“If he keeps the water down on that hole land it will save the alfalfa meadow,” Mr. Fenton remarked thoughtfully .

“Does he seem to be doing it, Uncle Norman?”

“So far the water isn’t any higher.”

“Jinks, that’s great,” Jim exclaimed with enthusiasm. He rather envied Corso’s young nephew who disregarded weather and waded barefoot along the road, his overalls rolled above his knees, and not even a splattering automobile racing past him, sending sheets of water from all four wheels, seemed to disturb him.

The morning of the fourth day broke clear and fine, the sky velvet blue, and not a cloud in sight. The step-brothers came down stairs with joyous whoops, and young Caldwell danced his aunt about the kitchen

“Well, my land, if you want me to dance with you Bob, you will  a reel or a jig—”

“Let it be a jig,” Bob answered promptly and taking her hand he began the clattery dance while Jim played an accompaniment on the mouth organ. But in a few minutes Mrs. Fenton had to stop for breath.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she demanded. “I never supposed that any young one could do it these days.”

“In school,” Bob answered. “You ought to see Jim Highland Fling.”

“What’s all the shouting about?” Mr. Fenton asked. He had just come in with the brimming milk pails.

“Look at the weather,” Jim laughed.

“It’s enough to make an airplane do a tail spin,” Bob added.

“No doubt, but I hope Her Highness doesn’t do any more—”

“More?” The boys chorused.

“Canadian chap telephoned me yesterday to inquire if you live here, and he said that you two had made the country safe for the Mounted Police—”

“Aw, go on,” Bob exclaimed in disgust.

“What did they do that for?” demanded Jim.

“In the course of his duty,” Mr. Fenton smiled. “We’ll be very much obliged if you will give us the details of the war while we breakfast. We want to know all about it. It isn’t every day that exciting things happen around us and we feel that we have been slighted—”

“That’s all right, Mr. Fenton. Bob did most of it. I’ll tell you the whole story—”

“I did not do most of it,” Bob denied emphatically. “If you leave out anything you did, I’ll tell them hong kong shopping.”

“Fair enough,” Mr. Fenton laughed. “Now sit down, satisfy the first pangs of hunger, then begin,” he ordered, and the boys took their places.

Between the two of them, the Fentons were able to get a fairly interesting account of what happened, and when the story was finished, Mrs. Fenton looked at them soberly.

“My, my, you might both have been killed. That was why you got me those new baskets. I thought there was something queer about your losing it,” Mrs. Fenton exclaimed. “If you had lost it, or forgotten it, I should not have minded one bit; but if you had told me how you happened to throw it overboard, I should have been glad.”

“We wanted to be sure that we had a basket for next time,” Bob grinned cheerfully. “We expect there will be other next times.”