On a pleasant Sunday morning in April of that year, Joe Blythe started for Woodcliff to dine at the home of a family he did not know—the home and family of Miss Bates. As we know, he never reached that hospitable roof. We do know, however, that in an isolated shack in the woods not far from camp were found his wallet containing his leave of absence, an unmailed letter to his mother, and Miss Bates' card.

How came he to that shack? It was in a bypath sometimes followed by soldiers, he said. He said he paused there to get out of a shower. This statement was at least partly verified by the authorities who secured reports that it did rain on that day.

Joe Blythe said that in that shack he met his brother, shabby, desperate. Did the brother know that Joe was a soldier in the camp? Very likely. Was he lying in wait for him in that secluded spot? That also seems probable. That his brother attacked him, hitting him with an old sash-weight, is certain. Who shall say what actually transpired between these brothers in that lonely spot?

But the proven facts of Bob Haskell's career are these. He escaped from Canada after committing burglary and a brutal murder. He tried at one American recruiting station after another to find safety in military service, and was rejected as unfit wherever he applied.

Neither Joe nor anyone else knows what was in the mind of this defective, desperate, frantic wretch when he sought the neighborhood of Camp Merritt. No one knows whether the horrible plan which he executed had been previously conceived.

But this is certain, that he struck his brother on the head and laid him low and took from him not only his uniform but his memory as well. One thing he did not take, because he did not want it, and that was a little trinket containing their mother's picture which Joe had always worn.

We may picture Joe Haskell lying in that dank, musty shack, bleeding, unconscious, for hours. How long he lay there no man shall say. We may picture him wandering forth, in an ill-fitting suit of civilian clothes, demented, broken, dazed. Of his wanderings, likewise, who shall tell the full truth? He visited a place called Blytheville and took the name of Blythe. He visited great cities, so he said. He was in the west. He was in jail for vagrancy. He watched some cows for a farmer. He remembered nothing of his past. He was sheltered by the Salvation Army somewhere. He was a wanderer over the country.

And so in time he wandered to New York. There he fell in with men who were interested in demolishing the old camp. Probably they had no faith in him. They did not reckon that he would fall in with a troop of scouts who, in the good cause of pitying friendship, would make the old shacks of the deserted reservation echo to the sound of their saws and hammers, and the music of their merry laughter.

And the brother?

April in the terrible year of 1918 was the month of all months when troops were sent abroad by the thousands, half equipped, untrained, as fast as the speeding transports could carry them. It was a time of weakening hope, of misgivings, of confusion and frantic hurry. Men, men, men, whether they were soldiers or not, so only that they were men! Few know of the frenzied haste in the embarkation camp those days. Few will ever realize how near the war came to being lost.

For Bob Haskell there was no returning consciousness and only the silent records of the War Department could speak for him, reporting his supreme sacrifice under a name but a part of which was his own. That he lived in camp as his brother for at least a few hours in that time of unquestioning rush and inevitable disorder seems probable enough. That he fell in the fighting, under the name of Joseph Haskell, we know.

So at least the uniform which he stole was not dishonored. And since he paid for his crime with his own life, and in the way that he preferred, may we not follow his brother's good example and let his checkered memory rest in peace? Joe never told his mother more than this, that it must have been his brother who was killed in France. She never knew who struck him down.

Another episode is not so easily explained, for it is bound up with Joe Haskell's mental condition while he was with the scouts. That is the episode of the windmill. About that he seemed to remember but little. No doubt the calling of the voice which he thought was his mother's was a pure hallucination. It was like a little flash of light in his darkness. Yet it might have been that the peculiar sounds aroused certain memories.

One very strange fact, however, is certain, and that is that he did find the trinket with his mother's picture on that lonely, wind-swept tower. The voice which had called him had not mocked and deceived him. How came that little trinket there?

The only answer that we have to this question is the theory of Pee-wee Harris, wearer of the stalking badge, and, as his very nickname shows, the friend of birds. He claimed that a wren, or one of the mischievous, pilfering birds of that group had carried the locket to its nest in the old windmill. It is true that certain birds carry such glittering trifles to their nests and it is well known that wrens forage in old buildings and often build in windmills. There were a few wisps of straw to give color to Pee-wee's ingenious theory.

But when it comes to building, Pee-wee himself is a master builder of castles in the air.

And there you are.



