and there was therefore no connection between these three sets of
letters.

Tom knew well enough the habit of the Temple Camp scouts of carving
their initials everywhere. The rough bench where they waited for the
mail wagon to come along was covered with initials. And among them Tom
recalled a certain sprightly tenderfoot, Theodore Howell by name, who
had been at camp early that same season. Doubtless this artistic
triumph on the bulging back of Llewellyn was the handiwork of that same
tenderfoot.

And likely enough, too, those letters up in the woods were the initials
of Harry Thorne, still at camp. Tom would ask Harry about that. And at
the same time he would remind some of these carvers in wood and clay not
to leave any artistic memorials on the camp woodwork. It was part of
Tom's work to look after matters of that kind. About the only conclusion
he reached from these two disconnected sets of initials was that he
would have an eye out for specialists in carving....

But Tom's authority was as naught when it came to Llewellyn. The turtle
cared not for the young camp assistant. He sat upon the ground
motionless as a rock, apparently dead to the world.

Tom had now no more interest in the turtle than a kind of sporting
instinct not to be beaten. He could sit upon the rock as long as his
adversary could sit upon the ground. In a moment of exasperation he had
been upon the point of hurling the turtle into the lake, but had
refrained, and now he was reconciled to a vigil which should last all
night.