the part of either Jack or Tim was likely to prove very serious in its consequences.

He knew that both the boys were skillful, and their control of the sleds had been superb up to this time, and that there apparently was no cause for the fear which somehow came upon him when they started on the third and last descent of West Hill.

In a moment, however, all his attention was absorbed by the excitement of the race. While not so many of the boys had been on the summit when they started this time as had been there when the other two starts had been made, their feelings were more intense, and what they lacked in numbers they more than made up by their shouts. Each bob had now won a race, and the third trial would determine which should be the acknowledged champion of the school.

It almost seemed as if the sleds themselves shared in the feelings of the boys. The road was in prime condition, and apparently there was nothing to prevent a full test of the speed of each sled.

At any rate, it seemed to Ward, as he clung tightly to the body of the boy in front of him, as if the speed had very materially increased. And yet almost side by side the two bobs sped on down the hillside.

Far away rose the shouts of the waiting boys as soon as they obtained a glimpse of the oncoming sleds; but almost before the sounds could be heard the bobs swept on and passed the scattered groups, and then again the shouts and cheers from below would be heard. No one on either sled spoke, however, for their feelings were too strong for utterance.

Two of the bends of the road had been passed, and twice had both sleds shot through the air as they came to the sharp descents in the road, and while the speed of each had instantly been increased, as yet neither had gained any perceptible advantage over the other.

As they approached the third bend, however, Ward could see that "The Arrow" was slightly in advance.

Tim Pickard, who was steering "The Swallow," was now just abreast of Little Smith, who was seated in the center of the load which Jack's bob was carrying. The advantage, however, was too slight to be a source of much comfort to the anxious boys, and the slightest mistake on Jack's part might forfeit it all in a moment.

Ward looked ahead of him and could see three boys standing directly in the pathway. They were all waving their arms and shouting together, but Ward thought nothing of their appearance, and was satisfied that they would do as all the others had done when the racers came nearer, and step aside to give them a free course down the hill.

A shout arose from "The Arrow's" load as the boys still retained their places in the road, and as the bobs swept swiftly forward, the three still kept their places till the racers were almost upon them. They were shouting and waving their arms all the time, but no one thought of that, and as they darted quickly to the side of the road, the sleds came almost upon them.

"Look out, look out!" suddenly Ward shouted as he glanced at the other sled for it seemed to him that Tim had changed his course and was steering directly into "The Arrow."

"Look out, look out!" he screamed again frantically as he saw that Tim evidently was trying to drive them off from the course. If one or the other did not instantly change there was sure to be a collision.

All the boys on "The Arrow" looked up at Ward's shout of warning, and Jack glanced backward as he heard the call.

"Look out! look out, Tim!" he screamed in his excitement, but the course of "The Arrow" instantly was changed.

Just how it all occurred Ward never knew; whether Jack had for a moment lost control of the sled as he looked backward, or the forward runners of "The Swallow" actually struck the bob he never could tell.

There was for a moment a dull grating sound, as if "The Arrow" had grated on bare ground, and all the boys on it were thrown slightly forward by the sudden checking of the speed.

However, it instantly became apparent that Jack had lost control of the bob. The swift-flying sled left the road, started directly down the bank, and before them, only a few rods away, was a low, rambling stone wall which still appeared above the crust of the snow. There was a shout of alarm from the watching boys by the roadside, a feeling of utter despair in Ward's heart as he perceived there was to be a crash of some kind. But before he or any of the boys could voice their alarm, or roll from the sled which was plunging ahead with no apparent slackening in its speed, there was a sudden shock, and the sled struck the wall, and in a moment Ward felt himself shooting through the air over the heads of his companions.

He was only partially aware of the force with which he struck the hard, smooth crust at last and slid far ahead over its surface. He tried desperately to check his speed, but all of his efforts were without avail, till at last he came sharply against the stone wall which bordered the narrow field on its farther side.

Even then he felt dull and stunned, and for a moment could not move. Just where he was or how he came to be there was not at first apparent to him.

In a brief time, however, he was aware of the shouts and cries behind him and then staggered to his feet. His face and hands were bleeding and his clothing was torn in many places. But all that was instantly forgotten as he perceived from the actions of the boys, who had quickly gathered at the place where the accident had occurred, that something was wrong there. Stumbling, staggering forward, he made his way back, though it seemed to him that every bone in his body was aching and every step gave him pain.

At last he reached the crowd, and as he approached, one of the boys noticing his appearance, turned to him and said quickly, "Are you hurt, Ward?"

