The Gordons had several cords of square cut wood in their back yard, and this inspired Julia and Beth to a great undertaking. They built a house, piling two sticks lengthways and two crossways, one above the other, and so on until they had laid the walls for three rooms. They worked like beavers, and Mrs. Gordon, amused by this new scheme of the two indefatigables, and thinking to herself that the children would probably be tired of the house by the time the wood was needed, allowed one of the servants to help. He used the top of the box in which the piano came for a roof, boarded the floors, and, in the middle room, helped to make an alcove. In this Julia and Beth piled up wood for a bed, saying that they did not mind if it was hard.
When completed, the girls took out to their new paradise everything they dared lay hands on, and asked Mrs. Gordon to inspect their work.
"'Walk into my house,' said the spider to the fly. 'It's the beautifulest house you ever did spy,'" quoted Julia, purposely changing parlor to house. "Just walk in. You can stand up—well, almost—if you stoop a little bit. This is the kitchen," she continued, for she had taken her mother in the back way with a purpose in view. "Oh, mamma, we do so want a stove. No family can keep house without one. We don't know what to do. Please, please help us."
"How would a Dutch oven do?" suggested Mrs. Gordon.
"What's that? How's it made?"
Mrs. Gordon explained: "It's made of brick, and——"
"How good you are. Who'll make it?"
Mrs. Gordon could not find it in her heart to disappoint the girls, so she furnished the materials, and had a darky make the oven. When done, it was somewhat clumsy, but it looked serviceable.
"Beth," said Julia, "we can't be just you and me. We must be man and wife. Our names will be Mr. and Mrs. Newbeginner. I'm John Newbeginner, and——"
"I'd rather be the man, because he's the head of the family and he doesn't work so hard. Besides, I don't want a little bit of a man like you. I'm the taller."
"Well, but I'm the elder, and the elder is always the man."
"All right, but you have to help about the house. You can't go away to business."
"Let's stay here all night, to-night."
Away they ran to beg permission.
The two mothers, however, seriously objected. Finally the young couple were pacified by Mrs. Newbeginner being allowed to spend the night with her spouse at the Gordon homestead which adjoined the Newbeginner mansion.
The next morning, Mrs. Newbeginner awakened at peep of day. She gave Mr. Newbeginner a poke and then jumped out of bed.
"Jul—John, I mean, it's time to get up and build the fire."
"Leave me alone," snapped Mr. Newbeginner in a truly masculine style.
"But Jul—John, you know we are going to get our own breakfast, and I can't build the fire all by myself. Please get up."
Thus entreated, Mr. Newbeginner condescended to arise. His wife was already dressing.
Together they descended to the kitchen, and Jemima, the cook, furnished them with some uncooked steak, some potatoes, butter, material to make cakes, and other necessaries.
The fire was soon built. Then such a hustling as ensued. Mr. and Mrs. Newbeginner had many a dispute before breakfast was ready. Mrs. Newbeginner might have foreseen the result of allowing a man in her kitchen.
Such a running back and forth as there was between their house and the Gordons'; for the Newbeginners began housekeeping by borrowing almost everything.
Mr. Newbeginner insisted that he knew how to make pancakes better than his wife. She therefore allowed him to try his hand at them while she cooked the meat and potatoes. Her part of the breakfast was ready before his. Thereupon, she set the pans containing the viands on a ledge of the oven above the live coals to keep them warm.
Mr. Newbeginner, as soon as he had cooked one batch of cakes, placed them beside the meat and potatoes. Then he baked another and another.
Alas, just as the last cake was baked, Mrs. Newbeginner bustled in from the bedroom where they had set the table. Now there was a long pole that ran out from the oven as its main support. Poor Mrs. Newbeginner in her excitement over their first breakfast somehow stumbled over the pole. Down she fell. But worse, down fell the stove also, and the breakfast which had caused them so much trouble tumbled into the red hot coals.
