Lucy Parker, she who had been so contemptuous of boys, was acting for all she was worth in this scene. Prattie was supposed to be her lover, and she was clinging to him with one hand while bidding him good-bye, and mopping her eyes with the other. Art, as captain of the minute men, suddenly strode over to her, grabbed Prattie, dragged him away, and put him into line with the other soldiers. Lucy looked indignant, and forgot to wipe her eyes. Art glanced at her triumphantly, and Miss Eldridge cried, “Do that on the night of the play, Arthur! That’s fine--only don’t glare at Lucy.” This inspiration rather restored Art’s spirits. He had got square with Lucy Parker, anyhow! He and Peanut dressed as quickly as they could, and left the school building, walking home up the village street, where sleigh-bells were jingling. Art grew glum again. “Hang the old rehearsals!” said he. “It’s too late to go skating.” “I like ’em,” Peanut replied. “It’s lots o’ fun.” “You’re an actor, I guess,” said Art. “Gee, you come puffing in just as if you were really out of breath!” “I _am_,” said Peanut. “I get to thinking about galloping up on the horse so hard while I’m drumming that I really get excited. Why, how can you help it?” “Guess _you_ can’t,” Art answered. “But I can. I’m not built that way. Play acting doesn’t seem real to me, it seems sort of--sort of girls’ stuff.” “Thank you,” said Peanut. “Oh, I don’t mean you, of course,” Art laughed. “But dancing, and all that--golly, I feel as if I was wasting time. Wish vacation was here, so we could get away somewhere into the wilds again.” “Sure, so do I,” answered Peanut, “but me for having all the fun I can while I’m in civilization. Where are we going to hike this summer, by the way?” “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Art. “I was thinking about it in study period--that’s why I flunked my history recitation. Got a good idea, too.” “Out with it,” said Peanut. “The White Mountains,” said Art. “It came to me while I was looking at that picture of the Alps which hangs on the side wall. These mountains about Southmead, they’re not really mountains--only hills. But we’ve had a lot of fun climbing ’em. Think what fun it would be to climb _real_ mountains. We can’t get to the Alps or the Rockies, but Mr. Rogers told me once it wouldn’t cost any more to hike over the White Mountains than it cost us to go to the Dismal Swamp.” “Me for them,” cried Peanut. “That means saving twenty-five dollars between now and July. Wow! I’ll have to do some hustling!” “You’ll have to cut out some candy,” laughed Art. “I’ve not bought any candy since--since yesterday,” the other replied. “Whom’ll we take with us on this hike?” “Anybody that will go,” said Art. “Guess I’d better call a scout meeting right away, and put it up to the fellers.” “Sure, to-night,” cried Peanut. “I’m going home now to see if the old hen’s laid an egg to sell!” “You’ll need a lot of eggs to save twenty-five dollars,” said Art.