ppi and his grandfather asked him to go out
there and spend the summer. No wonder they call that man grand.

Charlie came to me because I'm patrol leader, and he said, "Shall I go
out there and spend the summer?"

I said, "Sure, you might as well. If you hang around here all you'll
spend is nickels."

He said, "But when you start up for camp you'll want a full patrol,
won't you? You can't count Pee-wee in the Silver Foxes."

"Talk of something pleasant," I told him. "You go ahead out west and
leave the patrol to us. We'll find a new member and when you come back
in the Fall you can start the new patrol that Mr. Ellsworth is always
talking about."

He said, "Good idea; what shall we call it?"

"Call it the police patrol or whatever you want to, I don't care," I
told him.

He said, "Well, I guess I'll go. My grandfather has a big apple orchard
and everything, and I can go swimming in the Mississippi. I'll write to
you."

"How is that going to get me any apples?" I asked him. "Go ahead, the
sooner the quicker, and I'll have fewer Silver Foxes to worry about. Let
your grandfather worry for a while."

So that's the end of Charlie Seabury in this story. We lost a scout and
his grandfather lost an apple orchard. I should worry. Maybe, later,
you'll hear about the Laughing Hyenas that he started. But believe me,
there are laughs enough in this story without bothering our heads about
that new outfit.

CHAPTER II

MISSIONARY WORK

We had about two weeks to hang around Bridgeboro (that's where we live)
before starting for Temple Camp. If you want to know why we stayed
behind when the Ravens and the Elks went, you'd better read the story
that comes before this one. That will tell you how our young hero, the
raving raven of the Ravens, happened to be wished on us, too.

Now a couple of days after Charlie Seabury started out west two or three
of us were sitting in the swinging seat on my porch talking about what
we'd do to kill time for a couple of weeks.

"What's the matter with killing Pee-wee?" Westy wanted to know.

I said, "Speak of angels and you'll hear the flutter of their wings;
here he comes up the hill."

"What's he eating?" Dorry Benton asked.

"I think it's peanuts," Hunt Manners said.

Pretty soon the little angel eating peanuts crossed the road and cut up
across the lawn. He's always cutting up in some way or other.

"For goodness' sake, look at him," I said; "he's a walking junk shop.