“Play!” called the referee, and at the word the Harvard wedge shot forward and crashed into the onrushing mass of blue-legged bodies.  The mimic war was on, and raged with all the excitement of real battle for the next three-quarters of an hour; the center was pierced, the flanks were turned, columns were formed and broken, weak spots were protected, all the tactics of the science of arms was employed, and yet, neither side could gain an advantage.

The last minutes of the first half of the game were spent desperately—­Kenneth, the terrible line breaker of Yale, made two famous charges, Lennox Sanderson, the famous flying half-back, secured Harvard a temporary advantage by a magnificently supported run.  “Time!” called the referee, and the first half of the game was over.

For fifteen minutes the combatants rested, then resumed their massing, wedging and driving.  Sanderson, who had not appeared to over-exert himself during the first half of the game, gradually began to turn the tide in favor of the crimson.  After a decoy and a scrimmage, Sanderson, with the ball wedged tightly under one arm, was seen flying like a meteor, well covered by his supports.  On he dashed at full speed for the much-desired touch-line.  The next minute he had reached the goal and was buried under a pile of squirming bodies.

Then did the Harvard hosts burst into one mighty and prolonged cheer that made the air tremble.  Sanderson was the hero of the hour.  Gray-haired old men jumped up and shouted his name with that of the university.  It was one mad pandemonium of excitement, till the game was won, and the crowd woke up amid the “Rah, Rahs, Harvard, Sanderson.”

Anna’s cheeks burned crimson.  She clapped her hands to the final destruction of her gloves.  She patted the roses he had sent her.  She had never dreamed that life was so beautiful, so full of happiness.

She saw him again for just a moment, before they left the park.  He came up to speak to them, with the sweat and grime of battle still upon him, his hair flying in the breeze.  The crowds gave way for the hero; women gave him their brightest smiles; men involuntarily straightened their shoulders in tribute to his inches.

Years afterwards, it seemed to Anna, in looking back on the tragedy of it all, that he had never looked so handsome, never been so absolutely irresistible as on that autumn day when he had taken her hand and said:  “I couldn’t help making that run with your eyes on me.”

“And we shall see you at tea, on Saturday?” asked Mrs. Tremont.

“I shall be delighted,” he answered:  “thank you for persuading Miss Moore to stay over for another week.”  Mrs. Tremont smiled, she could smile if she were on the rack; but she assured herself that she was done with poverty-stricken beauties till Grace and Maud were married, at least.  For years she had been planning a match between Grace and Lennox Sanderson.