“Three hundred and thirty-three dollars and eighty-five cents,” said Ned, in very satisfied tones. “We took in three hundred and sixty-three five, but we had twenty-nine twenty to come out for expenses. Not so bad, what?”

“But something tells me,” answered Laurie, mournfully, “that if all our expenses were deducted we’d have less than that. You see,” he explained to Polly, “I lost the piece of paper that I set down the money I paid out on, and I just had to guess what it all came to, because I’d never had time to add it up.”

“I dare say you guessed enough,” replied Ned, untroubled.

“I dare say I didn’t, then!” was the indignant response. “If I did, where’s all the money I had when I started? I’ve got a dollar and ninety cents left, and I had over four dollars when you roped me in on the thing! I’m more than two dollars shy, I tell you!”

“Oh, well, it’s gone for a worthy cause,” laughed Ned.

“Maybe,” Laurie grumbled, “but I notice that none of yours has gone that way. You always made me pay for everything!”

“Well, I think you did it beautifully,” said Polly. “I never suspected you’d make so much!”

They were in the little garden behind the shop. It was the second day after the fÊte, and the bell in the Congregational church tower had just struck two. There was a perceptible nip in the air to-day, and the flowers in the border showed blackened leaves, while the nasturtiums were frankly limp and lifeless. But here in the sunshine it was warm enough, and Laurie, spurning the bench, was seated tailor fashion on the yellowing turf. Polly had stated her absolute certitude that he would catch cold, but Laurie derided the idea.

“We’re awfully much obliged to you girls,” said Ned. “We wouldn’t have done nearly so well if you hadn’t helped. I think the committee ought to give you a—a vote of thanks or something.”

“Oh, we all loved it!” Polly assured him earnestly. “We had heaps of fun. Why, I wouldn’t have missed that disappearing trick for anything. I was positively thrilled when Laurie came running up the garden!”

The boys’ laughter interrupted, and Polly looked puzzled.

“That wasn’t Laurie,” explained Ned. “That was me.”

“But I was sure you were the one in the chair! And if you were in the chair, how could you—”

“I wasn’t, though. That was Laurie.”

Polly sighed despairingly. “I’ll never get so I can tell you apart,” she said; “unless I hear you talk, that is! I don’t see yet how it was done. Won’t you please tell me?”

“It was as easy as easy,” replied Ned. “You see, the way I planned it first—”

“The way who planned it?” inquired Laurie.

“Well, the way we planned it, then.”

“Hold on! Whose idea was it in the first place, partner?”

“Oh, don’t be so fussy! Anyway, you couldn’t have done it without me!”

“I never said I could. But you’ve got a lot of cheek to talk about the way you—”

Polly clapped her hands to her ears. “I’m not being told how it was done, and I do want to know. Go on, Ned.”

“Well, it was done like this. You see, Laurie was tied to the chair, and I was hiding out at the other end of the garden. Then Lew Cooper put the screen around the chair.” Polly nodded. “Then I started toward the platform, and every one turned to look at me.” Polly nodded again. “Well, right behind the platform was the bulkhead door into the cellar. When Cooper shouted to me to come on, two fellows who were on the stairs waiting pushed the door open, grabbed Laurie, chair and all, and whisked him down cellar. Then they put another chair, just like the first one, behind the screen, and when Cooper pulled the screen away, there it was, just as if Laurie had somehow untied himself and—and vanished! Of course, if any one had been looking at the screen instead of at me just then, he might have seen what was going on, although it was pretty dark behind there and he mightn’t have. Anyway, no one was, I guess. The trick depended on the—the faint similarity between us. Lots of fellows who knew us were on to it, but the folks from the village were puzzled for fair!”

“Indeed they were,” agreed Polly. “They just couldn’t understand it at all!”

“It would have been better,” mused Laurie, “if we could have taken the screen away and showed the empty chair before Ned came into sight; but there didn’t seem to be any way of doing that. We had to have the people looking the other way, and we had to work quick. As it was, I was half killed, for Wainwright and Plummer were in such a hurry to get the other chair up there that they just dumped me on my back! And then they ran upstairs through the kitchen to see the end of it, and I was kicking around down there for five minutes!”

“Well,” said Ned, a few minutes later, “I’m not finding out what to do with this.” He opened one hand and exposed some bills and two ten-cent pieces folded into a wad. “Your mother says she won’t take it, Polly—that she didn’t understand we were going to pay her for the cream-puffs. Gee, we wouldn’t have thought of asking her to make them for nothing!”

Polly nodded sympathetically. “Mother says, though, that the boys bring so much trade to her that it’s only fair for her to help them.”

“That’s poppy-cock!” said Laurie. “Seven dollars and twenty cents is a lot of money. Look here; don’t you think she ought to take it, Polly?”

Polly was silent a moment. Then she nodded affirmatively. “Yes, I do,” she said frankly. “She really needs the money, Ned. I wouldn’t tell any one else, but we’re just frightfully hard up, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Mother had to give up here before very long.”

