Ross tied his pony and hurried up to his friend's room. In a minute the wireless was buzzing and presently, back came the answering buzz. Georgie sat up in bed and listened. "I'll go with you to Jed Tighe's," he said, "that is, if Father'll let me." "Try it," said Ross, "if he will, you can jump on the pony behind me." Permission was readily granted, for the farmer was grateful for his own warning, and in less than ten minutes' time the two boys were galloping back along the frosty road to the old skinflint's place. "Aren't you going to tell him about the frost?" asked George, as Ross turned his pony off on the windward side of the orchard. "I have told him," answered Ross, and he related the story of the meeting, gathering together dry twigs and branches as he talked. George waxed indignant. "I'd let him go to grass!" he said. "That's what I thought at first," Ross replied, "but if you saw a chap drowning, you'd jump in and save him without waiting to find out whether he was delirious and didn't want to be saved." "Of course," George answered, "any fellow would jump in." "That's what we're doing, we're jumping in." Minutes were precious and the two boys worked with all their might, gathering piles of twigs and dry sticks. There was a heap of straw and stable manure a field or two away, and Ross rolled several wheelbarrow loads of it across the fields. After two hours' work, the boys had a row of little piles of fuel, covering one quarter of the length of the orchard. "You light the first one, Georgie," said Ross, wanting to give the younger lad the honor, for he had worked pluckily and hard. The lad went down and touched a match to the first pile. It blazed up merrily, and just as the smoke began to rise, the wheels of a buggy were heard along the road. A moment later Bob jumped out. "Hello!" was all he said. He cast one glance at the piles and commenced to work with a will. Presently a shout was heard and Ralph, the photographer, appeared on his wheel. "There's a bunch more 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.