CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XIVWHEN MY SHIP COMES INAbout the middle of the month my family went to spend a week or two in a cottage at a neighboring beach. I enjoyed being at the sea-side, but I was hard up for playmates. For a few days there was a boy in the cottage next ours, and he spent most of his time riding around the veranda on a velocipede.This made me feel that I needed a velocipede, too, and I suggested to my father that he supply my lack."You shall have one," he said,—"when my ship comes in."I had never heard of the ship before—had never known that my father owned so much as a rowboat. But he had saidit himself—I was to have a velocipede "when his ship came in." I tried to find out how soon he expected her, and where she was coming from. But he was hurrying away to take the train which carried him each day to the city, and I could get no particulars about his ship. He laughed, waved his hand, and was gone.This left me rather dissatisfied, but I reflected, as I strolled around the veranda, that it was a good thing I had heard about this ship while we were living at the seashore. At home there was less opportunity to watch for ships. Here I saw dozens of them every day. Sometimes there would not be one in sight when I went to bed, but in the morning seven or eight would ride at anchor a mile or more from the beach.Great steamers passed along, leaving a trail of smoke behind, and once or twice I had seen dainty yachts, glittering withwhite paint and polished brass. Then heavy barges would go slowly by, pulled by puffing tugs. I had been told that they were loaded with coal, and I hoped that my father's ship was not one of them. If there was a velocipede for me on a barge, it would get black and sooty. I much preferred to have it come by one of the yachts—or, wait a moment—once there had swept by a fine three-masted schooner, her hull painted white and all her sails set. She was a beauty, and she looked big enough to sail around, the world by herself. The yachts could hardly do that.I decided that I would rather have my father's ship turn out to be a schooner like that white one.By the time I had reached this decision I had come to the water's edge. It was a warm morning, and the sun, three or four hours high, sparkled on the ocean.The waves broke, ran hissing up the beach, and retreated, leaving hundreds of little bubbling holes in the sand. I knew these holes—they were the dwellings of sand-fleas, who now were in a fair way of getting drowned out.Farther up the beach, out of danger from the waves, I came upon a large sand-flea hopping along energetically. I sat down to head him off, and find what he was about. With his hard-shelled and rounded back he looked like a small model of some prehistoric and armored monster—only he had two very mild blue eyes. As soon as I tried to intercept him with a piece of dried marsh-grass he put his head down and dug so vigorously that he was soon covered with sand.His disappearance left me alone. It was a lonely place, that beach, for the peanut-man and the merry-go-round had not discovered it, and its only inhabitantswere a few cottagers, like our family, and the fishermen.But I did not miss the crowd. A few minutes' walk farther down the beach brought me to a point of sand that ran out into the ocean for fifty or sixty yards at low tide. At the end it curved around and enclosed a small salt-water pond.This was an enchanted spot.In the first place, it was the very kind of a pond for "going in wading." That mysterious and dangerous thing called the undertow, which lived among the breakers, had no influence in these quiet waters. Then, along the edges could be found, more than anywhere else, all kinds of interesting shells and sea creatures. There were large white shells, well adapted for scooping holes in the sand, and smaller, roundish cockle-shells whose inmates were usually at home. When you picked up one of them the cockle retiredinside and drew a trap-door over the entrance.There were starfish with waving tentacles, sand-dollars, and the empty shells of sea-urchins and razor-clams. The black and ominous-looking objects which I implicitly believed to be sharks' eggs were often found near the borders of that ocean pond, and horseshoe crabs crawled darkly beneath its surface or lay dry and deceased on the sand.Some rocks, covered with seaweed, sheltered a colony of ordinary crabs—little ones, who scuttled away as you approached, and big, dignified, ferocious veterans, who looked up at you defiantly