He passed on, and the boy behind him took his place. In a daze Dale felt his hand shaken and heard the sound of Mr. Thornton's pleasant voice, but the words were as meaningless as if they had been spoken in another tongue. Muttering some vague reply, he dropped the other's hand and was swept on by the crowd behind.
Out of the whirling turmoil of his mind one thing alone stood forth sharply. Those were _his_ bird-houses; they could not possibly be any other. It was Ranny who had given him these wonderful two weeks--Ranny, whom he thought--
His head went up suddenly and, glancing around, he caught sight of the blond chap disappearing toward the beach. In a few moments he was at his side.
"Ranny!" he exclaimed impulsively. "You--you--"
Something gripped his throat, making further speech impossible. Phelps stirred uneasily.
"Well," he said with a touch of defiance, "I wanted them, and--and I couldn't make them myself. I--I'm a perfect dub with tools."
"You--you did it to--give me a chance at camp."
Dale's voice was strained and uneven. His hand still rested on the other's arm, and in the brief silence that followed he felt Ranny stiffen a little.
[Illustration: "Ranny!" he exclaimed impulsively. "You--you--"]
"If I did, it was only fair," the older chap said suddenly, in low, abrupt tones. "I--I've been a beastly cad, Dale. I've worked against you every way I could." His voice grew sharp and self-reproachful. "I kept it up like a stubborn mule even when I began to see-- Why, look at the rotten, conceited way I kept you out of baseball. After that it was only--decent to do what I could to--make up."
They stood in the moonlight, the water at their feet, while back among the trees the fire blazed up, sending a shower of sparks drifting across the spangled heavens. The talk and laughter of the crowd gathered there seemed to come from very far away.
"You did it to--to square up, then?" Dale asked presently in a low tone.
There was another pause. Suddenly an arm slid about his shoulders, and for the first time Ranny turned and looked him squarely in the eyes.
"No," he answered quietly. "It was because I wanted us to be in camp--together."
The last barrier of reserve between the two had fallen. From that moment they were friends of the sort Dale had sometimes dreamed of, but only lately dared to hope for. And as the weeks lengthened into months, as summer sped along to fall, the bond grew closer, until they became well-nigh inseparable. In school and out, on the football field, at scout meetings, on hikes, they were always together, until at last those early days of clash and bitterness seemed as unreal as the figments of a dream.