r ain't fer stayin', Tommy? I kinder cal'lated you'd weaken
when the time come. Ain't goin' ter think better of it, huh?" The old
man, smiling through a cloud of tobacco smoke, contemplated Tom with
shrewd, twinkling, expectant eyes. "Fun's jest about startin' naow,
Tommy. 'Member what I told yer baot them critters. Daont yer go back on
account of no gal."

"I ain't going back on account of a girl," said Tom.

"What train yer thinkin' uv goin' daon on?" the old man asked.

"I'm going to hike it," Tom said.

Uncle Jeb contemplated him for a moment as though puzzled, but after
all, seeing nothing so very remarkable in a hike of a hundred and fifty
miles or so, he simply observed. "Yer be'nt in no hurry ter get back,
huh? Wall, yer better hev a good snack before yer start. You jest tell
Chocolate Drop to put yer up rations fer ter night, too, in case you
camp."

* * * * *

The guests at Temple Camp paid no particular attention to the young
fellow who was leaving. He had not associated with the visiting scouts,
and save for an occasional visit to his isolated retreat, where they
found little to interest them, he had been almost a stranger among them.
Doubtless some of them had thought him a mere workman at the camp and
had left him undisturbed accordingly.

It was almost pitiful, now that he was leaving, to note how slightly he
was known and how little his departure affected the general routine of
pleasure. A few scouts, who were diving from the spring board paused to
glance at him as he rowed across the lake and observed that the "fellow
from up on the hill" was going away. Others waved him a fraternal
farewell, but there was none of that customary gathering at the landing,
which he had known in the happy days when he had been a scout among
scouts at his beloved camp.

But there was one scout who took enough interest in him to offer to go
across in the rowboat with him, on the pretext of bringing it back,
though both knew that it was customary to keep boats on both sides of
the lake. This fellow was tall and of a quiet demeanor. His name was
Archer, and he had come with his troop from somewhere in the west, where
they breed that particular type of scouts who believe that actions speak
louder than words.

"Did that job all by yourself, didn't you?" he asked as they rowed
across. He looked a Tom curiously.

"A friend of mine helped me," Tom said; "he's gone home."

"Why didn't you