There, under the bay-window, lay a motionless form. Tom was bending over it and Roy could hear his quick, short breaths as he tried to control his emotion.

"Is he dead, Tom?" Roy asked softly.

"It's--it's my father."

"Yes, I know. Is he dead?"

"Get the doctor--I'm glad it was me sent the message for him."

It was another culmination of another triumph.

"I'm glad too, Tom."

"They'll have to see him--they'll have to know now. You tell the doctor. I got to be loyal. Tell Mr.--Mr. Ellsworth he's got to remember what he said, that there wasn't no First Bridgeboro Troop when he was a boy--you heard him say that."

"He _will_ remember it, Tom."

"Get the doctor--quick!"

Tom bent lower over the motionless form of his father as if he were asking a question.

CHAPTER XX

TOM TOSSES IT BACK

When they brought the doctor around they found him still in that position and had to lift him gently away. The announcement that the wound was not fatal did not seem to move his stolidness in the least.

"I want to see Mr. Temple," he said doggedly.

"What is it, Tom?" said Mr. Ellsworth putting his arm over the boy's shoulder.

"I want to see him before he has him arrested--then if the wires are cut I'll send a wireless for the constable--only I want to see Mr.

Temple first. I'm not afraid of him now."

"He couldn't be arrested to-night, Tom, he--"

"I want to see Mr. Temple--_you_ tell him," he added, turning suddenly upon Mary, almost with an air of command. "I did something for _you_--once."

The girl was sobbing and seemed to hesitate as if not knowing whether to say something to Tom or to do his bidding. "Yes, I'll get him," she said.

It was not the scout fashion to order a young girl upon an errand, and it was certainly not the scout fashion, nor anyone else's fashion to summon John Temple thus peremptorily. But Tom was a sort of law unto himself and even Mr. Ellsworth did not interfere.

The master of Five Oaks came around the house with his daughter clinging to him. And Tom Slade, who had knocked his hat off, stood up and faced him. It was not always easy to get Tom's meaning; he often used p.r.o.nouns instead of names and his dogged, stolid temperament showed in his phraseology.

"He told me when I joined the troop that I had to be loyal, and that's the reason I'm doing it and not because I believe in being a burglar."

The naveness of this announcement might have seemed ludicrous if Tom's voice had not trembled with earnestness. "And he said there wasn't no scouts when he was a boy--that's my father there. And that's what _you_ got to remember too. I tracked him before and I got the pin and gave him my five dollars that I'd saved."

Someone t.i.ttered: John Temple frowned and shook his head impatiently and there was no more t.i.ttering.

"I guess you know about that, and that I didn't bring it to her 'cause I was scared, and I couldn't help him coming here to-night. Only you got to remember there wasn't any troop when he was a boy--you got to remember that. I'd 'a' been a burglar myself, that's sure, only for him" (indicating Mr. Ellsworth) "and the troop--and Roy. And he's sick--that's most what's the matter with him and I'd like to have him brought to our camp and have Doc take care of him till he gets well enough so's Mr. Ellsworth can talk to him, 'cause Mr. Ellsworth, he never fails--he's never failed once. But if you won't do that--if you won't leave him--let him--go like that--then you got to remember that there wasn't any troop when he was a boy-'cause I'm rememberin'

it--and------"

"He _will_ remember it," said Mary, weeping. "Oh, he does remember it, Tom, he does."

Mr. Temple drew her to him. "Go on, my boy," he said. "I'm listening."

"If you want me to send a wireless for the constable, I'll do it, 'cause I got to do a service--only you got to remember--that's only fair. And I got something else to say while I'm not scared of you-'tain't because I got any reason to be scared of you either--but I'm sorry I threw that stone at you. That was what started _him_ for the bad--when he went away and left me--but it started me for the good anyhow--so that's something."

For a moment no one spoke. Mr. Ellsworth would not spoil the effect of Tom's words by uttering so much as a single word himself. It was John Temple who broke the silence, quieting his daughter who seemed about to break forth again.

"I will do more than remember," said he. "Come here, my boy. There will be no charge made against your father, so there will be no need of a service unless it is a service of my own. It has been borne in upon me lately that your good scoutmaster is a wonder-worker, and what you have just said strengthens that growing conviction. I have been thinking, too, how I might further the movement so well represented by him, and the story of your experience with your father has quite decided me. For every one of those five precious dollars that you were sensible enough to save and n.o.ble enough to give away, there shall be given a thousand to the cause whose precepts and principles you represent.

"Let this poor man be taken to your camp in the woods if you like, and let your doctor take care of him, and see that he does his duty. I will visit your camp myself to-morrow if I may."

Mr. Ellsworth a.s.sured him that he might, and as for Doc, a half dozen chimed forth that he was the only ever, etc., etc.

Tom said nothing. He had never been much of a scout missionary, and the unexpected and altogether amazing conversion of John Temple quite overwhelmed him. He did not realize that he himself had done it, in his own stolid, crude way.

But would his hope be borne out? Would the Wizard Ellsworth indeed "get away with it," and make a new man of poor, wretched Bill Slade? I should hesitate to affirm it; but I wouldn't dare to deny it--not before the boys. So let us rest in the hope born of Tom's own words that Mr. Ellsworth had never yet failed. Let us believe that the woods and the camp-fire yarns and the company of these boys may be a helping hand to the broken wretch who had no First Bridgeboro Troop to look to when he was a boy.

As they bore the stretcher over the bridge toward the woods beyond, Tom heard the sound of footfalls a little distance behind them, and paused.

It proved to be Mary Temple.

"Tom, is that you?" she said.

"Yes-it is."

"I want to thank you, Tom. I was coming to your camp to-morrow, but I couldn't wait. I-want to thank you, Tom."

"What for?"

"Oh, for everything. You don't realize the things you do and that's the best part of it." "I didn't do noth--anything."

"You got me back my pin. Oh, Tom, you don't suppose five thousand dollars is all my father will give--he'll give ten times that!"

Tom said nothing, and for a moment they stood there near the bridge, hearing the river rippling below.

Then, impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him. "There," she said, "that's how much I thank you! And I'm coming to your camp again.

I'm coming with my father," she said, as she turned and ran toward home.

Still Tom said nothing. He could not handle a situation like this at all.