landed on the other's neck.

Now Sawed-Off seized Heady's valise, and Jumbo seized Reddy's, and
then they all set off together--the reunited Twins, the completed
Dozen--for the campus. The whole Twelve felt a new delight in the
reunion, and realized for the first time how dear the Dozen was.

The Twins, of course, were blissfulest of all, and marched at the head
of the column with their arms about each other, exchanging news and
olds, both talking at once, and each understanding perfectly what the
other was trying to say.

Thus they proceeded, glowing with mutual affection, till they reached
the edge of the campus, when the others saw the Twins suddenly loose
their hold on each other, and fall to, hammer and tongs, over some
quarrel whose beginning the rest had not heard.

Jumbo grinned and murmured to Sawed-Off: "The Twins are themselves
again."

But Sawed-Off hastened to separate and pacify them, and they set off
again for Reddy's room, arm in arm. Later Heady arranged with his
parents to let him stay at Kingston for the rest of the school-year.

* * * * *

Heady had not been back among his old cronies long before they had him
up in a corner in Reddy's room, and were all trying at the same time
to tell him of the atrocious behavior of the Crows, their harsh
treatment of Tug and History, the magnificent resistance, and the
glorious rescue.

"It reminds me," said History, "of one of Sir William Scott's novels,
with moats and castles, and swords and shields, and all sorts of
beautiful things."

But B.J. broke in scornfully:

"Aw, that old Scott, he's a deader! It reminds me of one of those new
detective stories with clues and hair-breadth escapes. And Tug is like
'Iron-armed Ike,' who took four villyuns, two in each hand, and swung
them around his head till they got so dizzy that they swounded away,
and then he threw one of 'em through a winder, and used the other
three like baseball bats to knock down a gang of desperate ruffians
that was comin' to the rescue. Oh, but I tell you, it was great!"

"'Strikes me," Bobbles interrupted, "it's more like one of Funnimore
Hooper's Indian stories, with the captives tied to the stake and bein'
tortured and scalluped, and all sorts of horrible things, when along
comes old Leather-boots and picks 'em all off with his trusty rifle."

Two or three others were evidently reminded of something else they
were anxious to describe; but Heady wa