“Pepper, you're wanted!” Dick Furness banged into Joel's room, then out again, adding two words, “Harrow—immediately.”

“All right,” said Joel, whistling on; all his thoughts upon “Moose Island” and the expedition there on the morrow. And he ran lightly down to the second floor, and into the under-teacher's room.

Mr. Harrow was waiting for him; and pushing aside some books, for he never seemed to be quite free from them even for a moment, he motioned Joel to a seat.

Joel, whose pulses were throbbing with the liveliest expectations, didn't bother his head with what otherwise might have struck him as somewhat queer in the under-teacher's manner. For the thing in hand was what Joel principally gave himself to. And as that clearly could be nothing else than the “Moose Island expedition,” it naturally followed that Mr. Harrow had to speak twice before he could gain his attention.

But when it was gained, there was not the slightest possible chance of misunderstanding what the under-teacher was saying, for it was the habit of this instructor to come directly to the point without unnecessary circumlocution.

But his voice and manner were not without a touch of sadness on this occasion that softened the speech itself.

“Joel, my boy,” Mr. Harrow began, “you know I have often had you down here to urge on those lessons of yours.”

“Yes, sir,” said Joel, wondering now at the voice and manner.

“Well, now to-day, I am instructed by the master to send for you for a different reason. Can you not guess?”

“No, sir,” said Joel, comfortable in the way things had been going on, and wholly unable to imagine the blow about to fall.

“I wish you had guessed it, Joel,” said Mr. Harrow, moving uneasily in his chair, “for then you would have made my task easier. Joel, Dr. Marks says, on account of your falling behind in your lessons, without reason—understand this, Joel, without reason—you are not to go to Moose Island to-morrow.”

Even then Joel did not comprehend. So Mr. Harrow repeated it distinctly.

“What!” roared Joel. In his excitement he cleared the space between them, and gained Mr. Harrow's side. “Not go to Moose Island, Mr. Harrow?” his black eyes widening, and his face working fearfully.

“No,” said Mr. Harrow, drawing a long breath, “you are not to go; so Dr. Marks says.”

“But I must go,” cried Joel, quite gone in passion.

“'Must' is a singular word to use here, Joel,” observed Mr. Harrow sternly.

“But I—oh, Mr. Harrow, do see if you can't help me to go.” Joel squirmed all over, and even clutched the under-teacher's arm piteously.

“Alas, Joel! it is beyond my power.” Mr. Harrow shook his head. He didn't think it necessary to state that he had already used every argument he could employ to induce Dr. Marks to change his mind. “Some strong pressure must be brought to bear upon Pepper, or he will amount to nothing but an athletic lad. He must see the value of study,” the master had responded, and signified that the interview was ended, and his command was to be carried out.

“Joel,”—Mr. Harrow was speaking—“be a man, and bear this as you can. You've had your chances for study, and not taken them. It is a case of must now. Remember, Dr. Marks is doing this in love to you. He has got to fit you out as well as he can in this school, to take that place in life that your mother wants you to fill. Don't waste a moment on vain regrets, but buckle to your studies now.”

It was a long speech for the under-teacher, and he had a hard time getting through with it. At its end, Joel, half dazed with his misfortune, but with a feeling that as a man, Dr. Marks and Mr. Harrow had treated him, hurried back to his room, dragged his chair up to the table, and pushing off the untidy collection of rackets, tennis balls, boxing gloves, and other implements of his gymnasium work and his recreation hours, lent his whole heart with a new impulse to his task.

Somehow he did not feel like crying, as had often been the case with previous trials. “He said, 'Be a man,'” Joel kept repeating over and over to himself, while the words of his lesson swam before his eyes. “And so I will; and he said, Dr. Marks had got to make me as Mamsie wanted me to be,” repeated Joel to himself, taking a shorter cut with the idea. “And so I will be.” And he leaned his elbows on the table, bent his head over his book, and clutching his stubby crop by both hands and holding on tightly, he was soon lost to his misfortune and the outside world.

“Hullo!” David stood still in amazement at Joel's unusual attitude over his lesson. Then he reflected that he was making up extra work, to be free for the holiday on the morrow. Notwithstanding the need of quiet, David was so full of it that he couldn't refrain from saying jubilantly, “Oh, what a great time we'll have to-morrow, Joe!” giving him a pound on the back.

