ring in the trees along the roadside; hard by a
little herd of lazy cows stood in a swamp under a spreading willow like
statues of content; now and again an agile chipmunk ran along the stone
wall and disappeared into one of its little rocky caverns; in the fields
beyond farm hands with great straw hats could be seen at their labors,
reminding poor Tom of his own sorry bungling as a war farmer; and the
whole tranquil scene was filled with the breath of spring, which entered
the soul of Tom Slade as he limped steadily along, and made him feel
happy and satisfied.

"Anyway, this is just as good--just as good as being on a committee," he
told himself; "I always liked the country best of all, anyway--I always
said I did. The scout trail takes you to good places--that's one sure
thing."

Presently he passed a bend in the road and discovered some distance
ahead of him a figure--evidently that of a youth--trudging along under
the weight of a tremendous old-fashioned valise which he carried now in
one hand, now in the other, and now again on his shoulder.

In the intervals of changing he laid the valise on the ground, pausing
in evident relief. At length, he sat down on a rock, and as Tom
approached he screwed up his face in a rueful grin. It was an
extraordinary face and such a grin as Tom had never seen before--a grin
which made even the scout smile look like drooping despair by
comparison. And as for freckles, there were as many of them as there are
stars in the peaceful heaven.

"Too much for you?" asked Tom, as he paused by the rock.

The boy made no answer, but shook his head expressively and mopped his
forehead.

"I'll help you carry it," said Tom. "We can both get hold of the handle.
I got to do a good turn, anyway."

"Sit down and rest," said the stranger. "I got some apples inside, and
we'll dig into a couple of 'em. Like apples?"

CHAPTER XII

TOM HEARS OF THE BLOND BEAST

The young fellow was of about Tom's own age, and the most conspicuous
thing about him, aside from has smile and his freckles, was the
collection of badge-buttons which decorated the lapels of his coat and
the front of his hat. They almost rivalled his freckles in number. Some
of them were familiar enough to Tom, showing flags and patriotic
phrases, but others puzzled him, one or two bearing words which were
evidently French. There was an English _Win the War Loan_ button, and a
Red Cross button which read _I have given two shil