CHAPTER XXIX.

LETTERS HOME FROM THE BOYS.--DICK LEE'S FIRST GRIEF.


There was a large number of new scholars assembled in the "great room"
of Grantley Academy on the first Monday morning of that "fall term."
There were also many who had been there before, but the new-comers were
in the majority. There were boys from the village, boys from the
surrounding country, and boys from even farther away than the southern
shore of Long Island; and they were of many kinds and ages. The youngest
may have been "under twelve," and entitled to ride in a street-car at
half-price; and several of the very older ones had already cast their
first vote as grown-up men.

Counting them all, and adding those who were to make their appearance
during the week, they made a little army of nearly two hundred. There
was also a young ladies' department, with about a hundred pupils; and
there was quite as great a variety among them as among their young
gentlemen fellow-students.

The class-rooms assigned to the lady teachers and their several grades
of learners were all on the northern side of the academy building. There
was a large wing there that belonged to them, and they only met the boys
face to face in the "great room" during morning exercises. Even those of
them who lived or boarded in the southern half of the village found
their way across the green, coming and going, under the shade of the