"Humph!" he commented grumpily, "I--I like the birds. One o' the reasons I wouldn't--" He paused again and glowered at the boys. "_They_ couldn't make a log-cabin," he stated positively. "It would be too much like real work." A sudden stir went through the group. Mr. Curtis smiled. "I should hate to set them at it unless I really wanted it done," he laughed. "How'd they know what trees to cut an' what to leave? They'd make a mess o' the whole place." "Not with proper supervision," argued Mr. Curtis. "Would you look after it?" inquired the old man, sharply. "Certainly! I'd gladly constitute myself general foreman." "Humph!" There was a momentary pause, tense with suspense. A battery of eyes, eager, expectant, pleading, was turned upon the old man, whose bent shoulders straightened a bit. "Wal, you can go ahead, then," he agreed crustily. "But all I can say is--" A quick exclamation from the scouts drowned the remainder of his words. "G--e--e!" came hissing from a score of lips in a long sigh of rapture. It was followed by a bedlam of excited chatter. "The greatest thing I ever heard!" exploded Ted MacIlvaine, enthusiastically. "A log-cabin, fellows--think of it! A troop cabin!" With eyes shining, he stepped suddenly forward and faced the crowd. "Three cheers for Mr. Grimstone, fellows!" he cried; "and make 'em good ones!" When the last echo had died away, a faint touch of pink tinged the old man's leathery brown skin. But his frown abated nothing of its fierceness as he turned to the scoutmaster. "Tut-tut--nonsense!" he grumbled. "I'll leave it to you, then; you'll be responsible, mind! I s'pose you know what trees to take out--or you ought to. Nothin' over eight inches, remember, an' not a scrap o' rubbish left lyin' around when you're done." Without waiting for a reply, he turned abruptly and stalked off, a lean, bent, shabby figure with a nose like an eagle's beak and fiercely beetling brows. To the boys staring after him he was an angel in disguise. CHAPTER XI ELKHORN CABIN All that week the members of Troop Five could talk or think of little else save the wonderful log-cabin which was to arise like magic on the shore of Crystal Lake. That, at least, was the way many of them pictured it as going up, but at the meeting on Monday night Mr. Curtis gave a little talk in which he pointed out that the undertaking could only be carried through by a good deal of hard, persistent labor, which would undoubtedly grow more or less tiresome before the end was reached. "Saturday is really the only day when we can all get together," he said, "and there won't be many of them before the snow comes to put a stop to things. If we mean to enjoy it this winter, we've got to give every spare minute of our time to the work. There can't be any slowing down or backing out. Now, if you'd rather wait till spring, when we can take things more easily--"