“No,” said Don.

“Well, how about the signaling?”

“He has half a day off Friday.  He’ll come out Friday afternoon.”

The nine o’clock fire bell sent the scouts scurrying for home.  The trek wagon was left against the wall of troop headquarters.

Next morning the patrols assembled early.  Mr. Wall dispatched a scout to the baker’s for two dozen loaves of bread.  Another boy hurried off to the grocer’s shop for molasses, cocoa, and evaporated milk.  When these had been put safely in place, the last strap was adjusted.  The trek wagon was ready for the journey.

“You fellows get home,” Mr. Wall ordered, “and get back here on time.  Remember, the same rule as always—­individual cooking.  Two or three scouts or a whole patrol can team up, but each scout must bring enough food to feed himself for three meals—­supper tonight, and breakfast and dinner tomorrow.  The troop treasury furnishes the bread, molasses and cocoa.  Everybody understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right.  We leave here at one o’clock sharp.”

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.

Don fell into step with him.  “How about some practice in the woods this afternoon, Tim?”

“Sure.”  Tim’s eyes danced.  “We’ll be first if we win this time.”

Now it was Don who felt like dancing in the road.  Tim, for some reason, had had another change of heart, and was once more eager.

Soon the whole patrol was walking with Don and Tim.  And Tim, light-hearted, irrepressible, kept the talk flying merrily.  When the call came for the Wolves to take the wagon again, he was the first to reach the shafts.