“The scouts have got twelve laws”—Tom counted them off on his fingers identifying them briefly—“_trustworthy_, _loyal_, _helpful_, _friendly_, _courteous_, _kind_, _obedient_ (get that), _cheerful_, _thrifty_, _brave_, _clean_, _reverent_. There’s nothing in any one of them about swimming and jumping or climbing. You can’t run when you stalk because if you run you’re not stalking. Billy’s a new chap in this town and I intended to take him up to Temple Camp and watch all the different troops scramble for him. Well, he’s got to lay off and take it easy; I say he can do that, too.” “You got a doctor up there?” Doctor Brent asked. “You bet, he’s a mighty fine chap, too.” Doctor Brent paused, cogitating. “I don’t see any reason why he couldn’t go up there,” he said finally. “You’d give your word——” “He’ll give _his_ word, that’s better,” said Tom. “Probably it will do him good,” said the doctor. “I don’t want anybody up there to know I have heart trouble,” said Wilfred. “I don’t want them to think I’m a sick feller.” “You’re not _sick_,” said his mother. “Well, anyway, I don’t want them to know,” Wilfred persisted petulantly. “Well, they don’t have to know,” said Tom. “I’ll get you started on some of the easy-going stuff—stalking’s about the best thing—and signaling maybe—and pretty soon they’ll all be eating out of your hand. You leave it to me.” “Well then,” said the doctor, “I think that would be about the best thing for him. And as long as he’s going away and going to make a definite promise before he goes, we might as well make it hard and fast—definite. That’s the best way when dealing with a boy, isn’t it, Mrs. Cowell? Suppose we say one month. If he keeps thinking all the time about doing things he’s promised not to do, the country won’t do him much good. So we’ll say he’s to keep from running and swimming and diving and climbing and all such things for a month, and not even to think about them. Then on the first of August he’s to go and ask that doctor up there whether he can—maybe swim a little and so forth. Understand?” “Yes, sir,” said Wilfred. “And do just exactly what he says.” “Yes, sir.” “He’s there most of the time,” said Tom. “Sometimes he’s fussing with his boat over at Catskill.” “Well, wherever he is,” said Doctor Brent, winking aside at Tom, “you go to him on the first of August and tell him I said for him to let you know if it’s all right for you to liven up a little. Go to him before that if you don’t feel good.” “I won’t because I don’t want any one to know I’m going to a doctor,” said Wilfred. “Leave it to me,” said Tom reassuringly. “May we come up and see him?” Arden asked. “You tell ’em you may,” said Tom.