WE END OUR HIKE
That was the long way around to Temple Camp, but we couldn’t help it,
because we had to follow the road.
“That’s better than following a crazy leader,” Pee-wee said.
Mr. Warren said, “The last turn is a good turn.”
“Every kind of a turn is a good one,” Hervey called back.
“They’re all better than each other, only some are more so,” I said.
“We’ll take you on some hikes all right. That’s one things I like about
Columbus, Ohio, he didn’t turn back, not till he saw the Statue of
Liberty.”
_“Columbus saw the Statue of Liberty?”_ Pee-wee screamed.
“Listen to the mocking bird,” I said. “I never said he saw the Statue of
Liberty; I said he didn’t turn back till he saw it, and he never turned
back, did he? That shows how much you know about botany.”
“Jolly him some more,” one of those Columbus scouts said, kind of
bashful like.
“I can’t now,” I told him, “we’re coming to Stillman’s Hollow and we
have to be very still there because the natives are all asleep. We have
to go on tiptoe through the village. Shh!”
So then Hervey started going on tiptoe, holding one finger up to his
mouth, awful funny. All of those Columbus scouts did the same and their
scoutmaster laughed, but just the same he seemed kind of thoughtful
like. I guess he wasn’t sure how the management at camp would take it
about his coming back, but it didn’t bother us any, because we were
bringing a shack back for that troop, and anyway we have Uncle jeb (he’s
camp manager) eating out of our hands. Whatever we say at Temple Camp
_goes_. I don’t say where it goes to, but it _goes_.
We tiptoed through Main Street in Stillman’s Hollow and some summer
boarders stared at us and laughed and a lot of people on the porch of
the post office laughed. I guess we must have looked pretty funny.
Pretty soon we came to the end of the village and Hervey said, “All
right, you can all talk at once now.”
“I’ll all talk at once first,” Pee-wee piped up; “I’ve got something to
say.”
“Begin at the end, then you won’t have so far to go,” I said.
“Let’s dump the garage down near the road,” he said, “then it’ll be away
from the main part of camp all by itself; it’ll be kind of like an
outpost.”
“That would suit us to a T,” Mr. Warren said.
“I thought of it,” Pee-wee shouted. “Then we can come up there and visit
you. I’ll be up every day.”
“Have a heart,” I said. “Do you call that a good turn?”
Mr. Warren said, “If they’re kind enough to let us stay and camp in this
odd little house you may be sure the funny-bone hikers will always be
welcome.”
“You bet they will,” two or three of those fellows chimed in.
“Set us down anywhere you choose,” Mr. Warren said.
Hervey said, “You don’t have to spend much time in your shack. The
Catskill Mountains are big enough for anybody.”
“Except you,” I said. “If you follow him,” I told those fellows, “you’ll
land on the island of Yap.”
Hervey didn’t say anything, he just started singing, and going zigzag in
the road; I guess maybe he was trying to make the horses do that, too.
He sang the whole song, and before he was finished every fellow there
was singing and imitating all his motions.
Gee whiz, I can just see him now, the way he reached up and grabbed
branches and hopped on the stones and threw his hat up in the air and
swung it on a stick and walked lame and with his eyes shut, never
looking back at all just as if he didn’t care whether we were there or
not. Reckless, kind of; you know how he is.
And even now when I’m home in Bridgeboro, whenever I get to humming that
song I think of Hervey Willetts. Even my sister Marjorie hums it and
Margaret Ellison caught it from her and her sister caught it from her
and if it ever gets into the school, _good night_, they’ll have to close
it up.
If you once get those crazy verses in your head, goodby to history and
geography, and physics and arithmetic. But I don’t know, kind of it
doesn’t seem natural except when Hervey Willetts sings them. I don’t
know where he ever got them nor all the other crazy stuff he knows.
There’s only one Temple Camp and there’s only one Hervey Willetts.