Before the singer had finished the first verse there was not a dry eye in the room. Several boys swallowed hard and tried to hide their emotion, but it was useless.

It was all Mike could do to keep to his task, for the spell of the Scout Master’s words was upon him and he could not wholly resist the enthralment of his own voice. At the moment of finishing the second verse, Isaac Rothstein hurriedly covered his face with his hands and sobbed as if his heart was breaking. His grief was so deep that the others looked pityingly toward him, and the singer himself was overcome for the moment. He started on the third stanza, but his voice broke, and he stood trying bravely to pull himself together.

Young Rothstein, with one hand over his face reached up the other and seized the fingers of Mike. Amid his sobs he faltered:

“That man who led the singing was my father!”

Mike placed one arm over the shoulder of the stricken lad and sat down beside him.

“Can ye forgive me?” he tenderly asked; “I didn’t draam of anything of the kind?”

“Go on!—sing the rest,” moaned the Jewish youth.

Mike rose to his feet, and with tears streaming down his cheeks tried hard to comply with the request. But he could not; he dropped down more hastily than before and covering his own face shook with sympathetic grief and the same may be said of every one in the room.

Sunshine and storm commingle and strive for mastery; tears bedew the cheek of laughter; the peal of the wedding bells changes to tolling for the dead; grief treads on the heels of rejoicing, and Life and Death with hands forever clasped wander up and down the earth, and may God pity us all!

CHAPTER XIX—A Queen And Her Subjects

The skies cleared during the night, and the day which succeeded was perfect. Not a cloud rift obscured the sun, while the air was crystalline, free from moisture and with enough coolness to be invigorating to the last degree. It Would not be pleasant for some hours to stroll through the woods because of their wetness, but a trifle like that did not check the exuberant youngsters, who began dividing into small parties as before,—some to delve into bird lore, some to study trees and others to fish. Breakfast was prepared out doors, for the food could not help tasting better than if cooked in the bungalow.

Mike Murphy, Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes, because of their former association in many adventures, still chummed. While they were on the most amicable terms with all the other Boy Scouts, they naturally drew more closely toward one another. It was creditable to the lads that every little company invited Isaac Rothstein to become a member of it for the time. The lad was more quiet and reserved than usual, but he appreciated this special kindness shown him. He accepted the invitation of the Eagle Patrol, which was his own and with whose members he was more intimately acquainted.

The breakfast having been eaten and the morning chores finished, the troop gathered on the beach in front of the clubhouse, where Scout Master Hall called out:

“We are going to have visitors; all must stay and give them a welcome.”

They saw a canoe paddled by one man, with a woman sitting in the middle, while in the bow sat a little girl waving her hand at the group of boys.

“It’s Sunbeam!” exclaimed the delighted Mike, “and her father and mither. That explains why the sun shines brighter this morning than iver befoore, as the folks used to say whin thay obsarved me strolling down the road.”

There could be no mistake as to the identity of the callers. The doctor smiled as he deftly plied the paddle and the boat headed straight for the small landing.

“Hello, Cousin Mike! Are you glad to see me?” shouted an infantile voice.

Mike yanked off his hat and waved it.

“If ye hev any doubt of the same I’ll not wait fur ye to come ashore, but will swim out and shake hands wid ye,” was his cheery reply as he made a pretense of stepping into the water.

“Don’t do that; I’ll be there in a minute.”

Alvin and Chester seized the bow of the frail craft and drew it slightly up the beach. While they were doing this, Sunbeam made a leap and would have fallen into the lake, had not the watchful Mike caught her. Her mother sharply chided her and her “cousin” was ready with an excuse.

“She obsarved me waiting fur her and catched me wink, which asked her to jump.”

The doctor and his wife shook hands with the three youths that had called upon them, and Alvin introduced them to Scout Master Hall and the Boy Patrols, who promptly drew up in line and saluted the visitors.

“You are as welcome as the flowers in spring,” said Mr. Hall; “and must not think of leaving until after dinner at least and not then unless you must.”

“You are kind,” said Mrs. Spellman, smiling into the bright faces, “but we have stopped this time merely to leave Ruth for the day, unless she will be in the way of the boys.”

“Do ye hear that?” asked the aggrieved Mike; “it’s our intuition to kaap her a waak at least and longer if her folks will consint.”

“This time she is to spend the day.”

“A day is twenty-four hours long,” insinuated the Scout Master.

“But a work day is half or less than half of that,” insisted the mother.

“This isn’t going to be a work day but a play day, as Jerry Donovan said after the bull had chased him a mile and was gaining on him all the time.”

“I guess we shall have to compromise, wife,” remarked the husband, “and leave Stubby here until to-morrow.”

“I am afraid there is no way of escaping it; Mike, you hear the agreement; you and Alvin and Chester must bring Ruth home to-morrow at this hour.”

“Ye hev me promise,” and the other two bowed their heads.

“We are on our way to meet Uncle Elk, as I believe you call him,” added the physician; “he should drop in on us but, as has been said, we can afford to waive ceremony when in the backwoods. Mrs. Spellman has never seen him—nor have I for that matter—and we want to make his acquaintance.”

“You will find him one of nature’s noblemen; we are likely to see him here at any time.”

