“Sure we are,” said Roly Poly.

“And you can’t make us get off, either, because it isn’t on your land.”

Old Trimmer wasted no words.  “Pile in here, all of you,” he said, indicating the boat, “or I’ll have yer all up fer trespassin’.”

“Do you own this old scow or whatever it is underneath us?” Townsend asked quietly.

“Look a’here, young feller, no talkin’ back,” said old Trimmer testily; “come along, step lively.  I’m going to tow this whole business back up to where it belongs.  Now d’ye want me ter set yer ashore or not?”

“Not,” said Roly Poly.

“I don’t think we have anything to say about it, Mr. Trimmer,” said Townsend.  “The land that used to be part of your field seems to be on a scow or something or other and we’re on the land that’s on the scow.  We’re here because we’re here——­”

“Let’s hear you answer that argument!” shouted Pee-wee in a voice of thunder.  “This is a river, isn’t it?  Do you deny that?  It’s an inward waterway—­I mean inland—­and it belongs to the government and this scow or whatever it is, is on it and something that used to be a peninsula but isn’t any more is on the scow and we’re on the thing that used to be a peninsula——­”

“In the shade of the young apple tree,” said Townsend.

“That’s just what I was going to say,” said Pee-wee, “and you can’t put us off this land because if that’s trespassing then the land is trespassing too—­it’s trespassing on the scow—­so we won’t get off the land till you take the land off the scow and put it back where it belongs and then we’ll get off it because, gee whiz, scouts have no right to trespass.”  He paused, not for lack of arguments but for lack of breath.

“So that’s the way it is, is it?” said old Trimmer darkly.  “Well, we’ll see.”

“Sure we’ll see,” said Pee-wee.  “That shows how much you know about geography and international law and all those things.  Suppose Cape Cod should break off and float away.  Would it belong to New Hampshire any more—­I mean Connecticut—­I mean Massachusetts?  Gee whiz, we’re going to stay right here because we’re on a public waterway and anyway you don’t own the scow that this land is on, do you?”

There was, of course, no answer to this fine analysis of the legal points involved.

“That there scow was under my land,” said old Trimmer.

“It was in the river and it wasn’t on anybody’s land as I understand it,” said Townsend in his funny way.  “Your land trespassed on the scow——­”

“Sure it did!” interrupted Pee-wee.  “It really had no right to do that, Mr. Trimmer, unless you can show that you own the scow.  As I understand it this is a kind of a legal sandwich.  The land that used to be a part of your field is between the scow and us——­”

“Sure it is!” vociferated Pee-wee, caught by the idea of a sandwich so huge and picturesque.  “We’re kind of like one of the slices of breads and the scow is the other slice.  It’s thick and dark like rye bread,” he added to make the picture more graphic.