omething, some of them a great deal. I
feel such a babe beside them. It isn't good for one, I suppose, to have
things _too_ smooth."

"I hope they'll continue smooth for a long time to come. You're too
young for troubles, Darsie," said Dan hastily. He sat silent for a few
moments, his chin poking forward, his thin, expressive lips twitching as
if struggling with difficult speech. A canader came gliding slowly by,
the man and girl occupants chatting gaily together, unconscious of the
watchers in the tree on the bank. Their words fell absently on Darsie's
ear, she was waiting for what Dan had to say.

"When they _do_ come, you know you can depend on me. I'm not much of a
hand at social life, so it's best to keep out of the way and let other
fellows chip in who can make a better show, but if there's anything
useful to be done, you might give me a turn. We're very old friends."

Darsie gave him an affectionate glance. "Indeed I will. I should feel
you a tower of strength. Thank you, dear Oak-tree."

"Thank you, Apple-blossom!" returned Dan quite gallantly, if you please,
and with a laugh which followed the passing seriousness vanished.

For the next half-hour they laughed and sparred, capped stories, and
made merry, more like a couple of happy children than hard-worked
students on the verge of examinations; and then, alas! it was time to
return to work, and, sliding down from their perch, Dan and Darsie
walked forward to assemble the scattered members of the party.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DISASTER.

Cambridge May week is a function so well known, and so often described,
that it would be superfluous to enter in detail into its various
happenings. In their first year Darsie and Hannah had taken little part
in the festivities, but upon their second anniversary they looked
forward to a welcome spell of gaiety. Not only were the Percivals
coming up for the whole week, but Mr and Mrs Vernon and Vie were also
to be installed in rooms, and the Newnham students had received
permission to attend the two principal balls, being housed for the
nights by their own party. Throughout Newnham the subject of frocks
became, indeed, generally intermingled with the day's work. Cardboard
boxes arrived from home, cloaks and scarves were unearthed from the
recesses of "coffins," and placed to air before opened windows;
"burries" were strewn with ribbons, laces, and scraps of tinsel, instead
of the usual notebooks; third