oyance, "I don't believe it! How
could _girls_ be _scouts_? If knights was scouts when they was little,
well, anyhow girls never could be knights!"

Cis did not know how it was, only that it was so; and she reminded him,
with appeal in the violet-blue eyes, that she was not a particle to
blame for it. "Girls can march," she said; "and they can be kind to cats
and people a lot better than boys can."

"One thing sure," Johnnie went on, firmly, "girls can't be cowboys." He
determined to think twice before he became a scout since, apparently,
the organization was not so exclusive as he had thought.

"Oh, but girls can be cowgirls," went on Cis. "I've seen pictures of
cowgirls _lots_ of times. They wear divided skirts."

At that, Johnnie turned pale. "Well, I bet girls can't be
pirate-killers," he retorted angrily, "like Jim Hawkins. Or a p'liceman
on horseback, or a millionaire, or own islands all by theirselves, or
ride el'phants like Aladdin, or poke other girls off horses with
spears!"

As Big Tom now came scuffing into the kitchen, nothing more could be
said on the subject. But later on Johnnie again complained to Cis about
the intrusion of girls into ranks where they could not fail to be both
unwelcome and unsuited. "They don't belong," he urged, "and they ought
t' keep out! They spoil _ev'ry_thing!"

"Well, men do the same things," she argued. "Just to-day I saw a man
running a _sewing machine_."

"But he's got t' do it for some reason," Johnnie declared, "like I have
t' make vi'lets--and cook."

"But if all the boy scouts don't care because girls are girl scouts, why
should _you_ care?" she wanted to know, hurt at his attitude toward her
sex. "You know you don't belong yet. And if that young man thinks it's
all right, why it must be, and he'll think you're funny if you scold
about it."

The next morning Johnnie had but one thought: The promised call of the
leader. Naturally he did not take his usual trip to search for One-Eye
and bring home a box. Instead he made elaborate preparations looking
toward the arrival of his visitor. With One-Eye, somehow it had not
mattered how the flat appeared. Hero though he was, style counted little
with the cowboy, who dwelt in a cellar along with horses. And anyhow
One-Eye thought the flat was all right "far's it goes." Those had been
his very words.

But with that leader, Johnnie felt it was different. He proceeded at
once, mentally, to establish the gallant young stra