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Updated: June 13, 2025
If I was a grown-up author I could write some dandy stuff about it, because it was all dark and spooky as you might say, and you could see the trees reflected in it and casting their something or other you know what I mean. "Can you follow a trail?", Mr. Donnelle asked us. "Trails are our middle names;" I told him, "and I can follow one " "Whitherso'er " Pee-wee began. "Whither so which?" I said.
Donnelle got out a big fat red book that said on it "Who's Who in America" and, jiminy, I'm glad I never had to study it, because it had about a million pages. I hate biography anyway biography and arithmetic. Then he turned to a certain page. "Now, gentlemen," he said, "if you will just read this I will then consent to go with you," and he smiled all over his face.
I guess my patrol thought I was crazy and I bet that robin in the maple tree wondered what had become of me. Gee, you can say I was a Calamity Jane if you want to, but honest, I had Lieutenant Donnelle sent all over the world. One minute I was saying he was dead, and the next minute I was saying he had gone to Russia, and the next minute I was saying the money wasn't his at all.
"Nix on the tracking," I said, "I've retired from the 'detective business, and now I'm going to be cook on a house-boat." "We'll have a good anchor anyway if you make biscuits," Pee-wee said. "They'll weigh more than you do anyway," I fired back. And Mr. Donnelle began to laugh.
And it made me wonder a lot of things about that fishing trip. One thing, it looked as if they might have had more adventures than Lieutenant Donnelle had told me about, and maybe he didn't want to tell me everything that's what I thought. Anyway, he didn't say anything about a life-boat, that's sure. But maybe he forgot to.
Donnelle is a deep-dyed spy all right, but he's sure a high-brow. "You'd have to take an elevator to get up to him," I whispered to Pee-wee. "Shhh," Pee-wee said, "maybe he isn't dyed so very deep there's different shades of dyes." "Maybe he's only dyed a light gray or a pale blue," I said. Then Mr.
Just below Bridgeboro, where we live, there is a kind of a branch flowing into the Bridgeboro River. We always called it the creek. Now we found out from Mr. Donnelle that it started along up above Little Valley. Over there they call it Dutch Creek. He said that at high tide we could float the houseboat right down into Bridgeboro River and then wait for the up tide or else tow it up to Bridgeboro.
"I don't care if they hear me," he said. Pretty soon we rowed over and went up and sprawled around camp-fire. Gee, whiz, I guess the whole camp was there. One of the scouts in a Virginia troop was telling a yarn about somebody who had an adventure at sea. It was mighty interesting, you can bet, and it kind of started me thinking about Lieutenant Donnelle.
All the time we thought Mr. Donnelle had the key to it. But, oh, just you wait. Well, after we got it all fixed up, we couldn't decide how we'd get it down into the bay and then up the Hudson to Catskill Landing. That's where you have to go to get to Temple Camp. Temple Camp is a great big scout camp and it's right on the shore of Black Lake oh, it's peachy.
Well, I was so flabbergasted that I just couldn't speak and even Pee-wee was struck dumb. We just gaped like a couple of idiots, and after a while I said, "Cracky, it's too good to be true." "So you see what comes from collecting books for soldiers and for keeping your eyes open," Mr. Donnelle said; "you have caught a bigger fish than you thought. N ow suppose I show you through the inside."
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