Isaac Alexander Mack

Anyway, he slept better than Roy slept. All night long the leader of the Silver Foxes was haunted by that letter. The darkness, the breeze, the soothing music of crickets and locusts outside his little tent dissipated his anger, as the voices of nature are pretty sure to do, and made him see straight, to use Tom's phrase.

He thought of Tom making his lonely way back to Barrel Alley and going to bed there amid the very scenes which he had been so anxious to have him forget. He fancied him sitting on the edge of his cot in Mrs. O'Connor's stuffy dining room, reading his Scout Manual. He was always reading his Manual; he had it all marked up like a blazed trail. Roy got small consolation now from the fact that he had procured Tom's election. If Tom had been angry at him, his conscience would be easier now; but Tom seldom got mad.

In imagination he followed that letter to the Temple home. He saw it laid at Mary's place at the dining table. He saw her come dancing in to breakfast and pick it up and wave it gaily. He saw John Temple reading his paper at the head of the table and advising with Mary, who was his partner in the Temple Camp enterprise. He knew it was for her sake quite as much as for the scouts that Mr. Temple had made this splendid gift, and he knew (for he had dined at Grantley Square) just how father and daughter conferred together. Why, who was it but Mary that told John Temple there must be ten thousand wooden plates and goodness knows how many sanitary drinking cups? Mary had it all marked in the catalogues.

Roy pictured her as she opened the letter and read it,—that rude, selfish note. He wondered what she would say. And he wondered what John Temple would think. It would be such a surprise to her that poor little Pee-wee was not wanted.

In the morning Roy arose feeling very wretched after an all but sleepless night. He did not know what he should do that day. He might go up to Grantley Square and apologize, but you cannot, by apology, undo what is done.

While he was cooking his breakfast he thought of Pee-wee—Pee-wee who was always so gay and enthusiastic, who worshipped Roy, and who "did not mind being jollied." He would be ashamed to face Pee-wee even if that redoubtable scout pacer were sublimely innocent of what had taken place.

At about noon he saw Tom coming up the lawn. He looked a little shamefaced as Tom came in and sat down without a word.

"I—I was going to go down to see you," said Roy. "I—I feel different now. I can see straight. I wish I hadn't——"

"I've got a letter for you," said Tom, disinterestedly. "I was told to deliver it."

"You—were you at Temple's?"

"There isn't any answer," said Tom, with his usual exasperating stolidness.

Roy hesitated a moment. Then, as one will take a dose of medicine quickly to have it over, he grasped the envelope, tore it open, and read:

"Dear Mary—Since you butted in Tom and I have decided it would be best for Pee-wee to go with him and I'll stay home. Anyway, that's what I've decided. So you'll get your wish, all right, and I should worry.

"Roy."

He looked up into Tom's almost expressionless countenance. "Who—told—you to deliver it—Tom?"

"I told myself. You said you'd call the whole thing off for two cents. But you ought not to expect me to pay the two cents——"

"Didn't I put a stamp on it?" said Roy, looking at the envelope.

"If you want to put a stamp on it now," said Tom, "I'll go and mail it for you—but I—I didn't feel I cared to trust you for two cents—over night."

Through glistening eyes Roy looked straight at Tom, but found no response in that dogged countenance. But he knew Tom, and knew what to expect from him. "You old grouch," he shouted, running his hand through Tom's already tousled and rebellious hair. "Why don't you laugh? So you wouldn't trust me for two cents, you old Elk skinflint, wouldn't you. Well, then, the letter doesn't get mailed, that's all, for I happen to have only one stamp left and that's going to Pee-wee Harris. Come on, get your wits to work now, and we'll send him the invitation in the form of a verse, what d'you say?"

He gave Tom such a push that even he couldn't help laughing as he staggered against the tent-pole.

"I'm no good at writing verse," said he.

"Oh, but we'll jolly the life out of that kid when we get him away," said Roy.

It is a wise precept that where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise. Pee-wee Harris never dreamed of the discussion that had taken place as to his going, and he accepted the invitation with a glad heart.

On the momentous morning when the trio set forth upon their journey, Mary Temple, as glad as they, stood upon the steps at Grantley Square and waved them a last good-bye.

"Don't forget," she called, "we're coming up in the car in August to visit you and see the camp and that dreadful Jeb or Job or Jib or whatever you call him, who smokes a corn-cob pipe—ugh!"

