“I told you—August tenth.” “Gee whiz, I guess the bunch here think more about that little prize than they do of any award, handbook, camp or anything. Nobody awards it and makes a speech and all that stuff; it’s just a case of _let’s see you get it_.” “If they’re asleep they don’t see you get it,” said Wilfred. “Well, you know what I mean. There aren’t any rules about it at all except the patrol that has it has got to plant it _outside_ their tent or cabin, without any strings going inside or anything like that. You can fix the ground around it with natural things, like you see we did; but you can’t hang a bell on it or anything like that. Any scout that can sneak up and take it without being heard or seen, gets it. If a scout wakes up and hears any one outside he can run after him and if he catches him before the fellow reaches his own patrol, the fellow has to give up the flag. He’s not supposed to fight. Of course, sometimes they do fight and get on the outs, but they’re not supposed to. The game is to get it and reach your patrol cabin with it without being caught. It’s got to be at night, after everybody has turned in.” “How many patrols have had it?” Wilfred asked. “Oh, jiminies, maybe as many as ten, I guess. The Wildcats from Washington had it and Willetts walked away with it again about two o’clock one morning. Then a scout from Albany got it and his patrol kept it, oh, a month, I guess. Let’s see, the Eagles from St. Louis had it and the Panthers from somewhere or other had it, and, oh, a lot that I can’t remember. Then the New Haven fellows got it back again—some shouting the next day. They said it had made the round trip and was going to settle down for good where it ‘originally belonged’—you know how Yankees talk, all nice words and everything. _Originally belonged._ “Well, it was back home just seven days. Then, I woke up accidentally on purpose one fine day in the middle of the night and went down toward the lake for a walk—no shoes. There it was outside their stronghold, winking at me. The moon was up and the breeze was blowing and, honest, Billy, it was winking at me, that one eye. I sneaked up so quietly on my hands and knees that it took me about half an hour to go five yards; you’d think I belonged in the Snail patrol.” “And you got it?” Wilfred asked. “There it is, winking at me,” said Wig proudly. Wilfred raised himself lazily to a sitting posture observing the coveted and much traveled emblem of scout stealth and prowess. That single eye did seem to be winking at him. “It knows me. I come from Connecticut,” he said. Then he acknowledged its fraternal salute with a whimsical wink of his own. “I bet you’re proud of it,” Wig observed. “I wonder what it means, eyeing me up like that,” Wilfred said. “It means you’re one of us,” said Wig, with pride and friendship in his voice. “Thanks,” said Wilfred. “And I bet you’re proud of that banner, too.”