The next day, after school hours, Professor Raymond opened his desk to get a paper that he wanted. He was about to close it again, when something in the tumbled condition of its contents, attracted his attention. He reached sharply over to the lower right-hand corner, and felt for a package that he knew had been there the day before.

A startled look came into his face, and he felt again more carefully. Then he hastily took out everything that the desk contained.

He sat down in his chair with a jolt, and a grim expression came into his eyes. Then he made a painstaking examination of the lock.

It had not been broken, nor was there any other evidence that violence had been used.

He took out his penknife and scraped the lock. A tiny shaving of something soft was brought out by the blade, and close examination showed that it was wax.

He rang the bell for the janitor, and when Big Sluper came in, he motioned him to a chair.

“Sluper,” he said abruptly, “my desk was robbed last night.”

“What!” cried Sluper, starting up. “How could that be? Are you sure, sir?”

“Perfectly sure,” replied the professor. “I only wish I were not. But I had a valuable package in here yesterday, and now it’s gone.”

“Why, nothing of that kind has ever happened before,” said Sluper, much agitated. “Did the thief take anything else?”

“No,” replied Professor Raymond. “And it was no outsider that took the package. There was a little money in the desk, and any ordinary thief would have taken that. Besides, the papers that were taken would have been of no value to any one outside the school. They were the examination slips for the next algebra test. Sluper, we’ve a thief right here in Rally Hall.”

“I’d be sorry to think that, sir,” said the dismayed janitor. “I can’t think of any of the boys who might do such a thing.”

“But some one of them did, just the same,” replied the professor. “See here,” and he showed the janitor the shaving of wax.

“That proves that it was all planned beforehand,” he said. “An outside thief would have had a skeleton key, or simply pried it open with a jimmy. But somebody has taken a wax impression of the lock and had a key made to fit.

“Keep this thing perfectly quiet for a time,” the teacher cautioned. “Be on the watch for anything suspicious you may see or hear among the boys. And I want you to go down town to Kelly’s, the locksmith. Get into a talk with him, and bring the conversation round to the subject of duplicate keys, and how they’re made. If he’s done anything of that kind lately, he may drop a hint of it. He’d have no reason to keep quiet, for he’s an honest man and wouldn’t do a crooked thing. If he’s made such a key, the thief has given him some plausible reason for getting it made. Find out anything you can, and let me know at once. But, above all things, don’t let the matter get out.”

The janitor, badly confused, went away on his mission, while Professor Raymond sought out Dr. Rally to lay the matter before him. If it had been an ordinary case, he would have acted on his own discretion. But this was altogether too serious, involving as it did the good name of one of the scholars, and, to a certain extent, the reputation of the school itself.

He found the doctor in his office, and laid the matter before him, giving him all the details that he knew himself and telling of his instructions to the janitor.

Dr. Rally was white hot with amazement and indignation.

“The rascal shall suffer for it if we catch him!” he announced, with a grimness that would have delighted Aaron Rushton and confirmed him in his admiration for the doctor’s sternness. “I’ll dismiss him. I’ll disgrace him. I’ll make such an example of him that nothing of the kind will ever happen in this school again.”

His eyes flashed under his shaggy brows, and the fist he brought down on the desk clenched till the knuckles showed white.

“But what could have been the motive?” he asked, as he grew more composed. “Of course, we can understand why some one might want to know the questions that were going to be asked. But why did they take the whole package? One slip would have done as well as fifty. Then, too, they might know that if the whole package were taken, you would simply call the examination off, as soon as you had missed them, and make out a new set of questions. Then they’d have had all their trouble and risk for nothing.”

“It is curious,” answered Raymond. “If the idea was simply to get advance information to help some boy through with the test, the only way to do it was to take one copy and leave the rest of the slips there, trusting me not to notice that the package had been tampered with.

“My theory is that he meant to do this, but perhaps was frightened away by some sound, and didn’t have time to do it. In that case, he may take out one of the slips and try to put the package back to-night. The examination doesn’t take place till day after to-morrow, and he may figure that I haven’t missed them. As a matter of fact, it was only by the merest chance that I did miss them to-day.”

“Well, let us hope that he will try it,” said Doctor Rally. “We’ll have Sluper stay in your office all night and nab him if he comes.”

Sluper came back from his trip to town and reported that Kelly knew nothing of the matter. Nor had he heard of anything among the boys that might throw light on the mystery.