“I'm not going,” said Joel, without raising his head.

David ran around his chair to look at him from the further side, then peered under the bunch of curls Joel was hanging to.

“What's—what's the matter, Joe?” he gasped, clutching the table.

“Dr. Marks says I'm not to go,” said Joel, telling the whole at once.

“Dr. Marks said you were not to go!” repeated David. “Why, Joel, why?” he demanded in a gasp.

“I haven't studied; I'm way behind. Let me alone,” cried Joel. “I've got a perfect lot to make up,” and he clutched harder than ever at his hair.

“Then I shall not go,” declared David, and rushing out of the room he was gone before Joel could fly from his chair; which he did, upsetting it after him.

“Dave—Dave!” he yelled, running out into the hall, in the face of a stream of boys coming up from gymnasium practice.

“What's up, Pepper?” But he went through their ranks like a shot. Nevertheless David was nowhere to be seen, as he had taken some short cut, and was lost in the crowd.

Joel bent his steps to the under-teacher's room, knocked, and in his excitement thought he heard, “Come in.” And with small ceremony he precipitated himself upon Mr. Harrow, who seemed to be lost in a revery, his back to him, leaning his elbow on the mantel, and his head upon his hand.

“Er—oh!” exclaimed Mr. Harrow, startled out of his usual composure, and turning quickly to face Joel. “Oh, it's you, Pepper!” which by no means lifted him out of his depression.

“Dave says he won't go without me. You must make him,” said Joel, in his intensity forgetting his manners.

“To Moose Island?” asked Mr. Harrow.

Joel nodded. He couldn't yet bring himself to speak the name.

“All right; I will, Joe.” Mr. Harrow grasped the brown hand hanging by Joel's side.

“Really?” said Joel, swallowing hard.

“Really. Run back to your books, and trust me.”

So Joel dashed back, not minding the alluring cries from several chums, “Come on—just time for a game before supper,” and was back before his table in the same attitude, and hanging to his hair.

“I can study better so,” he said, and holding on for dear life.

One or two boys glanced in. “Come out of this hole,” they cried. “No need to study for to-morrow. Gee whiz! just think of Moose Island, Joe.”

No answer.

“Joe!” They ran in and shook his shoulders. “Moose Island!” they screamed, and the excitement with which the whole school was charged was echoing it through the length of the dormitory.

“Go away,” cried Joel at them, “or I'll fire something at you,” as they swarmed around his chair.

“Fire your old grammar,” suggested one, trying to twitch away his book; and another pulled the chair out from under him.

Joel sprawled a moment on the floor; then he sprang up, hanging to his book, and faced them. “I'm not going. Clear out.” And in a moment the room was as still as if an invasion had never taken place. In their astonishment they forgot to utter a word.

And in ten minutes the news was all over the playground and in all the corridors, “Joe Pepper isn't going to Moose Island.”

If they had said that the corner stone of the dormitory was shaky, the amazement would not have been so great in some quarters; and the story was not believed until they had it from Joe himself. Then amazement changed to grief. Not to have Joe Pepper along, was to do away with half the fun.

Percy ran up to him in the greatest excitement just before supper. “What is it, Joe?” he cried. “The fellows are trying to say that you're not going to Moose Island.” He was red with running, and panted dreadfully. “And Van is giving it to Red Hiller for telling such a whopper.”

“Well, he needn't,” said Joel, “for it's perfectly true. I'm not going.”

Percy tried to speak; but what with running, and his astonishment, his tongue flapped up idly against the roof of his mouth.

“Dr. Marks won't let me,” said Joel, not mincing matters. “I've got to study; so there's an end of it.” But when Davie came in, a woe begone figure, for Mr. Harrow had kept his promise, then was Joel's hardest time. And he clenched his brown hands to keep the tears back then, for David gave way to such a flood in the bitterness of his grief to go without Joel, that for a time, Joel was in danger of utterly losing his own self-control.

“I'm confounded glad.” It was Jenk who said it to his small following; and hearing it, Tom Beresford blazed at him. “If you weren't quite so small, I'd knock you down.”

“Well, I am glad,”—Jenk put a goodly distance between himself and Tom, notwithstanding Tom's disgust at the idea of touching him—“for Pepper is so high and mighty, it's time he was taken down,” but a chorus of yells made him beat a retreat.