and blew a multitude of bubbles, though whether they did this through wrath and indignation, or merely with the conscious joy of the artist, I could never discover.These rocks were also the haunt of sea-gulls, who took flight before youcould come close to them. The sandpipers were more neighborly, skipping along the beach in front of you, though even they were shy and wary.The waves brought up many charming varieties of seaweed, red, green, and brown. Beautiful enough it looked in the water; the disappointment came when you took it out.Besides all these living or growing things, each high tide cast up on the sands an assortment of fascinating objects—pebbles of odd shapes and colors, smooth bits of wood rounded by the waves, spindles and spools that had come down the river from the mills of far-away towns, and bottles which always looked as if they were going to contain a message from some ship-wrecked mariner—but never did.And now the greatest delight of all had been added, for I could watch for myfather's ship to come in. It would naturally land there, I argued; while he was living at the seashore he would have it come as near as possible to his house. It might run right up to the beach; they would put out a gangplank and one of the sailors would wheel my velocipede ashore.Then I could spend the day riding it around the veranda of our cottage.Or perhaps the ship would not be able to come so close to the shore. It would anchor a mile or two out, and send a boat. The velocipede might get wet coming in an open boat that way, and, if it were made of iron, the water would rust it. I hoped they would know enough to cover it up before they started to row in to the beach.There were certainly no ships in sight that I could believe were my father's. Two fishing schooners were riding atanchor, and the smoke of a steamer showed on the horizon—that was all. I left the pond behind and walked out to the end of the little cape. At any moment my father's ship might come in sight, and it was surely well for me to be ready for her. The sailors would be glad to see me, for then they could hand over the velocipede, sail away again to wherever they came from, and get anything else my father might want.Wherewerethey coming from?That was an interesting question. I could see no land out there, but I had been told that if a ship sailed straight ahead in that direction the first land reached would be Portugal."I wonder what kind of velocipedes they have in Portugal?"I uttered this aloud, and I jumped when I heard a voice say:—"What's that you are wondering?"A man had walked up behind me. He was a stranger—a tall man, carrying his hat in his hand. He repeated his question, and I told him that I was wondering about the velocipedes in Portugal."Portugal—Portugal," he ruminated. "I've never been in Portugal. I've been near it, though. I've been in Spain. In fact, I own some property in Spain.""Do you?" I queried in astonishment. "But you look like an American. And Portugal's right straight out there. Why didn't you go there first?""Well, I went another way, you see. And then the Spaniards are easier to get along with—they're better landlords.""Can you talk Spanish?" I demanded."A little," he replied modestly; "enough to answer. Tell me about this velocipede of yours. How did it get to Portugal?""It didn't get there," I told him; "it'scoming from there. Or, anyhow, it's coming from somewhere. On my father's ship.""Oh, your father has a ship, has he?""Yes. He told me this morning that I could have a velocipede when his ship came in."He looked down at me seriously enough."I see. And so now you're waiting for his ship to come in.""Yes."There was a pause. Then he seemed struck by the appearance of my bare legs."What is the matter with your shins?" he asked."Mosquito bites," I replied briefly.After another pause he said, gravely:"Camphor is good for mosquito bites.""Yes, I know. My mother puts it on every night."I thought a moment, and then asked,"Do they have mosquitoes in Spain?""Not on my estates," he assured me; "nothing unpleasant on them at all. But it's funny you should be here waiting for a ship to come in. For that's just what I am doing.""Have you a ship?""One exactly like your father's.""Do you know my father?""No, but I know his ship.""Is it a three-masted schooner, painted white?""Why, it's white. I am not sure about the three masts. But it's white sure enough, all bright and shiny. So is mine. Most of 'em are.""Do many people have ships?""Oh, yes, lots and lots. Some of them have velocipedes