After a hike of about eight miles, part way across country and part way along roads, the three scouts reached the beautiful Woodcliff Lake which lies in a northwesterly direction from the old camp. Upon its shore they rested and ate the compact little lunch which they had brought. The afternoon sun flickered on the waters, the gentle slope across the lake was clad in the rich green of the midsummertime, not a boat was to be seen upon that clear forbidden expanse, and no sound was there in all the quiet country round about, save only the elated voice of an angler on the causeway as he pulled up his line with a fish wriggling on the end of it.

It is the duty of Woodcliff Lake to supply water to many thousands of homes and the quietude of its shores and water breathes a kind of cleanliness and purity, which imparts to the lake a character quite its own. An unique feature of it is the causeway which bisects it, forming twin lakes, as it seems to the nearby beholder. But from a distant elevation this straight clean roadway across the very center of the lake stands out in bold relief, having none of the appearance of a bridge nor yet of a dam. From this causeway people are permitted to fish and their good luck is contemplated enviously by auto parties passing to and fro.

The scouts had no difficulty in finding the home of Miss Helen Shirley Bates in this fair neighborhood. They were told to go up a road till they came to another road and to go up that road till they saw a gray house, etc., which direction brought them at last face to face with an electric button which Pee-wee pushed.

By the luck which he claimed to be his, a girl of perhaps nineteen or twenty came to the door, who proved to be none other than the young lady of the calling card. Here, however, Pee-wee’s luck deserted him.

“We’re boy scouts and this is your card,” said the young spokesman. “Do you like fudge?” he added, producing also a specimen of his confectionery skill.“Oh I just adore it,” said the girl, “but where did you get my card? Won’t you sit down?”

The scouts were glad to rest in the comfortable wicker chairs on the deep, shady porch, and here the girl listened to Pee-wee’s graphic account of his finding of the old wallet. He explained that it was his regular custom to find things and that this need give her no surprise.

“But to think that it had my card in it,” she said; “and that it has been stuck away in that damp, spooky place for two years. I think it’s just wonderful for you to come and find me. And I think it’s lovely for you to want to send the letter to that soldier’s mother; oh I think it’s just fine.”

“Scouts have to do good turns,” Pee-wee said.

“It makes me feel as if I can just see that soldier now,” she said, reading the old letter. “And to think he was on his way here. But I just don’t know any more about him than you do because he never got here. I just don’t know a single thing about him.”

“Not even his name?” Warde asked, hopefully.

“Not even his name. You see, I’ll tell you how it was,” she continued, drawing her chair a little closer to them. “All the people around here used to have soldiers from camp to dinner on Sundays.”

“I know, they did that in Bridgeboro where we live,” said Warde. “We had a couple of them one Sunday.”

“We just sent word to the Y.M.C.A. that we would be glad to have two soldiers come. I sent my card because I thought that would be nicer. We did that several times, mother and I. And we never knew the names of the soldiers till they got here. The camp officials wouldn’t let us invite them by name. It was lots of fun to see what kind of boys came. Some of them belonged ’way, ’way out west. Once when we were expecting two, only one came. He said the other was going to hike here. But the other one never came. We waited and waited and waited, and then we had dinner.”

The boys’ hopes fell at this recital. The girl, too, seemed to take her inability to help them very much to heart. The boys all recalled now that patriotic custom of the wartime of inviting soldiers from the camp to enjoy a little interval of home life at week ends. The rule which prevented hospitable citizens from making choice of their guests gave the kindly custom the pleasant character of a game of chance. One never knew what one would draw out of the camp grab-bag.

“I–I never thought about that,” Roy said plainly disappointed.

“Do you remember the name of the soldier that did come?” Warde asked.

“No I don’t,” she confessed, regretfully. “You see we had two each Sunday for a while. I think it’s just too bad you can’t send the letter.”

“Maybe it doesn’t make so much difference,” said Warde. “He’s home by this time, or perhaps he never went over.”

But this did not impress her and she could only say, “Oh I think it’s just too bad. It’s such a lovely letter. I’d just like to see that home. I just feel as if I can see it–the broken window and all. And to think of all the trouble you have gone to. Oh I wish I could help you.”

“It’s all right,” Roy said; “you should worry.”

“Maybe you think we’re foiled,” said Pee-wee, “but that shows how much you know about scouts. As long as we’ve got a broken window and a dog that must have a collar because he’s supposed to be tied, to go by–and a puddle and some things.... Do you know what those things are? They’re clues.”

“Oh but you can never do it,” she said.

“Do you want to do a good turn?” Pee-wee asked.

“Indeed I do,” she said, anxiously.

“Do you know what a legal document is?”

“Good night,” said Roy. “You’re not going to get out a warrant for him?”

“That shows how much you know,” said Pee-wee. “I want a great big long envelope like a legal document comes in. Did you ever see a deed?”

“Sure,” said Roy, “a kind deed, I’ve done a lot of them.”

“Don’t you pay any attention to him,” said Miss Bates.

“I never do,” said Pee-wee; “he’s crazy, he belongs to a crazy patrol. If I can get an envelope big enough I’ll write everything on it that will help the post office people, and maybe they’ll be resourceful, hey?”

“I’ll give you the envelope my examination papers came in,” said the girl enthusiastically.

“Did you study rhetoric?” Pee-wee demanded.

“Yes, and I just hate it,” she said. “Just you wait a minute,” she added, going into the house. She presently reappeared with an envelope large enough to contain a brief history of the world on its outside, and together she and Pee-wee made up the detailed address which, in Pee-wee’s handwriting, was destined to astonish Postmaster Hiram Hicks, of Hicksville, North Carolina.