In the late afternoon, which was ever the time of sprawling, the sun had a way of poking one of his rays right down through the dense foliage plunk on Asbestos' nest, and then the little red streak shone like Brick Warner's red hair after he had been diving.

But no one ventured up to that little home to investigate that freakish streak of color.
"I'd like to know what that is ?" Pee-wee Harris observed as he lay on his back, peering up among the branches.
Half a dozen scouts, including Roy Blakeley and Hervey Willetts, were sprawling under the tree waiting for supper, on the second afternoon after Hervey's triumph.

Waiting for supper was the favorite outdoor sport at Temple Camp.

Orestes was already tucked away in bed, having dined early on three grasshoppers and an angleworm for dessert.
"That's easy," said Roy Blakeley; "Asbestos is a red--she's an anarchist.

We ought to notify the government." "Asbestos is an I.W.W.He ought to be deported," Hervey said.
"He's a _she_," Pee-wee said.
"Just the same I'd like to know what that red streak really does mean," Roy confessed.
"It's better than a yellow streak anyway," Hervey laughed; "maybe it's her patrol color." "That's a funny thing about an oriole," another scout observed; "an oriole picks up everything it sees, string and ribbon and everything like that, and weaves it into its nest." "They should worry about building material," Roy said.
"I read about one that got hold of a piece of tape and weaved it in," said the scout who had volunteered the information.