The distance to Leeds depends upon who is making the journey, or from
whom you get your information. The farmers will tell you it is five
miles. The summer boarders are likely to tell you that it is ten. To be
exact, it is somewhere between two miles and twenty miles, and you can't
get back to Catskill Landing for dinner.
"I think it's ten miles there and twenty miles back," said Roy; "_we_
should worry! When we get to Leeds we make our grand dash for the lake."
"Like Peary," said Pee-wee, already bubbling over with excitement.
"Something like him, yes."
Their way took them through a beautiful hilly country and for a while
they had glimpses of the river, which brought them pleasant
reminiscences of their rambling, happy-go-lucky voyage.
"Who does the _Good Turn_ belong to?" Tom asked.
"I think it belongs to Honorable Pee-wee Harris," said Roy. "He did the
trick that won it."
"I'll tell you who she belongs to," said Pee-wee. "She belongs to the
First Bridgeboro Troop, Boy Scouts of America."
"Raven, Fox and Elk!" said Roy. "Right you are, Pee-wee. United we
stand, divided we squall."
A tramp of a couple of hours over country roads brought them to Leeds,
and they hiked along its main street contributing not a little to its
picturesqueness with their alert, jaunty air, their brown complexions
which matched so well with the scout attire, their duffel bags and their
long staves. More than one farmer and many an early summer boarder
stared at them and hailed them pleasantly as they passed along.
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