.

"I'll go down," said Roy; "you stay up here, don't leave him alone."

At the foot of the ladder the leader of the Silver Foxes waited for the
members of the troop. It was good to see them approach. In the darkness
he could just distinguish their hurriedly donned and incomplete raiment.
He saw their looks of fear and inquiry, saw the almost panic agitation
in Pee-wee's round face and sleepy eyes.

"It's all right," Roy said, trying to control his jerky, nervous speech.

"Where's Warde?"

"Shh, he's all right--Blythe--Blythe is up there--he's in a kind of
fit--he's crazy--he's the--he's the one, all right--he's Darrell--shh,
_wait_--don't go up. Do you see this? It's one of those banshees
Harry Donnelle told us about--the kind the soldiers used to put up in
the windmills in Flanders. That's what's been making the noise. It sort
of--you know--spoke to him--that's what I think...."

If Roy had remembered some of the sprightly tales which their friend
Lieutenant Donnelle had brought from France, he might have saved himself
and his companion much fearful perplexity on that dark momentous night.

Or if they had ever been in Holland or Flanders they might have known of
those novel toys, the handiwork of ingenious youngsters, that moan and
wail and even pour forth their uncanny laughter when strategically
placed on the tops of windmills. American soldier boys, chafing under
enforced idleness in trenches and dugouts, would often beguile their
time making these miniature calliopes to catch the wind. And it is not
out of reason to surmise that many a warrior in the war-torn regions was
startled and confounded by the aerial lamentations of these harmless
little boxes of wires and crude whistles.

A cigar box, a few strips of wire, and some odds and ends of willow wood
suffice for the manufacture of the Flanders banshee. There is now an
American banshee with all modern improvements (patent not applied for)
invented and controlled by Pee-wee Harris. But that is not a part of the
present story.

CHAPTER XXIII

AFTER THE STORM

The expected difficulty of getting Blythe down from his strange refuge
was much simplified by his own demeanor. When his agitation subsided he
became as docile as a lamb, seeming quite willing to place himself in
the scouts' hands. He seemed utterly exhausted and bewildered. With this
exception he showed no trace of what he had been through, and appeared
not to remember it.

When they as