Dr. Marks paced up and down his study floor, his head bent, his hands folded behind him.

“It was the only way. No ordinary course could be taken with Pepper. It had come to be imperative. It will make a man of him.” He stepped to the desk and wrote a few words, slipped them into an envelope, sealed and addressed it.

“Joanna!” He went to the door and summoned a maid, the same one who had shaken her broom at Joel when he rushed in with the dog. “Take this over to the North Dormitory as quickly as possible.” It seemed to be especially necessary that haste be observed; and Dr. Marks, usually so collected, hurried to the window to assure himself that his command was obeyed.

Mrs. Fox took the note as Joanna handed it in, and sent it up at once, as those were the orders from the master. It arrived just at the moment when Joel was at the end of his self-mastery. He tore it open. “My boy, knowing you as I do, I feel sure that you will be brave in bearing this. It will help you to conquer your dislike for study and make a man of you. Affectionately yours, H. L. Marks.”

Joel swung the note up over his head, and there was such a glad ring to his voice that David was too astonished to cry.

“See there!” Joel proudly shook it at him. “Read it, Dave.”

So David seized it, and blinked in amazement.

“Dr. Marks has written to me,” said Joel importantly, just as if David hadn't the note before him. “And he says, 'Be a man,' just as Mr. Harrow said, and, 'affectionately yours.' Now, what do you think of that, Dave Pepper?”

David was so lost in the honor that had come to Joel, that the grief that he was feeling in the thought of the expedition to be made to Moose Island to-morrow without Joel, began to pale. He smiled and lifted his eyes, lately so wet with tears. “Mamsie would like that note, Joe.”

Tom Beresford rushed in without the formality of a knock, and gloomily threw himself on the bed. “Poor Joe!” was written all over his long face.

“Oh, you needn't, Tom,” said Joel gaily, and prancing up and down the room, “pity me, because I won't have it.”

“It's pity for myself as well,” said Tom lugubriously, and cramming the pillow-end into his mouth. “What's a fellow to do without you, Joe?” suddenly shying the pillow at Joel.

Joe caught it and shied it back, then twitched the master's note out of David's hand. “Read it, Tom,” he cried, with sparkling eyes.

“I'd much rather stay back with you, Joe,” Tom was saying.

“Well, you won't,” retorted Joel. “Dave tried that on, but it was no good. Read it, I tell you.” So Tom sat up on the bed, and spread Dr. Marks' note on his knee.

“Great CÆsar's ghost! It's from the master himself! And what does he say?” Tom rubbed his eyes violently, stared, and rushed over the few sentences pellmell; then returned to take them slowly to be sure of their meaning.

“Joe Pepper!” He got off from the bed.

“Isn't it great!” cried Joel. “Give me my note, Tom.”

“I should say so!” cried Tom, bobbing his head. “I shouldn't in the least mind being kept back from a few things, to get a note like that. Think of it, Joe, from Dr. Marks!”

“I know it,” cried Joel, in huge satisfaction. “Well, now, you must take yourself off, Tom; I've got to study like a Trojan.” He ran to the closet, and came back with his arms full of books.

“All right,” said Tom, shooting out. Then he shot back, gave Joel a pat—by no means a light one;—“Success to you, old fellow!” and was off, this time for good.

And Davie dreamed that night that Joel took first prize in everything straight through; and that he himself was sailing, sailing, over an interminable sea (going to Moose Island probably), under a ban never to come back to Dr. Marks' school. And the first thing he knew, Joel was pounding him and calling lustily, “Get up, Dave; you know you are to start early.”

And then all was bustle and confusion enough, as how could it be helped with all those boys getting off on such an expedition?

And Joel was the brightest of them all, here, there, and everywhere! You never would have guessed that he wasn't the leading spirit in the whole expedition, and its bright particular star!

And he ran down to the big stone gate to see them off. And the boys wondered; but there was no chance to pity him, with such a face. There was only pity for themselves.

And somebody started, “Three cheers for Joe Pepper!” It wasn't the under-teacher, but he joined with a right good will; and the whole crowd took it up, as Joel ran back to tackle his books, pinching Dr. Marks' letter in his pocket, to make sure it really was there!

