Pee-wee Harris on the Trail

PEE-WEE HOLDS FORTH

It was a delightful ride to Kidder Lake in the daytime. There is no time like the autumn--except the spring. And the spring is only good because it is the beginning of the summer. Just the same as the winter is best because the spring comes after it. As Roy Blakeley would have said, "You can do that by algebra." But there is nothing, either before or after, to make algebra good.

As Jim Burton's big Packard car sped along, the country looked bleak and the fields wan with their yellow corn-stalks. Even the little shacks where fresh fruit and vegetables had been displayed to motorists were now boarded up. Their cheerless, deserted look contributed quite as much as the changing foliage to the scene of coldness, desolation. The sad look which Nature assumes when school opens. The wind blew and the leaves fell and the West Ketchem scouts fell too, for Scout Harris, who was also blowing.

"That's what you call a proincidence, how I don't have to go to school yet, the same as you don't on account of yours burning down. Gee whiz, I like camp-fires, but I like school fires better."

"And you'll show us how to make a camp-fire?"

"Sure I will; I'11 show you how they do at Temple Camp. Is there anybody living on that island?"

"No one but us, and we'll have to be going home soon," said Charlie Norris.

"I like desert islands best," Pee-wee said; "they remind you of dessert. Sometimes I spell it that way. Don't you care, we have a month yet. Did you ever eat floating island? It has gobs of icing floating around in it. We have that Sunday nights at Temple Camp. When I said dessert it made me think of it. Sometimes islands disappear."

"I bet the ones in that dessert do all right," laughed Nick Vernon.

"You said it!" Pee-wee vociferated with great emphasis. "I'll show you how to make tracking cakes, too, only you can't eat them."

"No?"

"No-o-o, they're for chipmunks and birds to step on so you can save their footprints. Gee whiz, did you think you could eat them?"

"We didn't know," said Fido Norris.

"Gee, there are lots of things I don't know too," said Pee-wee generously. "But anyway I fixed it so a scout could stay at Temple Camp an extra week."

"Bully for you. A good turn?"

"You said it. I gave him a whole pail of berries I picked and he got sick and couldn't go home."

"Some fixer."

"I've fixed lots of things."

"Maybe you can give us all berries the day before our temporary school opens," said Fido Norton.

"Don't you worry," said Pee-wee reassuringly; "maybe the men who are getting it ready will go on a strike; maybe there'll be measles or whooping cough or something. I've had those."

"You're not missing much, hey?"

"You said it. I've been lost in the woods too. Roy Blakeley says I get lost at C when I sing. He's crazy, that feller is. He started the Silver Foxes. There's a feller in that patrol can move his ears without touching them. I should worry as long as I can move my mouth. I'll show you how to flop a fried egg in the pan only you have to look it doesn't come down on your head. You can scramble eggs but you can't unscramble them. Once one came down on my head. I took a bee-line hike, too."

"With a fried egg on your head?"

"No-o-o. I'll show you how to make a thing to get olives out of the bottom of a bottle too; it's better than a hatpin, but a hatpin is good to catch pollywogs with. There's a Pollywog Patrol that comes to Temple Camp. Gee, I never knew that silver cup was in the car with me all the time."

"Well, we expect you to walk away with that," said Scoutmaster Ned. "You rode away with it once. So now we expect you to walk away with it."

"It's won already," said Charlie Norris. "Nick's the one."

"Gee whiz, I wish I had seen that signal," said Pee-wee, "but anyway I have to admit it was a stunt sending it. Gee, I guess you'll get the cup all right."

It was characteristic of Pee-wee that his thoughts did not recur to his lonely adversary at Piper's Crossroads. His thoughts were always of the moment and aroused by the present company. He was just as ready to shout for others as he was to shout for himself, and that is saying a great deal. It was immaterial to him who he shouted for so long as he could shout.

Nick Vernon was the nearest and likeliest, so he was all for Nick's stunt. And he was not in the least curious about the things said by that lonely boy with wide eyes who had stopped the car. He was thinking of other things now.

SCOUTMASTER NED DOESN'T SEE

But Scoutmaster Ned was curious and when they reached the little cottage he jumped out and, taking the can of gasoline he had brought, he bade the others go on their way, saying that he would follow when he got his car started.

