Tom and his chums agreed to this and in a few minutes they were all
three sitting gravely on the big settee by the fire, a flatiron in
each boy's lap, each with a hammer and the basket of nuts in reach,
and all dolefully whistling--with as much discord as possible. The
whistling did certainly try the girls' nerves; but the boys were not
to be trusted under any other conditions.

Busy Izzy, however--that arch schemer--had not forgiven the girls
for laughing at his overset on the toboggan slide the night before.
And as he sat whistling "Good Night, Ladies" in a dreadful minor, he
evolved such a plan for reprisal in his fertile mind that his eyes
began to snap and he could hardly whistle for the grin that wreathed
his lips.

"Keep at it, Mr. Isadore Phelps!" cried Ruth, first to detect Izzy's
defection. "We're watching you."

"Come! aren't we going to have a chance to eat a single kernel?"
Izzy growled.

"Not one," said Helen, stoutly. "After you have the nuts cracked and
picked out, we'll spread the kernels in the dripping pans, the taffy
will then be ready, we'll pour it over, and then set the candy out to
cool in the snow. After that we'll give you some--if you're good."

"Huh!" grunted Isadore. "I guess I know a trick worth two of that.
We'll get our share, fellows," and he winked at Tom and Bob.