The scouts knew and respected his peculiarities and preferences,
particularly those who were regular summer visitors at the big camp, and
few ever followed him into his chosen haunts. Occasionally some new
scout, tempted by the pervading reputation and unique negligee of Uncle
Jeb's young assistant, ventured to follow him and avail himself of the
tips and woods lore with which the more experienced scout's
conversation abounded when he was in a talking mood. But Tom was a sort
of creature apart and the boys of camp, good scouts that they were, did
not intrude upon his lonely rambles.

The season was well nigh over at Temple Camp when this thing happened.
Not over exactly, but the period of arrivals had passed and the period
of departures would begin in a day or two--as soon as the events with
which the season culminated were over.

These were the water events, the tenderfoot carnival (not to be missed
on any account) and the big affair at the main pavilion when awards were
to be made. This last, in particular, would be a gala demonstration, for
Mr. John Temple himself, founder of the big scout camp, had promised to
be on hand to dedicate the new tract of camp property and personally to
distribute the awards.

These events would break the backbone of the camping season, high
schools and grammar schools would presently beckon their reluctant
conscripts back to town and city, until, in the pungent chill of autumn,
old Uncle Jeb, alone among the boarded-up cabins, would smoke his pipe
in solitude and get ready for the long winter.

It was late on Thursday afternoon. The last stroke of the last hammer,