There were individuals among the onlookers, too, watching the three patrols march out of the town that morning, who shared Toiney's primitive conceit that they were the "best scouts"; or at least fairly on the way to being a model troop. Little Jack Baldwin, gazing at his rescuers, Scouts Warren and Chase, Marcoo and Colin Estey, marching two and two at the head of the leading patrol, clapped his hands and almost burst his heart in wishing that he could be twelve years old to-morrow so that he might enlist as a tenderfoot scout. Whereupon his old grandmother smilingly bade him "take patience," for the two years which now separated him from his heart's desire would not be long in passing. And the boy scouts, as they raised their broad-brimmed hats to old Ma'am Baldwin, saw a happier look upon her face than it had ever worn before, to their knowledge. Farther on they came upon the explanation of this! They were taking a different route to-day from that which they usually followed in entering the woods. About a mile from the town they struck a partial clearing, where the land, not yet entirely relieved of timber, was evidently being gradually converted into a farm. As the scouts approached they heard the ringing strokes of a woodsman's axe, and presently came upon a perspiring young man, putting all his strength into felling a stubborn oak-tree. "Hullo, Dave; how goes it?" cried the scoutmaster, halting with his troop. "Fine!" came back the panting answer from the individual engaged in this scouting or pioneering work, who was the former _vaurien_, Dave Baldwin. "Find this better than loafing about the dunes, eh?" "Well! I should say so," came the answer with an honest smile. But the boy scouts were hardly noticing Dave Baldwin: Owls, Foxes, and Seals, they were gazing in transfixed amusement at their hero-in-chief, Captain Andy, owner of this half-cleared land. He, who in his seagoing days had been known by such flattering titles as the Grand Bank Horse, the Ocean Patrol, and the like, was seated in the midst of a half-acre of pasture land, holding on like grim death to one end of a twenty-foot rope coiled round his hand, the hemp's other extremity being hitched to the leg of a very lively red cow which presently dragged him the entire length of the pasture and then across and across it, in obedience to her feminine whims. "She'll be the death o' me, boys!" he shouted comically to the convulsed scouts. "Great Neptune! I'd rather take a vessel through the breakers on Sable Island Bar than to be tied to her heels for one day." "For pity's sake! Hold on to her, Cap!" Dave Baldwin paused in his energetic tree-felling. "Yesterday, she got into that little plowed field that I'd just seeded down with winter rye, and thrashed about there!" "Ha! I'll t'ink you go for be good _habitant_--farmer--Dave," broke in Toiney suddenly and genially. "I'll t'ink you get dere after de w'ile, engh?"