Jeffrey and Hope failed in their plan to entice Mrs. Hazard to the game that afternoon. When they reached Sunnywood dinner was just over and Mrs. Hazard and Mr. Hanks were coming from the dining-room.

“Did you have a nice time, dear?” asked Hope’s mother.

“Oh, just scrumptious!” Hope answered. “And Jeff bought the darlingest, jimmiest canoe you ever saw! And its name is ‘Mi-Ka-Noo.’ And Jeff is going to teach me to paddle, aren’t you, Jeff?”

“If Lady doesn’t mind,” replied Jeff. “Do you like canoeing, sir?” he asked, turning to Mr. Hanks, who, during the conversation had been surreptitiously striving to edge his way past the group and reach the stairway.

“I—I have never tried it, Latham. But isn’t it—er—a bit unsafe? I’ve always understood that canoes were—er—very unstable boats.”

“Well, you have to be careful in them,” Jeffrey allowed. “But they’re not quite as bad as folks try to make out. As long as you can swim there’s no danger, sir.”

“I suppose not; no, not so long as you can—er—swim. I regret to say that swimming is an accomplishment I have never mastered.”

“I don’t know about this canoeing,” said Mrs. Hazard doubtfully. “Hope can swim a little, but—”

“Why, Lady, you know I can swim beautifully! I swam seventy-five strokes last summer!”

“Well, that would be enough to take you ashore anywhere on this river,” laughed Jeffrey. “I don’t think you need be alarmed, Lady. I’ll be very careful of her.”

“But—but can you swim all right yourself, Latham?” asked Mr. Hanks.

“Oh, yes, sir, I get along better in the water than I do on land.”

“Well, I suppose you can go, then, if you want to very much,” said Mrs. Hazard. “But do be careful; and sit very quiet. Are you going this afternoon?”

“Oh, no, Lady. Jeff hasn’t got it yet; not until next week. He’s having the name painted on it. This afternoon we’re going to the football game. We’re all going, aren’t we?” She turned questioningly to the instructor. “You are coming with us, aren’t you, Mr. Hanks?”

“Er—why, thank you,” he stammered, “but I have so much to attend to, Miss Hope. I—I think I won’t go. Much obliged. I—I must really get back to my work.” He moved toward the stairway, nodded embarrassedly and disappeared up the stairs.

“Well, you’re coming, aren’t you?” Hope demanded of her mother. But Mrs. Hazard shook her head smilingly.

“Not to-day, dear. I’ve too much to do. I’ve told Jane she might go to the village and do some shopping, and—”

“Then I shall stay at home and help you,” declared Hope cheerfully. “You won’t mind, will you, Jeff?”

“Oh, but Jeff will mind!” said Mrs. Hazard laughingly. “He will mind terribly! And, besides, my dear, I don’t need you a bit. So run along and don’t be late.”

“There’s lots of time,” said Hope. “Are you quite, quite sure there’s nothing I can do, Lady?”

“Quite sure. So you go and see the football. Did you have luncheon enough? Don’t you want something now?”

“No, ma’am, we had plenty,” replied Jeffrey. “In fact, we didn’t eat quite all of it.”

“We had a lot of peanuts, too,” laughed Hope. “Poke bought them, and Jim and Gil took them away from him and we all ate them coming home. And, Lady, it’s perfectly beautiful at Riverbend, and we saw thousands and thousands of canoes, and—”

“Isn’t that a great many?” asked her mother smilingly.

“Well, not thousands, but hundreds, Lady. We did see hundreds, didn’t we, Jeff?”

“Well, let’s say dozens, Hope, and be on the safe side,” Jeff replied with a laugh. “Sometime I’d like you and Hope to let me take you up there in the canoe, Lady, and show you how pretty it is. Sometime in the spring would be best, I suppose.”

“I should love to go,” replied Mrs. Hazard, “but I’ll have to learn to swim first. Now run along to your football game. Is Jim going to play to-day, Jeff?”

“No, ma’am, I think not. At least, I’m afraid he isn’t.”

“Well, I was afraid he was,” Mrs. Hazard laughed. “It’s all in the point of view, isn’t it? Do you think you ought to walk so much, Jeff? You must be careful and not get too tired.”

“Oh, I don’t mind it. It’s just my shoulders that get sort of tired sometimes, but they soon feel all right again. I think I’ll go up and put some decent clothes on, Hope. It won’t take me very long.”

“And I’m going to do the same,” Hope replied. “And it will take me a full half-hour. So you needn’t hurry. We’ve got plenty of time, haven’t we?”

“Over an hour,” Jeffrey replied. “So you can just doll yourself all up, Hope.”

“Doesn’t he use awful language, Lady?” asked Hope. “I’d be ashamed if I were a senator’s son, wouldn’t you? I’ll be all ready in just exactly half an hour, Jeff.”

“All right; I’ll be waiting for you.”

When he reached the head of the stairs he noticed that Mr. Hanks’ door was partly open. It was usually closed tight when the instructor was inside, and Jeffrey wondered. And he wondered more a moment later when the sound of quick, nervous footsteps reached him. He paused a moment and listened. Back and forth paced Mr. Hanks, the length of the room, the tail of his coat appearing at the opening of the door each time as he turned.

“I wonder,” reflected Jeffrey, “what the trouble is with Nancy. He sounds like a caged lion. I guess somebody must have turned in some pretty bad papers. Hope it wasn’t me!”

