Mr. Denny's troop had turned in with the warmth of the roaring camp-fire still lingering in their cheeks when the black sheep went up the hill. The scoutmaster, sitting in his tepee, was writing up the troop's diary in the light of a railroad lantern. He showed no great surprise at his wandering scout's arrival.

"Well, Hervey," said he. "Back again? I told you it would be better to wait till morning. Missed the train, eh? You see my advice is sometimes best after all." He did not look up but continued writing. If Hervey had expected to create a sensation he was disappointed. "Better go to bed and catch the nine fifty-two in the morning," said Mr. Denny kindly.

"I came back because Tom Slade sent for me. I've got to get a medal, but I don't care anything about that."

"So? What's that for?"

"I always said that fellow Slade was a friend of mine, but I wouldn't let him put one over on me, I wouldn't."

"You mean he was just fooling you about the medal?"

"Maybe you can tell," said Hervey. "Because anyway I didn't do anything to win a—the Gold Cross."

Mr. Denny raised his eyebrows in frank surprise. "The Gold Cross?"

"I don't care anything about that, anyway," said Hervey; "but I wouldn't take a dare from anybody; I never did yet."

"No?"

"He said—that fellow said—he said I wouldn't dare to come up here and tell you that I can—do anything I want to do."

"That's just what you've been doing, Hervey."

"But you know I'm good on stunts? And he said—this is just what he said—he said I couldn't do that kind of a stunt—staying here when I'm told to. He dared me to. Would you take a double dare if you were me? They're worse than single ones."

"N-no, I don't know that I would," said Mr. Denny, thoughtfully.

"He said I wouldn't dare—do you know what a four flusher is?"

"Why—y-es."

"He said I wouldn't dare to come up here and tell you that I know I'm wrong to make so much trouble and he said I couldn't do a stunt like staying in camp. Would you let any fellow call you a Camp-fire Girl—would you? Gee Williger, that stunt's a cinch!"

Mr. Denny closed his book, leaving his pen in it as a book-mark, and clasping his hands, listened attentively. It was the first slight sign of surrender. He looked inquiringly and not unkindly at the figure that stood before him in the dim lantern light. He noted the torn clothing, the wrinkled stocking, the outlandish hat with its holes and trinkets. He could see, just see, those clear gray eyes, honest, reckless, brave....

"Yes, Hervey?"

"Of course you don't have to keep me here, I don't mean that. Because that's another thing, anyway. Only I want you to tell Slade that I did dare, because I wouldn't take a double dare not even from—from Mr. Temple, I wouldn't. So then he'll know I'm not afraid of you. Because even you wouldn't say I'm a coward."

"No."

"I can do any stunt going, I'll let him know, and I won't take a double dare from anybody. Because I made a resolution when I was in the third primary grade."

"And you've always kept it?"

"You think I'd bust a resolution? You have bad luck for eight years if you do that."

"I see."

"No, siree!"

"And so you think you could do this stunt?"

"I can do any stunt going. Do you know what I did——"

"Just a second, Hervey. I'd like to see you get away with that stunt."

"But I'm not asking you to keep me here," Hervey said, giving his stocking a hitch, "because I'm a good loser, I am. But I want you to tell that fellow Slade—I used to think he was a friend of mine—I want you to tell him that I bobbed that dare."

"Bobbed it?"

"Yes, that means put it back on him."

Mr. Denny paused.

"Why don't you tell him yourself, Hervey?"

"Because he doesn't have to believe me."

"Has any one ever accused you of lying, Hervey?"

"Do you think I'd let anybody?"

"Hmm, well, I think you'd better bob that dare yourself. But of course you ought to follow it up with the stunt."

"Oh, sure—only——"

"I'll give you the chance to do that. My sporting blood is up now——"

"That's just the way with me," said Hervey; "that's where you and I are alike."

"Yes. I think we'll have to put this fellow Slade where he belongs."

"You leave that to me," said Hervey.

There was a pause of a few moments. The whole camp had turned in by now and distant voices had ceased. A cricket chirped somewhere close by. An acorn fell from a tree overhead and rolled down the roof of the troop cabin a few yards distant, the sound of its falling emphasized by the stillness. Hervey hitched up his stocking again. Mr. Denny watched him. Perhaps he was studying this wandering minstrel of his more closely than ever before. It may have been that the silence and isolation were on Hervey's side....

"Anyway, you don't have to keep me here, because—and I didn't come back for that."

"Hervey, you spoke about a medal—the Gold Cross. You don't mean the supreme heroism award, of course. Slade didn't try to lure you back with hints about such a thing?"

"Hanged if I know what he meant."

"He sent a note after you? Have you it with you?"

"I made paper bullets out of it to shoot at lightning bugs on the way home."

"Did he actually mention the Gold Cross?"

"I think he did—sure I never did anything to win that, you can bet."

"No. And I think Slade adopted very questionable tactics to get you back. Doubtless his intentions were good——"

"I wouldn't let that fellow ruin my young life—don't worry."

"Well, you'd better turn in now, Hervey, and don't stay awake thinking about dares and stunts and awards."

And indeed Hervey did not stay awake thinking of any such things, especially awards. In more than one tent and cabin on that Friday night were sleepless heads, tossing and visioning the morrow which would bring them merit badges, and perhaps awards of higher honor—silver, bronze....

But the head of Hervey Willetts rested quietly and his sleep was sound. He took things as they came, as he had taken the letter out of Gilbert's hands. There was a mistake somewhere, or else Tom Slade had caught him and brought him back by a mean trick and a false promise. But he did not hold that against Tom. What he held against Tom was that Tom had made him take a double dare. He knew he had done nothing to win so high an honor as that golden treasure, so rare, so coveted.... What he had done was already ancient history and forgotten. And it had no relation to the Gold Cross. And so he slept peacefully.

The thing that he most treasured was his decorated hat, and so that this might not get away from him again, he kept it under his pillow....