No more disasters attended the journey and the travelers spun swiftly on to Northampton, arriving at the old New England town late in the afternoon. What a scene of activity the college campus presented! Bevies of girls, hatless and in gay-colored sweaters, drifted hither and thither, their laughter floating through the twilight with musical clearness. Occasionally some newcomer would join a group and a shout of welcome would hail her advent. Although Steve turned away from these gushing greetings with masculine scorn nevertheless he was far more interested in the novel picture than he would have been willing to admit. More than once he caught his eyes following a slender figure in white, across whose hair the sunset slanted, turning its blowing masses to a glory of gold. With what ease and freedom the girl moved! And when, as she passed, some one unceremoniously tossed her a ball and she caught it with swift accuracy, his admiration was completely won.

Steve speculated as to whether she would prove to be as pretty at close range as she was at a distance and decided not. Distance always brings a
glamor with it. However, pretty or not, there was no disputing that she was a great favorite for every circle of students opened its magic ring at her approach and greeted her with a noisy clamor of affection. That she held herself with quiet reserve and was less demonstrative than those about her did not appear to lessen in the least their regard for her, and as Stephen watched he registered the wager that she was a person of more common sense than most girls.

Until recently it had been his habit to condemn the entire sex; but of late he had discovered that exceptions might be made to his rule. There were girls in the world worth noticing, even some worth talking to; and he felt certain that this attractive creature in white was one of them. However, it was an absurdity to be thinking about her now and quite beneath his dignity. But he meant sometime, when he could do so in casual fashion, to find out from Doris who she was. He had a curiosity to know what this person who looked as if she could row a boat, swim, and play tennis well, was called. Doris was always raving about her roommate, Jane Harden. She had said so much about her that he fairly detested the sound of her name. Now if only Jane Harden were a girl like this one, there would be some reason and excuse for being enthusiastic over her. To have this guest brought home to spend the Christmas holidays would be a pleasure to look forward to. How well she would skate and how gracefully; and how
pretty she would be, especially if she had her hat off as she had now!

It was Doris who interrupted his reverie with the words:

"I hate to have you dear people go but I suppose you will have to. But do just wait long enough for me to see if I can't find Jane somewhere. She is crazy to meet my family and will scold me to death if I let you get away."

"I am afraid we can't stay but a moment or two, dear," objected Mrs. Tolman. "It is growing late, you know, and we must get to the hotel before it is too dark."

"But I won't delay you a second, Mother—truly, I won't. I do want you to meet Jane. I'll ask the girls if they have seen her anywhere."

"If you get out into that mob they'll fall all over you and you'll never get back," growled Steve, who was beginning to feel hungry and was none too graciously inclined toward the prospective stranger.

"Oh, yes, I will," laughed Doris as she darted away.

In spite of this sanguine prediction, however, she did not return as promptly as she had promised, and Mr. Tolman began to fidget uneasily.

"We really ought to be starting on," he said at last. "Where is that child?"

"I knew she'd stop to admire everybody's new hat and talk over the whole summer," grumbled Steve scornfully.

"You are thinking of your dinner, son," his mother put in playfully.

"You bet I am! I'm hungry as a bear."

A pause followed in which visions of a big beefsteak with crisply fried potatoes blotted out every other picture from Steve's mind.

"Perhaps we ought not to have waited," he heard his mother murmur. "But I had not the heart to disappoint Doris. She is so fond of Jane and has talked so much about her! I had no idea it would take her so long to—"

"Here she comes!" Mr. Tolman broke in.

Stephen glanced up. Yes, there was Doris hurrying across the grass and beside her, walking with the same free and buoyant swing, was the girl of the golden hair,—Jane Harden.

With the same reserve and yet without a shadow of self-consciousness she came forward and in acknowledgment of the hurried introductions extended her hand with a grave smile of welcome; but both smile and gesture carried with them a sincerity very appealing. When she greeted Steve he flushed at being addressed as Mr. Tolman and mentally rose six inches in his boots. Yes, she was decidedly pretty, far prettier than she had been in the distance even. In all his life he had never seen a more attractive girl.

"I hope, Jane, that you are coming home with Doris for a visit sometime when your own family can spare you," he heard his mother say. "We all should like to have you."

"And I should like to come," was the simple and direct answer.

"Do plan on it then. Come any time that you can arrange to. We should very much enjoy having you, shouldn't we, Stephen?"

Stephen, so suddenly appealed to, turned very red and answered "Yes" in a tone that seemed to come gruffly from way down inside his chest, and then to the sound of hasty farewells the car started and shot out into the village street and the campus with its rainbow-hued occupants was lost to sight.

"A charming girl, isn't she?" Mrs. Tolman said to her husband. "So natural and unaffected! Doris says that she is quite the idol of the college and bids fair to be class president. I wish Doris would bring her home for the holidays."

Inwardly Steve echoed the sentiment but outwardly he preserved silence. He was too human a boy to dwell long on thoughts of any girl and soon Jane Harden was quite forgotten in the satisfaction of a steaming dinner and a comfortable bed, and the fairy journey of the next day when amid a splendor of crimson and gold the glories of Jacob's Ladder and the Mohawk Trail stretched before his eyes.

Within the week the big red car headed for Coventry and without a mishap rolled into the familiar main street of the town which never had seemed dearer than after the interval of absence. As the automobile sped past, friendly faces nodded from the sidewalks and hands were waved in
greeting. Presently his mother called from the tonneau:

"Isn't that the Taylors' car, Henry, coming toward us? If it is do stop, for I want to speak to them."

