A light of satisfaction leaped into Mr. Wall’s eyes.  There was little that went on in Chester troop of which he was in ignorance.  He had known what that trip into the woods meant, and he had wondered many times that morning what would come of it.  From the look of Don’s lip and from a lumpy look above one of Tim’s eyes, he would say there had been a fight.  He proposed, though, to ask no questions.  Whatever had happened, the atmosphere was clear.  The Tim who had come out was a vastly different boy from the Tim who had gone in, and that was all that mattered.

He slipped off Don’s shoe and examined the foot.  “Nothing much,” he said.  “A couple of days’ rest and you’ll be as good as new.”  As he stood up his hand rested in the old familiar way on Tim’s shoulder.

“I told you it would happen some day, Tim.”

Tim looked up timidly.  “What, sir?”

“That we’d be proud of you.”

Tim’s eyes dropped.  A thrill ran through his veins.  Not because he had been praised—­paugh! that didn’t mean so much—­but because Mr. Wall seemed to speak to him as man scout to boy scout.  He was accepted without question as worthy.  He could see it in the eyes of Andy Ford and of every scout there.  Gee! what a difference it made.

The scouts had been shrilling a succession of short, sharp blasts, the rallying signal.  Now Larkins and Rood burst out of the woods.  When they saw Don and Tim their faces lengthened, but they came forward and offered their congratulations.

The whole story had to be told.  Don related how they had followed the trail, he told of finding the treasure, of getting away and learning of pursuit, of cutting away from their trail, and of his tumble at the ravine, and of how Tim had refused to leave him.

“Good boy,” cried Andy.

Next Don described their journey with Tim ranging around as scout.  When he told of laying out the haversacks Larkins’ face went red.

“Were you fellows hiding behind that brush?” he demanded.

“You bet,” said Don.  “We hid the haversacks there after you went on.  You’ll find Tim’s handkerchief tied there now.”

A grudging look of admiration came into the Fox leader’s eyes.  “It was some plan,” he admitted, “and it surely fooled us.  That’s one we owe you, Tim.”

Tim laughed.

The story was over at last, and the position of the sun warned the troop that it was time to start for home.  At Mr. Wall’s orders a coat stretcher was made and Don was lifted in.  Just before the start he thought of something.

“What became of the Eagles?” he demanded.

“Shucks!” said Larkins.  “They built a fire the first night, and we sneaked up and bagged them.”

Tim looked at Don miserably, and Don flashed a glance that told him to forget it.  It was their secret.  Nobody would ever know.

Tim walked a step behind the stretcher, with his head bent thoughtfully.  What a good scout Don was—­fair, and square, and willing to be white where another fellow would hold a grudge!  Tim sighed.  He wasn’t built like that.  He scrapped and got himself in Dutch, and let himself think things that he shouldn’t think.