Nor were they all members of Troop Five by any means. Mr. Grimstone had needed very little persuasion to grant the privileges of the lake to Hillsgrove scouts generally, and many were the exciting games of hockey that enlivened the winter afternoons. More often than not the clear, cold ring of steel on ice, the grate of swiftly turning runners, the sharp crack of wood against wood, the excited shouts and yells of shrill young voices, resounded on the lake until the gathering twilight made it difficult to distinguish one swiftly moving figure from another. From its rocky elevation the log-cabin overlooked the active scene, smoke rising from its hospitable chimney and the red glow of a blazing fire gleaming in the windows and winking through the often opened door. Here congregated those who were too indifferent or unskilful to indulge in hockey, while every now and then a player would dash in to thaw out. On Fridays there was pretty sure to be a crowd spending the night there, and then the odor of crisping bacon or broiling chops mingled with the fragrance of the pines; the laughter and joshing kept up throughout the evening, and from the gray farmhouse across the lake an old man, glimpsing the cheery yellow gleam, would chuckle to himself and rub his knotted hands softly together. "Them boys are havin' a good time ag'in to-night," he would murmur. "Reckon I'll hev' to step over an' see 'em in the mornin'." Whenever he appeared he was sure of a hearty welcome, for underneath that crustiness, caused by years of loneliness and narrow living, the scouts had found a spirit as young and simple and likable, almost, as a boy's. And the old man, reveling in this novel, pleasant intercourse, felt sometimes as if he were beginning life all over again. In this wise the winter passed with its usual mingling of work and play. Coasting, hockey, snow hikes, and the like mixed healthfully with regular lessons, the bird-feeding, studying up for merit badges or first- or second-class tests, and other scout duties and activities. The skating, particularly, was unusually prolonged, and the first signs of March thaws met with general regret. "Well, we can have one more good game, anyhow," remarked Frank Sanson, as they came out of school at noon. "Maybe it will be a little soft, but it will bear all right. Who's going out?" There were a number of affirmative replies, though the general opinion seemed to be that the ice would be too sloppy to have much fun. "I'm going to try it, anyhow," Frank declared, as he got on his wheel. "See you fellows out there." "Don't take any chances before we come," Sherman Ward called after him. "Remember you can't swim."