Ward Hill, the Senior

by Everett T. Tomlinson

"I've heard from lots of the fellows," Jack was saying, "and I can tell you we're going to have the best year at Weston we have ever seen. Why, even Tim Pickard is coming back."

"Tim?" said Henry quickly, "Why, I thought he had been expelled and never could come back again."

"Oh, Tim's made it all up with Dr. Gray. He's seen the error of his ways and wants to turn over a new leaf. He's promised all sorts of things and has been studying hard with a tutor. I really think Tim means what he says too. He's not such a bad fellow, you know, after all. He's had too much money and his mother's dead, you know, and so there was no one to look after him besides his father, and he was too much interested in stocks and things to give any attention to his own flesh and blood. I believe he has written some such stuff to the doctor and promises to do his part too in looking after Tim. He's even said he'd see to it that Tim shall have only a dollar a week for spending money. Poor Tim!" added Jack with a laugh.

"If he'll only keep it up," said Henry soberly.

"Yes, if he'll only keep it up," repeated Jack. "That's the rub, I know. Tim means what he says now; no doubt about that. He's even going to take a room alone down at Ma Perrins', so that he'll be out of the way of temptation and me." And Jack's merry laugh rang out at the words. "Honestly, I don't know about his holding out though. I have my own opinion about that, but I don't mean to prophesy evil of any fellow. And then Tim's going to have some things in his favor you must remember. For example, he'll be out from under the influence of your humble servant, and that's no small thing, I'd have you know."

A silence for a brief time followed Jack's words. Ward felt that Jack in his words about Tim Pickard was really taking that means to inform him of some of the problems which would face him upon his return to Weston. That is, if he should return, for Ward was not yet decided as to what he would do.

Tim Pickard had been his most bitter enemy. Even now he could see his coarse face and hear his brutal laugh. Could he ever go back and face him? The very peacefulness of Rockford came out just then the stronger by way of contrast with the difficulties he would have to face in the school. The croaking of the distant frogs rose on the air, the fireflies were flitting about in the yard, and the soft mellow light of the moon was beginning to appear. It was the very perfection of quiet and peace. Here there were no "Tangs," no Tim Pickards, no enmities and jealousies; while the presence of his father and mother seemed to him like a shield from everything that was evil. It was so much more easy to keep out of trouble in Rockford than it was in Weston. And yet Ward knew that both his father and mother were intensely eager for him to return to the school and redeem himself. Which was better for him, to go back and face all the possible temptations and difficulties of the school life, or to remain where he was and be free from them all? In his heart Ward knew the answer. To remain in Rockford would be virtually playing the part of a coward. He would not have to meet and struggle with certain forms of evil there, but it would be a confession that he was afraid. He would lose more than he would gain, there could be no doubt as to that, but the struggle to decide was no easy matter.

Ward Hill had not yet learned the lesson that whether we do right or wrong depends far more upon ourselves than upon our surroundings. He might remain away from all his troubles, and yet he would also stay away from all that would aid him also. At first Ward had pleaded that he might be permitted to go to some other school, but his father had been firm upon that point. He had told Ward that he would do his utmost and his best for him, but if the lad wished to go on with his studies it must be at Weston and no other place for the coming year. And Ward had realized the justice and truth of his father's demand, and had hot again urged his request.

"I say, fellows," said Jack, breaking in upon the silence, "whom do you suppose I saw this summer?"

"I can't imagine," said Henry. "Perhaps it was Big Smith."