Up jumped Mrs. Newbeginner, and threw some water that happened to be handy on the fire. Her quickness saved their home from being burned, but not their breakfast. Tears rose and welled over the face of Mr. Newbeginner in a very unmanly fashion as he gave vent to his anger.
"Well, I declare, you are the clumsiest person I ever saw. I am sorry I ever invited you to this house."
Mrs. Newbeginner looked grieved and angry. "It's as much mine as yours."
"No, it isn't. The wood belongs to me, and it is built on my place. My beautiful pancakes are gone." He did not seem to mind so much about the food that Mrs. Newbeginner had cooked, and on which she had prided herself. "You are the most careless girl I ever saw."
"I couldn't help it. It hurt my legs awfully. See how they are skinned, but I didn't cry, did I?"
Even the sight of a pair of poor, bruised shins did not soften Mr. Newbeginner.
"I suppose we'll have to go into the house, after all, for our breakfast. It'll be dreadfully hu-mil-ia-ting."
"Can't we go to work and cook another?" proposed tired, redfaced little Mrs. Newbeginner.
"No, we can't. The stove would have to be fixed, and we haven't time. Even if we had, though, I wouldn't trust you to help with another meal."
Now this was too much for Mrs. Newbeginner's overtaxed nerves. "You're just horrid to say that and I'll never play with you again as long as I live. I'm going home to my mamma."
Whereupon she stalked out through the door. The sight of her retreating figure brought Mr. Newbeginner to his senses. He ran to the door after her.
"Please come back. I'm sorry."
His repentance came too late, however. His wife pretended not to hear. He grew desperate.
"If you don't come back, I'll never make up with you, either. Please, please, come back."
Either she did not hear, or else she was too grieved to be moved by his entreaties. She did not return, but wended her way back to her mother's home.
Now this unfortunate matrimonial experience made Beth reckless. Unluckily, upon reaching home, she discovered that both her mother and Marian had gone into town to spend the day with the Corners. Still worse, temptation assailed her in the form of an invitation from Harvey Baker.
Beth had not seen him for several days. She had been so absorbed in her new love that she had scarcely even thought of him. Harvey, on his part, had thought of her very often. He had haunted the Davenport wharf, but no Beth appeared. At first, pride had held him back from seeking her out, but her very indifference finally proved an irresistible attraction. Such is the masculine nature.
He came on this morning of all others to invite her out for a row. She, at first, resisted the temptation.
"Oh, Harvey, what a shame. Mamma is not here, so I cannot go."
"Do you think she would let you go if she were here?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Then what harm would there be in your going? We would be back before she returned."
Now, as stated before, Beth was reckless. She Just felt like doing something a little wrong.
"I believe I'll go, Harvey."
"Bully for you, Beth. What time did you say your mother would return?"
"Not before five or six this afternoon."
"What do you say then to taking our lunch with us, and having a picnic?"
"I'll ask Maggie."
Beth knew by this time that there was little danger of Maggie refusing her anything. If the child had asked her for the moon she would probably have said, "Shure, honey, I'll try to git it for yo'."
So now Beth hunted up Maggie, who hustled around and soon had a tempting feast ready for them.
"Does yo' maw know yo's gwine?" asked Maggie, as she handed the lunch to Beth.
"No, but she would not mind, I know."
Away ran Harvey and Beth to the boat. The river was as smooth as glass. Beth, at first, sat in the back seat, and Harvey rowed.
"I guess we'll go directly across the river. I wish it wasn't so far to Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe's," said Harvey.
"Who is she?"
"Don't you know? I thought everybody knew about her. She wrote 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.'"
"Oh, I saw that acted at the theatre once. Does she live here?"
"She has a place up the river aways, but it is deserted now. She used to come down here quite often. We'll row straight across the river. Did you ever row, Beth?"
"No, but you can teach me, can't you?"
"All right. Now move very carefully. I wouldn't have you fall overboard for the world."
Harvey suspended the oars in the air while Beth took the seat beside him. Then he showed her how to hold the oar.
"Now begin so—carefully and with me."
"That's easy. Is that all there is to rowing?"
