pus.

"Well, now, that's decent of you, Bumpus," the other scout remarked;
"but you see, this old corduroy cap of mine has earflaps that can be
turned down. It's just a bully thing for a cold, windy day. But after
such a generous offer, Bumpus, why, I give you my full permission to
turn over your badge. You've begun the day bright and early, by trying
to do a generous deed for a comrade."

Of course, what Step Hen referred to was the well-known rule by which
the great body of members composing the Boy Scouts' organization of
America has been governed, in order to teach the units of each patrol
and troop the benefits to be derived from making themselves useful to
others.

In the morning every scout is supposed to pin his badge upside-down, on
the lapel of his coat; and is not allowed to change its position until
he has found an opportunity for helping some one, either by act, or
advice that is really useful. It may only be a very simple thing; but it
teaches the lad, first of all, the useful attribute of observation; and
after that the still more precious one of service. Even though he but
assist an old man across a street where vehicles are numerous; or take a
market basket from the hands of a housewife, who is staggering homeward
under the heavy burden, the effect is the same.

It makes his boyish heart thrill with a satisfaction that develops the
trait of generosity; and gives every lad a more manly sensation; for he
realizes that small though he may seem, he is of some value to the
world.

"Oh!" said Bumpus, blushing, "I guess I hadn't ought to take advantage
of such a little thing as that, so's to get my badge turned. I'll find a
chance to do something that's more worth while, before the morning's an
hour old. And Step Hen, if you bring home the bacon in the shape of a
noble six-pronged buck, you must let me take your picture, with your
foot on the prize. Why, it will be the most valuable heirloom in your
family, years from now. Your great grandchildren will point to it in
pride, and tell how you slew the Jabberwock in the woods of Maine."

"Well," grinned Step Hen, "wait till I get the buck. I don't count my
chickens before they're hatched. And I hope for one thing--that when we
do come back, there's going to be a little peace in the camp; and that
our friend Giraffe here, will have solved the riddle that's been
worrying him so long. Them's my sentiments."

Giraffe made a mock bow, as he remarked in his mos