With the ringing of chapel bell in the old stone turret of Academy Hall the next morning Crofton began its forty-third year. Seven-fifteen seemed to come extremely early, for none of the boys in Sunnywood Cottage had gone to bed until very late the night before. There had been lots to talk about after the reception and they had loitered on the way home and afterwards had congregated in Jeffrey’s room for a final gossip. Jim, for one, pulled himself out of bed with a sigh; it seemed to him that he could have slept until noon to-day. Gil and Poke were already downstairs when he arrived, and Jeffrey followed a minute later. They chose the wood path, Jeffrey protesting his ability to manage it. And manage it he did very well, swinging himself along the winding path, over protruding roots with a remarkable dexterity.

Chapel was held in the Meeting Room on the first floor of Academy Hall. It was a large, square room, taking up the entire east end of the building. There was a long platform at one side and facing it were rows of yellow settees. The walls held many portraits of former Principals, faculty members and noted graduates and the big windows were set in deep embrasures adorned with plaster casts of Greek and Roman immortals; the students called this array “The White Company.”

The shrill-toned bell gave its expiring clang as Jim followed the other three into the room. Most of the fellows were already in their seats and his first impression was of a sea of faces confronting him. They passed row after row of settees before Gil, who was leading, turned in. Behind them a boy closed the big door and Mr. Gordon arose and stepped to the reading desk on the platform. Whispers ceased as the big Bible was opened.

“My son, forget not my law; but let thine heart keep my commandments.

“For length of days, and long life, and peace shall they add to thee.

“Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: so shalt thou find favor and good understanding in the sight of God and man.”

The Principal’s deep, pleasant voice went on to the end of the chapter. Then there was the rustling of many pages as the hymn-books were opened and the scraping of feet as the boys arose. They sang without accompaniment of any sort, and to Jim, accustomed to the wheezy droning of the worn-out organ in the little church at home, the effect was very beautiful. Then came a prayer, a simple, earnest appeal to the Almighty for help and guidance throughout the year just beginning.

“And, O Lord, bless the faculty and the students of this school: give them strength and patience to do their work, understanding and clean hearts to follow Thy laws.”

Then came the Lord’s Prayer, repeated in unison; a moment of silence; and then the scraping of feet, the creaking of settees and the moving of bodies, signifying the end of the service; signifying too, perhaps, a longing for breakfast. But Mr. Gordon was not yet through with them. He said a few words appropriate to the opening of the school and then announced the presence on the faculty of a new member. A tall, thin gentleman of middle age arose and stepped to the front of the platform. He wore spectacles and held his head forward in a near-sighted way.

“Mr. Hanks, young gentlemen,” announced Mr. Gordon. Mr. Hanks bowed to the right, to the left, to the center, hesitated nervously and returned precipitately to his chair. The students clapped their hands, grinning the while at the new instructor’s evident delight in reaching his seat again.

“Hanks, did he say?” whispered Poke to Jim. “It isn’t hard to guess what his name will be?”

Jim looked a question and Poke laughed softly.

“Nancy,” he whispered. “Nancy Hanks; see?”

Mr. Gordon dismissed them and there was a fairly dignified rush for the door, Jim becoming separated from his companions in the exodus. He discovered them again outside, however. Jeffrey, the subject of much polite curiosity, was leaning on his crutches at the foot of the steps, while, close by, Gil and Poke made part of a group of six or seven fellows who were talking and laughing as fast as they knew how. Jim joined Jeffrey, but a moment later Gil saw them and called them over.

“Want you to meet some friends of mine, fellows,” he said. “Sargent you met last night, I think. This is Cosgrove. Joe, shake hands with Hazard and Latham. You too, Atherton. Likewise Sommers and Heath. Hazard’s a Lower Middler. How about you, Latham; what’s your class?”

“The same,” replied Jeffrey.

“You fellows want to come over and see our new room,” said Poke. “It’s a dandy. We’ve got hardwood ceilings, hot and cold elevator service, continuous janitor, telephone in every room—”

“Dry up, Poke,” laughed Joe Cosgrove. “Where is it? What did you leave Weston for?”

“Didn’t like the society there,” replied Poke gravely. “We’re at Mrs. Hazard’s; this chap’s mother, you know. She’s taken the Timberlake cottage. We’ve got a fine old room, honest. Come over soon, will you?”

Jim became aware that Duncan Sargent was looking at him in a peculiarly speculative way as though trying to guess his weight. He was enlightened the next moment when Sargent asked:

“You a football man, Hazard?”

Jim shook his head. “Not much of one, I’m afraid. I’ve tried the game but I never made a success at it.”

“Well, but you’re coming out, aren’t you?”

“Coming out?” repeated Jim at a loss.

“Yes, to try for the team. This afternoon at four. We want all the new material we can get this year and you look as though you might make good.”

“Why, thanks,” said Jim. “I—I’d like to, but I won’t have time. You see, we’ve taken that house and there’s a good deal to do.”

“Oh.” Sargent looked disappointed. “I wish you would, though. See if you can’t give us an hour or so in the afternoon, Hazard. I’m going to look for you, anyhow.”

