"That is the truth, Hervey. One wrong always produces another. You were disobedient and insubordinate, and that led to--what?" Hervey gulped, but whether in shame or remorse or what, Mr. Denny could not make out, He was to know presently. "It led to shirking, whether intentional or not. And to-night, because there is no train, you are going to sleep in the camp which you deserted. You will, perhaps, row on the lake which others have saved for you. You see it now in its true light, don't you? You had better go and thank Blakeley and his comrade for what they did, if you have any real feeling for the camp." "I----" "Don't speak. Nothing you could say would make a difference, Hervey. I know from Mr. Carroll and his boys where you showed up. I know they found you clinging to one of the stage horses. I was there later and saw you. You might have been plunged into that chasm with all the rest of them and been crushed to pieces, if one of those scouts hadn't gone ahead, as he was _told_ to do, and if he hadn't kept his mind on what he had been _told_ to do, instead of disregarding his scoutmaster and----" He paused, for Hervey was shaking perceptibly. He watched the boy curiously. Should he go on with this thing and see it through? He summoned his resolution. "No, Hervey, as I said, I have written to your father. I have said nothing against you, only that you are too much for me here, where my responsibility is great. I want you to get your things together and take the train in the morning. We'll expect to see you when we come home. There is no hard feeling, Hervey. When we come home you're going to start all over again, my boy, and learn the thing right. You----" With a kind of spasmodic effort Hervey raised his head and, with a pride there was no mistaking, looked his scoutmaster straight in the face. He was trembling visibly. If there was any contrition in his countenance, Mr. Denny did not see it. He was quite taken aback with the fine show of spirit which his young delinquent showed. There was even a dignity in the old cap with its holes and badges, as it sat perched on the side of his head. There was a touch of pathos, even of dignity too, in his fallen stocking. "I--I--wouldn't stay here--now--I wouldn't--I--not even if you _asked_ me--I wouldn't. I wouldn't even if you--if you got down on your knees and begged me----" "Hervey, my boy----" "No, I won't listen. I--I wouldn't stay even _to-night_--I wouldn't. Do you think I need a train? I--I can hike to Jonesville, can't I? You say I'm--I'm no scout--Tom Slade he said----" "Hervey----" "I don't--anyhow--I don't care anything about the rest of them. I wouldn't stay even for supper. Even if you--if you apologized--I wouldn't----" "Apologize? Why, Hervey----" "For what you said--called me--I wouldn't. I don't give a--a--damn--I don't--for all the people here--only except one--and I wouldn't stay if you got down on your knees and begged me--I wouldn't----"