“Our troop is going to sit in the front row,” shouted Pee-wee; “and listen—everybody keep still—_listen_—when Warde gets called up on the stage—that’s the way they’re going to do—when he—shut up and listen—when he gets called up on the stage, don’t start shouting till I do. When I shout——” “I never heard you stop shouting,” said Roy. “I have to start in order to stop, don’t I?” Pee-wee roared. “How can I shout without being still first?” “How are you going to get still?” Roy shot back. “You leave it to me,” yelled Pee-wee. “Don’t anybody shout till I do. Then when I start everybody shout—wait a minute—this is what you all have to shout: Yell, yell, yell, Yell, yell, yell, Yell, yell, yell, Yellowstone! I invented it because it’s got a lot of yells in it.” “He thinks Yellowstone Park is named after a yell,” shouted Roy. The First Bridgeboro Troop did sit in the front row and for a while Pee-wee was silent—while he finished eating an apple. The first six or eight rows were filled with scouts and their patrol pennants raised here and there made an inspiring and festive show. Behind them was the regular audience. On the stage a khaki tent had been pitched with logs piled outside it and a huge iron pot hanging over them upon a rough crane. “Oh, boy, I wish that was filled with hunter’s stew,” Pee-wee whispered to Dorry Benton who sat next to him. “Yum, yum, I wish I was on that platform.” “He’s so hungry he could eat an imitation meal,” Dorry whispered to Roy. “Tell him to wait till the curtain comes down with a roll and he can eat that,” whispered Roy. There was singing, and a high scout official from National Headquarters made a speech. The bronze cross was given to one proud scout, the Temple life-saving medal to another. A patrol from Little Valley gave a skilful demonstration of first aid. The Boy Scout Band from Northvale played several pieces; they had a very snappy little band, the Northvale Troop. Then, a scout was blindfolded and led to the tent. He promised to jump up as soon as he heard the least sound of approach. Then a barefooted scout stole up, while the audience waited in suspense, and had actually started removing the bandage from the other boy’s eyes before the latter knew he was near. This brought great applause. The Campfire Girls sang in chorus and gave some interesting demonstrations. It was a pretty good program. It was after ten o’clock when Mr. Atwater, of the Rotary Club, arose from among those seated on the stage and, drawing a batch of papers from his pocket, started to address the audience. “Three cheers for the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro!” some one called. And three rousing cheers were given for that organization. “Hurrah for Yellowstone Park!” one called. “Hurrah for the scout that we don’t know who he is!” another shouted, and there was much laughter.