“Now, steady,” cried Sam.  “Don’t let him fall into the flames and singe his hair.”

“Let us warm his feet for him,” cried a cadet.  “Take off his shoes and stockings!”

“Hi, don’t you do nuthin’ of the kind,” cried Peleg Snuggers, in new alarm.  “My feet are warm enough!”

But there was no help for it, and in a twinkling off came his shoes and his socks followed.

“I ain’t a-goin’ to have my feet warmed!” groaned the utility man.  “You are worse nor heathens!  Lemme go!”

He struggled violently, but the cadets placed him on the grass and sat on him.  Then one, who had run down to the ice-house for a piece of ice, came up.

“Here’s a red-hot poker,” he said.  “Peleg, don’t you want your initials branded on your feet?”

“No! no!  Oh, help! somebody, help!” yelled the utility man.

“Be careful, or he may get a spasm,” whispered Dick, who was looking on without taking part.

“Oh, he’s all right,” returned the cadet with the ice.  “Wait till I brand a P on one foot and an S on the other!” And he drew the ice across the sole of one foot as he spoke.

The poor utility man thought it was a red-hot poker and gave a yell which would have done credit to a South Sea savage.  He squirmed and fought, and in the midst of the melee Mrs. Green and Tom arrived.

“There he is,” said Tom.  “He certainly must have a fit.”

“Poor Peleg!” cried Mrs. Green.  “Here, my dear, take this.  It will do you good.”  And she held out the bottle of medicine she had brought.  “Take about a big spoonful.”

“Hurrah, Mrs. Green to the rescue!” shouted Sam.  “Come, Peleg, don’t be backward about coming forward.”

“What is this, Mrs. Green?” asked the astonished man-of-all-work, as he suddenly sat up.

“It’s for your cramps, or fits, or whatever you’ve got, Peleg.”

“Cramps, or fits?  I ain’t got no cramps or fits!  Are you crazy, Mrs. Green?”

“Oh, Peleg, don’t act so!  You certainly have cramps, or indigestion.  Come, take the medicine!”

“That fer your medicine!” roared the angry man-of-all-work, and flung the bottle into the bonfire.

“Oh, that medicine!” shrieked the matron.  “And I made it myself, too!”

“It’s them pesky boys, Mrs. Green!  They be a-tormenting the life out of me.”

“The boys?” The matron stopped short in wonder.

“Yes, mum.  They’ve stolen my shoes and socks, and they started to brand me with a red-hot poker.  I ain’t got no fits, nur cramps, nur nuthin’, I ain’t!”

“Well, I declare!” burst out the thoroughly angry matron.  “Tom Rover, come here!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Green, I’ll come day after to-morrow!” murmured Tom, as he kept at a safe distance.

“Well, I guess you are all in this together,” went on Mrs. Green, looking at the crowd of cadets.  “It’s your last night and I suppose you will tear the academy down over our ears.”