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.

Because he was trying to talk high brow just because he knew Mr.Donnelle was an author.
So he led us along a trail that ran along the shore all in and out through trees, and he said it was all his property.

Pretty soon I could see part of a house through the trees and I thought I'd like to live there, it was so lonely.
"You mean secluded," Pee-wee said.

Mr.Donnelle smiled and I told him Pee-wee was a young dictionary--pocket size.
Pretty soon we reached the house and, good night, it wasn't any house at all; it was a house boat.

And I could see the fixtures for a wireless on it, only the wires had been taken down.
Then Mr.Donnelle said, "Boys," he said, "this is my old workshop and I have spent many happy hours in it.