The Mysterious Tramp by Vera C. Barclay — Read

"What on earth _can_ be up? " thought Nipper to himself, as he sat up in bed, in the big sunny room that was the three boys' bedroom. There was Hugh asleep on the sofa in his clothes. And there was David (who was to have been out all night) lying in bed, in a wild, restless attitude, one arm flung across the pillow. His hands and face were very dirty, and there was what looked like a smudge of blood across his cheek. His clothes, covered with dust and earth and bits of bracken, lay in a heap on the floor.

Nipper looked about for something convenient to throw at his brother in order to waken him and inquire what was up, but before he had time to do so, something else had attracted his attention. Strolling down the rose walk outside the window, and dipping his head every now and then to avoid the long thorny arm of a rose tree stretched out to hook passers-by, or a dew-drenched branch of crimson rambler, came the Mysterious Tramp. His arm was in a sling, and the sling was made of a Cub's neckerchief. He had a strange look on his face, as if he was puzzled and worried, but also happy.