So it seemed that Tom Slade had brought the rescued oriole, bag and
baggage, back to camp, and had said nothing of the circumstance of his
finding it. He was indeed a queer, uncommunicative fellow.

Surely, thought Hervey, this scout supreme could have no thought of
personal triumphs, for he was out of the game where such things were
concerned, being already the hero of scout heroes, living among them
with a kind of romantic halo about his head.

Hervey was a little puzzled as to why Tom had not given him credit for
finding that little stranger who was now a sort of mascot in the camp.
For the whole scout family had taken very kindly to Orestes.

In the loneliness of the shadow under which he spent those two days,
Hervey would have welcomed the slight glory which a word or two from Tom
Slade might have brought him. But Tom Slade said nothing. And it was not
in Hervey's nature to make any claims or boasts. He soon forgot the
episode, as he forgot almost everything else that he had done and got
through with. Glory for its own sake was nothing to him. He had climbed
the tree and got his scout suit torn into shreds and that was
satisfaction to him.

The next and last day before that momentous Saturday was camp clean-up
day, for with the lake events on Labor Day the season would about close.
All temporary stalking signs were taken down, original conveniences in
and about the cabins were removed, troop and patrol fire clearings were
raked over, two of the three large mess boards were stored away, and
most of the litter cleared up generally. What was done in a small way
each morning was done in a large way on this busy day, and every scout