Several days had passed and Wilfred was lying in the tiny hospital ward of four beds in Administration Shack. He was the only patient there, which made the sunny apartment a pleasant sitting room for Mrs. Cowell and Arden. Just as when we first met this little family, they were waiting for the doctor now. And just as that memorable day, the first to arrive was not the doctor but Tom Slade. He had given of his own life’s blood to save this boy whom he had made a scout and the badge of this divine service was bound on his own arm, fold over fold, concealed under the loose-sleeved, khaki jacket which he wore.

“I have two disappointed children, Mr. Slade,” said Mrs. Cowell. “Wilfred bewails his loss of the radio set and Arden wanted to give her own blood to her brother.”

“Well, I beat her to it,” said Tom in his breezy way. “How do you folks sleep over in the guest shanty? Did you hear that owl last night? What’s this about the radio, Billy?” he added, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I wanted the Elks to have it.”

“The Elks have forgotten all about it,” laughed Tom. “They’re busy fighting with the Ravens over which patrol really can claim you. I told them you weren’t worth quarreling over. How about that, Arden?”

“You seem to be very happy this morning,” Arden commented.

“That’s me,” said Tom. “This is my big day.”

“It’ll be my big day when I get up,” said Wilfred.

“Well, I hope you don’t get up very soon,” said Tom.

“And why not, Mr. Sl—Tom?” Arden asked.

“Because you’re going home when he gets up. To-day we swap horses in the middle of the stream—as Abe Lincoln said we shouldn’t hadn’t outer do.”

“Oh, is the young doctor coming?”

“That’s what he is—with bells on. Doc Anderson beat it this morning—had a patient in Montclair dying of the pip, or something or other. That kid of his wants Billy in his patrol, too; they all want him. But Doc’s going to get him first. I’m afraid I’ll have to fall back on you for a pal, Arden. How ’bout that, Mrs. Cowell?”

Mrs. Cowell only laughed at him, he seemed so buoyant. “Is the young doctor quite recovered?” she asked.

“Oh, sure.”

“He told me I’d win the race, too,” said Wilfred.

“Yes? Well, that shows you can’t believe what doctors say.”

“They say he’s very good looking,” Arden observed.

“Sure thing—got nice wavy hair like Billy. The boys have gone to row him over. I’ll laugh if he makes Billy stay in bed six weeks more; hey, Billy? The crowd will kill him if he does that. That would give you and me plenty of chance to go fishing, Arden.”

“I think I’d die with rapture if I ever caught a fish,” said Arden.

“Oh, the Cowells don’t die as easy as all that,” said Tom; “they’re a tough race. What do you say we bat over to the cove to-morrow while Billy’s having his nap?”

“Don’t the Elks really mind about not having the radio?” Wilfred asked.

“Now look here, Billy,” said Tom, becoming serious. “You remember how we said ‘three strikes out’? Well, you knocked a home run. You’re the hero of Temple Camp—these fellows are crazy about you. Now listen, I’m going to tell you something. You’re going to take the prize I give you and you’re going to be satisfied with it. See? I’m going to tell you something, Billy. That launch that Doc used might have been mine. I did a little stunt here once——”

“What was it?” Arden asked.

“I’ll tell you when we go fishing,” said Tom.

“A rich man wanted to give me that launch. I told him if he was as crazy as all that, I’d rather have the money it was worth so I could start a little fund up here for the benefit of scouts that aren’t—well, you know what I mean—a sort of scholarship, that’s what I call it. Now where’s the launch? Doc took it to go over to see his grandmother who was sick, and coming back—zip goes the fillum. But my little fund brought you here and kept you here—and I’ve got you instead of the launch. There isn’t any launch but you’re here. You did something bigger than save that goggle-eyed flag or win the race. And the best part of the camp season is still before you.”

Tom paused, and as he glanced about from the bedside toward Arden and her mother, they could see that he was deeply affected, and strangely nervous. Twice he tried to go on and could not, “You needn’t say any more, Tom,” said Arden; “he understands. If he has made himself worthy of you and your generosity, he has done a—a big stunt. I used to—I always said that Wilfred could do anything——”

“Yes.”

“But to make himself worthy of such a friend as you! Yes, he is a hero,” she added low and earnestly. Mrs. Cowell only gazed with silent admiration at the young fellow who sat on the bed with his head averted toward them.

“It isn’t a question,” said Tom, turning again to the boy, “of what the Elks might have had if you had been a flapper. I’m not thinking about the Elks or the Ravens or any of them. I’m thinking about what sort of a prize you should get. We always give awards here, Mrs. Cowell.”

Tom paused. He seemed nervous, anxious—perplexed. He arose and sauntered over to the window and looked out upon the still water of the lake flecked by the early August sunshine. A great joy was in his heart and he knew not how to hold it.

“You see, Wilfred,” he said, “nobody at Temple Camp ever did anything like you did. So the ordinary awards don’t fit. So I had to rise to the occasion as you did. I had to find a big prize. You had your big day; now this is mine. I don’t want you people to think I’m crazy; I guess you know I usually know what I’m doing—I picked Billy. So don’t think I’ve gone out of my head. I’ll tell you—they’re rowing across now, but I’ll tell you now——”

He paused and in the still, drowsy summer morning could be heard the clanking melody of distant oar-locks, the gentle ring of metal, as a rowboat moved across the golden glinted lake.

Tom spoke, “Doc Loquez, who is coming back to camp and will be here in a few minutes—the one you—the one Billy saved—he’s your own lost son, Mrs. Cowell. He’s Billy’s and Arden’s brother. He’s Rosleigh.”

Mrs. Cowell stared blankly at him.

“What do you mean? How do you know?” Arden gasped.

“I’ll tell you when we go fishing,” said Tom. “Just wait a minute, they’re at the landing. There’s Doc now. I picked him too, last summer, and he’s another winner.”

He strolled over to the door which opened on the veranda and stood waiting. They could hear the young doctor call back to the boys, “Thanks, you fellows.” His voice sounded gay and fraternal. The speechless mother and daughter waited, listened, spellbound. The suspense was terrible. Only Tom seemed calm now. They could hear the clanking of a chain and the knocking of oars, all part of the romance and music of the water.

“Haul her up a little,” some one said.

Then there was silence.