“Hardly—although I’d call him in if he was handy. I’m pretty tough, although I may not look it. Who are you?”
“My name is Chet Greene, and this is a friend of mine, Andy Graham.”
“I am glad to know you, and very thankful for what you have done for me. I’ll make it right with you when I’m able to get around. My name is Dawson—Barwell Dawson. I’m a traveler and hunter, and occasionally I write articles for the magazines—hunting articles mostly.”
“Oh, are you the man who once wrote a little book about bears—how they really live and what they do, and all that?” cried Andy.
“Yes, I’m the same fellow.”
“I’ve got that book at home—you once gave it to my father, when I was about eight years old.”
“Is that so? I don’t remember it.”
“My father was up on the Penobscot, lumbering. He went out with you into the woods and you found a honey tree. You gave him the book for his little boy—that was me.”
“Oh, yes, I remember it now!” cried Barwell Dawson. “So that was your father. How is he?”
“My father is dead,” answered Andy, and his voice dropped a little.