CHAPTER TWO.
FOUR HOURS IN A FAG'S LIFE.
Willoughby wore its ordinary work-a-day look on the morning following the eventful May races.

And yet any one who had seen the old school just then would have admitted that a more picturesque place could hardly have been found.

It was one of those lovely early summer days when everything looks beautiful, and when only schoolboys can have the heart to lie in bed.

The fresh scent of the sea came up with the morning air across the cliff-bound uplands; and far away, from headland to headland of Craydle Bay, the waters glowed and sparkled in the sunlight.

Inland, too, along by the river, the woods were musical with newly-awakened birds, and the downs waved softly with early hay.