But it was not Vic Norris who was hurt; it was Skinny. He would not, he could not, tell them the truth. He must live in the shadow of their cruel thoughts. Mr. Ellsworth, scoutmaster of the troop, arrived in camp on Friday for the week end, and tried to smooth over the difficulty. But Skinny would not tell him why he had made his astonishing offer to the departed Helmer Clarkson. Nor would he say why he would not wear his scout suit. He was as stubborn as a little mule in those matters. Mr. Ellsworth told the Elks that they would just have to take Skinny as they found him, that there was no explaining him. He reminded them that at all events they had the canoe, and the white pennant. So they took Skinny as they found him, and they found him different. He seemed worried and preoccupied, and took little interest in the patrol. They never asked him to wear his scout suit and he continued to be, what he had always been in camp, an odd little figure in a faded blouse. Those in the Bridgeboro troop who were most discerning noticed how he seemed always in fear. But when they made fun of him, as they were wont to do at camp-fire, he smiled bashfully in the same old way and was delightfully ill at ease. He occasionally went out in the prize canoe with scouts of his patrol and sat wedged into one end like a funny little figurehead. You would never have dreamed that he was the boy who had won that trim craft which skimmed so lightly in the water. But he seemed to appreciate being taken out in it. Perhaps after all it was not Skinny who had won the canoe. It was the frenzied and despairing soul of Skinny which had done that. Anyway, they often took him out in it and he sat very still and upright as he was told to do. The Elks soon lost the white pennant; a scout in a Vermont troop walked away with it one night during Vic Norris' watch, so Vic had two black eyes in a way of speaking. Bert McAlpin tried to get it back and was caught red-handed. Then Connie himself tried and got a good laugh from the Vermonters. Skinny was not particularly interested in these attempts; he was too much worried about Danny to concern himself with patrol exploits. He saw Danny every day and occasionally spoke with him, but they were not much together. The terrible thing that Danny was doing made Skinny afraid of him; he stood in awe of such daring and effrontery. As for Danny, he was not in the least troubled. On the very day of his arrival he hiked to Catskill, keeping off the highway, and sent a telegram collect, in the name of Temple Camp, advising the father of Danville Bently that his son would be expected on August Second. Having come safely through the formality of enrollment, no embarrassing questions were asked him and indeed he had no further intercourse with the management. Temple Camp is a big place and he was soon absorbed in its life. Nobody cared where he lived or anything else about him; they were all too busy with scouting.