As he waited for the bus back to Bridgeboro, he pictured the lone, unknown scout who would cover the last stretch of country to Temple Camp. Perhaps this scout would arrive at midnight, out of the dark woods, like some Indian runner in days of yore. Who would he be? What would he look like? What exciting narratives passed from scout to scout in the long series, would he have to recount? He would bring tidings of the others and what they had done and what had happened along the way. Of one thing Pee-wee was resolved. He was not going to say a word at Temple Camp about his great enterprise. And he was going to swear Townsend Ripley to secrecy. He would take up his abode in mysterious and solemn isolation at Memorial Cabin, explaining that his guest and comrade would shortly arrive. When he should arrive, then the sensation. He was rather sorry that Alton Beech would not be that last, lonely deputation. But anyway, Alton would improve the occasion to win his first-class badge, and that was something. Pee-wee was not the only one who liked Alton Beech; everybody liked him. He was so agreeable and friendly and ready and accommodating. He did not jump out of his skin at every new idea as Pee-wee did. But he was always ready to try something—anything. He never objected. He was not the great inventor and organizer and promoter that Pee-wee was. He had not Pee-wee’s open mouth. But he had an open mind. The scouts of Westwood liked him immensely. _All_ scouts liked him immensely. That was just the trouble. CHAPTER VIII ENTER LIZZIE When Pee-wee spoke about Fords he was thinking of Townsend Ripley’s Ford, and when he said that things happened to it he never said a truer word. Many things had happened to Pee-wee, but not nearly so many as had happened to Townsend Ripley’s Ford. Townsend’s Ford had a long and checkered history extending years back prior to the time when it enters this story. It got on the downward path when it was very young, continued going down till it struck a tree and terminated its youthful escapade upside down in a mill pond. One would say that this should have been a lesson to it, but no such thing. Within a week it had parted with one of its fenders. The life of a Packard or a Cadillac would be tame and prosy, indeed, compared with the sprightly history of Townsend’s Ford. Townsend often said that Pee-wee was the Ford among scouts. Perhaps it was because he made so much noise and things were always going wrong with him. When Townsend’s flivver came to make its home with the Ripley family it was seven years old, minus a top, and with three fenders which looked like ancient tomato cans. In regard to the other fender, it was not. It might have been in good enough condition, only it wasn’t there. Townsend said it was the best of the four, but no one had ever seen it.