, anything....

Was there one soul in all that great camp that really understood him?

As they picked their way through the woods, following his lead (for he
alone knew the way) he edified them with another song, for these ballads
which had made him the wandering minstrel he remembered even if he
remembered nothing else.

"You wouldn't think to look at me
That I'm as good as good can be--
a little saint.
You wouldn't care to make a bet,
That I'm the teacher's little pet--
I ain't."

CHAPTER XXVII

TOM LEARNS SOMETHING

Tom's absence through the day had resulted in an accumulation of work
upon his table. His duties were chiefly active but partly clerical.
After supper he started to clear away these matters.

The camp had already been in communication with Mr. Temple, its founder,
and plans had been made for an inspection of the washed-out cove by
engineers from the city. It was purposed to build a substantial dam at
that lowest and weakest place on the lake shore. There was a memorandum
asking Tom to be prepared to show these men the fatal spot on the
following morning.

Matters connected with the meeting of the resident Court of Honor next
day had also to be attended to. Several dreamers of high awards would
have a sleepless night in anticipation of that meeting. Hervey Willetts
would probably sleep peacefully--if he went to bed at all.

It was half an hour or so before Tom got around to looking over the
names of new arrivals. These were card indexed by the camp clerk, and
Tom always looked the cards over in a kind of casual quest of familiar
names, and also with the purpose of getting a line on first season
troops. It was his habit to make prompt acquaintance with these and help
them over the first hard day or so of strangeness.

In glancing over these names, he was greatly astonished to find on the
list of Mr. Carroll's troop, the name of William Corbett. The identity
of this name with that of the victim of the automobile accident greatly
interested him, and he recalled then for the first time, that this troop
had come from Hillsburgh, in the vicinity of which the accident had
occurred. Yet, according to the newspaper, the victim of the accident
had been killed, or mortally injured.

As Tom pondered on this coincidence of names there ran through his mind
one of those snatches of song which Hervey Willetts was fond of
singing: