to call for much virtue, but rather the contrary.

Lily had overheard Arnold Carruth and Johnny
Trumbull and Lee Westminster and another boy,
Jim Patterson, planning a most delightful affair,
which even in the cases of the boys was fraught with
danger, secrecy, and doubtful rectitude. Not one
of the four boys had had a vacation from the village
that summer, and their young minds had become
charged, as it were, with the seeds of revolution and
rebellion. Jim Patterson, the son of the rector, and
of them all the most venturesome, had planned to
take -- he called it "take"; he meant to pay for it,
anyway, he said, as soon as he could shake enough
money out of his nickel savings-bank -- one of his
father's Plymouth Rock chickens and have a chicken-
roast in the woods back of Dr. Trumbull's. He
had planned for Johnny to take some ears of corn
suitable for roasting from his father's garden; for
Lee to take some cookies out of a stone jar in his
mother's pantry; and for Arnold to take some pota-
toes. Then they four would steal forth under cover
of night, build a camp-fire, roast their spoils, and
feast.

Lily had resolved to be of the party. She resorted
to no open methods; the stones of the fighting suf-
fragettes were not for her, little honey-sweet, curled,
and ruffled darling; rather the time-worn, if not
time-sanctified, weapons of her sex, little instruments