The leader looked toward the margin of the woods, as if he expected the coming of their Instructor in Woodcraft, but he did not appear. The mother gave a few words of advice to her child, who did not seem to hear or at least to understand one of them, and then was assisted into the canoe, followed by her husband and the couple took their departure, heading eastward.

Before leaving, the physician repeated his proffer of services should any of the party find himself in need of them. The Scouts cheered him and his wife as they glided along the shore of the lake, the daughter withdrawing her attention from her new friends long enough to blow kisses to her parents.

Cousin Mike naturally took charge of Sunbeam, who as naturally gave herself over to his care, although the others postponed their departure to their fields of exploration and amusement for the sake of enjoying her company for the time.

When Corporal George Robe came forward to speak to the child, Mike waved him off.

“Howld on, me bye; ye haven’t been properly inthrodooced to the young leddy, who is Queen of Gosling Lake.”

The good-natured corporal looked inquiringly into the grave face of the guardian.

“If ye hev no objection, Sunbeam,” said Mike, in his loftiest manner, “I take the liberty of presinting Corporal Robe of the Wolf Patrol to yer leddyship. He isn’t half as purty as he thinks he is, which is the difference between him and mesilf.”

The smiling corporal offered his hand to Ruth, who looked shyly up at him and startled every one by the abrupt question: “Can you stand on your head?”

“Of course he can,” Mike hastened to answer; “he prefers to stand on his head instid of his feet; whin he slaaps at night he always rists his shoes aginst the ceiling with his head on the flure, which is that soft it sarves fur a piller. Corporal, stand on yer head fur the Queen.”

The lad tried to back out, but all the others were vociferously insistent and he was wise enough to make a virtue of necessity.

“I’ll do anything for you,” said he cheerfully; “give me room, boys.”

All stepped back, leaving an open space on the beach for Robe to exhibit his acrobatic skill. He laid aside his hat, examined the ground for a few seconds, walked a pace or two and then, amid the hush, leaned over with the palms of his hands on the earth. He rested the crown of his head against the ground, his body being curved like a horseshoe, and then gently pushed upward with his toes.

At first he did not rise far enough, and dropped back again, but he kept up the effort, coming nearer and nearer the perpendicular, but still falling a little short.

“Put more power in yer legs,” called Mike, “and don’t be so top-heavy.”

“You are not half trying!” shouted several of the spectators; “there isn’t so much of you to lift from the ground.”

Spurred by the taunts, the corporal made so vigorous an effort that he went too far and landed on his back with a thump that made him grunt. Sunbeam clapped her hands and all laughed. The corporal did not crack so much as a smile, but instantly renewed his efforts with the resolution to do or die. Paying no heed to the vehement suggestions, he solved the problem by clutching the grass with each hand and holding fast. Thus when his legs pointed skyward, he was able to preserve his balance and maintain a wabbling verticality. He wavered for a time but finally got the right pose and cracked the heels of his shoes together in triumph. Then proudly bounding to his feet and clapping on his hat he called to Mike:

“Now, let’s see you do better than that.”

“I could do the same wid me eyes shet and me hands tied behind me, but it would not be fitting to me dignity; I’m superintendent and give orders. What would the Queen like to hev done nixt?”

She was puzzled for a moment.

“Can you run fast?” she asked.

“I’m the champion of Gosling Lake; I run so fast that out of pity fur these lumbering coal carts I save their feelings by refusing to run wid ’em. Would ye like to obsarve a fut race?”

“Yes,—oh yes; I’ll run with you all.”

The thought had come to the girl like an inspiration, as she showed by her favorite act of clapping her hands and laughing.

The whole party were filled with delight.

“I must tell you that I can run awful fast,” warned Sunbeam, as preparations were begun for the test of speed; “I beat my father and mother every time we race.”

“Ye don’t till me!” exclaimed Mike as if frightened; “we’ll hev to do our darnedst, and angels could do no more; but, Sunbeam,” he added impressively, “ye mustn’t let up, but show us no mercy.”

“I’ll try,” she said with a shake of her head.

The preparations were simple and soon completed. Scout Master Hall was requested to act as umpire and complied. The beach sloped gently with a varying width of a rod or more. In order to give play to legs and arms, Mike arranged the contestants in two lines, one behind the other. Then he gravely paced off a distance of about a hundred yards, drawing a deep line in the earth by a sweep of the toe of his shoe, to mark the terminus of the course. Umpire Hall stationed himself a short distance back of this, so as not to be in the way of the runners. Mike next placed Sunbeam in front of the two lines and gave his final orders.

“Mr. Hall will count one-two-three, and at the last word all will start and run like blazes fur the line I marked wid me toe. Ye must overtake and pass Sunbeam in order to win the race, and I wish to add—”

Here he stepped to the eager forms and lowered his voice so that Ruth could not hear his words——

“It is onnecessary on me part to warn ye that if by any trickery, desaat, chicanery, or unfair maans, one of ye should overtake the Queen, the aforesaid villain will have only two minutes to live. Mind, this is to be an honest race, as Tom Mugges said whin he chased a railroad train.”

A general nodding of heads showed that all “caught on.”

One of the necessities when a lad engages in a desperate foot race is first to spit on his hands and rub the palms together. Every Boy Scout went through that preliminary, grunted, inched forward, crowded his companions on the right and left, spoke sharp words of reproach and intently watched the distant umpire for the word. Since he was master of ceremonies, Mike took no part in the contest, but stepped aside and watched proceedings, so as to make sure his warning was heeded.