"Well sir, you haven't been sitting here all this time, I hope?" he said to Peter. "Nice brisk morning, hey? The kind of weather to give you an appetite."

"Wouldn't they wait for you?" Peter asked.

"I'm glad to get rid of them," said Scoutmaster Ned in a way of friendly confidence; "they make a noise like an earthquake; that little fellow's the worst of the lot; he ought to have a muffler."

"Is he a real scout?" Peter ventured.

"Oh, he's two or three scouts. What d'you think of them? Crazy bunch, hey?"

"They're all real scouts--are they?" Peter asked hesitatingly.

"They think they are. Now look here," he added, sitting down on the running board in a companionable way beside Peter, "I want you to tell me what made you say that road was closed. There was a light in the sky; you saw that? Big, tall light?"

"That--that fellow--named Nick--he made it."

"Yes, and what made you close the road? Somebody tell you the light meant something?"

"There isn't anybody around here," said Peter, growing more at ease as everyone did with Scoutmaster Ned, "except Aunt Sarah Wickett and she's crazy. There's nobody in this house but my mother."

"How about Mr. Fee? No? Well then, who told you to close the road? Come now, you and I are pals and you have to tell me."

A scoutmaster, a real, live scoutmaster, a pal of his? Why that was more wonderful than reading a signal. Peter's hands rubbed together nervously and he hedged, as a scout should never do.

"I want that scout to get that cup, the one that sent the message. Could--maybe could I see that cup--if it's in this car?"

In the excitement of the night, Scoutmaster Ned had forgotten all about the stunt cup (as they had come to call it). He now brought it forth from under the rear seat and unwound the flannel rag that was around it and polished it a little as he held it up. It shone in the bright morning sunlight and Peter saw his face in it. That was strange, that Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads should see his own face looking at him from the radiant surface of a scout prize cup. He had never even seen such a good mirror before. He just gazed at it, and continued to gaze, as Scoutmaster Ned held it up. Awarded for the--it shone so, he could hardly make out the words--for the best all scout stunt of the season.

"It cost a lot of money, didn't it?"

"Oh, something less than a couple of thousand dollars. Look nice, standing on a scout's table, huh?" Scoutmaster Ned gave it another little rub and contemplated it admiringly. "We had enough of a fuss getting it, that's sure. See that Maltese Cross on it? That's our bi-troop sign. We have two troops; always hang together. A troop's one bunch in scouting. That kid thought the Maltese Cross meant that the cup was to drink malted milk out of. He's a three-ring circus, that kid."

"It was a stunt to send that--to make that light, wasn't it?" Peter asked.

"Well, I'll say it was," said Scoutmaster Ned, giving the cup another admiring rub.

That settled it for Peter. He could not match his poor little exploit against such miraculous performances. The sight of those uniforms in the broad daylight had cowed him. The sight of Nick Vernon's signalling badge had brought him to his sober senses, and he felt ashamed even of his dreams and his pretending. The brief glimpse he had had of Scout Harris in all his flaunting array, going forth to new conquests surrounded by infatuated disciples, these things settled it for poor Peter. He thought himself lucky not to have drawn attention and been made a fool by those heroes. Maybe they would not all have been as considerate as Scoutmaster Ned. The safest thing, as well as the thing nearest to his heart, was to stand for Nick Vernon. He could stand for him even if he was afraid of him. After all, a pioneer scout was not really and truly a scout....

"I don't know why I put the rope up," he said nervously; "I just did. There is a--a bad place in the road if you're going fast--I'll--I just as soon show it to you--if you don't believe me. I thought maybe the light--but anyway I wasn't sure--and I'll show you that bad place. I guess he'll sure win the cup, won't he; the scout that made the light?"

"Shouldn't wonder," said Scoutmaster Ned, a little puzzled, but apparently satisfied. "Didn't you say something about a signal? To that little codger? Or was he dreaming? Or am I dreaming?" He scrutinized Peter very curiously but seeing no sign of the scout about him, he dismissed the receiving end of this business with Peter's rather awkward explanation, and let it go at that.

As for what Pee-wee had said, that did not worry Scoutmaster Ned. Pee-wee's dream and experiences seemed to be all mixed up together like the things in a hunter's stew. Scoutmaster Ned went by the signs, which scouts do, and the signs were a funny ticking shirt and a pair of pantaloons like stove pipes. No hint of scouting there.

