Swipe a chunk of
property? That's a part of North Bridgeboro you've got there."

"Why didn't you take the whole village?" another called.

"Hey, Roly, where are you going with the real estate?" another called.

"I knew you were too heavy for that neck of land," shouted another.

"Why didn't you take the whole orchard with you?" a third wanted to
know.

"_For the love of----_," another ejaculated. "Look at the sign, will
you! The place is discovered already!"

Pee-wee did not wait for formal introductions. "We're going to start
the Combination Scouts of Bridgeboro!" he shouted. "We're going to be
sea scouts and land scouts all rolled into one! We took possession and
it's all right! Old Trimmer can't say that he owned an island, can he?
We're going to have our pictures in _Boys' Life_ and everything and
we're going to have all the apples when they're ripe and maybe we're
going to call ourselves the Crab-apple Patrol! Maybe there's treasure
buried here, how do we know? And we're going to get one of those
things--a saxophone or whatever you call it--to take our latitude and
longitude with! We're going to be better than the Ravens and the Elks
and the Silver Foxes and I know how to make apple-sauce! We're going
to be a new kind of a patrol!"

"In the name of goodness, what's that, a phonograph?" one of the
approaching canoeists called.

"That's the discoverer," Roly called back. "He took possession of the
island in the name of the King of Bridgeboro."

"I thought it was an earthquake," laughed a tall boy who was stepping
ashore.

"Oh, we have those too," laughed Roly; "all the latest improvements.
That's Pee-wee; he's perfectly harmless, step right ashore, you're all
welcome."

"You're stepping into the seventeenth century," Pee-wee shouted,
descending precipitately out of the tree.

"The seventeenth century must have been very wet," said the tall boy as
he lifted one foot out of the water only to plunge the other into the
ragged, muddy edge of the island, in his efforts to get on shore. It
was very funny to see him wallow In the water, seeking foothold on the
submerged tentacles of root, ever slipping, and always with the
soberest look on his face. "This must be the back entrance," he said.
"Where are we supposed to park?"

This tall boy, who turned out to be a sort of patrol leader and
scoutmaster in one, had a kind of whimsical look of inquiry on his face
which was his permanent expression,