"Sure--but how?" Old Tilly asked in his gentle, moderate way. "We don't
want any old, common celebration!"

"You better believe we don't!"

"No, sir, we want to do something new! Camping out's old!"

"Camping's no good! Go on!" Jot said briefly. It was always Old Tilly
they looked to for suggestions. If you waited long enough, they were
sure to come.

"Well, that's the trouble. I can't 'go on'--yet. You don't give a chap
time to wink! What we want is to settle right down to it and think out
a fine way to celebrate. It's got to take time."

For the space of a minute it was still in the consultery, save for the
soft swish of the leaves overhead and roundabout. Then Jot broke out--a
minute was Jot's utmost limit of silence.

"We could go up through the Notch and back, you know," he reflected.
"That's no end of fun. Wouldn't cost us all more'n a fiver for the
round trip, and we'd have the other ten to--to--"

"Buy popcorn and 'Twin Mountain Views' with!" finished Kent in scorn.
"Well, if you want to dress up in your best fixin's and stew all day in
a railroad train--"

"I don't!" rejoined Jot, hastily. "I was thinking of Old Till!"

Tilly's other name was Nathan, but it had grown musty with disuse. He