"Whew-w-w! Hi, shut that door—good night! want to freeze us out?" shouted
Romper Ryan, as he glared across the workshop at Bruce Clifford and Bud
Weir.

"Aw, don't get fidgety. You won't ever freeze the way you're hanging over that forge. What's the matter, Romper?" asked Bruce.

"Busted the frame of my snowshoe. Trying to make a little brace for it and get it fixed up before you fellows arrived."

"When'll you be ready? Where are the rest of the fellows?"

"They're upstairs. I'll be ready in a jiffy now."

The two scouts crossed the shop and made their way noisily up the wooden stairs to the meeting room, where they found half a dozen lads in an animated discussion as to where the biggest and best Christmas trees were to be found.

"I tell you the forest fire cleaned everything out of the Long Lake district," asserted Ray Martin.

"Well, I suppose you want us to go all the way over into Bland County this cold day," said fat Babe Wilson sarcastically.

"Speaking of forest fires," said Bruce, who had come into the room just in time to hear Ray Martin's remark; "speaking of forest fires, did any of you fellows see the Northern Lights last night up back of Haystack Mountain? Father and I thought first it was a forest fire. The sky was all pink and white. But we concluded it must have been the reflection of the Aurora Borealis. You can see 'em this time of year, you know. Snow helps their reflection, Pop says."

"Is that what it was? I saw it too, and when I saw the red glow in the sky I just naturally thought of that Long Lake fire last month. Say, by the way I got a postal card from that fellow in Boston, we rescued. Remember? Dave Connors is his name—Gollies, every time I think of forest fires I shudder. He sure had a close squeak and so did we. That's why that glow in the sky last night sort of made an impression on me. I wondered if any one was caught in it, same as we were nearly caught?" said Nipper Knapp.

"Aw, I tell you it wasn't a fire. It was the Northern Lights back of Haystack Mountain. Dad said so, and he knows, and, say, speaking of Haystack Mountain," added Bruce, "why not go up there for our tree? If this is going to be the town's Christmas tree it must be a whopper. Most all of that land up there belongs to the people Mr. Ford works for and he has permission from them to cut as many trees as we need. How about it?"

"By Jiminy! that's just what I said, Bruce," cried Jiminy Gordon, "and
Romper agrees with me."

"Sure I do," said Romper, suddenly making his appearance from the workshop, his mended snowshoe in hand.

"Then it's Haystack Mountain. Come on, fellows, get ready; half the morning will be gone before we start," said Bruce, and in a twinkle a half-score of scouts were donning mackinaws and sweaters and making themselves generally secure against a temperature that hovered very close to the zero mark. And five minutes later the entire crew, armed with axes and snowshoe-shod were to be seen leaving headquarters in single file and heading up Otter Creek Valley over three feet of December snow.

Woodbridge had once more honored the Quarry Troop. But the lads had earned the honor by suggesting that the town hold a public celebration in the square in front of the Town Hall on Christmas Eve. Moreover, they had worked their hardest to gain the interest of village officials, ministers, and men and women of the community in such a celebration and it could well be said that through the efforts of the khaki-clad youngsters, Woodbridge, as a community, would for the first time welcome the coming of Christmas. Neighbors and friends, rich and poor, young and old, would stand shoulder to shoulder this Christmas Eve and sing the joy and happiness of the Yuletide.

And for their share in the organization work the scouts had been granted the privilege of providing the town with a big community Christmas tree, which was to stand in the center of the square and be decorated from bottom to tip with colored electric lights. This decorating was an affair of the Quarry Scouts also. They had been given the commission by Mayor Worthington and the councilmen to do all the electric wiring and the stringing of the bulbs.

Of course the lads welcomed such an important task, for they were eager to demonstrate how useful they could be. Also they were pleased to display their knowledge of mechanics. So it can be easily understood why Bruce and his chums were eager to get an early start the Saturday morning a week before Christmas. They intended to search the woods for the tallest and straightest fir tree in the township.

In spite of the fact that their ears tingled with the bitter cold and the wind whistled through the valley, whirling the powdery crystals of snow into their faces, the scouts were a happy lot of youngsters as they swung their way northward. Who could be other than happy with Christmas but a week off? Snowballs flew thick and fast among them, and now and then snowshoe races were run, too.

The lads chose the valley bottom for their journey and avoided the highway which swung to the left and made a wide detour before the byroad that approached Haystack Mountain joined it. With this route the lads could cut down the journey at least three miles and then, too, they had fine snow for shoeing.

