It was the morning of the closing football game of the Queen's School schedule, Saturday, November 12, and recitations were hurried the least little bit. Even the teachers felt the excitement of the day. This was shown by the generous disposition to overlook poor lessons for at least one morning of the school year, and some of them even cut the hours short.

David, who had interviewed the Doctor and taken his place with his class the first of the week, felt the thrill of enthusiasm, and was burning for the slow hours to drag along till 2 o'clock when the great contest was to be called. Football was literally in the air, for everywhere in the school yard, where there was a chance for it between the recitations, groups of boys were gathered and footballs flew high from vigorous toes, and there was the resounding thwack as the ball dropped in some fellow's arms thirty yards away from the kicker.

It was an ideal day for the game—just a little nip of frost in the air, the merest suggestion of the coming winter, but this was tempered by a bright, warm sun. It was not so warm that the players would be exhausted by the heat, nor was it so cold that spectators were put to the inconvenience and discomfort of heavy wraps.

About noon the invading hosts of Warwick began to reach the Queen's School, and spread themselves about the grounds, flaunting the red and black colors of Warwick. Here and there groups of boys from the two schools gathered together, and there was some little fraternizing, but as a general thing the black and red and the blue and gold did not mix well. The rivalry between the two schools in everything was intense, and the members of each thought the other school just a little inferior in most things.

This feeling sometimes resulted in blows being struck and blood shed from bruised noses when encounters took place between representatives of the two away from school grounds. But to-day was the day of the year, and while rivalry was strong, the feeling of antagonism was held in check, for wasn't Queen's the host to-day, and Warwick the guest? No blood should be shed this day except on the fair field of battle—the gridiron.

"What's the matter, Jimmy?" said Frank to that individual, whom he chanced to meet hurrying along the path in front of Warren Hall. "Have you seen that ghost again?"

"No, but I'm pretty nervous."

"Been losing sleep over the apparition?"

"Oh, shucks, no. The old ghost doesn't bother me, but I just met Horton and he told me that he may put me in before the game is over. I'm scared to death."

"And what's to worry you about that? I thought that's what you wanted most of anything on this green, grassy earth."

"Well, I do, but what would happen if I didn't make good?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, you'll be Johnny on the spot, I'm willing to bet. And if you get in, you'll get your 'Q.' Just think of it—your first year!"

"I'm not thinking of the 'Q' so much as whether I can do what I've got to do. I feel just like I did that day when you and I swam at the water carnival at Turner's Point last summer—shaky all over."

Frank grinned as he recalled it.

"I remember that well enough. Before the race came off I was sure that the moment I hit the water I'd go down, and drown, but as soon as I hit the water I thought no more about it. And you will be like that. I tell you it's a big honor to be able to get on the team the first year. Not many Freshmen get the chance. I'm proud to know you, Mr. James Turner."

"Quit your jollying, Frank, and tell me if you've seen the ghost since. You never saw such a scared kid as Lewis was that night, and you couldn't get him down on the playgrounds after eight o'clock if you were to pay him real money."

"Yes," said Frank, "David and I saw it night before last in exactly the same place. It seemed to come from nowhere and disappeared behind the football stand. Seems as if it went into the water. Isn't it queer?"

"It is mighty queer, indeed. What did Gleason say about it?"

"Oh, he wasn't in at the time. He'd gone over to the library early in the evening, and David and I were alone. When he came in and we told him about it, he said it must surely be the ghost of the drowned boy. He had inquired of old Peter Flipp, the shoemaker up on the hill, and Peter told him that the meadows were what he called 'hanted'."

"Did you see it clearly this time?"

"No, not so clearly as the first time; the moon, you know, is on the wane now, and the grounds were darker, but still light enough to show pretty plainly. It was the same figure, and seemed to move pretty swiftly, faster than a walk, I should say, and slower than a run, and, as before, it was above the ground."

"Well, it beats me," said Jimmy. "I've never heard of anything like it. I must be getting along. Here comes Gleason now. Good-bye, old speed. I'll see you later," and Jimmy turned away, as Gleason came up.

"Telling him what the score is going to be this afternoon, old Web-foot?" inquired Gleason.

"No, Codfish, I was telling him about the second visitation of that thing down on the grounds by the river. When this football season is over, I'm going to lay for that old ghost or whatever it is."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Gleason, "you don't know what might happen. I've heard of people who tried a hand with ghosts and their hair turned white in a single night from sheer fright. I wouldn't like to see my trusty wife in such a condition as that."

"Just the same I'd like to take a closer look at that thing, and I don't believe I'd be afraid; but at present there is something else to be done, and that's to get something to eat and get down to the grounds in time for a good seat."

"Looks like a big crowd to-day. Guess these Warwickers have all left their happy homes to see the slaughter, and I'm afraid they're not going to be disappointed," said Gleason.

"Oh, don't lose heart, you can't tell. There may be a Freshman in the game before it's through, and that will help a lot." Frank threw this last word over his shoulder to Gleason as he hurried to the dining-room. Coming from the hall, after a hastily snatched bite, he overtook the Wee One, and together they journeyed to the gymnasium, where both teams were to dress for the fray, Warwick having been given the big locker room on the second floor, while Queen's retained the lower floor.