“Give up!” exclaimed Ned. “You mean—go away?”

“Yes. You see, she doesn’t make very much money in the store; nothing like she used to before the war sent prices so high. And then, what with taxes and water and light, and the interest on the mortgage, why, it hardly pays. Just the same, if she says she won’t take the money, Ned, why, I guess she won’t, and that’s all there is to it. But she ought to!”

“Can’t she charge more for things?” asked Laurie. “Everyone else does nowadays. That bake-shop down on Hudson Street gets eight cents for cream-puffs and Éclairs, and you sell them for six.”

“I know; but Mama says six cents is enough and that the boys oughtn’t to have to pay any more. And lots of things she sells for hardly any more than she used to before prices advanced. Why, I have to watch all the time; and when bills come in for things, I have to compare them with what we’re getting for them, and lots of times I find that Mama’s been selling for less than what she’s paid! She just won’t be a profiteer, she says!”

“Gee! I hope you don’t have to shut up,” said Laurie. He looked around the little garden. “It—it’s such a jolly place! And the house and everything. Gee, that would be a shame!”

Polly sighed while she nodded. “It is nice,” she agreed; “but there are so many things that ought to be done! Uncle Peter never would do much for us. He did promise to have the house painted, but he died about a month after that, and so it was never done.”

“Suppose he up and died so’s he wouldn’t have to do it?” inquired Laurie, suspiciously.

Polly shook her head and looked a trifle shocked, until she caught the smile in Ned’s eyes.

“It doesn’t look as if it would cost much money to paint it,” remarked Ned, looking up at the rear of the little two-and-a-half-story building. “It’s not much more than a doll’s house, anyway. How many rooms are there, Polly?”

“Three upstairs, and then a sort of attic room under the roof; and two downstairs.”

“Uh-huh. I just wondered. It wouldn’t be much of a trick to paint the outside. Bet you I could do it in a couple of days.”

Laurie gasped. “A couple of days! You? How do you get like that? It would take a real painter a week to do it!”

“Maybe; but I’m not a real painter,” answered Ned, grinning. He glanced at the crumpled wad in his hand and held it tentatively toward Polly. “Maybe you’d better take charge of this, Polly, until we decide what to do with it.”

But Polly put her hands resolutely behind her, and shook her head with decision. “No, Ned, I’d rather not. If Mama says she won’t have it, she won’t, and you might just as well give it back to the—the fund.”

Somewhat to Laurie’s surprise, Ned pocketed the money without further protest. “All right,” he said. “It’s very kind of your mother. We mustn’t forget to see that her name’s included in the list of those who donated things, Laurie. This week’s ‘Messenger’ is going to tell all about it. Well, I’ve got to pull my freight. You coming, partner?”

“Yes, I guess so,” replied Laurie, without much enthusiasm. “I promised Bob and George to get another fellow and play some tennis this afternoon.”

“Gee! it must be great to have nothing to do but play,” sighed his brother.

“Huh, any one would think, to hear you talk, that you were working,” replied Laurie, crushingly. “All you do is stand around and watch the others.”

“Think so?” Ned smiled in a superior way. “You come down this afternoon and see how much standing around I do. Joe Stevenson says I’ve got to practise goals now. Isn’t that the limit?”

“I suppose it pains him to see you loafing,” said Laurie. “Anyway, I dare say it’ll keep you out of mischief.”

Laurie led the way to the back fence, against which leaned a plank with two pieces of wood nailed across it. This afforded a short cut to and from school, and was an idea of Bob’s. From the top of the fence they dropped into the shrubbery and then made their way to the side gate.

The arbor had not yet been denuded of its evergreen clothing, and there were other evidences of the recent festival in the shape of crumpled paper napkins lying on the ground. Thomas had taken down the lanterns and was packing them away in their case by the kitchen porch, and the boys called a greeting to him as they passed.

“Bob still mean to make a tennis-court here?” asked Ned, as they went through the gate.

“Yes. He’s going to tear down that arbor right away, he says. So far, though, he hasn’t found any one to do the work on the court. Every one is busy. I don’t believe he will get it done in time to use it this fall.”

“Of course he won’t. It’s nearly November now. Say, you’d better take this money and hand it over to Whipple. You’ll see him before I do. And tell him to put Mrs. Deane’s name down with the other folks who contributed, will you?”

“All right; but I think it’s a shame to let her stand for all those cakes.”

“So do I; only—”

“Only what?”

“Maybe we can make it up to her another way. I’ve got an idea, Laurie.”

“I hope it’s better than most of ’em. What is it?”

And when Ned had explained it, Laurie considered a long moment and then indorsed it enthusiastically. “That’s corking!” he cried. “For once, Ned, the old bean has worked! Only, when could we—”

“Christmas vacation,” said Ned. “We won’t have much to do then. What do you say?”

“I say that, for the first time in my life, Neddie, I’m proud to acknowledge you as my twin!”