Believe me, we stuck to that trail as if it were a tight rope. Harry said if any one of us looked right or left, he’d put blinders on us. That night we camped near Nyack and early in the morning we said good-bye to the Hudson and struck in southwest till we came to our own little river—that’s the Bridgeboro River. At about four o’clock that afternoon we went tramping over the River Road bridge and hit into Main Street. Right on the corner was Bradly’s grocery wagon, and oh boy, it looked good to me, because it proved we were back home. “_Bradly’s Cash Grocery_,” Dorry said; “those are the three sweetest words in the world.” “Wrong the first time,” I said; “the three sweetest words in the world are _Bennett’s Fresh Confectionery_.” “Me for Bennett’s!” Charlie Seabury shouted. “Same here!” Dorry piped up. “Bennett’s or die!” screamed Ralph Warner. “Lend me a dime, will you?” Tom Warner shouted at his brother. “Lend me two dimes, somebody!” Bad Manners began howling. Good night, it was some circus! Harry said, “Come ahead, I’ll take you all to Bennett’s and treat you, and I hope I’ll never get mixed up with this crew again. I’ve had enough.” “Hurrah for Harry Donnelle!” everybody yelled. Cracky, everybody was staring at us and laughing as we went down Main Street. We should worry. In Bennett’s we all lined up and Harry told Mr. Bennett to please put arsenic or carbolic acid or some other nice flavoring in our sodas; something to keep us quiet. I ordered a pineapple soda and yum, yum-m-m, didn’t that first spoonful of ice cream taste good. CHAPTER XL MMM—MM-M-M! This is the last chapter and it’s very short. Maybe you’ll say that’s one good thing. But it’s a good one just the same. It’s a peach—I mean a pineapple. It’s the best chapter I ever wrote. It goes from the top of the glass to the bottom of the glass. And that’s the end of the story. So even if the story’s no good, it has a good ending. It had a good beginning, too. Harry Donnelle said there should be a special chapter about that soda. Of course, there were seven other sodas, too. I don’t mean that I drank seven more. But mine is the best one to end with, because I always go right down to the bottom of the glass. The bottom is the only thing that stops me. So that’s the way it is with this story. It has a happy ending. It bunks right into the bottom of the glass. The plot is all cleared up. So is the glass. There’s nothing left to tell—or to drink. Harry Donnelle said if I didn’t look out I’d scrape the polish off the glass with my spoon. I should worry, a scout is thorough. So long.