the table, and took one step towards the door.
"Good night," he said quietly, and walked into the hall.
Somebody shouted after him but he had hastened down the stairway and out of doors. As he hurried down the street, heading for the front campus, he could not account for the sudden impulse that made him leave the room. He had forgotten all about his engagement with Heaphy. It was now long past the hour.
The embers of the fire about the cannon were glowing, and the taint of smoke was in the damp air. From various directions came the sounds of a song or a chorus; occasionally a loud voice or two, or the twang of a banjo or guitar rang out. But the hubbub and confusion were over.
Hart stopped and leaning against one of the trees, folded his arms. Back again came all the thoughts that he had been so anxious to escape. He wished now that he had not left his companions. Why had he sung it anyhow? He remembered how Mabel used to sing it as she played her accompaniment on the squeaky parlor melodeon. Poor little Mabel! What was