on board, and some have—oh, all kinds of things.""What have you on yours?"He eyed me again."You would laugh if I told you.""No, I wouldn't either.""Yes, you would.""No, I wouldn'teither," I insisted. "Tell me what you've got on your ship.""Promise you won't tell?" he asked."Yes, of course.""Cross your throat?""Yes."And I did so.He bent down. "Well, then, it's a—"He broke off and looked along the beach. I looked too, but saw nothing remarkable; only Miss Norton, who lived in the cottage next but one to ours. She had Boojum, the Nortons' bull terrier, on a leash. Boojum was pulling at the leash and dragging her along as usual, and she seemed to be quite out of breath when she reached the little sandy point.My friend, the man, told me to come on, and hurried off to meet Miss Norton.They shook hands and began to talk. I stood where I was and watched them. At last the man turned toward me and shouted:—"Come on! Don't you want to go for a walk? We'll watch for your ship as we go."But I shook my head. I did not intend to be drawn from my vigil as easy as that. Miss Norton did not interest me particularly—I could see her any day.The man was apparently glad to see her; they slipped Boojum's leash, let him rush off by himself, and then started together along the sand.He could not have had anything valuable on his ship, for he never glanced at the ocean at all.I turned again to inspect the horizon, reflecting that it was quite different when you expected your ship to bring you a velocipede.CHAPTER XVTHE LUCKY-BUGAfter all my waiting and watching I never saw the ship that fetched my velocipede. It came—during the night, I fancy—shortly after we got home from the beach.But I had the velocipede,—that was the main thing. It was built mostly of wood, and painted red. On it, I spent four happy days, riding up and down the sidewalks of Oak Street.Then, somehow, it got broken, and had to be sent away to be mended. This was distressing enough of itself. But it turned out to be the first of a veritable series of misfortunes.On the same day that I broke the velocipede,the cat made an attempt on the life of my sole surviving goldfish. She had been unsuccessful, I am glad to say, and she now had to disappear over the fence with more than her usual speed whenever I came out of the house. But in her efforts she had dislodged a pail of minnows that stood beside the goldfish's residence, and a quart or more of pond-water, with fifteen unfortunate minnows, had been deposited on my bed. I was not there to distress my eyes with their dying struggles, but the household authorities had made much of the incident, dwelling quite irrelevantly on the state of the bedclothes, rather than the fate of the minnows.Consequently I was led to believe that any more minnows would be received into the house with a coolness bordering upon absolute inhospitality.The shocking unreasonableness of thisattitude was perfectly plain to me, as I think it will be to any fair-minded person. I pointed out that neither I, nor the goldfish, nor the deceased minnows were in any degree to blame. Not the most biassed tribunal in the world, save one composed of feminine housekeepers, would ever think of finding guilty any party to the accident except the cat.But did they so much as reproveher?Not they.She was a moth of peace, rusting in idleness under the kitchen stove or on the back fence, fat, lazy, and full of sin. Like all of her kind, she tempered a career of sloth with occasional deeds of cruelty and blood by day and with diabolical yells at night. Yet she was maintained, a favored pensioner, in the household, under the superstitious delusion that she caught mice, and she would have gone over to the neighbors any day if it hadstruck her that they were more generous with rations than we were.My estimate of her was formed the night I heard the screams of a nest of young robins in the apple tree, up which she had dragged her fat body, like an overfed snake, bent on slaughter. And nothing in the vast amount of misleading literature lauding her race has ever succeeded in whitewashing the character of the old reprobate.The velocipede went away to be repaired, and the minnows departed this life on Monday. On Tuesday I broke the large blade of my jack-knife, and on Wednesday fell in with three boys from the parochial school, who still recalled with animosity their captivity in Peter Bailey's stable.It was three against one, and I emerged from the encounter with very little glory, a good deal of dust on my clothes, andtwo or three