Not a light was to be seen when they reached camp, only a few dying embers in the camp-fire clearing. Even as they glanced at the deserted spot, one, then another, of these glowing particles disappeared as if they too were retiring for the night. Out of the darkness appeared Sandwich, the camp dog, wagging his tail and pawing Wilfred’s feet, welcoming the late comers home without any sound of voice. Somewhere a katydid was humming its insistent little ditty; there was no other sound. The black lake lay in its setting of dark mountains like a great somber jewel. They talked low, for the solemn stillness seemed to impose this modulation. They paused before the main pavilion where, for one reason or another, many scouts were housed in the big dormitory. Before this was the bulletin board at which Hervey Willetts had on a memorable occasion thrown a tomato which was old enough to be treated with more respect. A pencil hung on a string from this board. Wilfred lifted it and, in obedience to the rule, wrote on a paper tacked there for such purpose, his name and that of his companion and the time of their late arrival. They had overstepped their privilege by half an hour or so, but Wilfred wrote down the correct time by his companion’s gold watch. “We could say my watch stopped,” Archie suggested hesitatingly. “Only it didn’t,” said Wilfred. “Do you want me to walk up the hill with you?” “Sure, if you’d like to.” This seemed chummy and redeemed Archie a trifle in Wilfred’s rather dubious consideration of him. They started up the hill back of the main body of the camp and entered the woods which crowned the eminence on which the three cabins of the First Bridgeboro troop were situated. “Your troop has got a pull to be up here,” said Archie. “That’s ’cause they come from where Tom Slade comes from. They get things better than the rest of the——” “_Shh!_” Wilfred whispered, stopping short and clutching his companion’s arm. “What?” gasped Archie. “Did you hear something?” “No.” “Stand still a minute,” Wilfred whispered; “_shhh_.” For a moment neither spoke nor stirred. “Look—_shh_—look at that tree,” Wilfred scarcely breathed. “Is that a big knot or what? _Shh, will you!_ I think it’s somebody behind the tree. Let’s have your flash-light Now step quietly.” The tree Wilfred had indicated was some yards distant and beyond it they could see the dark bulk of the three cabins. As they advanced, Archie felt his heart thumping like a hammer. Wilfred felt no such sensation, but it did not occur to him that perhaps his own treacherous heart was at its job again, making itself ready to be worthy of his fine spirit, ready to back him up and stand by him when the world should seem to be falling away under his feet, and the future should look black indeed.