IV.

It was the day before Washington's Birthday. The snow was deep on the ground, piled high in drifts here and there, the air was clear, and the sun bright. Everything promised beautifully for the holiday to which the school looked forward on the morrow.

"St. George" ran home early from school, and flung down his bag of books on the sitting-room table.

"I'm to be off early in the morning, mother," he said. "Put me up a rousing good lunch, do."

"You are sure you can have steady fires in the house? Mr. Bangs' man can be relied on?" Mrs. Allen's voice was a bit anxious.

"Tiptop." "St. George" was busy extricating his foot from its protecting boot. "Now then, for my 'slips' and then the old books. I'll get these lessons inside my head and out of the way before night."

"Because if there is a little carelessness in this respect," continued his mother, "you might take a cold that would last you all winter. The only reason your father consented to your going, George, you know very well, was because the house is so near your playground that you could run in and get warmed whenever you felt chilly."

"Right on the playground, mother, you mean," corrected "St. George" with a laugh; "it's set on Sachem Hill itself—up in the clouds in a jolly fashion."

"There was one other reason," added Mrs. Allen after a pause, "and that was, he said 'I can trust George Edward.'"

The boy occupied with his other boot looked up quickly, said nothing, but a bright smile flashed over his face; and he jumped up, ran for his slippers, and settled down to work with a will.

The next morning was a fine one, and the nine o'clock train saw a gay party of twenty-five boys with knapsacks or bags containing lunch and skates assembled at the B. and A. Depot ready to board the train for Sachem Hill. Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man, had gone up the day before to open the country house left unoccupied since the family's return to town in the autumn. And he was already making fires, and getting things into comfortable shape for the boys' arrival for the grand frolic to which Wilfred Bangs had invited his very especial friends; the parents of the twenty-four boys only insisting that their sons should each carry his own lunch, to add to the hot coffee for which Thomas was famous.

So here they were. And a long grand day before them!

"Now see here, Old Saint"—one of the boys was thoroughly provoked and he meant to show it—"if you want to go around the world making yourself disagreeable, just keep on with that talk, 'we ought to stop' and so forth. Don't you suppose we know what we're about. There's plenty of time to catch that train. I for one shall have one more skate up the pond and back, and I'll bet you a new knife I'm at the depot as soon as you are."

"St. George doesn't preach," cried an impulsive champion. "And besides, he always does first himself."

"Well, you hold your tongue," cried Wingate Morse, tightening his skate-strap; "I wasn't talking to you."

"Say that again, and I'll pitch into you," declared the champion with a very red face not altogether produced by the sharp air.

"Haven't any time," said Wingate, striking off. "Come on, all you fellow's who are able to take care of yourselves, and get one good glorious good-by skate."

All but two, the champion and St. George went, and their merry shouts came floating back as the pair left behind took off their skates, tossed them hurriedly into their waiting bags and set off on a hearty run for the depot.

"I wanted to go awfully," confessed the champion on the way, "but I'll stick by you, St. George."

"I'm unpopular," said the Saint, pulling up into a walk as they came into sight of the depot. "But I suppose that makes no odds so long as my mother isn't scared to death when I don't get home by the right time."

"They're lost, they're lost!" exclaimed the champion excitedly. "My goodness me! look at that smoke! She's coming in!"

Sure enough, "She" was. And having no time to lose other than the moment in which the champion wildly jumped up and down in a snow-drift screaming to the fellows, by this time at the head of the pond, to "Come on—she's in!" they soon found themselves in a comfortable seat, and the train pulling back to town at a smart rate.

"I lost my head," remarked the champion, "and that's a fact," as he stumbled along the aisle; "but then, I guess nobody saw me. Whew! but won't those chaps catch it, though, when they do get home."

Just then from the car ahead walked in Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man. He glanced anxiously along the car-length, peering right and left. When his eye fell upon "St. George" and the champion he brightened up, and hurried as fast as was possible with his rotundity down to them.

"Where are the rest of the boys?" he asked quickly.

"Left," said St. George concisely. "Skating up to the other end of the pond."

It was all told in a second. Thomas said something which it was well the boys could not hear in the noise of the bounding train, then rushed frantically back for the conductor, followed by St. George and the champion, on the way repeating—

"Master Wilfred told me he'd be sure to catch the train, so I came down the back way, and jumped on at the last minute. I didn't see the use of staying another night in that house."

By the time he reached the conductor, realizing the result of his unfaithfulness to collect all the boys and bring them safely back to town on the five o'clock train, the unhappy man was in such a state that the two boys had to take turns in explaining to that railroad official what the matter was.

"Do run the train back," cried St. George imploringly; "you'll be paid well."

"Are you wild?" cried the conductor sharply. "This train is bound for town with a lot of passengers who have something else to do than to turn back to hunt up foolish boys."

"But they will freeze to death," cried "St. George" and the champion together. "The house is shut, and there isn't a neighbor nearer than two miles." Thomas was too far gone to do anything but wring his hands and moan helplessly.

"Can't help that," exclaimed the conductor inexorably, "the world won't lose much. They should have obeyed orders then." He was terribly tired and half-frozen himself, and was getting very nervous at the predicament in which he saw himself placed. How to help these people in distress, and yet take care of his train, was more than he could tell.

"I'll stop at Highslope, though I don't usually on this night train; as it's the last into town, we run in pretty fast. There you can get a wagon or sleigh maybe and drive back ten miles and pick 'em up. That's the best I can do for you."

With that he broke away from them and began to take up the tickets.