For you see the scout was inside of Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads. That was why he was for Nick Vernon. It was inside him, and "disguised" (as Pee-wee would have said) as a checker-board shirt. And that was why Scoutmaster Ned couldn't see it....

MORE HANDLING

And so Peter Piper, of Piper's Crossroads, proved too much for Scoutmaster Ned. He kept his secret. But he had a very narrow escape from being a hero.

Scoutmaster Ned had his way, too. "So you think you'd like to have a pike at that camp, eh?" he said.

Scoutmaster Ned's theory about camping was to keep open house. If he lacked discipline (which it is to be feared he did) he made up in pep, and the surprises that he was forever springing on the camp were a perpetual joy. I suspect that he was not well versed in his scoutmasters' handbook. He was a sort of human north wind. He adopted the pose of being driven to distraction by "those kids" and he denounced them roundly and said there were too many of them and that he was going to pick out one and drown the rest. Then he would show up with a new one. He was a sort of free-lance scoutmaster and I wonder how he ever drifted into the movement. Probably he didn't drift in, but blew in. Scoutmaster Safety First (Bill) was his balance-wheel.

"Where is she? I'll talk to her," he said to Peter.

So he talked with Mrs. Piper while Peter stood by. He sat down in the kitchen and drank a glass of milk and ate a piece of pie and told her that it was the first real piece of pie he had ever eaten in his life. Would he have another? Well, he'd say he would! Mrs. Piper thought he was about the finest "young gent" she had ever seen.

He told her all about his adventures of the night as if she were a pal and when she said she had slept through all the rumpus outside, he said, "Well, you've got West Ketchem, where I come from, beaten twenty ways. Could I have just one little sliver--no, not as much as that--well, all right. That town, why you couldn't wake it up, Mrs. Piper, not with an earthquake. It would just fall down through the crack in the earth and go right on sleeping--no I couldn't eat another speck. We must be off."

"We?"

"Oh yes, Pete's going with me. He's going to make us a little visit for a week or two. We have lessons and everything, study nature, and all that, and all he wants to eat. I'll bring him back, he wants to see the real scouts in captivity. No accounting for tastes, hey, Mrs. Piper? You'd better bring along a coat, Pete; but don't change your clothes, you're not going to church; come just as you are, so I'll be able to tell you from the rest in case I should decide to kill them all. That lets you out, see? Come ahead before your mother changes her mind."

Poor Mrs. Piper had not yet made up her mind, so she could not very well change it. Scoutmaster Ned had made up her mind for her.

"I'll have to get Sally Flint ter come over and visit with me," said Mrs. Piper doubtfully.

"Just the one," said Scoutmaster Ned. "She'll keep you company and you'll have a little peace with this youngster gone. Mrs. Piper, if I had my way I'd chloroform every boy in creation. I wonder you look so young with a wild Indian like that around."

"Oh, I ain't lookin' so young," she smiled, greatly pleased.

Before she realized it she was shaking hands with Scoutmaster Ned while her other arm was around Peter. "I'm going to come here and stay a month," the young man said. "I'm going to churn butter and eat pie--if I can escape from that outfit. Well good-bye, we're off. I hope the old bus runs."

"It looks reel smart with all the blue paint," said Mrs. Piper.

"Handsome is as handsome does," said Scoutmaster Ned. "Climb in, Pete, what are you scared of? It won't eat you. Anybody'd think you were stalking--stepping so carefully. Know what stalking is? They'll show you."

Mrs. Piper stood holding her gingham apron to her eyes as they rode off. It was of exactly the same pattern as Peter's shirt. He looked funny sitting rather fearfully on the front seat. She had never dreamed of seeing him enthroned amid such sumptuousness. Perhaps some day he would go away and come back rich--a hero. Her Peter. And this stranger liked him. She was weeping because she had never heard her boy called Pete since his father died. She liked to hear him called Pete, it was so friendly, and recalled the past so vividly....

As if Scoutmaster Ned would have called him anything else than Pete!

HINTS

They showed him. As Scoutmaster Ned had told him they would do, they showed him. And Peter Piper was in dreamland; it was all too good to be true. They showed him how to track and stalk. And how to signal.

