“Say, Hal, how does it look?” asked Leon eagerly.

It was early the next morning, so early that Harry was still dozing between the sheets; but Leon stood before the square mirror, trying in vain to get a glimpse of his own back and legs which, for the first time, were clothed in cadet gray. The suit he had worn the day before was tossed carelessly across the foot of his bed, and for half an hour he had been devoting all his attention to his toilet, then turning and twisting himself before the glass, to assure himself that the new uniform was to his liking. The change of costume was becoming to the lad. He already looked more the man and the soldier than he had done the evening before, and thanks to Harry’s persevering efforts during the summer, he carried himself with the ease of an old cadet, rather than the conscious awkwardness of the raw recruit, first donning his regimentals. But after he had inspected himself in every possible position, and gone through a sort of rudimentary drill of salutes and facings, he began to wish for the admiration of some disinterested person, so he remorselessly waked up his brother. At the third call, Harry rolled over sleepily.

“Ha-um!” he remarked, with a vigorous yawn.

“Wake up, Hal!” Leon implored him. “I want you to see if I’m all right.”

“Guess so.” And Harry turned back and composed himself to sleep once more, without bestowing a glance on his brother.

Leon crossed the room and shook him, for he felt that this was the time, if ever, when he had a right to demand fraternal advice and approval; but Harry only pulled the blanket over his head and sleepily murmured,—

“Go ’way.”

“Won’t you?” said Leon. “Well, we’ll see about it.” And filling a bath sponge with water, he cautiously approached the bed, with one hand suddenly twitched away the blanket and with the other dropped the sponge directly into Harry’s face. This time his efforts were crowned with success. Harry sat up spluttering and wrathful.

“Confound you, Leon!” he shouted, as he hurled the dripping sponge straight at his brother, who dodged just in time to let it drop harmlessly on the floor behind him. “Why can’t you let a fellow sleep? What are you waking me up for, in the middle of the night?”

“’Tisn’t; it’s morning,” returned Leon coolly; “and besides, I wanted you to see whether I’d put on my rig the way it ought to go. I knew you’d hate to have me appear with my coat on hind side before. Just cast your eye over me and see if I’m all here.”

“Did you get up at this time in the morning, just for this?” And Harry surveyed his brother with a scorn which soon changed to ill-concealed approval, as his eye rested on the trim, straight figure before him.

“You do carry it off better than most of the new fellows, Leon; that’s a fact. You must button your coat, though, and just pull up your left cuff a little, for it shows too much. There, that’s all right.”

“Then I do look well?” asked Leon, blushing like a girl at his own vanity.

“Yes, you’re O.K., only don’t let your finery make a Miss Nancy of you. Now, do let me go to sleep. It’s a good hour to breakfast time.”

“All right; I’m going out to explore.” And catching up his cap, he departed, leaving Harry to resume his nap.

Fifteen minutes were enough to show him the grounds and the outside of the buildings. On his way back to Old Flemming he met Stanley and Alex, who were just starting for a walk.

“You’re early, young Arnold,” Alex called, as he drew near. “If you’ve nothing better to do, come with us.”

“Where are you bound?” asked Leon, secretly longing to accept the invitation, but afraid he might be intruding.

“Only just to the village and back,” answered Stanley, pushing back his cap to let the cool morning air strike his forehead. “Come on.”

Leon accepted this repeated invitation, and the three boys tramped away up the road, which stretched along between two stone walls overgrown with blackberry vines and the dainty sprays of the Virginia creeper.

“What do you do here, Sundays?” asked Leon, stooping to break off a top-heavy spray of golden-rod that was lazily supporting itself against a rock.

“A little of everything,” answered Stanley. “Sunday is an off day and we aren’t kept nearly so close. We don’t really begin work till to-morrow morning, anyway.”

“When does drill begin?” inquired Leon.

“You new fellows will be put right at it,” Alex replied. “You’ll be divided up into squads and put in charge of the sergeants till you can salute and march and manage a gun without knocking the next fellow’s head off. After that, you can drill with the battalion.”

