It was late when Roy reached camp and he spoke to no one. Early in the morning he repaired to Five Oaks to “beard the lion in his den” and have a personal interview with Mr. John Temple.

There was nothing about Mr. Temple or his house which awed Roy in the least. He had been reared in a home of wealth and that atmosphere which poor Tom could not overcome his fear of did not trouble Roy at all. He was as much at ease in the presence of his elders as it is possible for a boy to be without disrespect, but he was now to be put to the test.

He found Mr. Temple enjoying an after-breakfast smoke on the wide veranda at Five Oaks, a bag of golf sticks beside him.

“Good morning, Mr. Temple,” said Roy.

If one had to encounter Mr. John Temple at all, this was undoubtedly the best time and place to do it.

“Good morning, sir,” said he, brusquely but not unpleasantly.

“I guess maybe you know me, Mr. Temple; I’m Mr. Blakeley’s boy.”

Mr. Temple nodded. Roy leaned against the rubble-stone coping of the veranda.

“Mr. Temple,” said he, “I came to see you about something. At first I was going to ask Mr. Ellsworth to do it, then I decided I would do it myself.”

Mr. Temple worked his cigar over to the corner of his mouth, looking at Roy curiously and not without a touch of amusement. What he saw was a trim, sun-browned boy wrestling with a charming little touch of diffidence, trying to decide how to proceed in this matter which was so important to him and so trifling to John Temple, but exhibiting withal the inherent self-possession which bespeaks good breeding. He was half sitting on the coping and half leaning against it, his browned, muscular arms pressing it on either side.

Perhaps it was the incongruity of the encounter, or perhaps his recent breakfast and his good cigar, but he said not unpleasantly, “Lift yourself up there and sit down if you want to. What can I do for you?”

Roy lifted himself up on the coping and swung his legs from it and felt at home.

“It’s about Tom Slade, Mr. Temple. I know you don’t like him and haven’t much use for any of us scouts, and I was afraid if Mr. Ellsworth came to see you there might be an argument or something like that, but there couldn’t be one with me because I’m only a kid and I don’t know how to argue. But there’s another reason too; I stood for Tom—­brought him into the troop—­and he’s my friend and whatever is done for him I want to do it. I’ll tell you what he did—­you know, he’s changed an awful lot since you knew him. I don’t say a fellow would always change so much but he’s changed an awful lot. You’d hardly believe what I’m going to tell you if you didn’t know about his changing. It was his own father, Mr. Temple, that took Mary’s pin—­it wasn’t Tom. I’m dead sure of it, and I’ll tell you how I know.

“I think he went out of the room where the rest of us were that day because he was afraid he might see you—­ashamed, you know—­kind of. I’d have felt the same way if I had thrown stones at you. Well, he went around the house—­I don’t know just why he did that—­but anyway, he found tracks there and he found a paint smudge on the window-ledge where the burglar climbed out. There’s another smudge on the fence where the burglar got over. Tom tracked him and found it was his own father and he got the pin from him, but I suppose maybe he was afraid to come and give it to Mary. You know, sometimes a fellow is afraid of a girl—­”

John Temple smiled slightly.

“And he was afraid of you, too, I suppose, and that’s where he fell down, keeping the pin in his pocket. I know it was his father because-here. I’ll show you, Mr. Temple. Here’s his membership card in a union with his name on it, and this is what I think. He stopped in the woods and tore this up so there wouldn’t be anything on him to show his name and that was just when Tom found him. Tom wouldn’t tell about it because it’s one of our laws that a scout must be loyal. So I want to give this pin to Mary and then I want Tom to go back with me because it’s our troop birthday pretty soon—­we’ve been going two years and—­”

“Come around and show me your smudge and your tracks,” said Mr. Temple. “If what you say is true you can go down in the car with me and I’ll withdraw the complaint and do what I can to have the matter expedited. You might let me have the pin.”

“Couldn’t I give it to Mary?”

“Yes, if she’s about.”

It was there in the spacious veranda that Roy handed Mary the pin and told her exactly what Tom had asked him to say.

The chauffeur who saw Mr. Temple step into the touring car followed by Roy, carrying the golf sticks, was a little puzzled. He was still more puzzled to hear his master making inquiries about tracking. After they had gone a few hundred yards he was ordered to stop and then he saw Roy run back to the house and return with two more golf sticks which his master had forgotten.

If John Temple had had the least recollection of that scene in his own vacant lot in Bridgeboro, he might have recalled the prophetic words of Mr. Ellsworth, “by our fruits shall you know us, Mr. Temple.”

Doubtless, he had forgotten that incident. The tracking business, however, interested him; he was by no means convinced, but he was sufficiently persuaded to say the word which would free Tom. Roy’s assumption of full responsibility in regard to the golf sticks amused him, and Roy’s general behaviour pleased him more than he allowed Roy to know.

He had no particular interest in the scouts, but away down in the heart of John Temple was a wish for something which he could not procure with his check-book, and that was a son. A son like Roy would not be half bad. He rather liked the way the boy had sat on the coping and swung his legs.

Chapter XV