“Look at the Wolves!” The cry could be heard above the noise.  “That’s no way to carry an injured person.”

Tim looked around, startled.  What was wrong?  He saw the Eagles and the Foxes carrying their loads slowly, with precious care.  All at once he understood.  Oh, what a blunder he had made!

He slowed up abruptly.  He could hear tense voices shouting that the Wolves were out of it.  He came to a stop in front of Mr. Wall.

The scouts rushed forward from the wall.  Somebody’s hot breath was on his neck and a squirming elbow was poked in his side.  He did not look around.  Mr. Wall’s whistle shrilled, and the gathering became quiet.

“I am glad this happened,” the Scoutmaster said.  “I do not mean I am glad because a patrol has failed, but glad because now the lesson will be driven home.  An injured person must always be carried carefully.  That’s what I had in mind when I said speed would count, but that I wanted you to think.”

Tim’s cheeks burned.  There was more to what Mr. Wall said, but he scarcely heard.  The points were awarded—­Fox patrol, first; Eagles, second; Wolves, last.  Bobbie slipped out of the stretcher and Tim turned away forlornly.

Don gripped his arm.  “That gives us second place, anyway, Tim.  The Foxes have 11 points, and we have 9, and the Eagles have 7.”

But Tim could take no comfort.  He had fallen down again.  Bonehead!  That’s what he was—­a bonehead!

The blackboard was changed: 

PATROL POINTS

Eagle 74-1/2
Fox 79
Wolf 76-1/2

“Gosh!” cried Bobbie.  “Before inspection we were third, and only one point behind first place.  Now we’re second and two and a half points behind.  Funny, isn’t it?”

Tim didn’t think it was funny at all.  His scout honor, not yet fully awake, throbbed with a sense of guilt.  Every other fellow in the troop had worked hard.  Even Alex, after finishing in the grocery store, had worked at night.  And yet in spite of how hard they had tried, his lapse had blackened every one of them, just as though they had been skulkers and shirkers.

Just staying around where the others were made him hot and uncomfortable.  While the room rang with cheers for the victorious Foxes he slipped out of the door and melted away in the darkness.

Suddenly the fact that he was sneaking away struck him like a blow.  Sneaking away!  He stopped.  With a careless, cocky swagger he had always, before this, stood up to his troubles.

“I’ll go back,” he said defiantly.  “I’m not afraid.”

He wasn’t afraid.  That was true.  If any fellow there had threatened to punch his head he would have peeled off his coat in an instant.  He was not scared of physical force; but he was afraid of what every scout in the room might be thinking—­that Tim Lally had spoiled things again.

He leaned against a tree, pulled a tender twig, and chewed it thoughtfully.  He could see the glowing windows of troop headquarters, and a bright light streamed out through the open door.  Shouts, and cheers, and laughter, came faintly to his ears.  The whole troop seemed to be having a good time congratulating the victor without envy.  He was the only boy who had slipped away.