Indeed, it was high time the boys started in, for there were scores of red and gray squirrels and the prettily striped chipmunks scampering about on the ground and in the trees, filling their pouch-like cheeks with the nuts, and then leaping and bounding away to their nests with the store of winter provender. The boys began to hustle, threshing the burs from the nuts, and then scooping the latter into the bags they had brought. It wasn't long before they had gathered several pecks, and they didn't have to cover much ground to get them either. Adrian packed nearly a bushel into his sack before he was satisfied, but Roger was content to lug home a little more than two pecks, as he was hardly strong enough to bear the weight of more. They tramped slowly back, stopping frequently to rest. Emptying the nuts into baskets they went again to the woods for more, for as Adrian said, the squirrels would soon make short work of the harvest unless the boys were lively. On their second trip the hired man went with them, trundling' a wheelbarrow, and this time they brought away over three bushels, leaving as many more piled in a heap, the hired man going after them alone later. "Got about seven bushels," announced Adrian, proudly, at the supper table. "Not bad, eh, pop?" "I should say not," replied Mr. Kimball. "'N Porter Amidown were tellin' me yist'day they'd gone t' six dollars a bushel." "Then we'll send out six bushels in the morning, when Porter goes to the city," said Adrian. "One bushel'll be more than we can eat. That'll be thirty-six dollars toward the mortgage, dad." "Bless yer heart," exclaimed Mr. Kimball, pretending that he suddenly had a very bad cold. "Bless yer hearts, boys, I--I--don't want yer money." "But you've got to take it," decided Adrian and Roger in one breath, immensely pleased with their day's work, which had only been a pleasure, and feeling proud that it would amount to so much in money. There was a light flurry of snow that night, and when the boys awoke next morning they found the ground hidden under a white, fleecy blanket. They were not up early enough to see their chestnuts put on the stage to be sent to Syracuse, but Mrs. Kimball told them at the breakfast table that they went all right. "Where's dad?" asked Adrian. "Gittin' ready t' kill pigs," answered Mrs. Kimball. "Hurrah! Roger! That'll be sport! Hurry up. Who's going to help him, mother?" "I guess old man Hounson's comin' over. I heard yer father say suthin' 'bout him." "Well, I reckon we can lend a hand at starting the fire, or something," said Adrian. The boys went out to the barnyard as soon as possible, where they found Mr. Kimball getting ready to start a fire under a big caldron of water that was to be used at a later stage in the proceedings. "Let us make the fire, dad," begged Adrian, and getting permission, he and Roger soon had a fine blaze going.