One, a little fellow from the west, had won the camp award for signaling.

There were others, too, with attainments less conspicuous and who were not in this gala troop, but the whole camp was out to honor its heroes, one and all.
Roy Blakeley, of the Silver Foxes, had a wooden rattle which he claimed could be heard for seven miles--eight miles and a quarter at a pinch.
The Tigers, with Bert Winton at their head, had some kind of an original contrivance which simulated the roar of their ferocious namesake.

The Church Mice, from down the Hudson, with Brent Gaylong as their scoutmaster, had a special squeal (patent applied for) which sounded as if all the mice in Christendom had gone suddenly mad.

Pee-wee had his voice--enough said.
The Panthers and the Leopards, with Mr.Warren, watched the departure of this rainbow troop with wistful glances.

Then the scoutmaster took his chagrined followers to their bare cabins, stripped of all that had made them comfortable and homelike in their long stay at camp.