was the oldest of the Eddy trio, and "ballasted" the other two, Father
Eddy said. Old Tilly was fourteen and the Eddy twins--Jotham and
Kennet--were twelve. All three were well-grown, lusty fellows who could
work or celebrate their liberty, as the case might be, with a good will.
Just now it was the latter they wanted to do, in some untried way.

It was a beautiful thinking-place, up in the consultery. The birds in
the meshes of leaves that roofed it over twittered in whispers, as if
they realized that a momentous question was under consultation down
below and bird-courtesy demanded quiet.

Jot fretted impatiently under his breath,

"Shouldn't think it need to take all day!" he muttered. "You're as slow
as--as--"

"Old Tilly!" laughed Kent. The spell of silence was broken, and the
birds overhead broke into jubilant trills, as if they were laughing,
too.

"I guess the name fits all right this time," Old Tilly said ruefully.
"I can't seem to think of anything at all! My head clicks--the mowing
machine wheels have got into it, I guess!"

"Wheels in mine, too!" Kent drawled lazily.

"Wheels!"

Jot sprang to his feet in excitement. In his haste he miscalculated the
dimensions of the consultery. There was a wild flutter of brown hands