The three scouts took their way along the road in silence. Pee-wee was subdued and even Roy sobered. Warde alone seemed composed. Perhaps none of them had realized until now how much they had grown to like young Blythe. And this appalling revelation was the sequel, the end, of that merry, novel camping adventure. They were not fired by the dramatic character of their discovery; they were just cast down. This was what it had all come to....

Pee-wee was the first to regain some of his former spirit. “Just the same, maybe that fellow’s mother will get the letter,” said he; “so that’s one good thing. And later we’re going to Temple Camp, that’s another. And Warde is a first class scout, so gee whiz, we ought to be all good and glad, that’s sure.” But for all that, Pee-wee did not seem good and glad.

He tried again. “A fellow ought to be glad when he gets to be a first class scout, that’s one sure thing. Even if I were in the Silver Foxes I’d be glad. And anyway it’s good you had your fourteen mile hike to-day because now you can let Mr. Ellsworth and the local council know and he can go over the ground Sunday. That’s the way he usually does. You can write up your account to-morrow and the next day. Then you can try for any merit badge you want. I bet you’ll get a lot of them. I bet your father will be glad when you tell him you’re in the first class, hey?... I bet Roy will be proud, too,” he added.

Roy made no response, only walked along silently.

“There won’t be any badge, Kid,” said Warde kindly. “There isn’t going to be any account written of this. And Mr. Ellsworth isn’t going to go over the ground.... He isn’t going to see that picture.”

For a few moments none of them spoke. Several men raking hay in a nearby field waved to them, as people do to scouts, and the three waved their arms in answer, but there was not much enthusiasm in their act. The birds chirped among the bordering trees. A nimble little chipmunk paused upon a stone wall, looked at them pertly, and disappeared in a crevice of rock. And so they walked on, no one speaking.

“What do you mean?” Roy asked after a pause.

“Just that,” said Warde. “Mr. Ellsworth saw Blythe. He isn’t going to see that picture. I don’t care anything about the badge. Let’s not talk about it. It’s off.”

“Do you mean that we should protect that–that fellow?” Roy asked.

“I mean that this isn’t my test,” said Warde. “I mean I’m not going to claim the badge. No one can make me claim it if I don’t want to.”

“That means that you want us to keep still about Blythe,” Roy said. “You can’t get around that. If you think I–if you think I care anything about five thousand dollars you’re–then you’re mistaken. My father wouldn’t let me take any money I got that way.... But a scout is–he’s supposed to–”

“He’s supposed to watch his step,” said Warde.

“Sure he is, Roy,” piped up Pee-wee. “Gee, you can’t deny that, Roy.”“He’s supposed to know where he’s at when it comes to something serious,” said Warde. “He’s supposed to look before he leaps–”

“You can’t deny that, Roy,” spoke the big heart of Pee-wee Harris. “He’s supposed to look before he leaps.”

Roy smiled. “Well, what are we going to do?” he asked.

“Are you asking me?” Warde queried.

“Sure, I’m asking you. It’s Blythe’s picture, isn’t it?”

“You’re patrol leader and I’m a second class scout,” said Warde. “What do you say to do?”

“What do you mean, a second class scout?” Roy demanded, his voice full of feeling. “I don’t want any better scouts in my patrol than you. I’m asking you what we’re going to do.”

“All right, I’ll tell you,” Warde said. “We’re going to keep still until we’re dead sure. We know what kind of a fellow Blythe is, and they don’t, I mean the sheriff and police and those people. We know he’s a good friend. Sometimes when you look at a picture it reminds you of someone, and the next time you look at it, it doesn’t–”“That’s right, Roy,” Pee-wee urged with great vehemence, “because once I thought a man looked like George Washington and afterwards I saw he didn’t. So you see.”

“We’re not going to tell about this to-morrow and maybe not the next day,” said Warde. “We’re going to make dead sure. Then if we have to, we’ll have to, that’s all. Blythe isn’t going to run away and I don’t think they’re likely to take that notice down for about forty-eleven years. We don’t want Mr. Ellsworth blowing into that post office; not yet. I’m not worrying about my scout rank, that can wait too. I’m thinking about what we’ve lost–maybe. I’m not thinking about what I wanted to get. Everything–it looks like–everything is changed–all the fun and–what do I care about the old badge?”

Thus spoke Warde Hollister, second class scout.