“Patrol Leader Chase, I obsarve that ye are grinning, showing the same waakness that the girls do whin they see me approaching. Iron out yer face.”

The Patrol Leader did his best to obey, but could not quite succeed.

“Captain Landon, ye have turned the toe of yer right fut in, which is against the rules; p’int the same outward, and save me the necissity of mashing it. Second Mate Haynes, I saw ye take off yer hat jest now and scratch yer hid; don’t do it agin, though of course it’s solid. Corporal Robe, ye still seem to think ye are standing on yer head. Bear in mind that ye’re right side up and it depinds upon yersilf how long ye stay so.”

Mike made clear the understanding to Sunbeam, who laughingly nodded several times, glanced over her shoulder and was in a tremor of excitement. Then he waved his hand to the umpire who from his station a hundred yards away was watching proceedings.

“Are you ready?” called Scout Master Hall.

“Riddy,” replied Mike.

In a loud voice the umpire shouted—

“One—two—three!”

And immediately the race was on. Sunbeam came flying like a bird down the course, her small feet twinkling as they doubled swiftly under her, her hair streaming straight away, while she struck a speed which in the circumstances was remarkable.

And how those Boy Scouts did exert themselves! Every one grunted; most of the eyes seemed to be popping out of their heads; a good many held their breath or tried to do so, and all appeared to be putting forth the most strenuous exertions to overtake the fawn-like figure darting down the course, continually glancing behind her, and not forgetting to scream with delight, for she was certainly holding her own, and strive as much as they might, there wasn’t a lad that seemed able to lessen the distance between himself and the little one.

Somehow or other, the stocky form of Corporal Robe drew slightly ahead of the others. This was strange, for, with the exception of Mike Murphy, he was the slowest sprinter in the whole troop. The director was able to keep pace beside the boys, and observing the shameful trickery of the corporal, shook his fist at him.

Just then Robe stubbed his toe—or seemed to do so—tumbled on his hands and knees and rolled over. Kenneth Henke right behind him, knew no better than to dive in a heap over him; Ernest Oberlander and Colgate Craig then mixed in, and after them came Kenneth Mitchell, Alvin Landon, Bobby Snow, Hubert Wood, Bobby Rice, Chester Haynes, Harold Hopkins and so many others that it isn’t worth while to mention their names. In fact, it looked as if it were a football game in which the corporal was heading for the goal posts when he was downed and all the rest of the players piled on top of him.

By the time the mass could disentangle itself and the dazed runners resume their wild dash for victory, Sunbeam bounded across the line, whirled about and, jumping up and down, clapped her hands and of course screamed with joy.

Scout Master Hall stood like a sphinx until the rabble came plunging down the track and drew up in a disorderly crowd in front of him. Then he raised his hand for silence and called out in a loud voice:

“Sunbeam wins! You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

The youths tried hard to look as if they were dejected over their disgrace. Several gouged their eyes; others muttered their discontent, and Chester Haynes had the audacity to declare loud enough for all to hear:

“Looks very much as if the ‘empire’ had money on the race.”

Scout Master Hall must have heard the insulting words, but, if so, he showed no evidence of it. Then the defeated runners recovered from their humiliation sufficiently to crowd around the victor and congratulate her on her success.

“It’s larned ’em a lesson,” said Mike, “which the same is not to be so cocksure of their smartness whin they haven’t got any smartness to be cocksure of. But for this desarved defeat some of ’em would have the imperdence to challenge me to a foot race.”

The Boy Scouts were so charmed by the sweet innocence of the “Queen” that all remained at home for the remainder of the forenoon. Alvin drew funny pictures for her on large sheets of paper; Chester showed no little ingenuity in cutting out dolls and odd figures; most of the other boys went through scandalous antics for the sole purpose of winning her applause, while Mike sang some of the lullabies and folk songs he had learned in Ireland. When he did this, everything else was hushed and all became listeners, for the charm of that wonderful voice was irresistible.

At the dinner table the guest was set in a chair elevated for the occasion, and presided like a veritable queen. Every hearer bowed his head when she folded her hands, closed her eyes, looked upward and said:

There was a general scattering of the boys in the afternoon, though Mike, Alvin, Chester and Mr. Hall remained behind with their visitor, it not being thought prudent to take her on a ramble in the woods, while they were so damp.

It was a rare treat in the evening, when by the light of the fire and the lamp overhead, all the company gave themselves up to amusing and being amused by their Queen, Scout Master Hall pleased the lads no less than the girl by his fairy stories, and again Mike sang with inimitable sweetness. Thus it went on until the “sandman” called on Sunbeam and she drowsily said she guessed it was time for her to sleep. The most luxurious couch in the bungalow was set apart for her; the leader and Mike gave what slight help she needed in preparing for bed, and she said her prayers at the knee of the Irish youth, who tenderly laid his hand on the silken mass of hair and murmured:

“Of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

CHAPTER XX—What Did It Mean?