The last they saw of her was a girlish shrug of disgust at that strange personage out of the West about whom (largely for her benefit) Roy and others had circulated the most outlandish tales. Jeb Rushmore was already ensconced in the unfinished camp, and from the few letters which had come from him it was judged that his excursion east had not spoiled him. One of these missives had been addressed to Mister John Temple and must have been a refreshing variation from the routine mail which awaited Mr. Temple each morning at the big granite bank. It read:

"Thar's a crittur come here to paint names o' animiles on the cabin doors. I told him friendly sich wuzn't wanted, likewise no numbers. He see it were best ter go. Bein' you put up th' money I would say polite and likewise explain ez how the skins uv animiles is propper fur signs an' not numbers bein' ez cabins is not railroad cars."

This is a fair sample of the letters which were received by Mr. Temple, by Mr. Ellsworth, and even at National Scout Headquarters, which Jeb Rushmore called "the main ranch."

The idea of putting the skin of a silver fox, for instance, on the patrol's cabin instead of a painted caricature of that animal, took the boys by storm, and to them at least Jeb Rushmore became a very real character long before they ever met him. They felt that Jeb Rushmore had the right idea and they were thrilled at the tragic possibilities of that ominous sentence, "He see it were best to go."

The whole troop was down at the boathouse to see the boys off. Tom and Roy wore old khaki trousers and faded shirts which had seen service in many a rough hike; their scarred duffel bags bore unmistakable signs of hard usage, but Pee-wee was resplendent in his full regalia, with his monogram burned in a complicated design into the polished leather of his brand new duffel bag. His "trousseau," as the boys called it, was indeed as complete and accurate as was possible. Even the scout smile, which is not the least part of the scout make-up, was carried to a conspicuous extreme; he smiled all over; he was one vast smile.

"Don't fall off any mountains, Pee-wee."

"Be sure to take your smile off when you go to bed."

"If you get tired, you can jump on a train."

"Pee-wee, you look as if you were posing for animal crackers."

These were some of the flippant comments which were hurled at Pee-wee as the three, in Roy's canoe, glided from the float and up the river on the first stage of what was destined to be an adventurous journey.

The river, along whose lower reaches Bridgeboro was situated, had its source within a mile or two of the Hudson in the vicinity of Nyack. From the great city it was navigable by power craft as far as Bridgeboro and even above at full tide, but a mile or two above the boys' home town it narrowed to a mere creek, winding its erratic way through a beautiful country where intertwined and overarching boughs formed dim tunnels through which the canoeist passed with no sound but the swishing of his own paddle. The boys had never before canoed to the river's source, though it was one of the things they had always been meaning to do. It was a happy thought of Tom's to make it a part of their journey now and strike into the roads along the Hudson in that way.

"Oh, crinkums, I'm crazy to see Jeb Rushmore, aren't you?" said Pee-wee. "I never thought I'd have a chance to go like this, I sure didn't! I never thought you'd want me."

"We couldn't do without you, kiddo," said Roy, as he paddled. "We wouldn't have any luck—you're our lucky penny."

"Cracky, you could have knocked me down with a feather when I got that note. At first, I thought you must be jollying me—and even now it doesn't seem real."

The boys laughed. "Well, here you are, kiddo," said Roy, "so you see it's real enough."

"Do you suppose we'll have any adventures?"

"Why, as the little boy said when he spilled the ink on the parlor carpet, 'that remains to be seen.' We won't side-step any, you can be sure of that."

"There may be danger awaiting us," said Pee-wee.

"Well, I only hope it'll wait till we get to it," Roy laughed. "What do you say, kiddo, shall we hit it up for Nyack to-night or camp along the river?"

They decided to paddle leisurely, ending their canoe trip next day. About dusk they made their camp on a steep, wooded shore, and with the flame of their campfire reflected in the rippling water, Roy cooked supper.

Pee-wee was supremely happy. It is doubtful if he had ever before been so happy.

"There's one thing," said Tom, as he held the bacon over the flame. "I'm going to do my first-class stunts before we get there."

"And I'm going to do some tracking," said Roy; "here you go, Pee-wee, here's a bacon sandwich—look out for the juice. This is what Daniel Boone used to eat." He handed Pee-wee a sizzling slice of bacon between two cakes of sweet chocolate!

"Mmmmmmm," said Pee-wee, "that's scrumptious! Gee, I never knew chocolate and bacon went so good together."

"To-morrow for breakfast I'll give you a boiled egg stuffed with caraway seeds," said Roy.

"Give him a Dan Beard omelet," said Tom.

"What's that?" asked Pee-wee, his two hands and his mouth running with greasy chocolate.

"Salt codfish with whipped cream," answered Roy. "Think you'd like it?"

Pee-wee felt sure he would.

"And there's one thing I'm going to do," he said. "Tom's going to finish his first-class stunts and you're going to do tracking. I'm going to——"

"Have another sandwich?" interrupted Roy.

"Sure. And there's one thing I'm going to do. I'm going to test some good turns. Gee, there isn't room enough to test 'em indoors."

