"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.