of the invader, a scout should act not according to the dictates of
his heart, but in the service of his native land. In the case of this
particular patriot, the man and scout were at odds. As one of the
Bicycle Squad of the Boston Corps of Cadets, the scout knew what, at
this momentous crisis in her history, the commonwealth of Massachusetts
demanded of him. It was that he sit tight and wait for the hated
foreigners from New York City, New Jersey, and Connecticut to show
themselves. But the man knew, and had known for several years, that
on the road to Carver was the summer home of one Beatrice Farrar. As
Private Lathrop it was no part of his duty to know that. As a man and
a lover, and a rejected lover at that, he could not think of anything
else. Struggling between love and duty the scout basely decided to leave
the momentous question to chance. In the front tire of his bicycle was
a puncture, temporarily effaced by a plug. Laying the bicycle on the
ground, Lathrop spun the front wheel swiftly.

"If," he decided, "the wheel stops with the puncture pointing at Carver
Centre, I'll advance upon Carver Centre. Should it point to either of
the two other villages, I'll stop here.

"It's a two to one shot against me, any way," he growled.

Kneeling in the road he spun the wheel, and as intently as at Monte
Carlo and Palm Beach he had waited for other wheels to determine his
fortune, he watched it come to rest. It stopped with the plug pointing
back to Middleboro.

The scout told himself he was entitled to another trial. Again he spun
the wheel. Again the spokes flashed in the sun. Again the puncture
rested on the road to Middleboro.