"Good for you," said Roy; "but you'd better trot down to the river now and wash your face. You look like the end man in a minstrel show. Then come on back and we'll reel off some campfire yarns."

They sat late into the night, until their fire burned low and Roy realized, as he had never before realized, what good company Pee-wee was. They slept as only those know how to sleep who go camping, and early in the morning continued their journey along the upper and tortuous reaches of the narrowing river.

Early in the spring there had been a serious flood which had done much damage even down in Bridgeboro, and the three boys as they paddled carefully along were surprised at the havoc which had been wrought here on the upper river. Small buildings along the shore lay toppled over, boats were here and there marooned high and dry many yards from the shore, and the river was almost impassable in places from the obstructions of uprooted trees and other debris.

At about noon they reached a point where the stream petered out so that further navigation even by canoe was impossible; but they were already in the outskirts of West Nyack.

"The next number on the program," said Roy, "is to administer first aid to the canoe in the form of a burlap bandage. Pee-wee, you're appointed chairman of the grass committee—pick some grass and let's pad her up."

If you have never administered "first aid" to a canoe and "padded it up" for shipment, let me tell you that the scout way of doing it is to bind burlap loosely around it and to stuff this with grass or hay so that the iron hook which is so gently wielded by the expressman may not damage the hull.

Having thus prepared it for its more prosaic return journey by train, they left the boat on the shore and following a beaten path came presently into the very heart of the thriving metropolis of West Nyack.

"I feel as if we were Lewis and Clarke, or somebody, arriving at an Indian village," said Pee-wee.

At the express office Roy arranged for the shipment of the canoe back to Bridgeboro, and then they started along the road toward Nyack. It was on this part of their journey that something happened which was destined materially to alter their program.

They had come into the main street of the village and were heading for the road which led to the Hudson when they came upon a little group of people looking amusedly up into an elm tree on the lawn of a stately residence. A little girl was standing beneath the tree in evident distress, occasionally wringing her hands as she looked fearfully up into the branches. Whatever was happening there was no joke to her, however funny it might be to the other onlookers.

"What's the matter?" Tom asked.

"Bird up there," briefly answered the nearest bystander.

"She'll never get it," said another.

"Oh, now he's going away," cried the little girl in despair.

The contrast between her anxiety and the amusement of the others was marked. Every time she called to the bird it flitted to another limb, and every time the bird flitted she wrung her hands and cried. An empty cage upon a lawn bench told the story.

"What's the matter?" said Pee-wee, going to the child and seeking his information first-hand.

"Oh, I'll never get him," she sobbed. "He'll fly away in a minute and I'll never see him again."

Pee-wee looked up into the branches and after some difficulty succeeded in locating a little bird somewhat smaller than a robin and as green as the foliage amid which it was so heedlessly disporting.

"I see him," said Pee-wee. "Gee, don't you cry; we'll get him some way. We're scouts, we are, and we'll get him for you."

His reassuring words did not seem to comfort the girl. "Oh, there he goes!" she cried. "Now he's going to fly away!"

He did not fly away but merely flew to another limb and began to preen himself. For so small a bird he was attracting a great deal of notice in the world. Following Pee-wee's lead, others including Tom and Roy ventured upon the lawn, smiling and straining their eyes to follow the tantalizing movements of the little fugitive.

"Of course," said Pee-wee to the girl, "it would be easy enough to shin up that tree—that would be a cinch—anybody could do that—I mean any feller—of course, a girl couldn't; but I'd only frighten him away."

"You'll never get him," said one man.

"What kind of a bird is it?" Tom asked.

"It's a dwarf parrot," the girl sobbed, "and I'll never get him—never!"

"You don't want to get discouraged," said Pee-wee. "Gee, there's always some way."

The spectators evidently did not agree with him. Some of them remained about, smiling; others went away. The diminutive Pee-wee seemed to amuse them quite as much as the diminutive parrot, but all were agreed (as they continually remarked to each other) that the bird was a "goner."

"Is he tame?" Roy asked.

"He was getting tame," the girl sobbed, "and he was learning to say my name. My father would give a hundred dollars—Oh," she broke off, "now he is going away!" She began to cry pitifully.

Pee-wee stood a moment thoughtfully. "Have you got a garden hose?" he presently asked.

"Yes, but you're not going to squirt water at him," said the girl, indignantly.

"If you get the garden hose," said Pee-wee, "I'll bring him down for you."

"What are you going to do, kiddo?" Roy asked.

"You'll see," said Pee-wee.

The other boys looked at each other, puzzled. The girl looked half incredulously at Pee-wee and something in his manner gave her a feeling of hope. Most of the others laughed good-humoredly.

