Down he came, tumbling forward, and sprawling on the ground, while he
held the branch above him, like the Statue of Liberty lighting the
world.

"Here we are," he said. "Take it while I have a look at my leg. It's
nothing but an abrasion. It looks like a trail from my ankle up to the
back of my knee. What care we? I've got trails on the brain, haven't I?"

Tom took the branch and stood looking admiringly, yet with a glint of
amusement lighting his stolid features, at the younger boy, who sat with
his knees drawn up humorously inspecting the scratch on his leg.

"Well, what do you think of eagles now?" Tom asked, in his dull way.

"Decline to be interviewed," Hervey said, with irrepressible buoyancy.
"What kind of a crazy bird is this that lives upside down in a house
that looks like a bat. It reminds me of a plum pudding, hanging in the
pantry. What's that streak of red, anyway? His patrol colors? You'd
think he'd get seasick, wouldn't you?"

"You've got the bird badge," Tom said, smiling a little; "can't you
guess?"

What Tom did not realize was that this merry, reckless, impulsive young
dare-devil, whose very talk, as he jumped from one theme to another,
made him smile in spite of himself, could not be expected to bear in
mind the record of his whole remarkable accomplishment. He was no
handbook scout.

There is the scout who learns a thing so that he may know it. But there