“There is, yes, sir. But I think it’s only given in very rare cases. There was one boy up in Maine who stopped a forest fire which threatened a big summer pavilion that the organization owned. I think they made him the award, but that’s the only case I’ve heard of. I think the rule says, ‘rare and exceptional service,’ or something like that. My friend here knows the regulations better than I do. I think that’s the only case.”
“What is it called?”
“The gold cross,” said Harry.
“Where is the headquarters of the organization?”
“It’s in New York, sir,” said Gordon.
“I see.”
Penfield joined them, and they wandered down to the shore. “Let me show you the boat, anyway,” Mr. Danforth urged.
“I’d rather not, sir,” said Harry, hesitatingly. “I—well, I’d just rather not.” Instinctively he held out his hand, and Mr. Danforth shook it cordially.
“There’s no use asking you to think it over?”
“No, sir, but I don’t know how to thank you—I wish I did. You’ll let Penfield join us in the Fall, won’t you?”