"First, I wanted to show you my new badge."
Saxham's left hand squeezed the arm most distant from him, where a familiar device was displayed upon the sleeve, midway, between the shoulder and elbow, below the six-inch length of colours distinctive of this Scout's Patrol.
"Turn round and show it, then!"
"Father, you're larking. That's my General Scout Badge. I've had it ever since I passed my Second Class tests. Before then, you know, when I was a Tenderfoot, I'd only the top-part—the fleur-de-lis without the motto, and you wear that in your left pocket button-hole. But this is something special, don't you see?"
Saxham eyed the row of little enamelled circles on the sleeve next him with respectful gravity. The boy went on, trying to control the gleeful tremor in his voice:
"I've got the Ambulance Badge!—look at the Geneva Cross!—and the Signaller's Badge—this is it—with the crossed flags—and the Interpreter's Badge—the one with the two hands holding. But this is the very latest. Our Scoutmaster gave it to me after parade to-day. It's the Airman's Badge—" He caught his breath, the secret was coming in a moment.... He went on: "To get it you must have made a model aëroplane. Not a flying-stick, any kid of nine can make one—but a model that will really fly. That's my special reason for coming. Mother was out—and—and next to her I wanted to tell you!"
"And next after me?"
The boy considered a moment before he looked up to answer:
"Cousin Pat, because she can keep a secret so tightly."
Saxham patted the sturdy square shoulders.