Then suddenly, Robin Hood, liberated, bound toward him, panting, triumphant. He had evidently broken loose in his excitement as he had neared his goal, for the leash dangled after him.

And thus it was that the scouts came upon Emerson Skybrow who stood with one arm around the little girl, while Robin Hood clambered upon him. It was the kindly irony of fate that Emerson was the first person to whom the dog had paid the slightest attention.

“Well—I’ll—be——” Connie Bennett ejaculated, then paused in speechless consternation. “What—do—you—know! It’s Arabella!”

“There’s Margie, too,” said Westy.

“What the dickens——” Dorry Benton began, but was unable to say more.

Arabella was stroking the dog nervously and withdrawing slightly as if to modify the vigor of the animal’s aggressiveness. He seemed perturbed by a doubt of whether the dog was friendly or not. And meanwhile, he tightened his arm about the little girl, his prize, while she clung to him with a new and panic fear.

“It seems to be a great surprise,” said Emerson in his nice way, a way which ill-accorded with his almost primeval look. “It’s very easily explained,” he continued, backing and endeavoring by gentle dissuasion to free himself from the dog’s insistence.

“He won’t hurt you,” said Toby.

“He’s rather rough,” said Emerson, using the word which, of all words, was sure to arouse mocking ridicule. But only a dead silence greeted his rather mincing phrase. And meanwhile, Robin Hood, the scout, clambered upon him until he was drawn away by main force.

“I want to go home,” wept the little girl. “I want to go home to my mother; I’m afraid of him, he’ll bite me. You said you’d take me home, I don’t want to play with all these boys.”

“I said I’d take you home and you can depend on me,” said Emerson. She seemed to think she could, and ceased crying and clung to him more tightly.

“How the dickens did you happen to get here?” Connie asked, with anything but a flattering note of incredulity in his voice. The slur of it was somewhat modified by Westy who asked, “Where in all creation did you come from, Skybrow?”

It would have been tribute enough to Emerson to be called by his first name; to be called by his last name was hardly believable. Self-possession was always one of his strong points. He had never been able to show it with these boys, because they would have laughed him down with banter. But now he had them at a slight disadvantage; they were so astonished that they would listen. One of them (the fairest of the lot) had even surrendered to the extent of calling him Skybrow. Emerson took advantage of the occasion, and his appearance if not his manner of talk seemed to command attention.

“Since you ask me,” said he, “I came here to find Margie Garrison. I found her in the bottom of this cellar, or whatever it is. I suppose every one of you fellows, scouts, I guess you all are, were in the assembly this morning when that lady spoke about ivy and ruins. I should think it might have occurred to you that maybe Margie Garrison came out here to get some. Girls are always getting wild flowers and such things to take to their teachers. I guess you’ve all noticed that much,” he added, as a kind of side dig.

“So I came here and found her and jumped in and we had quite a time of it getting out; I used a long plank from the bridge. I ’phoned to your house, Harris, and told them you were out with the searching party. I wish we could get an auto to take her home. I don’t think there’s anything much the matter with her except she’s pretty well shaken-up. You had a lot of running for nothing; it seems a pity.”

“I don’t want to go with them, I want to go with you,” cried little Margie, clinging to him. “Because you’re not afraid.”

Exhausted, he sat down upon a rock, and Robin Hood, seeing his chance, approached him again and laid his head upon the torn trousers, looking up.

“Here, Rob,” said Roy.

“Let him alone,” said Pee-wee. It was the first word he had spoken.

“He knows, all right,” said Westy.

“You bet he knows,” Toby boasted. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Robin Hood seemed to know indeed, for heedless of the gaping boys, who were silent because they were all at sea and knew not what to say, he wriggled his head up till it lay against the bare, scratched shoulder of “Arabella” Skybrow. The boy did not stroke him, for one hand held that of the little girl he had rescued, while the other was pressed to his wounded, throbbing forehead. But the dog seemed to be content.

And so for a moment, they all stood about in a kind of awkwardness. And no one spoke, not even Pee-wee.