CHAPTER XXXIV

SEEIN' THINGS

On a certain fair day in the autumn Joshua Hicks stood in the doorway of the Hicksville post office and contemplated the chickens which were congregated on the store platform waiting for the mail. He looked as if he had been standing there uninterruptedly since we last saw him. His octagon-shaped spectacles were exactly half way down his nose, and his nose was just as long as it was on the day we made his acquaintance—if anything, a little longer. He was waiting for the big daily event in Hicksville, the arrival of the train.

But a bigger event than that was to arouse Hicksville. When the train arrived a solitary figure got out, a young man with a suitcase, who waved his hand familiarly to Joshua and called, "Hello, Josh," as he strode away up the road.

For a minute Josh could only stare and say, "By gum." Then he took off his spectacles and wiped them as if they were responsible for the strange thing he had seen. But this, when he replaced them, only made the hurrying figure stand out clearer to his vision.

"Marthy," said he, re-entering the post office and addressing his daughter, "I jes' seed a ghost; as sure as I'm standin' here, Marthy, I seed the ghost of Joey Haskell. It got off the train jes' as sure as I'm standin' here, Marthy, and called out ter me and went up the road. I seed it plain."

"Same as you seed the goblins in Hiram Berry's cornfield before prohibition," said Marthy, who was not to be startled out of her rustic calm by any of her father's visions. And she continued sorting the mail which consisted of a newspaper and two letters.

"If folks is dead and yer see 'em, it's sperits, ain't it?" Joshua demanded.

"If folks is dead they don't come to Hicksville, I reckon," said the girl.

One might suppose that Hicksville would be just the very place folks would go to, if they were dead. Be that as it may the young man was no ghost. He was just a little pale, and he looked as if he might have known much suffering, but he was no ghost.

Up the little lane he went where goldenrod was blooming and where some of the birds that had beaten him on the journey southward were flitting and chirping in the trees. A little brook that bordered the narrow, fragrant way seemed hurrying along at his side, laughing in its pebbly bed, as if to give him a welcome home. Straight ahead he went till he came to the little white house. In the tiny front window hung a small faded square of cloth which might once have been red, and in the center of this was a crude homemade star of gold, but all the pristine brightness had gone from it.

The young man opened the door, laid down his suitcase, stepped into the little sitting room, and taking down the tattered, faded symbol called out, "What's this doing here? If that isn't like Hicksville! The war over two years and—"

Just then the astonished and frightened face of a little, wizened old lady appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Mother!"

Then in another moment he was helping the trembling form to a chair and laughing and stroking the gray hair and putting his arm around that thin, wrinkled neck.

It was almost too much for her. She looked at him with a kind of terror in her poor old eyes, as if she thought he was not real, and she clung to him as if she were drowning.

"It's all right, Muddy," he laughed, kissing her and making a fine joke of her bewilderment; "feel of me; here, pinch me. Ouch! See how real I am? I'm hungry too, if anybody should ask you. I think I'll go up to Ruth Jillett's house for supper—"

She only clung to him tighter—and cried a little more. "You was always thinking of Ruth first," she said. "Joey, my eyes is not what they wuz, I've seen you so much when I was alone here—in all the trouble—you wouldn't fool me—Joey?"

For answer she got such a hug as no ghost could ever give. "Of course, if you'd rather believe the Government than your own eyes.... Why here's Sport! Hello, Sport, I'll leave it to you," he added, reaching down and patting the dog whose tail was going like a pendulum. "Here's a woman that doesn't—"

"Joey, you mustn't say that—you—you—"

"All right, old Muddy, then admit that I am me."

"I don't understand—I—Joey—"

Another hug, "Of course, you don't. You're just two years out of date. You've been living among the dead and you think everybody's dead and I'm going to—"

"You're not going to Ruth Jillett's, Joey—"

"Well, I certainly will if you don't get me some supper. How about that, Sport? Here I am come home a rich man with three hundred dollars in my pocket, and no supper."

"Joey, if I had only known I'd have made a meat pie. I won't believe you're real till I see you eat, Joey." That would be a good test.

"We won't eat here many more times—"

"Oh yes, we will. I've got three hundred dollars, and two hundred of it belongs to some boy scouts. They made me take it as a loan. We're going to stay right here and I'm going to get a job in Cartersburgh and I'm coming home every night—so as to be near Ruth. Hey, Sport."

Poor old Mrs. Haskell only clung tighter to him. And Sport looked up, and kept looking, as if he did not understand at all.

And so, as the evening drew on, these two, mother and son, sat in the little kitchen of their old home and talked while Joe ate his supper; a very good supper indeed for a "sperit." And since it was a matter of eating, may we not fancy that the staunch spirit of Pee-wee Harris of the raving Ravens was with them as they talked late into the night? And when Joey Haskell jollied his poor old mother (as he did most shamefully) may we not picture that diminutive scout saying in high disgust, "You think you're smart, don't you?"