Meanwhile a singular experience befell Dr. Spellman and his wife. After their departure from the bungalow, they glided smoothly in the canoe toward the eastern end of Gosling Lake, keeping a little way off shore where though the water was crystalline the depth was too great to allow them to see the pebbly bottom. The woman sat forward, gazing with tranquil enjoyment upon the soothing picture before them. The husband, facing in the same direction, was in the stern of the craft, so that the balance was nicely adjusted. Swinging the paddle well forward, he took the water with a long easy stroke, finishing with an inward turn of the wrist that kept the canoe on a straight course.

They had set out to call upon Uncle Elk the hermit. While etiquette, as has been said, demanded that it should be the other way, especially since the physician had already left his card at the log cabin, the matter was too trifling to be regarded. The stories which the couple had heard of the strange old man stirred their curiosity, and it was in accord with the sympathetic nature of the woman that she believed she might do a little to cheer the exile in his loneliness.

The short voyage soon ended. Dr. Spellman guided his boat to the edge of the wood where Uncle Elk made a practice of landing, and from which a well marked path wound its way among the trees to the dwelling that was invisible from the lake. The canoe of the Instructor in Woodcraft was drawn up the bank and turned over bottom up.

“That looks as if we shall find him at home,” remarked the wife, as she stepped lightly ashore and was followed by her husband, who pulled the craft far enough to hold it secure during their absence.

“It may be he is off on a tramp with no telling when he will return. He seems to be as fond of the Boy Scouts as they are of him, and it is likely he has gone to the clubhouse to spend the day with them.”

The man took the lead and walked up the path used on his previous call, with his wife a few paces behind him. On the edge of the clearing, they stood for a minute or two contemplating the pleasing picture. No signs of life were visible, but from where they stood they could see the leathern string dangling outside the door, as if inviting every one who chose to enter.

Dr. Spellman gently twitched the string and the door swung inward. As he stepped across the threshold, his wife followed and the two looked around them. The room was precisely as when the physician called before and has already been described, but the owner of the premises was not in sight. No fire smouldered on the hearth and the stillness of the tomb brooded over everything. It was natural that so excellent a housekeeper as Mrs. Spellman should exclaim:

“All is as neat as a pin; Uncle Elk needs no one to teach him how to keep a model home.”

They walked forward and stood in front of the shelves with their remarkable array of books. The woman, who was known for her excellent literary taste, commented upon the high character of the volumes, but neither laid hands on them. She seated herself in the rocking chair while her husband stood near.

“The question is whether we shall wait here until he comes back,” said the latter.

“How can we know when he will return?”

“We don’t; it may be within an hour or not until night. It isn’t worth while to stay; I can leave my card as before.”

He drew the pasteboard from his pocket and wrote a few pleasant words, reminding Uncle Elk of his obligations to his callers, and urging him to visit the house at the other side of the lake as soon as possible and spend the day and evening with them.

While the husband sat at the table in the middle of the room, writing his hurried message, his wife faced the curtain which shut off the other half of the cabin and behind which neither of the callers thought of intruding or peeping. Suddenly a queer thrill passed through her, for she was sure she saw the curtains move,—so slightly indeed that had she not been looking directly at it she would not have detected the stir. She said nothing and of course her husband had no suspicion.

The wife gazed intently at the spot where she had noticed the slight agitation and listened keenly, but heard nothing nor did she detect any disturbance. She quietly rose to her feet.

“We may as well go; the day is too lovely to stay within doors.”

“Which probably explains why Uncle Elk is not at home. Do you know, my dear, I half envy him his life. He is out of the hurly-burly of politics, strife, and the endless vexations that we who live in cities cannot escape.”

“And yet you would not be willing to pay the price that he does.”

“No,” was the thoughtful reply of the husband, as he led the way across the threshold, carefully closed the door, and passed down the path to their canoe. “There is such a thing as paying too much for what we get.”

When the craft had been paddled some distance, the wife turned her head.

“Wilson, do you know where Uncle Elk is?”

“I haven’t the remotest idea.”

“I can tell you: he is in his cabin and was there all the time we were inside.”

“What do you mean?” asked the husband, so astonished that he ceased paddling and stared at her.

“While you sat at the table writing your note to him, he moved the curtain; I saw it.”

She related what she had witnessed when not dreaming of anything of the kind.

“The agitation may have been caused by a draft of air.”

“I thought that, but the windows were closed in the room where we sat.”

“There are windows in the other room.”

“But, if either was open, there was nothing to make a draft. There is no mistake about it;—Uncle Elk was within a few feet of us all the time.”

The wife was so positive that her husband was brought to her way of thinking.

“Strange as it seems, you are right. There can be no doubt now that he doesn’t wish to meet us. He must have known of our camp on the other side of the lake and ought to have paid his respects to us. More than that, he ignored my invitation, though the time is so brief since it was made that that of itself is not conclusive. Well, all we can do is to accept the facts and leave him to himself.”

“He has been represented as the soul of hospitality. Why should he be repelled by us? Why did he not pull in his latchstring?”

“He was not expecting us or he might have done so.”

The doctor resumed his deliberate paddling and a minute later his wife asked:

“Have you any suspicion of the reason for his acting as he did?”

“It is a mystery to me. He and I have never met, and I cannot fancy any cause for his antipathy. Whatever the reason, it surely is unjustifiable and I am sorry we did not have the chance to demand an explanation. I think I shall tell what has happened to Scout Master Hall, and get him to make some guarded inquiries. I cannot rest content until this misunderstanding is cleared up.”

