Ward Hill, the Senior

by Everett T. Tomlinson

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.