"
The Scoutmaster could have saved himself the warning. At 12:30 o'clock
the last scout was there, haversack and blanket on his back, ax and
canteen on his hip.
At 12:55 the bugle blew. The scouts fell into line.
"Each patrol," said Mr. Wall, "will take its turn hauling the trek wagon.
The Wolves first."
Don's patrol dropped back.
At one o'clock the bugle sounded again.
"Forward!" cried Mr. Wall. "March!"
"Forward!" echoed the patrol leaders. "March!"
Chester troop was off. Small boys followed along the sidewalk and on past
the village limits. After that, one by one, they dropped back, and at
last the troop swung on through the early afternoon alone.
Tim threw himself joyously into the work of hauling the wagon. When Mr.
Wall ordered route step, and the discipline of the hike gave way to
laughter and song, Tim's voice rose above all the rest.
He felt like dancing in the road. The first hill found him impatient to
run the wagon to the top. His zeal caused a quickened pace. Oh! there was
no loafing or shirking today.
At the end of a half-mile the Foxes took the load. Tim strode on with a
swinging step. His doubts were vanishing. Not once had Don tried to force
him to do what he did not want to do. If there was some hidden reason for
switching him from Alex, it should show itself now, shouldn't it? Maybe
he had been wrong all along.
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