“The years roll on. To man’s estate
From youthful mold we pass,
And life’s stern duties bind us round,
And doubts and cares harass.
But God will guard through storms and give
The strength to do his will
And treasure e’er the lessons learned
Of old on Yardley Hill.”
After that, although many of the fellows still lingered about the front of Oxford, the celebration was over with. It was late and most everyone was tired after what had been a busy and exciting day. Also, November nights are chilly in the neighborhood of Wissining and there was an icy little breeze blowing in from the sound. So it wasn’t long before the last fellow had sought the warmth and light of his room, leaving the white stars alone to look down on the flickering remains of the fire.
Dan was silent as he climbed the stairs of Clarke and sought No. 28. To be sure, he went up alone, after saying good night to Alf and Tom and Joe Chambers and several others at the corner of the building, and that might explain it if it were not for the fact that Dan usually either sang or whistled as he ran upstairs. To-night he didn’t even run. He was much too tired and sore. He had played a hard game for all there was in it and he had received his full share of knocks and bruises. There were no scars visible, but he knew where he could put his hand on a dandy lump! The fact that he limped a little with his right leg indicated in a general way the location of the lump. Besides that, there were plenty of bruised places, and he had an idea that by to-morrow he would be an interesting study in black and blue. When he opened the door of the room he found Gerald there before him, Gerald sitting on the edge of his bed partly undressed and looking very forlorn and a trifle red about the eyes.
“Hello, Gerald,” exclaimed Dan. “What’s the trouble?”
“Nothing,” answered Gerald, diligently hunting on the floor for a stocking which was draped gracefully over his knee. Dan went over and seated himself beside him on the bed.
“Something’s up, chum,” he said kindly, putting an arm over the younger boy’s shoulders. “Let’s hear about it.”
“It—it isn’t anything,” replied Gerald with the suspicion of a sniff. “I guess I’m just sort of tired.”
“I should think you might be,” said Dan heartily, “after the work you did this morning! You made a great hit with the school, Gerald. If it hadn’t been for you we’d have lost that race as sure as shooting!”
“That’s just it,” said Gerald, after a moment, aggrievedly.