"It won't be so easy presently."
Beth pulled away with ail her might, and in silence. Suddenly, there was a splash of water on her side, and she almost tumbled into the bottom of the boat. Harvey laughed.
"I thought you'd be catching a crab before long."
Beth's eyes opened wide. "I didn't see any crab, Harvey. My oar just balked."
"That's what is called catching a crab, you know, when your oar doesn't go far enough into the water. Say, Beth, you had better not try to row any more. It'll tire you. Don't you want to stop?"
"No indeed. I like to row."
Again Beth pulled away with all her might. Very soon, she began to feel uncomfortably warm. Her hands burned terribly, and presently she rested a moment on her oar and pointed to the land, now within easy rowing distance.
"Wouldn't that be a good spot for our picnic?"
Harvey saw how tired she was and answered:
"It's just the place, and say, Beth, we'll catch some fish, first. Here are lines and bait."
They thereupon went to fishing, and both caught a number of fish.
"Now," said Harvey, "it's time to go ashore and cook them."
"Oh, I'm so terribly hungry I can't wait. I didn't have any breakfast."
"Why, you poor child. Why didn't you say so before?"
"I didn't think of it. I was having such a good time."
"I couldn't forget that I hadn't had breakfast. How did it happen?"
Beth hung her head. She was thinking of her choleric spouse, and she had hard work forcing the tears back.
"How did it happen, Beth?"
"Why—it just happened. That's all. I'm dreadfully hungry, Harvey."
"Suppose then, you eat a sandwich or so, now, and then we'll cook the fish and have lunch later."
Harvey thought he could also eat a sandwich. It ended by their eating three apiece. Then he assisted her out of the boat, which he moored fast on shore.
"Now for the fish, Beth."
"How are we going to cook them? Have you any matches?"
"Yes, and there's a frying-pan in my boat. I always carry one, as I cook fish quite often. Didn't I see some butter and salt in the lunch basket?"
"Yes, and, Harvey, here's just the spot to build our fire. This straight bank back of the beach will make a good chimney for the smoke to go up."
Harvey looked at the spot a little critically. Scrub palmettoes and grass overhung the bank above, which made him wonder if there was any danger of their catching fire. A little breeze was springing up, but he decided that it was not strong enough to carry the sparks to the undergrowth above.
So Beth gathered dry leaves and sticks of wood while Harvey cleaned the fish. Then he applied a match to the bonfire, and it blazed up and crackled noisily. He next placed the butter and fish in the frying-pan and set it on the fire.
At that moment, a little rabbit darted past the children, running up the bank towards the woods.
Harvey started after it calling:
"Come on, Beth. Maybe it will lead us to some young rabbits."
"But the fish."
"They don't need watching for awhile. Hurry on."
It was quite a climb up the bank for Beth, but she succeeded in following close after Harvey.
The rabbit, however, had quite a start of the children, and soon they acknowledged the uselessness of pursuit, and sat down on a log under a tree to rest.
Harvey started to tell Beth of his experience in trying to tame rabbits.
"Yes," he said, "I've had all kinds, from young ones that had to be fed milk out of a spoon to old ones that were so wild that they never could be tamed. I never could raise the young ones. If they didn't die a natural death, a cat or a dog or something would eat them up. For a long time, I never wakened up mornings without finding a dead rabbit. I have rows and rows of rabbit graves over on our place. You must come over and see——"
He was interrupted by a bird that flew screeching from the tree under which they sat. At the same instant a crackling sound caused them to spring to their feet in terror. The woods around them were on fire. The breeze had grown stronger, and had carried the sparks upward to the palmettoes and pines, so full of oil. Then it was but a question of seconds before the awful fire sped with lightning speed over the dry undergrowth. Again, it swelled upwards on the scrub palmettoes, and with a flash leaped skywards to the taller trees as if demons were lifting the flames to the very heavens. It was at this point that the children discovered their danger.
