THE LIFE THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN SAVED
"Hey! what d'ye mean by trespassin' on my ground? I'll have the law on
ye for darin' to build a big bonfire like that! No tramp convention c'n
threaten to set fire to my woods, let me tell ye!"
The man in the lead was shouting this in an angry voice as he bustled
forward, with his dog growling and straining to get free. Of course
every one of the boys scrambled to his feet in a hurry. The sight of
their khaki uniforms seemed to give the big farmer a decided shock, for
they saw him come to a stop.
"What's this here?" he exclaimed, as he stared at the dozen lads. "Tell
me, am I seein' things Bill Scruggs? Is it the State Militia dropped
down on us? Is there a war on?"
Mr. Witherspoon, who was of course in uniform, stepped to the front and
made the old fellow a military salute that must have gone far toward
soothing his ruffled feelings.
"We're sorry if we've intruded on your ground, sir," he said in that
convincing voice of his. "The fact is these are some of the Boy Scouts
of Lenox, a troop that has lately been organized. I am Robert
Witherspoon, the surveyor, and if I'm not mistaken I did some work for
you a few months ago, Mr. Brush."
"That's a fact ye did, Mr. Witherspoon," declared the farmer, with less
venom in his tone. "Seems like I didn't know ye with them togs on."
"I'm acting as scout master to these lads just now," continued the
other, in his conciliatory way. "One of the rules of the organization
is that each troop must have a grown person to serve with them, so that
any undue boyish spirits may be kept within reasonable bounds."
"So I read in the paper, Mr. Witherspoon," continued the countryman.
"Won't you tie up your dogs, Mr. Brush, and come and join us here
before the fire?" asked the scout master, who doubtless had more or
less faith in the ability of a cheery blaze to curb animosity.
They saw the farmer rub his chin with his hand. He seemed to be
debating within himself as to whether or not it would be advisable to
comply with such a friendly invitation.
"Well, p'raps I mightn't git such a good chance to look scouts over
again as this here one," he presently said, half to himself. "I've
been reading a hull lot lately 'bout the doin's of the boys. Got three
lads o' my own yet," and there he was seen to swallow something that
seemed almost to choke him.
"Then for their sake you ought to be interested in this great movement,
Mr. Brush," said the scout master; "I remember a bright boy of yours
who was very much interested in the little surveying work I did for you
that day. He helped me some, and said he thought he'd like to be a
civil engineer when he grew up. If he joined the scouts that desire
might be encouraged, sir, I assure you."
"Oh, they been pesterin' the life outen me to let 'em jine, but I ain't
had no faith in the thing," Mr. Brush went on to say, with a stubborn
shake of the head.
He had by this time tied up his dog, and was accepting a seat on the
log close to the obliging scout master. The boys were satisfied to let
Mr. Witherspoon do the most of the talking. They could see that he
meant to open the eyes of this unbeliever, and show him a few things
that he ought to know.
"Just why did you frown on the scout movement, may I ask, sir?" Mr.
Witherspoon continued, quietly.
"Well, in the fust place I don't calc'late that my boys be brought up
to be food for gunpowder," replied the farmer.
"Then like a good many people you think Boy Scouts in this country are
intended to become a part of the military defences; is that it, Mr.
Brush?"
"Do you mean to tell me it ain't so, Mr. Witherspoon?" asked the
farmer.
"Nothing is further from the truth than that, as I'll prove to you in a
dozen ways, if you care to listen," the scout master told him.
"Fire away, then," said the farmer. "I'm not hide-bound ye know, and
allers open to conviction; so tell me why I orter let my three boys
jine the scouts."
Mr. Witherspoon started in and explained the fundamental principles
upon which the new movement was organized. He soon convinced the farmer
that there was not the slightest intention on the part of those having
the matter in hand to incorporate the scouts into a National Defence
Movement.
"Was that the only objection you had, Mr. Brush?" he asked when the
farmer frankly admitted that he had been wrong in his opinion.
"I reckoned that these boys only got together and wore uniforms for a
big lark," was the reply to his question. "I ought to know what boys is
like, havin' had four of my own."
