"So lazy he'd like somebody else to draw his breath for him!" said Court Parker, promptly. "Whew! What a lovely time the old man must be having--and to-morrow Thanksgiving!" As they trooped into school, the last words lingered in Dale Tompkins's mind. To-morrow would, indeed, be Thanksgiving--the day of turkey, and mince-pie, and good cheer generally. He had no more cause than the others for sympathizing with Caleb Grimstone, but somehow the mental picture of the soured old man sitting alone in his slovenly kitchen, one arm in a sling, and eating bread and milk, with perhaps a can of lukewarm tomatoes or corn, when every one else was feasting merrily in company, made him vaguely uncomfortable. He forgot it, however, in the excitement of a brisk game of land-hockey up at Sherman's that afternoon, but after supper the picture returned with renewed vividness, and with it something the scoutmaster had said when he passed his second-class examinations a few days ago. "Never forget the daily good turn, Dale, or let it slump into a perfunctory sort of thing such as you would have to do anyway whether you were a scout or not. A fellow can't always find big things, of course; but when the opportunity comes, he isn't a true scout if he cannot sacrifice his own comfort or pleasure or inclination to bring help or happiness to some one who really needs it." Dale squirmed a little at the recollection and tried to go on with the book he was reading. But the tale had lost its savor, and presently he raised his eyes from the printed page and frowned. "Nobody else thought anything about it!" he muttered rebelliously. "Besides, to-morrow's Thanksgiving; that's different from any other day." A little later he put away the book, said good night, and went up to his room. Having closed the door, he opened his closet and took out his scout suit. It had come only the day before; already he had looked at it more than twenty times, but the novelty had not yet worn off. He wondered if fellows who had theirs merely for the asking felt half as proud of it as he, who had worked for every penny of its cost. He passed one hand caressingly over the smooth olive khaki, and then an odd thought popped suddenly into his head. He had tried it on, twice, but as yet he had not actually worn it. Mightn't it mean even more to him if he wore it first in the performance of a good turn that really counted? Though the boy felt it only vaguely, and formulated it not at all even in his mind, it was something of that spirit of consecration that of old dominated the young candidates for knighthood, guarding their armor through the long night-watches. Dale's face took on an expression of determination, and as he put away his things his mind was oddly lightened.