f with some sort of
scout's rig, in the shape of shorts, hat, and boots. His shorts were
rather on the queer side. He had only one pair of ragged trousers, and
he did not dare to cut them down, or he would have had nothing for
general wear, so he had obtained an old pair of corduroys from a
bricklayer who lived next door. The bricklayer was a bird-fancier, and
Chippy had paid for the corduroys by fetching a big bag of nice sharp
sand from the heath to strew on the floors of the cages.

Chippy was no tailor, so he had simply sawn off the legs to such a
length as would clear his knees, and left it at that. The waist would
have gone round him at least twice, so Chippy laid it over in folds,
and lashed all tight with a piece of tarry string.

His hat was an old felt one of his mother's. It was the nearest thing
he could rake up to a scout's broad brim, and he had hammered the edge
with a big stone to make it lie flat; but it would curl up a little,
and it looked almost as odd as the capacious trousers in which he was
swallowed. His boots were borrowed from his mother also. His ordinary
boots, heavy and clumsy, with hobnails as big as peanuts, seemed to him
very ill-suited for the soft, swift, noiseless tread of a scout, so he
had replaced them with an old pair of elastic-side boots intended for
female wear. The elastics were clean gone, and his feet would have
come out at every step had not, luckily, the tabs remained. These he
had lashed together, fore and aft, round his ankle, for, being a
riverside boy, he was very handy with string.

The toes were the worst bother. His mother was a long-footed woman,
and the toes of the boots sailed ahead of Chippy's feet, and turned up,
after the style of the boots of the Middle Ages, as depicted in
history-books, and went flip-flop-flap before him as he walked. And so
Chippy had come to visit the Wolf Patrol as a friend and a brother.

'Hallo! who's this?' cried Arthur Graydon, looking up from the
tracking-patch.

The others looked up, too, and some of the boys raised a great shout of
laughter.

'What do you want here?' went on Arthur, stepping forward, patrol flag
in hand.

The flag told Chippy that he stood in presence of the patrol-leader,
and he gave the full salute. But Arthur did not return it.

'Who are you?' demanded Arthur.

'My name's Slynn,' replied the other. 'They gen'ly call me Chippy.'

He announced himself in his usual husky notes. It seemed a