ain," said Tom.

He couldn't think of much else while Roscoe was there.

CHAPTER XI

TOM MEETS A STRANGER

Tom's ankle still pained him more than he had been willing to admit, but
the departure of Roscoe for home was a load off his mind, and he felt
that now his work was done. In four hours, at most, Roscoe would be back
in Bridgeboro, his name upon the rolls, his registration card in his
pocket. Tom envied him.

It was exactly like Tom not to worry about how the authorities would
receive Roscoe's excuses, or what people would think of his own absence.
His mind was a very simple one, and he believed, as he had told Roscoe,
that if one did what was right he would not be misjudged.

When the effects of Roscoe's "mistake" had blown over and his own
lameness subsided, he would go back to Bridgeboro, and he knew exactly
what he was going to say. He was going to say that he had been called
away unexpectedly about something very important. That was what business
men like Mr. Temple and Mr. Burton and Mr. Ellsworth were always
saying--that they were called away; and to be on the safe side, Tom
intended to use that very expression. There might be some curiosity and
annoyance, but a scout who held the Gold Cross (or at least _owned_ it)
would not be suspected of doing anything wrong. They would say, "He's an
odd number, Tom is," and he would not mind their saying that, for he had
heard it before.

During the morning he sat propped up in the bunk reading _Treasure
Island_, and in the afternoon he limped out to the brook and caught some
minnows, which he fried in cracker crumbs, and had a gala repast all by
himself.

While it was still light he decided that he would follow the familiar
trail down to Temple Camp and spend the night there. He had the key to
the main pavilion, and there he could enjoy the comfort of a couch and a
much-needed night's rest. He had left some clothing there, also, which
he meant to exchange for his tattered raiment.

He found the camp gloomy enough with all the cabins closed and barred,
the rowboats lying inverted on the shore of the lake, and not a soul to
welcome him in that beloved retreat which had been the scene of so much
fun and adventure. It made him think of Roy and the troop to limp about
and see the familiar places, and he sat down on the long rough seat at
the bleak-looking mess-board and thought of the past summer, of Jeb
Rushmore, of Pee-wee's curly hair and lively counten