, pivoted
on his heel and bore the flag, its silken folds gently rippling, past
the scouts still standing at attention and on out of sight toward
the farther end of the room.

Of course it was only Courtlandt Parker, who was in Dale's grade at
school and a very familiar person indeed. But somehow, in this role,
he did not seem nearly so familiar and intimate. To the watching
tenderfoot it was almost as if he had ceased for the moment to be the
airy, volatile, harum-scarum "Court," whose pranks and witticisms so
often kept the whole grade stirred up and amused, and had become solely
the sober, earnest, serious color-bearer of the troop.

"A lot of it's the uniform, of course," thought Dale. "It does make a
whopping difference in a fellow's looks." He glanced down at his own
worn, still disheveled garments with sudden distaste. "I wish I had
mine!" he sighed.

A moment later, still hesitating in the background, reluctant to face
that trim, immaculate line, he caught the scoutmaster's glance,--that
level, friendly, smiling glance, which was at once a salutation and a
welcome,--and his head went up abruptly. What did looks matter, after
all--at least the sort of looks one couldn't help? He was none the worse
a scout because he had not yet saved up enough money for that coveted
suit of khaki. Nor was it his fault that he had lacked the time to go
home and brush up thoroughly for the meeting. He smiled back a little at
Mr. Curtis, and then, with shoulders square and head erect, he obeyed
the leader's silent summons.

There was a faint stir and a sense of curious, shifting eyes when he
appeared around the end of the line of waiting scouts. As he passed
Sherman Ward's patrol some one even whispered an airy greeting, "Aye,
Tommy." Though Dale did not glance that way, he knew it to be the
irrepressible Courtlandt, now returned to his position as assistant
patrol-leader. Court was the only one who ever called him that, and
the boy's heart warmed at this touch of friendliness. Then he paused
before the scoutmaster and promptly, though perhaps a little awkwardly,
returned the man's salute.

"I'm glad to see you, Dale," the scoutmaster said, in a tone which robbed
the words of any trace of the perfunctory. "I'd begun to think something
was keeping you away to-night."

The boy flushed a little. "I--I was delayed, sir," he explained briefly.
"I--I--it won't happen again, sir."

"Good!" The scoutmaster nodded approval, his glan