at least."

"I'm very sorry," laughed Joel. "I'm going to the station. Mr. Remsen
is coming, you know. Have I spoiled these?"

"No, indeed. So Mr. Remsen's coming. Well, run along. I'd go myself if I
wasn't an old woman. I knew Mr. Remsen ten years ago, and a more
bothersome lad we never had. He had Number 15, and we never knew what to
expect next. One week he'd set the building on fire with his
experiments, and the next he'd break all the panes in the window with
his football. But then he was such a nice boy!" And with this seemingly
contradictory statement the Matron trudged away with her armful of
towels, and Joel took up his flight again, across the yard to Academy
Road, and thence over the fence into Turner's meadows, where the hill
starts on its rise to the village. Skirting the hill, he trudged on
until presently the station could be seen in the distance. And as he
went he reviewed the five days of his school existence.

He remembered the strange feeling of loneliness that had oppressed him
on his arrival, when, just as the sun was setting over the river, he had
dropped down from the old stage coach in front of Academy Hall, a
queer-looking, shabbily dressed country boy with a dilapidated leather
valise and a brown paper parcel almost as big. He remembered the looks
of scorn and derision that had met him as he had taken his way to the
office, and, with a glow at his heart, the few simple, kindly words of
welcome and the firm grasp of the hand from the Principal. Then came the
first day at school, with the dread examinations, which after all
turned out to be fairly easy, thanks to Joel's faculty for remembering
what he had once learned. He remembered, too, the disparaging remarks of
"Dickey" Sproule, who had predicted Joel's failure at the "exams.". "Who