“Look here, kid,” he said. “You’ve got to take this whole crowd or none at all. This is the net results of your relay race. Take it or leave it. You forgot that a scout never turns back; in scouting relay races are a myth. They just _ain’t_. A scout that starts always wants to see the finish. All that stuff in the scout handbook is nonsense. No scout ever handed a letter about eats and things to another scout and then went home—_never_. You’re all off on scouting, kid. “Now look here, kid, this is Alton Beech’s crowd and you’re not going to break up the party. We’ve got a vacant cabin for these fellows and they’re going to bunk in it and eat down in camp. See? So you just start your little fire and forget about this bunch and your unknown chum will come along pretty soon, I’ll take care of that.” “What do you mean?” Pee-wee demanded. “You’ll see,” said Tom. “Start your fire and get ready. I’ve got the right idea on this unknown pal business better than you have. You’re way off the track, kid. You start your little fire and leave the rest to me. Come on, Beech, come on the rest of you fellows, you must be hungry.” It was not long after this that our lonely hero, somewhat squelched by recent happenings, heard an outlandish but strangely familiar noise and soon was aware of two lights poking their way up through the woods. Ah, that beloved, familiar, medley! That fond chorus of squeaks and rattles and unmuffled chugging. Those beams of light bisecting each other from Lizzie’s cross-eyed headlights. Up the hill she came, in and out among the trees, and over obstacles of fallen trunks, puffing, clanking, rattling, buzzing, pausing, swerving, but triumphing over every challenging obstruction. Lizzie! “That you, kid?” called Townsend cheerily. “Look out for the woodpile,” Pee-wee said, his heart dancing with surprise and joy. “Let the woodpile worry,” said Townsend. “Got supper ready?” “It’s—it’s just beginning to steam,” said Pee-wee; “look out you don’t run over it. It’s going to be dandy, Townsend, it’s all nice and thick, with lots of carrots; I made it, Townsend.” “Whooaa, Liz,” said Townsend as the beloved companion of their long journey came to a full stop and appeared to shake itself like a dog emerging from the water. “Say ‘I’m hungry,’ Liz.” The Ford emitted three uncanny syllables which sounded not unlike those plaintive words. “That Slade fellow seems to be the big boss around here, doesn’t he?” said Townsend stepping down. “Well, here I am, or here _we_ are, I should say. It seems you can’t lose me, kid. First I was going to walk up and then I said, no, Liz belongs in this outfit. Can you accommodate the two of us, kid? Slade bet me I couldn’t make it. Why it’s like the Lincoln Highway, kid. Did you hear Liz laughing?”