They're
going up for my spring vacation and take in the sugaring off. What
a lark! And listen to this. She writes: 'You'd better arrange to bring
your roommate home with you for the holiday unless he has other
plans.'"
"Oh, I say!"
"Could you go, Van?"
Bob eyed his chum eagerly.
"I don't see why I couldn't. I'm not going home to Colorado. It's
too far. I was thinking of going to Boston with Ted Talbot, but I'd
a good sight rather go batting with you, Bobbie, old man. It was
fine of your mother to ask me. Where is the place?"
"Our farm? It's in Allenville, New Hampshire, near Mount Monadnock.
It used to be my grandfather's home, and after he died and we all
moved to New York Father fixed it over and kept it so we could go
there summers. I've never been up in the spring, though. It will be
no end of fun."
"I hope you do not call this weather spring," put in Van,
sarcastically, pointing to the snow-buried hills outside.
"Well, it is the middle of March, and it ought to be spring, if it
isn't," answered Bob. "Just think! Only a week more of cramming;
then the exams, and we're off. I'm awfully glad you can go."
"You speak pretty cheerfully of the exams. I don't suppose you dread
them much." Van lapsed into a moody silence, kicking the crumpled
wrapping-paper into the fireplace. "You don't need to worry, Bob.
But look at me. I'll be lucky if I squeak through at all. Of course
I've never really flunked, but I've been so on the ragged edge of
going under so many times that it's no fun.
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