HARDING OF ST. TIMOTHY'S
207
That evening Harry Harding, as he sat in his room, heard the bell from the chapel tower proclaim the end of study. He put aside his books, and waited to hear the familiar sound of voices and laughter, and of feet tramping up from the study building along the board walk. He waited, but he heard nothing.
At last, in wonder, he went to the window. It was a moonlight night. The board walk that led past the infirmary down to the study stretched shining and empty; but on each side of it were boys, singly and in groups, but all silent, trudging ankle-deep through the snow.
