"I wish Alex were with us," Don said wistfully.

"I guess Alex wishes he was, too," Andy answered. "But nobody'll ever
catch him wearing a long face just because he must work. He isn't that
kind."

The troop approached the turnpike.

"Column left!" came the order.

They knew where they were going up--up toward Gipsy Grove. The place had
gotten its name from the fact that whenever a gipsy tribe came to the
neighborhood it pitched its tents there. It was an ideal camping ground,
with plenty of firewood, a clean, running stream, and just enough open
timber to let the sunlight through.

Presently they were away from the village and out in open country. The
discipline of the march was dropped. In a straggling, merry line they
moved along.

Twice the Scoutmaster called rest halts, and each time there was a short
talk on roadside flowers, and trees, and weeds. The morning wore away. By
and by the sun was almost directly overhead, and Gipsy Grove was at last
in sight.

There was a race to see which patrol could get all its fires going first.
Each scout was to cook for himself.

"I'll chop," cried Tim. "Somebody get my fire going." His strong,