It was wonderful what fresh inspiration the presence of Robin Hood gave to the rather disheartened searchers. In the seething mind of Pee-wee all else was forgotten at this adventurous turn of their enterprise. He was all excitement. The scouts would triumph and be the heroes of the town; their exploit would be heralded abroad.

To discover the lost child in the woods would have been an achievement. To track her with a police dog and carry her home to her distracted parents; to witness the consternation of the police; there would be adventure and glory! To Pee-wee it was as good as done.

He had begun to feel the fatigue of this eventful day; a dull weariness had set in as they concluded their search of the woods. But now, in the flush of the new adventure, he seemed invigorated. He forgot everything and could think only of what they were going to do. The hour was late but that made it all the better.

It was in high spirit of elation that he ran to Toby’s house with him to get the dog leash; he would take no chances with freakish parental objections. If necessary, he would meet Mr. and Mrs. Ralston single-handed. But no obstacles were met there; Toby was happy in the possession of easy-going parents who did not require any strenuous representations of scout duty to release their son to a nocturnal enterprise.

All was hurry and excitement now; the air seemed charged with expectation. The seven scouts who, with Toby, constituted the party hurried into the woods, Robin Hood securely leashed and enforcing his autocratic will by pausing to sniff here and there, then dragging his young master willy-nilly after him. Only Hamburger Mike seemed undisturbed. His next call to service would be when the milk train stopped at four o’clock in the morning. No one should go wanting for refreshment while Hamburger Mike lived.

In half an hour, they were back on the state road and hurrying into Bridgeboro. The town was dark and deserted. A lone auto sped up Main Street as they crossed, and its swift passing seemed to reduce the sleeping town to insignificance, so much greater is a speeding auto to a sleeping town in the still, small hours of night.

They hurried through Terrace Avenue where the school (scene of Pee-wee’s famous coup) seemed like a thing dead. Not a sound was there, nor a soul upon the street. They turned into Elm Place, then to Carver Street and to the cottage of the Garrisons. Here, at least, were signs of life. The interior was illuminated, the front door wide open, and a little group upon the porch. It looked strange at that hour of the night, and in the surrounding solitude, to see the bright oblong area caused by the open door, and the hatrack and stairs within. It spoke pathetically of waiting and trouble and suspense.

Mrs. Garrison was there, and her elder daughter, and a couple of neighbors with shawls thrown about them. They seemed to have been just standing on the porch. Mr. Garrison was out somewhere with others, pursuing inquiries. The mother’s anxiety, which had mounted all through the evening, was heartrending. Disappointment after disappointment she had met; ’phone call after ’phone call had dealt her blows as from a hammer. Still she waited with these comforting, patient, hopeful neighbors in the still night air. She was too distraught to sit inside and wait for the ringing of the door-bell.

“Let me do the talking, kid,” said Westy out of his familiar knowledge of Pee-wee. It was always Westy to talk in a case like this.

“Oh, the scout boys!” said Mrs. Garrison.

“Mrs. Garrison,” said Westy, “we—we didn’t find her in the woods. Is there any news?”

“No, dear—you’re good boys, all of you,” she said, wringing her hands.

“We’ve got a police dog here,” said Westy, “and we know about her being in Westover’s field this afternoon. She cut across the field on her way to Stella Henry’s house—I know the path. Let’s have something that belonged—belongs to her, will you? A dress or something; stockings would be good.”

There was no chance to talk; he pinned her down to the vital requirement; and seeing them all, restless, ready, efficient, she hurried into the house and brought out some articles of clothing, weeping as if they belonged to some one dear, and lost indeed.

“You call up our houses and tell them,” said Westy hurriedly. “You know us all I guess—Blakeley, Van Arlen, Bennett, Benton, Harris, Carson and—that’s all. See you later.”

They were gone, Robin Hood dragging, pausing, dilly-dallying; his young master pulling, then running after him.

The field where little Margie had last been seen was a corner lot which afforded a short-cut to the door of the house next to it. It was known that she had called at that house for a girl friend and, not finding her at home, had cut through the lot again and entered the bordering street. No one had been found who had seen her after that.

It was in this field that Robin Hood took upon himself the responsibility of the search and became master of the situation.