Nick showed him how to make a smudge fire, and Peter was doubly sure, then, that Nick would win the cup. In the nights he dreamed of the winning of that cup, of Nick winning it. Yes, they showed him. Fido Norton showed him how to track a rabbit, and a small-sized, pocket edition of a scout in the Elephant Patrol showed him (very difficult) how to trail a hop-toad. Charlie Norris showed him how to use a deadly kodak, which Peter had never seen before. He liked it because it pulled open the way a turtle's neck comes out, and then went in again. Oh yes, they all showed him.

And meanwhile Peter Piper kept his secret and no one ever knew of his little exploit, for which the handbook really deserved all the credit. The adventure of the stolen car was now forgotten in a hundred new activities, and with it the rope across the road and the lantern and all that. Sometimes when they spoke of that, Peter was troubled. But they did not often speak of it. And he did not even tell them that he was a pioneer scout. Harding and Coolidge he now kept in the pocket of his stove-pipe pantaloons. For Peter Piper was approaching scouthood through the tenderfoot class. Yes, they were all busy showing him.

Scout Harris showed him. Oh yes, he showed him. But Scout Harris was too busy showing all the rest of them to do any exclusive showing for the pioneer scout. And besides, Peter, who was too new and too bashful and too awed by his companions and surroundings to be a good general mixer, was mostly occupied with his hero, Nick Vernon. Pee-wee, who was a mixer as well as a fixer, went on mixing and fixing and soon he performed his greatest of all "fixing" feats; probably the greatest fixing feat in scout history. Perhaps the greatest fixing stunt in the history of the world.

But Peter was satisfied to laugh at Pee-wee with the rest of them, with that bashful, hesitating laugh, which endeared him to them all.

It was natural that he should follow Nick Vernon about the island, for everyone liked Nick, who was quiet, humorous, modest and withal very resourceful and skilful. He had a kind of a contained air, as if he knew more than he gave out, in contrast to Scout Harris who gave out more than he knew. A bantering, off-hand way he had, as if all the things he did (and he could do many) were done just to kill time. Skilful though he was, he did not take himself too seriously. Everything he did he seemed to do incidentally.

He would wander aimlessly into some triumph. "Going tracking?" they would say. "Guess so," he would answer. He never made a fuss. The general impression that he gave was that scouting was a good enough way to while away a summer. Peter Piper worshipped at the shrine, winning scout personality. He hoped that his mother would allow him to stay for the finish so that he could see Nick receive the cup. He watched, jealously, anxiously, the stunts of the other scouts, but none of them could be mentioned along with Nick's signalling.

One morning Nick sauntered down to the shore, Peter with him.

"Going to wigwag?" they asked him.

"Maybe, if there's anyone to wigwag to. No use talking if there isn't anyone in town to listen."

"Scout Harris talks whether there's anyone to listen or not," one said.

"Shall I bring the card to wigwag with?" Peter asked.

"No, don't bother. Got some matches? Never mind if you haven't."

Peter ran back and got some.

"If you're signalling tell them not to hurry with the school, we can wait. Scout Harris is giving us an education. He's going to move the lake to-morrow."

"He's a queer duck," one of the party sprawling around the tents said as the two made their way down toward the shore.

"Who, Pete?"

"No, Nick; jiminy, it always seems as if--I don't know--as if he has something up his sleeve."

"It's his arm," commented a joker.

"Maybe he knows about a mystery," Pee-wee said; "maybe there's treasure buried on this island."

"There'll be some scouts buried on this island if we all die laughing at you," another scout observed. "Come on, let's dig some bait."

Nick did not decide what he was going to do till he reached the shore. That was just like him. Peter was all excitement.

"Are you going to signal?" he asked.

Nick often signalled over to town and sometimes he got an answer, for there were other scouts over there. He did it just for pastime. Usually it was the wigwag that he used. But on this morning, noticing the dried leaves all about, he said, "We'll try a smudge, that's pretty good sport; Morse Code, you know." He looked about half-interestedly and began kicking leaves into a pile, Peter doing the same. If Nick had any particular purpose in this business, at least you would not have supposed so. He seemed as aimless as a butterfly.

"Are you going to ask about school?"

"No," laughed Nick, dragging some leaves with his foot; "there's no school for a month, we know that. If you know a thing you know it; isn't that so?"

"I don't know many things."

"No? Well, get some water in your hat--here, take mine. These blamed scout hats are made to hold water."

Peter brought some water, which Nick poured on the leaves.

