Then hurrah for the woods, hurrah for the fields,
Hurrah for the life that’s free,
With a heart and mind both clean and kind,
The Scout’s is the life for me!
And we’ll shout, shout, shout,
For the Scout, Scout, Scout,
For the Scouts of the U.S.A.!”
The speaker exploded suddenly in a burst of song, throwing his broad hat into the air with a yell on the refrain that woke the echoes of the log shanty, while the breezy orchestra in the tree-tops, like noisy reed instruments, came in on the last line:—
“For the Scouts of the U.S.A.!”
Colin and Coombsie were enthusiastically shouting it too.
“Say! Col, that fellow suits me all right,” whispered Marcoo, nudging his chum and pointing toward the excited scout.
“Me, too!” returned Colin.
“Pshaw! he thinks he’s It, but I think the opposite,” murmured Leon truculently.
“To what troop or patrol do you belong, Nix?” questioned his cousin.