k, you know. Probably Mort had some of his chums out to visit
him in Dunmore. That was his car. And he wanted to show 'em the sights,
and let 'em see he could run all over little Milton, so he brought 'em
out here. It isn't such a run from Dunmore, you know."

"I reckon that's it," agreed Tom. "Well, they got more than they were
looking for, that's one consolation. Now boys, whoop her up for the
last time."

Again they gathered about the blazing fire, and sang their farewell
song.

The annual celebration was drawing to a close. Another group of lads
would leave Milton to go out into the world, mounting upward yet another
step. From then on the ways of many who had been jolly good comrades
together would diverge. Some might cross again; others be as wide apart
as the poles.

The fire died down. The big piano box commandeered by "Swipes" was but a
heap of ashes. The fun was over.

There were cheers for the departing senior lads, who, in turn, cheered
the others who would take their places. Then came tributes to the
industrious freshmen.

"Good night! Good night! Good night!" was shouted on all sides.

Less and less brilliant grew the fire. Now it was but a heap of glowing
coals that would soon be gray, dead and cold ashes, typical in a way, of
the passing of the senior boys. And yet, phoenix-like, from these same
ashes would spring up a new fire--a fire in the hearts that would never
die out. Such are school friendships.

Of course there were forbidden little feasts in the various rooms to
mark the close of the term--spreads to which monitors, janitors and
professors discreetly closed their eyes.

Andy and his friends gathered in his apartment for a last chat. They
were to journey to their home town on the morrow and then would soon
separate for the long summer vacation.

"Well, it was a rare old celebration!" sighed Tom, as he flopped on the
bed.

"It sure was!" agreed Chet, with conviction. "I hope I have as much fun
as this if I go to Harvard."

"Same here, only I think I'll make mine Princeton," added Ben. "Oh, but
it's sort of hard to leave Milton!"

"Right you are," came from Andy, who was opening ginger ale and soda
water.

And, after a time, quiet settled down over the school, and Dr. Morrison
and his colleagues breathed freely again. Milton had stood steadfast
through another assault of "bonfire night."

The next morning there were confused goodbyes, multiplied promises to
write, or to call,