"Now haul that old raft up here and we'll hold it up. We'll just say 'hello' to be sociable, show the town we're not stuck-up."

They held the old raft, of about the area of a door, slanting ways over the leaves, and Nick showed Peter how to manipulate it so as to control the column of black smoke arising from the damp leaves. Peter was greatly interested, even excited, over this new kind of signalling. He was not quite as careful as he had been in talking with Scoutmaster Ned.

"Make one long one first to call their attention," he said, quite aroused by the novel enterprise.

"Yes?" said Nick, half interested apparently. "Who told you that?"

"I--I just knew it. I know now--let me do it--it's easy. Only they have to be careful over there. That's--that's the hard part. I hope they have a--one of those books over there--and then--maybe--I hope they keep it open at page two hundred and eighty-four. Let me try it--"

"Ned give you one of those books?"

"N--no, I--I saw one."

"Hmm."

"Well, let's get busy with the message, Pete."

Nick Vernon did not seem greatly interested in where or when or how Peter had seen the handbook, nor how he happened to remember page two hundred and eighty-four. But one thing Nick Vernon knew (it was a reflection on Scoutmaster Ned and just exactly like him) and that was that there was not a single copy of the scout handbook on Frying-pan Island.

THE FIXER

"All right, you can do as you choose," said Pee-wee; "only I'm just telling you. There's always better fishing on the east side of an island because that's what Uncle Jeb up at Temple Camp said and he knows--he knows--"

"He knows all the fish personally," said Charlie Norris.

"You think you're smart, don't you?" thundered Pee-wee. "There's a better spring over there than there is here and then besides, the rain will drain out better on account of the ground being higher, because I know all about camping, you can ask my scoutmaster. It won't be so cold over there at night, either; you see. You move the tents over there, gee whiz, Arabs move their tents every day, and look at gypsies, they keep moving all the time."

"It will be a scout movement," said Scoutmaster Safety First, rather impressed with Pee-wee's arguments.

"I'm game for anything," said Scoutmaster Ned. "Variety is the spice of life. The housing situation--"

"I know all about the housing situation," said Pee-wee; "my father owns a house and the water's calmer on the east side of an island, because I can prove it by the Pacific Ocean."

"The Pacific Ocean is west of here," said Scoutmaster Ned. "At least it was when I went to school. I dare say it's there yet. Put another log on the fire, Nick. How about it, Pete? Where's the Pacific Ocean? I'll leave it to Pete."

"It's in the school geography," Pee-wee shouted from the other side of the camp-fire, "and it's on the east of China. You have to know where you're at before you can tell where it is and there's better fishing in China than there is here, because in Japan they catch sardines! Temple Camp is on the east side of Black Lake, and anyway there's a dandy place over there for tents and there are a lot of birds' nests and there's a better spring and you don't have to carry water so far and you always spill a lot of it and there are a couple of pine trees and the leaves don't fall off them, because there aren't any leaves and leaves keep the rain and wind off but not if there aren't any and these trees are getting bare--"

"Enough! Enough!" said Scoutmaster Ned, rising, and sticking his fingers into his ears. "We ask for an armistice. All we ask for is three hours' time in which to move--"

"I'll fix it," vociferated Pee-wee.

"We surrender to the world's greatest fixer," said Scoutmaster Ned. "The high authority from Temple Camp--"

"He isn't so high!"

"Size don't count," roared Pee-wee.

"Shall be followed," said Scoutmaster Ned. "To-morrow morning we'll move to the east side of the island in view of the thriving metropolis of East Ketchem. Its four lights will cheer us at night. This spilling of water must be stopped. Pretty soon the island will be under water and then where will we be?"

"Worse off than in school," called a voice.

"I am for the pine trees," said Scoutmaster Ned. "I am for the high land and the fishing and the birds' nests and the shelter. In short, I'm for Scout Harris!"

"I'm for the view of East Ketchem as long as I don't have to go there," said Fido Norton.

It was the silly, tail end of the season; they were ready to do almost anything, except go to school. They were going to have the last minute of the last day of this delightful little supplementary season, this autumnal climax of their camping life. But aside from this resolution they cared not what they did. Pee-wee, instead of getting on their nerves, had gotten into their spirits. A change of location wouldn't be half bad. And Pee-wee was right too, in much that he had said; they realized this. And he admitted it.

