arry
Donnelle and he came up to Temple Camp and claimed it, after I wrote and
told him all about Skinny. That's how he happened to visit Temple Camp
and you can bet I'm glad he did. Anyway, that's all part of another story,
and maybe you read it.

Now part of the story that Harry Donnelle told us, I knew already, but the
other fellows didn't, because I never told them how I had met him before.
So this is the story just the way he told it to us that night, because
afterward I got him to write it out for our hike record. And the reason I
put it in here is, because it has something to do with the story that comes
after this. So here it is, and oh boy, didn't we listen as we sat around
that camp-fire in Mr. Hasbrook's orchard. That's where stories are
best-around the campfire.

HARRY DONNELLE'S YARN

Well, messmates, when my father told you that you could have the old
house-boat for the summer, you never knew he had a son in the army, now,
did you? But just the same, little Harry was trotting around in Camp Dix,
all dolled up in his lieutenant's uniform, waiting to be mustered out.
Little Harry had just come home from France where he had been mixed up in
the big--_episode_.

One fine day I said to myself, "While I'm waiting here, I guess I'll go
home." So I got a short leave and the next that was seen of me I was
stepping off the train in Bridgeboro. That was early in the morning; the
dawn was just breaking. Pretty soon it broke. Just as it was all broken I
saw Jake Holden, the fisherman, standing near the milk train. You'll see
that this is a fish story. It is a fishing _episode_.

That man persuaded me to go fishing with him. I knew that if I went home
I'd have to meet all my sister's friends and maybe drink tea and play
tennis. So I decided to go fishing with Jake. I thought I'd be safer. I
was a coward. I was _afraid_ to go home and drink tea and play tennis.

So I went up to the old house-boat where the governor had it tied up in
the creek near home.

The scene was dark and gloomy. It was early in the morning. Even the swamp
grass wasn't up; it was all trampled down. Not a sound could be
heard-except the milkman rattling bottles up near the house.

I crept into the house-boat, took off my uniform, put it into a locker that
I had the key of and togged myself out in a set of old rags which I found
there. Many were the times I had fished in those rags. I don't know how
long I stayed in the h