Soon they had left the open and entered the hardwood belt from which all the firs and other evergreens had long since been trimmed. Snowshoeing through the woods was not so much of a lark, for the lads had no trail to follow and must needs work their way between half-covered underbrush. The snow was softer here, too, and their shoes dragged. But most of their surplus energy had been worked off by this time and they were willing to settle down to single file. Each took his turn breaking a trail.

On they traveled for more than an hour, always keeping the shoulder of Haystack Mountain, which loomed up above the tree line, their objective. About half a mile from the mountain they suddenly came clear of the woods and into the highway. Here a brief conference was held as to the advisability of trying to climb the shoulder of the mountain or taking the road which led around. The last route was decided upon, because up here the thoroughfare was little traveled and was practically unbroken. Indeed, they saw signs of very few sleighs having passed there since the snowstorm four days previous.

Away they swung, keeping an eye out on either side of the road for a Christmas tree, but they did not find a fir tall enough to be used for the town's tree.

Soon they were around the shoulder of the mountain and traveling west. The woods were thicker here and trees more numerous. But there was a peculiar odor of burnt wood in the air, too, which all the scouts detected.

"Cracky! I believe your Northern Light was a forest fire, or—or—say, isn't that smoke rising above those trees there?" demanded Nipper Knapp.

"Right, by go lies!" shouted Bruce, "but—oh, I know, now. There's a little farm in there. It's been vacant for—no, it hasn't, by jingoes! an old lady has been living there all Fall. I've seen her in town. Nanny Haskells, they call her. Cracky! come on, fellows, maybe the poor old soul has been burned to death!"

The scouts were off at a gallop, stirring up the snow like a whirlwind as they loped along the road. Soon they came to an unbroken lane through the woods. Into this they turned and a hundred yards further on they emerged into the little farm clearing. What a sight met their eyes.

In a smoldering, smoking heap of charred ruins lay what remained of an old-fashioned farmhouse and barn that had stood there for years. The fire had burned itself out, except here and there where glowing coals showed themselves. Only two blackened timbers remained standing. And in this picture of devastation, looking the most lonesome and pathetic figure in the world, wandered the tiniest, most old-fashioned and motherly looking woman the lads had ever seen.

She seemed all but distracted with her misery, for she went about wringing her hands and sobbing as if her heart were broken. Here and there she picked her way, peering into the smoking ashes and now and then poking among them for a trinket or a keepsake that the fire had only blackened. It was a pathetic sight indeed, and the sturdy scouts all felt heavy hearted as they watched her.

Finally Bruce left the group and went toward her. Then for the first time the little woman looked up, startled at first. But when she saw the uniforms the lads wore she was no longer frightened. In truth, she seemed to welcome them as the only sympathetic human beings she had seen to whom she could tell her woes.

"Oh, boys, boys, it's gone, all, all gone. Look—my old home all in ruins. Oh, dear! oh, dear! I'm so miserable. What shall I ever do? Why should this be taken from me, too? They took—they took her—her—and, oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall I do?" she cried.

Bruce put his hands out to comfort her as best he could and the little lady came toward him and laid her head upon his chest, sobbing as if her heart was broken. But the all-night strain on one so old had been too great and presently she became very quiet, so quiet indeed that Bruce became frightened and looked down into her face. And instantly he realized that she was completely worn out.

"Here, fellows," he called in a business-like tone, "the poor old lady is all in. We must take her to town and get her into the hospital. Come, fellows, quickly now. You, Jiminy, and Nipper, make a coat stretcher—cut some staffs—strong ones. The three of us will take her back to town. The rest of you fellows go after the Christmas tree. But first lend us a jacket or a sweater or two to bundle the old lady in."

In a twinkle the scouts were busy. Staffs were cut, the stretcher constructed and old Nanny made comfortable with extra coats and sweaters that the more warmly clad scouts could spare. Then, as the three lads started townward, Bruce shouted:

"Hi, Bud, see that you get a whopping big tree. A thirty footer, if you can. We'll be back in an hour or so to help you. So long."

Crisp weather and an additional snowstorm during the week that preceded the holidays gave the youngsters of the Vermont town full assurance of a white Christmas. And they would have been mightily disappointed lads if such had not been the case, for what would a Community Christmas celebration and a town Christmas tree be like without snow everywhere? It was good packing snow, too, as numerous snow fights at noon time, on the academy campus, attested.

