ance, of the scouts
trooping from woods and cabin to the grateful evening meal which was
served there each night.

Soon, in a week or two perhaps, Jeb would return, and before long that
quiet grove would echo to the sound of merry voices. He sat gazing in
the twilight at the long, deserted mess-board. How well he remembered
the night when all the camp had assembled here in honor of the birthday
of the Elk Patrol--_his_ patrol!

"If it wasn't for me, this camp would never have been started," he mused
proudly; "Mr. Temple saw what scouting could do for a feller, and that's
why he started it.... I'm mighty glad I got to be a scout...."

It made him homesick to look about; homesick for the good old times, for
Jeb, and the stalking and tracking and swimming, and Roy's jollying of
Pee-wee at camp-fire, and the hikes he and Roy used to have together.

"Anyway, I'll see them all to-morrow night at troop meeting," he said to
himself, "and in August we'll all be up here again.--I bet they'll
laugh and say I was a queer duck to go away--that's what Roy's always
saying."

He found some ointment in the provision cabin and rubbed his ankle until
his arm was tired. Then he bandaged it and went to bed in one of the
comfortable cot-beds in the pavilion.

Early in the morning he was up and glad to find that he could stand upon
his injured foot without pain.

The sun was streaming in through the window which he had thrown open,
and its cheerful brightness drove away any lingering misgivings which he
might have had about Roscoe's or his own reception in Bridgeboro. He
donned an old suit of his own which, though faded, was free from tears.

"It's all right now; everything's all right now," he said; "he's
registered by now, and to-morrow night I'll show up at troop meeting and
they can kid me and say I was afraid to stay and go on the platform--I
don't care. I know I hit the right trail. Let 'em call me queer if they
want to."

He made breakfast for himself with a pocketful of loose coffee which he
had brought down from the mountain and some canned meat which he found
in the provision cabin.

Then he hit up through the grove for the road which would take him into
the village of Leeds, where he could catch the trolley line for Catskill
Landing.

"That was a good job, anyway," he said to himself, as he limped steadily
along; "I bet Mr. Bent was glad---- Gee, it must be fine to have a
father like that!..."

The birds were chatte