Jim murmured vaguely and politely, very much flattered by the football captain’s interest in him, and the group broke up. The quartette hurried back to Sunnywood Cottage as fast as Jeffrey could go, all very anxious for breakfast. At nine the school bell rang again and Jim and Jeffrey—with many another new boy—attended their first class. But there wasn’t much real work done that opening day, and at three o’clock they were free. Jim returned to the cottage alone. Most of the other fellows were making for the athletic field to either don canvas and get into the first day’s practice or to loll about the grand-stand or on the warm turf and watch and comment. But Jim had plenty of work awaiting him at the cottage, for in spite of the fact that they had been at Crofton for almost a fortnight there still remained numerous odds and ends to attend to. Hope, busily hemming dish-towels on the porch, was eager to hear about his experiences, but she found her brother a good deal of a disappointment.

“Why, nothing much happened,” replied Jim, dumping his books in a chair. “There was history and French. I have the new man, Mr. Hanks, in history. He’s awfully funny; guess he was rattled a bit. Poke calls him ‘Nancy’; not bad, is it?”

“I haven’t seen him, Jim.”

“You don’t have to see him to appreciate that; Nancy Hanks; don’t you see?”

“Oh!” murmured Hope blankly. “But—but why does he call him Nancy?”

“Don’t you know who Nancy Hanks was? My, you don’t know much United States history, do you?”

“I suppose not,” replied Hope humbly.

“Was she a—a nurse or something in the Revolutionary War, Jim?”

“Of course she wasn’t,” answered Jim disgustedly. “You’d better read your history, sis. Where’s Lady?”

“In there.” Hope nodded toward the door. “She wants you to go down town for something.”

“All right; I’ve got to go anyway; got to get some books and stationery. What are you doing?”

Hope held up the piece of blue-checked linen. “Dish-cloths.”

“Oh. I suppose we haven’t rented any more rooms?”

Hope shook her head. “No, there hasn’t been a soul here—except the ice-man and a man who wanted to sell us a set of ‘The World’s Best Literature.’”

“Well, I don’t see how we’re going to get along with just those two rooms rented,” said Jim gloomily. “Endicott said I might advertise in the school paper, but Benton said it would be wasting money because the fellows don’t change rooms after school begins.”

“Lady and I were talking about it this afternoon,” said Hope, biting a thread off with her teeth and then glancing apologetically at her brother.

“What have I told you—” began Jim sternly. But Hope hurried on. “Lady said she thought we could manage to make expenses even if we don’t let any more rooms. She says living isn’t very expensive here in Crofton. And then, Jim, there’s the rent money from the house at home.”

“Thirty-three dollars a month! Wait until we have to buy coal to heat this place! It’s going to take a lot of fuel, the rooms are so big and there are so many windows.”

“Well, we may rent another one yet,” replied Hope cheerfully. “You never can tell, Jim, and, anyway, it doesn’t do a bit of good to worry.”

“Some one’s got to do a little worrying,” answered Jim shortly. “You and Lady don’t seem to care whether we make this thing go or not!”

“You’re perfectly horrid! We do care, Jim, but nobody ever did any good to anybody by worrying. Besides, I don’t see that there is anything we can do but just—just wait.”

“Yes, wait,” said Jim disgustedly. “Sit here and wait for some one to come along and insist on being taken in. A lot of rooms we will rent that way!”

“Well, those boys upstairs did that, didn’t they? They came along and rented the room, Jim; nobody worried them into it, did they?”

“Well, you sit here and wait,” growled her brother. “I’m going down town.” He picked up his books and turned toward the door. “I’ll see what Lady wants.” He was back in a few moments, stuffing a slip of paper, Mrs. Hazard’s list, into his pocket. “Want to go along, Hope?”

But Hope shook her head. “I must finish these, Jim. I’ve got five more to do.”

“Oh, all right.” He pulled his hat down over his eyes and started off. Hope looked after him, sighed and shook her head.

“Jim’s getting growlier and growlier every day,” she murmured. “I suppose I ought to worry too; maybe he’d like it better if I did. The trouble is I don’t seem to be able to. Every time I get started to be unhappy I think of something nice and forget! I’m afraid”—she fixed her gaze thoughtfully on the little round bed of scarlet sage, which was all the garden the cottage could boast—“I’m afraid I’m dreadfully fripish. Maybe I have a—a shallow nature.” Then she smiled, and, “Oh, dear,” she sighed ruefully, “I can’t worry even about that!

“Just the same,” she continued in thought as she sent her needle in and out, “I really don’t see the use of worrying all the time. It seems to me that if things go wrong you just ought to keep cheerful, and the wronger they go the cheerfuller you ought to keep. You never know when something nice is going to happen in this wonderful world. Why, I might be sitting here just like this and somebody might come along and say, ‘Young lady, have you any rooms to rent?’ And I’d say—”

“I—I beg your pardon.”

