The scouts did camp that night in a wood alongside the road. Fortunately, the weather proved very kind to them. Lil Artha said the "wind was tempered to the shorn lamb," by which he undoubtedly meant that since they had neither tents nor blankets it considerately did not turn cold, nor were they caught out in a heavy rain storm.
Their last outing of the vacation season had proved to be a fine one. They had passed through a novel experience when exploring the depths of the mysterious Sassafras Swamp; and better still had managed to save their poor, mistaken comrade from a fate, the very thought of which would often make him shiver even when months and years had crept by.
They had a great night of it there in camp. Even Hen tried to forget for a time what he must face on the morrow, and joined his chums in their songs, as they sat cross-legged around the cheery blaze.
There was no longer any necessity for suppressing their boyish exuberance, for the gloomy swamp had been left behind, nor was there any hiding escaped criminal to take alarm. So they laughed and talked and sang to their hearts' content; nor did the sleepiest of them, meaning Landy, of course, get a chance to lay his head on his make-believe pillow until nearly midnight.
"What's the use of wasting so much time in sleeping?" Lil Artha had demanded, when the stout boy pleaded for them to desist, and give him a chance to get some rest; "this is going to be our very last camp until away off in Thanksgiving week, even if we have one then. So let's make the most out of it. You c'n sleep any old time, and lie abed till ten on Sunday, if you want to. Now for another song, fellows, and Landy, we want your fine tenor to help out, remember."
The morning found them astir, and after breakfast the horses were once more put to the pole so that a start could be made for home.
None of them were in a hurry, and it was really about the middle of that afternoon when the expedition entered town. The news had, of course, been widely circulated, and everybody was on tip-toe, filled with excitement, and watching for their arrival.
A great crowd had collected to greet them, and there was the brass band of which Hickory Ridge was getting to be quite proud, playing a sonorous tune which some of the scouts believed must be "Lo! the Conquering Hero Comes," though none of them felt quite sure of it.
Well, Hen Condit was forgiven by his uncle, after he heard all about the terrible time the boy had, and in what way unscrupulous "Joe" deceived the foolish boy. Elmer and his chums made it a point to see that the story was widely circulated, and the balance of the scout troop aided to the best of their ability, for Hen was well liked.
The consequence of all this was that most people decided the boy had already been sufficiently punished, and that his lesson was apt to be of lasting benefit to him during the balance of his natural life. Besides, it gave shrewd fathers and mothers a fine moral lesson to hold up before their own erring youngsters, and hence for a long time to come the narrow escape which Hen Condit had had from going wholly to the bad was used as a means of correction. In this way it doubtless did much good, if that could be of any satisfaction to Hen.