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I liked the Boy Scout, and I find it difficult to express how much it mattered to me, with my growing bias in favour of deliberate national training, that Liberalism hadn't been able to produce, and had indeed never attempted to produce, anything of this kind.

"He is making for the other shore, and if he gets in among the shallows over there I am afraid we will lose him yet." The Scout was now so close to the smaller boat that the occupants could easily be distinguished. "There is Monkey Rae," declared Pepper. "And Sam and Red," added Jack, "but I don't know who the man is." "Boat, ahoy!" shouted the colonel. "What do you want?" snarled the man.

The Sergeant nodded, his lips tightly pressed together. "Must hev come from Dutch Charlie's outfit," the scout went on slowly. "He picks up all that sorter truck." "Where is that?" "In town thar, under the bluff. We 'll look it up to-morrow." One by one the barrack lights went out as the tired troopers sought their beds.

You heard your patrol leader tell you to get into the skiff. Do you think you know better than they do, what is best for you?" Even still he didn't pay any attention, he was so excited. "Now am I a hero?" he said. "No, you are not a hero," Mr. Ellsworth told him; "and you will go inside and get your uniform on. The first duty of a scout is to obey his leader, and you have failed to do that.

You ought to know, because you saw me make one when we was nigh about froze to death up there in Maine, and didn't have a single match along with us." "Well, anyhow, wait till morning," said Thad, knowing that once the tall scout got started on his favorite hobby, there was no way of stopping him until he had the fever satisfied.

Recoil from the Bannisdale ways, an angry eagerness to scout them and fly them? yes, that there had always been in plenty. But she dived deeper into her self-disgust, and brought up the real bottom truth, disagreeable and hateful as it was: mere excitement about a young man, as a young man mere love of power over a great hulking fellow whom other people found unmanageable!

He did not enlarge upon that, but since he apparently knew what he was doing, Dalgard let him play guide once more. They recrossed the sluggish river, the scout looking into its murky depths with little relish for it as a means of transportation. Though it had an oily, flowing current, there was a suggestion of stagnant water with unpleasant surprises waiting beneath its turgid surface.

Harold was by this time sufficiently accustomed to the ways of the woods to obey orders at once without offering to take his turn at watching, as his inclination led him to do, and he was soon sound asleep. It was late in the afternoon when he was awoke by the scout touching him. "There's some critters coming along the bank," he said in a whisper.

On his way up he dropped Llewellyn into Tenderfoot Pond, a diminutive sheet of water, so named in honor of the diminutive scout contingent at camp. He would have room enough to spend the balance of his life resting after his arduous and memorable journey. And there he still abides, by last accounts, monarch of the mud and water, and suns himself for hours at a time on a favorite rock.

The scout turned to Bucks as he stood dazed by his narrow escape. Stanley, above, shouted. And Bill Dancing, carrying his empty rifle, and with his face bleeding from the briers, made his way down the opposite side of the wash. Scuffy, mounting the body of his dead foe, barked furiously. The little dog was the real hero of the encounter.