Roy Blakeley, of the Silver Foxes, had a wooden rattle which he claimed could be heard for seven miles—­eight miles and a quarter at a pinch.  The Tigers, with Bert Winton at their head, had some kind of an original contrivance which simulated the roar of their ferocious namesake.  The Church Mice, from down the Hudson, with Brent Gaylong as their scoutmaster, had a special squeal (patent applied for) which sounded as if all the mice in Christendom had gone suddenly mad.  Pee-wee had his voice—­enough said.

The Panthers and the Leopards, with Mr. Warren, watched the departure of this rainbow troop with wistful glances.  Then the scoutmaster took his chagrined followers to their bare cabins, stripped of all that had made them comfortable and homelike in their long stay at camp.  Hervey was not among them.  No one in all the camp knew how he had suffered from homesickness in those two days.  He wanted to be home—­home with his mother and father.

To his disappointed troop Mr. Warren said: 

Scouts, we have not won the coveted award.  But in this fraternal community, every award is an honor to every scout.  We will try to find pride in the achievements of our friends and camp comrades.  Our mistake was in selecting for our standard bearer one whose temperament disqualified him for the particular mission which he undertook.  No shortcoming of cowardice is his, at all events, and I blame myself that I did not suggest one of you older boys.

If we have not won the distinction we set our hearts on, our stay here has been pleasant and our achievement creditable, and for my part I give three cheers for the scouts who are to be honored and for the fortunate troops who will share their honors.

This good attempt to revive the spirits of his disappointed troop was followed by three feeble cheers, which ought to have gone on crutches, they were so weak.

Hervey was not in evidence throughout the day, and since no news is good news, one or two unquenchable spirits in his troop continued to hope that he would put in a dramatic appearance just in the nick of time, with the report of a sensational discovery—­the tracks of a bear or a wild cat, for instance.  It is significant that they would have been quite ready to believe him, whatever he had said.

But Mr. Warren knew, as his troop did not, of Hervey’s saying that he wasn’t so stuck on eagles, and he was satisfied from the talk that he had had with him that Hervey’s erratic and fickle nature had asserted itself in the very moment of high responsibility.  He could not help liking Hervey, but he would never again allow the cherished hopes of the troop to rest upon such shaky foundation.

Whatever lingering hopes the troop might have had of a last minute triumph were rudely dispelled when Hervey came sauntering into camp at about four o’clock twirling his hat on the end of a stick in an annoyingly care-free manner.  Tom Slade saw him passing Council Shack intent upon his acrobatic enterprise of tossing the hat into the air and catching it on his head, as if this clownish feat were the chief concern of his young life.