He kept a careful watch that night in Professor Raymond’s office, but without result.

The next day there was something in the atmosphere of Rally Hall that made every one feel that a storm was brewing. The air was electric with signs of trouble. Nothing had been allowed to leak out, but any one could see that something was the matter, though without the slightest idea of what it was.

Doctor Rally was more snappy and gruff than they had ever seen him, and Professor Raymond went about his work in a brooding and absent-minded way, that, with him, was most unusual.

“What’s come over Raymond to-day?” asked Fred. “He looks as though he were going to the electric chair.”

“He certainly does have plenty of the gloom stuff,” agreed Billy.

“Off his feed, perhaps,” suggested Slim, to whom nothing seemed more tragic than a loss of appetite.

quoted Tom.

Fred laughed and made a pass at him, little thinking how soon the lines would apply to himself.

In his mail that afternoon, the professor received a letter. There was nothing about it to identify the writer. In fact, there was no writing, as both the address and the letter itself were printed in rough, sprawling letters. It read this way:

The professor was thunderstruck. For several minutes, he sat staring at the printed words without moving a muscle.

The first shock of amazement gave place to a sharp, gripping pain.

It could not be a coincidence. In the present condition of affairs, this mysterious note could refer only to one thing–the missing slips of the algebra test.

Fred Rushton! He, of all boys! Why, he would almost have been ready to stake his life on the lad’s honesty. He was so frank, so square, so “white.” The professor had grown to have the warmest kind of a liking for him. In study and in sport, he had stood in the first rank, and so far there had not been the slightest stain on his record.

No, it could not be possible that he had done this dastardly thing. He was almost tempted to tear the letter up.

And yet–and yet—

He must make sure.

He went to the office of Doctor Rally. From there, after a short conference, he went in search of Fred.

“Would you mind letting me take a look at your locker, Rushton?” he asked carelessly.

“Why, certainly not,” answered Fred promptly, but wonderingly.

They went to the dormitory which at that hour was deserted.

“Here you are, Professor,” he said, opening the locker.

There were some clothes lying there, neatly folded. The professor picked them up.

There, with the seals still unbroken, lay the missing package!

Professor Raymond picked the package up and examined it carefully. There was no sign of tampering with the seals. It was in precisely the same condition as when he had received it.

“Well,” he said, as he looked coldly and accusingly at Fred, “what have you got to say?”

Fred was looking at the package with wide open and horrified eyes. He groped for words in his bewilderment, but his tongue seemed unable to utter them. The silence grew painful.

“Why,” he managed to stammer, at last, “I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t any idea that there was anything in the locker, except my clothes.”

“How could it have got there unless you put it there?” pursued the professor.

“I don’t know,” replied Fred, his head still whirling, “unless some one else put it there by mistake, thinking it was his own locker. I certainly never saw the package before. That is,” as he looked at it more closely, “I think I did see it once.”

“Oh, you did, eh?” said Professor Raymond quickly. “And when was that?”

“Two or three days ago,” answered Fred. “I was gathering up my books in your office, and I saw you put in your desk a package that looked just like this one.”

The professor’s heart grew sick within him, as every new item seemed to connect Fred more closely with the theft.

“You knew then that it was in my desk?” he went on. “Did you have any idea of what the package contained?”

“Not then,” answered Fred. “But, a little while afterward I was talking with some of the fellows in the gymnasium, and they said it probably held the examination slips for the algebra test.”

“Do you remember anything else you said at that time?” asked the cross-examiner.

“No-o,” began Fred slowly. “Oh, yes, I remember saying what fun it would be if one were a mind reader and could know just what you were going to ask.

“But, Professor,” he broke out, as the significance of all these questions dawned upon him, “you don’t think for the minute, do you, that I stole this package from your desk?”

“I hardly know what to think,” replied the professor sadly, “but I want you to come right over with me to Doctor Rally’s office.”

Utterly stunned and overwhelmed by the blow that had fallen upon him, Fred followed the professor. His limbs dragged, as though he were walking in a nightmare. They crossed the campus, and went straight to the room where Doctor Rally awaited them.

He motioned them to chairs, and sat there, stern and implacable as Fate, his eyes seeming to bore Fred through and through, while the professor told of the finding of the papers in Fred’s locker, and the explanation, or rather the lack of explanation, that Fred had offered.

