He had changed himself into a rock.

He was a good detective, because he knew how to keep still.
Tom strolled up to supper, as excited as it was in his nature to be, and greatly preoccupied.
On his way up he dropped Llewellyn into Tenderfoot Pond, a diminutive sheet of water, so named in honor of the diminutive scout contingent at camp.

He would have room enough to spend the balance of his life resting after his arduous and memorable journey.

And there he still abides, by last accounts, monarch of the mud and water, and suns himself for hours at a time on a favorite rock.

He is ranked as a scout of the first-class, as indeed he should be, but he is frightfully lazy.