"No, I think not," though even while he was speaking he was conscious of the wounds on his face and hands. "No, I think not much," he repeated; "but some of the boys here are, I fear," he hastily added.

Before him stretched upon the snow lay the bodies of Henry, Big Smith, and Jack. The others of the party were standing about as if they were almost as dazed as he, and certainly their appearance was as bad as his own. Some had bleeding noses, some showed great bruises on their faces, and all had their clothing more or less torn by the accident.

"What is it? What is it?" he said hastily, as he pushed his way into the group and approached the three boys who lay stretched upon the snow. Beneath them some of the boys had placed their overcoats, while others had rolled theirs into rude pillows and placed them underneath the heads of the injured boys.

"Are they killed?" he added in a low voice as be gazed at them.

"No, they're not dead," said one in the group; "but Jack's got it the worst of all. He must have fallen under the bob, for his little finger had been almost cut off. The runners must have gone over it. We've tied his hand up with handkerchiefs as best we could. I don't think the other fellows are anything more than stunned. Here comes Mr. Blake," he added, as the tall teacher came running toward them.

But Mr. Blake was not able to do anything more than the boys had done, and the confusion increased.

"Send for a doctor!" "Take them down on the sleds!" "Take the pillows out from under their heads!" "Rub them with snow!" were among the expressions now heard on every side, but no one seemed to be able to take the lead and the confusion increased.

"Here comes Mr. Crane!" shouted one of the boys, and in a moment the teacher approached the group. Tim's sled had gone on down the hill, and when it arrived at the end of the course, great was the astonishment of the assembled boys that it should be alone.

In response to the many questions Tim disclaimed all knowledge of what had become of "The Arrow," simply declaring that he thought there had been an accident of some kind, but that he did not know just what it was.

Mr. Crane had not waited to hear more, and had instantly pressed into service one of the horses and sleighs which had been halted near the place so that the racers might have a free course, and had started up West Hill.

As he obtained a glimpse of the crowd which soon had assembled near the place of the accident, he had needed nothing more to inform him that something of a serious nature had occurred, and leaping lightly out, he left the horse in charge of one of the boys and ran swiftly to the crowd.

The boys at once made way for him, and just as he bent over the boys Big Smith opened his eyes and stared wildly about him. Soon Henry too regained consciousness, and Mr. Crane at once proceeded to make an examination. Big Smith was declared to be all right, but with Henry it was impossible to determine whether his left arm had been broken or not. The slightly movement of it caused him intense pain, and Mr. Crane said:

"We'll have to leave that for a surgeon to determine. We'll now look at this poor boy," and turning to Jack he began to make a further investigation.

Jack was still unconscious, and soon it was decided to carry him back in the sleigh in which Mr. Crane had come. Ward pleaded that he might assist, but one look at him led the teacher to say, "You look as if you needed help yourself, Hill. No, I'll let one of the other boys assist me. Here's another sleigh," he added, as he saw that others had driven to the place. "Doubtless Boyd and Smith can be taken back in that."

The arrangements were soon completed and the three boys were carried back to the school. To the offer to carry him and the other remaining boys on the sleds, Ward said: "No, sir, I don't want any more of that at present. I can't speak for the others; but for myself I'd rather crawl back on my hands and knees. Look at 'The Arrow' too, will you?" he added. "I guess her racing days are done."

"The Arrow" was indeed in apparently a worse plight than that of any of the boys. The collision with the stone wall had torn it apart. One runner was broken loose and the seat lay several feet away from the body of the sled.

It was only about a half-mile back to the school buildings, and in the midst of the constantly increasing crowd of boys who looked upon their injured companions much as if they were heroes, the racers returned. It was a procession in striking contrast with that which had started out.

Just how they made the journey Ward never knew. He felt sore throughout the whole extent of his body, and every step caused him suffering, but somehow it was at last accomplished, and when he went up to his room, Henry was already in bed and one of the other boys, who roomed in West Hall, was there.

"How are you, Henry? Are you hurt much?" inquired Ward hastily.

"No, I think not. It's my arm that's the worst. It may be broken. The doctor is coming soon. But how are you, Ward? You look all torn into pieces."

"Oh, I'm all right," replied Ward hastily. "I got a few scratches and bumps, but some hot water and arnica will soon fix me all right."

And he proceeded immediately to carry out his own directions. But his heart was heavy when he thought of Jack and he could not entirely check the tears that rose in his eyes. Sore and bruised as he was he decided to go at once over to East Hall and learn how his friend was.

