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.