rather lame spots on my person.Beyond argument, I had somehow got into disgrace with fortune and men's eyes. At this rate, unless the gods were propitiated, it seemed unlikely that I should survive until the end of the week.What could I do to win fortune back? Some great stroke was evidently necessary. Ever since Monday, the day of the first catastrophes, I had carefully dropped stones down the culvert under the railway track every time I passed.Nothing at all had come of it.Yet it is, as every one knows, a very potent charm indeed. To all who doubt I have only to say that Charley Carter, after dropping stones in the culvert three or four times a week for two years, had, one day,only an hour and a halfafter dropping a stone, found eleven cents (twonickels and a copper) down in Market Square. But it did not work with me.Billy Mason, an unquestioned authority in all such matters, advised the capture of a Lucky-bug. That was his recipe, delivered when the shades of Wednesday evening were drawing in. And now behold me, in the bright sunlight of Thursday morning, anxiously following the movements of a large Lucky-bug, who was sliding merrily over the surface of the frog pond.He darted swiftly about on the water, making two little ripples that broadened to the right and left behind him. His neat, dark, gentleman-like coat was slightly glossy, catching the sunshine in one tiny bright spot on his back. Ten or a dozen inches he would slide in one direction, looking always like the tip of an arrow-head whose sides were formed by the ripples he made.Then he would shoot off abruptly at right angles, halt again, and change his course once more. There was no method in his actions; no vulgar pursuit of food.The swallows, who in ceaseless parabolas soared, swept, and fluttered over that end of the pond, had a very practical purpose, however charming their flight might appear. They were gathering a comfortable meal of gnats and mosquitoes.But the Lucky-bug, so far as I could see, was in it merely for the fun of the thing. Why toil and fuss about breakfast on a fine morning of summer? Much pleasanter to skim over the water, mindful only of the waving branches of the great elms overhead and the grassy bankings dotted with the yellow blossoms of the arnica.That was his philosophy, I thought, and I sympathized with it. But I realized that it was not for me. The grindingcares of life oppressed me, and left no time for idle amusement. My needs had driven me forth with a glass fruit-jar filled with water, and I must capture that Lucky-bug. He might continue his antics, but it must be in the narrow, circumscribed limits of the fruit-jar; not on the surface of the frog pond.That good luck would attend me if I could catch him, I had no manner of doubt. Billy Mason had cited specific instances of the extreme felicity of those who caught and held these small black water-beetles, and Jimmy Toppan reënforced Billy's thesis by relating that it was only four months afterhehad caught a Lucky-bug that his father had bought him a Shetland pony.The possession of a pony was beyond my utmost hopes, but I did pray, at least, that when I had attained a Lucky-bug the misfortunes which had assailed meduring the last three days might come to an end. Indeed, at that moment of desperation, fresh from my unhappy meeting with the parochial school boys, I would have gladly foregone any future pony for the mere privilege of being let alone by whatever malign deity it was that seemed bent on pestering me.The Lucky-bug sailed warily about, never coming within easy reach. Evidently he had noticed me and my fruit-jar. If I had brought a net, his capture would have been easy, but the authorities held that he ought to be seized with the hand. Otherwise, the charm might fail.I observed him in silence, and at last was glad to see that his motions were bringing him nearer the shore. He darted in and out, but, on the whole, came gradually within reach.I leaned forward over the water, my hand outstretched.Another swift movement brought him nearer me. Evidently he had decided that I was not a hostile object. His trustfulness was going to get him into trouble. Still another slide toward me, and I made a quick grab at him.But he was quicker. He seized a tiny bubble—where he got it, I could not see—and dived like a flash, carrying the bubble with him. It was evidently his air supply, or else for illuminating purposes,—I could not be sure which, but he looked like a diver carrying an electric searchlight.Once he reached the bottom—it