to work and play together." The records of
the school showed that they worked well together and one had only to
give the briefest glance at the merry horde that swarmed over Haskin's
Hill on that holiday morning to know that they played well together,
too.

"It's most like Kettle," cried Jerry, excitedly, for at Haskin's
station, where the picnickers left the trolley, the hills pressed about
so close that they, indeed, seemed to Jerry like her beloved mountains.
"But how horrid to call a lovely place like this Haskin's!"

"It's named after a funny little hermit who lived for years and
years--they say he was 'most one hundred and fifty when he died--in the
little cabin at the foot of the hill where we coast. He used to write
poetry about the wind and the trees and he'd wander around and sit in
his door playing a violin and singing the verses he'd written."

"Then his name could be any old thing," declared Jerry, delighted at the
picture Gyp had drawn, "if he did such lovely things! Let's _us_ call it
the Singing Hill."

The scent of pine on the frosty air and the knowledge that her new
sweater and tam-o'shanter were quite as pretty as the prettiest there,
transformed Jerry into a new Jerry. She felt, too, that out here in the
open she was in her element; a familiarity with these sports that had
been her winter pastime since she was a tiny youngster gave her an
assurance that added to her gay spirits.

Thanks to long hours of play with Jimmy Chubb she could steer the
bob-sled with a steadier hand than any of the others; Barbara Lee,
looking more like a schoolgirl than ever in a jaunty red scarf and cap,
declared she'd trust her precious bones to no one but Jerry!

The morning passed on swift wings; only the pangs of hunger persuaded
the girls and boys to leave their fun. They gathered in front of the
picturesque old cabin about a great bonfire over which two of the older
boys were grilling beefsteak for sandwiches. And from a huge steaming
kettle came a delicious odor of soup.

"Imagine Isobel saying she's too _old_ for all this fun," exclaimed Gyp
as she stood in the "chow line" with her mess tin ready in her hand.
"Why, a lot of these girls and boys are older than she is! The trouble
with Isobel is"--and her voice was edged with scornful pity--"she's
afraid of mussing her hair!"

Skiing was a comparatively new sport among the Lincoln boys and girls.
Only a few of the boys had become even fairly skillful at it,