It was a tense moment, fraught with misgivings and incredible gay expectancy; his own nervous demeanor rather than his words must mean something.

Then the young doctor breezed in, but he was himself nervous and self-conscious. He went straight over to Wilfred. Arden was sitting now upon the bed near her brother. Tom was striding the floor, his face wreathed in smiles. So Mrs. Cowell saw her three children grouped together and there was no mistaking their resemblance to each other. She arose nervously, stared for just a moment in speechless incredulity. Then Rosleigh Cowell was in her arms. Laughingly he tried to submit to her clinging embrace the while Arden held one of his hands and Wilfred the other. It was an affecting scene.

Tom Slade stood apart gazing with brimming, joyous eyes at the picture of which he had been the artist. He had performed his great exploit and now he seemed on the point of tiptoeing out of the room when Wilfred caught him in the act.

“This is just a family party,” said Tom.

“You thought you could sneak away, didn’t you?” said Wilfred.

“I think you’re one of our little family party,” Arden said prettily.

“I was just going to bang around and see if I can find any more Cowells,” Tom said. “What do you think of me as a stalker and trailer?”

“Oh, just to think,” said Mrs. Cowell, gazing still with incredulity and yet with weeping tenderness at the son whom she had not seen since childhood, “just to think that Wilfred saved his life and then Tom——”

“He hasn’t told us yet,” said Arden.

So then Tom and Rosleigh together pieced out for them the tale which ended in this happy climax. Mrs. Cowell clung to her son as if she feared he might run away, kissing him at intervals during the much interrupted narrative, as if to assure herself of his reality.

It was a strange story, how a small, bewildered child, deserted by a band of gypsies near the little village of Shady Vale across the mountain had wandered onto the premises of “Auntie Sally,” as the village knew her twenty years ago. That was a lucky trespass. For Auntie Sally was eccentric and kindly and lived alone.

After first trying to shoo the little boy away with her kitchen apron and a churn stick, she had weakened so far as to tell him that he had a very dirty face, which she proceeded to wash with disapproving vigor. The poor little boy swayed like a reed beneath her vigorous assaults until his face was as shiny as one of Auntie Sally’s milk pans. That was the first thing she did for him—to wash his face. Then she gave him a piece of mince pie and put him to bed.

Aunt Sally Loquez did not make extensive investigations to discover the identity of her guest. She did not go out much and never saw the newspapers. She evidently believed in the good precept that Wilfred had uttered in the time of his great trial, that findings is keepings. She kept the little stranger and became his “granny” and brought him up. She had a mania for washing his face, but otherwise his was a happy childhood.

Auntie Sally had money and when her adopted grandson was old enough she gave him his wish and sent him to college to be a doctor. When he emerged from college he returned to Shady Vale to spend the summer at the little old-fashioned home of his benefactress. And it was then that he heard of the position which was open for a young doctor in the big boys’ camp over the mountain. Twice a week, sometimes oftener, young Doc Loquez went over to see his “granny.” He was unfailing in his attentions to the sturdy, queer old woman, who had given him a home and later a start in life. Gay, buoyant, immensely liked, he never for a moment forgot that little home of his happy boyhood in the village across the frowning mountain.

Then came the first of August, that day forever memorable in the annals of Temple Camp. In the storm and gloom of that afternoon a ’phone message came to him that the stout heart of old Auntie Sally had given away and that she would have none to attend her but the only doctor in the world. That was when the fine young fellow whose face she had so mercilessly scrubbed, went down to the lake and all unheedful of his peril started across the angry water in the camp launch. He was on his way back when the launch, careering at the mercy of the wind, struck the rocks broadside and sank with a great tear in her cedar planking.

You know the rest; how these brothers who had never before seen each other met in storm and darkness in the middle of Black Lake, both stricken, and how Wandering Willie set the camp aghast with his sublime prowess and heroism. New scouts at Temple Camp often wonder why that submerged peril is called Wandering Willie’s Rock. Then at camp-fire some one asks and the whole story is told again, just as I have told it to you.

It was Tom Slade who took the young doctor over to Shady Vale so that he might recover from his own shock in the home where his aged benefactress lay. And then it was that Auntie Sally, thinking she was about to die, told Tom all she knew about the little waif who had wandered onto her grounds, bewildered, and with a dirty face.

She showed Tom (she seemed afraid to talk with Rosleigh about these matters) a little trinket that the lost child had worn around his neck, a thing of no value save that it had the initials R. C. engraved upon it. This little locket she had hidden away, thinking perhaps to lull her own conscience into the belief that there was no means of establishing the identity of the one little blessing which she could not bear the thought of losing.

“I’d’know as I care now,” she said, “if he’s got folks as’ll care for him as I did—if you can find ’em. Leastways what he is I made him. I had him as long as I lived. Long as I ain’t goin’ to be ’bout no more....”

And so Tom with the instinct of the true scout, had made inquiries which had resulted in establishing the identity of the waif.

“And no one could doubt it after seeing you all together,” he said.

“And Auntie Sally?” Arden asked. “Did she——”

“Do you think he’d be sitting here laughing if she had?” Tom asked. “But she can’t live alone over there any more. They’re talking about getting her into a Home. I was—I was thinking if we—you and I go fishing, Arden—that we might hike over the mountain and see her. If you think you could.”

“I can do anything,” said Arden, shaking her pretty head with pride and spirit.

“It runs in the family,” said Tom.

“I’m the only one that hasn’t done anything so far,” said Arden. “Now it’s my turn. You can go with me if you want to. I’m going to Shady Vale at once and arrange to have Auntie Sally taken to Bridgeboro—she’s going to have the big room with the bay window. How can you look me in the face, Tom Slade, and tell me they’re talking of getting her into a Home? It’s outrageous! That shows what brutes men are! I’m going to row across—now, this instant—and hike over the mountain to Shady Vale and arrange to have her brought to Bridgeboro. We’ve already found a home for her, thank you. The large alcove room, mother; it will be just——”

“I understand you were going to have a radio in that room,” said Tom.

“There isn’t any radio,” snapped Arden, “and I hate them anyway. I thank you very much—now I have a chance to do something.”

“You’ll have to push through an awful jungle up there,” said Tom. “If you really want to go we could drive around the long way in the flivver.”

“I prefer the jungle, thank you. You needn’t go if you don’t want to.”

“You’ll get your dress all torn.”

“My brother got his arm all torn.”

“Seems to run in the family,” said Tom.

“You can go if you care to,” she said, “only you’re not going to have anything to do with the arrangements. Mother’s got Rosleigh, you’ve got Wilfred—you said so. And Auntie Sally belongs to me and you’ll be kind enough not to—findings is keepings, that’s what you said yourself.”

“Don’t you let him fool you, Arden,” said Wilfred. “All the time he was kind of fixing it so you’d say we’d have Aunt Sally to live with us.”

“Do you believe that?” Tom demanded.

“I’d believe anything of you,” said Arden. “I know one thing and that is that I’m going to manage about Auntie Sally—I think that name is just adorable! And I’m going to hike over the mountain—now—to Shady Vale. Oh, I think it’s just like a movie play, isn’t it, mother? If you want to accompany me, Tom, you’re welcome. But you needn’t go—if you’re afraid.”

He wasn’t exactly afraid; he was a great hero, Tom was.