eard from the Bridgeboro scouts since
Uncle Jeb had told him definitely that they were scheduled to arrive on
the first, as usual. He knew that no other letter had come, because all
the camp mail had passed through his hands. It had come to be the
regular custom for Barnard to rise early and follow the secluded trail
down to the state road where the mail wagon passed. He had early claimed
it as his own job, and Tom, ever anxious to please him, had let him do
this while he himself was gathering wood and preparing breakfast.
"Always hike to work out west and can't get out of the habit," Barnard
had said. "Like to hobnob with the early birds and first worms, and all
that kind of stuff. Give me a lonesome trail and I'm happy--take one
every morning before breakfast, and after retiring. How about that, old
Doctor Slade?"

Old Doctor Slade had thought it was a good idea.

But this morning his friend was sleeping, and old Doctor Slade would not
waken him. He tiptoed to the cabin and looked cautiously within. Barnard
was sleeping the sleep of the righteous--to quote one of his own
favorite terms. The bandage had slipped down from his forehead, and
looked not unlike a scout scarf about his neck. A ray of early sunlight
slanted through the crack between the logs and hit him plunk in the
head, making his curly red hair shine like a red danger signal. He was
sound asleep--dead to the wicked world--as he was himself fond of
saying.

Early to bed and early to rise,
And you won't meet any regular guys.

As Tom paused, looking at him, he thought of that oft repeated
admonition of his friend. He knew Barnard never meant that seriously.
That was just the trouble--he was always saying things like that, and
that was why people would never understand him and give him credit....
But Tom understood him, all right; that was what he told himself. "I got
to laugh at him, that's sure," he said. Then he bethought him, and out
of his simple, generous nature, he thought, "Didn't he say actions speak
louder than words? That's what counts."

He tiptoed over to where that ray of sunlight came in, and hung his
coat over the place. The shiny brightness of Barnard's hair faded, and
the cabin was almost dark. Tom got his cap, and turning in the doorway
to make sure his friend's sleep was undisturbed, picked his way
carefully over the area of chips and twigs where most of the trimming
had been done, and started down through the wooded hillside