Edward Ellis - The Boy Patrol Around the Council Fire

You will recall that one day in a recent August, Jack Crandall, a member of the Stag Patrol of Boy Scouts, who with the Blazing Arrow and Eagle Patrols was spending the summer vacation on the shore of Gosling Lake, in Southern Maine, met with a serious accident. In climbing a tall pine to inspect a bird’s nest, he fell to the ground and broke his leg. His companions, Gerald Hume and Arthur Mitchell, belonging to the same Patrol, made a litter upon which he was carried to the clubhouse. Dr. Spellman, staying with his wife and little daughter Ruth, christened “Sunbeam” by Mike Murphy, in answer to a signal, paddled across the lake in his canoe, set the fractured limb and did all that was necessary.

Jack was an athlete, in rugged health and with no bad habits. He, therefore, recovered rapidly. After spending a few days on his couch, he was carried to the front porch, where in the cool shade and reposing upon an invalid chair, especially fashioned for the occasion, he feasted his eyes upon the delightful scenery and enjoyed the pleasures of his friends although he could not take part. He insisted that they should pay no special attention to him, though there was not a boy who would not have gladly kept him company all the time. A reunion of the troop took place in the evening, when he was carried inside, listened to the reports and took part in the conversation which you may be sure was of a lively nature.

Thus the days passed until the arrival of the silver mounted maple wood crutches, a gift from the other Scouts, and Jack swung carefully out on the porch and walked the length of it several times before sinking down in the waiting chair. This, of course, did not take place until the month was well by and the time for going home near. I thought it best to close my previous story with this glimpse of things, but it now becomes my duty to turn back and relate some incidents that occurred during the first days of the patient’s convalescence, since they have to do with what follows.

Dr. Spellman and his wife returned to the bungalow on the day succeeding Jack’s mishap.

Scout Master Hall and several of the lads expressed their surprise that no call had been made by Uncle Elk, the Hermit of the Woods, who showed so much fondness for the Boy Scouts that they expected to see him every day, provided the weather was favorable.

“I am sure he would have been here last night or this morning, had he known of Jack’s misfortune,” said Mr. Hall.

“If ye have no ’bjection I’ll drop in on him and let him know,” replied Mike Murphy, whose heart was as sympathetic as that of a young child.

“Please do so.”

Mike glanced around for his chums, Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes, but they were not in sight. It did not matter and he decided to make the trip alone, using one of the canoes to take him to the end of the lake, where he would follow the path that led to the cabin through the woods.

“On me way back,” remarked Mike to the Scout Master, who walked with him to the water’s edge, “I’ll drop in to larn how Sunbeam is getting on.”

The Scout Master smiled.

“That will take you considerably out of your way.”

“It’s not worth the mintion, as Ball O’Flaherty said whin he fell off the church steeple and broke his neck. Then ye know it’s a long time since I saw Sunbeam.”

“Yes, – less than a day.”

So the Irish youth seated himself in the stern of the graceful craft, and swung the paddle with creditable skill. No task could have been easier, and he grinned with satisfaction, as keeping close to shore, he watched the trees with their exuberant foliage glide silently backward.

“A canoe is a blissed boon to byes that can’t walk; we might set Jack in one of ’em, and he could paddle wherever he wished. I’m going to suggist to me friends that whin they go back home, each of ’em has a canoe mounted on wheels, so he can roam round the country, the same as if he’s skimming over the water as I’m doing this minute. I’d try it mesilf whin I get back, but dad would objict and there’s so much water there I don’t naad anything of the kind.”

Far over to the left, he saw the other canoe handled by several of the Scouts, while somewhat nearer and a little way back from the water, a thin, feathery finger of smoke filtering through the tree tops showed where Dr. Spellman’s house stood.

“Sunbeam has been gone so long that I’m worrit less something may have happened to her; I won’t tarry at Uncle Elk’s, but make haste to relave me mind as regards the Quaan.”

Uncle Elk’s canoe was drawn up the bank and turned over. Landing near it, Mike followed the winding path to the door from which the latch string hung, pulled it and stepped across the threshold.

“Good afternoon, Uncle Elk,” was his greeting as he closed the door behind him.

The hermit was sitting in his rocking chair, reading “The Truth of Religion,” by Rudolf Eucken, Professor of Philosophy in the University of Jena and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1908. The old man laid aside the heavy volume, still open, face downward.

“Michael, I’m glad to see you.”

He leaned forward, shook hands and motioned the youth to the chair opposite. Mike obeyed with the remark:

“We have been expecting a call from ye, Uncle Elk.”

“You don’t wish me to bore you with too much of my presence,” said the hermit, with a twinkle of his bright eyes.

“That’s something that can’t be done, if ye tried it till ye were an old man,” replied Mike warmly. And then told of the mishap that had befallen Jack Crandall. Uncle Elk listened sympathetically.

“That’s bad, but it might have been much worse.”

“Which Jack himself has obsarved, – for instance, ’spose it had been mesilf .”

“That surely would have been worse for you , but better for him. You say that Dr. Spellman set his injured leg?”

“That he did, and I couldn’t have done it better mesilf. He called this morning and said the spalpeen was doing splendid.”

“When will the doctor call again?”

“I’m not sartin, – but likely tomorrer.”

“Forenoon or afternoon?”

“I couldn’t say.”

Uncle Elk withdrew his gaze from the face of the lad and looked into the fireplace, where only a few dying embers showed. He was silent for a few moments and then addressed his caller.

“Michael,” he said in low tones, “I shall call upon Jack at the earliest opportunity, but my call must be timed so there will be no possibility of meeting Dr. Spellman.”

Mike was amazed by the words and at a loss what to say. Therefore he said what after all was perhaps the best thing.

“I’ll see that the doctor doesn’t try any expirimints on ye.”

The old man actually laughed, but only for an instant. With a shake of his head he said:

“It isn’t that, Michael, but he and I must never meet.”

The youth was astounded, but his sense of propriety forbade any questioning. If Uncle Elk did not choose to make known the cause of his strange enmity, Mike had no right to object.

A strained silence followed for a minute or two, when the hermit again looked meditatively into the smouldering embers.

“It can be easily arranged: let Dr. Spellman make his calls at such times as suit his convenience and I will adjust mine accordingly.”

“That should be aisy. I hev it!”

“Let me hear your plan.”

“’Spose the doctor makes it a rule to call ivery other day and ye can fit yer visits in betwaan, though we should like it to be oftener.”

“That would hardly answer, for he might be needed every day. A better plan will be that he should never call at the bungalow during the evening. If he agrees to that, everything will be right.”