“Shame! shame! Danvers. A Junior devilling Fresh!” exclaimed several voices.
“I confess,” said Danvers, turning off, laughing; “but it was such a good thing. They are greener than verdure itself, and will swallow anything you offer!”
Frank now came to us and said he had secured rooms, and that we could go up now if we wished. Of course we wished to do so, and once in, and the door locked, we gave vent to our feelings in no measured terms, both feeling assured that neither Huguenots nor Waldenses ever felt the bitterness of persecution as we did, and both wishing at heart that we were again at home.
We had scarcely bathed and gotten rid of the dust of travel when the gong sounded for supper. We went down and found the tables occupied entirely by the students, as there was little or no travel to such a retired village, from the outside world. A bevy of Sophomores rose on our appearance and escorted us to the table, and, drawing back our chairs, held them for us. Bewildered by their strange attentions, we attempted to seat ourselves, but, of course, found the chairs non sub nobis. I recovered myself, but Ned plumped heavily down upon the floor, to the boisterous merriment of the whole room.
At last seated, and served by the regular attendants, we attempted to eat, but every mouthful was declared enormous by those watching us, every action said to be ill mannered, and our whole demeanor so criticised that our appetites departed and we felt no desire for food. If we had, there would have been little opportunity for its gratification. If I chanced to turn my head, a teaspoonful of salt went into my tea. If I asked the waiter for a biscuit, my tormentor across the table would pour a dozen into my plate. Silver forks and napkin rings were dropped into my pockets, and the proprietor called to identify his property. When we rose we were escorted from the room by the same guard of honor, even to the door of our room, where they left us for the night.
Ned and I sat down on the side of our beds and looked out of the windows at the red evening sky, fast paling into twilight, and we felt dreary and lonely indeed. Frank was off with some of his friends, and we were afraid to venture out lest a renewal of purgatorial tortures should assail us. After awhile we could hear the noisy throng down stairs going away in twos and threes for their evening stroll, and, discovering from the window that they had all departed, I proposed to Ned that, as it was fast growing dark, we slip down stairs and take a stroll, as it was too sultry to remain in our room. As we came out into the hotel porch a lazy Senior, who was sitting with his feet on the railing, quietly smoking, with the enviable tranquillity of might, said to us—
“Ah, Fresh,” as we went down the steps, “don’t let the Sophs find you before you get back. Whenever you see a party of more than two approaching, cross over, for only the Sophs go in numbers.”
We thanked him, and walked up the street to the very road by which we had come in. We turned into this, and walked on till we came to a small eminence overlooking a little landscape, and on this knoll we sat down to gaze on the scene and to condole with each other in our troubles.
The woods and plains below were bathed in the glorious light of the full orbed moon, which had risen, like a goddess of serenity, from the horizon. White night clouds floated lightly across her face, shaking off flakes of fleece into the blue sea around them.