“I see some sort of a village or something,” Pee-wee answered; “I see a church steeple and a kind of a building that maybe is a store; I bet we can get ice cream cones there.” With which preliminary report he disappeared into the tower house, presently reappearing at the window to announce additional discoveries. “There’s a lot of stuff up here,” he called; “there are handles to move switches with and everything. There’s an old time-table—it says nineteen fourteen on it—tacked on the wall. “There’s a kind of a shelf you sit at. There’s a stool here, too. There’s a magazine, it’s—it’s—wait a minute—it’s seven years old—the pages are all yellow—there’s a name of an article that says maybe there might be a great war—there’s a big wasps’ nest up here, too.” “Well, you’d better watch out or maybe there will be a great war,” laughed Townsend. “There’s a piece of bread up here, it’s petrified,” shouted Pee-wee; “it’s all faded, kind of yellow. It’s dandy up here.” “You don’t see anything of a gasoline wagon on the horizon, do you, Sister Anne?” Townsend called. “No, but there’s an old five-gallon tank,” Pee-wee shouted; “It’s on a grocery box that says Lingate’s soap is best and it’s got some oil in it. There are lanterns up here, too, a couple of red ones and a white one and there’s a picture of an actress out of a newspaper tacked on the wall. There’s a big spider-web, too, and there’s a wasp caught in it; he’s dead.” It was hard to divert Pee-wee’s inquisitive mind and eagle eyes from their exploration of this new discovery. And indeed, even to Townsend’s imagination, these homely, deserted memorials of a former time appealed strongly. The little tower house was so much removed from the world as to have some of the enchanting qualities of a desert island. “I can hear oil splashing in it when I shake the can,” Pee-wee shouted. “There’s an old red flag up here, too, and a picture of a prizefighter; I guess it was on the wall but it fell on the floor; there was a centipede under it, I stepped on him—a great big one.” The prizefighter flat on the floor (where prizefighters so often find themselves) and the actress on the wall hinted that the former towerman had been a lover of the ring and of the stage. “Take a squint up the road,” Townsend called, “How about it?” “I’ll tell you,” said Pee-wee. “Please do,” called Townsend. “About a half a mile away, maybe three-quarters of a mile, is a village; it’s right in the road. And about—wait a minute—about—about—halfway between here and there—maybe not so much as quite half-way—_there’s some chewing gum up here, too_, it’s hard like a rock—_there are mountains!_” “Where is the chewing gum and where are the mountains?” Townsend called. “Up here—there’s kind of something the matter like, along the road. Throw me up my field-glass, it’s rolled up in my sleeping blanket with my camera.” “Here you go—catch,” called Townsend. “Look out how you throw it,” Pee-wee shouted down.