THE SURPRISE
There was no school on the Friday after Thanksgiving, and as soon as Dale
had finished his chores he sallied forth to hunt up some of the fellows.
A light snow had fallen during the night, but the day was clear and
bright and just the sort for a good active game or a brisk hike. As
he skirted the north side of the green a shrill yodeling from behind
brought the scout around to see Court Parker bearing down upon him,
calling out:
"Say, where were you yesterday, anyhow? I didn't see you all day."
"I was--busy," returned Dale, briefly.
"Busy stuffing yourself, I s'pose. Well, you missed a dandy game up at
Sherm's. We're going to have another this afternoon."
"Won't the snow-- Say! Why couldn't we play 'Smugglers over the Border,'
or something like that? It's just the day for it."
Court's glance swept comprehensively over the snow-covered green and his
eyes brightened. "I hadn't thought of that. Now and then you do manage
to hit the little black circle, Tommy. Let's hunt up the bunch and see
what they say."
The crowd was presently gathered from several different parts of town,
and the majority approved of Dale's suggestion. Ranny Phelps and several
of his clique had other plans for the afternoon, but Ranny had a habit
of frequently failing to take part in the troop doings, unless these
were official and gave him a chance to appear in uniform, girded with
authority, so his absence was not unexpected.
Immediately after lunch the others betook themselves a mile outside
of town, sides were chosen, and the "border" laid out. This consisted of
about four hundred yards of a little-used road where the snow had not
been much disturbed. This was patrolled by a portion of the "custom
inspectors," with a reserve posted farther inland. About half a mile
back from the road a deserted barn did duty for the "town."
The smugglers gathered about half a mile on the other side of the border
and were allowed to cross it in any formation, singly, together, or
scattered, and make for the town at any speed they chose. One only of
their number was supposed to be smuggling, and he was equipped with
tracking-irons. The moment a sentry patrolling the border caught sight
of these tracks, his duty was to signal the fact to the reserve party of
inspectors and at once follow the track himself. The reserves cooperated
with him, trying by any means to catch the smuggler before he could
reach the town. If they succeeded, the game was theirs; but if the
smuggler eluded them and reached the barn safely, victory went to
the other side.
It was a typical scout sport, and for three hours or more the fellows
played it strenuously, varying it toward the end with one or two other
stalking games. These all met with unanimous approval, even Bob Gibson,
the habitual grumbler, admitting that it was more fun than he thought it
would be.
"We'll have to try some more of those in the book," Ward remarked as
they tramped back through the twilight. "That deer-hunt one sounds pretty
good, if you fellows will only make bows and arrows enough. I vote we
fix up a deer and go to it next Saturday."
It happened, however, that the following Saturday was devoted to
something even more interesting than deer-hunting. As Dale entered
the parish-house on Monday evening he passed Mr. Curtis, just inside
the door, talking earnestly with Wesley Becker.
"It was a big surprise to me, I can tell you," he heard the scoutmaster
say. "I can't imagine what has brought about the transformation."
"He doesn't say, I suppose?" asked Becker.
"No; it's just the curt invitation. He's hedged it about with all sorts
of prohibitions, but still it's wonderful he should have come around at
all."
"It'll be corking for the troop!" exclaimed Becker, enthusiastically.
"That's the one thing we've lacked, and if--"
At that point Tompkins passed beyond the range of their voices, but he
had heard enough to rouse his curiosity. Fortunately this did not have
to remain long unsatisfied. After the opening exercises the scoutmaster
faced the three patrols, a small sheet of paper in one hand.
"Attention, scouts!" he said crisply. "The troop will be much pleased to
learn, I'm sure, that Mr. Grimstone has given us permission to use the
north side of his lake for camping purposes."
For an instant there was amazed silence. Then a bedlam of surprised
comment arose, mingled with a torrent of eager questions, which Mr.
Curtis did not attempt to quell.
"Well, what do you know about that!" "Hurrah for old Grimey!" "Can we
skate there, Mr. Curtis?" "Will he let us swim in the summer?" "Can't
we go out this Saturday?" "How did you work it, sir?"
"One at a time," smiled the scoutmaster. "I'll answer the last one
first. I didn't 'work it,' as you so pithily express it, Vedder, at
all. I've failed several times to get this privilege from Mr. Grimstone,
and his letter this morning was as much of a surprise to me as to any
one. He doesn't state the reason for his change of mind."