“It’s no end of fun to see the new fellows on drill, for they make such work of the ‘military goose-step,’ and when they first get their rifles, they’re all the time dropping them on their own toes, in parade rest and order arms,” added Stanley. “We used to go over to watch them, but it rattled them so badly that Lieutenant Wilde made us stop.”

“What is he?” asked Leon. “What’s his rank, I mean?”

“He ranks lieutenant in the army,” said Alex; “but here he’s commandant and major of our battalion. You’ll get on to the ranking soon,” he added encouragingly.

“Oh, Hal’s told me some of it, and he’s given me ever so much drill this summer, so he said that, after a day or two, I could go right into battalion drill, with the other fellows of my class.”

“Good thing you have a brother,” said Stanley. “Most of us have to learn it all after we get here, and precious slow work it is, too.”

“Hullo, what’s this?” exclaimed Leon suddenly, as he glanced up the road ahead of them. “This thing coming looks like a scarecrow out for a morning stroll.”

“That’s one of Hilton’s characters,” answered Alex. “He’s kind of a half-witted fellow that lives in the woods north of the village. You must go to see him some day, for he’s delighted to have us boys call on him, and his cabin, where he lives all alone, is well worth the seeing. Just bow to him when you meet him; it pleases him immensely.”

The subject of the conversation was hurrying along towards them, with a curiously uncertain, rocking gait. The huge felt hat that covered his head and rested on his shoulders behind, was pushed off from his forehead, showing long, lank wisps of yellowish white hair; and the ragged gray coat whose tatters were fluttering airily in the morning breeze, made him look so much like what Leon had called him, “A scarecrow out for a morning stroll,” that one felt moved to peep under his coat for the supporting cross-sticks and straw which went to make up his body. Trudging along by his side was a mite of a boy with a bushy thatch of tousled flaxen hair, and dressed in a jacket and trousers of blue checked gingham. The strange pair seemed to be well-tried friends, for the urchin was chattering earnestly to his venerable companion who looked down at him with a simpering, vacant expression, as if only half understanding the simple talk of his little comrade.

“Who’s the boy?” asked Leon, after watching them for a moment, in amused silence.

“Cappy Toomsen, short for Caspar,” said Alex. “It isn’t a cheerful name, I confess; but it doesn’t seem to worry Master Cappy, for a more jolly little imp never lived. He is a great admirer of old Jerry, and the two are off somewhere together, almost every day.”

“How do? Fi’ day. New boy. Who he?” remarked Jerry, planting himself in their path at this moment, and pointing at Leon who flushed under his broad stare.

“Hullo, Jerry!” responded Stanley, nodding good-naturedly to the old man. “This is Leon Arnold, a new boy at Flemming.”

“Arno’, Leon Arno’,” said the old fellow, bobbing his head wisely. “Jerry likes Flemming boy!”

“Well he may,” remarked Stanley, as he went on. “He gets many an old coat and bit of money out of them.”

“The Hilton people call him Flemming’s ragbag,” added Alex. “He goes round, most of the time, dressed in our cast-off uniforms. Jerry always insists on being introduced to every new boy that comes to Flemming, and he has an endless memory for names and faces, so he’ll never forget you, you may be sure.”

Quarter of an hour later, the boys went in to breakfast. At the dining-room door, Leon was waylaid by his brother.

“Where in the world have you been, Leon?” he said eagerly. “I’ve been looking all round for you, to tell you that word just came up from the doctor’s that we’re to dine there to-night. Isn’t that jolly? It’s because you’re a new fellow, with a brother among the old boys. He always invites them.”

