She was a bonny maid just out of her teens, and, with her brown
gown, brown hair and eyes, red cheeks, and wholesome, happy face,
she fitted well into the picture she herself looked upon.

"Dear old 'Varsity," said her sister in a voice quiet, but thrilling
with intense feeling. "There is nothing so lovely in all this city
of Toronto."

"Toronto!" exclaimed the young man at her side. "Well, I should say!
Don't you know that a distinguished American art critic declares
this building the most symmetrical, the most harmonious, the most
perfectly proportioned bit of architecture on the American
continent. And that is something, from a citizen of the 'biggest
nation on dry land.'"

They walked slowly and silently along the border of the matchless
velvety lawn, noting the many features of beauty in the old grey
face of the University building--the harmonious variety of lines and
curves in curious gargoyles, dragons, and gryphons that adorned the
cornices and the lintels, pausing long to admire the wonderful
carved entrance with its massive tower above.

"Great, isn't it?" said Lloyd. "The whole thing, I mean--park, lawn,
and the dear old, grey stones."

At this moment some men in football garb came running out of the
pillared portico.

"Oh, here's the team!" cried Betty, the younger sister,