"I think it belongs to Honorable Pee-wee Harris," said Roy. "He did the trick that won it."
"I'll tell you who she belongs to," said Pee-wee. "She belongs to the First Bridgeboro Troop, Boy Scouts of America."
"Raven, Fox and Elk!" said Roy. "Right you are, Pee-wee. United we stand, divided we squall."
A tramp of a couple of hours over country roads brought them to Leeds, and they hiked along its main street contributing not a little to its picturesqueness with their alert, jaunty air, their brown complexions which matched so well with the scout attire, their duffel bags and their long staves. More than one farmer and many an early summer boarder stared at them and hailed them pleasantly as they passed along.
"I like this village," said Pee-wee.
"I'll have it wrapped up for you," said Roy; "Take it, or have it sent?"
"How do we get to Black Lake?" Tom asked of a man who was lounging outside one of the shops.
"Ye ain't goin' to walk it, be ye?" he answered, scrutinizing them curiously.
"Right you are," said Roy. "How did you guess?"
"Ye got a pooty smart walk afore ye," the man said, dubiously.