Although "The Cranham Five" were indeed sitting in a row on a slope of the common their eyes were not taking in the view. It was October, right enough, and a morning during the half-term holiday but their thoughts were focused elsewhere.   They were thinking about Christmas.

Stuart had come leaping down the common to join them shouting, "Hi-yer!" as he came.   "What are you lot doing? Waiting for Christmas to come?"

He got no answer. The gang hadn't given Christmas a moment's thought until then. Now, suddenly there it was on the horizon   needing consideration.

Indeed, Stuart had only been reminded about Christmas that very morning when his mother had startled the family at breakfast by saying - cheerfully, "Only eight weeks and it'll be Christmas! I'd better think about making the cake."

After they had digested this remark, his father had added rather unkindly, "And what do you think of getting for your mother this year, Stuart?"

"It all depends," Stuart had replied, shortly.

His mother was smiling to herself. She knew that it was only with help from his father that Stuart could afford to buy any presents. He could never keep any pocket money for long. Neither could his friends.

So, as soon as Stuart had regained his breath and had settled himself down between Gareth and Jamie the boys began to plan how they could prepare themselves, financially, for the Season of Goodwill.

"If only," began Jamie, "If only we could win the Lottery. Just think!" "Not allowed. Under age," growled Gareth. "Then well just have to earn some money somehow," said Rob, "Or sell something."

"Oh, yes! What?" Jamie asked irritably. "We haven't got anything worth selling, have we?"

He let them wait a few seconds before answering. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "It would have to be something we could get free - absolutely free. Then we could make a really good profit."   (Danny had heard his dad talking about beachcombers who picked up objects on the sea-shore and then sold them for a lot of money.)

"Quite right," Gareth agreed, "But what is there around here like that?   People wouldn't want to buy leaves or fire-wood, surely?"

But Danny had another idea. "There's always the spring water." he announced brightly. "We could sell that. I've seen bottles in the supermarket called 'Spring Water'.

They cost quite a lot. We could sell ours."

Nobody moved but thoughts were racing ahead. Danny could already see shelves stacked with bottles labelled,

"Village Spring Water". There they were - row upon row. At £1 per bottle they'd soon be millionaires.

The other boy's minds were full of questions of a practical nature. Yes, there was a spring in the village but could they collect water from it?   Would anyone object?   What could they put it in?   Where would they sell it and for how much?

Excitement began to replace the gloom they had felt a few moments before. Gareth sensed this and decided it was time to bring them back down to earth.

"Well yes, I suppose we could try it," he agreed cautiously. "We'd just have to start on a very small scale - to test the market."

The flood gates were open. Ideas began to pour out. "People buy pop in plastic bottles," Rob asserted. "We could go around collecting some."

"My father would let me use his computer to make some labels," Stuart added. "We could design one with a tree on it, for the woods."

"We could have a stall next Saturday by Gareth's house."suggested Jamie,

"And we'd need to advertise with a poster."

"There'd have to be a tin for the change." This last remark from Danny seemed to clinch it. The company was floated.

The price of the commodity had been fixed at an affordable 50 pence per bottle.

Manufacture began with the removal of the old labels and the thorough washing of each bottle. This proved to be a laborious task but at last by the Wednesday of the holiday week all the bottles were ready to be filled.

It was agreed that, to cause less of a stir, each boy would take his bottles down to the spring at a pre-arranged time. Danny's turn came last.   He went well prepared.

The water gushed forth from a pipe into the pool below. Thus it was necessary to stand in the shallow water in order to fill each bottle.

Danny wore boots and a waterproof anorak but soon his trousers were soaking wet and his hands icy cold. He was concentrating hard on getting his last bottle filled when a movement behind him made him jump. Looking up he saw Kylie coming down the path towards the pool.

  "Hello Danny," she called. "Whatever are you doing there?" She was looking wonderingly at the row of bottles standing in the grass. "It's too late for taddies, you know."

Of course Danny did know that but he did not know whether he ought to tell Kylie about the gang's plan for the water. He and Kylie sat side by side in the school bus each day. He quite liked her and they exchanged sweets during the journey but hardly ever spoke. Kylie was more likely to talk to her sister, Debbie, across the aisle.

Danny could not bear to look at Debbie. She was a teenager and had a problem with spots. The sight of her always made him want to touch his own face in sympathy. Nothing she did seemed to have any effect on the pimples. She could only hide her face in her book to get away from people's sympathetic glances. Poor Debbie -

Danny felt sorry for her.

But now, here was Kylie looking down at him and waiting for him to reply.

"It's spring water." Danny explained unnecessarily. "Just spring water. I want to see what its like. Try some. You can have one of my bottles if you want."

Kylie was taken by surprise at this demonstration of generosity and friendship. "Oh, thanks Danny!" she cried delightedly.   "And I'll show it to Debbie. She's doing biology."

What had biology got to do with it Danny couldn't think! He was relieved when she picked out a bottle and turned to hurry back up the path.

"See you on Monday!" he called after her and she turned and waved.

At last he was able to scramble out of the pool and prepare to squelch   his way home.   He hoped that the others wouldn't notice that he only had nine bottles in his pack.