The week or so succeeding the Farview game seemed like an anticlimax. The bottom had sort of dropped out of things and there was no immediate excitement to look forward to. The weather became as miserable as weather possibly could, the slight snowfall that followed the rain of Thanksgiving Day lasting only long enough to be seen by the early risers. Perhaps it was well that lack of events and inclement weather ruled, for Ned and a good many other boys in school were no worse for an opportunity to apply themselves undisturbedly to their studies. Basketball candidates were called the first Monday in December, and the twins held a serious conference on the question of reporting. Ned, who felt rather flat since there was no more football, was half inclined to go in for the game, and would have had Laurie insisted. But Laurie voted that for the present the Turners had done sufficient in the athletic line, that the honor of the family demanded no further sacrifices on the altar of duty. So Ned abandoned the idea and talked of trying for the crew in the spring.

When December was a week old, the fellows set their gaze on the Christmas recess, which this year began on Wednesday, three days before Christmas, and lasted until the 2d of January. Eleven days are not sufficient to make a trip across the continent and back advisable, although the twins figured that, with the best of fortune, they would be able to reach Santa Lucia in time for dinner Christmas night. On the other hand, the missing of one connection would delay their arrival until the following afternoon, and, as Laurie pointed out, they were fairly certain to be held up somewhere on the way, and a sleeping-car wasn’t exactly an ideal place in which to spend the holiday! Besides, there was a noticeable lack of encouragement from home. It had been accepted beforehand that the boys were to remain at the school during the recess, and nothing in Mr. Turner’s fortnightly letters hinted that he had changed his mind.

“I’d just as lief stay here, anyway,” declared Ned. “We can have a lot more fun. Maybe there’ll be a bunch of snow, and I’m dying to try skiing.”

“You bet! And skating, too! And then there’s that other scheme. Mustn’t forget that, Neddie.”

“You mean—”

“Yes. Didn’t you say we’d do it during vacation?”

“Sure! It—it’ll take quite a lot of money, though, Laurie. And we’ll have presents to buy for Dad and Aunt Emmie and the cousins—”

“The cousins get Christmas cards, and that’s all they do get,” interrupted Laurie, decisively. “That’s all they ever give us, and I’d rather spend my money on something that’ll really—really benefit some one. I guess Dad’ll send us some more money, too, for Christmas. We can do it, all right. I’ve got nearly seven dollars right now. I haven’t spent hardly any money this month.”

“All right. Some day soon we’ll go downtown and find out how much it’s going to cost and what we’ll need and everything. I say, we can get Bob to help us, too!”

“Rather! And three or four other fellows, I guess. Every one likes the Widow, and George says there will be five or six fellows here during recess. He was here last year, and he says he had a dandy time.”

“Let’s get George this afternoon and get the thing started. We can find out the—the area and ask the man how much we’ll need.”

“Sure! And we can buy it and store it at Bob’s. Then all we’ll have to do will be carry it over the fence. I’ll go down and see if I can find him. Look here, Neddie. Why don’t we do it before Christmas and make it a sort of Christmas present? Say we worked hard all day Thursday and Friday—”

“Great! Only if it snowed—”

Laurie’s face fell. “Gee, that’s so! I suppose we couldn’t do it if it snowed. Or rained. Or if it was frightfully cold.”

“They say it doesn’t get real cold here until after New Year’s,” said Ned, reassuringly. “But of course it might snow or rain. Well, we’ll do it in time for Christmas if we can. If we can’t, we’ll do it for New Year’s. I’ll bet she’ll be tickled to death. I say, though! We never found out about the color!”

“I did,” answered Laurie modestly. “I asked Polly. She said white.”

“White! Geewhillikins, Laurie, that makes it harder, doesn’t it? We’d have to put on two coats!”

“Think so?” Laurie frowned. “I guess we would. That would take twice as long, eh? Look here; maybe—maybe I can get Polly to change her mind!”

“That’s likely, you chump!” Ned scowled thoughtfully. Finally, “I tell you what,” he said. “Suppose we went around there sometime, and talked with Mrs. Deane, and told her how nice we think blue looks and how sort of—of distinctive! Gee, it wouldn’t be any trick at all to make it blue; but white—” He shook his head despondently.

“Cheer up!” said Laurie. “I’ve got the dope, partner! Listen. We’ll tell them that it ought to be blue because blue’s the school color and all that. Mrs. Deane thinks a heap of Hillman’s, and she’ll fall for it as sure as shooting. So’ll Polly! Come on! Let’s find George and get the thing started!”

