They picked their way along the trail which was as “easy as pie” to Pee-wee, as he remarked to his companion. It must have been easy indeed, for it was well known that pie was like child’s play to him. They emerged from the woods at North Bridgeboro, a couple of miles above the larger town and separated from it by Van Akren’s woods, a familiar resort in the summer time.

A lonely lunch wagon stood near the little railroad station, a cheerful light showing through its incongruous stained-glass windows. Above it was a sign which read HAMBURGER MIKE’S EATS. Pee-wee knew Hamburger Mike and sang his praise.

“Did you ever eat hamburger steak in there?” he said innocently.

Emerson had not. “He seems to specialize on that article of diet,” he commented.

“You said it,” enthused Pee-wee.

“Shall we buy some?” Emerson asked.

But Pee-wee was filled to capacity. “No, I was only telling you,” he said. “Lots of times we hike through these woods on Saturday and get some eats there.”

“You needn’t hesitate if you’d like some,” said Emerson. “You went into the city with me as my guest, you know.”

“Yop, and I had a good time, too.”

“I’m glad you found it enjoyable,” said Emerson. “I enjoyed it, too. You’re certainly entertaining.”

“You ought to hear me when Roy Blakeley is trying to jolly me,” Pee-wee boasted. “I can handle the whole crowd of them.”

“I should like to hear you,” said Emerson.

“You will,” said Pee-wee. “Up in camp is where I handle that bunch. Remember you said you’d go.”

“You’d better ask your friends about it first,” said Emerson.

“Gee whiz, you promised, didn’t you? You’re not going to break your word?”

“I think no one could accuse me of that,” said Emerson.

“Well then,” said Pee-wee.

From North Bridgeboro to Bridgeboro the trail through the woods was more traveled and easily distinguishable. Here was a true wood interior, filled with stately trees and free of underbrush. Here and there a soggy pasteboard box or rusted can or dirty, empty bottle bespoke the visits of the only species of animal that defiles nature. But for these discordant mementos the woods were beautiful, solemn. There was no moon, but the sky was crowded with stars and the night was not too dark.

“Gee, don’t you say it’s nice in here?” Pee-wee encouraged.

“Indeed it is,” said Emerson. “It’s certainly a contrast to the city—to Broadway.”

“Will your mother and father be mad?” Pee-wee asked.

“Oh, no, they’ll think we’re coming on the late train. They wouldn’t worry till after that.”

“Do you know where this path brings us out?” Pee-wee asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” his companion said.

“It brings us out on the state road. The state road runs right along the edge of these woods. Even if this path wasn’t here I could find the way all right. Listen, can you hear voices—way far off? Those are in cars on the state road.”

“I hear voices, but I don’t hear any cars,” said Emerson.

“Maybe there are some people walking on the road, hey?”

“It sounds to me like calling,” said Emerson.

“When we get to the state road, we follow it right down into Main Street,” said Pee-wee.

“We will have made quite an evening of it,” said Emerson.

“Oh, boy, you said it,” commented Pee-wee.

The direction in which they were going, as Pee-wee had said, was toward the state road which bordered the woods. The woods path came out into that road and once upon the road, their journey would be nearly over.

Pee-wee was not at first excited by the distant voices, for the course of the road seemed to explain them. But, as his companion had observed, there was no sound of autos. Moreover, since the voices were loud enough to be heard at such distance, they certainly were not in the ordinary tones of casual passers-by. Yet casual talking is often strangely audible through woodland in the night.

Pee-wee (not without a certain ostentation of wisdom) placed himself against the trunk of a tree and listened intently. “Do you know why I’m doing this?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Emerson confessed.

“Sometimes the tree catches sounds and they come down the trunk and you can hear better. It’s woods lore, that is.”

But like most of Pee-wee’s “woods lore” it did not work. Emerson waited patiently and rather curiously. Then they resumed their journey.

“Anyway, there are voices calling, that’s one sure thing,” said Pee-wee. “I think they’re in the woods, that’s what I think. Anyway, you’re not scared, are you?”

“Indeed, no,” said Emerson.

They had not gone many more yards when all doubt of the presence of others in the woods was dispelled by voices indistinguishable in the distance and others, clearly audible, which seemed to be approaching.

“We have it easiest,” they heard a voice say. An answering voice said something in which the word compass was distinguishable. Then suddenly two brown forms appeared trotting toward them along the path. They proved to be Roy Blakeley, leader of unruly Silver Foxes, and Connie Bennett, leader of the Elks.

“Well—I’ll—be,” ejaculated Roy, stopping suddenly. “That you, kid? What in blazes are you doing here?”

“Not out trailing lightning-bugs, are you?” Connie asked.

Neither of them paid any attention to Emerson, but he volunteered an answer to their question. “We took the wrong train from the city on account of my own silly mistake and we’ve come afoot from Westfield.”

“Afoot, hey?” said Connie. It cannot be said that he quoted Emerson’s word in a way of ridicule. Yet there was a note of ridicule in it, too. “Well, you’d better come afoot with us,” he said, ignoring Emerson and turning upon Pee-wee.

“Little Margie Garrison is missing and we’re combing the woods. All the scouts in the troop were rounded up; we got calls as soon as we got home from the circus——”

Roy, breathless and excited, interrupted him. “We cut into the woods in pairs about four hundred feet apart; we’re all cutting straight north. Ed Bronson and Westy are right through there; you can hear them. Hey, Westy!” Roy raised his voice. “What d’you know, here’s the kid on his way back from Westfield.”

“Good night! The animal cracker,” Emerson heard a distant voice say.

“Hurry up, give us a cooky or something, kid,” said Connie.

“Look in his inside pocket for emergency crullers,” some one in the distance shouted.

Emerson felt very much an outsider. Perhaps they would not have so completely ignored him but for their preoccupation and the urgency of their errand. But the effect of all this upon him was a pathetic consciousness of the fact that they regarded him as superfluous and inefficient in their hurried and serious business.

“Come ahead, kid, you can ’phone home from North Bridgeboro,” said Roy hurriedly. “The whole troop is out. Your patrol is mostly over toward the west; come on and keep your eyes peeled. Connie has to watch his compass so we won’t go crooked. What d’you say? Let’s go, Connie.”

Pee-wee could not resist. “Come on,” he said to Emerson.

To do him justice, he did not intend to desert his new friend. Probably he assumed that no boy living would hang back in such an enterprise. The worst that can be said of him is that he forgot to look behind him. Nor did Emerson hold back because he lacked interest and desire. But he saw that he was an outsider, superfluous, disregarded. In the intense preoccupation of this hustling, fraternal company, his detachment from them seemed hopeless. Perhaps he had not the initiative to push into this exciting enterprise where his presence would hardly be known....

The next thing that he knew he was standing alone in the woods, listening to distant and receding voices. Only a cheery little cricket was there to keep him company. He seemed very far from joining the scouts. He bore no resentment toward Pee-wee. He looked at his gold watch to see what time it was. Then, from force of habit, he felt to see if his neat, leather wallet was in place. There were only two crisp bills in the wallet now; the rest had been spent in the entertainment of his exuberant little friend.

Poor Emerson was no pathfinder (the very thought seemed to suggest laughter) but the kindly path would guide him to the state road, and from there he could find his way home easily enough. As he made his lonely way along the path, he could still hear voices, spent by the distance, farther and farther off. He thought the different groups were calling to each other. He fancied those two aggressive, resourceful, hurrying, purposeful patrol leaders jollying Pee-wee.

He picked his way along the path and was soon upon the state road. He looked funny walking along through the country in the night.