"Maybe it's leather work, or machinery, or taxidermy or marksmanship,"
Tom continued, with no thought further from his mind than that of
showing off.

"Guess again," Hervey laughed.

"Then it must be either music or stalking," Tom said, dully.

His companion paused in his steps, contemplating Tom with unconcealed
amazement. "Right-o," he said; "it's stalking. What are you? A mind
reader?"

"Those are the only ones that have three tests," Tom said. "So if you
have twenty merits and two-thirds of a merit, why, you must be trying
for one of those. Maybe they've changed it since I looked at the
handbook."

Hervey Willetts stood just where he had stopped, looking at Tom with
admiration. In his astonishment he glanced at Tom's arm as if he
expected to see upon it the tangible evidences of his companion's feats
and accomplishments. But the only signs of scouting which he saw there
were the brown skin and the firm muscles.

"They change that book every now and then," Tom said.

Still Hervey continued to look. "What's that belt made out of?" he
asked.

"It's fiber from a string tree," Tom said; "they grow in Lorraine in