The couple returned to their home after fishing awhile, and did not leave again during the day. Neither would confess the fact to the other, but they missed their child so keenly that they would have paddled to the other side of the lake and brought her home, had they not felt ashamed of such weakness. The doctor read, slept, smoked and yawned and was sure he had never started in on so long an afternoon.

It was not to pass, however, without incident. He stretched in his hammock, one leg hanging out so that the tip of his tan shoe touched the ground and gave him enough leverage to sway gently back and forth, while he smoked his perfecto and longed for the morning when “Stubby” would be with them again. The wife was seated in the small dwelling, busy with crochet work, and thinking pretty much as did her husband, when both were startled by the greeting in a gruff voice that evidently was meant to be conciliatory:

“Good arternoon, lady and gentleman.”

With a faint gasp, the wife looked up, while the doctor swung both feet so as to rest them on the ground, sat upright, checked the swaying of the hammock and picked up his hat which had fallen to the ground.

“Hello! where did you come from?”

Two frowsy, villainous looking tramps had come out of the woods, walking so softly in their dilapidated gum shoes that they were not heard until they spoke. These gentry as a rule do not abound in Maine, but no section of our country is absolutely free of them. The two were burly vagrants with matted hair, spiky beards, and hickory shirts, much in need of washing and without collars. One supported his patched trousers by means of a single soiled suspender which, crossing the shoulder, was skewered in front by a wooden peg. His companion obtained the same result by means of a leathern belt buckled around his waist. They were innocent of stockings and wore straw hats, one of which lacked a crown, and the other was minus one half of its original brim. Both doffed their head gear and assumed the cringing attitude of all members of the begging fraternity.

Dr. Spellman was anything but pleased with his callers. He had hoped he was rid of the tribe, but here were a couple of them and he faced the situation.

“We ambled all the way, sir, from Bath since morning,” was the reply of the one who stood nearest the doctor.

“No you didn’t; the distance is too far and none of your kind could be persuaded to step aside into a place with such a name as Bath.”

One of the scraggly rogues turned to his companion.

“Say, Saxy, was the last town, where we spent a week at the leading hotel, Bath or Christmas Cove?”

“Naw; it was Boothby Harbor,—what guff are ye giving us?”

“It is a small matter,” said the doctor; “what is your purpose in calling here?”

“Jes’ to show our respects, boss; we haven’t our cards wid us, but me name is Buzy Biggs and my valet here is Saxy Hutt, late from Washington, where he’s been serving as aide to the President.”

“Whither are you bound?”

“We haven’t made up our minds whether to accept a invite to lecture afore the Boston Lyceum or to go on to New York and give the folks a talk on the Whichness of the Which. But that ain’t nyther here nur there. We have been walking since daylight and hain’t had a mouthful of grub since yesterday afternoon.”

“We cannot let any one go away from our door hungry,” broke in Mrs. Spellman, laying aside her fancy work and flitting into the kitchen department.

“I don’t see how you’re going to help it,” called her husband, “when you undertake to give a couple of tramps all they can eat. They are like dogs—always hungry.”

“Ain’t ye a little rough, boss, on a gentleman?” asked Biggs, with an ominous glint in his piglike eyes.

“Produce the gentleman and I’ll reply.”

The physician’s dislike of the nuisances was so strong that he could not pretend to hide it. Sharp words might have been followed by something regrettable, had not the wife come out at this moment bearing a couple of enormous ham sandwiches. The men again doffed their fragmentary hats, bowed and mumbled their thanks.

“There’s the gentleman,” said Biggs, nodding toward the smiling woman and addressing her husband, “which you was saying you would like to see. These be fine sandwiches and will sarve us very well for starters.”

“That’s what they are meant to do,” said the doctor; “you may start at once and need not show yourselves here again.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Biggs, speaking with his mouth stuffed full of meat and bread; “I reckon you don’t own the lake and this part of the State.”

“I own enough to warn you to keep your distance; we choose our friends.”

“Mebbe we may take a notion to drop in on ye bime by; with thanks, mum, we now sagaciate.”

Dr. Spellman was a man of quick temper, and felt so incensed by the smirking glance of the scamp at his wife, that he bounded from his hammock and into the house for his revolver. Suspecting his purpose, his wife interposed:

“What are you going to do, Wilson?”

“Shoot that scoundrel! Let me get my pistol.”

“You shall do nothing of the kind; the man hasn’t done me any harm and is leaving. He doesn’t deserve another thought.”

“He deserves what he will get if he ever dares to show himself here again.”

The doctor had the good habit of yielding to the domination of his much better tempered partner. He turned round without his weapon and resumed his seat in the hammock which he nervously rocked, thereby helping to soothe his anger. His wife sat on a camp stool and did not speak but looked at him with a smile whose significance was that of many words.

“Don’t,” he protested; “pitch in and scold all you wish, but don’t look at me like that—hello! hark!”

From across the lake came the faint, dull report of a revolver. The doctor raised his hand and whispered:

“Listen!”

In a few seconds, a second report traveled over the water to their ears. If that was all, it would mean nothing, but with the same interval, the third sound reached the startled couple.

“It is a call for help!” exclaimed the doctor bounding to his feet; “I am wanted at once by the Boy Scouts.”

The wife turned white and gasped: “Something has happened to Ruth!”

“We can’t know until we reach camp; come on!”