What a good fellow Jack was, thought Ward. He would share anything he had with any or all who called upon him. And Tim Pickard! His heart grew bitter and hard when he thought of Tim's dastardly trick. He had been the one to blame for the accident, for doubtless his threatened collision had been the cause of "The Arrow's" leaving the road, and the dire events which had followed.

Ward was a long time washing his wounds and bruises, and by the time he was ready to go over to East Hall, Doctor Leslie, the Weston physician, entered the room with the principal of the school.

He at once began to make an examination of Henry and in a few minutes declared, "There are no broken bones. The left arm has had a bad sprain, and he'll have to carry it in a sling for a while, but I'm confident that otherwise he's not seriously injured and will be around again in a few days."

"Do you think he had better go home?" inquired Doctor Gray anxiously.

"That remains to be seen," replied the physician; "but I hardly think it will be necessary."

"You'd better look at Ward," said Henry, his face beaming in spite of the pain he was suffering, at the doctor's verdict. "He's been hurt too."

"Only a few bruises and scratches," said Ward hastily. "But, doctor, have you seen Jack?"

Doctor Leslie's face clouded as he said: "Yes, I have just come from his room."

"How is he? How is he?" said Ward eagerly. "Is he badly hurt? I want to go over there right away."

"You can't see him, if you do go," said the physician quietly. "I've left orders with Mr. Crane for no one to be admitted into his room. He's to keep the boys in the hall quiet too, and I've telegraphed for his mother."

"Telegraphed for his mother?" said Ward aghast. "Is it as bad as that? Oh, doctor, is he going to die?"

"I trust not, but he is seriously injured. I've been compelled to amputate one of his fingers."

Ward was almost overcome by the kind-hearted physician's words and for a moment he could not speak.

"I think, Hill," said Doctor Gray sympathetically, "that you had better be in bed yourself. Doctor Leslie, isn't there something you can do for him?"

Doctor Leslie left a few directions and then departed with the principal to visit the other boys who had been on the unfortunate "Arrow." Much against Ward's will he was ordered to remain in his room that night and have his supper brought to him.

The following morning, although he felt stiff and sore, he resolutely went down to the dining hall for his breakfast. Henry was in fairly good spirits also, but he was not to leave his room that day. The reports of Jack were not very encouraging and a gloom rested over all the school when the boys assembled in the chapel. The accident of the preceding day was the one topic of conversation and the subdued manners of all the boys showed how deeply they had been touched.

At the close of the service Doctor Gray said: "It is not necessary for me to refer to the distressing accident which occurred yesterday. We all may rejoice that its effects were no worse, bad as they were. In view of the results, which might easily have been fatal, you will all readily understand why it is that from this time forward the use of so-called 'bobs' is strictly prohibited, and no coasting will be allowed except by special permission of the house teachers. I bespeak your sympathy for those who are confined to their rooms and trust you will do all in your power to aid those who are caring for them. You may now pass to your class-rooms."

As the boys filed out of the chapel, many were the words of sympathy heard for Jack Hobart. The popular light-hearted boy would have rejoiced could he have heard the many expressions of interest and good-will, but at that time he cared for none of those things. Rolling and tossing upon his bed in his room in East Hall, he uttered no sounds except an occasional moan, and even the presence of his mother, who had arrived that morning, passed unrecognized by the suffering boy.

Ward was passing to the Latin room and glanced up at the windows in Jack's room. How he did long to go there and do something to aid his friend! Never before he thought had Jack seemed so dear to him. What would life in the Weston school be without him? He almost groaned aloud at the suggestion.

He was in a measure recalled from his sadness by Little Pond who rushed up to him and said: "Ward, I just heard something."

"What is it?" said Ward, only slightly heeding the boy's eager words.

"I heard that some ashes had been sprinkled on the road where the accident occurred."

"What?" said Ward, interested in a moment.

He stopped and for several minutes conversed with his little friend and when he turned to enter the class-room, there was an expression upon his face which had never been seen there before.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE INVESTIGATION

As soon as the recitations were finished that morning, Ward sought out Little Pond and as they walked together to the dining hall, he said:

"What did you mean by what you said about ashes having been sprinkled on the hill yesterday?"

"Brown told me," replied Little Pond. "Brown said he overheard Tim and Ripley talking together this morning before chapel. He wasn't trying to listen you know, but they take their meals at the same place, and as they came out of the house he heard Ripley say something about ashes and then Tim say 'Yes,' and that 'somebody must go up there right away.' Then they suddenly stopped short as they looked behind them and saw Brown so near them. Brown said they looked guilty too, and as they knew he was a good friend to Jack, they probably were afraid he had overheard them."