A shock of sharp surprise sent the blood tingling into Dale Tompkins's
face and clenched his hands spasmodically. "Gee!" he muttered under his
breath. "I wonder-- Why, it must be! But I never thought of that--not
for a minute!" He paused an instant, his gaze growing introspective. "He
certainly is one good old scout," he murmured to himself. "I said his
bark was a lot worse than his bite."
Then he realized that Mr. Curtis was speaking.
"We're not to go beyond the dam at one end of the lake or the inlet at
the other. In other words, there must be no trespassing on the side
of the water where the buildings and orchard stand. He doesn't wish any
timber cut, and there are several other minor prohibitions. He says
nothing against swimming or skating, so I imagine both will be allowed.
As for camping there on Saturday, I'm afraid it will be too cold to
stay overnight, but there's no reason why we shouldn't hike out in the
morning and make a day of it."
So it was that the following Saturday morning found practically the
entire troop hiking briskly along the Beldon Turnpike at an early hour.
Ranny Phelps had complained that there wouldn't be much fun in just
a picnic affair, but he was there, nevertheless. The others had no
such criticism to make. They fairly bubbled enthusiasm, and in their
eagerness to reach the hitherto forbidden spot many of them would have
willingly gone the entire distance at scout's pace.
When they finally left the road and turned off into the woods along an
overgrown lumber-track, it was like exploring an undiscovered country.
Most of them had been there before, but with a difference. When one's
ears must be constantly open for the baying of dogs, with the necessity
ever present of being ready for instant flight, there is little chance
to appreciate the beauties of nature. Now, instead of having to creep
along through trees and undergrowth, they could boldly follow the
shore-line, investigate every little cove or promontory, discuss possible
camping-sites, and even make definite plans with the assurance that these
could be actually carried out in the spring.
At about eleven o'clock they reached the old swimming-place near the
head of the lake and halted by general consent. Hitherto, they had
considered the spot solely from the point of view of aquatic sport;
now they realized that a more ideal spot for a camp could scarcely be
imagined. A small, rocky point thrust its flat nose out into the lake.
One side was sliced off as with a knife, and here the depth varied from
six to eight feet; on the other it shelved more gradually. Back of it,
the level open space, facing south and hedged in by a thick shelter of
hemlock, would accommodate five or six shelter-tents with ease. Scarcely
a dozen yards away, a clear spring bubbled into a mossy basin.
In an instant packs were laid aside, and under Becker's direction one
party foraged for wood while another brought stones for an oven and
cut saplings for the crane or forked sticks to use in broiling meat.
Sandwiches and other ready-to-eat provisions were not looked upon
with favor. Every boy wanted something he could cook, and the variety
of chops, small steaks, eggs, bacon, ham, and the like that swiftly
appeared was endless. One enterprising scout had even brought a can
of twist-dough and proceeded deftly to brown it on sticks held over
the embers. On every hand were voiced regrets that they couldn't have
come prepared to stay overnight.
"I don't believe it would have been too cold, with the fire and
everything," said Bennie Rhead, after they had finished luncheon and
were sitting lazily around the blaze for a bit before tackling the
job of cleaning up. "Why, it's as warm as toast now."
"Naturally, with the sun pouring in here all the morning," smiled
Mr. Curtis. "You'd find it rather different at night. If we all had
sleeping-bags or tents that were really tight, we might undertake it. But
our sort of equipment isn't meant for winter, and there's no use risking
colds when you'll have all the time you want next spring and summer. By
the way, Sherman, did you send that letter to Mr. Grimstone?"
"Yes, sir. Ted and Ranny and I made it up, and all the fellows signed it.
I posted it on Wednesday."
"That's good. I wrote him, myself, but I wanted him to see that you
fellows, as well, appreciated what he's done." He rested his head against
a tree-trunk and glanced appraisingly around the glade. "What a place
this would be for a log-cabin!" he remarked.
"Immense!" exclaimed Court Parker, sitting suddenly upright. "With a big
stone fireplace at one end."
"And bunks!" added Sanson, enthusiastically. "And shelves where we could
keep pans and things. And--"
"We could camp here any time of the year then, couldn't we?"
"Sure! And think of coming in when your hands and feet are 'most frozen
from skating, and thawing out before a roaring blaze, and making some
cocoa,--oh, yum! Do you s'pose there's any chance, Mr. Curtis, of his
letting us--" Sherman broke off with a sigh. "I forgot. He doesn't want
any timber cut."
