He found no other master to bear him company, so he set off by himself
through the woods which bordered the pond behind the Gymnasium. He came
at last to the “isthmus”—a narrow dyke of stones which cut off a long
inlet and bridged the way over to a wooded peninsula that jutted out
into the pond. On the farther side of this peninsula, secluded behind
trees and bushes, was the swimming hole.

As Irving approached, he heard voices; he drew nearer and saw the bare
backs of boys undressing and heard then the defiances which they were
hurling at one another—phrased in the language of Ivanhoe.

“Nay, by my halidome, but I shall this day do my devoir right worthily
upon the body of yon false knight,” quoth Westby, as he carefully turned
his shirt right side out.

“A murrain on thee! Beshrew me if I do not spit thee upon my trusty
lance,” replied Collingwood, as he drew on his swimming tights.

Then some one trotted out upon the spring-board, gave a bounce and a
leap, and went into the water with a splash.

“How is it, Ned?” called Westby; and Irving came up as Morrill, reaching
out for a long side stroke, shouted, “Oh, fine—warm and fine.”

“Hello, Mr. Upton.” It was Baldersnaith who first saw him; Baldersnaith,
Dennison, and Smythe were fully dressed and were sitting under a tree
looking on.

“You’re just in time,” said Collingwood.