Just at this moment a chorus of voices sounded in the distance, then some loud talking, then more singing.

“It is some of the students,” thought Polly, as she hastily retired behind a tree until they should pass.

[Illustration:  “It is some of the students.”]

But unfortunately they did not pass.  Just as they came opposite her hiding-place, they threw themselves down in a sunny spot on the opposite side of the road and lighted their cigarettes.

“No hurry!” said one.  “Let ’s take it easy; the train does n’t leave till 4.50.  Where are you going, Ned?”

“Home, I suppose, where I was going when you met me.  I told you I could only walk to the turn.”

“Home?  No, you don’t!” expostulated half a dozen laughing voices; “we ’ve unearthed the would-be hermit, and we mean to keep him.”

“Can’t go with you to-night, boys, worse luck!” repeated the second speaker.  “Got to cram for that examination or be plucked again; and one more plucking will settle this child’s university career!”

“Oh, let the examinations go to the dickens!  What ’s the use?—­all the same a hundred years hence.  The idea of cramming Friday night!  Come on!”

“Can’t do it, old chaps; but next time goes.  See you Monday.  Ta-ta!”

Polly peeped cautiously from behind her tree.

“I believe that voice is Edgar Noble’s, or else I ’m very much mistaken.  I thought of it when I first heard them singing.  Yes, it is!  Now, those hateful boys are going to get him into trouble!”

Just at this moment four of the boys jumped from the ground and, singing vociferously—­

  “He won’t go home any more,
  He won’t go home any more,
  He won’t go home any more,
  Way down on the Bingo farm!”

rushed after young Noble, pinioned him, and brought him back.

“See here, Noble,” expostulated one of them, who seemed to be a commanding genius among the rest,—­“see here, don’t go and be a spoil-sport!  What ’s the matter with you?  We ’re going to chip in for a good dinner, go to the minstrels, and then,—­oh, then we ’ll go and have a game of billiards.  You play so well that you won’t lose anything.  And if you want money, Will’s flush, he ’ll lend you a ‘tenner.’  You know there won’t be any fun in it unless you ’re there!  We ’ll get the last boat back to-night, or the first in the morning.”

A letter from his mother lay in Edgar’s pocket,—­a letter which had brought something like tears to his eyes for a moment, and over which he had vowed better things.  But he yielded, nevertheless,—­that it was with reluctance did n’t do any particular good to anybody, though the recording angels may have made a note of it,—­and strolled along with the other students, who were evidently in great glee over their triumph.

Meanwhile Polly had been plotting.  Her brain was not a great one, but it worked very swiftly; Dr. George called it, chaffingly, a small mind in a very active state.  Scarcely stopping to think, lest her courage should not be equal to the strain of meeting six or eight young men face to face, she stepped softly out of her retreat, walked gently down the road, and when she had come within ten feet of the group, halted, and, clearing her throat desperately, said, “I beg your pardon”—­