"No; and I'd scarcely like to ask him, anyway, after he's been so
decent," said the scoutmaster. "It would look as if we didn't appreciate
what he's done already." His glance swept thoughtfully around the
open space again as if he were seeing in his mind's eye the structure
that had excited such instant enthusiasm. "Of course, it would be
quite possible to cut enough timber for a cabin without in the least
hurting the woods; in fact a little thinning would do them good."
"Wouldn't it be a corking place to feed the birds from in winter!"
suddenly spoke up Paul Trexler, a silent, reserved sort of chap. "We
started up three or four covies of quail between the road and here."
"It certainly would!" The scoutmaster's tone was emphatic. "You've hit
the best argument in its favor yet, Paul. The woods are fairly teeming
with birds of all sorts; I noticed it as we came along. The place has
been barred to the public for so long that I dare say the wild creatures
have come to feel more or less safe here. With a cabin right on this
spot we could keep grain in fairly large quantities, and when the heavy
snows come, it would be easy to establish regular feeding-stations at
different points, and--"
A sudden yelping made him break off and turn quickly, to see a large dog
burst from the thicket at one side of the glade. With hair bristling and
teeth bared, the animal pulled up abruptly and started a furious barking.
The scouts leaped up and several snatched sticks from the woodpile. An
instant later, however, the low, sweeping hemlock branches parted, and
Caleb Grimstone himself stepped into the open. With a snarl he silenced
the dog and sent him groveling to heel. Then he faced Mr. Curtis and
the boys with an odd, embarrassed defiance that made the former suspect
his appearance had not been intentional, but was rather the result of
the dog's outburst.
"This is mighty nice, Mr. Grimstone!" exclaimed the scoutmaster,
advancing with outstretched hand. "You see we haven't lost any time
in taking advantage of your kindness."
"Huh!" mumbled the old man. "I was jest takin' a little walk, an' heard
voices--"
He paused awkwardly, glowering around the circle of wide-eyed boys.
"I had no idea you were able to walk so far," put in Mr. Curtis, quickly,
"or we'd certainly have invited you to eat lunch with us. Won't you
let the boys cook you something now? They're mighty proud of the way
they can--"
"I've had dinner," interrupted the old man, hastily. He fumbled for a
moment with the stout cane he carried; then his gaze returned to the
scoutmaster. "I heard you sayin' somethin' about feedin' birds," he said
curtly. "I didn't know you-- What was it you meant?"
Briefly Mr. Curtis explained their methods of establishing
feeding-stations through the woods and caring for them. When he had
finished, Mr. Grimstone nodded.
"Humph!" he commented grumpily, "I--I like the birds. One o' the reasons
I wouldn't--" He paused again and glowered at the boys. "_They_ couldn't
make a log-cabin," he stated positively. "It would be too much like
real work."
A sudden stir went through the group. Mr. Curtis smiled. "I should hate
to set them at it unless I really wanted it done," he laughed.
"How'd they know what trees to cut an' what to leave? They'd make a mess
o' the whole place."
"Not with proper supervision," argued Mr. Curtis.
"Would you look after it?" inquired the old man, sharply.
"Certainly! I'd gladly constitute myself general foreman."
"Humph!" There was a momentary pause, tense with suspense. A battery of
eyes, eager, expectant, pleading, was turned upon the old man, whose bent
shoulders straightened a bit. "Wal, you can go ahead, then," he agreed
crustily. "But all I can say is--"
A quick exclamation from the scouts drowned the remainder of his words.
"G--e--e!" came hissing from a score of lips in a long sigh of rapture.
It was followed by a bedlam of excited chatter.
"The greatest thing I ever heard!" exploded Ted MacIlvaine,
enthusiastically. "A log-cabin, fellows--think of it! A troop cabin!"
With eyes shining, he stepped suddenly forward and faced the crowd.
"Three cheers for Mr. Grimstone, fellows!" he cried; "and make 'em
good ones!"
When the last echo had died away, a faint touch of pink tinged the old
man's leathery brown skin. But his frown abated nothing of its fierceness
as he turned to the scoutmaster.
"Tut-tut--nonsense!" he grumbled. "I'll leave it to you, then; you'll
be responsible, mind! I s'pose you know what trees to take out--or you
ought to. Nothin' over eight inches, remember, an' not a scrap o' rubbish
left lyin' around when you're done."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned abruptly and stalked off, a
lean, bent, shabby figure with a nose like an eagle's beak and fiercely
beetling brows. To the boys staring after him he was an angel in disguise.