Frank knew the merry singers were sophomores, the malicious and
unrelenting foes of all freshmen. He would have given not a little had
he been able to join them in their songs, but he knew that was not to be
thought of for a moment.

As he continued to listen, a clear tenor voice struck into that most
beautiful of college songs when heard from a distance:

"When the matin bell is ringing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
From my rushy pallet springing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
Fresh as the morning light forth I sally,
With my sickle bright thro' the valley,
To my dear one gayly singing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

Then seven or eight strong musical young voices came in on the warbling
chorus, and the boy at the window listened enchanted and enraptured,
feeling the subtle charm of it all and blessing fortune that he was a
youth and a student at Yale.

The charm of the new life he had entered upon was strong, and it was
weaving its spell about him--the spell which makes old Yale so dear to
all who are fortunate enough to claim her as their _alma mater_. He
continued to listen, eagerly drinking in the rest of the song as it came
through the clear evening air:

"When the day is closing o'er us,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,