He found some ointment in the provision cabin and rubbed his ankle until his arm was tired. Then he bandaged it and went to bed in one of the comfortable cot-beds in the pavilion. Early in the morning he was up and glad to find that he could stand upon his injured foot without pain. The sun was streaming in through the window which he had thrown open, and its cheerful brightness drove away any lingering misgivings which he might have had about Roscoe's or his own reception in Bridgeboro. He donned an old suit of his own which, though faded, was free from tears. "It's all right now; everything's all right now," he said; "he's registered by now, and to-morrow night I'll show up at troop meeting and they can kid me and say I was afraid to stay and go on the platform--I don't care. I know I hit the right trail. Let 'em call me queer if they want to." He made breakfast for himself with a pocketful of loose coffee which he had brought down from the mountain and some canned meat which he found in the provision cabin. Then he hit up through the grove for the road which would take him into the village of Leeds, where he could catch the trolley line for Catskill Landing. "That was a good job, anyway," he said to himself, as he limped steadily along; "I bet Mr. Bent was glad---- Gee, it must be fine to have a father like that!..." The birds were chattering in the trees along the roadside; hard by a little herd of lazy cows stood in a swamp under a spreading willow like statues of content; now and again an agile chipmunk ran along the stone wall and disappeared into one of its little rocky caverns; in the fields beyond farm hands with great straw hats could be seen at their labors, reminding poor Tom of his own sorry bungling as a war farmer; and the whole tranquil scene was filled with the breath of spring, which entered the soul of Tom Slade as he limped steadily along, and made him feel happy and satisfied. "Anyway, this is just as good--just as good as being on a committee," he told himself; "I always liked the country best of all, anyway--I always said I did. The scout trail takes you to good places--that's one sure thing." Presently he passed a bend in the road and discovered some distance ahead of him a figure--evidently that of a youth--trudging along under the weight of a tremendous old-fashioned valise which he carried now in one hand, now in the other, and now again on his shoulder. In the intervals of changing he laid the valise on the ground, pausing in evident relief. At length, he sat down on a rock, and as Tom approached he screwed up his face in a rueful grin. It was an extraordinary face and such a grin as Tom had never seen before--a grin which made even the scout smile look like drooping despair by comparison. And as for freckles, there were as many of them as there are stars in the peaceful heaven. "Too much for you?" asked Tom, as he paused by the rock.