Yes, it is! Now, those hateful boys are going to get him into trouble!" Just at this moment four of the boys jumped from the ground and, singing vociferously-- "He won't go home any more, He won't go home any more, He won't go home any more, Way down on the Bingo farm!" rushed after young Noble, pinioned him, and brought him back.
"See here, Noble," expostulated one of them, who seemed to be a commanding genius among the rest,--"see here, don't go and be a spoil-sport! What 's the matter with you?
We 're going to chip in for a good dinner, go to the minstrels, and then,--oh, then we 'll go and have a game of billiards.

You play so well that you won't lose anything.

And if you want money, Will's flush, he 'll lend you a 'tenner.' You know there won't be any fun in it unless you 're there! We 'll get the last boat back to-night, or the first in the morning." A letter from his mother lay in Edgar's pocket,--a letter which had brought something like tears to his eyes for a moment, and over which he had vowed better things.

But he yielded, nevertheless,--that it was with reluctance did n't do any particular good to anybody, though the recording angels may have made a note of it,--and strolled along with the other students, who were evidently in great glee over their triumph.
Meanwhile Polly had been plotting.

Her brain was not a great one, but it worked very swiftly; Dr.George called it, chaffingly, a small mind in a very active state.