But, aside from these noon-day diversions, the Quarry Scouts had little time to indulge in Winter sports that week. The hills about town were just right for coasting and the broad Champlain Valley stretched north and south to be explored on snowshoes, skis, and with sleigh-riding parties, but the scouts could not find time to enjoy these opportunities. Rather, they found their fun in anticipating a good time after Christmas, providing the snow lasted, for they had work to do. There was the big Christmas tree to be erected and trimmed.

It was a monster tree. Thirty-two feet from base to tip, and as it lay there in front of the town hall waiting to be elevated into position, it commanded the admiration of the whole town. Thursday afternoon, after the carpenters had finished a big platform and grandstand, the lads erected timber shears and block and tackle and set the tree into place in the very center of the pavilion, which was to accommodate the mayor, town officials, visitors, the orchestra and a host of school children who were to sing carols.

"Wow, it looks great," said Nipper Knapp, surveying the tall fir proudly, "and won't it look corking after we get it all trimmed to-morrow afternoon?"

"Yes, but mind you, fellows, we'll have to work like everything to-morrow. All the wiring has to be strung and all the lights put on between one o'clock in the afternoon and half past four. It'll be some job," said Bud Weir.

"You're right it will," said Bruce, "thank goodness we have everything shipshape up at headquarters to get a good start. There's more than enough wire in the lot Mr. Ford sent over. And I guess we must have put on about three thousand lamp sockets during the last few days, haven't we?"

"Two thousand and eighty-seven," corrected Romper, "and it's a good thing school lets out at noon to-morrow."

"It'll be a sight for sore eyes. Say, fellows, I'll tell you what. Let's bring old Nanny Haskell down and give her a seat on the visitors' stand. I guess Mr. Ford could arrange that for us. It might cheer the poor old soul up a little. How is she to-day? Any one been up to the hospital?"

"Sure, Romper and I were up there. She's all well and ready to leave, but the poor thing hasn't any place to go to, it seems. She's bluer than all git out, too. Jiminy, but I feel sorry for her," said Jiminy Gordon.

"Well, then, by gollies! we'll see if we can't make her happy on Christmas Eve at least. We'll have her all bundled up and bring her down here. Listening to the kids sing and all the fun and things might help her spirit a little."

"Fine idea, if she'll come," said Bruce.

"Oh, we'll arrange that, all right, I think," replied Romper. "I'll go up to the hospital to-morrow. Perhaps Mr. Ford will go along, and we can talk it over with Doctor Bassett."

"Good enough; I'll go with you. And now let's go home and get some supper, fellows. It's getting dark," said Bruce. And presently the scouts were tramping off through the snowy Winter twilight to their respective homes.

Fortunately, Mr. Clifford allowed Bruce the use of Blossom, his big black trotting horse, and a light box sleigh, or otherwise the lads would have had to make a dozen trips up the steep, snow-covered Otter Hill to headquarters to get their coils of wire and boxes of lamps to town next day.

As it was, the spirited animal had to haul three sleigh-loads of equipment to the Town Hall before the scouts could even start the task of decorating. As soon as the coils of wire arrived a dozen scouts began to swarm the big Christmas tree, looping the wires from branch to branch and fastening them securely. Other scouts followed in their wake and screwed red, white and blue, green and yellow lamps into the vacant sockets. And while all this was going on, a crew of linemen and meter-setters from the local electric light company were running an extension, or service line, from the nearest street wires, for the electric company had promised to furnish current free for the evening's celebration.

The square was a very busy place for several hours that afternoon, and every one was working with a will for he realized that he must be finished before dusk came. By half past three, however, the scouts found that they could ease up a little for, with the arrival of one more load of colored lamps from headquarters, the tree would be thoroughly decorated even to the shining electrically illuminated star on top which Jiminy Gordon placed there with the help of an extra long ladder.

"Whoope-e-e! almost through. Don't it look fine, eh? And here comes Bruce with the last load of lamps. Come on, fellows, and help unload the sleigh," shouted Bud Weir as Jiminy finally reached the ground after he had finished wiring the big star in place.

"Right-o-o! and last man to the curb is no good," shouted Nipper Knapp, starting to run. Next moment there was a scurry of scouts through the snow that covered the square and a pell-mell race to the curb where Bruce drew up the panting Blossom with a jingle of bells and a shower of powdery snow.

"Whoa there, Blossom," he shouted. Then to the scouts, "Come on, you duffers, and get these things unloaded. I want to get the horse into the stable so I can do some work, too."

The "duffers" arrived with a rush and in a twinkle the boxes were being removed from the sleigh in a manner quite violent, and this to the imminent peril of the contents.