“Better get Bob to go with us, too. He said something about wanting to pay his share of it, so we’d better let him in right from the start. After all, we don’t want to hog it, Laurie!”

A fortnight later the exodus came. Of the four-score lads who lived at Hillman’s, all but eight took their departure that Wednesday morning, and Ned and Laurie and George watched the last group drive off for the station with feelings of genuine satisfaction. Life at school during the eleven days of recess promised to be busy and enjoyable, and they were eager to see the decks cleared, so to speak, and to start the new way of living. Ned and Laurie had had plenty of invitations for Christmas week. Both Kewpie and Lee Murdock had earnestly desired their society at their respective homes, and there had been others less insistent but possibly quite as cordial invitations. But neither one had weakened. George half promised one of the boys to visit him for a few days after Christmas, but later he canceled his acceptance.

Besides George and the twins, there remained at school five other fellows who, because they lived at a distance and railway fares were high, or for other reasons, found it expedient to accept Doctor Hillman’s hospitality. None of the five, two juniors, one lower middler, and two upper middlers, were known to the twins more than casually when recess began; but eating together three times a day and being thrown in one another’s society at other times soon made the acquaintance much closer, and all proved to be decent, likable chaps.

Meals were served at a corner table in West Hall, and during recess there were seldom fewer than three of the faculty present. That may sound depressing, but in vacation-time an instructor becomes quite a human, jovial person, and the scant dozen around the table enjoyed themselves hugely. In the evening Doctor Hillman held open house, and Miss Tabitha showed a genius for providing methods of entertainment. Sometimes they popped corn in the fireplace in the cozy living-room, sometimes they roasted apples. Once it was chestnuts that jumped on the hearth. Then, too, Miss Tabitha was a past mistress in the art of making fudge, and on two occasions Mr. Barrett, the mathematics instructor, displayed such a sweet tooth that the boys lost the last of their awe and “ragged” him without mercy. Several times the Doctor read aloud, choosing, to the boys’ surprise, a corking detective novel that had them squirming on the edges of their chairs. Toward the last of the vacation, Laurie confided to Ned and George that he wished recess was just beginning.

To Ned’s and Laurie’s great disappointment, neither snow nor ice appeared and the weather remained merely briskly cold, with sometimes a day like Indian summer. But I am getting ahead of my story, which really comes to an end on Christmas Day.

More than a week before the closing of school, the four conspirators had finished their preparations for the task that was to provide the Widow Deane with a novel Christmas present. In Bob’s cellar were many cans containing blue paint, white paint, linseed oil, and turpentine. There were brushes there, too, and a scraper, and a roll of cotton rags provided by Polly. For, in the end, it had become necessary to acquaint Polly with the project. Against Bob’s back fence reposed all the ladders, of varying lengths, that the neighborhood afforded. Wednesday evening Ned and Laurie and George herded the other boys into George’s room, and explained the scheme and asked for volunteers. They got five most enthusiastic ones.

Nine o’clock the next morning was set as the time for the beginning of the work, and at that hour nine rather disreputably-attired youths appeared in Mrs. Deane’s yard, arriving by way of the back fence, and began their assault. The first the Widow knew of what was happening was when, being then occupied with the task of tidying up the sleeping-room on the second floor, she was startled to see the head and shoulders of a boy appear outside her window. Her exclamation of alarm gave place to murmurs of bewilderment as the supposed burglar contented himself with lifting the two shutters from their hinges and passing them down the ladder to some unseen accomplice. Mrs. Deane looked forth. In the garden was what at first glimpse looked like a convention of tramps. They were armed with ladders and brushes and pots of paint, and they were already very busy. Across two trestles set on the grass plot, the stolen shutters were laid as fast as they were taken down. One boy, flourishing a broad-bladed implement, scraped the rough surfaces. A second plied a big round brush, dusting diligently. Numbers three and four, as soon as the first two operatives retired, attacked with brushes dripping with white paint. In almost no time at all the first shutter was off the trestles and leaning, fresh and spotless, against the fence. Every instant another shutter appeared. Mrs. Deane gazed in fascinated amazement. One after another, she recognized the miscreants: the two Turner boys, George Watson, Mr. Starling’s son, Hal Goring, the Stanton boy, and the rest; but, although recognition brought reassurance, bewilderment remained, and she hurried downstairs as fast as ever she could go.

Polly was on the back porch, a very disturbed and somewhat indignant Towser in her arms, evidently a party to the undertaking, and to her Mrs. Deane breathlessly appealed.

