On receipt of the news the other boys had rushed off noisily with eager joy to don their khaki uniforms and make ready, but Danny had slipped down a by-street--a wounded, a hurt thing, trying to hide his anguish away from mortal sight. He would not be allowed to go--he knew it--for he was the only son of a widowed mother who loved him all too well. He was her all, her idol, and her days had been spent in pampering and shielding him.
Only a week before, the scouts had gone on a hike together and she had refused absolutely to allow Danny to accompany them--the sun would be too hot, he might get poisoned with wild ivy, he would be sure to imbibe fever germs from the mountain spring!
No, thought the miserable boy, she would be doubly fearful, doubly unwilling, now that the Whippoorwills were to do serious scout duty on Death Head Mountain.
Danny's soul raged against his soft fate as he stumbled up the side steps of his handsome home and entered his mother's presence.
He did not fly to her arms as he was wont to do, but, instead, flung himself into the first convenient chair with a frown. He could not trust himself to speak.
But even in that moment of stress Danny realized that his mother had not hurried to him for the usual kiss. She was struggling with some sort of bundle, and she only looked up with a quick smile.
The next instant, however, the smile of welcome died out of her face, and she stopped suddenly and regarded him with a startled question in her eyes.
Danny frowned more darkly, and moved uneasily under her searching gaze. He looked away in a vain attempt to hide the tears which had sprung to his eyes.
"Danny," said his mother, in a voice that sounded new to him, "I received a long-distance phone message from the Scout Master, and--he said he had wired to the school----"
She paused a moment, and then asked: "Didn't you get the message?"
There was a pause, and then his mother deliberately put down the bundle she had been working with, and approached. She came and stood before him, with her back to the table as if for support. Danny did not look up into her face, though he saw her white, jewelled hands grasping the edge of the table, and they were strained and tense.