"Sure, I'm right," he said; "you leave it to me. I'll fix it. We'll move over there to-morrow and if you're sorry now you'll be glad of it because--"

"Oh, it will be a day of rejoicing," said Scoutmaster Ned.

"Anything goes," said Charlie Norris.

"Lead and we'll follow, Scout Harris," chimed Fido Norton.

"One place is as good as another if not better," shouted another scout.

"All in favor of moving, say Aye."

"Aye!" shouted Pee-wee, in a voice of thunder.

BETRAYED!

The next morning they folded their tents like the Arabs and moved to a spot which Pee-wee recommended, on the opposite side of the island. Why he liked it I do not know, for it was a quiet spot. Perhaps he liked it because it was retiring and modest, and kept in the background, as one might say. It seemed to breathe peacefulness, which was Pee-wee's middle name. It afforded a fine view of East Ketchem, the thriving community on the east shore of Kidder Lake; and the crystal spring, and stalking facilities, and better shelter of the stately, solemn pines, seemed in accordance with scout requirements.

"Well, we're here because we're here," said Scoutmaster Ned, sitting down on two loaded grocery boxes after his last trip. "If the spring water doesn't come to us, we come to the spring water. Not half bad at that," he added, looking about. Indeed they had not been familiar with the eastern shore of the island and now they contemplated the discovery of Christopher Columbus Pee-wee, not without surprise and satisfaction.

"When I go to a place I always leave it--"

"Lucky for the place," interrupted Nick in his dry, drawling way.

"I always go on expeditions," Pee-wee explained. "I even discovered islands and things. I discovered a mountain once, up at Temple Camp, only somebody discovered it before I did. I discovered this place day before yesterday when I was tracking a mud-turtle. Once I found a peninsula only it wasn't there the next day."

"Who took it?"

"The tide came up and it was under water. Do you want me to show you how to make drain ditches around tents?"

They put up the tents and dug drain ditches around them and cleared a place for the camp-fire and brought wood for it. They chopped supports for their messboard and drove them into the pine-carpeted earth and laid the long boards upon them. To do Pee-wee justice, the place was an ideal camping spot. And what was one day's work of moving, against almost an entire month of camping in that sequestered glen, among fragrant pines?

"You've got the right idea, Scout Harris," said Scoutmaster Ned.

"It was a--a inspiration," said Pee-wee.

"Do you have those often?" Nick asked.

"Oh boy! I have them all the time."

"But how about a landing place?" a scout asked.

"Who wants to go to East Ketchem, anyway?" said Norris. "We should bother our heads about a landing place."

"Leave it to me. I'll fix it," Pee-wee said.

In the late afternoon they sprawled about and found the velvet coverlet of pine needles restful to their weary bodies.

"Well, it's all over but the shouting," said Scoutmaster Ned. "All we need is sup--"

"I'll do it!" shouted Pee-wee.

"What, the shouting?" asked Nick.

"Here comes a boat," said another scout.

"Maybe somebody's going to discover the island," said Pee-wee.

"There are two men in it," said another; "they're rowing straight for us."

"Maybe this is their camping spot," said Fido Norton; "I knew this place was too good to be missed all this time."

"If it's their place--"

"Leave them to me, I'll fix it," Pee-wee announced vociferously.

"That relieves us," said Scoutmaster Ned, lying back on the ground, after sitting up to inspect the approaching boat; "we are safe in the hands of Scout Harris. Let them come. We should worry our young lives."

The boat made straight for the new camp, and it appeared to contain two men. The one who was rowing wore a large straw hat and his suspenders were visible.

"They're scoutmasters!" Pee-wee shouted. This seemed as good a guess as any.

The two men landed, drew the boat up very methodically and approached the camp.

"Good afternoon," said Scoutmaster Ned, dragging himself to his feet and seating himself upon a grocery box. "Beautiful fall weather we're having. Just a little crisp out on the water, eh? Won't you sit down--if you can find something to sit on?"

Whether the weather was crisp or not, the man who spoke first was very crisp indeed.

"You in charge of these lads?" he asked.

"Well, we're all sort of in charge of each other," said Scoutmaster Ned. "I guess I'm the goat."

"He's all right," Pee-wee said; "you take it from me."