“Polly! What are they doing?” she gasped.

“You’ll have to ask the boys, Mama.” Polly’s eyes were dancing. “Nid, here’s Mama, and she wants to know what you’re doing!”

Nid hurried up, a dripping brush in one hand and a smear of white paint across one cheek, followed by Laurie. The others paused at their various tasks to watch smilingly.

“Painting the house, Mrs. Deane!”

“Painting the house! My house? Why—why—what—who—”

“Yes’m. There’s the blue paint. It’s as near like the old as we could find. You don’t think it’s too dark, do you?”

“But I don’t understand, Nid Turner!” said Mrs. Deane helplessly. “Who told you to? Who’s going to pay for it?”

“It’s all paid for, ma’am. It—it’s a sort of Christmas present from us—from the school. You—you don’t mind, do you?”

“Well, I never did!” Mrs. Deane looked from Ned to Laurie, her mouth quivering. “I—I don’t know what to say. I guess I’ll—I’ll go see if any one’s—in the shop, Polly. Did you think you—heard the bell?” Mrs. Deane’s eyes were frankly wet as she turned hurriedly away and disappeared inside. Ned viewed Polly anxiously.

“Do you think she—doesn’t like it?” he half whispered.

Polly shook her head and laughed softly, although her own eyes were not quite dry. “Of course she likes it, you stupid boy! She just didn’t know what to say. She’ll be back pretty soon, after she’s had a little cry.”

“Oh!” said Ned and Laurie in chorus, their faces brightening; and Laurie added apologetically: “Gee, we didn’t want to make her cry, Polly!”

“That sort of a cry doesn’t hurt,” said Polly.

Afterward Mrs. Deane said a great deal, and said it very sweetly, and the boys got more or less embarrassed, and were heartily glad when she drew Ned to her and kissed him, much to that youth’s distress, and the incident ended in laughter. By noon the shutters were done, and nine industrious amateur painters were swarming over the back of the little house. I’m not going to tell you that the job was done as perfectly as Sprague and Currie, Painters and Paper-hangers, would have done it, but you’re to believe that it was done much quicker and at a far greater saving of money! And when it was finished no one except a professional would ever have known the difference. Perhaps there was more blue and white paint scattered around the landscape than was absolutely necessary, and it always remained a mystery how Antoinette managed to get her right ear looking like a bit of Italian sky, for every one professed ignorance and Antoinette was apparently well protected from spatters. (It took Polly more than a week to restore the rabbit to her original appearance.)

When the early winter twilight fell and it became necessary to knock off work for the day, the blue painting was more than half done and, unless weather prevented, it was certain that the entire task would be finished by to-morrow evening. Mrs. Deane served five-o’clock tea,—only it happened to be four-o’clock tea instead,—and nine very, very hungry lads did full justice to the repast, and the little room behind the store held a merry party. Perhaps the prevailing odor of paint detracted somewhat from Mrs. Deane’s and Polly’s enjoyment of the refreshments, but you may be certain they made no mention of the fact.

That night the boys viewed the cloudy sky apprehensively. Laurie, who knew little about it, declared dubiously that it smelt like snow. But when morning came, although the cloudiness persisted most of the day, the weather remained kindly, with just enough frost in the air to chill feet and nip idle fingers and to give an added zest to labor. Very little time was wasted on luncheon, and at two o’clock the last slap of blue paint had been applied and the more difficult work of doing the white trim began. Fortunately, there were only eleven windows and two doors, and although “drawing” the sashes was slow and finicking work, with nine willing hands hard at it the end came shortly after dusk, when, watched by eight impatient companions, young Haskell, one of the junior class boys, with trembling fingers drew his brush along the last few inches of a front window, and then, because he was quite keyed up and because it was much too dark to see well, celebrated the culmination of his efforts by putting a foot squarely into a can of white paint!

When first-aid methods had been applied, he was allowed, on promise to put only one foot to the floor, to accompany the rest inside and announce to a delighted and slightly tremulous Mrs. Deane that the work was completed. There was a real celebration then, with more piping-hot tea and lots of perfectly scrumptious cream-puffs,—besides less enticing bread-and-butter sandwiches,—and Mrs. Deane tried hard to thank the boys and couldn’t quite do it, and Polly failed almost as dismally, and Laurie made a wonderful speech that no one understood very well, except for the general meaning, and nine flushed and very happy youths cheered long and loudly for Mrs. Deane, and finally departed merrily into the winter twilight, calling back many a “Merry Christmas” as they went.