siness called him to
England, to give up all the friendships and associations of his boyhood. It
had been hard to leave school; to tear up, by the roots, all the things
that bound him to his home. But as a scout he had learned to be loyal and
obedient. His parents had talked things over with him very frankly. They
had understood just how hard it would be for him to go with them. But his
father had made him see how necessary it was.

"I want you to be near your mother and myself just now, especially, Harry,"
he had said. "I want you to grow up where I can see you. And, moreover, it
won't hurt you a bit to know something about other countries. You'll have a
new idea of America when you have seen other lands, and I believe you'll be
a better American for it. You'll learn that other countries have their
virtues, and that we can learn some things from them. But I believe you'll
learn, too, to love America better than ever. When we go home you'll be
broader and better for your experience."

And Harry was finding out that his father had been right. At first he had
to put up with a good deal. He found that the English boys he met in school
felt themselves a little superior. They didn't look down on him, exactly,
but they were, perhaps, the least bit sorry for him because he was not an
Englishman, always a real misfortune in their sight.

He had resented that at first. But his Boy Scout training stood him in good
stead. He kept his temper, and it was not long before he began to make
friends. He excelled at games; even the English games, that were new and
strange to him, presented few difficulties to him. As he had explained to
Dick, cricket was easy for any boy who could play baseball fairly well. And
it was the same way with football. After the far more strenuous American
game, he shone at the milder English football, the Rugby game, which is the
direct ancestor of the sport in America.

All these things helped to make Harry popular. He was now nearly sixteen,
tall and strong for his age, thanks to the outdoor life he had always
lived. An only son, he and his father had always been good friends. Without
being in any way a molly-coddle, still he had been kept safe from a good
many of the temptations that beset some boys by this constant association
with his father. It was no wonder, therefore, that John Grenfel, as soon as
he had talked with Harry and learned of the credentials he bore from his
home troop, had welcomed him ent