was only about six inches distant there at the edge of the pond—he became invisible among the pebbles and bits of wood. I groped about, but could not dislodge him.So I drew back and waited. In a few moments he came to the surface again, ayard or two to the left. I made ready to snatch at him once more, but he was plainly cautious now, for he went below with his bubble before I had any chance of getting him.I decided to look for another Lucky-bug with less suspicion in his character, and I set out to stroll around the pond.A little farther along I found two or three toads,—meditating, apparently, near the edge of the water. I reflected on the unfairness of calling that pond after the gay and handsome frog when it was almost exclusively occupied by that more sedate and useful citizen, the toad. That was the way of the world as it seemed to me on that morning. The frog had a smart coat, his carriage was jaunty, and his movements nimble. Also was he an expert swimmer. When you had said that about him you had said all.Nobody liked the toad's appearance;his progress on land was lumbering, to say the least, and no one thought of going to him for swimming lessons. With him swimming was a duty during certain weeks of the year. With the frog it was an art and a joy forever. But did the frog ever contribute to the happiness of the world as the toad had been doing but a few weeks earlier?I think not.The toad had not only the nightingale's eyes; he had, during those early spring months, the other gift of the nightingale as well. Had not all heard him on the mild evenings when, with his throat swelled out, he trilled love songs that made the whole pond musical? And did any one give him credit?No; they said, "Hear thefrogssinging!"Musing thus on the black injustice of things, I circled the pond and came againto the haunt of the original Lucky-bug. There he was, or his twin, skimming about as before. I approached, stooped over, reached out my hand, and grabbed.I had him!He was instantly in the fruit-jar, where he seemed perfectly contented, sailing and diving as if he were on the pond.I walked home triumphant. Did my luck change? Can you ask the question? I do not want to make the case too strong, for my attitude is that of the scientific investigator. So I will mention only two of the events that followed the capture of that Lucky-bug.And mind, please, that both of them occurred on that same Thursday.On my way home, I found the works of an old alarm clock which somebody had abandoned. The cover, face, and bell were gone; but you could still wind it up and make a delightful whirringsound, calculated to distract all grown-ups.That was not all.When I got home, I found that there was to be blueberry pudding for dinner—and my brother was gone for the day!CHAPTER XVIWEST INJY LANEEvery one called it "West Injy Lane," but some of the property holders had put up a sign-post with the words, "Washington Avenue."There was never a Washington Avenue which looked so little like one. A pleasant old road,—it had not greatly changed its appearance since the day when the man for whom it had been renamed passed by. It meandered along, innocent of sidewalks, and bordered, right and left, with grass. A pond at one end was musical all the spring and summer,—first with the high notes of the "peepers," then with the soprano trilling oftoads, and finally with the gruff performances of basso-profundo bullfrogs.Cows and sheep nibbled the grass at the sides of the road, or grazed in the meadows beyond the stone walls. There were only five or six farm-houses throughout the mile and a half of the lane, and their barns stood open all summer, while the swallows flashed in and out. Solemn files of white ducks waddled down to the pond, where they spread devastation among the minnows and polliwogs, and then waddled contentedly back again, clapping their yellow bills as if smacking their lips. Their bills and feet gleamed in the sunlight.It does not seem that any kind of weather but bright sunshine ever prevailed in West Injy Lane. Certainly, Ed Mason and I did not see how it could be improved. At one end, near the pond, was the country grocery where youcould get weighed on the scales, and buy jumbles (shaped like an elephant) at two for a cent. Near the other end was Haskell's Field,—a hallowed spot, for it always contained one or two grass-covered rings, the relics of circuses past and the promise of circuses to come.Midway between the two, and in front of one of the houses, was a gigantic and half-ruined elm, already