"Well," said the man in a drawling but ominously conclusive tone, "my name is Rodney, Birchel Rodney; and this is Mr. Wise, Mr. Barnabas Wise. We came from East Ketchem."

"I don't blame you," said Scoutmaster Ned. "I'm happy to meet you, gentlemen. This is a sort of table d'hote scout outfit that you see here; two troops and a couple of sundries. Will you stay and have supper with us?"

"We ain't fer interferin' in no boys' pleasures," said Mr. Barnabas Wise, "but it's our dooty to tell you that we're the school committee of the village of East Ketchem, and s'long as these youngsters hez moved inside the taown limits of East Ketchem they'll hev to report for school at nine o'clock to-morrow morning. The taown line between East Ketchem and West Ketchem runs right through the middle of this island."

A gaping silence followed this horrible pronouncement.

"We--eh--we are just camping here, pending--" began Scoutmaster Ned.

"It ain't no question uv pendin'," said Mr. Birchel Rodney. "The ordinance of the village of East Ketchem says that every minor--"

"We're not miners, we're scouts!" Pee-wee shouted.

"The ordinance of the village of East Ketchem," Mr. Rodney proceeded, ignoring the boisterous interruption, "says that every minor, which is spelled with a o, between the ages of eight years and fifteen years, resident or visiting or otherwise domiciled--"

"You can't say I'm domiciled--" Pee-wee began.

"Or otherwise domiciled," the terrible man continued, "must attend school in said village except upon cause of illness--"

"We're not miners, we're scouts!"

"I'm sick a lot," Pee-wee yelled.

"I expect to have a cold very shortly," said Nick in his funny way.

"Determined and certified by a physician in good standing. Them's the very words of the village law and we come to tell you that all these youngsters will hev ter report for school at nine A.M. to-morrer morning, in said village of East Ketchem."

"Foiled!" said Nick, falling back on the ground.

"Horrors and confusion!" said Fido Norton.

"That we should live to hear this!" moaned Charlie Norris.

"Oh, what have we stepped into?" another groaned, holding his forehead in a way of despair.

"You mean what have we been drawn into!" said another. "Oh, that it should come to this!"

"What have we done? What have we done?" sighed still another.

As for Scoutmaster Ned, he gave one terrific groan (or perhaps it was a roar of abandoned mirth) and fell backward off the grocery box.

Only the fixer remained silent. His eyes stared, his mouth gaped. But not a word said he. It was Napoleon at Waterloo. Scout Harris had no words. Or else he had so many that they got jumbled up in his throat and would not come out. And as he stood there, bearing up under that mortal blow, the conquering legion, consisting of the two members of the East Ketchem school board, withdrew with an air of great conclusiveness and dignified solemnity to the shore.

Then, and only then, did Scoutmaster Ned sit up and rub his eyes, holding his splitting sides, the while he gazed after that official delegation constituting the entire school board. He gave one look at the fixer (and the fixer's face was worth looking at) and at the gaping countenances all about him. Then he fell back again and shook as if he had a fit and rolled over and buried his face in his folded arm and roared and roared and roared.

"Retreat! Retreat across the line! A disorderly retreat! That is our only hope! Who will lead a disorderly retreat?"

The desperate cry was not unanswered. "I will!" said Fido Norton. "Get the stuff together! Every scout for himself! Our freedom hangs on a disorderly retreat! Vaccination--I mean evacuation--is our only hope! Our freedom is more dear than our lives! Give me vacation or give me death! We've been foiled by a school principal disguised as a boy scout! Remember his pal, the manual training teacher? Spies! Traitors! We fell into their clutches. Follow me, we will foil the schools yet! Every scout grab his own stuff, or anybody else's, and retreat as disorderly as possible. Our liberty is at stake! I love the west shore so muchly now that I wouldn't even knock the West Shore Railroad."

GUESS AGAIN

Alas, such is fame! The thunderous voice of P. Harris was mute, his blankly staring eyes spoke volumes, libraries in fact, but they did not make a noise. The voice which had aroused the echoes at Temple Camp, which had filled the crystal back room at Bennett's Candy Store in Bridgeboro, was still. And it did not speak again for--nearly twenty minutes. Even then it did not speak in its former tone of thunder. It could not have been heard for more than--oh, half a mile.

