e shelter it must be
from the farther side. Even where Gilbert stood the atmosphere was
redolent of the damp earth of this crazy little retreat. For retreat it
certainly was, because there was a light in it. Gilbert could only see
the reflection of the light but he knew whence that reflection was
derived.

He approached a little closer and was sure he heard voices. He paused,
then advanced a little closer still. Doubtless this freakish little
shelter left by the storm was occupied by a couple of hoboes, perhaps
thieves.

But Gilbert had played his card and lost. He had forsaken the trail for
a light, and the light had not guided him to camp. He doubted if he
could find his way to camp from here. You are to remember that Gilbert
was a good scout, but a new one.

He approached a little closer, and now he could distinctly hear a voice.
Not the voice of a hobo, surely, for it was carolling a blithe song to
the listening heavens. Gilbert bent his ear to listen:

Oh, the life of a scout is free,
is free;
He's happy as happy can be,
can be.
He dresses so neat,
With no shoes on his feet;
The life of a scout is free!

The life of a scout is bold,
so bold;
His adventures have never been told,
been told.
His legs they are bare,
And he won't take a dare,
The life of a scout is bold!

The savage gorilla is mild,
is mild;
Compared to the boy scout so wild,
so wild.
He don't go to bed,
And he stands on his head,
The life of a scout is wild!

Gilbert stood petrified with astonishment. In all his excursions through
the scout handbook he had never encountered any such formula for
scouting as this. No scout hero in _Boys' Life_ had ever consecrated
himself to such a program.

There was a pause within, during which Gilbert crept a little closer. He
hardly knew any of the boys in camp yet, and the strange voice meant
nothing to him. He knew that no member of _his_ troop was there.

"Want to hear another?" the singer asked.

"Shoot," was the laconic reply.

"This one was writ, wrot, wrote for the Camp-fire Girls around the
blazing oil stove.

"If I had nine lives like an old tom cat,
I'd chuck eight of them away.
For the more the weight, the less the speed,
A