and pale. This was the crucial moment of his life. He stood as straight
as he could, his little spindle legs shaking, but his hand held up in
the full scout salute to Mr. Temple. Oh, but he was proud and happy. If
Hervey Willetts, wherever he was, saw him one brief thrill of pride and
satisfaction must have been his.

"Alfred McCord," said Mr. Temple; "your friends and I greet you as a
scout of the second-class. Let me place on you the symbol of your
achievement."

He stepped forward, just one step. Oh, but he was happy. He stood upon
the platform, but he walked on air. Mr. Temple shook hands with him--Mr.
John Temple, founder of Temple Camp! Yes, sir, Skinny and Mr. John
Temple shook hands. And then the little fellow turned so that the
audience might see his precious badge. And the wrinkles at the ends of
his thin little mouth showed very clearly as he smiled--oh, such a
smile.

Then the scouts of Temple Camp showed that their wonted disregard of
Skinny was only because they did not understand him, queer little imp
that he was. For cheer after cheer arose as he stood there in a kind of
bewilderment of joy.

"Hurrah, for the star tracker!"

"Three cheers for the sleuth of the forest!"

"No more tenderfoot!"

"Hurrah for S-S-S!" Which meant Skinny, second-class scout.