“That’s a pretty sight now, shiver my timbers if it ain’t,” observed old Captain Hudgins, who had stood, hat in hand, during the ceremony.  “I’ve seen Old Glory in many a foreign port, and felt like takin’ off my hat and givin’ three cheers fer the old flag; but I never seen her look better or finer than she does a-streakin’ out from that there bit of timber.”

“Now, Patrol cooks,” was Scout Master Wingate’s next command, “it’s only an hour to dinner time, and we want the first mess to be right.  Come on, and we’ll get the pot boiling.”

Cook duty fell that day to Hiram Nelson and Walter Lonsdale, and under the scout master’s directions they soon had potatoes peeled, beans in water, and a big piece of stew meat chopped up with vegetables in a capacious pot.

After every errand to the store tent, Walter was anxious to know if it was not yet time to light the fire.

“Never be in a hurry to light your fire when you are in the woods,” rejoined the scout master; “otherwise you will be so busy tending the fire you won’t be able to prepare your food for cooking.  Now we’re all ready for the fire, though, and you can bring me some dry bark and small sticks from that pile of wood the pioneers laid in yesterday.”

This was promptly done, and the lads watched the next step with interest.  They saw the scout master take a tiny pile of the sticks and then light a roll of bark and thrust it into them.

“I thought you piled them up all criss-cross,” remarked Hiram.

“No woodsman does that, my boy,” was the rejoinder.  “Now get me some larger timber from that pile, and I’ll show you how to go about it like regular trappers.”

The fire builder shoved the ends of the sticks into the blaze and then the bean pot was hung in place.

“We won’t put the potatoes on now, as they take less time,” he remarked; “those beans will take the longest.”

Soon the heat was leaping up about the pots, and the cheerful crackle and incense of the camp fire filled the air.  As the sticks burned down the scout master shoved the ends farther into the blaze, instead of throwing them on top of it.

“Now, then, boys, you’ve had your first lesson in camp fire making and cooking,” he announced.  “Now go ahead, and let’s see what kind of a dinner you can produce.  I’m going for a tour of exploration of the island.”

Among the other things the pioneers had accomplished was the building of a table large enough to seat the entire Patrol, with planks set on logs as seats.  Hiram put Walter to setting this, while he burned his fingers and smudged his face over his cookery.  Long before the beans seemed any nearer to what experience taught the young cook they ought to be, Walter announced that the table was all set, with its tin cups and dishes and steel knives and forks.

Suddenly, while Hiram was considering putting the potatoes on their hook, there came from the rear of the store tent the most appalling succession of squeals and screams the boy had ever heard.  Springing to his feet, he dashed to the scene of the conflict—­for such it seemed to be though not without a heart that beat rather faster than usual.  He bad no idea what the creatures could be that were producing all the uproar, and for all he knew they might have been bears.