“Well, young man,” the doctor said, and, although his eyes were flaming, his words were as cold as ice, “you seem to have put the rope around your own neck by your admissions. Have you anything else to say?”

“What can I say?” burst out Fred desperately. “If telling the truth has put the rope around my neck, I can’t help it. I didn’t take the papers, and don’t know a single thing about them. Every single word I’ve said is true.”

“But the papers were found in your locker,” returned the inquisitor coldly, “and they couldn’t have got there of their own accord. Some one put them there. If you didn’t, who did?”

“I don’t know,” said Fred miserably.

“Have you any enemy in the school, who might have done it?” asked Professor Raymond.

“Not that I know of,” answered Fred. “That is—” the thought of Andy flashed across his mind, but he was too generous to give it utterance. “No,” he went on, “I don’t think of anybody who could be mean enough to put the thing off on me.”

“Is there anything that might have any connection with this matter that you haven’t yet told us?” continued his questioner.

“Only one thing,” replied Fred, to whom at that moment came the recollection of what he had seen in the moonlight. “I did see a fellow going away from the Hall the other night after twelve o’clock.”

“Ah,” came from both men, bending forward, and then they questioned him carefully about the size and general appearance of the midnight skulker.

“Why didn’t you tell some of us about that at the time?” asked Doctor Rally severely.

“I suppose I ought to have done so,” was the answer, “but I was cold and sleepy, and the next day I forgot all about it.”

There was a long silence, while Doctor Rally pondered. He broke it at last by saying:

“I want to be entirely just to you, Rushton. I am not ready to condemn you on this evidence, though I will not deny that things look dark for you. I shall look into the matter further, and when I have reached a decision I will let you know. That is all for the present.”

He nodded a dismissal, and Fred, picking up his hat, stumbled blindly from the room.

The two men who held his fate in their hands, stared at each other for a long minute without speaking.

“It looks bad,” said Doctor Rally, at last, “and I am more sorry than I can tell, that he should be mixed up in such a wretched mess. His parents are the finest kind of people, and his uncle is a particular friend of mine.”

“Do you think that he is guilty, then?” asked the professor.

“What else can I think?” said the doctor gloomily. “Everything seems to indicate it. The facts are like so many spokes of a wheel, all leading to the hub, and that hub is Rushton.

“Who knew that the examination papers were in your desk? Rushton. Who had been wishing he were a mind reader, so that he might know what questions you were going to ask? Rushton. Who saw, or says he saw a mysterious marauder coming from the building at midnight, and yet said nothing to any one about it? Rushton. And, above all, who actually had the missing package in his locker? Rushton.

“Of course, all this is circumstantial evidence. But sometimes that is the strongest kind. Naturally, he would take the greatest care not to have any witnesses to the theft. The proof seems strong and many a man has been hung on less.”

“That is true,” admitted the other thoughtfully, “but there are many things, too, to be said on the other side.

“In the first place, there is the boy’s character up to this time. He ought to have the full advantage of that, and certainly he has seemed to be one of the most upright and straightforward boys in the entire school. I haven’t had a black mark against him, and neither has any of the other teachers.

“Then, too, what motive did he have for taking them? He’s very bright, especially in mathematics, for which he has a natural gift. He’s always up in the nineties somewhere in his marks. He hadn’t the slightest reason to fear the examinations.

“And I can’t understand his manner, if he is guilty. When I first spoke to him, instead of being the least bit flustered, he wasn’t at all slow in taking me straight to the locker. And when we caught sight of the papers, he was just as much dumfounded as I was myself, more so if anything, because I had had a hint that they were there.

“Why did he tell us about the talk in the gymnasium? He didn’t need to say a word about it. Yet he blurted it out without any hesitation. Either the boy is innocent, or he’s one of the finest actors I ever saw.”

“What is your theory, then?” asked the doctor. “Do you think that somebody, in his haste to conceal the papers, mistook Rushton’s locker for his own?”

“Hardly that,” replied Professor Raymond. “The matter was too important for such carelessness. The papers were put there deliberately.”

“By whom?”

“By the person who wrote this letter,” and the professor took from his pocket the scrap of paper he had received that afternoon.

The master of Rally Hall and Professor Raymond knitted their brows as they studied the scrawl. There was absolutely no clue, except that it bore the Green Haven postmark on the envelope, and had been mailed that morning.

“One of the boys sent it, without a doubt,” went on the professor. “He knew we were familiar with his handwriting and so printed the letter.”

