"Huh, funny," mused Brent. "He doesn't seem to be any more at home with the Elks than when he first joined them." "He's happy," said Tom. "Thar's cowardly animals, and thar's timid animals," said old Uncle Jeb, "n' they ain't the same by no manner o' means. That thar youngster's all right, I reckon. On'y he's shy." Two of those who had lingered went away; they were silhouetted as they passed the big lighted window of Benson Dormitory, then were swallowed by the darkness. Still the trio waited by the dying fire, silent, meditative. Tom was watching a particular patch of embers as one by one little particles went out and the tiny area of red diminished. He could have stamped this out with one foot, but he took a certain idle pleasure in waiting till it vanished in the black night. "Why don't the Elks get after Skinny about his new suit?" he mused aloud. "I suppose they don't know anything about it," drawled Brent. "Hmph, poor kid," said Tom. CHAPTER II SHADOWS Tom, Brent and Uncle Jeb were not the only persons who waited that night for the camp-fire to die. All unknown to each other two boys lingered in the darkness. One was a slim little fellow with big, staring eyes, a queer gnome of a boy, who stole out of the Elks patrol cabin and stood with his gaze fixed on the dying embers, listening and eagerly waiting for the last watchers to withdraw. He intended to steal back alone and search for his precious compass. For this little trinket meant more to him than he had been willing for that hilarious company to believe. Now that he had at last achieved the glory of a real scout suit he could wear this little appurtenance dangling from his scout belt in the flaunting manner of Pee-wee Harris. In the store at Kingston he had bashfully tried this suit on (to the great amusement of his companion, Curry) and he had looked like a bolster in it. But no size seemed to fit him. Poor Skinny would never look trim. As he waited there in the darkness, watching the last faint glow of the fire, he had not a little the appearance of an hour glass, with his belt drawn so absurdly tight that his clothing seemed to bulge above and below it. The other boy who waited for the fire to die was not a scout. He sat on a rough bench up at the roadside just where the path led down through the woods into camp. Approaching along this road one reached a sign with an arrow pointing down into the woods and with the words _To Temple Camp_ printed on it. A trail wound down the wooded slope to the sprawling scout community at the lakeside. At this point where the trail left the road stood the old bench and close by it a post surmounted by a huge letter-box where the rural carrier left the camp mail.