celebrated in legend and verse. Its romantic story never impressed us, except to make me wonder how it happened that when the young man had stuck a willow branch into the ground in front of his sweetheart's dwelling, an elm tree should have sprouted therefrom."'Twasn't a willow," said Ed Mason, as we walked through the lane one morning, "'twas a piece of elm.""'Twasa willow," I retorted."How do you know?""'Cos Charley Carter told me.""He don't know anything 'bout it.""Yes, he does, too! Fred Noyes told him, and Peter Bailey toldhim, and Cap'n Bannister toldhim."Ed was silent.The name of Captain Bannister was potent. He lived in a house on this very lane,—a small, red-faced man with black hair. He had been a sailor, it was said, but he was a farmer now, so far as he had any occupation at all. He had no family and no servants, and he dwelt alone with a fluctuating number of cats.His house was painted white,—spotless and shining. It was without blinds, and so dazzling as to make you sneeze when you looked at it. The path up to his front door was lined, not with the usual white-washed rocks, but with large white sea-shells from some foreign country. Back of these were double rows ofcinnamon pinks, the Captain's joy and pride.Once I had been taken by my elders to call on Captain Bannister. He showed us around his house,—a museum of curiosities. But of all the stuffed birds, all the spiny and prickly fishes, all the curious bits of coral and wooden ships somehow stuffed into glass bottles,—none had seemed so interesting as a small box filled with what the Captain assured me was "tooth-powder from China." That the Chinese should know and use a pink substance so much like that with which I had to struggle every morning seemed to me nothing less than marvellous.The fact had another aspect as well,—it robbed foreign travel of one of its charms. If one could wander so far and still be pursued by enervating domestic customs, one might as well stay at home.Why subject yourself to the dangers of the deep if liberty fled always before your coming?One room in the Captain's house gave me a fright. It was a small, dark apartment, a closet for size. In it the owner had chosen to place four or five lay figures in old-fashioned garments. They had dried pumpkins for heads and they sat in ghostly silence amid the gloom. There was a man with a pipe in his mouth sitting in front of an empty fireplace, an old woman, and two or three children. There was even a baby in a cradle,—its yellow, pumpkin face looking out from a ruffled cap.I did not linger there.Ever since that visit the silent family had haunted my dreams, and I more than half suspected that Captain Bannister would like to lock me up in the room with them. I did not know what advantagehe would get by such an action, but its possibility seemed very near.Even on the bright morning that Ed Mason and I, walking through West Injy Lane engaged in a discussion about the old tree—even then, to me the Captain's house was an eerie place.There was no reason—aside from the pumpkin family—why it should be so. It glistened with all its usual brightness, and there was the owner himself puttering about in the little garden. Ed Mason walked up to the picket fence, bold as a lion, and addressed the captain in an easy, conversational tone."Good mornin', Cap'n Bannister!"The sailor faced about."Hullo, boys! Won't yer come in?... Yer needn't be afraid, I won't hurt yer."This last was for my benefit; I had not shown as much readiness to enter the gate as had my companion."Come right in."So I went in. The next remark of the old man did much to put everything on an agreeable footing."Do you boys like peaches?"We did like peaches, and we said so."Well, just wait till I pull up two or three of these plantains, an' we'll go round to the side of the house an' see if there's any on the tree.... There ... now come on."We followed him around the corner of the house. A black cat with a white breast came running to meet his master."Hullo, here's Nickerdemus; I told him to watch the peaches. Did yer keep the bees away, Nickerdemus?"Nicodemus yawned and gave every sign of having been asleep, after the manner of his kind when there is no personal advantage in keeping awake.The captain put a ladder against thetree, climbed up, and began to drop peaches to us. Until then I had a faint suspicion that he might be merely luring us on and on toward the room where sat the pumpkin family. But all such suspicions vanished now. You cannot think ill of a man who gives you peaches