“Might not the writer, whoever he is, have seen Rushton hide the package, and chosen this method to tell on him?” queried the doctor.

“I would go further than that,” said the other slowly. “I believe that the writer of this note deliberately stole the package and put it in Rushton’s locker, in order to bring disgrace on him.”

“It’s hard to think that there is such a despicable wretch as that in Rally Hall,” said Doctor Rally, bringing his clenched fist down on his desk.

“So it is,” replied the other, “but to believe that Fred Rushton stole them is harder yet.”

“Who, in the whole body of students, do you believe is capable of such a thing?” asked the doctor.

“Only one,” was the cautious answer, “but, in the total absence of proof, it wouldn’t perhaps be fair to name him.”

“I think I know whom you have in mind,” rejoined the master. “Here,” tearing two bits of paper from a sheet on his desk, “in order that our guess be independent, you write a name on this piece of paper and I will write on this. Then we will compare.”

The professor did so. Then they laid the papers side by side.

Each bore the same name, “Shanks.”

“He’s a poor stick,” mused the doctor, “but I’d hate to think that he’d sink as low as this. And, of course, so far, it is purely guess work. He may be as innocent as the driven snow. Has he ever had any trouble with Rushton?”

“Not that I know of,” was the answer, “although at one time I came upon them when they seemed to have been having words,” and Professor Raymond narrated the affair on the campus.

“Well,” Doctor Rally wound up the discussion by saying, “for the present, we suspend judgment. Keep a sharp eye on both Rushton and Shanks. I’ll not rest until I have probed this thing to the bottom.”

In the meantime Fred had gone to his room utterly crushed and despondent. The whole thing had come on him like a thunderbolt. In half an hour, from being one of the happiest boys in the school he had become the most miserable.

It seemed to him as though all his world had fallen into ruins. To be accused of theft, to be, perhaps, driven in disgrace from Rally Hall, to have all his relatives and friends know of the awful charge against him! For a time, he felt that he would go crazy.

Teddy, who was the only one in whom he could confide, was studying when Fred dragged himself in.

“Oh, Ted,” he groaned, as he threw himself down on his bed.

“What’s the matter, Fred?” exclaimed Teddy, leaping to his feet in alarm, as he saw the blank misery in his brother’s eyes.

“They think I’m a thief,” moaned Fred.

“Who thinks so? What do you mean?” and Teddy fairly shouted.

“Doctor Rally and Professor Raymond,” was the answer. “They think I stole the examination papers.”

“Stole! Stole!” roared Teddy. “Why, they’re crazy! What makes them think anything like that?”

“They’d been taken from Professor Raymond’s desk, and they found them in my locker.”

He blurted out the whole story and Teddy was wild with grief and rage. But in the absence of the slightest clue, they were unable to do anything but await events while they ate their hearts out in silence.

A week went by without results. The winter had set in in earnest, and the lake was coated with ice, thick enough for skating.

Fred had been looking forward to hockey and skating, in both of which he took great delight. But now, he had little interest in them, and kept as much as possible to himself.

The boys, of course, saw that something had happened, and did all they could to cheer him up.

“You’ve simply got to come to-day, Fred,” said Melvin, one bright December day, bursting into the room, his eyes dancing and his cheeks glowing with the frost. “It’s just one peach of a day, and the ice is as smooth as glass.

“Nothing doing,” he went on, as Fred started to protest. “Come along, fellows, and we’ll rush him down to the lake. A bird that can skate and won’t skate must be made to skate.”

“I never heard of a bird skating,” objected Fred, but yielded, as the whole laughing throng closed around him and hurried him out of doors.

Once on the ice, with the inspiring feeling of the skates beneath him, with the tingling air bringing the blood to his cheeks, and the glorious expanse of the frozen lake beckoning to him, the “blues” left him for a time, and he was his natural self again, all aglow with the mere delight of living.

He had gone around the lower end of the lake, and was making a wide sweep to return when he passed Andy Shanks and Sid Wilton. They shot a malicious look at him as they passed, and he saw them whisper to each other.

Once more he made the circuit of the lake, with long swinging strokes, his spirits steadily rising as the keen air nipped his face and put him in a glow from head to foot.

At the northern end of the lake was a bluff about twenty feet high. As there had been two or three heavy snowfalls already that winter, the top of the bluff held a mass of snow and ice that was many feet deep. The wind had hollowed out the lower part of the drifts so that the upper part overhung the lake for some distance from the shore.

