where it lost its force. He knew when to stop. This flurry was over.

"All right, scouts," he said, and went back to his own cooking. Tim
shuffled off and squatted down beside his own blaze.

Andy rounded up his potatoes. They were cold and discouraged looking.

"I've enough potatoes for us both," said Don. "What kind of meat have
you?"

"Sausage."

"Gosh! That ought to be fine. Let's go whack--half my lamb chops for half
your sausage."

Soon eager nostrils were sniffing the glorious odor of sizzling meat
touched with the tang of wood smoke. Don and Andy finished their cooking
in silence. They began to eat. All over the camp scouts drew together and
pooled their rations. Tim Lally sat by his fire, alone.

"He's beginning to look good and sore," Andy said in a low voice.

Don glanced toward the red-haired scout. Tim caught his eye and made a
derisive face, and then turned his back and began to whistle as though he
was having a gloriously good time.

But Don was not fooled. Tim was lonesome. He felt that he was frozen out.
But what could Tim expect if he was going to antagonize everybody?

By and by cooking utensils were cleaned and put away. The fires were