"Pshaw!" retorted Tom.
Greg, running ahead, informed the others in camp who was coming. The bearers were met by Mr. Page, Hibbert and Colquitt, running in the order named.
"Here's the boy you want, Mr. Page," called Dick Prescott. "But look out for his injured ankle, sir."
This last caution was necessary, for the older man, in his eagerness to embrace the lad whom he believed to be his son, almost crashed into him.
"So you're my son—-my boy, Egbert!" cried the father.
"That's the fairy tale that has been shied at me a good many times lately," replied Tag gruffly.
Mr. Page fell back, in some astonishment, at this ungracious reception. Then, understanding, and remembering Tag's unhappy past, he patted the boy's shoulder.
"That's all right—-all right, Egbert," declared the father.
"Perhaps the news has come upon you too suddenly. But you and
I will talk it over. It won't take us long to know each other,
my boy."
As the party came into camp it was noted that Mrs. Bentley and the girls had withdrawn, returning, through delicacy, to their own camp. Hazelton, thus released from guard duty at the other camp, soon came running over.
But Dr. Bentley had slipped into the tent, quickly arranging one of the cots with the skill of the hospital worker.