And Hoffland gazed rapturously at the green fields, and blossom-covered trees, and the distant river flowing on in gladness to the sea, with the kindling eye of a true poet.
"And here is the 'Indian Camp!'" he cried; "grassy, antique, and romantic!"
"Let us sit down," said Mowbray.
And seating himself upon a moss-covered stone, he leaned his head upon his hand and pondered.
"Now, I'll lay a wager you are thinking about me!" cried Hoffland; "perhaps you still revolve in your mind my various delinquencies."
"No," said Mowbray.
"I know I am very bad—very remiss. I ought to have been at college this morning, but I was not able to come."
"Why, Charles?" said Mowbray, raising his head.
"I was busy."
"Indeed!"