The fishermen of squatter's row did not recognize the stranger who slouched along by the side of Tessibel, the night of the freshman banquet. She was on her way to the city with her fish. One after another women poked frowsy heads from the hut windows at the barking of their dogs. But Tess went steadily on, not even heeding her companion who hurried his footsteps to keep close to her.

"Ye sells yer fish for a shillin' a pound," said she after a few minutes' walk.

The man nodded. Once only did he raise his eyes. They were passing a dingy-looking empty house, with a large broken window.

Just then, Ben Letts, accompanied by Ezra Longman, met them. The red head of the squatter girl rose a little higher, the lines growing deeper about the narrowed lids. To the fisherman she deigned no good-morrow, nor had she a thought of them after they had passed.

"He air a new squatter," said Ben laconically, turning to look at the queer pair.

"He air her uncle," added Ezra pompously; "he air here to help her pappy out of his scrape."

Ben did not answer, but stepped to the tracks with another evil backward look at Tess and her squatter friend.

* * * * * Forty or fifty sophomores loafed about the opera-house watching the caterers buzz to and fro. Tables had been spread inside for several hundred guests, and the president's chair was decorated with roses and winter ferns. Three little freshmen and Dan Jordan, surrounded by many juniors went calmly in to inspect things.