dreaming that the cheering was in honor of her scout
rescuer.

The housing problem did not trouble Orestes much. One tree was as good
as another so long as her architectural handiwork was not desecrated,
and having once satisfied herself that her little home still depended
from the very branch which she had chosen, she did not inquire too
particularly into the facts of that magic transfer. The branch rested
across two other branches and Orestes was satisfied.

That was a happy thought of Tom's to call the oriole Orestes, which
means dweller in the woods, but thanks to Hervey the name became
corrupted in camp talk, and the nickname of Asbestos caught the
community and became instantly popular.

The shady area under Asbestos' tree was already a favorite lounging
place for scouts, and lying on their backs with knees drawn up (a
favorite attitude of lounging) they could see that mysterious little red
streak in their little friend's nest. In the late afternoon, which was
ever the time of sprawling, the sun had a way of poking one of his rays
right down through the dense foliage plunk on Asbestos' nest, and then
the little red streak shone like Brick Warner's red hair after he had
been diving. But no one ventured up to that little home to investigate
that freakish streak of color.

"I'd like to know what that is?" Pee-wee Harris observed as he lay on
his back, peering up among the branches.

Half a dozen scouts, including Roy Blakeley and Hervey Willetts, were
sprawling under the tree waiting for supper, on the second afternoon
after Hervey's triumph. Waiting for supper was the favorite outdoor
sport at Temple Camp. Orestes was already tucked away in bed, having
dined early on three grasshoppers and an angleworm for dessert.

"That's easy," said Roy Blakeley; "Asbestos is a red--she's an
anarchist. We ought to notify the government."

"Asbestos is an I.W.W. He ought to be deported," Hervey said.

"He's a _she_," Pee-wee said.

"Just the same I'd like to know what that red streak really does mean,"
Roy confessed.

"It's better than a yellow streak anyway," Hervey laughed; "maybe it's
her patrol color."

"That's a funny thing about an oriole," another scout observed; "an
oriole picks up everything it sees, string and ribbon and everything
like that, and weaves it into its nest."

"They should worry about building material," Roy said.

"I read about one that got hold of a piece of tape and weaved it in,"
said th