Only a person who has seen a fire in the open among shrubs and trees already parched for lack of water, and fanned by a wind each moment growing stronger, can realize with what rapidity the fire spread. To Harvey and Beth, it seemed as if from the moment of discovery, the fire hemmed them in.
The air was sultry, notwithstanding the wind, and with the spread of the fire it grew more so. The sky was marked with fantastic clouds which turned from gray to flaming red.
Beth gazed around her helplessly. She felt as if there was no escape for them from a fiery death, which made her heartily repentant that she had come. She silently prayed to God to deliver them, and vowed if she lived, never, never to do anything again without her mother's knowledge.
The awfulness of their surroundings and the enormity of his responsibility, came upon Harvey with overwhelming force. He was too horrified for speech, and, for a few seconds, too stunned for action.
On rushed the triumphant flames, blasting everything within range. The hot breath from the fire recalled Harvey to the need of action.
"Oh, Beth, how can I get you out of this horrible place? We are surrounded by fire." Then, in a moment, he added, "I see a way out, if we run."
He caught her hand and half-dragged her through scorching shrubs, circling to the left. Fortunately, they managed to reach a road skirting the woods without serious injury.
Here they saw excited men running towards the woods. "It will burn our homes, our all," they heard one cry. "Our one hope is to start counter fires," another cried.
At the word, to the horror of Beth who did not understand, the men set fire to the low palmettoes a short distance away where there was an open space.
It seemed wicked to her to set more trees on fire, especially when the men seemed so anxious about their homes burning.
"Let's go," she sobbed.
Harvey held his head high. "No, indeed, I won't go. If their houses burn, it's my fault. I have some money in the bank and I'll give them every cent of it. They look like poor fishermen. Oh, Beth, it's too terrible. See how high the flames go."
Up, up, they leaped, growing higher and more fierce every moment. The sparks flew inland. If some change did not occur, no power under the sun could save the poor fishermen's homes.
The two poor, forlorn little culprits waited in the roadway and watched the progress of the awful flames.
The two fires looked like immense dragons that were rushing at each other in uncontrolled fury. The sparks flew right and left, but the counter fire served its purpose somewhat in that part of the flames' force was spent upon the other.
The fires crackled and hissed, and to Harvey these were the voices of the dragons defying and mocking him. To him they said:
"What can you do to stop us? Nothing. Yes, you may well tremble. It was you, you alone, that set us monsters free and we will not be chained now that we are loose." Upward the fire dragons flew, and even as they sank down somewhat, their mocking did not cease.
"Counter fires may check us momentarily, but presently we will sweep upwards and devour the fishermen's huts in our fiery grasp. It is awful to you, but to us it is fun, fun, fun, and we will not be stopped. Look at us. Look at us."
Again the flames leaped higher and higher. Harvey covered his face with his hands. He could not bear the sight another instant.
Beth would have comforted him if she had known how, but what could she say? She, too, felt that nothing could stop the onward rush of the dragons.
But the one opponent that had power over them suddenly descended to take part in the fray.
Beth clapped her hands in glee. "It's raining, Harvey; it's raining."
The sun was still shining brightly, but, sure enough, one of those showers peculiar to tropical lands was descending, and the wind, too, abated somewhat.
"Thank God," murmured Harvey. "Beth, I'm going to speak to the men."
She grasped him by the arm. "Oh, Harvey, they might arrest you."
"Nonsense, Beth; they don't know how the fire started, and if their houses don't burn, there's no use in telling. You wait here for me."
He was gone only a few minutes, and, when Beth caught sight of his radiant face, she knew the good news before he said a word.
"Beth, they say the houses won't burn. We can go now."
They circled around the woods by the road, and, when they came to the river, walked down the beach to their boat which they found unharmed.
The fish were burned to cinders.
"We don't care, do we, Beth? I couldn't eat them, anyway, after all the trouble they have caused us. It was all their fault. If they hadn't been so foolish as to be caught, there wouldn't have been any fire. But I've built fires a hundred times before and never had anything like this to happen."