He dashed into the house, caught up his case of instruments and revolver, but left his rifle. Quick as he was, she was at the shore ahead of him and had grasped the canoe to shove it into the water. At the moment the craft was floating clear and the doctor caught up the paddle, they heard again the triple reports of the revolver,—one after the other and with but an interval of a second or two between the shots.

And then Dr. Spellman paddled as he had never paddled before, for no more powerful motive could have stirred all the strength and energy of his nature.

CHAPTER XXI—How It Happened

Jack Crandall, Arthur Mitchell and Gerald Hume were members of the Stag Patrol, and the age of each was slightly more than fourteen years. Jack was tall, muscular and had an inclination to stoop, due probably to his rapid growth. He was somewhat reserved by nature, but his good disposition made him one of the most popular of the Boy Scouts. What distinguished him among his comrades was his fondness for bird lore. He had been dubbed the official ornithologist and his note books, which he had filled with “pointers” picked up on his excursions in the woods at home, were of the most interesting nature. Sometimes by invitation of Scout Master Hall, he read from them in the evening when the company gathered around the camp fire for reports and gossip. He not only investigated, but studied text books on the subject. No intelligent lad can follow such a course without becoming well informed in any branch of knowledge. It gave him pleasure to answer questions, of which many were asked, and it was universally agreed that he was one of the most valuable members of the troop that was spending the month of August in the woods of southern Maine.

All that I have to tell about Jack was to his credit. He had no brothers and but one sister, two years younger than himself. His mother was a widow in straitened circumstances, who would have had a hard time to get on, but for the cheerful help of Jack, who loved her and Maggie with a devotion that could not be surpassed. One fact will tell more than could be given in a dozen paragraphs. He wrote a letter to his mother, with a message inclosed to his sister, on every day he was absent from home. Since the wagon with supplies labored through the forest only twice a week, the dear ones had the pleasure of receiving two or three of his cheery missives by the same mail, after waiting several days for them. I need not say that those at home were equally faithful.

Now on the afternoon following the visit of little “Sunbeam” to the bungalow on the shore of Gosling Lake, more than half the boys, as you may remember, divided into small parties and set off on a ramble through the wilderness. The three whom I have named took a southern course which led them into a lonely section and expected to be absent all the afternoon. Five minutes after starting they were out of sight of their friends.

You would not be interested in a detailed account of what was done during most of the afternoon. Later on I may have something to tell you of the birds found in that part of our country.

No boy or man pays much attention to the passage of the hours when absorbed in a pleasant task. The three youths were surprised when the approaching twilight warned them that the long summer day was drawing to a close.

“Gee!” exclaimed Gerald Hume; “it’s time we hiked for home.”

Jack was the only one who carried a watch. It was a cheap pattern but a good one. He drew it out and looked at it.

“It is ten minutes to seven. To-day is Monday, the fifth of August, and the sun sets in sixteen minutes past seven. It will be dark when we get to headquarters.”

“How far do you think it is?”

“We have followed such an aimless course that it is hard to tell, but it must be a mile at least; what do you think, Arthur?”

“I should say it is a good deal more than that, but what’s the odds? We’re not likely to meet any Indians or to run afoul any wild beasts.”

“We must keep to the right course, however,” said Gerald, “or we shall have to camp out.”

“It won’t hurt us if we do, even when we have made no preparations,” replied Jack, who added:

“We went south from the lake, but the points of the compass are all twisted.”

“It would do us no good if they weren’t, for we haven’t an instrument with us.”

“Yes; we have,” remarked Jack, who still held his watch in hand. “Have you forgotten that a watch is a good compass when the sun is shining?”

“Mr. Hall showed us while we were on our way here,” laughed Arthur, “but I have forgotten what he said.”

“So have I,” added Gerald.

“Luckily, I have had to test it before, and after seeing me use that means I know you will remember it.”

Jack pointed the hour hand to the sun already low in the horizon and explained:

“If it were forenoon, half way between the hour hand and noon is due south. But it is afternoon and I must reckon half way backward. Notice,—I point the hour hand at a fraction before seven. Now divide the distance between that point and the figure 12 into halves and take the midway point: there you are—that indicates south.”

“Suppose the sun wasn’t shining, Jack?”

“If the clouds were too dense to allow you to locate the sun, your watch would be useless as a compass, but that isn’t often the case. You should stand in the open where no shadow falls upon you, and hold your knife point upright on your watch dial. Almost always you can see a dim shadow which shows where the sun is.”

“But,” inquired Arthur with a laugh; “now that we know the points of the compass what good will it do us?”

Gerald took it upon himself to answer:

“If we went south from the lake all we have to do is to go north to get back to it.”

“Yes, ‘if’ we did that, but we have paid no attention to our course and may be east or west of the bungalow.”

Jack interposed with the good sense which rarely forsook him:

“While it is impossible that we should have held a direct southern line, I believe we nearly did so and by going north we shall not stray far from the right path. At any rate, we have only to try it. If we get lost we can yell for help.”

Jack took the lead, but had not gone a hundred yards when he stopped with an exclamation:

“Look at that!”

He pointed to the upper branches of a tall pine, betraying an excitement that was new to him. His companions followed the direction of the extended finger.

“I don’t see anything but a lot of branches,” replied Gerald, after a brief scrutiny.

