"No; and I'd scarcely like to ask him, anyway, after he's been so decent," said the scoutmaster. "It would look as if we didn't appreciate what he's done already." His glance swept thoughtfully around the open space again as if he were seeing in his mind's eye the structure that had excited such instant enthusiasm. "Of course, it would be quite possible to cut enough timber for a cabin without in the least hurting the woods; in fact a little thinning would do them good." "Wouldn't it be a corking place to feed the birds from in winter!" suddenly spoke up Paul Trexler, a silent, reserved sort of chap. "We started up three or four covies of quail between the road and here." "It certainly would!" The scoutmaster's tone was emphatic. "You've hit the best argument in its favor yet, Paul. The woods are fairly teeming with birds of all sorts; I noticed it as we came along. The place has been barred to the public for so long that I dare say the wild creatures have come to feel more or less safe here. With a cabin right on this spot we could keep grain in fairly large quantities, and when the heavy snows come, it would be easy to establish regular feeding-stations at different points, and--" A sudden yelping made him break off and turn quickly, to see a large dog burst from the thicket at one side of the glade. With hair bristling and teeth bared, the animal pulled up abruptly and started a furious barking. The scouts leaped up and several snatched sticks from the woodpile. An instant later, however, the low, sweeping hemlock branches parted, and Caleb Grimstone himself stepped into the open. With a snarl he silenced the dog and sent him groveling to heel. Then he faced Mr. Curtis and the boys with an odd, embarrassed defiance that made the former suspect his appearance had not been intentional, but was rather the result of the dog's outburst. "This is mighty nice, Mr. Grimstone!" exclaimed the scoutmaster, advancing with outstretched hand. "You see we haven't lost any time in taking advantage of your kindness." "Huh!" mumbled the old man. "I was jest takin' a little walk, an' heard voices--" He paused awkwardly, glowering around the circle of wide-eyed boys. "I had no idea you were able to walk so far," put in Mr. Curtis, quickly, "or we'd certainly have invited you to eat lunch with us. Won't you let the boys cook you something now? They're mighty proud of the way they can--" "I've had dinner," interrupted the old man, hastily. He fumbled for a moment with the stout cane he carried; then his gaze returned to the scoutmaster. "I heard you sayin' somethin' about feedin' birds," he said curtly. "I didn't know you-- What was it you meant?" Briefly Mr. Curtis explained their methods of establishing feeding-stations through the woods and caring for them. When he had finished, Mr. Grimstone nodded.