And yet, you know, you will hear it said that nothing ever happens in Hicksville....

THE END



THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of the TOM SLADE BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

Roy Blakeley

In a book given by a kindly old gentleman, Pee-wee Harris discovers what he believes to be a sinister looking memorandum, and he becomes convinced that the old gentleman is a spy. But the laugh is on Pee-wee, as usual, for the donor of the book turns out to be an author, and the suspicious memorandum is only a literary mark. The author, however, is so pleased with the boys' patriotism that he loans them his houseboat, in which they make the trip to their beloved Temple Camp, which every boy who has read the TOM SLADE BOOKS will be glad to see once more.

Roy Blakeley's Adventures in Camp

Roy Blakeley and his patrol are found in this book once more happily established in camp. Roy and his friends incur the wrath of a land owner, but the doughty Pee-wee saves the situation and the wealthy landowner as well. The boys wake up one morning to find Black Lake flooded far over its banks, and the solving of this mystery furnishes some exciting reading.

Roy Blakeley, Pathfinder

Roy and his comrades, having come to Temple Camp by water, resolve to make the journey home by foot. On the way they capture a leopard escaped from a circus, which brings about an acquaintance with the strange people who belong to the show. The boys are instrumental in solving a deep mystery, and finding one who has long been missing.

Roy Blakeley's Camp on Wheels

This is the story of a wild and roaming career of a ramshackle old railroad car which has been given Roy and his companions for a troop meeting place. The boys fall asleep in the car. In the night, and by a singular error of the railroad people, the car is "taken up" by a freight train and is carried westward, so that when the boys awake they find themselves in a country altogether strange and new. The story tells of the many and exciting adventures in this car.

Roy Blakeley's Silver Fox Patrol

In the car which Roy Blakeley and his friends have for a meeting place is discovered an old faded letter, dating from the Klondike gold days, and it appears to intimate the location of certain bags of gold, buried by a train robber. The quest for this treasure is made in an automobile and the strange adventures on this trip constitute the story.

Roy Blakeley's Motor Caravan

Roy and his friends go West to bring back some motor cars. They have some very amusing, also a few serious, adventures.

Roy Blakeley, Lost, Strayed or Stolen

The troup headquarters car figures largely in this very interesting volume.

Roy Blakeley's Bee-Line Hike

The boys resolve to hike in a bee-line to a given point, some miles distant, and have a lively time doing it.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York



THE TOM SLADE BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of the ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

THE TOM SLADE books have the official endorsement and recommendation of THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA. In vivid story form they tell of Boy Scout ways, and how they help a fellow grow into a manhood of which America may be proud.

Tom Slade, Boy Scout

Tom Slade lived in Barrel Alley. The story of his thrilling Scout experiences, how he was gradually changed from the street gangster into a First Class Scout, is told in almost as moving and stirring a way as the same narrative related in motion pictures.

Tom Slade at Temple Camp

The boys are at a summer camp in the Adirondack woods, and Tom enters heart and soul into the work of making possible to other boys the opportunities in woodcraft and adventure of which he himself has already had a taste.

Tom Slade on the River

A carrier pigeon falls into the camp of the Bridgeboro Troop of Boy Scouts. Attached to the bird's leg is a message which starts Tom and his friend on a search that culminates in a rescue and a surprising discovery. The boys have great sport on the river, cruising in the "Honor Scout."

Tom Slade With the Colors, A Wartime Boy Scout Story

When Uncle Sam "pitches in" to help the Allies in the Great War, Tom's Boy Scout training makes it possible for him to show his patriotism in a way which is of real service to his country. Tom has many experiences that any loyal American boy would enjoy going through—or reading about, as the next best thing.

Tom Slade on a Transport

While working as a mess boy on one of Uncle Sam's big ships, Tom's cleverness enables him to be of service in locating a disloyal member of the crew. On his homeward voyage the ship is torpedoed and Tom is taken aboard a submarine and thence to Germany. He finally escapes and resolves to reach the American forces in France.

Tom Slade With the Boys Over There

We follow Tom and his friend, Archer, on their flight from Germany, through many thrilling adventures, until they reach and join the American Army in France.

Tom Slade, Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer

Tom is now a dispatch rider behind the lines and has some thrilling experiences in delivering important messages to troop commanders in France.

Tom Slade With the Flying Corps

At last Tom realizes his dream to scout and fight for Uncle Sam in the air, and has such experiences as only the world war could make possible.

