"Hurrah for the Boy Scouts!" some one called out.
They were given with a rush and a roar that brought other passengers hurrying to the windows of the cars, to see what popular hero it could be arriving home, to excite such a tremendous demonstration.
"Hurrah for Thad Brewster!" called a second school-boy, as the young scoutmaster stepped off the train, bearing certain bundles, that might be a haversack and a take-down shotgun.
Another wave of applause went sweeping up from the crowd.
"Three cheers for Bob Quail, and his dad!" shrilled yet another enthusiast; upon which the echoes were fairly awakened by the racket.
The scouts fell into line, and two and two marched along the station platform; for Mr. Quail had already taken his wife into his arms, and they had retired to the interior of the little building, in order to be less conspicuous while they talked it all over.
Bumpus sounded his bugle, and the boys kept step as they walked along, with heads up, and feeling that they had gained the right to feel a bit proud, after what they had gone through. The crowd pushed after them, still shouting, and making a great clamor.
And from one of the car windows looked a bevy of childish faces, back of which was the wan one of the tired mother; Step Hen disobeyed the rules for one second only, when he turned, and waved his hand to his little friends of the train. Seeing which Thad Brewster said softly to himself:
"I warrant you that little woman believes all this noise is meant for just one boy, and he the fellow who was so kind to her; because, in her sight Step Hen is a real hero, and this racket is meant especially for his home-coming."
THE END.