They hauled the nozzle end of a garden hose from where it lay coiled near a faucet in the stone foundation. Pee-wee took the nozzle and began to play the stream against the trunk of the tree, all the while looking up at the parrot. Presently, the bird began to "sit up and take notice," as one might say. It was plainly interested. The bystanders began to "sit up and take notice" too, and they watched the bird intently as it cocked its head and listened. Pee-wee sent the stream a little higher up the trunk and as he did so the bird became greatly excited. It began uttering, in the modulated form consonant with its size, the discordant squawk of the parrot. The little girl watched eagerly.

"Get the cage," ordered Pee-wee.

Roy brought it and laid it at his feet. The stream played a little higher, and the bird chattered furiously and came lower.

"Remind you of home?" Pee-wee asked, looking up and playing the water a little higher. The bystanders watched, in silence. The bird was now upon the lowest branch, chattering like mad and flapping its wings frantically. The little girl, in an ecstasy of fresh hope, called to it and danced up and down.

But Pee-wee, like a true artist, neither saw nor heard his audience. He was playing the bird with this line of water as an angler plays a fish. And never was moth lured by a flame more irresistibly than this little green fugitive was lured by the splashing of that stream.

"Oh, can you catch him? Can you catch him?" pleaded the girl as she clutched Pee-wee's arm.

"Let go a minute," said Pee-wee. "Now, all stand back, here goes!"

He shot the stream suddenly down at the base of the tree, holding the nozzle close so that the plashing was loud and the spray diffused. And as an arrow goes to its mark the bird came swooping down plunk into the middle of the spray and puddle. Still playing the stream with one hand, Pee-wee reached carefully and with his other gently encircled the little drenched body.

"Quite an adventure, wasn't it, Greenie?" he said. "Where'd you think you were? In the tropics?—— If you ever want to take hold of a bird," he added, turning to the girl, "hold it this way; make a ring out of your thumb and first finger, and let his stomach rest on the palm of your hand. Be sure your hand isn't cold, though. Here you are—that's right."

The girl could hardly speak. She stood with her dwarf parrot in her hand, looking at the stream of water which was now shooting silently through the grass and at the puddle which it had made, and she felt that a miracle had been performed before her eyes. Roy, hardly less pleased than she, stepped forward and turned off the water.

"Good work," said a gentleman. "I've seen many a bird brought down, but never in that fashion before."

"We don't use the other fashion," said Tom, with a touch of pride as he put his hand on Pee-wee's shoulder. "Do we, kid?"

"If it was a canary," said Pee-wee, "I might possibly have whistled him down, but not near enough to catch him, I guess. But as soon as I knew that bird came from the tropics, I knew he'd fall for water, 'cause a tropical bird'll go where the sound of water is every time. I guess it's because they have so many showers down there, or something. Then once I heard that it's best to turn on the faucet when you're teaching a parrot to talk. It's the sound of water. Did you get any water on you?" he asked, suddenly turning to the child.

There was no water on her clothing, but there was some in her eyes.

"I—I—think you're wonderful," she said. "I think you are just wonderful!"

"'Twasn't me," said Pee-wee, "it was the water. Gee," he added confidentially, "I often said I hated water, and I do hate a rainy day. And if you get any water in a carburetor—goo-od-night! But I got to admit water's good for some things."

"Oh, I want you please to wait—just a few minutes—I want to go and speak to my father," the girl said, as the boys started to move away. They were the only ones left now. "Please wait just a minute."

"We're on our way to Nyack," said Roy, suspecting her intention, "and I'm afraid we've lost as much time as we dare. We've got to do a little shopping there and our weather prophet here thinks we're going to have a real tropical shower before long."

"But won't you let my father give you each—something? You've been so good and it's—oh—it's just wonderful!"

"Pee-wee, you're the doctor," said Roy.

"I got to do a good turn every day," said the "doctor," "because we're scouts and that's the rule. If we took anything for it, why, then it wouldn't be a good turn. It would spoil all the fun. We're going on a long hike, up the Hudson to our camp. We don't want to go near railroad trains—and things like that. These fellows are taking me with them; that's a good turn, but if somebody paid 'em to do it, it wouldn't be a good turn, would it? I'm thankful to you and your parrot that you gave me the chance. Now I don't have to think of a good turn again till tomorrow. Besides I just happened to know about parrots and water so it's no credit to me."

That was it—he just happened to know! It was one of the dozens of things that he "just happened to know." How he came by the knowledge was a mystery. But perhaps the best thing he knew was that a service is a service and that you knock it in the head as soon as you take payment for it.

The girl watched them, as they jumped the hedge, laughing gaily at Pee-wee's clumsiness and, waving their hats to her, took their belated way along the road.

It was not the most popular way of bringing down a bird, but there was no blood on Pee-wee's hands, and it was a pretty good stunt at that!