entrance to the Academy. From the gate a drive went winding
upward, hidden now and then by trees and shrubs, to where, at the crest
of a hill, a half-dozen buildings looked down upon them with numberless
windows.

"That's Main Hall," said Tom, "the big one in the centre. I remember it
in the catalogue."

"And that's the gym at this end," added Steve. "It's a pretty good
looking place, isn't it? What's the building where the tall chimney is,
driver?"

"Torrence. There's rooms upstairs and a dining-room on the first floor.
That chimney's from the kitchen at the back. Then the building in the
middle's Main Hall, as they call it. That was the original building. I
remember when there wasn't any others. The one to the left of it's
Hensey Hall. The fellows that lives there are called 'Chickens,'"
chuckled the man. "Then there's Billings beyond Hensey, and The Cottage,
where Mr. Fernald lives, is just around the corner, like. You can see
the porch of it if you look."

But they couldn't, for at that moment the carriage turned to enter the
gate and their view was cut off by a group of yellowing beeches.

Presently the carriage stopped in front of a broad flight of stone steps
and the boys climbed out.

"Fifty cents, gentlemen," said the driver as he lifted the bags out.
"Thank you, sir. Thank _you_, sir! I'll have your trunks up first thing
in the morning. Just walk right in through the door and you'll find the
office on your right. They'll look after you there. Much obliged,
gentlemen. Any time you want a rig or anything you telephone to Jimmy
Hoskins. That's me. Good-night, gentlemen, and good luck to you!"

Steve had contributed an extra quarter, which doubtless accounted for
Mr. Hoskins' extreme affability. Bags in hand they climbed the well-worn
granite steps and entered a dim, unlighted corridor. An open door on the
right revealed a room divided by a railing, in front of which were a
half-dozen wooden chairs and beyond which were two desks, some filing
cabinets, a book-case, a letter-press, some chairs and one small,
middle-aged man with a shining bald head which was raised inquiringly as
Steve led the way to the railing.

"How do you do, boys," greeted the sole occupant of the office in a
thin, high voice. "What are the names, please?" As he spoke he took a
card from a pile in front of him and dipped a pen in the ink-well.

"Stephen D. Edwards, sir."

"Full name, please."

"Stephen Dana."

"Very good. Place