“If we had a shotgun,” suggested Ashwood, “we might bring down some squirrels. There’s oceans o’ squirrels on Round Rock.”
“Squirrel potpie’s great,” put in Sandy Sheldon. “Can any kid make squirrel potpie? We’d ought to take some flour and potatoes.”
“Boy Scouts can’t carry firearms,” remarked Connie. “That’s one of the laws, you know.”
“Not even to keep ’em from starvin’?” asked Lew.
“I reckon it’s to keep ’em from shootin’ each other,” laughed Connie.
“They ain’t no need to bother ’bout fish and squirrels,” broke in young Abercrombie. “Let ever’ kid take all he can carry or his folks’ll give him. I reckon we ought to get up two meals out o’ that. An’ in the evening we’ll get Mr. Trevor to send the big automobile to the river for us.”
“Hadn’t we ought to hike it both ways?” asked Art, dubiously.
“We’d ought to I reckon,” allowed Connie, “by the rules. But for a starter mebbe we could ride home. An’ you know we’ll be hikin’ all day up the river to the old quarry.”
Out of enthusiasm of this sort the boys finally found themselves grown so energetic that they could wait no longer for the coming drill manual. With the martial knowledge that every boy possesses to some extent, they left the shade of the maple and formed a drill squad. From marching and countermarching they fell to tracking an imaginary enemy, scaling imaginary breastworks, rescuing each other in the face of the enemy’s fire and binding up imaginary wounds.