"They're all real scouts--are they?" Peter asked hesitatingly.
"They think they are. Now look here," he added, sitting down on the running board in a companionable way beside Peter, "I want you to tell me what made you say that road was closed. There was a light in the sky; you saw that? Big, tall light?"
"That--that fellow--named Nick--he made it."
"Yes, and what made you close the road? Somebody tell you the light meant something?"
"There isn't anybody around here," said Peter, growing more at ease as everyone did with Scoutmaster Ned, "except Aunt Sarah Wickett and she's crazy. There's nobody in this house but my mother."
"How about Mr. Fee? No? Well then, who told you to close the road? Come now, you and I are pals and you have to tell me."
A scoutmaster, a real, live scoutmaster, a pal of his? Why that was more wonderful than reading a signal. Peter's hands rubbed together nervously and he hedged, as a scout should never do.
"I want that scout to get that cup, the one that sent the message. Could--maybe could I see that cup--if it's in this car?"
In the excitement of the night, Scoutmaster Ned had forgotten all about the stunt cup (as they had come to call it). He now brought it forth from under the rear seat and unwound the flannel rag that was around it and polished it a little as he held it up. It shone in the bright morning sunlight and Peter saw his face in it. That was strange, that Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads should see his own face looking at him from the radiant surface of a scout prize cup. He had never even seen such a good mirror before. He just gazed at it, and continued to gaze, as Scoutmaster Ned held it up. Awarded for the--it shone so, he could hardly make out the words--for the best all scout stunt of the season.
"It cost a lot of money, didn't it?"