"Hi, not so bloomin' reckless," shouted Bruce, "don't smash 'em, whatever you do. They are the last colored lamps in town and we need 'em. And, say—listen—what's the fuss up the street? Hear 'em shoutin'? Gee, it's a runaway an' here it comes—no—no—it's going to turn down High Street toward the railroad—an'—cracky! fellows, there's a freight pulling out of the siding! See the smoke! And there's a woman and a girl in the cutter! Wow! Look at those chumps up the street shoutin' and wavin' their arms. That's no way to stop a horse! Those women will be killed. Hi, Bud, hop in here. Come on, we've got to stop 'em. I'm goin' after 'em with Blossom. Geet_yap_ there, Blossom. Git, now, that's t' girl. Go!"

There could be no mistaking the fact that the horse and cutter coming down the street was a runaway. The big animal was almost mad with fright. His eyes bulged out until the whites showed and its nostrils were distended with fear. And, to make matters worse, there were a dozen men and boys shouting and waving their hands in a foolish effort to stop the horse. But all that they accomplished was to make the animal still more frightened.

Fortunately, Bud's mind acted as quickly as Bruce's. He came into the sleigh with a bound, but almost before he landed Bruce had Blossom under way. Just a touch of the whip was all that was needed and the nervous trotter shot forward like a flash of lightning. A moment later she was a jet black streak flying toward the corner of High Street around which the runaway cutter had just disappeared.

Almost in the wink of an eye Blossom reached the corner and swept around it at a gallop while the sleigh careened first on one runner and then upon the other, each time on the brink of turning over and pitching its occupants into the snowbanks that lined the road. But the scouts gave no heed to this. All their attention was on the flying cutter a hundred yards ahead and upon the railroad crossing half a mile down the road. The freight train had left the siding, and at the moment the scouts rounded the corner she was chugging her way slowly toward the crossing. Of course, the gates were down but this only added to the peril. The runaway horse was blind with fright. He would plunge into the gates, tear through them and probably kill himself and the women in the sleigh by dashing headlong into the freight train.

"Go it, Bruce, go it. We must save them. They'll be killed if we don't," cried the half frantic Bud.

And Bruce, pale of face but determined, cut Blossom with the whip to urge her forward. Rarely was the trotter treated that way and when the cut came she leapt forward like a deer. Then her racing instinct seemed to come back to her. She knew what was wanted. The horse ahead must be passed. She stretched her long legs to their utmost and the pace she set made the light sleigh pitch and rock like a ship in a gale. Bruce never used the whip again. Indeed, he tossed it into the road, for he must needs use two hands to govern the flying horse.

The animal ahead was flying, too, and it was a question for a few moments whether the scouts could make up the distance. But Blossom was at her best. Faster and faster she went while town folk stood on the sidewalk and gaped in amazement at the pace she held. The hundred yard lead was cut down to fifty, now to forty, thirty-five, thirty. Bruce and Bud could see the look of terror on the faces of the girl and the woman in the cutter. Also they could see the reason for the accident. The reins had parted and one short length dangled over the horse's side and slapped him continually on the ribs while the longer section dragged under the cutter.

"We'll make it, Bud, we'll make it. We've got to make it. I'll drive like mad. We'll start to pass them and I'll run Blossom as close as I dare and then when we get abreast of the horse you hang out upon the running-board, and jump for the shafts of the cutter. Get astride the horse's back and grab those reins. Get ready, Bud! Out on the running-board, now! Hurry!" cried Bruce.

Blossom was drawing abreast of the cutter. Bud clung to the running-board and crouched for a spring.

"Go it, Blossom," cried Bruce. "Good old girl, go it. Go on, go on.
Get ready, Bud—steady—ready now—jump!"

Bud reached far out and leaped. One foot struck the shafts. He threw himself forward and grasped the runaway's mane and in an instant he had swung himself astride the horse's back. For a moment all that he could do was cling to the swaying animal And when the horse felt the extra weight drop upon him he bounded forward like a stag uttering a shrill whinny of fear.

For a fleeting moment the lad thought of the peril of his position. But when he recalled that the lives of two women depended upon him, he became active. Reaching forward he grasped the broken line and the long one and forced the bit home into the horse's mouth. The animal snorted and plunged. Bud pulled back again. The runaway reared and pawed the air, snorting and shaking its massive bead. "Whoa," cried the scout, "whoa, boy, steady now," and it seemed as if the animal recognized the authority in his command for the next time the lad reined in the panic-stricken horse slowed up and presently came to a complete standstill and stood trembling like a leaf.

