At the observatory the boys found one of the professors and about a dozen students assembled.  The professor was delivering something of a lecture, to which the boys listened with interest, at the same time taking turns looking through the big telescope.

“It’s a wonderful sight,” murmured Tom, after he had had his look.  Then, followed by Songbird, he walked to a little side window which, with several others, faced in the direction of Hope Seminary.

“I suppose you would rather be at Hope than here,” remarked Songbird, dryly.

“And you would rather be at the Sanderson cottage than anywhere else in the world,” retorted Tom.

“It’s too bad, Tom, that you are not coming back next Fall,” went on Songbird, seriously.  “I don’t know how we are going to get along without you.”

“It can’t be helped.  I’ve got to help Dick.  Father is too broken down to attend to business, and I don’t think it is the fair thing to put it all off on Dick’s shoulders.”

“Oh, I understand.  But Sam will come back, won’t he?”

“I think so.  One of us, at least, ought to finish the course here.  Dick and I are cut out for business, but I think Sam ought to go into one of the professions.”

“I wish I knew what I would like to do, Tom,” continued Songbird, wistfully.

“Oh, some day you will be a celebrated poet.”

“I think I have got to do something more substantial than write poetry.”

“Well, it all depends on the brand of poetry, Songbird.”  And Tom began to grin.  “There are some fellows who make big money at it.”

“I’d like to know who they are?” questioned the would-be poet, eagerly.

“The fellows who write up some new brand of safety razor or breakfast food.”

“Tom!” And Songbird looked positively hurt.  “How can you be so cruel and degrade poetry so?”

“Well, they do it, I don’t.  Now, if you——­” Tom brought his words to a sudden stop, and commenced to stare out of the window.  Far over the distant wood he had seen a strange light.  Now it was increasing rapidly.

“What is it?  What do you see?” demanded Songbird, as he realized that something unusual had attracted his chum’s attention.

“Look there!” cried Tom, pointing with his finger.  “Doesn’t that look like a fire?”

“It surely does,” replied the other, after a hasty inspection.  “But it may be only some brush heap that a farmer is getting rid of.”

“I don’t know about that.  Say, haven’t they got a pair of field glasses here?”

“Sure!” and Songbird turned to get the article mentioned.

As rapidly as possible, Tom focused the glasses on the distant light, and took a careful look.

“Great Scott! it’s a fire—­ and at Hope Seminary!” broke out the youth.  “It looks to me as if the whole place might burn down!”

“What!  A fire at Hope!” cried Songbird, and his words attracted the attention of all the others in the observatory.  He, too, took a look through the glasses, and one after another the remaining students did the same.