“Nor do I,” added Arthur.

“Are you blind? On that limb that puts out to the right is a bird’s nest.”

“Well, what of it? This isn’t nesting time; there are no birds there now,” said Arthur after he had located the dark bunch of twigs and grass, well out on a long slender branch.

“I must have a look at the nest; it is a different pattern from any I have seen since coming to Maine.”

“Well, take your look and we’ll pass on.”

“That won’t do; I must have a peep inside.”

And to the astonishment of his companions, Jack flung aside the staff he had been carrying and began climbing the long, smooth trunk. To Gerald and Arthur nothing could have been more foolish, but they understood their friend too well to object.

“Did you ever see any one like him?” asked the former disgustedly.

All the two could do was to watch their chum as he shinned up the tree with the nimbleness of a sailor climbing a ship’s mast without help of rope or stay.

Jack had an ascent of fully twenty-five feet before he reached the first limb. The object which drew him upward like a magnet attracting a bit of iron was several feet higher, but the young athlete did not hesitate. It was still so light that he could be plainly seen as he began making his way along the frail support, which bent under his weight.

“I hope Jack knows enough not to run too much risk,” remarked Gerald with a thrill of misgiving; “pine wood has a way of breaking when you don’t expect it.”

“He has had enough experience to remember that.”

“But he is so set on examining that old nest that he’s likely to forget—Gracious!”

Both gasped, for while the words were in Gerald’s mouth, the limb along which Jack Crandall was making his way snapped off like a pipe stem. He was seen to throw out his arms in an instinctive effort to save himself, but there was nothing he could seize and he shot downward, without having time to straighten his body. He fell sideways, striking the ground with a violent thump which caused his hat to fly off and forced a cry of pain from him. Although stunned by the shock, he instantly tried to rise, only to fall back with a groan.

Gerald and Arthur ran forward and bent over him.

“Are you much hurt, Jack?” they asked.

“I’m afraid so; look out; don’t try to lift me.”

With a gasp of pitying fright, both boys saw that Jack’s right limb below the knee was bent midway at a sharp angle. There could be no mistaking what that meant.

“Your leg is broken!” exclaimed Gerald.

“Thank God it isn’t my neck!” replied the brave sufferer.

That was sound Christian philosophy. How true it is that there are few afflictions in this life that couldn’t be worse.

Jack with help rose on one elbow and looked at his leg. Its appearance showed that both the tibia and the fibula had been snapped apart, for the foot lay limp at an angle from the upper portion that it never could have assumed if sound.

Arthur dropped down by him in a twinkling and took off the legging. The skin had not been broken, but the sight of the jagged points pressing against it caused a momentary faintness on the part of the two, from which they quickly rallied.

“Don’t be scared, boys,” said Jack; “it hurts like all creation and I don’t think I shall climb many more trees for a few weeks to come.”

“Well, Gerald, let’s get down to business,” said Arthur briskly.

“Yes,” remarked Jack with a smile, “you’ve got a big baby on your hands; and if we don’t find our way back to camp it won’t prove the jolliest night of my life.”

“You can give us help.”

“How?”

“Hold us to a straight course.”

“That is, you wish me to boss the job; I’ll try to do my duty.”

This is what the two Boy Scouts now did, as deftly and surely as if they had rehearsed the act, though it was the first time they had undertaken such a duty:

Gerald and Arthur took off their coats, turned the sleeves inside out and placed them on the ground with their lower sides touching each other. Gerald first compared the staff he had been carrying with Jack’s which lay near, and finding the latter the stronger passed it through the sleeves on one side and flung away his own staff, while Arthur shoved his through the sleeves of his own coat. The two garments were then buttoned with the button side down and the stretcher was ready.

Jack, who was striving to repress all signs of the anguish he suffered, was then deposited gently on the support, one of his friends between and at either end of the two handles. As they stepped off, they adopted a precaution which is worth remembering, should you ever be called upon to act the good Samaritan in similar circumstances. Gerald first reached out with his right foot, observing which Arthur at the same moment advanced his left. They were careful thus to keep out of step, thereby saving the patient from the jouncing that otherwise would have been added to his distress.

The carriers could not know whether Jack was suffering much or little or not at all, for he was by far the most cheerful of the three. They managed to roll a part of the garments so as to stuff them under his head and thereby partly raise it. This gave him a view of the woods directly in front, of which knowledge he made good use.

“Gee!” he called to Gerald who was acting as the leader; “bear a little more to the right.”

The lad obeyed and a few minutes later Jack called:

“Haw! not so much—Gee a little—that’s it; keep it up.”

“I think it would be well if I cut a gad for you,” suggested Arthur from the rear; “you can whack him on the side you wish him to turn.”

“It would be a good idea,” replied Jack, “but I’ll give him a chance to save himself by doing what I order him to do. If he refuses, it will be at his peril.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gerald meekly called back.

All three showed a sturdy readiness that did them credit. It cannot be doubted that Jack Crandall was suffering keenly, but he would have collapsed before letting his companions know it, while they on their part gave no hint of the discouraging prospect before them. Each youth had to carry a dead weight of sixty pounds or more. That of itself was of small moment, for they could rest whenever they chose, but night was at hand and they were not only a good way from camp but could not tell when they would reach it. As has already been said, there was nothing to frighten them in the prospect of spending the night in the woods, during dog days, even if the climate in southern Maine is cool, at least after the sun goes down.

