"Forward!" echoed the patrol leaders. "March!"
Chester troop was off. Small boys followed along the sidewalk and on past the village limits. After that, one by one, they dropped back, and at last the troop swung on through the early afternoon alone.
Tim threw himself joyously into the work of hauling the wagon. When Mr. Wall ordered route step, and the discipline of the hike gave way to laughter and song, Tim's voice rose above all the rest.
He felt like dancing in the road. The first hill found him impatient to run the wagon to the top. His zeal caused a quickened pace. Oh! there was no loafing or shirking today.
At the end of a half-mile the Foxes took the load. Tim strode on with a swinging step. His doubts were vanishing. Not once had Don tried to force him to do what he did not want to do. If there was some hidden reason for switching him from Alex, it should show itself now, shouldn't it? Maybe he had been wrong all along.
Don fell into step with him. "How about some practice in the woods this afternoon, Tim?"
"Sure." Tim's eyes danced. "We'll be first if we win this time."
Now it was Don who felt like dancing in the road. Tim, for some reason, had had another change of heart, and was once more eager.
Soon the whole patrol was walking with Don and Tim. And Tim, light-hearted, irrepressible, kept the talk flying merrily. When the call came for the Wolves to take the wagon again, he was the first to reach the shafts.
"Come on, slaves," he called.