“Sure,” I said; “every time you wave your signal the boat sinks. You might as well take the rag without the boat when you’re sailing; that’s logic.” Brent said, “That’s a very good suggestion.” The girls said they were sorry to see us go. I told them to look the other way, and they wouldn’t see it. They said we seemed to have a lot of fun. Brent was awful funny. He shook hands with them very sober like and he said, “There was a sameness in our lives till we met you. Life was just one thing over and over again.” “And under,” I said. “Don’t forget our young hero.” “You girls changed the whole course of our lives,” Warde said. “You have helped us to get somewhere in life. But we don’t know where.” They said, “Well, you’d better be starting or you’ll _never_ get back to your camp. If you turn to the left at Brookside it will take you straight to Greenvale. There you’ll find the first road to your left and if you take that it will take you into Fox Trail that goes to the left and that will bring you around this lake into the trail you’ve been trying to get away from. So you can keep your resolution and get back to your camp all right.” Brent said, “That’s just what we want, to get back into the trail we want to get away from.” Marjorie Eaton said, “There’s a carnival at Greenvale, too.” “Can we get sodas there?” Pee-wee wanted to know. Marjorie laughed and said, “Yes, but I _think_ the soda booth is on the right-hand side of the road.” “Foiled again,” I said. So then we started. We rowed along the shore toward the outlet. When we came near to the outlet there was the willow tree I told you about. Right near it stood a young fellow close to the shore. He was looking at us and kind of waiting. The thing I noticed most about him was his eyes, because I couldn’t see them. That was on account of his hat. One good thing, he had a nose because that prevented his hat from falling down over his face. The front of his hat rested right on his nose. He was a kind of a grown-up fellow. His trousers were funny, they were tight at his knees, and then they changed their mind and got wider down near the ground. He had on low shoes—to match his brow, that’s what Brent said. Warde said, “Oh, look at the sharpy.” “Is that what you call a cookie nibbler?” Brent wanted to know. I said, “Sure it is, it’s a regular one. They’re so stingy they wear their hats down in front to save their eyesight.” “I didn’t know there were any of them running wild around here,” Brent said. “Is it against the law to shoot them?” Jiminy, that cake-eater looked awful funny. He was a rare specimen, kind of. His jacket was long, and it had slanting pockets in it. I don’t know why they have pockets at all, those fellows. They carry crumbs instead of dough, that’s what I heard. He had a kind of a shoe-lace disguised as a necktie. Brent said, “I wonder where he spends his time.”