thus opened the way for the experiences that have been related elsewhere.

Hardly had the summer’s sport begun for the three boys with their motor boat, when the machinery broke down disastrously. It was plain that the craft would have to go to the repair shops in Portland before it could be of any further use to them. Accordingly, it was towed to that city, with the natural request that work should be rushed. The reply came back that there was such a congestion in the shops that it would require two or three weeks to complete the job. You know what that always means. The time is sure to be much longer than named, and it may be said the boys knew such would be the fact. It was a keen disappointment to them, but there was no help for it and they accepted the situation like true philosophers.

This incident, trifling of itself, brought consequences to our young friends of which none of them dreamed. Alvin and Chester while at home had become interested in the admirable Boy Scout organization, and had joined the Blazing Arrow Patrol, of which their old friend “Bert Hall” was Scout Master. He was arranging for an outing in the Adirondacks with the Stag and Eagle Patrols, when the plan was changed for reasons that will soon be explained. Their destination became Gosling Lake in southern Maine, a few miles back in the woods from the Kennebec River.

Alvin and Chester decided to bear them company as tenderfeet. They provided themselves with natty uniforms, and, knowing the size required for Mike, sent a suit by express to him with the request that he should join them in the hike to the cool twilight of the pine woods.

“It would never do to go without him,” said Alvin; “he will be the life of the camp and will make a model Boy Scout.”

“The hardest task will be to cure him of his love for fighting,” added Chester; “he can get up a first class shindy in ten minutes, no matter where he is placed.”

“There won’t be anything of the kind with the Scouts, for it is impossible; they are taught to detest fighting and Mike is always so chivalrous that he is never the aggressor. I prophesy there won’t be a more peaceable boy in camp than he.”

“It is to be hoped so,” commented Chester with a dubious shake of his head.

When the garments arrived Mike was mystified. He lifted them out of the box and held them up for the inspection of himself and parents. His father took his pipe from his mouth, squinted an eye as if aiming a gun and gravely remarked:

“It’s a Sunday suit meant fur me,—there’s no doubt of the same.”

“Ye’re mistook, dad, as much as ye were last night whin ye picked up that red hot coal thinking it was a cold pratie. The garments are intinded either for mither or mesilf, as will be told whin we try ’em on.”

It cannot be denied that Mike looked “nifty” in his uniform, which fitted him as if he had been melted and poured into it. The hat was of olive-drab felt, with eyelets in the crown for ventilation and enough stiffness to keep its shape; breeches of olive-drab khaki cut full and with legs laced below the knee and with belt guides and pockets; leggings or puttees of waterproof army duck; poncho; shirt of olive-drab flannel with two bellows pockets, open front, coat style; coat of same material as breeches, with four bellows pockets, straight collar, dull metal buttons with Boy Scout emblem; an ordinary belt; shoes, broad, high and strong and of soft tan leather; a haversack of waterproof canvas, with leather straps, buckles and separate pockets, scout emblem on the flap—these were the chief garments in which Mike Murphy carefully arrayed himself. He turned slowly around as if on a pivot for his parents to admire. At the same time, he strove to twist his head about so as to gain a view of the rear, but it cannot be said his effort was successful.

“It is sthrange that the lad didn’t sind any word of explanition,” remarked the father, after a search in the box and the different pockets failed to bring anything in the nature of a letter to light.

“He may have sint it through the mail—begorrah! how come I to furgit it?”

“What’s the matter wid ye?” asked the mother as her son leaped to the chair over which he had hung his discarded clothes and began a vigorous fumbling of them. From the hip pocket of his trousers he drew a creased and soiled envelope, glanced at it and handed it to his father.

“Is that yer name writ on the same?”

The astonished parent turned it over, held it off and then drew it closer.

“If me name is Pathrick Murphy the letter is for me, fur that is what is writ on the outside. How long have ye been toting that about the counthry?”

Mike reflected for a moment.

“To-day is Wednesday; let me think,—yes, it was last Monday morning that I was handed the letter by the postmaster at Boothbay Harbor,—he being afeard to trust ye wid the same, fur fear ye would not give it to yersilf.”

“Why didn’t ye hand it to me before this?”

“I forgot, dad, as Tim O’Shaughnessy said after moving back the well curb and then slipping down the well. Shall I spell out the words fur ye?” asked Mike as his father ran his stubby finger under the flap of the letter and ripped it apart.

“If ye think ye’re able to know writing, ye may thry yer hand.”

Mike unfolded the slip and read aloud the contents. The letter was from Alvin Landon and had been mailed before the uniform was sent. All would have gone right had the missive been addressed to Mike, but Alvin, with his fine sense of propriety, had written directly to the parent, asking consent for his son to spend several weeks with the Boy Scouts in camp on Gosling Lake. There was no question in the writer’s mind as to such permission being granted.

Following this request were some sentences for Mike himself. After directing him how to reach the sheet of water, Alvin added:

“Chester and I have become ‘Tenderfeet’ as they are called, which is the lowest grade among the Boy Scouts. Your name has been proposed by us and we see no reason why you should not be accepted. But before that can take place, you must pass the examination, which with some studying I am sure you will be able to do. It isn’t likely you can find any one at Southport or Boothbay Harbor to help you, nor is it necessary. What you must know is:

“The Scout law, sign, salute and meaning of the badge (Chester and I can teach you that in a few minutes); the composition and history of our country’s flag and the usual forms of respect due it. (This is learned as easily as the other); and you must be able to tie four of the following knots: square or reef, sheet-bend, bowline, fisherman’s, sheepshank, halter, clove hitch, timber hitch or two half-hitches.

“I think you told Chester and me that on your trip across the ocean you made friends with several of the sailors, who taught you how to tie a number of knots. If this is so, you will have no trouble on that score. So you see you have not much preparation to make. I tell you, Mike, this is the finest thing of the kind in the world and is just what you need. You will have plenty of fun, which you know is your chief aim in life, with a fair prospect of becoming a gentleman (I trust).

“We expect to reach Gosling Lake in time to get into our quarters on Wednesday and shall look for you to be there to help us with our work.”

“And this is Wednesday morning!” repeated Mike in dismay; “what have the poor byes done widout me to give them suggistions?”

“They have done a good deal better than had ye been wid them,” replied his mother; “being ye have delayed so long, it’s best ye bide at home.”

With a start Mike looked at her, but the twinkle in her blue eyes showed from which parent the son inherited most of his waggishness.

“I must be off,” said he, springing to his feet. He would have been out of the house the next minute had not