True to her promise, Hope was ready at the end of the half-hour, looking very neat and pretty in her blue dress. Jeffrey had changed his old clothes for a suit of dark gray, and they were a very nice-looking pair of youngsters as they left the cottage. Jeffrey said something complimentary about Hope’s gown, and Hope smiled demurely down at its trim folds.

“It is nice, isn’t it?” she asked. “I like blue better than any other color. I suppose I ought to like crimson, oughtn’t I? Because that’s the Crofton color. But I couldn’t wear crimson, could I? Not with yellow hair.”

“Never mind,” laughed Jeffrey, “you’ll make an awful hit with the St. Luke’s fellows. Their color’s blue, you see.”

“Not really, Jeff?”

He nodded. “Of course, their shade of blue isn’t like your dress, but they’ll know you’re for them, Hope.”

Hope tossed her head. “They’ll know nothing of the sort. I shall borrow somebody’s flag and tie it around my neck! They won’t beat us, will they?”

“St. Luke’s? I don’t think so, but you can’t tell. Gil says we’re going to have a rattling good game, so I suppose that means that it will be a close one.”

“I hope so. I don’t care how close it is as long as we win. That Gary boy can’t play to-day, can he?”

“No, not for a good many days. He fixed himself for awhile, I guess. Wasn’t Mr. Hanks funny when you asked him to go with us? I thought he was going to fall in a faint.”

“I don’t see why, do you? It would do him good to get out of doors and forget his silly work now and then.”

“I guess it would. When I went upstairs he was walking back and forth in his room just like a lion in a cage at the zoo. I guess something must be troubling him.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Hope. “He often does that. You can hear him in the dining-room when you’re setting table or something. He does it sometimes for ten or fifteen minutes, and then he’s as quiet as a mouse for hours and hours! I suppose it’s his writing, Jeff. He—he is seeking inspiration.”

“I hope he finds it before your carpet is worn out!” Jeffrey laughed. “I wonder what he is writing, Hope.”

“I think it’s a book,” said Hope.

“What kind of a book?”

Hope shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps—perhaps it’s a novel, Jeff.”

“A novel! Fancy Nancy Hanks writing a novel!” Jeffrey laughed at the thought of it.

“I don’t see why not,” Hope demurred. “I think he’s awfully smart, Jeff, don’t you? Don’t you think he knows a terrible lot?”

“Y-es, I suppose he does, only—only he doesn’t look like a novelist, does he?”

“I don’t think Sir Walter Scott looked much like a novelist, but he was one. And—and I don’t suppose all novelists can look the same, anyway.”

“I suppose not. But I’ll bet you that book of his is some sort of a history or a Latin text-book. Why, Nancy wouldn’t waste his time on anything as—as flippant as a novel, Hope!”

“I don’t think novels are flippant,” Hope replied rather indignantly. “You don’t call Ivanhoe and David Copperfield and—and all those flippant, do you?”

“No, but I wasn’t thinking of that sort of novels. If that’s what he’s doing—”

“You can’t tell. He might be. If he is I do hope he will tell us about it when it’s done. Wouldn’t you like to read it, Jeff?”

“I don’t know; I dare say. Anyhow, I know mighty well I’d rather read it than any old Latin book he could write!”

They found the grand-stand well filled when they reached the field, and after securing seats they had to wait but a minute or two before the visiting team appeared. Hope was relieved to find that the St. Luke’s blue was a very light shade of the color, although Jeffrey gravely assured her that blue was blue and that St. Luke’s wouldn’t mind if she didn’t wear the exact shade.

“There’s Brandon Gary over there,” said Jeffrey sotto voce as he indicated the direction with his glance. “I should think he’d feel pretty mean to be sitting up there not able to play.”

“Who is the nice-looking boy this side of him?” asked Hope. “The one leaning forward.”

“Joe Cosgrove. He’s baseball captain, you know. He is nice looking, isn’t he? They say he’s a dandy player.”

“I don’t care much for baseball, do you?” said Hope.

“Crazy about it.”

“But you don’t like it as well as football, Jeff?”

“I don’t know. I think I do. Perhaps one reason is that a fellow can see a baseball game and not freeze to death or get soaking wet. Still, come to think of it, I did get pretty well drenched once at a baseball game. I’d rather see a boat race, though, than either.”

“I’ve never seen one,” said Hope. “Not a rowing race, I mean. I’ve watched lots of yacht races, but I never can make out which boat is ahead. There are always so many of them. And lots and lots of them aren’t racing at all; just following; and I never know which is which. I suppose a rowing race isn’t like that, though.”

“Not a bit. I’m going to try for the crew in the spring, but I don’t suppose I’ll make it. Anyhow, it’s fun trying, and I love to row. Here comes our fellows, Hope.”

The cheer leaders were on their feet and in an instant the sharp cheer rattled out; Crow, crow, crow, Crofton! Crow, crow, crow, Crofton! Crow, crow, crow, Crofton! Crofton! Crofton! Then came a cheer for St. Luke’s, and a moment after some thirty devoted sons of that alma mater gathered together across the field and returned the compliment, making up in vigor what they lacked in numbers. Then Crofton lined her warriors across the gridiron, St. Luke’s scattered her defense over the opposite territory and Duncan Sargent kicked off.