Details were all finally arranged, and Hal Crane was to pay one more trip to the woods, there to deposit the small blue book of scout data in the big hollow of the charmed rock.

“Suppose he turns out to be some great man who might give us a new park or something like that,” ventured Madaline rather hazily, “then we would all come in for honors, wouldn’t we?”

“I would rather come in for the park,” Cleo inserted.  “We need a few more if we are going to do much drilling this summer.”

“That man might be a writer, camping out there, who wants material,” speculated Margaret.  “You know, the River Bend Wood is considered very romantic.  An artist painted the falls once.”

“Too snaky for camping, though,” objected Cleo.  “Well, at any rate, girls, we have got to practice wig-wagging this afternoon, so let’s wiggle along.  Have you heard all about the Venture Troop, of Franklin?  That awfully pretty little blonde girl, who was at our meeting one night, you know, is a patrol leader, and they have wonderful things planned.”

“I heard something the other day that gave me the creeps,” confessed Margaret.  “I wasn’t going to say anything about it, but since you all have mysteries, I might as well share mine.”

“Oh, what’s it about?  Scout stuff?” demanded Grace, her cheeks toning up to the excitement key.

“Yes, of course.  You all remember the night I lost my precious badge?  Well, that was the same night two girls ran away from Flosston.  Mother offered all sorts of rewards for the return of my badge, for I did prize it so,” and the brown eyes glinted topaz gleams at the memory.

“Oh, yes.  We called it your D. S. C. because you got it for guarding the cloakroom the night your brother received his decoration,” recalled Cleo.

“Yes, and it was very strange in this town, where every one knew all about it, that I never heard from it since,” went on Margaret with a show of considerable importance.  “Now here is my mystery.  One day last week I received an anonymous letter, just two lines long.  It said, ’Don’t give up.  You will get your badge back some day soon.’  Now, why, do you suppose, anyone who has it is holding it?”

“Maybe some of the boys just playing a joke,” suggested Grace.

“Oh, no, the boys wouldn’t wait all this time for their joke; besides, there’s no fun in that,” analyzed Margaret.  “Please don’t say anything about it, girls, but since you told me your secret, I thought I ought to tell you mine.  There come the other girls.  Come on for the wig-wagging.  I just love to stand up on the library steps and wave.  Hope Captain Clark gives me that place,” and the quartette were off to join forces with others of the True Treds, with their signal flags of red and white.

It was usual to have spectators on wig-wagging practice days, and this afternoon an unusual number seemed to take time to stop and notice the picturesque scouts.  The troop girls had worn their uniforms, to school that afternoon, so as to be ready for an early start, and in the glorious sunshine, striking in golden rays through the deep green elms for which the village was noted, the troop girls, with their signal flags, made an attractive picture.