"Play square," said Bob.

"Jed Tighe has never done anything to help the League," said Fred. "I don't see why we should do anything to help him."

"Well," said Ross, "we can't take that stand. Any chap that needs help ought to be warned. If you saw his house on fire, Fred, you wouldn't hesitate to tell Jed Tighe, would you?"

"No," answered the editor doubtfully, "I wouldn't, but this seems different, some way. We might be making fools of ourselves and he'd have the laugh on us for ever."

"Better be laughed at for trying to help than blamed for not trying,"

repeated Bob.

This was unanswerable and to Ross was deputed the dubious pleasure of notifying the hard old farmer. As the boys separated, Anton looked at his watch.

"It's going to be all hours before you get home to your own place, Ross," said Anton, "it would be a shame if your fruit ran a risk by your being late. Your dad hasn't got a 'phone."

"That's easily fixed," said Ross.

He went to the door and whistled. Rex came bounding up. Ross went to the table and scribbled on a piece of paper:

"Frost to-night! Light the pots!"

This he fastened securely to the Airedale's collar.

"Home! Rex!" he said.

The terrier looked up in his master's face to make sure that it was an order, and not a game, and evidently being satisfied, started down the road at a long sweeping trot. About a hundred yards away he stopped and turned round to look. Ross was expecting this, so raised his arm and pointed. Quite satisfied, Rex swung round to the road again and galloped out of sight.

The boys separated at once, Bob to his wireless outfit, Fred to his 'phone. Anton, however, did not get in the buggy, as arranged. Instead, his father, knowing that the lad was frail, packed him off to bed and drove in the buggy himself, warning all his neighbors. Ross, on his little pony, riding like another Paul Revere, covered many miles. It was well on towards midnight when he reached Jed Tighe's house. The dogs broke out into a furious barking, and, wakened by their tumult, the old farmer with his thin scraggly beard, came to the door.

"What do you want, coming to my house at this hour of the night?" he began, not recognizing his visitor.

"It's me, Ross Planford," the boy answered. "I came to tell you that it's going to freeze tonight."

"That's a nice reason for getting a man out of his bed! Besides, it ain't so. There's never been a frost in this county later'n April 3."

He snapped his fingers at the boy. "That's how much you know about it."

Ross found it hard to keep down his temper at this discourtesy.

"It's going to freeze, just the same," he retorted.

"Well, let it freeze, and you, too."

The old farmer began to close the door.

"But your fruit'll all be frosted!"

"Save it yourself, then," snapped Jed Tighe and slammed the door.

Ross dug his heels into his pony and started for home. The ride had taken him six miles out of his way and he was anxious to get home to make sure Rex had delivered his message. Still, as he rode, his pony's hoofs seemed to beat out the message:

"Save it yourself, then!"

Why should he?

Again--

Why shouldn't he?

The gallop came down to a trot and then to a walk, as Ross brooded over what he should do. As it chanced, his path lay near one of the younger members of the League, who had bought a small wireless outfit, similar to that of Anton's. Ross reined in.

As at Jed Tighe's, the hounds announced his arrival and the farmer poked his head out of the window. He recognized the boy at once.

"What's up, Ross?" he asked. "Anything wrong?"

"There's a killing freeze coming tonight, Mr. Lovell," the boy answered.

"We're warning every one with fruit trees to start a smudge going. And, Mr. Lovell, can I use the wireless for a minute?"

"Of course. Much obliged for the tip, my boy, I'll get right up and attend to things. Of course, I don't know as it'll do any good, if it's a goin' to freeze; to my way o' thinkin' it's goin' to freeze and nothin'll stop it. But no one can say that Tim Lovell was too lazy to try an' save his crops."

Ross tied his pony and hurried up to his friend's room. In a minute the wireless was buzzing and presently, back came the answering buzz.

Georgie sat up in bed and listened.

"I'll go with you to Jed Tighe's," he said, "that is, if Father'll let me."

"Try it," said Ross, "if he will, you can jump on the pony behind me."

Permission was readily granted, for the farmer was grateful for his own warning, and in less than ten minutes' time the two boys were galloping back along the frosty road to the old skinflint's place.

"Aren't you going to tell him about the frost?" asked George, as Ross turned his pony off on the windward side of the orchard.

"I have told him," answered Ross, and he related the story of the meeting, gathering together dry twigs and branches as he talked.

George waxed indignant.

"I'd let him go to gra.s.s!" he said.

"That's what I thought at first," Ross replied, "but if you saw a chap drowning, you'd jump in and save him without waiting to find out whether he was delirious and didn't want to be saved."

"Of course," George answered, "any fellow would jump in."

"That's what we're doing, we're jumping in."

Minutes were precious and the two boys worked with all their might, gathering piles of twigs and dry sticks. There was a heap of straw and stable manure a field or two away, and Ross rolled several wheelbarrow loads of it across the fields. After two hours' work, the boys had a row of little piles of fuel, covering one quarter of the length of the orchard.

"You light the first one, Georgie," said Ross, wanting to give the younger lad the honor, for he had worked pluckily and hard.

The lad went down and touched a match to the first pile. It blazed up merrily, and just as the smoke began to rise, the wheels of a buggy were heard along the road. A moment later Bob jumped out.

"h.e.l.lo!" was all he said.