"Then you have lost one, have you sir?" questioned the scout master,
not from idle curiosity, either, Tom Chesney felt positive.
The old man heaved a great sigh.
"Yes, my youngest, and the darling o' his maw's heart, little Jim. Only
last summer he was off swimmin' with several o' his chums, and got
caught with a cramp. They got him out, brave enough, but--he never kim
to agin."
Mr. Witherspoon cast a quick and meaning glance around the circle of
eager faces. Several of the scouts nodded in a significant fashion as
though they guessed what was flashing through the mind of their leader.
"Mr. Brush," said the scout master, gravely, "I'd like to tell you some
things that to my own personal knowledge scouts have done; things that
they never would have been capable of performing in the wide world had
they remained outside of this organization that first of all teaches
them to be manly, independent, helpful to others, and true to
themselves. May I, sir?"
"Jest as ye please, Mr. Witherspoon," came the low reply, for the
farmer had evidently been partly overcome with the sad remembrance of
the vacant chair, and the face he missed so much at his table.
The scout master went about it in a very able manner. Again he
explained the numerous duties of a scout, and how he was taught to
render first aid to the injured in case, for instance, his services
should ever be needed when some comrade cut himself with an ax, and was
in peril of bleeding to death.
"There are other ways," Mr. Witherspoon continued, "in which the scout
is instructed to be able to depend on himself should he be lost in the
wilderness, caught in a tornado, tempted to take refuge in a barn, or
under an exposed tree during a thunder storm."
"All o' that sounds mighty interestin', I must say, sir!" commented the
farmer, deeply interested.
"To my own personal knowledge, Mr. Brush," finally said the other, "on
three separate occasions I have known of cases where a boy in swimming
was apparently dead when dragged from the water after having been under
for several minutes; in every one of those instances his scout
companions, working according to the rules that had become a part of
their education, managed to revive the fluttering spark of life and
save the lad!"
There was an intense silence as the last word was spoken. Every one of
those boys realized how terribly the man was suffering, for they could
see his face working. Presently he looked up, with a groan that welled
from his very heart.
"Jest a year too late, sir!" he said, in an unsteady voice. "Oh, why
didn't ye come last June? My little Jim was alive then, and the apple
of my eye. If he'd jined the scouts he might a be'n with us right now.
A year too late--it's hard, hard!"
"But you said you have three boys still, Mr. Brush?" said the scout
master.
"So I have, and mighty dear they be to me too!" exclaimed the farmer,
as he proceeded to bring down his ponderous fist on his knee, "and
arter what you've told me this night, sir, they cain't be scouts any
too soon to please me. I've had my lesson, and it was a bitter one. I'm
right glad ye kim along to-night, and camped in my big woods, where we
seen the light o' yer fire."
"And we're glad too, Mr. Brush," said the scout master, while several
of the boys were heard to cough as though taken with a sudden tickling
in their throats.
Long they sat there talking. Mr. Brush became an ardent advocate of the
scout movement, and even made an arrangement for his boys to join the
new patrol being formed, though it would mean many a trip in and out of
Lenox for him in his new cheap motor car, in order that they attend the
weekly meetings.
After all that was an evening long to be remembered. Tom Chesney, who
kept a regular log of the outing, meaning to enter his account in a
competition for a prize that had been offered by a metropolitan daily,
found a fine chance to spread himself when jotting down the
particulars.
The farmer could hardly tear himself away from the crackling fire.
Three times he said he must be going, yet did not stir, which quite
amused Josh Kingsley and Felix Robbins.
"Our scout master sure must have missed his calling when he set out to
be a civil engineer and surveyor," whispered the former in the ear of
Felix.
"That's so," replied the other, "for while he may be a pretty good
civil engineer, he'd made a crackerjack of a lawyer or a preacher. When
he talks somehow you just hang on every word he says, and it convinces
you deep down. That old farmer on a jury would do whatever Mr.
Witherspoon wanted. But it's been worth hearing; and I'm a heap glad to
be a scout, after listening to what he's been saying."
Finally the owner of the woods shook hands all around with them, and
accompanied by his hired man and the two dogs respectfully took his
departure.