hearts too full for anything but an occasional "Hooray!"

The journey to Kingston brought no adventures with it--except that
History, of course, had lost his spectacles and his ticket, and had to
borrow money of Pretty to keep from being put off the train, and that
when they reached Kingston they came near forgetting Sleepy entirely,
for he had curled up in a seat, and was reeling off slumber at a
faster rate than the train reeled off miles.

The first few days at Kingston were so busily filled with entrance
examinations and selection of rooms and the harder selection of
room-mates and other furniture that the Dozen saw little of each
other, except as they crunched by along the gravel walks of the campus
or met for a hasty meal in the dining-hall. This dining-hall, by the
way, was managed by an estimable widow named Mrs. Slaughter, and of
course the boys called it the "Slaughter-house," a name not so far
from the truth, when one considers the way large, tough roasts of beef
and tons of soggy corned beef were massacred by the students.

It might be a good idea to insert here a little snap shot of Kingston
Academy. The town itself was a moth-eaten old village that claimed
a thousand inhabitants, but could never have mustered that number
without counting in all the sleepy horses, mules, cows, and pet dogs
that roamed the streets like the rest of the inhabitants. The chief
industry of the people of Kingston seemed to be that of selling
school-books, mince-pies, and other necessaries of life to the boys at
the Academy. The grown young men of the town spent their lives trying
to get away to some other cities. The younger youth of the town spent
their lives trying to interfere with the pleasures of the Kingston
academicians. So there were many of the old-time "town-and-gown"