A group of boys, including Andy Shanks and his toady, Sid Wilton, were playing “snap-the-whip.” Shanks had put his “valet,” as the boys called him, at the extreme end, and, although this was the most dangerous point and Wilton had little relish for it, he had not dared to object to anything that Andy wanted.

As Fred approached, the “whip” was “snapped”

Skating at full speed, the long line straightened out and Wilton was let go. He shot away from the others, trying to skirt the edge of the ice so as to avoid the shore and sweep out into the open. But the space was too narrow and he went into the bluff with a crash.

He scrambled up, jarred and bruised, and just as he did so, Fred saw the great overhanging mass of snow on the top of the bluff sway forward.

“Jump!” he yelled. “The snow! Quick! For your lives!”

The other boys looked up and skated from under. Sid made a desperate lunge forward, but too late. With a sullen roar the snow came down and buried him from sight.

There were exclamations of fright and horror. Andy skated away, panic-stricken. Most of the boys lost their heads. Two or three shouted for help.

Fred alone remained cool. With one motion, he unclamped his skates and threw them from him. The next instant he had plunged into the tons of snow and his arms were working like flails as he threw the masses aside.

“Quick, fellows!” he shouted. “Go at it, all of you! He’ll smother if we don’t get him out right away!”

Inspired by his example, the others pitched in, working like beavers. Other boys coming up aided in the work of cleaving a way to their imprisoned schoolmate.

Their frantic energy soon brought results.

“I touched him then, fellows!” cried Fred. “Hurry, hurry,” he added, as he himself put forth redoubled efforts.

A few minutes more and they had uncovered Sid’s head and shoulders. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be unconscious.

“We’re getting him,” exulted Fred, forgetful of his hands that were torn and bleeding from tearing at the ice mixed with the snow.

He grabbed Sid under the arms.

“Now, fellows,” he cried, “get hold of me and when I say pull—”

But just then there was a startled cry:

“Look out! There’s more coming!”

Fred looked up and saw that another enormous mass was slipping slowly over the edge.

The other boys jumped back, but Fred remained. He tugged frantically, putting forth all his strength. One more desperate pull and he fell back on the ice, dragging Sid with him. At the same instant a tremendous mass of snow came down, one heavy block of ice just grazing him where he lay, panting and breathless.

“Fred, old boy, that was a grand thing for you to do!” cried Melvin, who with Teddy had just come up; and the sentiment was echoed by all the others who clustered admiringly around him.

“Oh, that was nothing,” disclaimed Fred. “We’ve got to get a hustle on now and take him to the Hall.”

They carried the unconscious Sid to his dormitory, and medical aid was called at once. The doctor worked over him vigorously, and was soon able to predict that in a day or two he would be all right again.

Fred took a hot bath and changed into other clothes, and had soon shaken off all the shock of the accident.

He had barely finished supper when a message was brought to him that Sid wanted to see him.

He went at once, without any thought of what awaited him.

Fred found Wilton propped up in bed, in a room off the main dormitory that was used in cases of sickness or accident. He looked very white and weak, and, although Fred had never liked the boy, he felt sincerely sorry that he had had such a shock.

He reached out his hand with a friendly smile, and Wilton grasped it eagerly.

“I can’t thank you enough for pulling me out of the snowfall, Rushton,” he said. “I don’t remember much about it after it once buried me, but they tell me that I was all in when you got me. It was an awfully plucky thing for you to do, to hang on when that second mass was coming down, and I don’t believe there’s another fellow in school that would have taken the chance.”

“Oh, yes there are, plenty of them,” said Fred heartily. “I just happened to be the nearest one to you. I’m glad to hear that you will be all right again in a little while.”

“All right in body, perhaps,” said Sid with a faint smile, “but I won’t be all right in mind till I tell you something you ought to know.”

“What do you mean?” said Fred wonderingly.

Sid turned to the boy who was sitting in the room to wait upon him.

“Would you mind leaving me alone with Rushton for a few minutes, Henley?” he asked.

“Sure thing!” answered Henley, rising. “I’ll come in again later on.”

He left the room; and Sid turned to Fred.

“It’s about the examination papers,” he said, shamefacedly.

Fred’s heart gave a leap as though it would jump out of his body.

“What do you mean?” he cried excitedly.

