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           "Youmengoingtounpack?"

           "Guessso.Comeon,Burne."

           Amorydecidedtositforawhileonthefrontsteps,sohebadethemgoodnight.

           Thegreattapestriesoftreeshaddarkenedtoghostsbackatthelastedgeoftwilight.Theearlymoonhaddrenchedthearcheswithpaleblue,and,weavingoverthenight,inandoutofthegossamerriftsofmoon,sweptasong,asongwithmorethanahintofsadness,infinitelytransient,infinitelyregretful.

           HerememberedthatanalumnusoftheninetieshadtoldhimofoneofBoothTarkington’samusements:standinginmid-campusinthesmallhoursandsingingtenorsongstothestars,arousingmingledemotionsinthecouchedundergraduatesaccordingtothesentimentoftheirmoods.

           Now,fardowntheshadowylineofUniversityPlaceawhite-cladphalanxbrokethegloom,andmarchingfigures,white-shirted,white-trousered,swungrhythmicallyupthestreet,withlinkedarmsandheadsthrownback:

           "Goingback—goingback,

           Going—back—to—Nas-sau—Hall,

           Goingback—goingback—

           Tothe—Best—Old—Place—of—All.

           Goingback—goingback,

           Fromall—this—earth-ly—ball,

           We’ll—clear—the—track—as—we—go—back—

           Going—back—to—Nas-sau—Hall!"

           Amoryclosedhiseyesastheghostlyprocessiondrewnear.Thesongsoaredsohighthatalldroppedoutexceptthetenors,whoborethemelodytriumphantlypastthedanger-pointandrelinquishedittothefantasticchorus.ThenAmoryopenedhiseyes,halfafraidthatsightwouldspoiltherichillusionofharmony.

           Hesighedeagerly.