coming," he said, and he, too, set to work.

"Frost!" said Bob suddenly, as he pointed to a small glistening crystal
of hoar frost on a blade of grass.

The boys cheered. Their prophecies were justified, and they plugged at
the work harder than ever. Bob, who feared neither Jed Tighe's tongue,
nor anything else, opened the farmer's stable, harnessed and hitched up
a team, and commenced to draw the manure and straw to the edge of the
orchard. It was now three o'clock and the frost was beginning to form
rapidly.

"We can't save the rest of it," said Ross, as he looked longingly at the
far quarter of the orchard; "we've got all we can do to keep going what
we've got."

Four o'clock and five o'clock passed. The sun rose. Promptly at
five-thirty, his regular hour, old Jed Tighe got up and walked to the
window to see what kind of a day it was. He rubbed his eyes and looked
again, astonished.

There, on his land, using his team of horses, was a group of eight boys,
their forms only occasionally seen through the blanket of smoke which
drifted sluggishly over and through the trees of his orchard. The ground
was white with hoar frost and the lower branches of the trees in the
yard had frost crystals on them. The farmer dressed hurriedly and went
out.

A dead silence fell along the boys as the tall spare form of the farmer
was seen approaching. Georgie and some of the younger ones shrank back.
Ross stood his ground. Bob lounged forward.

Jed Tighe said never a word. He cast a shrewd glance at the fruit trees
in the orchard which had been nearest to the fires and the smudges, and
then, still silently, walked down the entire line of the fires until the
end of it, and beyond. On the unprotected stretch, the frost lay thick.
He stood thoughtfully a moment and then walked back up the line, more
slowly, until he came to where Ross stood, watching him.

"So you did save it, eh?"

"Yes, Mr. Tighe," the boy said, "I did."

"And I suppose you think I told you to?"

"Yes, you did."

"I'm not any fonder of being made to look like a fool than most men
are," the farmer said, "but I'm fair." He turned on his heel and started
to walk away. Over his shoulder he snapped:

"Twenty-five per cent of the value of the difference between the fruit
on the protected and the unprotected parts of my ground goes to the
League. And I'll let my boy, Bill, join you."

CHAPTER VII

CLEARING AN INNOCENT MAN

The saving of Jed Tighe's