School reopened the second Monday in September, and long before nine o’clock the boys and girls began to gather about the steps, waiting for the janitor to open the doors.
Hamlin had overtaken Clark and Freeman, and when the three reached the schoolhouse gate they found a goodly number there before them, and many voices called out greetings, especially to Hamlin.
“There’s a newcomer,” Clark said; “up there near the door.”
“The chap with the rosy locks?” answered Hamlin. “Yes, he’s new, but he seems to be making himself very much at home. He’s talking away with the old fellows as if he had known them all his life. There! Jimmy’s opening the doors. Let’s wait here a bit. I don’t care to hustle through that crowd.”
“Evidently, he of the rosy locks doesn’t either,” remarked Clark, noticing that the red-haired boy had not passed in with the throng, but remained on the upper step with two or three other boys.
“Look at him, will you! Well, if he isn’t a cheeky cad!” exclaimed Hamlin a moment later, as the boy they were watching pulled off his hat and made a low bow to a group of girls passing to the other door. Among these girls was Gordon’s sister, and Grace Harlan, a cousin of Hamlin’s.
“I’d like to punch his head for him. He doesn’t know those girls—not one of them spoke to him,” Hamlin added.
“Wonder if he’ll be in our section,” said Clark, as the three boys passed up the steps.
“Hope not,” replied Hamlin. “We don’t want any of his sort in section D.”
A shout of welcome met them as they entered their own class-room, and Clark felt happier than he had ever felt before in that school-room as one and another called out a friendly greeting. Several took pains to speak to Freeman, whose sensitive face showed his appreciation of the kindness.