The smugglers gathered about half a mile on the other side of the border and were allowed to cross it in any formation, singly, together, or scattered, and make for the town at any speed they chose. One only of their number was supposed to be smuggling, and he was equipped with tracking-irons. The moment a sentry patrolling the border caught sight of these tracks, his duty was to signal the fact to the reserve party of inspectors and at once follow the track himself. The reserves coöperated with him, trying by any means to catch the smuggler before he could reach the town. If they succeeded, the game was theirs; but if the smuggler eluded them and reached the barn safely, victory went to the other side. It was a typical scout sport, and for three hours or more the fellows played it strenuously, varying it toward the end with one or two other stalking games. These all met with unanimous approval, even Bob Gibson, the habitual grumbler, admitting that it was more fun than he thought it would be. "We'll have to try some more of those in the book," Ward remarked as they tramped back through the twilight. "That deer-hunt one sounds pretty good, if you fellows will only make bows and arrows enough. I vote we fix up a deer and go to it next Saturday." It happened, however, that the following Saturday was devoted to something even more interesting than deer-hunting. As Dale entered the parish-house on Monday evening he passed Mr. Curtis, just inside the door, talking earnestly with Wesley Becker. "It was a big surprise to me, I can tell you," he heard the scoutmaster say. "I can't imagine what has brought about the transformation." "He doesn't say, I suppose?" asked Becker. "No; it's just the curt invitation. He's hedged it about with all sorts of prohibitions, but still it's wonderful he should have come around at all." "It'll be corking for the troop!" exclaimed Becker, enthusiastically. "That's the one thing we've lacked, and if--" At that point Tompkins passed beyond the range of their voices, but he had heard enough to rouse his curiosity. Fortunately this did not have to remain long unsatisfied. After the opening exercises the scoutmaster faced the three patrols, a small sheet of paper in one hand. "Attention, scouts!" he said crisply. "The troop will be much pleased to learn, I'm sure, that Mr. Grimstone has given us permission to use the north side of his lake for camping purposes." For an instant there was amazed silence. Then a bedlam of surprised comment arose, mingled with a torrent of eager questions, which Mr. Curtis did not attempt to quell. "Well, what do you know about that!" "Hurrah for old Grimey!" "Can we skate there, Mr. Curtis?" "Will he let us swim in the summer?" "Can't we go out this Saturday?" "How did you work it, sir?"