half a dozen medals
pinned to a little square of black velvet on one wall attested to
well-won victories in various lines of sport. The books on the shelves
were what one might expect in such surroundings, well selected stories
of adventure and exploration, treatises on hunting, fishing and outdoor
sports, a very complete nature library, handbooks on woodcraft, camping,
first aid, forestry and surveying, a well-thumbed Scout manual and other
books which attested to the owner's love of the great outdoor world. But
these were not all. A whole shelf was devoted to history, and another to
selections from standard American and English authors, including several
of our best loved poets.

Altogether, it was a room such as a keen, red-blooded, broad-minded boy
might well delight in. Upton did delight in it. Everything in it held
some special significance or sentiment for him, and now as his eyes idly
roved from one object to another one memory after another was stirred
within him. At last his eyes rested on the snow-shoes and remained
there.

"Wonder if I'll get a chance to use those things this winter," he
muttered. "Little old New York doesn't know much about that kind of
foot-gear. I suppose Pat has worn out two or three pairs since he gave
me those, and here I haven't had 'em on but once in three years, and
then there was hardly snow enough for an excuse. I guess I'd be some
tenderfoot all right, all right, on those things up in the woods. Good
old Pat! Wonder what he's doing. It's a long time since I've heard from
him. Well, I ought not to kick over a little extra grind! He's trying to
get an education and support himself and help his folks at the same
time. Wish he could come down here for the vacation. What fun it would
be to show him around and listen to his remarks on the big city. It
would be almost as much fun as going into the big woods in the winter.
Fact is, I envy him right now, and I'll bet he doesn't envy me a penny's
worth."

Swiftly his thoughts reverted to his first meeting with Pat Malone,
chore boy and bully of a sawmill village in the North Woods, and of the
thrashing he had given the young woodsman in spite of the latter's
advantage in weight and strength.

"It was all in the know how. Imagine me trying to do it now," he
chuckled. "Why, Pat could take me across his knee just as he did the
youngster who mistook him for a deer and put a bullet through his hat
last fall. I've never seen anybody take t