“Don’t let up aither,” he said to the leader; “soak it into me the best ye know how. If I’m to be squashed, I want to be squashed fair and square, as Pat Rooney said whin three automobiles ran over him.”
The balmy afternoon passed rapidly, with several of the boys fishing from the canoes along shore and others wandering through the woods, brightening their knowledge of the different trees and studying the birds, of which only a moderate number were observed.
Scout Master Hall saw in Mike Murphy the making of a model Boy Scout. It may be said that when the troop convened that evening, chiefly by the glow of the oil lamp suspended overhead from a beam in the middle of the ceiling, the meeting was a special one, called for the purpose of helping a young tenderfoot along the trail. The proceedings may not have been strictly regular, but no criticism could be made upon their spirit.
Uncle Elk was invited to occupy the seat of honor as it may be called, but he preferred to remain in the background as observer and listener. The night was cool enough to make enjoyable the crackling logs on the broad hearth and to add to the illumination of the spacious apartment. There was considerable rain and cool weather in August that year.
At about eight o’clock, Scout Master Hall opened the session with a commendation of the Boy Scout organization and a compliment to those who wished to join it. As it was impossible to have the examination conducted as prescribed by the Court of Honor, the Scout Master assumed the duty himself.
The second step would have been the collection of observation lists for future use, but this was omitted, as was the call for drill formation. The National Flag was displayed and the scout salute and sign followed, winding up with two good yells which made the rafters of the bungalow ring.
Mike was now questioned as to his knowledge of our banner. He was entitled to a written examination, but declined it and again urged his examiner to show no mercy. Standing in the middle of the room the candidate amazed his listeners. Not only did he promptly answer every prescribed question, but he interjected many facts that were new to nearly all who heard them. I have already hinted of several, such, for instance, as that our flag throughout the War of 1812 bore fifteen instead of thirteen stripes, and that Congress restored the original number in 1818, knowing that otherwise the beautiful symmetry of the emblem would be destroyed by the increase in the number of States.
“Michael,” said the Instructor from where he was sitting; “can you tell us to whom the credit belongs for the present pattern of our flag?”
“To Captain Samuel C. Reid—God bless his memory!”
“And who was Captain Samuel C. Reid?”