Dale's lips twitched again, but he made no further comment as they hurried along Main Street and turned in beside the church. It was with very different feelings from the last time that he entered the parish-house, hung up his cap, and joined one of the groups gathered in the meeting-room. He was still the only one present without a uniform, but to-night he wore his best suit, his hair was smooth and glistening, and he could almost see himself in the brilliant polish of his shoes. It all helped to increase his poise and the feeling of self-confidence his knowledge of the drill had given him. Mr. Curtis was away that night, and Wesley Becker was in charge. The assistant scoutmaster was perfectly capable of conducting the meeting, but being only a year or two older than many of the boys, it was inevitable that discipline should tend to relax slightly. There were no serious infractions, of course; the fellows, as a whole, were too well trained and too much in earnest for that. But now and then a suppressed snicker followed the utterance of a whispered jest, and Wesley had occasionally to repeat his orders before they were obeyed with the snap and precision that invariably followed the commands of Mr. Curtis. Dale was not one of the offenders, if such they could be called. In the beginning he was too intent on going through the newly acquired evolutions of the drill to have much thought for anything else. Later on, the behavior of Ranny Phelps took all his attention. The leader of Wolf patrol was far from being in the best of humors. Perhaps the events of the afternoon had soured his temper; or possibly the mere sight of Tompkins standing erect at the end of the line made him realize that his efforts to put the tenderfoot in his place had been more or less of a failure. At any rate, when staves were distributed and the drill commenced, he at once renewed his nagging, critical attacks of the week before. For a time Dale tried not to notice it, trusting that his careful, accurate execution of the manoeuvers would in itself be enough to still the unjust criticism. But presently he began to realize that Phelps was deliberately blind to his improvement, and a touch of angry color crept into his face. In the next figure he made a minor slip, and a snicker from Wilks increased Dale's irritation. "Take your time, Tompkins, by all means," urged Phelps, sarcastically, when Becker ordered a repetition of the movement. "Maybe by the end of the evening you'll be able to do one of the figures half-way right."