The first occasion on which the voice of Scout Harris arose to its former height was on the last day before West Ketchem summoned its bronzed scouts over to the makeshift school which had been prepared in a vacant, old-fashioned mansion. They had had plenty of fun in the meantime and they went with a good will. Far be it from me to publish any unworthy hopes, but if your school should ever burn down in the summer, try camping in the autumn. You will find the woods more friendly then. Even the birds and chipmunks and squirrels seem to say, "Come on, let us get together and be friends, for it's getting cool."

But to return to Pee-wee's voice. On the last day of the autumn camping, the silver stunt cup was to be awarded. It was an open secret that this was to go to Nick Vernon, and the scouts of both troops were agreeable enough to this disposition of it.

Many of them had performed conspicuous stunts, but they were all agreed that Nick's feat in flashing the message by searchlight was the stunt of the season. Perhaps Nick's personality, and consequent popularity, had something to do with this. At all events when the two troops were ordered to congregate under the old half-naked elm, to which they had returned after their inglorious invasion of the east, it was generally understood that the ceremony of presentation was to be purely perfunctory having no surprises for anybody.

Safety First had been asked to do the honors but he had insisted on Scoutmaster Ned making the address. That address has even been memorable in West Ketchem history. It was (as Scoutmaster Ned himself said) the best address ever made on Frying-pan Island, because it was the only one.

"Bunch," he said "this is the happiest day of the year, for school opens to-morrow (groans). Hereafter, whenever I see a frying-pan I'll think of you and wish you were in it, being fried to a turn. (Laughter.) Don't laugh, it's no laughing matter. I'm on the verge of nervous presumption or whatever you call it, and I'll be glad to get rid of you--every one of you!

"I've been asked to hand out this cup and it goes to St. Nicholas Vernon because he sprawled the nice clean sky all up with scribbling and all that kind of stuff. Nobody read the message but that makes no difference, because the proof of the message is in the sending just the same as the proof of the pudding is in the eating. How about that, Scout Harris?

"I guess you fellows are all satisfied and I should fret my heart out whether you are or not. Nick showed resource, and alertness, and a lot of other stuff that's in the handbook, page something or other. If it isn't there it's somewhere else. Shut up and give me a chance to speak. Here you go, Nick, catch this. Your silver cup of joy is full and we shall all live happily ever afterwards. Anything more, Safety First?"

Nick Vernon never seemed more at ease, and less interested, than when he ambled toward the stump from which Scoutmaster Ned was descending, and said in a quiet, drawling voice, "Yes, something more. May I have that stump a minute?"

He stood there, holding the silver cup in one hand, his other hand against his hip, in an attitude familiar to them all.

"A little speech of thanks," someone shouted; "make it short."

There was one who stood in that group, unnoticed. His eyes were fixed upon the winner, and he was actually trembling with delight.

"Good idea, I'll make it short and snappy," said Nick. "Actions speak louder than words."

"No, they don't," shouted Pee-wee.

"The signal I sent," said Nick, "was read and the one who read it was a scout. He's the one that stopped the car. The cup was in the car and so he saved the cup. It's his. He tried to keep his scouting a secret and he didn't get away with it. He beat Scoutmaster Ned hands down. He left him guessing. Scoutmaster Ned is easy. But this kid can't put anything over on me; I've got him red-handed; he's a scout and he's got us all looking like thirty cents. He's a scout and he'll tell the truth, if you corner him. He won't lie. Heres you go, catch this, Pete, hold your hands steady; if you don't hold them up I'll chuck it plunk in your face. As sure as I'm standing here I will! I'm making this speech of presentation, not Scoutmaster Ned. You know so much about the handbook, remember law one, about telling the truth. Here you go, Peter Piper, you're the only scout that ever dropped into this Frying-pan. Catch it or by gosh--"

But he didn't catch it, because his eyes were glistening, and his hands were trembling, and you can't catch things in such a state.

He stood there like one transfixed, hearing the uproar all about him. Nervously he stooped and picked up the glittering cup and held it as if he were afraid of it. Peter Piper, pioneer scout, of Piper's Crossroads. He would go home famous and rich, a hero, just as his mother had dreamed that some day he would do....

It was just at that moment that Scout Harris really recovered his voice. He recovered it in the moment of having an "inspiration." He jumped upon a barrel, released his teeth from the apple into which he had plunged them, and dancing like a maniac, sang at the top of his voice: