“It was no credit to me to swim back,” said Wilfred; “I had to or else drown. Call it one mile—you can’t call it two.” “You make me tired!” laughed Wig. “Why, that was farther than across Black Lake and back. Were you tired?” “No, just wet,” said Wilfred. “You’re a wonder!” said Wig; “I don’t see why you don’t keep in practise. Just because you don’t live near the ocean any more—_gee whiz_! Is a mile the most you ever swam? I bet you’ve done a whole lot of things you’ve never told us about. You’re one of those quiet, deliver-the-goods fellows.” “C. O. D.” said Wilfred; “I mean F. O. B.; I mean N. O. T.” “_Yeees_, you can’t fool me,” said Wig. “How far have you sw——” “Swum, swimmed, swam?” laughed Wilfred, amused. “Well, about two and a half miles—maybe three.” “More like four, I bet,” said Wig. “Why don’t you go in now, anyway? I mean up here at camp.” “It’s because my shoe-lace is broken and it’s too much trouble unfastening a knot more than once a day.” “There’s where you give yourself away,” laughed Wig. “Because you can tie and untie every knot in the handbook.” “Yes, but this one isn’t in the handbook, it’s in my shoe.” “Oh, is that so? Well, this bunch is going to know about your swimming.” “A scout isn’t supposed to talk behind another fellow’s back,” laughed Wilfred. “I’d like to know when else I can talk about you,” Wig demanded. “You’re never here, you’re always out walking with that what’s-his-name.” “We’re studying the manners and customs of caterpillars and spiders,” said Wilfred. “Do you know that caterpillars can’t swim?” “Some naturalist,” laughed Wig. “You make me laugh, you do. Even the single eye is laughing at you—look.” Wilfred sat up on the grass and stared at a small, white banner which flew from a pole that was painted just outside the Ravens’ cabin. In the center of this banner was painted an eye which, as the emblem fluttered in the breeze, presented an amusing effect of winking. The ground around the pole was carpeted with dry twigs for an area of several yards, and this area was forbidden ground even to the Ravens. They might throw dry twigs within it and even extend its boundaries, but never under any circumstances might a Raven draw upon its tempting contents for fire-wood. One could not step upon those telltale twigs without causing a crackling sound. The Emblem of the Single Eye was sacred. “I never heard the whole history of that,” said Wilfred, gazing at the little emblem in a way of newly awakened but yet idle curiosity. “That’s because you’re never around long enough for us to talk to you,” Wig shot back. “Thank you for those kind words,” said Wilfred. “I mean it,” Wig persisted. “We’re prouder of that little rag than of anything in our patrol and I bet you don’t know the story of its past.” “It’s not ashamed to look me in the eye anyway,” said Wilfred. “I bet it has an honorable past; explain all that.”