Hope looked up with a start. At the end of the short walk, holding the gate half open, stood a tall gentleman in rather ill-fitting pepper-and-salt clothes. On his head, set at a rakish angle, was a straw hat with a narrow up-rolled brim. It was very yellow as to straw and very rusty as to ribbon. And it didn’t suit his lean, thoughtful face the least bit. He wore spectacles and from behind the lenses a pair of faded blue eyes peered near-sightedly. He carried a small book in his right hand, one finger inserted between the pages to hold his place. Hope wondered if he could be another book agent and dropped her work and went to the steps.

“I regret disturbing you, young lady,” said the gentleman, “but will you kindly tell me whether this is—er—” He stopped perplexedly. Then, “Dear, dear,” he said half to himself, “what was the name now?”

“This is Mrs. Hazard’s house,” said Hope helpfully.

“Ah, that was it; Mrs. Hazard!” he said with vast relief. He entered and closed the gate carefully behind him, changing the book from right hand to left as he did so but taking care to keep his place. “I—I am looking for accommodations; lodgings; a room and—er—yes, board with it. You give board here?”

“Yes, indeed,” answered Hope. “If you will take a seat I will tell my mother you are here.”

“Thank you.” He took a chair. “My name is Hanks. I am just beginning my duties as instructor at the school. The Principal, Mister—Mister—well, the name doesn’t matter—sent me here. I had a room—” He broke off abruptly and exclaimed anxiously; “Your rooms have plenty of light?”

“Yes, sir, they’re quite light and sunny.” Hope had reached the door but politeness kept her there until the visitor had finished talking.

“That is excellent. I had a room in one of the halls; I think it was Roberts—or Rutgers; now was it that? Well, that’s of no consequence. I was explaining that the room was extremely dark, even in midday very little light penetrating the—er—the windows. As my eyes are unfortunately quite weak I was obliged to inform Mister—Mister—”

“Gordon,” prompted Hope gently.

“Thank you. Yes, Mr. Gordon. I was obliged to inform him that the room would not be satisfactory. I then learned that there was no other room to be had at the school. Quite extraordinary, I would say.”

He paused and seemed to be pondering the fact. Hope waited. After a moment he looked up in his funny startled way.

“I—I beg your pardon!” he said confusedly. “I—I fear I am detaining you.”

“Oh, no, sir. I’ll tell my mother that you are here.”

“If you will be so kind.” He bowed gravely.

But Mrs. Hazard was already on the way, having heard the voices on the porch. As she came out Mr. Hanks arose from his chair and bowed. Then, as an afterthought, he removed his faded straw hat.

“Mama,” said Hope, “this is Mr. Nancy Hanks—I mean—” She faltered in confusion. Mr. Hanks came to the rescue.

“I fear you did not get the name quite correctly,” he said politely. “Artemus Hanks is the name.”

“He—he is looking for a room,” said Hope hurriedly, painfully aware that she was blushing frantically.

“I shall be very glad to show you what we have,” said Mrs. Hazard with a smile. “Will you come in?”

“Er—thank you.” Mr. Hanks placed his book, open and face down, on the chair, put his hat carefully on top of it and followed. “I am not very particular, Mrs.—er—Mrs. Hazel; plenty of light is almost my sole requirement. Unfortunately, my eyesight—”

They passed out of hearing, leaving Hope divided between confusion and laughter. How had she ever been so stupid as to call him Nancy? The gate slammed and Jim came up the walk, laden with bundles and looking very warm.

“Oh, Jim,” she cried softly. “He came and I called him Mr. Nancy Hanks! Wasn’t that simply awful?”

“Who came? Mr. Hanks? Came here? What for?”

“For a room. Just after you went. I was sitting here—”

“Did he take it?” asked Jim eagerly.

“I don’t know. He’s still up there. Isn’t he the funniest, foolishest old dear of a man, Jim? He couldn’t remember Lady’s name, nor Mr. Gordon’s—”

“S-sh, they’re coming down,” warned Jim. The instructor, followed by Mrs. Hazard, came out of the door.

“I hope you will find it quite light enough, Professor.”

“Not Professor, ma’am, merely instructor. I have no doubt the room will be—er—quite satisfactory. I shall have my things removed directly.” He caught sight of Jim and bowed. “How do you do,” he murmured. “Thank you, ma’am.” He bowed to Mrs. Hazard, managing to include Hope in the salutation, and started down the steps. Hope, stifling a giggle, seized his hat and book and ran after him.

“Eh?” he asked bewilderedly. “Oh, thank you, thank you. My hat—and book; to be sure. I believe I would have forgotten them. Thank you, thank you.”

He set his hat on his head, where it immediately shifted to the same rakish angle as before, closed the gate carefully behind him, opened his book and paced slowly off toward school, reading as he went. Hope subsided in a chair and gave way to laughter. Jim grinned in sympathy and Mrs. Hazard said “S-sh!” warningly, but had to smile too. Then:

“Well, Jim, another room rented,” she said cheerfully.

“Fine, Lady! What’s he going to pay?”

“Why—why”—a queer expression came over Mrs. Hazard’s face—“why, do you know, Jim, I don’t think he—I—we spoke of the price at all!”