But their anxiety was for their chum with the broken leg. That ought to receive surgical attention with the least possible delay. Fortunately a skilful physician was within call from the clubhouse, but when could the latter be reached, and what would happen to Jack if they should go hopelessly astray?

It was this fear which caused the bearers distress. They would have discussed the important question, but could not well talk over the head of the sufferer, so they held their peace and strode on.

“You mustn’t tire yourselves out,” protested Jack from his couch; “you have traveled far enough for a good rest.”

“What do you say, Art?” asked Gerald.

“This is just fun; it beats baseball.”

“And will beat you if you try to keep it up. I insist that you stop awhile; don’t drop me like a hot potato though, but gently as it were.”

The support was slowly lowered and the bearers mopped their foreheads.

“How are you feeling, Jack?” asked Gerald.

“I could feel a good deal worse and also somewhat better.”

“You bear it like a hero; now I hope that we shall not miss the bungalow, for it won’t be any fun for you to stay out doors till morning.”

“We’re not going to miss the house,” replied Jack so decisively that his friends looked questioningly at him.

“What makes you positive of that point?”

“We hit the right course; don’t you recognize signs about you?”

“No, and I don’t believe you do.”

“Do you remember that big white oak with the gnarled limb that put out a short distance from the base of the trunk?”

“You mean the knot that you said would bring a good price from any one of the ship builders at Bath?” asked Gerald in turn.

“Yes.”

“It is not too dark for you to see a little way. Just to the left is a similar white oak; do you notice it?”

The two scrutinized the huge tree and Arthur exclaimed:

“It looks exactly like it.”

“Of course, for it is the same one.”

When the tree was examined more closely further doubt was removed.

“What a piece of good fortune! Why, we saw that only a few minutes after leaving home.”

“Of course; we are within a hundred yards of headquarters.”

“Thank Providence; we dared not hope it. Jack, you know more about woodcraft than we do.”

“Which isn’t saying much,” replied Jack, catching the cheerful spirits of his friends, who now picked him up as tenderly as before, and did not pause until they emerged from the woods and made their way to the porch, where they set down their burden and Gerald hurried to make known the mishap. By that time night had fully come and all the boys were inside enjoying the society of Sunbeam, as she sat and chatted on the knee of Mike Murphy. Pausing in the door, Arthur beckoned to Scout Master Hall, who excused himself and hastened outside. There when told the truth, he bent over Jack, took his hand and expressed his sympathy.

“We must get word to Dr. Spellman at once,” said the leader; “I will borrow Gordon Calhoun’s revolver and signal to him. Meanwhile, take Jack inside.”

“Hadn’t you better wait, so as not to scare the little girl?” was the thoughtful question of the patient.

“There is nothing to scare her; carry him in, boys.”

Jack was carefully taken through the opened door and deposited on the nearest bunk. A few moments were all that was necessary to explain the mishap to the party. Sunbeam or Stubby or Ruth, as you prefer, was full of tender sympathy, but the full extent of the lad’s injuries was kept from her, and a few minutes later she was laid in her couch, as has been related, and almost immediately she closed her eyes.

Mike asked for the revolver, and walking to the edge of the lake pointed it upward and discharged three more chambers. He went back into the house where he cheered Jack by his waggery for some time. Then he reloaded the weapon and again moved to the water’s edge, with the intention of calling the physician a third time. Before doing so, he listened. Through the stillness he heard the dip of a paddle and knew the doctor was hurrying to the clubhouse, eager to do what he could for whoever needed his help.

Alvin and Chester followed Mike and stood by his side. There was no moon as yet in the sky, but the stars gleamed brilliantly and they could see for a considerable distance over the placid surface of the beautiful sheet of water. The sound of the paddle grew more distinct, and by and by a swiftly approaching canoe took form in the obscurity.

Not until the voice of the wife broke upon the quiet did it occur to any one of the boys that the physician was likely to associate the call with his own child. And yet what was more natural than that he should do so?

“Is anything the matter with Ruth?” asked the mother, the instant she caught the dim outlines of the boys.

“Nothing at all,” replied Alvin; “she is in her bed and asleep.”

“Thank heaven!” was the grateful exclamation as the woman sank back and clasped her hands. Her husband had held the paddle suspended until he heard the reply. Now he dipped the implement deep and with a couple of vigorous strokes sent the craft with a bump against the beach.

“What’s the trouble, Alvin?” he asked while helping his wife out and drawing the canoe a little way up the bank.

“One of the boys fell out of a tree this afternoon and broke his leg.”

“I am sorry to hear that; I shan’t need my instruments,” he remarked in the cool business tone of the professional man; “lead the way, boys.”

Scout Master Hall and several of the boys had come out on the porch and all welcomed the physician and his wife.

“Business first and pleasure afterward,” remarked the medical man as he stepped across the threshold and went to the bunk in which Jack Crandall had been lifted. The blazing wood in the fireplace and the bright lamp overhead filled the room with light as bright as day. Jack looked up and smiled, with an apology for the trouble he was causing the doctor, who without replying to his words, made a quick but thorough examination of the hurt.

“Beautiful! beautiful!” he exclaimed; “it is one of the most beautiful fractures I ever saw.”

It sounded odd, but it was professional.