Just about this time, Alexia Rhys was rushing to school. She was late, for everything had gone wrong that morning from the very beginning. And of course Polly Pepper had started for school, when Alexia called for her; and feeling as if nothing mattered now, the corner was reached despairingly, when she heard her name called.

It was an old lady who was a friend of her aunt's, and Alexia paused involuntarily, then ran across the street to see what was wanted.

“Oh, my dear, I suppose I ought not to stop you, for you are going to school.”

“Oh, it doesn't matter,” said Alexia indifferently; “I'm late anyway. What is it, Miss Seymour?”

“I want to congratulate you—I must congratulate you,” exclaimed old Miss Seymour, with an excited little cackle. “I really must, Alexia.”

Alexia ran over in her mind everything for which she could, by any possibility, be congratulated; and finding nothing, she said, “What for?” quite abruptly.

“Oh, my dear! Haven't you heard?” Old Miss Seymour put her jewelled fingers on the girl's shoulder. She had gathered up her dressy morning robe in her hand, and hastened down her front steps at the first glimpse of Alexia across the way.

Alexia knew of old the roundabout way pursued by her aunt's friend in her narrations. Besides, she cared very little anyway for this bit of old women's gossip. So she said carelessly, “No, I'm sure I haven't; and I don't believe it's much anyway, Miss Seymour.”

“'Much anyway?' oh, my dear!” Old Miss Seymour held up both hands. “Well, what would you say if you should be told that your teacher was going to be married?”

Alexia staggered backward and put up both hands. “Oh, don't, Miss Seymour,” she cried, the fears she had been lighting so many weeks now come true. Then she burst out passionately, “Oh, it isn't true—it can't be!”

“Well, but it is,” cried Miss Seymour positively. “I had it not ten minutes since from a very intimate friend; and as you were the first Salisbury girl I saw, why, I wanted to congratulate you, of course, as soon as I could.”

“Salisbury girl!” Alexia groaned as she thought how they should never have that title applied to them any more; for of course the beautiful school was doomed. “And where shall we all go?” she cried to herself in despair.

“Oh, how could she go and get engaged!” she exclaimed aloud.

“You haven't asked who the man is,” said Miss Seymour in surprise.

“Oh, I know—I know,” said Alexia miserably; “it's Mr. John Clemcy. Oh, if we hadn't had that old picnic!” she burst out.

“Eh—what?” exclaimed the little old lady quickly.

“Never mind. It doesn't signify who the man is. It doesn't signify about anything,” said Alexia wildly, “as long as Miss Salisbury is going to get married and give up our school.”

“Oh, I don't suppose the school will be given up,” said Miss Seymour.

“What? Why, of course it will be. How can she keep it after she is married?” cried Alexia impatiently. She longed to say, “you goose you!”

“Why, I suppose the other one will keep it, of course; and it will go on just the same as it did before.”

“Oh dear me! The idea of Miss Anstice keeping that school!” With all her misery, Alexia couldn't help bursting into a laugh.

“Miss Anstice?”

“Yes; if you knew her as we girls do, Miss Seymour, you never'd say she could run that school.”

“I never said she could.”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Alexia was guilty of contradicting. “You said distinctly that when Miss Salisbury was married, you supposed Miss Anstice would keep it on just the same.”

Little old Miss Seymour took three or four steps down the pavement, then turned and trotted back, the dressy morning robe still gathered in her hand.

“Who do you think is engaged to Mr. John Clemcy?” she asked, looking up at the tall girl.

“Why, our Miss Salisbury,” answered Alexia, ready to cry, “I suppose. That's what you said.”

“Oh, no, I didn't,” said the little old lady. “It's Miss Anstice Salisbury.”

Alexia gave her one look; then took some flying steps across the street, and away down to the Salisbury School. She met a stream of girls in the front hall; and as soon as she saw their faces, she knew that her news was all old.

And they could tell her something more.

“Miss Wilcox is going to be the assistant teacher,” cried Amy Garrett.

“And Miss Salisbury announced it; why were you late, Alexia?” it was a perfect buzz around her ears. “And then she dismissed school; and we're all going down to the drawing-room now, to congratulate Miss Anstice.”

Alexia worked her way to Polly Pepper and clung to her.

“Oh, Alexia, you've got here!” cried Polly delightedly. “And only think, we can keep our Miss Salisbury after all.”

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