“Oh, Phil,” called Helen to her escort as she saw a pretty flower growing on a woodland bank. “Get that for me, please. Look out for thorns, though.”
“A-la-Miss Benson?” asked Phil, referring to Tom’s escapade with the pretty girl.
“Yes,” assented Helen with a laugh and a blush. And then, as she looked at a stone at her feet she screamed.
“What is it?” cried Phil, scrambling down the bank with such haste that he slipped, and rolled nearly half the distance. “Did you sprain your ankle?”
“No, but it’s a horrid snake!”
She pointed to a little one, not bigger than an angle worm.
“Pooh!” sneered Phil. “It’s lost its mamma, that’s all. You shouldn’t scare the poor thing so by screaming.”
“Ugh! The horrid thing!” said Helen with a shudder, as Phil tossed the snake gently into the bushes. “I can’t bear anything that crawls.”
Then Phil, brushing the dirt from his new trousers, made another and successful attempt to get the flower. And so the day went on.
Back in his room Tom straightened up, and looked from the window. The afternoon was waning, and already long shadows athwart the campus told of the setting sun.