“Who’s still?” I asked him. “It’s the first time I ever knew you to be still. We’re on the path leading to the main road. If you leave the path you’re out of the hike. On this hike we have no right to pay any attention to anything that’s right. We can only turn into roads to the left and we can’t pay any attention to things on the right-hand side of those roads—only the left. There isn’t any right at all on this hike. We’re only supposed to see out of our left eyes.” “Do you mean to tell me I have to keep my right eye shut?” Pee-wee shouted. “And your mouth too,” I told him. “Now I _know_ you’re all crazy!” he yelled. “Right,” I said. “You mean left,” Hervey put in. Brent said, “Before we go any farther let’s settle about the rules.” Hervey said, “The idea is to turn into every road we come to that goes to the left; that’s the only rule.” “And we mustn’t pay any attention to anything that’s on the right-hand side of the left-hand road,” I said. “Absolutely, positively,” Warde said. “How are we going to get back?” the kid wanted to know. “Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life turning to the left?” “If you’re going to spend the rest of your life turning, the left is just as good as the right,” I told him. “Those are the two best directions except the one you usually go in, and that’s up in the air.” “You’ll be sorry we didn’t take lunch with us,” he said. “I’m sorry already,” I told him, “but duty is duty; we can’t start off by turning to the right, lunch or no lunch. Better starvation than dishonor. Anyway here comes Sandwich, let’s take him along.” Now I’ll tell you about Sandwich. He’s the dog at Temple Camp, and we call him Sandwich because he’s half-bred. Nobody knows how he got to Temple Camp, but a lot of scouts say he followed Hervey Willetts from Catskill. If he did he must have had some job. He’s a sort of blackish white. It’s good his tail is at the other end of him, because it would make him nervous to see it. Anyway he should worry. So as long as he was going to go anyway we invited him. All of a sudden, just as we were turning into the West Trail around the lake (because that turns out of Cabin Lane to the left) a scout called after Hervey Willetts and said, “Hey, Hervey, you’re wanted within.” “Can you beat that?” Hervey wanted to know, all disgruntled. “You better go back,” I said, because I know he doesn’t think much about not paying any attention to trustees and people like that. “Within where?” he called out. “Within the next six or seven hours,” the scout shouted. “No sooner said than stung,” I told Hervey. That fellow’s always afraid he’ll be called down as many times as I get called up, because I know a girl in Catskill—that’s about ten miles from camp—and she’s all the time calling me up to go and play basket-ball. Pee-wee has no use for basket-ball, but he’s crazy about basket lunches.