Mr. Tolman nodded and slowed down the engine, at the same time putting out his hand to bring the on-coming car to a standstill. Yes, there were the Taylors, and on the front seat beside the chauffeur sat "But," the friend who had been most influential in coaxing Stephen into the dilemma of the past fortnight. It was Bud, Steve could not forget, who had been the first to drop out of the car when trouble had befallen and who had led the other boys off on foot with him to Torrington. The memory of his chum's treacherous conduct still rankled in Steve's mind. He had not spoken to him since. But now here the two boys were face to face and unless they were to betray to their parents that something was wrong they must meet with at least a semblance of cordiality. The question was which of them should be the first to make the advance.

Twice Bud cleared his throat and appeared to be on the verge of uttering a greeting when he encountered Stephen's scowl and lost courage to call the customary: "Ah, there, Stevie!"

And Stephen, feeling that right was on his side and being too proud to open the conversation, could not bring himself to say: "Hi, Bud!" as he always did.

As a result the schoolmates simply glared at each other.

Fortunately their elders were too much occupied with friendly gossip to notice them and it was not until the talk shifted abruptly into a channel that appalled both boys that their glance met with the sympathy of common danger.

It was Bud's mother from whose lips the terrifying words innocently fell.

"Havens ill and you in New York Wednesday!" she exclaimed incredulously. "But I certainly thought I saw your car turning into the gate that very afternoon."

"I guess not, my dear," asserted Mrs. Tolman tranquilly. "The car has not been out of the garage until now. It must have been somebody else you saw."

"But it was your car—I am certain of it," persisted Mrs. Taylor.

"Nonsense, Mary!" laughed her husband. "If the car has been in the garage for a week how could it have been. You probably dreamed it. You want a big red car so much yourself that you see them in your sleep."

"No, I don't," protested Mrs. Taylor smiling good-humoredly at her husband's banter.

"Well, it may have been the Woodworths'," Mrs. Tolman said with soothing inspiration. "They have a car like ours and Mrs. Woodworth came to call while I was away. I'll ask the maid when I get home."

"Y-e-s, it may have been the Woodworths'," admitted Mrs. Taylor reluctantly. It was plain, however, that she was unconvinced. "But I could have staked my oath that it was your car and Steve driving it," she added carelessly.

"Steve!" Mr. Tolman ejaculated.

"Oh, Steve never drives the car," put in Mrs. Tolman quickly. "He is not old enough to have a license yet, you know. That proves absolutely that you were mistaken. But Stephen has run the car now and then when Havens or his father were with him and he does very well at it. Some day he will be driving it alone, won't you, son?"

Bending forward she patted the boy's shoulder affectionately.

For an instant it seemed to Stephen as if every one in both cars must have heard the pound, pound, pound of his heart, as if everybody from Coventry to Torrington must have heard it. Helplessly he stared at Bud and Bud stared back. No words were needed to assure the two that once again they were linked together by misdoing as they often had been in the past. Bud looked anxiously toward his chum. He was a mischievous, happy-go-lucky lad but in his homely, freckled face there was a winsome manliness. Whatever the scrapes he got into through sheer love of fun it was characteristic of him that he was always courageous enough to confess to them. This was the first inkling he had had that Stephen had not acquainted his father with the escapade of the
previous week and such a course was so at variance with his own frank nature that he was aghast. Even now he waited, expecting his pal would offer the true explanation of the mystery under discussion. He was ready to bear his share of the blame,—bear more than belonged to him if he could lighten Steve's sentence of punishment.

But the silence remained unbroken and the words he expected to hear did not come. A wave of surprise swept over his face, surprise followed by a growing scorn. It came to him in a flash that Stephen Tolman, the boy he had looked up to as a sort of idol, was a coward, a coward! He was afraid! It seemed impossible. Why, Steve was always in the thick of the football skirmishes, never shrinking from the roughness of the game; he was a fearless hockey player, a dauntless fighter. Coward was the last name one would have thought of applying to him. And yet here he sat cowering before the just result of his conduct. Bud was disappointed, ashamed; he turned away his head but not before the wretched lad who confronted him had caught in his glance the same contemptuous expression he had seen in O'Malley's face.

Again Stephen was despised and knew it.

Nevertheless it would not do to betray his secret now. He must not show that he was disconcerted. At every cost he must brazen out the affair. He had gone too far to do otherwise. He wondered as he sat there if any one suspected him; if his father, whose eye was as keen as that of an eagle,
had put together any of the threads of evidence. He might be cherishing suspicions this very moment. It seemed impossible that he shouldn't. If only he would speak and have it over! Anything would be better than this suspense and uncertainty.

Mr. Tolman, however, maintained unwonted stillness and save for a restless twitching of his fingers on the wheel of the car did not move. If, thought Steve miserably, he could summon the nerve to look up, he would know in a second from his father's face whether he was annoyed or angry. At last the situation became unbearable and come what might he raised his eyes. To his amazement his father was sitting there quite serenely and so was everybody else, and the pause that seemed to him to stretch into hours had glided off as harmlessly and as naturally as other pauses. Apparently nobody was thinking about him, at least nobody but Bud. With a sigh of relief his tense muscles relaxed. He could trust Bud not to betray him. Once again he was safe!