"And _you_ think I'm a coward?"

"I'm not saying what I think. I never _did_ think so before. I know that
fellow will have the cross and they'll be the honor troop because in
_our_ troop we've got----"

"Don't say that again, Roy; please don't--I----"

Roy looked at him for one moment; perhaps in that brief space all the
history of their friendship came rushing back upon him, and he was on
the point of stretching out his hand and letting Tom explain. But the
impulse passed like a sudden storm, and he walked away.

Tom watched him until he entered the patrol shack, and then went on to
his own cabin. Jeb Rushmore was out with the class in tracking, teaching
them how to _feel_ a trail, and Tom sat down on his own couch, glad to
be alone. He thought of the members of his own troop, in and about his
own patrol cabin, ministering to Dory Bronson. He wondered what they
were saying about him and whether Roy would discuss him with others. He
didn't think Roy would do that. He wondered what Mr. Ellsworth would
think--and Jeb Rushmore.

He got up and, fumbling in his duffel bag, fished out the thumbed and
dilapidated Handbook, which was his trusty friend and companion. He
opened it at page 64. He knew the place well enough, for he had many
times coveted what was offered there. There, standing at attention and
looking straight at him, was the picture of a scout, very trim and
natty, looking, as he had often thought, exactly like Roy. Beside it was
another picture of a scout tying knots and he recalled how Roy had
taught him the various knots. His eyes scanned the type above till he
found what he sought.

"The bronze medal is mounted on a red ribbon and is awarded to a
scout who has actually saved life where risk is involved.

"The silver medal is mounted on a blue ribbon and is awarded to a
scout who saves life with considerable risk to himself.

"The gold medal is mounted on white ribbon and is the highest
possible award for heroism. It may be granted to a scout who has
gravely endangered his own life in actually saving the life of
another."

"It'll mean the silver one for him, all right," said Tom to himself,
"and that's three more weeks. I wish it could be the gold one."

Idly he ran through the pages of the book, pausing here and there. On
page 349 were pictures of scouts rescuing drowning persons. He knew the
methods well and looked at the pictures wistfully. Again at page 278 was
s