It was the day before Washington's Birthday. The snow was deep on the ground, piled high in drifts here and there, the air was clear, and the sun bright. Everything promised beautifully for the holiday to which the school looked forward on the morrow. "St. George" ran home early from school, and flung down his bag of books on the sitting-room table. "I'm to be off early in the morning, mother," he said. "Put me up a rousing good lunch, do." "You are sure you can have steady fires in the house? Mr. Bangs' man can be relied on?" Mrs. Allen's voice was a bit anxious. "Tiptop." "St. George" was busy extricating his foot from its protecting boot. "Now then, for my 'slips' and then the old books. I'll get these lessons inside my head and out of the way before night." "Because if there is a little carelessness in this respect," continued his mother, "you might take a cold that would last you all winter. The only reason your father consented to your going, George, you know very well, was because the house is so near your playground that you could run in and get warmed whenever you felt chilly." "Right on the playground, mother, you mean," corrected "St. George" with a laugh; "it's set on Sachem Hill itself--up in the clouds in a jolly fashion." "There was one other reason," added Mrs. Allen after a pause, "and that was, he said 'I can trust George Edward.'" The boy occupied with his other boot looked up quickly, said nothing, but a bright smile flashed over his face; and he jumped up, ran for his slippers, and settled down to work with a will. The next morning was a fine one, and the nine o'clock train saw a gay party of twenty-five boys with knapsacks or bags containing lunch and skates assembled at the B. and A. Depot ready to board the train for Sachem Hill. Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man, had gone up the day before to open the country house left unoccupied since the family's return to town in the autumn. And he was already making fires, and getting things into comfortable shape for the boys' arrival for the grand frolic to which Wilfred Bangs had invited his very especial friends; the parents of the twenty-four boys only insisting that their sons should each carry his own lunch, to add to the hot coffee for which Thomas was famous. So here they were. And a long grand day before them! * * * * * "Now see here, Old Saint"--one of the boys was thoroughly provoked and he meant to show it--"if you want to go around the world making yourself disagreeable, just keep on with that talk, 'we ought to stop' and so forth. Don't you suppose we know what we're about. There's plenty of time to catch that train. I for one shall have one more skate up the pond and back, and I'll bet you a new knife I'm at the depot as soon as you are." "St. George doesn't preach," cried an impulsive champion. "And besides, he always _does_ first himself."