“I mean,” and Sid’s face went red with the shame of the confession, “that Andy Shanks and I put up a job on you. We took the papers and put them in your locker, so that Professor Raymond would think you stole them. There, it’s out now.”

The room seemed to be whirling about Fred. The blood pounded madly through his veins. With an effort he steadied himself.

“What?” he shouted. “You did that?”

“It was a dirty trick, I know,” went on the younger boy, not venturing to meet the eyes of the youth he had wronged, “and I’d give anything I’ve got in the world if I hadn’t done it. But Andy—”

“Wait,” cried Fred, jumping up, “wait till I can get Professor Raymond over here, so that he can hear what you’ve got to say.”

“No need of that,” said a deep voice, and Professor Raymond advanced from the door towards the bed. “I was coming in to see how Wilton was getting along, and, as the door was ajar, I heard what he was saying.”

He looked sadly and sternly at Sid, who cowered down on his pillow.

“You have done a terrible thing, Wilton,” he said; “but you’re weak and sick now, and what I have to say and do will be postponed to a later time. Now, go ahead and tell us all about it from beginning to end.”

With trembling voice Sid went on:

“Andy was down in the gymnasium one day, and he heard Rushton say that he had seen you put a package in your desk, and one of the other fellows said that they were probably the examination slips. He was sore at Rushton because of something that had happened on the train coming here, and because, later on, Rushton had faced him down on the campus. So he went off to another town, after I had got a wax impression from the lock of your desk, and had a key made to fit. Then I opened your desk one night and got the package. I watched my chance till there was no one in Number Three Dormitory, and hid the papers in Rushton’s locker. Then Andy printed a letter to you, telling you where to look.”

“We didn’t know for sure what happened after that, but Rushton has been so down in the mouth, that we felt sure the plan worked. Andy expected him every day to be sent away from the school, and he didn’t know why he was allowed to hang on. I felt awfully mean about it, because Rushton had never done anything to me. But Andy was my friend and it seemed that I had to do anything he asked me, no matter what.”

“But after what Rushton did for me to-day, I simply had to tell him about it. He saved my life—”

Here his voice faltered, and Sid hid his face in his hands.

A few more questions and they left him, shamed to the marrow by what he had done, but relieved at getting the thing off his conscience.

Outside the room, Professor Raymond turned to Fred.

“Rushton,” he said, “this confession will be laid before Doctor Rally at once, and you can trust us to deal with Shanks. In the meantime, I want to shake hands with you, and tell you how delighted I am to have this thing cleared up. It must have been a fearful strain on you, but you have borne yourself nobly. And your brave act of to-day only confirms me in what I have felt all along, that you were a credit to Rally Hall.”

Fred stammered some words of thanks and was off to break the glorious news to his brother.

Teddy went wild with delight.

“Glory, hallelujah!” he shouted, catching Fred in his arms and dancing around the room.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you fellows?” called out Lester Lee, as they gyrated about. “You act as though you’d just got money from home.”

“Better than that, eh, Ted?” beamed Fred, his face radiant with happiness.

“You bet it is,” chuckled Teddy.

“Better than money, eh?” grunted Lester. “It must be pretty good then. But bear in mind that this is a respectable joint, and if you don’t stop acting rough house, I’ll call a cop and have you pinched.”

But it was a long time before they could sober down. The reaction was so great that they laughed and chattered and whooped like a pair of lunatics.

Fred felt as though he were walking on air. The black cloud was lifted. His good name was given back to him. He stood untarnished before the world.

“What are you going to do to Andy?” asked Teddy.

“Do?” replied Fred. “I’m going to lick him to a frazzle.”

But Doctor Rally got at Andy first.

That very night, he sent for him and confronted him with the confession. Andy, true to his nature, tried to lie out of it, but, under the searching questions of the head of the school, he broke down and confessed. Then Doctor Rally, in words that stung and blistered even Andy’s thick hide, told him that he was a disgrace to the school, and commanded him to leave Rally Hall, bag and baggage, within twenty-four hours.

Andy begged and blubbered, but to no purpose. His offence was too dastardly and contemptible. The doctor, doubly enraged because he had so nearly condemned an innocent lad, justified the reputation for sternness that Uncle Aaron had given him.

Andy slunk away white and shaken, and the next morning the whole school was surprised to learn that he had gone for good.

“Humph!” exclaimed Fred, when he heard the news, “I wish he’d waited just one day more. Now, I suppose we’ve seen the last of him.”

