"H—how soon are—the rest of you coming back?" Hervey asked with just the faintest suggestion of a break in his voice.
"Why, you know we're here for six weeks, Hervey. Don't you know anything about your troop's affairs? You know how much money we have in our treasury, don't you?"
Hervey did not miss the reproach. He said nothing, only kept tracing the circle with his stick. Finally it occurred to him to mark two eyes, a nose and a mouth in the circle. Mr. Denny sat studying him. I think Mr. Denny was on the point of weakening. Hervey seemed sober and preoccupied. But the face on the ground seemed to wink at Mr. Denny as if to intercede in its young creator's behalf.
Mr. Denny gathered his strength as one does on the point of taking an unpalatable medicine.
"Yesterday, Hervey, I expressly reminded you of your promise not to leave camp. I did that because I thought the storm might tempt you forth."
"They call me——"
"Yes, I know; they call you the stormy petrel. You went across the lake with others. They returned but you did not return with them. Where you went I don't know. And I'm not going to ask you, Hervey, for it makes no difference. I understand young Mr. Slade was there, but that makes no difference. Blakeley and one of his troop, Westy Martin, reached camp and reported conditions in the cove——"
"He's all right, Blakeley is——"
"Hours passed, no one knew where you were. I was too proud, or too ashamed, to go and ask Slade if he knew. I am jealous of our troop's reputation, Hervey—even if you are not——"
Hervey leaned against the cabin, looking abstractedly at his handiwork on the ground.