The two cut across a lawn in the rear of the house, for they could see the glittering river just beyond a fringe of trees, and they were glad of the by-path, as they had gone a longer and more roundabout way several times.
Tom was in the lead, and he had just passed a summer house, vine-encumbered, on the rear lawn, when an angry voice hailed him.
“Where are you going?” was demanded.
“To the river,” replied Tom.
“Who told you to go this way?”
“No one.”
As Tom answered he saw a man come from the summer house, a man he at once recognized as Professor Burton Skeel, the grim Latin instructor.
“Well, you boys can just go back the way you came,” went on the angry professor. “These are my private grounds, and I allow no students to trespass. If I find you doing it again I shall take sterner measures. Go back the way you came, and don’t come here again. Ah, I see that you are Elmwood students,” the professor went on. “That makes it all the worse. You should have known that I permit no trespassing, nor trifling. Be off!”
He fairly yelled the last words at the chums, who, though abashed, were not much alarmed by the angry instructor.