But Fred was mistaken. He had not yet seen the last of Andy Shanks.

The rest of the winter passed rapidly, and Fred, with the load off his mind, pitched into all the winter sports, making up royally for all he had missed in the dark days when he was under suspicion.

He and Teddy had gone home for the Christmas holidays, taking with them Bill Garwood and Lester Lee, to whom they had become warmly attached. Mr. and Mrs. Rushton had outdone themselves to give them a good time, and Martha, her black face shining, had made the table fairly groan with the good things she heaped upon it for her “lambs” and their friends.

The days had slipped away like magic. The visitors had had the time of their lives, and both Bill and Lester had insisted that the boys should come to see them in the summer vacation. They had a partial promise to this effect, but the matter was left for final decision later on.

Uncle Aaron had not been in Oldtown at the time, for which the boys were profoundly thankful. They could easily do without him any time, but now, with the watch and papers still missing, they cared less than ever to see him.

Nothing had been heard of the stolen watch, nor had the papers turned up, and every day that passed made it less likely that they ever would.

“Those papers!” sighed Teddy. “And that watch! Oh, if I’d only nabbed that tramp when I saw him!”

“Cheer up, old scout,” said Bill. “While there’s life, there’s hope.”

“Yes,” agreed Fred, “but there isn’t much nourishment in hope.”

The Rushton boys returned to Rally Hall, refreshed and rested, ready for hard work as well as for fun and frolic. The going of Andy Shanks had removed a disturbing element from the school, and the second term was much more pleasant than the first had been.

And now, they were right on the verge of spring. The ice had disappeared, the athletic field was drying out and getting into shape, and the thoughts of all were turning toward baseball practice.

Slim Haley was in the midst of one of his stories, when Fred, with a bat in his hand, burst into the dormitory one Saturday morning.

“Come along, fellows,” he called out. “Come out and get some practice. What do you mean by staying indoors a morning like this?”

“Just a minute, Fred,” answered Bill Garwood, for the rest. “Slim has got to get this story out of his system.”

“As I was saying when this low-brow came in to interrupt me,” said Slim, looking severely at Fred, “this cat was a very smart cat. And a plucky one too, by ginger. There was no rat so big that he was afraid to tackle it. And the way he went for snakes was a caution.”

“Snakes!” exclaimed Lester Lee incredulously.

“That’s what I said, ‘snakes,’” said Slim firmly. “There used to be a lot of rattlesnakes in that neighborhood, and the cat would go out hunting for one every morning.

“When he found a rattler, he would creep up to him, and the snake, seeing him, would throw itself into a coil to strike. The cat would hold up a paw and the snake would strike at it. But the cat was too quick and would dodge the stroke. Then, before the snake could coil up again, the cat would have it by the neck. He used to drag them home and stretch them out in the dooryard, so as to show his folks how smart he was.”

“Some cat!” murmured Melvin.

“Yes,” assented Slim, “and he was a good-hearted cat too. Some folks say that a cat thinks only of himself, but do you know what that cat did?

“One day, the baby of the house had lost his rattle and was crying. The cat sat looking at him for a minute. Then he went out in the yard, bit the rattles off a dead snake and brought it in and laid it down near the baby. You see—”

But what Slim saw just at that moment was a pillow coming toward his head. He dodged with an agility born of long practice; and the laughing crowd went out with Fred into the bright April morning.

They scattered out on the diamond, on which Big Sluper and his assistants had been busy for some days past, and which was already in condition for a game. The turf was smooth and springy, the base paths had been rolled until they were perfectly level, and the foul lines stretched away toward left and right field.

“Won’t we have some bully times here this spring?” exulted Fred.

“Bet your life we will!” assented Teddy, turning a handspring. “And I’m going to play shortstop and don’t you forget it!”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” Fred cautioned him. “It’ll be nip and tuck between you and Shorty Ward for the position. And Shorty’s a pretty nifty player.”

“I know he is,” admitted Teddy. “But I’m going to make a fight for it.”

“There’s Ned Wayland and Professor Raymond over there now, sizing the fellows up,” said Fred. “They’re from Missouri and will have to be shown. Get out there and I’ll knock you some hot grounders.”

Ned Wayland was the captain of the team. He played pitcher and had made a splendid record in the box the year before. He had a good fast ball and a puzzling assortment of curves. Contrary to the usual run of pitchers, he was also a heavy batter, and could usually be relied on to “come across” when a hit was needed.

