as
his scout comrades in his scathing rebuke. "It shows how much you know
about good turns and scout laws and things. Maybe you think _I_
haven't got any[3] specific vacations. Here, read this letter and look
at the pictures. Then you better go home and read scout law Number Two.
Did you start jollying yet?"

As Roy drew a folded sheet from the envelope several pictures fell to
the floor. One of these was an unmounted cabinet photo, the others were
exceptionally good amateur prints. As County Detective Ferrett gathered
these up he scrutinized the photograph with sudden interest.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"Oh, I got it," said Pee-wee mysteriously. "You're a detective, you
ought to know specific vacations when you see them."

County detective Ferrett was not one to be either polite or ceremonious
where his professional interests were concerned. He therefore snatched
the letter from Roy's hands and proceeded to read it with eager
interest.

It was only by crowding around him that the boys could read it. But in
his sudden interest in the letter the shrewd official had released the
pictures to their rightful owner and the eyes of Warde and Roy were
riveted upon these in speechless consternation.

One showed the very sweet face of a woman, and as the boys looked at
this they were conscious of having seen that face somewhere before. Two
others showed country scenes, including a house. They were the kind of
scenes that amateur photographers love to take; scenes with a homely
familiarity about them--a woman sitting in a rocking chair on a porch, a
dog skilfully caught by the camera in the moment of his resting his paws
upon a fence, a back door with a churn standing near. Commonplace
things, the last subjects that an artist would choose, but scenes that
have a way of reaching the heart and recalling fond memories.

But out of the professionally taken photo there looked straight at the
boys eyes, oh, how familiar, how friendly, how companionable. And upon
the mouth hovered that little smile that they knew, oh, so well. It
seemed, yes it seemed that if Roy were to start jollying Pee-wee then
and there, that smile would broaden. It was the picture of Blythey,
their friend. It seemed to say, "Let's start the camp-fire."

The handwriting of the letter was small and shaky. The missive read:

_Dear Unknown Friend:_--

The letter you sent me came to me. It was brought to me by the
postmaster. In t