They were lingering in the cabin as they usually did after lunch. “And the dishes not washed, either,” Brent added. This kind of talk always nettled yet amused Tom. “It may be days and days, if he comes at all,” he said. “Well, we’re having a good time of it, aren’t we?” “Watchful waiting,” mused Brent. “What do you say we go fishing this afternoon, Tommy? I’m getting tired of bacon.” “Suits me,” said Tom. “Here comes the kid again,” said Brent. Someone was approaching the cabin with quick steps. Presently there was a brisk knock on the door. “Come in, Spiffy,” said Brent. The door opened and a stranger entered. He was evidently the person whose back Tom had seen on a previous occasion. He showed neither hesitancy nor embarrassment; indeed, his entrance and briskly cordial bearing bespoke one who had nothing to explain or conceal. He was a young man of athletic build, certainly not more than thirty years of age. He had replaced his lost hat with another one, and under the edge of this the campers could see a profusion of bushy gray hair. Clearly he was gray long before his time. He wore a lumberjack sweater of bizarre design, khaki trousers, and gaiters laced up to his knees. His general appearance of an out-of-doors man was somewhat modified by the rimless nose glasses which he wore. Since Tom knew that he was not a Scout official, he was led (not a little by the glasses perhaps) to suspect that he might be a young army officer. Though, to be sure, there was no better reason for hitting upon this supposition than that combination of a rather studious and intellectual appearance and semi-military costume with his self-possessed outdoor manner. He had not exactly an air of authority. Yet he did have a certain breezy assurance about him which somehow (to Tom at least) suggested the officer class of the army. At all events, for the first moment or two our campers seemed at a disadvantage. “Excuse me,” said the stranger briskly; “you camping here?” “Looks that way,” said Brent. “You haven’t seen anybody around in here examining trees?” Tom shook his head. “I think I saw you before, didn’t I?” he added. “Yes?” the stranger asked curiously. “Down in--near our car?” “Oh, did you? Yes, I looked in there one day; in fact, I bunked there overnight. All right, I suppose?” “Sure enough,” said Tom, somewhat relieved by this frank declaration; “I thought you saw me that day.” “No. I’m in the conservation service; checking up on trees around here; I sleep anywhere I happen to be,” the visitor said briskly. “I was on the watch for a telephone gang; you’ve got to get them red-handed, you know; they work at night. They need an extra pole or so, and findings is keepings. You’ve got some pretty rotten looking trees around here.” “They don’t belong to us,” said Brent. “You expecting them to chop some trees around here?” Tom asked, with increasing interest. “Well, I did; but I guess they know I’m around.”