like those.Ed Mason intended to find out about the old elm tree, and he broached the subject fearlessly."Cap'n, Sam says thatyousaid they planted a piece of willow where the old elm came up.""What's that? No; they didn't plant no willow, but all this about the young feller that came callin' on his girl, an' cut a stick to keep off the dogs, an' stuck the stick in the ground in front of her door, an' then went away an' forgot it, an' the tree grew outer that stick,—all that's bosh. Don't yer believe it."We promised not to believe it. The captain came down the ladder with two more peaches, which he passed over to us. He stood, watching us eat them, and enlarged on the subject of the tree."I know all 'bout it, 'cos my second cousin, Silas Winkley, lived there, an' his great-gran'father planted that there tree jus' like any other tree. Silas's great-gran'father, ol' Deacon Plummer, wa'n't callin' on any girls there, 'cos he was up'ards of seventy when he planted the tree, an' had children an' gran'-children of his own. These here poems is all cat's-foot-in-yer-pocket!"We did not know exactly what that meant, but it seemed to cast some doubt on the truth of the legend, at any rate."Silas Winkley," ruminated the Captain, "thought he was a sailor. He went two or three v'yges with ol' Dick Cutter an' fin'lly he got Melvin Bailey,—gran'-fatherofthisMelvin that's alive now, to give him command of a ship. I've heard my father tell 'bout it lots of times,—he was second mate. She was theNanny Karr,—spelt it with a K, they did then. Well, Silas took her down as fur as Nantucket all right,—hee, hee, hee!"Here Captain Bannister paused and chuckled for a few moments."Yes, siree, he got her down there without no difficulties,—hee, hee, hee! an' then he run her plumb on to the south side of the island. In a dead ca'm, mind yer, an' on a night as clear as a whistle. The crew all went ashore,—they could a dropped off'n her bows on to land without wettin' their feet a'most, an' the next mornin' Silas went aboard ag'in to git his wife's knittin'-needles,—his wife was along with him."The captain paused again to choke and wheeze."Well, in a day or two there come a high tide, an' they got whale-boats, an' hawsers, an' some fellers on the island, an' they got her off all right,—she wa'n't no ways hurt in the sand, an' they went on their way rej'icin',—'cept Melvin Bailey, who had had a hunderd an' forty dollars of his forked out to the fellers with the whale-boats. However, he didn't know nothin' 'bout this till months arterwards. Silas set out ag'in, he was bound for Fayal,—d'yer know where Fayal is?"We were silent, till at last I suggested:"It's in Spain, I mean Portugal, isn't it?""Now look at that! I betcher when I was your age there wa'n't any boy inthistown that didn't know Fayal. It's one o' the Azores, an' some ways this side of Spain or Portugal either. Well, Silas was bound for Fayal, but he hadthe most terrible luck you ever see. Fust, he run into a gale and got drove way south of the Capes. When he wrote back to Melvin Bailey 'bout this gale he said that the seas run tremenjus high, an' that the ship was put into great jeopardy. Well, Melvin wa'n't what yer call a very edjicated man, an' he got down his atlas an'—hee, hee, hee! an' tried to find Great Jeopardy! Hee, hee, hee!"I thought I was not appreciating the joke to its utmost, so I inquired politely:"WhereisGreat Jeopardy, Cap'n?""It ain't nowhere, son. That's just the pint of the hull thing,—there ain't no such place! 'Jeopardy' meansdanger, an' all Silas meant was that, owin' to the gale, the ship was put into danger,—hee, hee, hee! I s'pose Melvin thought 'twas one of them islands like the Lesser Antilles, or some ofthem."This time Ed Mason and I could join in Captain Bannister's mirth. The captain, still chuckling, led the way across the yard and sat down on the stone doorstep, warm in the noon sunshine. Ed and I perched on a grass banking beside him to hear the further adventures of Silas Winkley."Well, Silas he kep' havin' bad luck. His fust mate, Andy Spauldin', was took down sick pretty soon with yaller janders, an' that left Silas an' my father to navigate the ship. It was my father's fust v'yge as an officer, an' I guess he wa'n't no great shakes navigatin',—though he was most as good as Silas was, at that.""In 'bout two weeks they made what Silas thought was Fayal. Silas sailed into harbor as proud as Nebberkernezzar, when one of the men come up an' says, says he, 'That ain't Fayal, Cap'n,' butSilas told him to shut his