“Well, as sure as you live, boys, he did it,” replied the scoutmaster.
“Did what?” demanded both Step Hen and Giraffe in concert.
“Got out of the muck bed.”
“But how could he, Thad? That limb must a been two feet above his head when he stood there knee deep or more, in the mud. Tell us how?” pleaded Step Hen.
“Here are the plain marks,” Thad went on, “where the bark of the tree was bruised, as it had a right to be with such a heavy weight as Bumpus.”
“Marks!” repeated Giraffe. “Good gracious! hurry up and tell us. Marks of what, Thad?”
“The rope!” replied the other, still laughing.
“Rope! Bumpus used his blessed old rope to drag himself out of the mud sink! Well, well, well, if that don’t beat the Dutch,” Giraffe cried out.
“It reflects great credit on Bumpus,” said the scoutmaster, warmly. “He must have quickly made up his mind that he could only sink deeper in by keeping up his floundering. Then that nice limb above his head caught his eye, and he remembered about the rope.”
“Bully for Bumpus,” cried Giraffe.