Trouble, it is said, never comes singly. When they were once more back in the boat, Harvey found that he had both tide and wind against him, and the river had become very squally. The St. Johns is one of the most treacherous rivers in the world. It takes only a very short time for her waters to become white-capped.
Harvey pulled manfully on the oars, but it was very hard for him to make any headway. Beth finally asked if she could not help to row.
"No, keep perfectly still where you are," he answered in such a short manner that his little companion felt grieved. She tried to let him know that she was hurt, by not saying another word, but he was too busy to mind. By this time, he was worried.
"Supposing anything happened to us," he thought to himself, "Beth's mother would never forgive me. It was my fault that Beth came."
He never knew exactly how it happened. Either the oar was defective, or else he pulled too hard on it as it struck a large wave; whichever it was, one of the oars snapped suddenly. For a moment or so the boat rocked helplessly on the waves, and it was driven backwards towards the shore from which they had just come.
"Harvey," asked Beth almost in a whisper, "are we going to be drowned? Can't I ever tell mamma how sorry, how very sorry, I am?"
"I won't let you drown, Beth."
He spoke with more assurance than he really felt, but his manner comforted her. He also proved that he was a born sailor. First, he skilfully steered the boat with the remaining oar. Next, he picked up from under one of the seats an old umbrella which chanced to be in the boat, and used it for a sail. Thus they were quickly carried back to shore not far from the scene of the fire.
Harvey once more helped Beth out, and made the boat fast. His plans were already made.
"Beth, wait here for me. I'm going to hire one of the men to take us back."
Beth had time, while he was gone, to consider all that had happened. More than ever, she felt that it had been very wrong for her to come without permission.
Harvey presently returned with a man who carried a pair of oars.
"He's going to row us across, Beth."
"Is it safe?"
The man smiled. "You needn't fear. I'm strong, and the squall has about blown over."
He helped the children in, and jumped into the boat himself as he pushed it from shore.
"How are you ever going to get back yourself?" asked Beth, as the man took his place at the oars. She was fearful that Harvey would have to row him back. Otherwise, his return trip appeared to her as intricate as some of the puzzles she had heard about crossing streams.
"I'm going to walk into town from your place. I have some errands there, and will take the ferry back."
Beth quieted down and watched the man. His rowing aroused her admiration. She wished that some time she could prove as great an expert as he, and resolved to do her very best to imitate him. She noted especially, the long swinging strokes that he took. Crossing the river was little work for him, and the other side was reached in safety. They drew up alongside the Davenport wharf.
Harvey offered to go up to the house with Beth, and take the blame upon himself, but she thought that her mother would rather hear of the adventure from her. So the three occupants of the boat parted company.
Mrs. Davenport had not yet returned when Beth reached the house, but came soon afterwards. Beth immediately confessed to her every incident of the day.
"This has taught you a lesson, Beth, without mamma's saying anything," Mrs. Davenport said, when the little penitent had finished. "You know yourself it was very wrong to go without permission, and I do not think you will ever do such a thing again, will you?"
"Never," answered Beth so earnestly that Mrs. Davenport had full faith in her promise.
Beth could not find Fritz high or low and she was worried about him.
She ran out to the barn to ask January if he had seen anything of her pet. She found the former inside the barn leaning up against a partition wall with his eyes shut and his mouth wide open. He was fast asleep and looked very droll.
Beth could hardly keep from laughing, but she managed to say sternly:
"January, you ought to be working instead of sleeping."
He wakened with a start. A look of conscious guilt overspread his face.
"My eyes were closed, Missy Beth; dat wuz all. I jes' came in and sot down to comb my hair."
Beth shook her finger at him. "You were snoring."
"Wuz I? Well, I'm powe'ful warm, Missy Beth. Don't yo' tole on me, an' I'll swah nevah to do so agin."
Beth felt it her duty to lecture him a bit.
"You ought to tell things when you do wrong. I do. January, have you seen Fritz?"
"Not since dis mornin', Missy Beth. He wuz down by the river watchin' a great big 'gator."
