wned.

"Nobody else thought anything about it!" he muttered rebelliously.
"Besides, to-morrow's Thanksgiving; that's different from any other day."

A little later he put away the book, said good night, and went up to
his room. Having closed the door, he opened his closet and took out
his scout suit. It had come only the day before; already he had looked
at it more than twenty times, but the novelty had not yet worn off.
He wondered if fellows who had theirs merely for the asking felt half
as proud of it as he, who had worked for every penny of its cost. He
passed one hand caressingly over the smooth olive khaki, and then an odd
thought popped suddenly into his head.

He had tried it on, twice, but as yet he had not actually worn it.
Mightn't it mean even more to him if he wore it first in the performance
of a good turn that really counted?

Though the boy felt it only vaguely, and formulated it not at all even
in his mind, it was something of that spirit of consecration that of
old dominated the young candidates for knighthood, guarding their armor
through the long night-watches. Dale's face took on an expression of
determination, and as he put away his things his mind was oddly lightened.

Next morning he sallied forth, a trifle self-conscious in all the glory
of his new khaki, but warmed by the look in his mother's eyes as she
waved good-by from the door-step. Taking the shortest cut, he proceeded
to the rectory, and when Mr. Schofield appeared he saluted punctiliously.

"May I have one of the baskets, sir?" he asked.

The rector smiled. "Ah! You're going to take it to--" He paused
questioningly an instant; then his smile deepened. "Certainly," he said
cordially. "They're over in the parish-house. The ladies are packing
them now. Tell Mrs. Mason I said you were to have a good one."

Ten minutes later Dale was making his way briskly toward the Beldon
Turnpike, a large market-basket on one arm. The legs of a plump fowl
protruded from the covering; there were vegetables within, a can of soup,
celery, oranges, bananas, and a small pie. The weight was not a light
one, but Dale whistled cheerfully as he strode along.

He reached the turnpike without meeting any of the fellows, and after
ten or fifteen minutes' tramping along the straight, level road he paused
to shift the basket to the other arm. It was heavier than he thought.
Overhead the gray sky was a bit dispiriting, and the sharp, chill wind,
blowing across