Most of last year’s team had returned to the school, so that a fairly good nine was assured from the start. But there were also a lot of promising youngsters among the newcomers, who, in Professor Raymond’s judgment, would “bear close watching.”

He and Ned were standing a little to one side of the diamond, looking over the old material and the “new blood,” as they cavorted like so many colts about the base lines. The boys knew that they were under inspection, and they played with snap and vim, each hoping that he would be chosen for some coveted position on the team.

“Pretty good stuff to choose from, don’t you think, Professor?” remarked Ned.

“Unusually so, it seems to me,” replied the other, as his keen eye followed a great pick-up and swift throw to first by Teddy. “Unless all signs fail, we ought to have a cracking good team this year.”

“We need to have if we’re going to beat out Mount Vernon,” said Wayland. “I hear that they’re going great guns in practice.”

“We’re all right in the outfield,” mused the professor. “Duncan at right, Hawley in centre and Melton at left are all good fielders, and they’re heavy hitters, too.”

“We could make our infield stronger than it is, though. I don’t think that—”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Wayland. “Look at that!”

The “that” was a brilliant bit of fielding “pulled off” by Teddy.

Fred had varied the grounders by sending up a high fly into short centre field. It was away over Teddy’s head, and it seemed impossible for him to reach it. But he had started for it at the crack of the bat, and, running like a deer, he just managed to get under it with his ungloved hand. He clung to it desperately, however, and, although he rolled over and over, he rose with the ball in his hand. It was a neat bit of fielding and Teddy got a round of hand clapping from those who had seen it.

“Wasn’t that a peach?” asked Wayland enthusiastically.

“It certainly was!” agreed the professor warmly. “I didn’t think he had a chance to reach it.”

“Of course, one swallow doesn’t make a summer,” conceded Wayland, “and perhaps he couldn’t do it often.”

“I don’t think it was a fluke,” said the professor. “I saw him make a swift pick-up a few minutes ago that nine out of ten would have missed. And he threw down to first almost on a line. The ball didn’t rise more than three inches on the way down.”

“If he can keep up that kind of work, he’ll give Ward all he can do to hold his job,” declared Ned.

“Baseball ability seems to run in the family,” said the professor. “Fred is a first-rate pitcher, and, with him in the box besides yourself, I think we’ll be well fortified in that position. Besides, he’s a good hitter, and on days when he isn’t pitching, you can put him in to bat at times when a hit is needed.”

“Yes,” agreed Ned, “he’ll be a great big element in our success this season. That outcurve of his is awfully hard to hit, and his drop ball is a pippin.”

“As for the backstop,” went on the professor, “Tom Eldridge hasn’t any rival. Granger, at first base, is a star both in fielding and hitting. But we’re not any too strong at second. Hendricks doesn’t seem to take so much interest in his work as he did last season.”

“How would it do to put Morley there, on trial?” suggested Ned. “Then we could shift Ward to third and try out Teddy Rushton at short.”

For several days the sifting process went on, but when the line up was finally settled upon, Teddy held down short, while Fred was to alternate with Ned as pitcher.

The nine practiced faithfully, playing with neighboring village teams and making a good record. They had won three games and lost only one, and that by a close score, when the day came for the Mount Vernon game.

This was to be held on the enemy’s grounds, and the boys had a train ride of twenty miles before they reached the station. A crowd of the Rally Hall boys went with them, to root and cheer for a victory over their most important baseball rivals.

The Green Haven station was crowded that morning with hilarious youths, and there was a buzzing as of a swarm of bees, while they waited for their train to come.

The only fly in the ointment was the cloudy condition of the sky. No rain had fallen, but it looked as though it might come down at any moment.

“It’s up to us to get a good start early in the game,” remarked Fred, “so that if the rain does come down after the fifth inning and we’re in the lead, we’ll win anyway.”

“Right you are,” replied Ned. “Last year we lost a game that way just as we thought we had it tucked away in our bat bag. The other fellows were one run ahead, and when we came to bat in our half of the sixth we got three men on bases in less than no time. Our heaviest batters were just coming up, and one of them knocked a homer, clearing the bases and putting us three runs in the lead. The fellows were dancing round and hugging each other, when just then the rain came down like fury and the game had to be called. Of course, our runs didn’t count and the score stood as it was at the end of the fifth, with the other fellows ahead. I tell you it was a tough game to lose.”