He was now nearly sixteen,
tall and strong for his age, thanks to the outdoor life he had always
lived. An only son, he and his father had always been good friends. Without
being in any way a molly-coddle, still he had been kept safe from a good
many of the temptations that beset some boys by this constant association
with his father. It was no wonder, therefore, that John Grenfel, as soon as
he had talked with Harry and learned of the credentials he bore from his
home troop, had welcomed him enthusiastically as a recruit to his own
troop.
It had been necessary to modify certain rules. Harry, of course, could not
subscribe to quite the same scout oath that bound his English fellows. But
he had taken his scout oath as a tenderfoot at home, and Grenfel had no
doubts about him. He was the sort of boy the organization wanted, whether
in England or America, and that was enough for Grenfel.
Though the boys, as they walked toward their homes, did not quite realize
it, they were living in days that were big with fate. Far away, in the
chancelleries of Europe, and, not so far away, in the big government
buildings in the West End of London, the statesmen were even then making
their last effort to avert war. No one in England perhaps, really believed
that war was coming. There had been war scares before.
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