sights.

The one twenty-two train from the city brought John Temple, founder of
Temple Camp, sponsor of innumerable scout enterprises, owner of
railroads, banks, and goodness knows what all. He was as rich as the
blackberry pudding of which Pee-wee Harris (official cut-up of the
Ravens) always ate three helpings at mess.

His coming was preceded by telegrams going in both directions, talks
over the long distance 'phone, and when at last he came in all his
glory, a rainbow troop consisting of honor scouts was formed to go down
to Catskill Landing and greet him. One scout who would presently be
handed the Gold Cross for life saving was among the number. Others were
down for the Star Scout badge, and the silver and the bronze awards.
Others had passed with peculiar distinction the many and difficult tests
for first-class scout. One, a little fellow from the west, had won the
camp award for signaling. There were others, too, with attainments less
conspicuous and who were not in this gala troop, but the whole camp was
out to honor its heroes, one and all.

Roy Blakeley, of the Silver Foxes, had a wooden rattle which he claimed
could be heard for seven miles--eight miles and a quarter at a pinch.
The Tigers, with Bert Winton at their head, had some kind of an original
contrivance which simulated the roar of their ferocious namesake. The
Church Mice, from down the Hudson, with Brent Gaylong as their
scoutmaster, had a special squeal (patent applied for) which sounded as
if all the mice in Christendom had gone suddenly mad. Pee-wee had his
voice--enough said.

The Panthers and the Leopards, with Mr. Warren, watched the departure of