Some fifty lads had accompanied their team from St.Eustace, and the portion of the stand where they sat was blue from top to bottom.

But the crimson of Hillton fluttered and waved on either side and dotted the field with little spots of vivid color wherever a Hilltonian youth or ally sat, strolled, or lay.
Yard and village were alike well-nigh deserted; here was the staid professor, the corpulent grocer, the irrepressible small boy, the important-looking senior, the shouting, careless junior, the giggling sister, the smiling mother, the patronizing papa, the crimson-bedecked waitress from the boarding house, the--the--band! Yes, by all means, the band! There was no chance of overlooking the band.

It stood at the upper end of the field and played and played and played.

The band never did things by halves.

When it played it played; and, as Outfield West affirmed, "it played till the cows came home!" There were plenty of familiar faces here to-day; Professor Gibbs's, old "Peg-Leg" Duffy's, Professor Durkee's, the village postmaster's, "Old Joe" Pike's, and many, many others.