t likely to advertise it. --But I'm sorry about that tooth." He
hunted it, found it, and examined it carefully. "It's a front tooth,
too." He dropped it into the stove.

"Too-ooth?" drawled One-Eye, suddenly sitting up. Not being able to see,
he had not been able to note the effect of the scoutmaster's art upon
Big Tom. But now, understanding a little of the damage Mr. Perkins had
done, the cowboy began to giggle like a girl, wrapped his arms about his
fur-covered knees, laid his head upon them, and set his body to rocking
hilariously. "Oh, gosh, a tooth!" he cried. "Oh! Ouch! And he begged me
t' save this young feller's life!"

Mrs. Kukor came stealing out of the tiny room. "He wass fierce!" she
declared, under her breath. "Nefer before wass he soch-like!"

"Oh, Mister Perkins, hurry up and git away!" begged Johnnie. (Suppose
Big Tom should come bursting out of the bedroom to renew the trouble?)
"It's been awful here ever since yesterday and it seems like I jus'
couldn't stand no more!"

"All right, scout boy." Mr. Perkins took a paper from an inner pocket of
his coat, and from another a fountain pen which Barber had not damaged.
He handed both to Father Pat, who rose at once and boldly entered the
bedroom. "That's the consent," the scoutmaster explained to Johnnie. He
got One-Eye into a chair and bandaged his swollen eye in the masterly
manner one might logically expect from the leader of a troop. This
addition to the cowboy's already picturesque get-up gave him an
altogether rakish and daring touch.

By the time the bandaging was done, here was Father Pat again, all wide,
Irish smiles. "Signed!" said he. "And, shure, Mr. Perkins, he paid ye a
grand compliment! Faith, and he did! It was after he scratched his name.
'That dude,' said he, 'if he was t' work on the docks,' said he, 'would
likely out-lift the whole lot of us.' Think o' it! Those were his very
words!"

Cis came forth from her room now, hatted, and carrying what she was
taking--a few toilet articles and one or two cherished belongings of her
mother's, all carefully wrapped in a shoe box. That it was pitiful, her
having to go with so little, occurred neither to her nor to Johnnie. But
it was just as well that they did not understand, as the older people in
the kitchen did, how tragic that shoe box was.

She was carrying something which she was not taking: Edwarda, until
recently so treasured and beloved. She laid the doll upon the oilcloth,
glanced a