The weeds stood up all around me so I couldn’t see, except up in the air and it was like being in a grave with just my head out.  Gee, I thought about the fellows hiking it to Little Valley and beginning work on the house-boat and waiting for me to come, and I could just kind of hear them jollying Pee-wee, and oh, I wished I was there.  I was wondering who the Silver Foxes would elect for their patrol leader and then I got to thinking how nobody, not even my mother and father, would ever know what became of me, because you can’t drag a marsh like you can a river.  And it seemed kind of funny like, to die without anybody ever knowing what became of you.

Pretty soon my legs began getting very tired like a fellow’s legs always do when he keeps standing in water.  Only this was worse than water.  I wondered how it would feel when my knees gave out and I sank down.

Then I happened to think about having my hikebook with me.  It was all wet and the pencil was wet too, but I held it up high out of the marsh and wrote this on one of the pages.  After I wrote it I stuck it up high on one of the marsh weeds.

This is where Roy Blakeley, patrol leader, Silver Fox Patrol, Bridgeboro Troop, B. S. A., was sucked down into the marsh, after he couldn’t stand up any more.  I was standing on something that was hard and maybe you’ll find my body lying on that.  In my desk is something I was going to give my mother for a birthday present.  I send her a lot of love too.  My father too.  And I hope my Patrol gets along all right and that the troop has a lot of fun this summer.  I hope somebody will find this.

CHAPTER VI

THE TIGHT PLACE

After that I made up my mind I wouldn’t think any more about living and then I was satisfied, kind of.  ’Cause as long as you know you’ve got to die, what’s the difference.  They could get another fellow to lead the patrol, that’s one sure thing.  Mostly I cared about my mother on account of not being able to say good-bye to her.  All of a sudden it seemed as if there was more water around me than before.  Up to that time it was mushy, kind of, but not much water.  But now it was more like water all around me and I noticed a little bunch of net moss near me.  Maybe you don’t know what net moss is.  It’s moss that grows in swamps.  Well, what do you think I saw lying on that clump of net moss?  Cracky, you’d hardly believe it, but it was a spark plug.  And it looked funny to see it there.

If you’re not a scout maybe you don’t know anything about camping, but it’s one of our rules not to defile the woods with rubbish and Mr. Ellsworth always told us a tomato can didn’t look right in the woods.  Well, jiminety, that spark plug sure did look funny lying on that piece of net moss.  It floated right near my shoulder and I lifted it off and, oh, crinkums, but it made me ’think of Bridgeboro.