ailing to take part in the troop doings, unless these
were official and gave him a chance to appear in uniform, girded with
authority, so his absence was not unexpected.

Immediately after lunch the others betook themselves a mile outside
of town, sides were chosen, and the "border" laid out. This consisted of
about four hundred yards of a little-used road where the snow had not
been much disturbed. This was patrolled by a portion of the "custom
inspectors," with a reserve posted farther inland. About half a mile
back from the road a deserted barn did duty for the "town."

The smugglers gathered about half a mile on the other side of the border
and were allowed to cross it in any formation, singly, together, or
scattered, and make for the town at any speed they chose. One only of
their number was supposed to be smuggling, and he was equipped with
tracking-irons. The moment a sentry patrolling the border caught sight
of these tracks, his duty was to signal the fact to the reserve party of
inspectors and at once follow the track himself. The reserves cooperated
with him, trying by any means to catch the smuggler before he could
reach the town. If they succeeded, the game was theirs; but if the
smuggler eluded them and reached the barn safely, victory went to
the other side.

It was a typical scout sport, and for three hours or more the fellows
played it strenuously, varying it toward the end with one or two other
stalking games. These all met with unanimous approval, even Bob Gibson,
the habitual grumbler, admitting that it was more fun than he thought it
would be.

"We'll have to try some more of those in the book," Ward remarked as
they tramped back through the twilight. "That deer-hunt one sounds pretty
good, if you fellows will only make bows and arrows enough. I vote we
fix up a deer and go to it next Saturday."

It happened, however, that the following Saturday was devoted to
something even more interesting than deer-hunting. As Dale entered
the parish-house on Monday evening he passed Mr. Curtis, just inside
the door, talking earnestly with Wesley Becker.

"It was a big surprise to me, I can tell you," he heard the scoutmaster
say. "I can't imagine what has brought about the transformation."

"He doesn't say, I suppose?" asked Becker.

"No; it's just the curt invitation. He's hedged it about with all sorts
of prohibitions, but still it's wonderful he should have come around at
all."

"It'll be corking fo