g sort of a boy, who seemed so clumsy
in his actions that he was forever stumbling. He had once answered to
the name of Cornelius Jasper Hawtree; but if anybody called out "Bumpus"
he would smile, and answer to it. Bumpus he must be then to the end of
the story. And as he was musically inclined, possessing a fine tenor
voice, and being able to play on "any old instrument," as he claimed it
was only right that he assume the duties of bugler to the Cranford
Troop. Bumpus carried the shining bugle at his side, held by a thick
crimson cord; and when he tried he could certainly draw the sweetest
kind of notes from its brass throat.

Then there was Davy Jones, a fellow who had a sinuous body, and seemed
to be a born athlete. Davy could do all sorts of "stunts," and was never
so happy as hanging by his toes from the high branch of some tree; or
turning a double somersault in the air, always landing on his nimble
feet, like a cat. Davy had one affliction, which often gave him more or
less trouble. He was liable to be seized with cramps at any time; and
these doubled him up in a knot. He carried some pills given to him by
the family doctor at home, and at such times one of the other boys
usually forced a couple between his blue lips. But some of the fellows
were beginning to have faint suspicions concerning these "cramps;" and
that the artful Davy always seemed to be gripped nowadays when there was
a prospect of some extra heavy work at hand.

The last of the eight boys was a dark-haired lad, with a face that,
while handsome, was a little inclined to be along the order of the
proud. Robert White Quail was a Southern-born boy. He came from Alabama,
but had lived many years in this very region through which the Silver
Fox Patrol was now hiking. Indeed, it had been at his personal
solicitation that they had finally agreed to take their outing in
climbing the famous Blue Ridge Mountains, and tasting some of the
delights of a genuine experience in the wilderness. Among his
companions the Southern lad went by the name of "Bob White;" and
considering what his last name happened to be, it can be easily
understood that nothing else in the wide world would have answered.

Of course Step Hen had another name, which was plainly Stephen Bingham.
When a mite, going to school for the first time, on being asked his name
by the teacher, he had spelled it as made up of two distinct words; and
so Step Hen he was bound to be called by his comrade