"Whew! then I hope he ain't fetched a message that'll spoil all our fun,
just when we've got to the last leg of the journey, with the boat only a
few miles further on! That'd be the limit Bumpus. You don't know
anything about it, I reckon?"

"Well, our scout-master looks kinder down in the mouth, and I'm afraid
it must be some sort of a recall to duty for him," remarked a third lad,
also wearing the khaki garments of a Boy Scout, as he joined the pair
who were talking.

"I'm afraid you're right, Davy," said the tall, angular fellow who
seemed to own the queer name of Giraffe, though his long neck plainly
proved why it had been given to him by his mates. "But don't it beat
the Dutch how many times Doe Hobbs has had to give up a jolly trip, and
hurry back home, just when the fun was going to begin, because the old
doctor he works with needed him the worst kind?"

"But say," spoke up the fat boy who answered to the designation of
Bumpus, "mebbe the Cranford Troop, and the Silver Fox Patrol in
particular, ain't lucky to have such a wide-awake, efficient assistant
scout-master as our Thad Brewster, who knows more in a day about out-of-
door things than Dr. Hobbs would in a year."

"Yes, that's right," replied Giraffe; "but we're going to know what's in
the wind now, because here's the scout-master heading this way, with
several of the other boys tagging at his heels, and sure as you live
they're grinning too. Looks to me like Stephen and Allan thought it a
good joke, though they look solemn enough when Doc turns their way.
He's just got to leave us, you mark my words, fellows."