“I was very much impressed with your diving,” said the young man, “especially that last one—”
“I guess you can get him up the hill, all right?” said Harry.
“Indeed, yes, but I must ask your name. Mr. Danforth will, no doubt, wish to communicate with you.” He pulled out a little blank book with a red morocco cover, somewhat draggled from his plunge, and a pencil pocket along its edge. On the cover was printed in gold letters, My Summer in the Woods.
Harry eyed it amusedly.
“Your name, please?”
“Buffalo Bill,” said Harry.
“I’m afraid you’re joking. May I ask yours?”
“Daniel Boone,” said Atwell.
He dropped the book on its cord. “Well, we shall be able to find you anyway; you can’t hide your light under a bushel.”
Harry helped the boy to his feet, and watched the pair make their way up toward a large house with spacious lawns that crowned a hill a little way back from the shore. Then the boys swam across the lake and made for the little grove where they had left the Elephants.