“If when night comes down we are far from town,
Both tired and happy too,
Camp-fires we light and by embers bright
We sleep the whole night through.
Hurrah for the sun, hurrah for the storm,
Hurrah for the stars above!
We feel secure, safe, sane and sure,
For we know that God is Love.”
“Why have you that knot in your tie?” asked Leon after the last note had died away in forest-echo, while the scout was wetting the bandages round his inflamed ankle before they crept into the cave to sleep.
“To remind me to do one good turn to somebody every day.”
“Well, you can untie it now; I guess you’ve done good turns by the bunch to-day!”
Lying presently upon the fragrant pine-tips with which they had strewn the interior of the cave, the scout’s tired fingers fumbled for that knot and drowsily undid it. He had lost both way and temper in the woods. But he had tried, at least, to obey the scout law of kindness.
As he lay on guard, nearest to the cave’s entrance, winking back at the stars, this brought him a happy sense of that wide brotherhood whose cradle is God’s Everlasting Arms.
From the well of his sleepy excitement two words bubbled up: “Our Father!” Rolling over until his nose burrowed among the fragrant evergreens, he repeated the Lord’s Prayer, adding—because this had been an eventful day—a brief petition which had been put into his lips by his scoutmaster and was uttered under unusual stress of feeling, or when he remembered it: That in helpfulness to others and loyalty to good he might be a follower of the Lord of Chivalry, Jesus Christ, and continue his faithful soldier and servant “until the scout’s last trail is done!”
It was almost morning when he awoke for the second time, having stirred his tired limbs once already to replenish the camp-fire.
Now that hard-won fire had waned to a dull red shading on the undersides of velvety logs, the remainder of whose surface was of a chilly gray from which each passing breeze flicked the white flakes of ash like half-shriveled moths.