"What was that, Jack?"

"You remember Mr. Silas Westervelt, the Quaker of Manchester?"

"Sure. I've often talked with him, and my father is their family doctor,"
replied Paul, readily enough.

"It seems that he's become interested in this scout movement, which
he endorses through and through. The result is that he has offered a
beautiful banner to the organization that can show the highest degree of
efficiency, and the greatest number of merit marks by Thanksgiving day.
It's being made now, down in the city."

"That counts us in, then, for we'll have plenty of time to get busy
before the day of turkey rolls around, eh, Jack?"

"Oh! we'll be in the contest all right, even if we are counted in the
'also ran' class. These other fellows have been camping this summer, and
must be up in many of the things that count. But then, they haven't got
Paul Morrison at the head as scout leader, and that means everything in
our favor," declared Jack, warmly.

"Please cut that out after this. It's true that I've always been deeply
interested in many things connected with life in the woods; but you see
that's only one part of a good scout's credit marks. In fact, there's
hardly one thing in all the trades and professions that is omitted from
the list. Only he must _excel_ in all he undertakes. And soon we will
have to find a young man over twenty-one who will act as our scout
master."