My dear boy saved his life when he was your age as I suppose, and do you know how? By running to him when he was caught in a thrasher and my boy stepped on a scythe as he ran and he was many weeks in bed while I nursed him. It seemed hardest of all that I could not nurse him when he died. He was a brave boy and so gentle and kind to me and to everyone, even the animals, and he was so noble and good to me after his father died. So you see, my dear young friend, I have lost much, even more than I tell you and I say there are sorrows worse than death so you will be a pride and comfort as you grow up, for I have known what an undutiful son is too. But I think of my brave, noble boy that died in France and you brought him back to me for a few minutes when I sat reading his letter. So I shall always love these scout boys on account of you and would like to read about them but my eyes are not very strong. And now I say good-bye to you, my dear young friend and often I will think of you after I go to the Home. Mrs. Mary Haskell Hicksville, North Carolina. The quiet of Hicksville, North Carolina, could have been no deeper than the stillness which prevailed when the scouts finished reading this letter. They seemed to feel that if they moved or spoke it would destroy a spell and prove this whole amazing business a dream. Within the ward the voice of some patient could be heard in petulant complaint. Nurses with silent tread, moved in and out of the apartment. An auto horn could be heard tooting somewhere in the distance. But Warde and Roy were in Hicksville, North Carolina. Warde was the first to speak. Modest, as he always was, he now uttered a thought which had lingered in his mind for many days. "Now I know why he said '_Doctor Cawson_,'" he observed quietly. "He belongs in the south. I know why he didn't say _Tranto_ and _Monreal_; it was because he never lived in those places. But of course, that doesn't prove anything, I guess." "It proves something about _you_," said Roy proudly. Oh, he could afford to be generous and happy! "We don't need any proof," said Pee-wee; "haven't we got proof enough? What more do you want? Now what have you all got to say? You're so smart!" No one had anything to say, not even Detective Ferrett. All he could do was whistle perplexedly. The overworked, thin, trembling arm of poor Mrs. Haskell had reached out and dealt him a knockout blow, under the exclusive auspices of Pee-wee Harris, mascot of the raving Ravens, scout of the first class, master of good turns, defender and exponent of good scout law Number Two, First Bridgeboro, New Jersey, Troop, Boy Scouts of America! [Footnote 3: Specifications he probably meant.] CHAPTER XXXIII THE MYSTERY