At breakfast, the new seats for the term were assigned, and Leon found himself between Stanley Campbell and Mr. Boniface, with Max opposite him. Farther down the table were Alex and Louis, while Harry was across the room, next to Lieutenant Wilde. As the boys took their seats, Max introduced Leon to still another table-companion, George Winslow by name, who glanced up long enough to nod indifferently, then began to eat his breakfast with a perfect unconcern. Leon watched him with an instinctive feeling of repulsion, for he formed a complete contrast to the genial good-nature of the other boys around him; and his low, square head with its cold, steel-gray eyes and heavy under jaw, was as little agreeable as was his habit of taking in his food in stolid silence, and with an utter disregard for the needs of those about him. He was still deliberately turning over the pile of muffins, to select the brownest and lightest, when he caught Leon’s stare of amused astonishment. He paused long enough to give back one look of defiance which made Leon hastily drop his eyes, while his face flushed as if he had been struck a blow. That one look told Leon, plainly as words, that here he had found an enemy. When he glanced up again, Stanley was giving an account of their meeting with Jerry.

“Jerry’s a rare specimen,” commented Max, as with a fine unconsciousness, he slipped his hand under that of George Winslow, and brought away the last muffin on the plate. “Oh, beg your pardon; were you after that?” he asked innocently, then continued, “You just wait till you get inside the church this morning, you’ll see more odd people there than you ever supposed were in the world.”

When the long line of boys was marshalled into the little church, Leon was forcibly reminded of the remark which Max had made at breakfast for, accustomed as he was to the city and its ways, the place and people filled him with amazement. The church itself was a low, square room in which only the middle seats faced the minister, while along each side of the room were rows of pews slightly raised and facing each other, thus giving their occupants a fine opportunity to see everything that concerned the congregation. The warm September sun streamed in at the unshaded windows, making the two tall stoves with their long stretches of rusty pipe seem quite unnecessary. Huddled together in the corner, around the wheezy little organ, sat the half-dozen singers, while at the foot of the low pulpit lay a shaggy yellow dog with one eye, who had followed the minister up the aisle and taken his place with an air of calm assurance which told, as plainly as words could have done, that his appearance at church was as regular as the coming of Sunday itself. The congregation, except for the Flemming boys, was limited to a few women whose pleasant, gentle faces looked strangely overpowered by their vast and top-heavy bonnets, while here and there was a subdued-looking farmer in his ill-fitting suit of Sunday clothes, or a freckled, sun-burned child. The boys of the school occupied the seats along the left side of the room; and from his seat between Harry and Louis, Leon glanced about, now at the tin basins hung by wires underneath the joints in the stove-pipe, now at old Jerry who, from his seat by the door, was lending a vacant attention to all that was passing, now at the dog who seemed impressed with the solemn nature of his surroundings, and lay quiet, only scratching his head, now and again, with a deprecating, apologetic air.

“I seen them boys laughin’ at Bose, ma,” he heard a sharp-faced child say to her portly companion, as they were coming out of church.

“More shame to ’em, Sairy, to hev their thoughts on sech carnal things! But,” added the good dame severely, as she glared down at her little daughter, “ef your own eyes had ’a’ b’en where they’d ought to be, you wouldn’t ’a’ seen it.”

“That dog is another of Hilton’s characters,” Louis was explaining, as the boys walked away down the road. “He was brought up from his puppyhood to go to church, and he behaves better than most of the children.”

“He has the advantage over the kids though,” put in Max from behind, where he was walking with Harry. “Bose can go to sleep when the sermon gets too dry, and they aren’t allowed to. I saw old Mrs. Wilson wake up her little girl six and a half times to-day, Wing.”

“Which was the half-time?” asked Leon.

“The time she poked her and she didn’t wake up,” responded Max promptly, while the boys laughed at his mathematics.

So the nonsense ran on until the boys reached the steps of Old Flemming. There they separated, Harry, Stanley and Louis going to their rooms to write their home letters before the hour for dinner, while Alex, with Max and Leon, sat down on the steps in the sunshine.

“Come take a walk, Max?” asked a gay voice behind them.

Max sprang up at once, exclaiming,—

“Hullo, Frank; where’ve you been all the morning?”

“In my room; I didn’t feel just right, so I cut church. Now I want to stretch myself a little. Come on.” And as the two boys walked away, Leon heard the new-comer ask,—

“Who’s the new fellow?”

“Hal Arnold’s brother.”

“Any good?”

By this time, they were too far away for Leon to catch their words, but he sat staring after them, as if dazzled by the rich, dark beauty of the stranger. When they were out of sight, he turned back to Alex.