As they approached the gymnasium a big coach drove down the river road in a cloud of dust. It was positively covered with boys. It bore the football eleven of Warwick and its immediate crowd of heelers. Wherever a boy could stick, he had stuck himself, and every one swung the colors of the school.

"Gee whiz, look at those mastodons," cried Wee Willie as the Warwick players began to uncoil themselves from various parts of the coach. "They'll eat us alive. I know they must be cannibals. Poor Queen's, poor Queen's."

"They certainly are whales," said Frank, "but they look a bit logy to me. A good fast team ought to keep them on the jump."

"Yes, but where do you see that good, fast team? It doesn't live hereabouts, does it?"

"Oh, don't get discouraged so early in the game. Wait at least till they've played a few minutes."

By this time the coach had unloaded, and the heelers of the eleven, reinforced by fifty or more boys of those who had come down earlier in the day, got together and gave the snappy school yell:

"They yell as if it were all over, don't they?" observed David, who had just come up.

"There does seem to be something of jubilance in it, that's a fact," said the Wee One. "And the eleven is certainly big enough to give the York Freshmen a rub if weight amounts to anything. Come on, we'd better get to our places, the stand is filling up."

Every one around the country-side within a radius of ten miles was present. Country lads and lassies making a holiday of it; fond papas and mammas to see Charlie or Freddie or Tommy take his part in the game. And mamma was very shivery about what might happen to the young man in the conflict so soon to come. And then there were the young beaux of both Warwick and Queen's who had blossomed out into their very best, each with a pretty little maid, perhaps from as far away as Milton, at his side, who simply revelled in the blue and gold or the red and black. Some of the girls even carried the color scheme into their hats and clothing. And such a hum of talk and such a clatter, as the crowds climbed the wooden bleachers looking for the best vantage points, and such a world of questions for the young beaux to answer the pretty little maidens.

"Oh, dear," says one fair questioner, "what are those white H's at each end of the field for?"

"White what?" says the escort.

"Those big wooden things like an H—two straight pieces, and another across the middle; it looks like an H. What does it stand for?"

"Stand for, stand for, why it stands to get kicked at. It's the goal post, Minnie."

"O, stupid, I should have known. And those little white lines. I suppose they're out if they run across them."

"Of course they are," says the escort, busy watching the corner of the field where the teams make their appearance, and not comprehending what she says.

But Frank, the Wee One, David and Gleason have no attachments of any kind. Frank had written an urgent letter to his father and mother to come up, but Mrs. Armstrong was not very well, and could not make the trip, and Mr. Armstrong was too busy at the office. "Will come up when you are on the team," was the answer. And the quartet were all very well satisfied to see the game this way.

Suddenly there was a great waving of red and black flags as the Warwick eleven came lumbering onto the field with Captain Channing at their head. A burst of cheering rolled up. The snappy Warwick yell floated out over the field and then a rollicking song.

In the middle of the song up rose the whole Queen's side of the stand and let out a roar, for the Queen's team was seen coming 'way down by the far end. Their quick movements were in sharp contrast to the heavier Warwicks. And as the school saw their active prancing, a feeling came from somewhere that after all the hard knocks they might win to-day. The cheer leaders were busy pumping melody out of the bunch on the stands:

"What are you doing, whispering? Get into it and let's hear you. It's as silent out here as the town of Milton on a summer afternoon." This brought a laugh, for Milton was not noted for its activity at any time of the year. And they got into the song which the cheer leader called for.

Both teams were, meanwhile, going through a brief practice in signal drill.

"My, how Channing boots that ball—see it soar!" cried Frank, and soar it did. Channing was a remarkable punter for a schoolboy, and every kick he sent off was labelled danger for the catching backs.

"Jimmy is not in the line-up," observed the Wee One to Frank.

"No, didn't expect he would be at first, but I think he'll get in, for I don't believe Hillard will last long. He was never very good as a defensive player anyway."

"Horton wants to put him in anyway at the first of the game so as to get the best of his speed. Good plan, too."

"Think it is a mistake," ventured the Codfish, "because these fellows from up the river are going to slam-bang that line of ours, and they'll need all the defence they can get, and on defense Turner is about twice as good as Hillard. If I were coaching I'd put my best backs in and try to stop these fellows' fire, and then when I had them stopped I'd put in my fast fellows and run around them."

"There's wisdom in what you say, Solomon, but as you're not the coach, you can't give us a demonstration, and Mr. Horton will."

By this time the teams had finished their signal drill, and gathered each in a little knot while the captains went out to midfield to toss the coin for position on the field.

"There she goes," said the Wee One. "Bet you Queen's gets it."

"You lose," said Gleason, "Warwick got it and Channing's taking the wind at his back. Oh, my, oh, my! That's bad, right off the bat."

The Warwick captain had elected to take the wind, and the breeze now blowing would be a considerable help to him. The sun affected neither, as the football field lay nearly north and south.

"There we go," cried Frank, as a piercing whistle announced the beginning of hostilities.