BAFFLED?
After a hike of about eight miles, part way across country and part way
along roads, the three scouts reached the beautiful Woodcliff Lake which
lies in a northwesterly direction from the old camp. Upon its shore they
rested and ate the compact little lunch which they had brought. The
afternoon sun flickered on the waters, the gentle slope across the lake
was clad in the rich green of the midsummertime, not a boat was to be
seen upon that clear forbidden expanse, and no sound was there in all
the quiet country round about, save only the elated voice of an angler
on the causeway as he pulled up his line with a fish wriggling on the
end of it.
It is the duty of Woodcliff Lake to supply water to many thousands of
homes and the quietude of its shores and water breathes a kind of
cleanliness and purity, which imparts to the lake a character quite its
own. An unique feature of it is the causeway which bisects it, forming
twin lakes, as it seems to the nearby beholder. But from a distant
elevation this straight clean roadway across the very center of the lake
stands out in bold relief, having none of the appearance of a bridge nor
yet of a dam. From this causeway people are permitted to fish and their
good luck is contemplated enviously by auto parties passing to and fro.
The scouts had no difficulty in finding the home of Miss Helen Shirley
Bates in this fair neighborhood. They were told to go up a road till
they came to another road and to go up that road till they saw a gray
house, etc., which direction brought them at last face to face with an
electric button which Pee-wee pushed.
By the luck which he claimed to be his, a girl of perhaps nineteen or
twenty came to the door, who proved to be none other than the young lady
of the calling card. Here, however, Pee-wee's luck deserted him.
"We're boy scouts and this is your card," said the young spokesman. "Do
you like fudge?" he added, producing also a specimen of his
confectionery skill.
"Oh I just adore it," said the girl, "but where did you get my card?
Won't you sit down?"
The scouts were glad to rest in the comfortable wicker chairs on the
deep, shady porch, and here the girl listened to Pee-wee's graphic
account of his finding of the old wallet. He explained that it was his
regular custom to find things and that this need give her no surprise.
"But to think that it had my card in it," she said; "and that it has
been stuck away in that damp, spooky place for two years. I think it's
_just wonderful_ for you to come and find me. And I think it's
lovely for you to want to send the letter to that soldier's mother; oh I
think it's just _fine_."
"Scouts have to do good turns," Pee-wee said.
"It makes me feel as if I can just see that soldier now," she said,
reading the old letter. "And to think he was on his way here. But I just
don't know any more about him than you do because he never got here. I
just don't know a _single thing_ about him."
"Not even his name?" Warde asked, hopefully.
"Not even his name. You see, I'll tell you how it was," she continued,
drawing her chair a little closer to them. "All the people around here
used to have soldiers from camp to dinner on Sundays."
"I know, they did that in Bridgeboro where we live," said Warde. "We had
a couple of them one Sunday."
"We just sent word to the Y.M.C.A. that we would be glad to have two
soldiers come. I sent my card because I thought that would be nicer. We
did that several times, mother and I. And we never knew the names of the
soldiers till they got here. The camp officials wouldn't let us invite
them by name. It was lots of fun to see what kind of boys came. Some
of them belonged 'way, 'way out west. Once when we were expecting
two, only one came. He said the other was going to hike here. But
the other one never came. We _waited_ and _waited_ and _waited_, and
then we had dinner."
The boys' hopes fell at this recital. The girl, too, seemed to take her
inability to help them very much to heart. The boys all recalled now
that patriotic custom of the wartime of inviting soldiers from the camp
to enjoy a little interval of home life at week ends. The rule which
prevented hospitable citizens from making choice of their guests gave
the kindly custom the pleasant character of a game of chance. One never
knew what one would draw out of the camp grab-bag.
"I--I never thought about that," Roy said plainly disappointed.
"Do you remember the name of the soldier that did come?" Warde asked.
"No I don't," she confessed, regretfully. "You see we had two each
Sunday for a while. I think it's just too bad you can't send the
letter."
"Maybe it doesn't make so much difference," said Warde. "He's home by
this time, or perhaps he never went over."
But this did not impress her and she could only say, "Oh I think it's
just too bad. It's such a _lovely_ letter. I'd just like to see
that home. I just feel as if I _can_ see it--the broken window and
all. And to think of all the trouble you have gone to. Oh I _wish_
I could help you."
"It's all right," Roy said; "you should worry."
"Maybe you think we're foiled," said Pee-wee, "but that shows how much
you know about scouts. As long as we've got a broken window and a dog
that must have a collar because he's supposed to be tied, to go by--and
a puddle and some things.... Do you know what those things are? They're
clues."
"Oh but you can _never_ do it," she said.
"Do you want to do a good turn?" Pee-wee asked.
"Indeed I do," she said, anxiously.
"Do you know what a legal document is?"
"_Good night_," said Roy. "You're not going to get out a warrant
for him?"
"That shows how much you know," said Pee-wee. "I want a great big long
envelope like a legal document comes in. Did you ever see a deed?"
"Sure," said Roy, "a kind deed, I've done a lot of them."
"Don't you pay any attention to him," said Miss Bates.
"I never do," said Pee-wee; "he's crazy, he belongs to a crazy patrol.
If I can get an envelope big enough I'll write everything on it that
will help the post office people, and maybe they'll be resourceful,
hey?"
"I'll give you the envelope my examination papers came in," said the
girl enthusiastically.
"Did you study rhetoric?" Pee-wee demanded.
"Yes, and I just _hate_ it," she said. "Just you wait a minute,"
she added, going into the house. She presently reappeared with an
envelope large enough to contain a brief history of the world on its
outside, and together she and Pee-wee made up the detailed address
which, in Pee-wee's handwriting, was destined to astonish Postmaster
Hiram Hicks, of Hicksville, North Carolina.