"Danny," she began again presently and in that new voice, "you won't _do_ this way--you _will not_!" And then suddenly a white, jewelled hand was struck fiercely upon the table, and the new voice exclaimed passionately: "Daniel Harding, if you sit around and cry like a baby when you are called to the service of your country, I'll--I'll _disown_ you, sir!" "Mother!" And Danny sprang to her arms. There were a few moments of sobbing, laughing confession from Danny, and then his mother explained to him her unexpected change of attitude toward scouting. Danger?--yes, of course she knew that this might involve danger to him, but this call was for no frolic--it was to the service of his country! He _was_ her all, everything in the world to her, but the one thing which she could not, would not bear would be to see him turn "slacker" and coward when other mothers' boys--not ten years older than Danny--were already on the firing-line in France! "Our part in this war is the old fight of '76, Danny"--she said to him--"_nothing less than that_! The Colonists fought to win independence for America. We are fighting now to save that independence won. And if it takes every man in America--every boy in America--if it takes _you_, Danny--there is just one answer for an American to give." And then the two of them hurriedly finished tying up the bundle she had put aside. It was his kit for the expedition! It was a newer, bigger ideal of patriotism which Danny Harding took with him into his service on Death Head Mountain. His mother, who loved him all too well, had yet sent him from her with nothing short of her positive orders to do his duty like a man. * * * * * The Whippoorwill Patrol had answered the call to service, and the growing dusk found its members arranging their camp for a night's bivouac in a lonely stretch of woods "somewhere" on the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The Scout Master had not come, but his orders had, and the Whippoorwills were busily engaged in executing them. "Camp in Mica Cove, conceal your fires, and wait for me," the Scout Master had telegraphed. "You are called to service." So here they were in Mica Cove, hardily preparing for whatever service to their country it might be theirs to perform, and excitedly guessing at what ominous circumstance had necessitated their sudden calling out. Of course, everybody knew that old "Death Head" must have come into some added evil repute, and would have to be taken in hand. And that they would shortly be scouting over all its lonely trails nobody had any doubt whatever. There were eight of them, for the whole patrol was present. Youngest and happiest of them all was the pink-cheeked, petted tenderfoot, Danny Harding. He was no "slacker," no "coward"! He was here with the others to play a manly part in serving his country, and his mother had sent him from her with a smile!