needn't mind about giving receipts!" Father Eddy
said matter-of-factly, but his gray eyes were a-twinkle under their
cliffs of gray brows. He was exulting quietly in the delight he could
read in the three round, brown faces. Good boys--yes, sir--all of them!
Wasn't their beat in Hexham county--no, sir! Nor yet in Marylebone
county or Winnipeg!

"Now, on with you--scatter!" he laughed. "Mother and I are going to
mill to celebrate! When you've decided what you're going to do, send a
committee o' three to let us know. Mind, you can celebrate any way you
want to that's sensible."

The boys waited till the tall, stoop-shouldered figure had gone back
into the dim, hay-scented barn, then with one accord the din began
again.

"Hoo-ray! Hoo-ray for father!"

"Father! father! hoo-ray!"

"Hoor-a-ay!"

It died away, began again, then trailed out to a faint wail as the boys
scuttled off round the barn to the orchard. Father smiled to himself
unsteadily.

"Good boys! good boys! good boys!" he muttered.

"Come on up in the consultery!" cried Kent excitedly.

"Yes, come on, Old Till; that's the place!" Jot echoed.

The "consultery" was a platform up in the great horse-chestnut tree.
When there was time, it could be reached comfortably by a short ladder,
but, in times of hurry, it was the custom to swing up to it by a
low-hanging bough, with a long running jump as a starter. To-day
they all swung up.

"Oh, I say, won't there be times!" cried Kent. "Five apiece is fifteen,
lumped. You can celebrate like everything with fifteen dollars!"

"Sure--but how?" Old Tilly asked in his gentle, moderate way. "We don't
want any old, common celebration!"

"You better believe we don't!"

"No, sir, we want to do something new! Camping out's old!"

"Camping's no good! Go on!" Jot said briefly. It was always Old Tilly
they looked to for suggestions. If you waited long enough, they were
sure to come.

"Well, that's the trouble. I can't 'go on'--yet. You don't give a chap
time to wink! What we want is to settle right down to it and think out
a fine way to celebrate. It's got to take time."

For the space of a minute it was still in the consultery, save for the
soft swish of the leaves overhead and roundabout. Then Jot broke out--a
minute was Jot's utmost limit of silence.

"We could go up through the Notch and back, you know," he reflected.
"That's no end of fun. Wouldn't cost us all more'n a fiver for the
rou