proved how deeply Lakeville's first and only high school had stirred the little village and the country roundabout.

As Molly looked over the young people grouped at the door or watching the game of "work-up," she recognized not only every Lakeville boy and girl of high school age, but as many more from farms and villages within ten miles. By automobiles, by train, a-wheel and on pony-back, they had gathered for the opening session. Peter Barrett, his patched suit neatly brushed and pressed, stood by his father's farm wagon; ten yards away, Royal Sheffield, son of the wealthy, real estate man of Charlesboro, was just climbing from a new eight-cylinder car. "Buck" Claxton, who for the past two years had worked at the local flour mill, was playing a noisy game at first base, while on the side-lines, Clarence Prissler, his nose out of a book for once, was explaining the fine points of the sport to Marion Genevieve Chester, who tilted her nose, smoothed her hair, and looked very bored.

But the Boy Scouts of the Black Eagle Patrol were neither watching from the side-lines nor bored. Heart and soul, they were playing the game, from Specs McGrew, taking a lead off third, to Bunny Payton, thumping the palm of his catching glove with his other hand and signaling to Bi Jones, out in the pitcher's box. Handling the bat itself, Roundy Magoon waved the stick back and forth, while Bi, with maddening slowness, made ready to pitch.

"Hurry it up!" shouted Bunny. "This fellow is as good as gone, and I want a crack at the ball before the bell rings."

Herbert Zane, whose nickname of "Spick and Span" had been shortened to "S. S.", was creeping as far off first as he dared, with an occasional glance at his clothes, as if wondering whether or not it would pay to risk the gorgeousness of a brand new suit by sliding into second.

"Let the next one go!" he called to Roundy, apparently having made up his mind that it would be better to wallow in the dust, and thus perch on second, than be forced out or made the victim of a double play.

Roundy nodded. Very likely, too, he intended to do just that thing. But the ball floated over so slowly, so tantalizing "right", that at the very last instant he swung hard enough to drive it over all the roofs of Lakeville. But Bi had put his muscle into the heave, and Roundy had started his swing a fraction of a second too late. Though all his stout body went into the blow, only the handle of the bat made connection, and the ball hit in front of the plate and dribbed toward first.

Like a flash, Bunny leaped forward, scooped it up, tagged Roundy before that slow-moving youth had stirred into full action, and, with a bluff toward Specs, pegged to second.

It was a good throw, although high, and Jump Henderson took it with one of his old circus leaps, touching S. S., who slid nobly but too late, and relaying the ball back to Bunny in time to prevent Specs from making an attempt to score.

"Don't mind me! I'm nobody!" Specs howled mournfully, scampering back to third; while Roundy and S. S. trotted out to the field, Buck Claxton stepped into the pitcher's box, Nap Meeker put on the catcher's glove, and Bi and Bunny came in to bat.

"Leave me here," wailed Specs. "That's right! Leave me here! I'm having a lot of fun on this base. Yes, I am! I've watched eight of you fan or hit pop-ups or easy grounders; and here I am waiting yet."

"You won't be there long, Specs," Bunny promised cheerfully, picking up the bat.

"That's what they all say," Specs growled. "But nobody brings me in."

"Nobody will bring you in, either, old socks," observed Nap. "You're licked in this war. All right, Buck. Give him one right here."

The ball was shoulder high. Too eager to wait for a good one, Bunny swung lustily, managing to foul it off over Nap's head, past the Sefton automobile and across the road, where the ball lodged under the high fence of the Anvers yard.

"Tell my folks to send my dinner out here," groaned Specs, plumping himself down on third base and burying his head between his knees.

It was just as Nap started after the lost ball that Bunny spied the car with Molly and Rodman in the rear seat.

"Oh, Bunny!" shouted Molly.

A moment later, the new boy and the leader of the Black Eagles had formally shaken hands.

"And he can pass the tenderfoot tests, and he's awfully good at athletics, and—"

"But I'm not any good at athletics," protested Rodman, laughing. "I'm no good at all in that sort of thing."

"He's just too modest to say so. You ought to have seen how he saved the kitten."

"Have you ever played baseball?" demanded Bunny suddenly.

"Sure—a little. But I'm no good. I can't bat decently, or catch or field."

Bunny held out his bat. "Come on over and take my place," he invited. "I doubt if I can hit Buck, and poor old Specs has been perched on third for hours. Everybody who comes to bat knocks a baby grounder or a pop-up or something, and Specs stays right there."

"All right, Bunny!" Nap broke in, crossing back to the school yard with the ball.

Molly dropped her hand on Rodman's arm. "Go and try," she urged. "I know you can do it."

"Hurry up, Bunny! Pretty near time for the bell!" Nap flung over his shoulder.

Rodman was plainly wavering. "But—but—"

"Try it, anyhow."

"Oh, you must!" Molly commanded.

The new boy climbed out of the car, smiling. "I'm no good, but I'll give you a chance to see just how bad I am."

"This Claxton," Bunny confided, as they jogged to the diamond, "pitches a hard ball, and he has a sure-enough out-curve; but if you stand up to the plate and don't let him bluff you back, it will be all right. Remember, though, you have only two strikes left."

From the car, Molly watched Rodman and Bunny join the others. For a little while, there seemed to be some objection to Rodman's substituting, but Buck Claxton ended the argument.

"Let him come to bat," observed Buck loudly. "He can't hit. I can see it in his eye."

"I'll bet he can't," assented Specs sadly. "None of 'em can."

Rodman touched the plate with his bat. Buck wound up with an exaggerated movement to deliver the pitch. It was a hard, straight ball, with just the hint of a drop in it, but the bat met it over the very center of the plate.

Spang!

The ball was off like a shot; off and up and over the fielder's head in center, till it struck a tree twenty yards beyond and rolled and bounded to the left.

Specs loafed in from third, and before the fielder had finished juggling with the ball, the red-headed boy had rounded the three bases and touched home. Then, while Specs was slapping Rodman on the back, and a little scattered applause was rising from the crowd, the school bell added its share to the celebration.

"He's a dandy!" chuckled Bunny enthusiastically, as Molly met him hurrying to the building. "He's going to be a Black Eagle, all right."

"Won't that be fine!" agreed Molly, quite as pleased as though she were a Scout herself.

And that was the way the new-comer to Lakeville High School—the new high school that would never have been built if it had not been for the Black Eagle Patrol—began his first day.