But the idea of a contest was quickly taken up by the others, so that soon the party had paired off, and racing with the strings of laurel became a matter of enjoyment, and not a question of work.

Dorothy took her place with Tom; Agnes Sinclair was with Ned; Nat went to work with Eva Brownlie, and Tavia sat beside Roland.

How quickly the fingers flew!  And how soon the small sprigs of green were twined into long, soft garlands!

“I’ll keep tally,” proffered Edith Brownlie, glad to escape the more certain duty of tying the cords about the boughs.

For an hour all worked and chatted gaily, the boys continually “betting against bets,” while the girls would complain that too much conversation interfered with the progress of the race.

When the full hour had passed Edith called “Time!” Then the measuring began.

“No stretching!” warned Ned as he held his rope of green against that which Tom and Dorothy had woven.

“Ours!” called Tom, as the one string pulled out two yards longer than the other.

Then every other strand was measured against that.  Not one came up to the garland made by Dorothy and Tom.

“Oh, of course,” pouted Eva, “Dorothy and Tom could not possibly have been beaten.  They’re such a strong team!”

The others laughed, although Dorothy did not like the remark.

Ned lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully, but never once smiled at Dorothy’s triumph.

“Tavia has the ‘Booby,’” announced Tom, who had done all the measuring, “Now distribute the prizes, please.”

Tavia protested, of course, and soon the room was in an uproar.  Finally the ladies insisted the wreaths should be put up, and when the chairs and stepladders had been brought the boys began festooning the long strings of green about the room, over windows and doors, and about the finely-fluted posts that marked the arches.

Dorothy purposely took Ned’s rope to hold for him.

“Won’t it look pretty?” she asked, trying to show her interest in his work.

“Guess so,” he answered indifferently, without looking at his cousin.

“Here, Dorothy,” called Tom.  “You are not to work.  This sofa is especially provided for our comfort.  Here, sit down,” and taking her arm, he attempted to lead her away from the ladder upon which Ned stood.

“Let me have it,” said Ned, jerking the rope from Dorothy’s grasp.  Instinctively she held to it, and looked up in some astonishment at her cousin.

A moment later Ned swayed toward her.  She had released her hold of the rope, and the sudden easing of the strain which the youth put upon it caused him to lose his balance.  He swayed still farther away from the ladder, and thrust out his hands to grasp the rungs.  He dropped the rope, and as Dorothy gave a frightened scream he crashed to the floor, right at her feet, narrowly missing striking her.

She had barely time to jump aside when the ladder crashed down beside the prostrate form of Ned.