"What did Brown do then?"

"Oh, he said that it flashed into his mind in an instant just what they'd been up to. He thinks that Tim had arranged with these fellows who stuck to the road yesterday, you remember, there by the last of those steep places till we were almost on them. Brown believes that they had sprinkled ashes over the path, or rather over one of the paths, and that they held their places as they did to drive 'The Arrow' right on to it. Then he thinks too that Tim steered in toward us a bit so as to drive us farther and make sure that we'd be held back."

"The rascal," muttered Ward angrily.

"You don't really think Tim Pickard intended to force us out of the road, do you, Ward?" inquired Little Pond. "I think all he wanted--that is, if Brown's right--was to send us on to the ashes, so that we'd be held back and he'd get a chance to gain enough to let him keep the lead on the way down the hill. I can't believe he'd do anything so bad as to drive us into the wall."

"Oh, Tim Pickard's all gentleness! He wouldn't harm any one! He'd never take a fellow out in a baby carriage and jostle him around over the rough ground, not he! He wouldn't stack a room. He wouldn't do anything that isn't just the proper thing to do! Oh no, Tim Pickard's too good for this world, I mean, of course, the Weston world, you know. For my part, I wish he was taken out of it too. Weston would be a very decent sort of a place without him."

Ward spoke bitterly for his heart was hot against Tim Pickard and the "Tangs." Not that he believed that even Tim would deliberately plan to run the boys into such danger as the load "The Arrow" carried had incurred, but he was well aware of his bitter feeling against him, and to an extent against Jack as well, and also of his desire for "The Swallow" to win the race, and that he would stop at nothing to carry his point.

However, he said nothing more to Little Pond, but as soon as he had finished his dinner, he hastened over to East Hall and had a long conversation with Brown, the result of which was that Brown and Baxter, another of the East Hall boys, soon after dinner started up West Hill to make some investigations near the place where the accident had occurred.

Doctor Leslie came out into the hall as Ward departed and the troubled lad delayed for a moment to learn of Jack's condition.

"He's better, decidedly better," said the kind-hearted physician. "I think he's going to pull through all right if we have no setbacks. It was a great shaking up you boys had."

"It certainly was for Jack and Henry," replied Ward. "The rest of us got a few bruises and scratches, but we don't mind such little things."

"Well, I understand that a physician's services are not likely to be required in any similar cases very soon. I hear the principal has forbidden the use of bobs any more."

"Yes, but our sled's all broken up, so we couldn't use it if we wanted to."

"And that makes Doctor Gray's prohibition more easily borne, does it?" said Doctor Leslie with a smile.

Ward made no response as he started toward West Hall. On his way Mr. Blake overtook him and as they walked on together, the teacher said: "Well, Hill, I hear that Hobart is likely to be about again soon. That was a very careless piece of work."

"Careless? I don't understand what you mean," replied Ward angrily.

"Why, Timothy Pickard tells me that you were trying to cut across his path and get ahead of him in the race. That was hardly fair I think, and it ended just as all tricks are sure to end. I'm sure honesty is the best policy, even in a race between bobs."

"Did Pickard tell you that?"

"Yes; I had quite an extended conversation with him this morning. Timothy has improved greatly since he returned to school this year, as you know, Hill. I confess I was somewhat dubious as to the advisability of receiving him back into the school, but Doctor Gray plainly understood him better than any of us did. There is a certain frankness about Timothy Pickard that I now greatly admire. He has had many conversations with me this year, and I am beginning to feel proud of him. There must be something about the Weston air which is highly conducive to manliness. And, Hill, while I am speaking, let me say that I should rejoice greatly if you too were disposed to manifest a little more friendly disposition toward your teachers. You must bear in mind that we are here for the sole purpose of aiding you, and yet you apparently are not eager to receive it."

If Ward had not been so angry, he would have felt inclined to laugh. It was a new departure for Mr. Blake to assume the role of a helper among the boys. Indeed, at times Ward had felt so keenly the impositions of the boys upon him that he had been many times tempted to take his part. The tall, awkward, ungainly teacher had never been a favorite with any of them. Of his scholarship no one had any doubt, but apparently he was lacking in the appreciation of boy nature, and even then Ward recalled the many pranks which the various classes had played upon him. Even Doctor Gray's words in the preceding year, when he had almost begged of Ward and Henry to exert their influence to see that Mr. Blake's pathway was not made so rough, came back to him now.