The next evening the Wilders were gathered on the steps of Old Flemming. It had been a hurried, confused day, for the morning had been devoted to departing friends, and the afternoon to packing, since they were to leave Flemming Hall early the next morning. Now all was done, and they had gone down from their forlorn, dismantled rooms, to enjoy the still, warm night.
“I believe this has been an unusually moony commencement,” said Louis thoughtfully, as he watched the white light on the lawn and buildings before him.
“It most certainly has,” responded Leon fervently, while he stepped on Alex’s toe, under cover of the shadow around them.
“I wish we could be as lucky, next year,” said Stanley. “Most likely we shall have a rainy week, to make up for this.”
“Never mind if we do,” said Max consolingly.
“We don’t need the help of the weather, as this year’s fellows do. We can stand on our own merits.”
“What are you all going to do, this summer?” asked Paul.
“Our plans are only just made,” Harry answered, as he took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “We’ve been so unsettled since father’s death that we haven’t known what to do. Mother didn’t feel as if she could go back to the old place in Lenox this summer, so we’re all going abroad for the season. Jolliest of all, Alex is going with us.”
“Alex! Why didn’t you tell me, old fellow?” asked Stanley, turning to his friend.
“I only knew it myself yesterday,” Alex answered; “and it didn’t seem worth while to discuss an uncertainty.”