Uncle Jeb said, "Wall, Roay"--that's just the way he talks, slow like; "haow's all the boys from Bridgeboro? I reckon little Pee-wee ain't growed at all. Hain't you never goin' ter grow, Pee-wee? And Artie and Grovey, and El, and Hunter Ward and, let's see, Vic Norris--every plaguy one of yer here. Ain't none of yer died or gone off ter war, hey? And there's Connover Bennett, too, large as life, and still crazy about raisin cake, I reckon. Wall, wall, it's good ter see ye all." I said, "It's good to see you, too, Uncle Jeb, gee, all the fellows were crazy to see you, that's one sure thing." "And still making them flapjacks, hey?" he said; "I remember when one uv them New Hampshire scouts scaled one uv them flapjacks uv your'n across the lake. I reckon you're the same old Roay that put the mosquito dope in the biscuits. Yer remember that?" Cracky, I'm not going to tell you anything about my past life, but summer before last up there--_oh, boy!_ Most of the morning we rested up and got our patrol cabins cleaned out and all fixed up, and in the afternoon we banged around and got acquainted with some of the new troops. Just before supper, Westy and I went down for a swim and there were Connie Bennett and two or three of the Elks diving with Skinny. A whole lot of fellows were standing around watching. Most of them laughed at Skinny, but they all had to admit he was a crackerjack. I knew the Elks were just kind of showing him off and putting him through a lot of freak stunts just to get their name up around the camp. After supper, Westy and I and a new fellow in an Ohio troop were rowing around near the shore. He was an awful nice fellow--quiet like--just like me, only different. All of a sudden we noticed Skinny standing on the shore and he called out and asked us if we'd take him in. "Better watch your step," Westy said; "safety first." "Where's your patrol?" I called to him. "They went on a hike," he called back; "can I go with you?" "You go and ask Mr. Ellsworth," I said; "and if he says it's all right, come ahead." We could see him scooting pell mell around the edge of the cooking shack, his spindle legs as thin as sticks. Bert Winton (that was the new fellow) watched him, kind of laughing, and then he said, "Queer little codger, isn't he?" I said, "Yes, he's new and he came out of the slums. I guess he'll never work in harness; that's what our scoutmaster says." "Swims like an eel," Winton said; "why didn't they take him hiking, I wonder?" "Hanged if _I_ know," Westy said; "he's going to win them the swimming badge, all right. But he doesn't seem to be friends with them exactly. They make good use of him, anyway." "Kind of a performing bear, hey?" Bert said. "Something like that," I told him; "I wish I had him in my patrol, I know that." "Guess he wouldn't fit into any patrol," Winton said; "he seems to be a kind of an odd number."