was soon known to all the others. It completely
overshadowed the finding of Miss Bates and the disappointment of Pee-wee
at not ascertaining the name and address of the unknown soldier. They
did not talk freely about these things, chiefly because of their
appalling discovery, and partly also because there was a certain
constraint around the camp-fire that night.

The talk and banter which before had been so free and merry could not be
kept up; they could not do it, try as they would. The conversation was
not spontaneous, and the few pitiful attempts at joking were forced.
Even Roy seemed to have lost his corklike buoyancy. And for Pee-wee, he
could only sit gazing across the fire at Blythe with a kind of fearful
fascination. Different, but equally intent, was the almost steady gaze
of Warde Hollister. Roy noticed this; others noticed it.

Perhaps the only one who was quite at ease was the "boss" himself. "I'll
tell you what Doctor Cawson did to-day," he said.

Edwin (Doc) Carson was in the Raven Patrol and was called Doc because he
was the troop's official first aid scout. He was the son of a physician,
which fact had doubtless helped to raise him to proficiency in that
splendid part of scouting. It was one of Blythe's most noticeable
characteristics that he got the names of the scouts confused in his
mind. Almost the only name which he consistently pronounced correctly
was Will Dawson. And he pronounced Carson the same as he pronounced
Dawson.

Whether he really thought that Doc was a young physician it would be
hard to say. His simple admiration of the scouts amounted to a kind of
reverence, and he gave them credit for professional excellence in the
case of all their honors. To him their merit badges meant that they were
aviators, astronomers, chemists, and what not. And he always spoke of
Doc Carson as "doctor."

"What?" asked Roy, half-heartedly.

"I found a robin under the flooring of the last shack," said Blythe in
his usual simple way. "His wing was dragging open. I closed it up and
carried him in my hand like you said about carrying a bird. I held him
till the doctor came, and he said the wing wasn't broken, only strained.
He stood him on a branch and in a little while he flew away."

"Why didn't you kill him and be done with it?" Warde asked.

Blythe just laughed. "I guess you don't mean that," he said.

"Righto," said Hunt Ward of the Elks.

Followed then an interval of silence, broken only by the m