became true scouts, eager to learn all the little wrinkles of life in the open.

The tents were soon erected. There were just two of these; and as this was apt to make it rather crowded, the guides had offered to sleep outside except on any real stormy nights. They were hardened to the weather, and thought little of such a small matter.

Of course Giraffe looked after making the fireplace, for he would not hear of anybody else having anything to do with that part of the programme. And Thad generally let the tall scout have his own way about this one matter; he fancied that it might keep Giraffe out of mischief; as well as employ his time, and save the guides considerable work.

And Giraffe certainly did extract more pleasure in making a fine cooking fire than any one Thad had ever seen. After supper was done he usually insisted on having a rousing camp-fire, around which they could sit with hands clasped about their knees; or else lie in comfortable attitudes on their several blankets, while they coaxed the guides to tell them stories of the woods, and the big animals they had come in contact with during the years spent in serving hunting parties on the trail of deer and moose.

Jim and Eli did about all the talking, for it was difficult to get Sebattis to say anything about his experiences; though every one just knew the old Indian must be “as full of thrilling yarns as an egg is of meat,” as Step Hen put it.

Thad and Allan meanwhile had taken their rods, and set to work trying to coax the shy trout to bite the bait they offered them. Both boys were good fishermen, and had had considerable experience in the ways of the speckled beauties; so that in the end they succeeded in getting a pretty mess of the trout, enough to give them a fine feast that evening.

One of the guides was set to work cleaning the fish even before the boys stopped taking them in; and about the time the sun sank out of sight in the west, a most delicious odor began to arise, that Giraffe sniffed, with his eyes glistening; for this was the first mess of trout they had caught on this expedition.

Later on the whole of them sat around the fire, and enjoyed one of the most tasty dishes ever placed before a hungry boy—fresh brook trout, rolled in cracker crumbs, and done to a turn in hot grease extracted from several pieces of salt pork.

“Only hope we get a few more chances to feast on this thing before the season’s up, or the cold drives the trout into winter quarters,” remarked Giraffe, as he heaved a sigh of regret because the pan was now empty—for eight hungry people it was of course necessary to use both large skillets, and even then the supply never exceeded the demand.

“But why should we bother our heads about the season, when we’re away up here, and with no one to know what we’re doing?” demanded Step Hen.

“That’s just it, Step Hen,” replied Thad, who seemed to think the question was intended for him; “we’re Boy Scouts, and when we joined the organization every one of us subscribed to certain rules, twelve in number, you remember. Could you repeat those twelve cardinal principles of the scouts for me right now, Step Hen?”

The boy addressed turned a little red in the face; while the two Maine guides listened intently, evidently very much interested. Sebattis did not seem to pay the least attention to what was going on; though that may just have been his way. These Indian guides have a habit of hearing, when nobody expects it.

“Oh! sure, I can,” Step Hen made answer, cheerfully enough.

“Then please let us hear them,” continued Thad.

“Well,” the scout went on to say, as if he easily knew the list by heart; “he promises to the best of his ability to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful to others, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient to his superiors, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.”

“All right, Step Hen,” the scoutmaster remarked, “the great State of Maine trusts us. We’ve taken out licenses to shoot, up here. We’re entitled to a certain number of deer, and one moose apiece. And in accepting these favors we virtually agreed to refrain from breaking the laws. Can a scout be trustworthy who deliberately breaks a law, like the killing of game, or the taking of fish out of season, when there’s no real excuse for it?”

“Well, p’raps you’re right, Thad,” grumbled the other, rather loth to see the point; “but s’pose now, I was lost in these here big pine woods, and hungry near to starving. I knew the season for trout was up, but it was a case of ‘root hog, or die,’ with poor Step Hen. Would you blame me then, if I just dropped a line to Mr. Trout and invited him to waltz into my little frying-pan?”

Thad smiled.

“There may be cases where breaking the game law is justifiable,” he remarked, “and I’m not saying otherwise. I think that would be one of them. A fellow shouldn’t be compelled to starve, with game around him, because certain men have decided that as a rule the laws ought to be made just so and so. But Step Hen, if he were really just to his better self, I believe that scout would, when he had reached a point of safety, go to a game warden, state the case, and offer to pay the fine, if it had to be imposed. I rather guess the great state of Maine would do the generous thing, and remit such a fine.”

“Well, that lets Giraffe out, I see,” remarked the still unconvinced Step Hen. “Because he’s always at the starving point.”

“All the same, boys, as true scouts, I hope none of you will bring discredit on the name of the Silver Fox Patrol by doing anything that is going to get us into trouble, in case we happen to meet a game warden. For one I’d like to look him in the eye, and feel my conscience clear,” and after that Thad changed the subject, with the hope that the weak member might, when he had digested all that had been said, see the thing in its best light.

“There’s one thing we don’t want to forget,” Thad remarked later on, as some of the boys began to manifest a desire for a little “rough house” time.

“What’s that, Thad?” asked Allan, though doubtless he could already give a fair guess as to what the reply was going to be, since he had seen signs of a frown on the forehead of the scoutmaster when the noise broke out.

“We mustn’t forget,” said Thad, “that right now we’re on the border of the big game country, and any time we’re apt to run across signs of deer and moose. Now, when hunters who know their business go into the wilderness, they don’t kick up a row, and make all sorts of a racket that would tell the timid woods’ folks a delegation of town people had invaded their haunts. If they did, they’d not be apt to find Mr. Moose within twenty miles. How about that, Allan?”

“You’re right, Thad,” replied the Maine boy, smiling. “Most of the deer hunters are what we call still hunters. They look for their game, and creep up on it from the leeward side, with the wind coming from the deer. There is no dog chasing deer allowed in the state, or in New York, any longer; so the noise and excitement is all gone. And in a noisy camp you’ll find mighty few deer taken. It’s the quiet, earnest fellows who succeed in getting the game up here.”

“You hear that, scouts,” said Thad, pleasantly. “We want game the worst kind, as well as to overtake that gentleman who is ahead of us, and whose trail we’re now following. So if you please, we’ll dispense with the usual bugle blasts, and the horse play, while in camp here. Let’s have a jolly good time, which I believe is possible among boys, without wrestling, and singing, and rough play. Am I right, Step Hen,