either, because in my mind there’s nothing like those old tunes, so full of harmony. But drop around and see us, to-night or any night. We hope to be here a week or ten days longer.”

Mr. Stebbins went around and shook hands with every one of the four boys. He was rather a different looking Mr. Stebbins from the angry-browed farmer with a grievance who strode into their camp earlier in the afternoon. And somehow the influence of these healthy boys had seemed to make him more human.

After he had gone, turning to wave to them ere he passed around the bend to follow the lane leading up to his own farmhouse, the scouts started in the direction of the camp.

When they arrived they were met with a multitude of questions from those who had not been so fortunate as to go on the tracking expedition. The story was soon told, for there was not much to it; still, it seemed to most of them that this coming of the angry farmer was a good beginning to their outing.

“Our first day in camp,” remarked Billy Worth, as he assisted in getting supper ready, “and already we’ve had two adventures. The signs look good for a real lively time of it up here, seems to me.”

Others were thinking along similar lines. Indeed, it did seem as though the members of the Wolf Patrol always did manage to be on hand when anything worth while was taking place. At least it had been their good luck to be connected with quite a number of lively episodes worth keeping a record of.

When a party of fun-loving boys have gone into camp there is always more or less humor abounding. High spirits are the rule, and everything is taken in the light of a joke.

As they sat around and discussed that evening meal, with the three dun-colored tents lending an air of business to the scene, as viewed in the light of the crackling campfire, the utmost hilarity ruled the hour.

The camp cooks had done their work with credit, and were loudly praised; though possibly there was a method in this flattery, since hopes were entertained that it might induce the officiating cooks to keep on trying to excel one another.

Just about the time they had finished everything in sight in the way of cooked food, and Bud Morgan was trying to squeeze one of the two coffeepots in the hope of extracting a few more drops of the beloved amber fluid, Harold Tremaine, who chanced to be on his feet at the time, sang out:

“Visitors coming, fellows! No, there’s only one, it seems, and I declare if it isn’t our friend the farmer!”

“And he’s got some sort of basket along with him, too!” ejaculated Billy Worth, unconsciously rubbing the pit of his stomach in anticipation; for if the truth must be told, Billy was very fond of eating, and his first thought seemed to be that possibly the grateful farmer might be going to donate something worth while to their stock of edibles.

“Glad to see you, Mr. Stebbins!” called out Hugh. “Move along there, fellows, and make room for our visitor on that log. I invited him to drop in and see us any time he found the chance, and that we would let him hear some of our songs. Mr. Stebbins used to be something of a singer himself long ago; so we’ll expect you to do your level best for Oakvale High.”

“I fotched yeou over a few dozen o’ fresh aigs,” exclaimed the farmer. “’Tain’t much after haow yeou helped me so fine tew git my herd back this arternoon; but the missus she thought as yeou mout enjy knowin’ they was all laid sense yist’day.”

“That’s splendid of you, Mr. Stebbins,” Hugh told him as he saw the clean eggs in the basket, snuggled in some hay; “and if only you’d take pay for them——”

“Stop right there, Mr. Hardy,” interrupted the other, raising his hand in expostulation, “we hain’t a-sellin’ them aigs, remember. They’s a free-will offerin’ from the Stebbins, and I want tew say I’m right glad I had a chanct tew meet up with yeou to-day. I kinder looks on boys a bit different, and I guess they’s some truth in what I heard ’baout this scout business amakin’ ’em act like they never used tew do ten years back.”

“Then thank your good wife for the Boy Scouts of Oakvale Troop, will you, Mr. Stebbins?” said Hugh. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy eating such fine eggs. We brought a few with us, but even now they’re nearly all gone.”

“Mebbe if so be them Eyetalian strikers doan’t wring the necks o’ my dominick fowls some night, when they’re aprowlin’ araound lookin’ for food, they might be more o’ the same kind acomin’ this way from my coops.”

Apparently Mr. Stebbins had been impressed by the behavior and cordial ways of the scouts more than any of them had suspected. Here he was opening his heart to them in a way that would have amazed those of his neighbors who had known him all his life as perhaps a close-fisted tiller of the soil. Hugh hugged to his heart the conviction that it paid to make a friend out of one who seemed inclined to be an enemy.

Mr. Stebbins sat down there in front of the glowing fire and listened to the lively talk that was going on. Occasionally he joined in, usually to mention some episode of his past which came up in his mind under the peculiar conditions surrounding him.

Mr. Stebbins must have been asking himself more than once whether he could be awake or simply dreaming all these things. If friends had told the crusty, grubbing old farmer a week before that he would presently be found actually wasting precious time sitting on a log by a blazing campfire, and enjoying himself to the limit listening to a pack of boys chatter and sing, he would have informed them that they were crazy.

When Hugh started the crowd singing the farmer seemed to be quivering all over with delight. Old half-forgotten memories must have awakened in his brain. Once again, perhaps, he was taking a pretty red-cheeked lass to “singin’ skewl,” and he might be even stealing a kiss on the road in the bargain.

He even joined in some of the choruses, and while there could be no doubt with regard to his good intentions, it was also a patent fact that, in the long years since Mr. Stebbins had sung, his voice had become wofully cracked. But then the boys cared nothing for that. It tickled them to see him clapping his hands to keep time with the music, and to notice how his wrinkled face fairly beamed with awakened satisfaction.

That had certainly been a day to be marked with a red cross in the life history of Uriah Stebbins; and it might be set down as certain that from that time on he would try to get closer to the hearts of boys than he had ever thought of doing before.

He could hardly tear himself away when the hour began to get late, that is, for a hard-working farmer who was at work at peep of dawn, often long before.

“I’m sure coming daown again tew see yeou, boys,” he said, as he went the rounds and squeezed a hand of every scout; “and mebbe if it’s all right I’d like tew fotch my Sally Jane along. I kinder think it would make the missus feel ten years younger if so be she could hear some o’ that fine singin’. Haow ’baout that, Mr. Hardy?”

“We’d be only too pleased to have you bring her any time, sir. And let me tell you, all of us have enjoyed this evening almost as much as you did; isn’t that so, boys?” and Hugh turned expectantly to the rest as he said this.

A chorus of approval answered him, and the old farmer went away in high spirits indeed; they even thought he stood up straighter, and walked with a more springy step than before.

“Of course we mean what we said,”