“Only hope we get a few more chances to feast on this thing before the season’s up, or the cold drives the trout into winter quarters,” remarked Giraffe, as he heaved a sigh of regret because the pan was now empty—for eight hungry people it was of course necessary to use both large skillets, and even then the supply never exceeded the demand.
“But why should we bother our heads about the season, when we’re away up here, and with no one to know what we’re doing?” demanded Step Hen.
“That’s just it, Step Hen,” replied Thad, who seemed to think the question was intended for him; “we’re Boy Scouts, and when we joined the organization every one of us subscribed to certain rules, twelve in number, you remember. Could you repeat those twelve cardinal principles of the scouts for me right now, Step Hen?”
The boy addressed turned a little red in the face; while the two Maine guides listened intently, evidently very much interested. Sebattis did not seem to pay the least attention to what was going on; though that may just have been his way. These Indian guides have a habit of hearing, when nobody expects it.
“Oh! sure, I can,” Step Hen made answer, cheerfully enough.
“Then please let us hear them,” continued Thad.
“Well,” the scout went on to say, as if he easily knew the list by heart; “he promises to the best of his ability to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful to others, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient to his superiors, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.”
“All right, Step Hen,” the scoutmaster remarked, “the great State of Maine trusts us. We’ve taken out licenses to shoot, up here. We’re entitled to a certain number of deer, and one moose apiece. And in accepting these favors we virtually agreed to refrain from breaking the laws. Can a scout be trustworthy who deliberately breaks a law, like the killing of game, or the taking of fish out of season, when there’s no real excuse for it?”
“Well, p’raps you’re right, Thad,” grumbled the other, rather loth to see the point; “but s’pose now, I was lost in these here big pine woods, and hungry near to starving. I knew the season for trout was up, but it was a case of ‘root hog, or die,’ with poor Step Hen. Would you blame me then, if I just dropped a line to Mr. Trout and invited him to waltz into my little frying-pan?”
Thad smiled.