ANOTHER SCOUT
It was characteristic of Tom Slade that he liked to go off alone
occasionally for a ramble in the woods. It was not that he liked the
scouts less, but rather that he liked the woods more. It was his wont to
stroll off when his camp duties for the day were over and poke around in
the adjacent woods.
The scouts knew and respected his peculiarities and preferences,
particularly those who were regular summer visitors at the big camp, and
few ever followed him into his chosen haunts. Occasionally some new
scout, tempted by the pervading reputation and unique negligee of Uncle
Jeb's young assistant, ventured to follow him and avail himself of the
tips and woods lore with which the more experienced scout's
conversation abounded when he was in a talking mood. But Tom was a sort
of creature apart and the boys of camp, good scouts that they were, did
not intrude upon his lonely rambles.
The season was well nigh over at Temple Camp when this thing happened.
Not over exactly, but the period of arrivals had passed and the period
of departures would begin in a day or two--as soon as the events with
which the season culminated were over.
These were the water events, the tenderfoot carnival (not to be missed
on any account) and the big affair at the main pavilion when awards were
to be made. This last, in particular, would be a gala demonstration, for
Mr. John Temple himself, founder of the big scout camp, had promised to
be on hand to dedicate the new tract of camp property and personally to
distribute the awards.
These events would break the backbone of the camping season, high
schools and grammar schools would presently beckon their reluctant
conscripts back to town and city, until, in the pungent chill of autumn,
old Uncle Jeb, alone among the boarded-up cabins, would smoke his pipe
in solitude and get ready for the long winter.
It was late on Thursday afternoon. The last stroke of the last hammer,
where scouts had been erecting a rustic platform outside the pavilion,
had echoed from the neighboring hills. The usually still water of the
lake was rippled by the refreshing breeze which heralded a cooler
evening, and the first rays of dying sunlight painted the ripples
golden, and bathed the cone-like tops of the fir trees across the lake
with a crimson glow.
Out of the chimney of the cooking shack arose the smoke of early
promise, from which the scouts deduced various conclusions as to the
probable character of the meal which would appear in all its luscious
glory a couple of hours later.
A group of scouts, weary of diving, were strung along the springboard
which overhung the shore. A couple of boys played mumbly-peg under the
bulletin board tree. Several were playing ball with an apple, until one
of them began eating it, which put an end to the game. Half a dozen of
the older boys, who had been at work erecting the platform, sauntered
toward the scrub shack, leaving one or two to festoon the bunting over
the stand where the colors shone as if they had been varnished by that
master decorator, the sun, as a last finishing touch to his sweltering
day's work. The emblem patrol sauntered over to the flag pole and
sprawled beneath it to rest and await the moment of sunset. Several
canoes moved aimlessly upon the glinting water, their occupants idling
with the paddles. It was the time of waiting, the empty hour or two
between the day's end and supper-time.
Upon a rock near the lake sat a little fellow, quite alone. He was very
small and very thin, and his belt was drawn ridiculously tight, so that
it gave his khaki jacket the effect of being shirred like the top of a
cloth bag. If he had been standing, he might have suggested, not a
little, the shape of an old-fashioned hour glass. A brass compass
dangled around his neck on a piece of twine as if, being so small, he
was in danger of getting lost any minute. His hair was black and very
streaky, and his eyes had a strange brightness in them.
No one paid any attention to this little gnome of a boy, and he was a
pathetic sight sitting there with his intense gaze, having just a touch
of wildness in it, fixed upon the lake. Doubtless if his scout regalia
had fitted him properly he would not have seemed so pathetic, for it is
not uncommon for a scout to want to be alone in the great companionable
wilderness.
Suddenly, this little fellow's gaze was withdrawn from the lake and fell
upon something which seemed to interest him right at his feet. He slid
down from the rock and examined it closely. His poor little thin figure
and skinny legs were very noticeable then. But he picked up nothing,
only kneeled there, apparently in a state of great excitement and
elation.
Presently, he started away, looked back, as if he was afraid his
discovery would take advantage of his absence to steal away. Again he
started, hurrying around the edge of the cooking shack and to the little
avenue of patrol cabins beyond. As he hurried along, the big brass
compass flopped about and sometimes banged against his belt buckle,
making quite a noise. Several boys laughed as he passed them, trotting
along as if possessed by a vision. But no one stopped him or spoke to
him.
In the patrol cabin where he belonged, he rooted in great haste and
excitement among the contents of a cheap pasteboard suit case and
presently pulled out a torn and battered old copy of the scout handbook.
He sat down on the edge of his cot and, hurriedly looking through the
index, opened the book at page thirty. He was breathing so hard that he
almost gulped, and his thin little hands trembled visibly....