Tom Slade at Black Lake

Tom has returned home and visits Temple Camp before the season opens. He builds three cabins and has many adventures.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK



THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS!

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of THE TOM SLADE and ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

All readers of the TOM SLADE and the ROY BLAKELEY books are acquainted with Pee-wee Harris and will surely enjoy reading every volume of this series.

Pee-wee Harris

Pee-wee goes to visit his uncle whose farm is located on a by-road. Pee-wee conceives the idea of starting a little shack along the road in which to sell refreshments and automobile accessories.

In accordance with his invariable good luck,—scarcely has he started this little shack than the bridge upon the highway burns down and the obscure country road becomes a thoroughway for automobiles. Pee-wee reaps a large profit from his business during the balance of the summer.

Pee-wee Harris on the Trail

Pee-wee gets into the wrong automobile by mistake and is carried to the country where he has a great time and many adventures.

Pee-wee Harris in Camp

The scene is set in the beloved and familiar Temple Camp. Here Pee-wee resigns from the Raven Patrol, intending to start a patrol of his own. He finds this more difficult than he had expected, but overcame all obstacles—as usual.

Pee-wee Harris in Luck

Pee-wee goes with his mother to spend the summer on a farm, where he meets a girl who is bewailing her fate that there is no society at this obscure retreat. Pee-wee assures her he will fix everything for her—and proceeds to do so—with his usual success.

Pee-wee Harris Adrift

A little spot of land up the river breaks away and floats down stream, with a laden apple tree growing upon it. Pee-wee takes possession of this island and the resulting adventures are decidedly entertaining.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK



THE TOM SWIFT SERIES

By VICTOR APPLETON

UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.

These spirited tales, convey in a realistic way, the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good.

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK



EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY

BOY SCOUT EDITION SIMILAR TO THIS VOLUME

The Boy Scouts of America in making up this Library, selected only such books as had been proven by a nation-wide canvass to be most universally in demand among the boys themselves. Originally published in more expensive editions only, they are now, under the direction of the Scout's National Council, re-issued at a lower price so that all boys may have the advantage of reading and owning them. It is the only series of books published under the control of this great organization, whose sole object is the welfare and happiness of the boy himself. For the first time in history a guaranteed library is available, and at a price so low as to be within the reach of all.

Adventures in Beaver Stream Camp, Major A. R. Dugmore

Along the Mohawk Trail, Percy Keese Fitzhugh

Animal Heroes, Ernest Thompson Seton

Baby Elton, Quarter-Back, Leslie W. Quick

Billy Topsail with Doctor Luke of the Labrador, Norman Duncan

The Biography of a Grizzly, Ernest Thompson Seton

The Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol, Leslie W. Quick

The Boy Scouts of Bob's Hill, Charles Pierce Burton

Buccaneers and Pirates of Our Coasts, Frank R. Stockton

The Call of the Wild, Jack London

Cattle Ranch to College, R. Doubleday

College Years, Ralph D. Paine

Cruise of the Cachalot, Frank T. Bullen

The Cruise of the Dazzler, Jack London

Don Strong, Patrol Leader, W. Heyliger

Don Strong of the Wolf Patrol, William Heyliger

For the Honor of the School, Ralph Henry Barbour

The Gaunt Gray Wolf, Dillon Wallace

A Gunner Aboard the Yankee, From the Diary of Number Five of the After Port Gun

The Guns of Europe, Joseph A. Altsheler

The Half-Back, Ralph Henry Barbour

Handbook for Boys, Revised Edition, Boy Scouts of America

The Horsemen of the Plains, Joseph A. Altsheler

Jim Davis, John Masefield

Kidnapped, Robert Louis Stevenson

Last of the Chiefs, Joseph A. Altsheler

Last of the Plainsmen, Zane Grey

The Last of the Mohicans, James Fenimore Cooper

Lone Bull's Mistake, J. W. Schultz

Pete, The Cow Puncher, J. B. Ames

Ranch on the Oxhide, Henry Inman

The Ransom of Red Chief and other O. Henry Stories for Boys, Edited by F. K. Mathiews

Scouting with Daniel Boone, Everett T. Tomlinson

Scouting with General Funston, Everett T. Tomlinson

Scouting with Kit Carson, Everett T. Tomlinson

Through College on Nothing a Year, Christian Gauss

Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Jules Verne

Under Boy Scout Colors, J. P. Ames

Ungava Bob; A Tale of the Fur Trappers, Dillon Wallace

Williams of West Point, H. S. Johnson

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK

THE END