She looked apprehensive. "January, do 'gators ever eat dogs?"
"I've heard tell dey do sometimes."
"What would I do if that 'gator has eaten my Fritz!"
Whereupon away she ran, as fast as her little legs could carry her, to the river, calling her beloved dog. But no Fritz came bounding at her call. In fact, he did not return even to supper, nor for breakfast the next morning.
The conviction grew with Beth that Harvey Baker's 'gator had eaten Fritz. Her resentment rose against the boy and his pet, she even shedding some tears of anger and of grief.
Soon after breakfast, a red-eyed little girl started out to give Harvey Baker a piece of her mind. She found him, as usual, on the wharf. He was perfectly unconscious of the storm that was in store for him. In fact, he was in the very act of feeding the 'gator.
"Hello, Beth, don't make a noise. I've just whistled for it."
Her eyes snapped. "I just guess I'll make all the noise I want to, so there; and I hope I'll scare the horrid old 'gator away," she concluded, bursting into tears.
Harvey, in his surprise, dropped the meat which he held, and walked over to comfort her. She, however, turned on him like a veritable little shrew.
"Go away, Harvey Baker. I hate both you and your 'gator. That's what makes me cry."
He could not fathom her meaning. He thought, perhaps, she was cross because of the affair of yesterday.
"Was your mamma very angry? Stop crying and I'll go with you and tell her it's——"
"It's not that. Your 'gator——" She could not finish because of sobs. Harvey waited for her tears to subside, but at last grew desperate.
"Can't you tell me what's the matter, Beth?"
"Your horrid old 'gator—it—has eaten—my Fritz."
"I don't believe it."
"My dog's gone and——"
"I'm very sorry, Beth, that Fritz is gone; but I don't believe the 'gator ate him."
"No, you're not sorry. You were just going to feed that horrid beast, and after it had eaten my Fritz, too."
"I didn't know about Fritz; but please don't blame me, Beth, even if the 'gator did eat him." He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away.
"I want my dog," she said angrily.
"O Beth, only like me again, and I'll promise never to feed the 'gator as long as I live."
She was too grieved over the loss of Fritz to accept any such promise. Harvey would have searched with her for Fritz, but she was so hurt that she wished to be alone. In fact, she was very cool towards him for many a day thereafter.
A week passed; then two, and nothing was heard of Fritz. The feeling grew with Beth that the 'gator really had made way with her pet. She grieved more and more as time passed and nothing was heard of her dog. At first, she was inclined to be very bitter towards Harvey, but she could not hold a grudge long against any one. Then, as she acknowledged, she was not sure the 'gator had eaten Fritz.
One day, about three weeks after the loss of Fritz, Harvey walked into the Davenports' house, leading a handsome, big black dog. The minute that the dog saw Beth, he bounded away from Harvey, and up to her. He licked her hand, and was altogether so affectionate that he won her heart immediately.
"Oh, what a beautiful fellow. Where did you get him? Is he yours, Harvey?"
The boy's eyes were very bright as he answered:
"Well, I guess so. I'll tell you how I happened to get him, and then you can judge for yourself. I was in town day before yesterday, and, while walking along Bay Street, I felt something licking my hand. I looked around, and saw this dog. I had several errands that morning and the dog followed me every place. I simply couldn't get rid of him. Then I made inquiries to find out who owned him. For a long time nobody seemed to know anything about him. Finally I met a man down by the market who said he had seen him come off a Spanish vessel that was in port that morning. I asked the man where the vessel was, and he said it had sailed. Then I asked him what I ought to do about the dog, and he replied that he supposed I might as well keep him. After that, I went to father and told him about the dog and asked what I should do. He said he would advertise it, and then if nobody answered, I might do what I liked with him. We have heard nothing so far of an owner, so it begins to look as if the dog was mine."
"Why haven't you told me before? You have had it two whole days."
"Well, Beth, I didn't want you to know about it until I was sure he was mine. Besides, I'm going to give him away."
