led the farmer, extending his hand. "Glad
to meet you, Prescott. I thought it was you all the time. Mebbe
the young man with you is Darrin."

"Yes," laughed Dick, and there was more handshaking.

"I hope I'll see the rest of your friends when you pass in the
morning," said the farmer cordially.

"Hiram---supper!" called a shrill voice from The doorway.

"Coming, mother! Boys, it does one good to meet the right sort
of fellows once in a while. Enjoy the woods in your own way,
won't you?"

"That man is right. As he says, it does one good to meet the
right sort of fellow once in a while---and he's the right sort,"
declared Darry fervently, as the chums trudged back to their outfit.

Camp was pitched, and supper was soon under way. When it was
all over, and everything cleaned up, Dick looked about him at
his friends.

"I wonder if any of you fellows feel the way I do to-night?" he
asked. "We still have our white clothes, and Fenton is something
of a town. We've been in the woods for so long that I feel just
like dressing up in white and taking a stroll into town."

Tom, Dan and Dave voted in the affirmative. Greg and Hazy averred
that they had walked enough for one day. So the four boys donned
white, while the other two remained behind in flannel and khaki.

Dick and the three companions of his stroll when almost in Fenton,
were passing through a street of pretty little cottages when a
tiny figure, clad in white ran out of the darkness, bumping into
Dick's knees.

"Hello, little one!" cried Prescott, cheerily, picking up a wee
little girl of four and holding her at arm's length. "Hello,
you're crying. What's the matter? Lost mother?"

"No; lost papa," wailed the little one.

"Perhaps we can find him for you," offered Tom, readily.

"Mollie! Mollie, where are you?" came a woman's voice out of
the darkness.

"Is this your little girl, madam?" called Prescott. "We'll bring
her to you."

In another moment the woman, young and pretty, also dressed in
white, had reached the child and was holding her by the hand.

"Oh, you little runaway!" chided Dave, smilingly, as he bent over,
wagging a finger at the child.

"No; it's papa that runned away," gasped the little one, in a
frightened voice. "He ran away to a saloon."

"Oh, said Dave, straightening up and feeling embarrassed as he
caught the humiliated look in the young woman's face.

"Pa---runned away and made mama cry," the little one babb