“We know where they’re hid in the brush,” Tony hastened to declare; “and I c’n get ’em again inside of an hour. I’m a-goin’ to do it too, ’cause I feel mean about that thing. I’m done with callin’ the scouts names. Fellers that’d reach out a helpin’ hand to them that didn’t deserve it must be the right sort. And laugh if you want to, Tom Chesney, but when we get back home I want ye to lend me a book that tells all a feller has to do when he thinks of gettin’ up a scout troop!”
Tony was as good as his word. When he said a thing he stuck to it, which was his best quality. He tramped a long way back along the trail, and reappeared after sunset bearing the missing cooking utensils.
“We’re going to pay for the eatables we took later on, I promise ye, Tom,” he declared.
They spent a great night and those four boys who had hated the scouts so long learned many wonderful things connected with the great movement as they sat by the fire, and listened to all that was said.
In the morning they went their way, and appeared to be different youths from what they had been in the past.
Mr. Witherspoon and the scouts spent another day and night with the hermit-naturalist. Then on the next morning they started forth to complete their hike over Big Bear Mountain.
It chanced that no further adventures came their way, and one afternoon weary but well satisfied with the success of their trip, the troop re-entered Lenox, with Felix sounding his fish horn just as valiantly as though it were the most beautiful silver-plated bugle that money could buy.