Beth's eyes opened wide with astonishment.
"Going to give this lovely dog away! Don't you like him?"
"Yes, but I like the person I'm going to give him to better."
"You must be awfully fond of that person, then." Beth was ashamed to think that she was a little jealous and tried not to show it by her manner.
"I am. Guess to whom I am going to give him."
"I can't."
"To the only nice girl I know, and her name is Beth Davenport."
"Not me?" Her eyes had grown very big.
"Yes, you—really."
Beth could not believe it for a while. When she did realize that Harvey was truly in earnest, she gave one long gasp of delight. Then she surprised both herself and Harvey by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.
Harvey, boylike, was a little embarrassed, but he did not object, however.
"Harvey, you're the nicest boy living. I don't know how to thank you."
He looked very much pleased. "Do you really like him, Beth?"
"Like him!——" She could not think of words strong enough to tell how much she liked him.
"Is he as nice as Fritz? Do you forgive me now?"
She immediately felt guilty, for it was a fact that she had not been friendly towards Harvey since the disappearance of Fritz.
"He's a thousand times nicer, but perhaps you're just giving him to me because you think you ought to. Maybe the 'gator didn't eat Fritz after all."
"I'm not giving him to you because of Fritz. You may keep Don even if Fritz comes back."
"Is Don his name?"
"I call him Don because he came off a Spanish vessel, and he seems to like the name, but you can call him anything you wish."
"It's a pretty name, and I shall call him Don. Shan't I, Don?"
The dog looked up at her with his intelligent eyes to see what his new mistress wished. She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him.
"Don, I love you, I love you. You're my dog now. Harvey has given you to me."
Harvey felt a little jealous to see lavished on a dog caresses, such as had been given to him only once. He tried to distract Beth's attention.
"Say, Beth, you just ought to see him in the water. He loves the water."
"Does he? Let's go down to the river."
This was just what Harvey wished, and therefore he readily consented.
The two started ahead. Don followed majestically.
Mrs. Davenport saw them from the window, and stopped them.
"Where are you going, Beth?"
"Down to the river with Harvey, mamma. Just see what he gave me."
Beth led Don up to the window where her mother was.
"Why, you nice dog, you. He is a beauty. Where did you get him, Harvey? He must be a very valuable dog."
Thereupon the history of Don's discovery was repeated to Mrs. Davenport.
"Harvey ought to keep him himself," she declared.
"But I wish Beth to have him, Mrs. Davenport. Father said I might do what I wished with Don, and when I told mother I was going to give him to Beth, she thought it a very nice idea."
"You are very generous, Harvey, and both Beth and I appreciate your present. I love dogs almost as much as Beth does, but I don't know how we can repay you."
"Mother says that you more than repay me by letting Beth play with me. You know I haven't any sisters."
"Well, you and Beth must be careful not to get into mischief. She may play by the water this morning, but I don't care to have her go rowing. The river is too rough to-day."
"We won't go rowing, mamma."
Thereupon they hurried with Don down to the river.
The wind was quite high, which made the water choppy. The waves were white-capped in many places.
"Now, Beth, you just watch and see Don perform."
Harvey held in his hand a good-sized stick, which he threw as far as possible out into the water.
Away bounded Don after it. He easily breasted the waves, and returned in triumph with the stick.
He did this time and again, much to Beth's delight.
"Say, Beth, let's try him from the end of the wharf. I wonder if he would dare jump in from there."
"I don't like to try. He might drown."
Harvey laughed the idea to scorn, and took a stick out to the end of the wharf. Beth and Don accompanied him. Don seemed anxious to have the stick thrown, for he watched it with glistening eyes. Harvey threw it. Don immediately jumped after it, and succeeded in swimming to shore with it. By this time, he was probably tired, for he did not return to the children, but lay down on the bank for a rest.
The boat had been left outside the boat house, tied to a stake of the wharf. Harvey eyed it longingly.
"I wish we could go rowing, Beth."
"So do I, but mamma said I couldn't. You wouldn't have me disobey her, would you?"
