There had been another slight fall of snow, and on Thursday afternoon the cadets of Colby Hall organized a grand snowball match. A fort was built on the top of a little hill in the vicinity, and one crowd of cadets defended this, while the others made an attack. The school flag was hoisted over the fort, and the battle raged furiously for over an hour. Major Ralph Mason was in charge of the fort defenders, while the Rover boys, along with half of the school cadets, composed the attacking party. The fort was captured only after a terrific bombardment with snowballs, and it was Jack who had the pleasure of hauling down the flag.
"Some fight that!" remarked Fred, after the contest was over.
"Almost like a real battle," said Randy. "Just look at my left ear, will you?" and he pointed to that member, which was much swollen. "Got hit there twice—with regular soakers, too."
"Well, that's part of the game, Randy," remarked Jack. He had been hit half a dozen times, but had not minded it in the least.
On the following afternoon the Rover boys visited a long hill in that vicinity, which a number of the cadets were using for coasting purposes. With money sent to them by Jack's father, they had purchased a fine bobsled, and on this they took numerous rides, along with several of their chums.
There were two ways of going down the hill. One was in the direction of Haven Point, and the other wound around a second smaller hill and ended in the pasture lot of an old farmer. This farmer was an Irishman named Mike O'Toole, a pleasant enough individual, who had often given the boys rides on his farm wagon, and who was not averse to selling them fruit, and also milk, when they desired it. He was such a good-natured old man that very few of the cadets ever thought to molest his orchard.
"Say, I've got an idea!" cried Andy suddenly, when he and the other Rovers were riding down into O'Toole's pasture. "Let's go down and have a look at the old man's goats," and he winked knowingly at his twin.
O'Toole had once lived in the city, and there had been the proud possessor of several goats, which he had used in one of the public parks, where they were attached to little wagons in which the children could ride for ten cents per person. O'Toole had brought his goats to the farm with him, and treated them with as much affection as if they were members of his family.
"What have you go up your sleeve, Andy?" questioned Fred, as they got off the bobsled and dragged it behind them toward Mike O'Toole's house. The old Irish farmer and his wife lived alone, having no children and no hired help.
"Oh, I thought we might hire a goat or two to pull the bobsled," was the easy answer.