"Why not?" said the Scout Master. "It seems to me we have. We've been prepared, haven't we? We've handled ourselves in storms and clouds, we've helped other folks, we've known how to signal for aid from one mountain top to another, we've kept ourselves well and hardy in the open, and we've had a bully good time. After all, we've put a lot of scout lore into use, when you come to think of it. That's what scout lore is for—to use, eh, Peanut?"
"Guess you're right. Gee, you're always right!" said Peanut. "I say three cheers for Mr. Rogers, the best Scout Master in America! Now, one"
"Sh!" said Rob. "We all agree, but the man in that next berth is snoring already. He might not agree!"
"Well, I can snore as loud as he can," cried Peanut, "if I get the chance. Let's turn in. And to-*morrow A. M. we'll be in old Southmead! Golly, wish I was in the Great Gulf!"
"You couldn't tell the other fellers what a good time we've had, if you were," said Art.
"That's so," Peanut reflected. "Aw, the stiffs! I hadn't thought about 'em till just this minute. The stiffs! Think of the fun they missed!"
It was eight o'clock the next morning when the five Scouts and Mr. Rogers, tanned and lean, with shoes battered and worn thin by the stony trails, marched