"Nobody has asked you to, has there? Say, Beth, she never said for you not to sit in the boat, did she?"
"No, but——"
"She said you couldn't row. Now, sitting in a boat that's tied isn't rowing, is it?"
"No, but——"
"Oh, come on, Beth. It's perfectly safe when it's tied."
She hesitated. Harvey was too much of a diplomat not to press his advantage.
"Now, Beth, I think you might. I wouldn't ask you to do anything your mamma didn't like. She won't mind, I know."
Still Beth was undecided.
"And, Beth, you ought to want to please me after I gave you Don."
This argument appealed to her. She wished to show her appreciation.
"All right, if you really think mamma wouldn't mind."
Harvey did not answer. He jumped down into the boat, and then helped Beth.
"Say, Beth, we'll play we're pirates. We're out in a storm, but we are pursuing that boat there."
"What boat?"
"Why, that one there. Don't you see that stick of wood? It carries chests of gold which we are after. Now sit down and we'll start the chase."
The younger pirate thereupon seated herself in the stern of the craft while its gallant commander took charge on the middle deck. He swayed from side to side. The boat rocked in a perilous manner. Sometimes the water even dashed over the pirates.
"Isn't it kind of dangerous, Harvey?" suggested the younger pirate.
"My name isn't Harvey. I'm Captain Kidd, and you must never speak to me without saluting,—so."
His self-importance caused him to move around more lively than ever, while the boat shipped water afresh.
"But isn't it dangerous, Har—, Captain Kidd?"
The captain again looked very self-important. "Pirates never think of danger. See how near we are to the English brig. Ha, ha, mate, the gold is ours. Steady now, mate, she's coming your way. When we are once alongside of her, you make a dive for her, and pinion her until I can rush to your assistance. Steady now."
Nearer and nearer floated the English boat, unconscious of danger. Perhaps the nature of the pirate craft was unsuspected. It floated no black flag.
The younger pirate grew excited over the nearness of the prize. She arose to her feet. Surely, it was within grasp now. Just as she was about to reach out for it, however, a wave took the English boat and started to carry it out of reach.
This made the younger pirate desperate. She leaned far out over the water. Suddenly, the commander cried out in fear:
"Beth, don't try. It's too far away."
His warning came too late. The younger pirate had already reached out for the English boat. A wave at that moment struck the pirate craft, and swayed it to one side. Over went the younger pirate into the water.
Fortunately, Beth got only a wetting. Before she was really in the water, Harvey had her by the dress. For a second or two, it seemed as if the boat would upset. But presently a wet, unhappy little girl stood shivering beside Harvey. Her teeth chattered from fright more than from cold.
"What'll mamma say?"
"I'll tell her it was all my fault."
"How good you are," and Beth edged up nearer to him.
"Stop dripping water all over me and come on."
They hurried towards the house, and circled around to the back entrance to escape Beth's mother.
The washerwoman, at the tubs on the kitchen porch, and Maggie were the only ones to see poor Beth. Maggie raised her arms skyward. "Laws a massa"—then she broke into hearty laughter. "I 'lows, Penny,"—the name of the washerwoman,—"hyere's moh washin' fur yo'. How yo' 'specs it'd be if we'd jes' run chile an' all frugh de wringer?"
Beth was too humiliated to say a word, and rushed up-stairs the back way.
When the affair was reported to Mrs. Davenport, she considered the situation well before seeing her little daughter.
Beth was getting to be a terrible tomboy, she thought, but she was growing strong physically with the outdoor life. And even while she did sometimes fall into danger, the same thing often occurred when mothers watched a child's every breath. Mrs. Davenport decided that the wiser way was to educate a child to be self-reliant and fearless, trusting to God's guardianship and protection.
She knew that in the years to come, Beth would learn the gentler graces, for she had a kindly heart; so, instead of punishing Beth, Mrs. Davenport had a long talk with her that did Beth a world of good. In fact, her mother's gentleness was an inspiration to right living all through her life.