“Not unless you’re really interested,” said Wig with just a suggestion of annoyance in his tone. “If the Ravens are prouder of that than of anything they’ve got,” said Wilfred soberly, “then I am too. I’m a Raven and I’m proud of it.” “Why don’t you tell the fellows, then?” “I didn’t know how—I mean—I—how do I know they want me to tell them that? Don’t they know it?” “No, they don’t know it,” said Wig, “because they’re not mind-readers. And I’ll tell you something _you_ don’t know too. They’re proud of you. They know you’re going to do wonders when you once get started, and they think they’ve got the laugh on every troop here because you’re in our patrol. You bet they’re proud of you, only, gee whiz, you don’t give them a chance to get acquainted with you. Pee-wee says that back in Bridgeboro he saw you throw a ball and hit a slender tree seven times in succession. Why don’t you tell the fellows you can do things like that?” “Why don’t you tell me the story about that white flag?” Wilfred laughed. “I will if you want to hear it,” said Wig. CHAPTER IX THE EMBLEM OF THE SINGLE EYE “We took that little old banner early last summer,” said Wig; “and we’re the only patrol that ever kept it over into another season.” “What do you mean ‘_we took it_’?” Wilfred asked. “Well then, _I_ took it, if you want to be so particular,” said Wig. “But I represented the patrol, didn’t I?” “I don’t know—did you?” “You’d better stick around and learn something about patrol spirit,” said Wig. “If one scout in a patrol does a thing it’s the same as if they all do it.” “Then I’ve been eating three helpings of dessert at every meal so far,” Wilfred observed. “That’s what little Harris does. I’ll be getting indigestion from the way he eats if I don’t look out.” “I have to laugh at you,” said Wig, “but just the same you know what I mean.” “Yes, you bet I do,” Wilfred agreed. “You’ll see how it is, it’s always the patrol,” said Wig. “You do the stunt, we all get the honor—see?” “And you did the stunt?” Wilfred asked. “Well, yes, if you want to look at it that way——” “I want to look at it the right way,” Wilfred said earnestly. “All right; well then, suppose you—you’re a fine swimmer——” “There you go again; I never——” “All right, suppose you should win the big swimming contest on August tenth——” “When?” “On August tenth—Mary Temple Day. You know her, don’t you?” “I don’t know anybody,” Wilfred said wistfully. “Well, you know Mr. John Temple founded this camp, don’t you? Well, she’s his daughter. He lost a son by drowning once, so that’s why he says every fellow should be a good swimmer. August tenth is Mary Temple’s birthday and she’s seventeen and she’s a mighty nice looking girl—yellow hair——” “A scout is observant,” said Wilfred. “Now there’s one thing about scouting I’ve learned.”