“You can’t,” said Tim.

“Can, too,” insisted Meg.  “We don’t want to fight on your side, anyway.”

The bell rang before they had this settled, and when Mr. Carter stopped Bobby in the hall to ask him how the plans were going, Bobby had to confess that they had done little beyond dispute over the names for the sides and whether the girls should be allowed to play.

“It’s the girls’ school, after all, as much as it is yours,” said Mr. Carter thoughtfully.  “Some of them, I imagine, will prefer to look on from the windows; but, if I were you, I would be glad to have those who want to play on your side.”

“But Tim can’t be American,” insisted Bobby.  “We won’t be any other country.”

“Then choose colors,” suggested Mr. Carter, “Why not Black and Orange?”

Mr. Carter, you see, was a Princeton man, and he thought those colors very beautiful, as indeed they are.

Bobby overtook Tim Roon on the stairs and asked him about the colors.

“I’ll be general of the Orange side,” decided Tim promptly.

Tim never thought to ask any one his opinion.  He always took what he wanted for himself and did not bother to consult the wishes of others.

“Then I’ll be the Black,” said Bobby.  “We’ll have to do a lot of work this noon to get ready.  I’m glad we brought our lunch.”

Tim’s head was so full of snowball fights that he missed outright in spelling, and Bobby was discovered drawing a plan of a fort when he should have been studying his geography lesson.

“There,” said Miss Mason when the noon bell rang, “now do try to get this wonderful fight out of your minds by the time the one o’clock bell sounds.  And don’t let me hear of any one going without his lunch to play in the snow.  Eat first, and then play.”

Bobby looked a little guilty.  He had planned to hurry out and start the building of his fort and eat his lunch as he worked.  He sat down with Meg and bolted the good sandwiches Norah had packed, very much as Philip sometimes ate his dinner.  But then this was an exceptional occasion.  Bobby didn’t usually forget his manners.

“Come on, fellows!” called Tim, as the children streamed out into the yard.  “Choose your sides—­hurry up!”

As they chose their sides, Tim found, to his disgust, that he would have to have some girls under him.  These were mostly sisters of the boys who lived in Tim’s neighborhood, and though he had often pulled their braids and otherwise teased them, still they felt that for the honor of their home streets they were bound to fight on Tim’s side.

After every one was enrolled on the Black’s side or on that of the Orange, they set to work to build the forts.  Such scrambling for snow!  Such frantic scouring of corners for drifts from which to pack the walls!  And mercy, such screaming and shouting!  No game was ever played without a noisy chorus, and this was the most exciting game the Oak Hill children had found in a long time.