The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp

by Thornton W. Burgess

"'Tis pwhat yez will be doing every day for the next week, and lucky if yez get the breakfast, as good a wan as this, anyway," declared Pat.

They had just finished the meal when Pat's younger brother and two little sisters shyly joined them. They were neatly dressed, and Walter was immensely tickled with Pat's manifest pride in them. It had been decided to spend the day there to prepare for the trip into the woods, and also to give Pat a day at home. They would take the train the next morning over to Lower Chain, a twenty minute run, and from there they would have to depend on their own good legs to take them the twelve miles on the lake to Woodcraft Camp. One of Pat's first inquiries had been as to whether there had been any snow during his absence, and great was his satisfaction to learn that there had not. He explained that that meant clear ice on the lake, for the heavy snows had come early this year, before the lake froze, and they would be able to make practically the whole distance on skates.

While Pat was attending to affairs at home the three visitors went out to do the village. The sun was well up and as they stepped out into the clear still air both Hal and Walter paused with a little gasp of surprise and pleasure. This was not the ugly sawmill village of their acquaintance. But for the tall stack of the mill and the whine and scream of the saws there was nothing familiar. It was as if a good fairy had touched the scene with a magic wand and all the sordid ugliness had been transformed to beauty. Over everything lay the white mantle of snow. It half buried the smaller cabins. It hid completely the stumps of the clearings. It had buried the litter of the mill yard. It glittered and sparkled in the rays of the sun. Beyond the clearing the evergreens rose in great pyramids of white. No, Upper Chain was no longer a blot on the landscape. It was beautiful.

As for Sparrer, he was dumb. While he could not appreciate the wonder of the transformation he could and did appreciate the wonder of the scene, and for the time being his tongue was tied. From the mill office they called up Woodcraft Camp to tell Doctor Merriam of their arrival and that they would be with him on the following day.

"Gee, didn't it seem good to hear the Big Chief's voice again?" said Hal as they went out into the mill to show Sparrer how logs are transformed into boards, timbers and shingles. "Sparrer, to-morrow you are going to meet one of the finest men in the whole world, bar none. He's a great old Scout."

Mrs. Malone was naturally disappointed that Pat was not to be home for Christmas, but she said little and busied herself in helping the boys prepare for their holiday. Her motherly Irish soul warmed at once to Sparrer, and she fussed over his outfit and comfort in a way that was new to the youngster, for his own mother, working from daylight to dark and often late into the night, had had little time for mothering. The boys had brought some gifts for the children, and these their mother hid against the arrival of good St. Nick. A part of Sparrer's outfit as a Christmas gift from his comrades had been a warm mackinaw, and to this Mrs. Malone insisted on adding a pair of thick woolen stockings of her own knitting. Pat's contribution was a pair of snow-shoes, which he brought out at the last moment as they were starting for the train, and as he took them a lump rose in the younger lad's throat and cut off speech. But the shine in his eyes expressed more than his tongue could have. Such kindness was a new experience in his life, and he hardly knew how to meet it.

The short run by train to Lower Chain was quickly made, and the boys piled out, eager to be on their way. Pat had provided a stout toboggan which showed the effects of long use, and on this he deftly loaded their duffle and supplies, lashing them securely into place. Sparrer watched him with troubled face. Ever since the mention of skates the day before he had worried over that twelve mile trip down the lake. He knew that Upton and Harrison had brought skates, but he had none, and if he had had he couldn't have used them. He had never been on a pair in his life. Skating is not an accomplishment of the lower East Side of New York.

So Sparrer had worried. If it had been merely a matter of a twelve mile hike he would have been on edge to show the others that he could keep up, but he knew that with the others on skates for him to try to keep up was as absurd as for a truck to try to keep pace with a racing car, and it hurt his pride to feel that he would be a drag on the others. Hal and Walter already had their skates on and were cutting circles, figure eights and grape-vine twists on the smooth ice. With the fastening of the last lash Pat put on his own skates.

"Now, me bantam, get up on that load," he ordered.

Sparrer demurred, but the young giant picked him up bodily and plumped him down on a roll of blankets, wrapped him up in a blanket left out for the purpose, ordered him to sit still, with dire threats of what would happen to him if he did not, called to the others to get on to their jobs, and they were off, Hal and Walter with the rope of the toboggan between them pulling, and Pat pushing behind with his hands on Sparrer's shoulders.