“Who’s that?” he asked eagerly.

Alex, too, had been watching the boys, while something like a frown gathered on his face.

“That’s Frank Osborn,” he answered. “I don’t see what makes Max so wild to be with him.”

“Why not?” inquired Leon, surprised at his change of tone.

“Because he’s the worst friend Max can have,” said Alex abruptly. “He’s a Southerner with plenty of money and brains; but he’s no dig and he gets Max into scrapes the whole time. He’s not really bad, only a little fast, and getting worse; but he laughs at Max for being slow and makes him think it’s manly to just steer clear of being expelled. He’s not ugly, though, like Winslow, the fellow you saw at breakfast. He’s nothing but a bully, and you don’t want to have much to do with him. But you have Hal to look out for you, and he’s steady as a deacon, so you’re all right.”

The shadows were stretching out in long lines from the western hills, as Leon turned away from the mirror after a prolonged season of prinking, and rather nervously followed his brother down the stairs, out of the house and down the hill to the doctor’s door. In spite of Harry’s delight at the invitation, Leon was dreading the prospect of dining with the master of Flemming. However, such an invitation was not to be refused, and he was soon being ushered into a cosy parlor, where a little girl of six was sitting alone in front of a crackling fire. She was a dainty maiden, with a tangle of long brown curls and a pair of roguish brown eyes that shone with excitement, as she came bounding forward to meet Harry, with a patient-looking gray cat so doubled up over her arm that its lank tail and pointed ears met below.

“Hullo, Gyp!” exclaimed Harry, catching her up, as she reached him.

“Hullo!” she answered, returning his caress as a matter of course. “Papa told me to stay here till you came, so I could call him d’reckly. I kept Mouse for company, you see.”

“Is this the same old Mouse?” inquired Harry, laughing. “I thought the rats ate her up, long ago.”

“No, course not,” responded Gyp, in a tone of contempt for Harry’s mistaken idea. “Mouse ated all the rats up; that’s the way ’twas. Now I’ll call papa.” And she vanished, carrying the long-suffering Mouse head downward in her arms.

“Gyp is a great institution,” laughed Harry. “She and Mouse make no end of fun for us, and she’s as bright as Mouse is stupid. That cat must have been damaged in her infancy, I know.”

At this point, Gyp reappeared, triumphantly leading by the hand a gentleman whom she introduced as “papa.” Dr. Flemming might have been forty or forty-five years old, and though his tall, slight figure and thin face with its silky, yellow moustache and deep-set blue eyes, suggested delicate health, yet, there was no air of languor in either his words or manner. He welcomed both boys cordially, and at once set about entertaining them in a pleasant, friendly way that delighted Leon as much as did the quaint, dry wit which came into almost every remark he made. A few moments later, Mrs. Flemming entered the room, and Leon found her a bright, motherly little woman with a delightfully long memory for the different boys of the school, and the pet hobbies of each one of them.

After an informal dinner and an evening of pleasant talk, the boys reluctantly rose, to say good night. Dr. Flemming rose, too, and, taking Leon’s hand in both his own firm, slender ones and looking down into the lad’s eyes so keenly that Leon felt he could see into the very depths of his soul, he said kindly,—

“Arnold, you are just starting out into a new life, and I say to you what I say to all the boys when they come here. You will miss your home in many ways; you will find many things here that are new and strange. Do the very best you can in everything, whether it is work or play. Be generous and manly and, above all else, be true, true to yourself and true to the hopes of your parents in sending you to us, and we shall all be satisfied. And one more word: at the first, when you choose your friends, remember that, in a school the size of this, there are all sorts of boys, and choose those that will be a help to you, instead of a pull-back. Boys can’t be too careful about their friends, for with them it is just as it is with anything else. If you handle something black, a little of the color is likely to rub off on you. Look for the best and truest boys and, for your share, try to be as good for them as they are for you. Then your life at Flemming will be a pleasant and a happy one. And now, good night.” And he dismissed them, with a friendly smile.