the Eagles."

"I knew you weren't worrying about _me_," said Tim.

Don followed slowly. He had pleaded for the troop thinking that that
might win where all else had failed. And, as usual, Tim had
misunderstood.

At the corner he paused. New thoughts were crowding through his brain.
Tim's recklessness was jeopardizing not only himself--it was threatening
the entire troop.

Suppose he fell and broke an arm, or a leg, or--or worse. People would
say, "There; that's what comes from letting boys become scouts and go
hiking." Boys would be taken from the troop. The troop might even break
up. All Mr. Wall's plans for the future would be ruined.

"It isn't fair," Don told himself bitterly. "If there was somebody who
could make him stay home--"

His eyes puckered and his mouth grew tight. He had told Bobbie that this
wasn't carrying tales. It wasn't. Suddenly he turned to his left and went
up a side street.

A few minute's later he rang the doorbell of a plain, pleasant-looking
house. The screen door opened.

"Good afternoon, Donald," said a woman's voice. "Are you looking for Mr.
Wall?"