Hastily tucking his letter into its envelope, Jim noiselessly trailed Roger to the top of the hill. Looking down, they beheld a most remarkable sight. Back and forth in the hollow, for a distance of about twenty feet, marched, or rather pranced, Ignace. His shoulders rigidly forced back by means of a long stick, thrust under his arms, he was giving an exhibition of high stepping that would have filled Bob with joy. Lifting first one foot, then the other, to a height of at least two feet, he traversed the hollow with the airy steps of a circus pony. "Let's beat it before I howl," begged Jimmy, shaking with suppressed mirth. As stealthily as they had come, the two beat a quick retreat down the hill and out of sight of their industrious Brother, where they could have their laugh out. "I never thought he'd do it," gasped Jimmy. "We won't let him know we saw him. It would be a shame to kid him when he's so dead in earnest. But won't Bob howl? Oh, wait till I tell him!" "It was certainly rich." Roger's boyish laugh rang out afresh. "It'll do him good, though. I'll bet he keeps it up every day. He's afraid of being put in the awkward squad. I like his grit. He'll get there. Now if Bob can fix him up on the rest. We'd better be hiking, Jimmy Blazes. It must be nearly time for Retreat." "Four-thirty." Jimmy consulted a gunmetal wrist watch. "I wouldn't wear one of these at home," he added, half apologetically. "They're too girly-girly. But they're all O. K. out here." "Wish I had one." Bob eyed the little watch with approval. "I think I'll buy one when I get my first pay. It would be a great convenience." Jimmy agreed that it would. He also made mental note that he would write certain things to his mother at once. Well supplied with pocket money, he decided that he would surprise his bunkie with a present of a wrist watch long before pay-day arrived. Roger would value it doubly as a gift from a Brother. "What if poor old Iggy forgets to come out of the woods in time for Retreat?" Having now descended the slope and almost reached the company street on which their barrack was situated, Roger paused to glance anxiously back toward the woods. "Think we'd better skate back after him?" Jimmy's gaze followed Roger's. As they stared toward the woods, a familiar figure came loping down to the stump fence. Iggy was still decorated with his makeshift shoulder brace. Scrambling over the fence, the Pole stopped and laboriously divesting himself of the stick, tucked it under a projecting stump. Straightening up, he threw back his shoulders and came slowly forward, careful to lift his heavy feet well from the ground, though in a now-modified fashion.