Then, when the scout looked up for the first time, there, not twenty yards away, was the railroad crossing, with the freight train rumbling slowly by.

"Fine work, Bud, fine," cried Bruce, who had pulled in on Blossom the moment the scout had jumped from the sleigh. "Fine work, and—and—gee! but it was a narrow escape."

Indeed it had been a narrow escape. Bud realized it as well as Bruce. And so did the woman and the little girl in the cutter, for their faces were white and they hardly had strength enough left to step from the cutter when Bruce tried to assist them.

"Goodness me, what a day—what a day," said the woman, trembling with nervousness. And when the little girl heard this she began to cry.

"Oh, mother, I'm unhappy, too," she wept. "Poor Nanny, poor Nanny, just think she's been burned to death, and all because you and father sent me to school last September. Oh, mother, mother, it's terrible. And then the horse acting up like that. I—I—oh, Mr.—er—Mr. Boy Scout, do you know anything about old Nanny—Nanny Haskell? She was my dear nurse. Last Fall she left our house in St. Cloud because my father and mother sent me to school down in Boston. She—she—oh, dear!—she said she wouldn't live in St. Cloud without me, because she would be too lonesome, so she came back to her old farm in the woods here, where she hadn't been for ten years, and—now—oh, dear! oh, dear;—it burned down—and—Nanny must have been burned to death."

"Why—why—no—no, she wasn't burned to death," said Bruce, when he fully understood, "she—she—why she's over in the Woodbridge hospital. That big building over there on Willow Street. We found her and took her there, and she wasn't a bit hurt, only sick, that's all."

"What! is she alive—really—honest—Nanny Haskell—boy, you're sure?" cried the woman excitedly. "We—we—came over to-day to get her and bring her back to St. Cloud. We wanted to tell her that Genevieve had come home from Boston to stay, and that we wanted her to come back with us on Christmas Eve and live with us for good. Are you sure—?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. I helped bring her into town," said Bruce.

"Then come, mother, come. I must see old Nanny and cheer her up. The boys will take care of the horse and put him in a stable. Won't you, boys?" said Genevieve, excitedly.

"Sure—Bud will fix the reins and drive him to the hotel stable. Come into my sleigh and I'll take you to the hospital," said Bruce.

A cold wind was driving powdery flakes out of the darkness overhead when the Woodbridge town folk began to gather in the square to celebrate their first community Christmas. The scouts were there early, for, besides the fact that several of them had the task of taking care of the electric switches that controlled the lights on the big tree, the rest of the troop had been delegated to police the square.

The ceremonies were supposed to begin at eight o'clock, but by half-past seven the big platform was filled with visitors, officials and prominent townsmen. The orchestra had arrived, too, and taken its place, and the chorus of four hundred school children stood waiting, song books in hand. The big square was literally jammed by joyous men and women and shivering, though none the less enthusiastic, youngsters. And over these thousand or more silence reigned and every eye was fastened on the tall somber looking tree.

Then came the signal from the Mayor. The next moment the orchestra leader swung his baton and the orchestra rang forth. Simultaneously the voices of the children took up the opening bars of a good old English Christmas carol. This was the cue the four scouts at the switches were waiting for. One by one they jammed the tiny rubber covered connections home and in circuits of eight and twelve, the colored lamps on the great tree began to twinkle until it was a blaze of glory from the lowermost branches to the great glittering star on the top.

What a wave of applause greeted this illumination. Then some one in the throng took up the carol the children were singing and in a moment thousands of throats were pouring forth the happiness of Yuletide. The people's enthusiasm seemed boundless.

But though the lights of the great tree revealed joyous countenances everywhere, the scouts could single out three in the group on the platform that seemed far happier than the rest. In truth, tears of joy were coursing down old Nanny Haskell's cheeks as she sat there hugging the form of Genevieve to her and listening to the rejoicing of the vast throng. And close beside them, her arm about the old nurse's shoulder, sat a very happy mother.

All through the ceremonies they stayed, lingering even till the lights on the big tree began to go out in groups. And when the star on the top, after a preliminary wink, went dark too, they turned and made their way slowly across the square to where their cutter, a hired driver in the seat, stood waiting.

"Well, fellows," said Bruce, as with a jingle of bells the sleigh started in the direction of St. Cloud City, "I guess old Nanny's Christmas won't be such a sad one after all, thanks to Bud, here."

And then with boisterous shouts of "Merry Christmas, everybody," the scouts all started for home.

The End

*****

Produced by Jim Ludwig

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