mouth, he guessed he knew where he was without no Joppa clam-digger tellin' him his business. Yer see Silas he was born over to Ipswich, an' terrible proud of it,—I dunno why. But after he'd come to anchor, an' he'd got on his shore clothes, he got into the boat an' went ashore. It didn't take him long to find out that the feller was right; it wa'n't Fayal, it wa'n't even one of the Azores, he hadn't made no east'ard at all,—hee, hee, hee! Hee, hee, hee! It was—hee, hee, hee!"The captain's laughing was so prolonged this time, he was so doubled up with excruciating merriment as to cause us some anxiety. He coughed and strangled, and his usually red face became deep purple. Finally he managed to control himself enough to gasp faintly:—"It was one of theWest Injies! Yessir, Silas had sailed pretty nigh due south after the gale was over, an' here he was on one of the West Injy Islands. I dunno what one: my father said Silas wouldn't never tell 'em, thoughhereckoned it might 'a' been Cubia. Joe Noyes was in the crew, an' he said it was further to the east'ard than Cubia, but it was one of the West Injies all right. The story got out, of course, when theNannygot back here, an,' when Silas come down to live on this lane with his mother's folks,—for Melvin Bailey didn't ask him to command no more ships,—why then they began to call this West Injy Lane. That wa'n't its name,—'twas Plummer's Lane, but folks has called it West Injy Lane ever since,—'cept these cotty-dummers that want it called Washington Avenue. Yessir, that's the way it happened."And then the captain added, somewhat irrelevantly:—"So yer see I know all 'bout that tree, an' yer don't want to believe any of them poets!"CHAPTER XVIITHEIR UNACCOUNTABLE BEHAVIORMy orders were explicit.I was to take a note up to the Bigelow's house on Elm Street, and I was to give the note to Miss Carew. There was no answer. After delivering the note I might do as I pleased, but I must not be late for dinner.The member of my family who issued these directions was one with whom it paid to keep on good terms. I might have felt grieved about this errand on such a morning, but I had already found that Jimmy Toppan and Ed Mason had departed from their homes on some private mission which did not seem to include me. Bereft of playmates I hadspent a lonely half-hour in the side yard, blowing on blades of grass, and raising fiendish shrieks therewith. So my employment on business which would send me far from home was mutually agreeable. I had only one request to make."Can I go on my velocipede?""Yes; but don't go too fast and get overheated, and don't lose the note."The prohibition about going too fast was superfluous. The velocipede had tires which were but bands of iron. Progress upon it, over the uneven brick sidewalks, was slow and not altogether painless. The pedals (they looked like large spools) were attached at such an angle that a thrilling speed was hard to attain.But to me, as I rode it along the pleasant, shaded sidewalks of Elm Street on that morning, it was a chariot of joy.Naturally, I paused for a moment atMr. Hawkins's gate to exchange salutations with that gentleman. Mr. Hawkins did not believe that it would rain: though it might. Fortified with this information, I continued past Jimmy Toppan's house, past the frog pond and the school. I proceeded at a moderate rate,—not over three-quarters of a mile an hour. At the street crossings, paved as they were with cobblestones, it was, on the whole, easier to dismount and wheel my velocipede.When I reached Higginson's toy-shop I stopped again, flattened my nose against the window, and observed the condition of the market. There had been a sharp break in marbles, evidently,—they were now offered at fifteen for a cent. Return-balls remained firm, however; and tops had advanced. After I had noted these facts, and concluded, further, that some one had, since yesterday,purchased two of the five sticks of striped candy from the glass jar in the window, I continued on my journey.Fifteen minutes later I reached the Bigelow house,—a square, three-storied residence set a little back from the street. The front door was open, and you could look right through the broad, cool hall, through a back door, and down the garden path. Everything about the house was big, and quiet, and cool, and there was no one to be seen, and no sign of any one,—except for a tall bicycle which stood at the curb-stone.I knew that bicycle: it belonged to a neighbor of mine,—Mr. Dennett. He was a grave, elderly man of nearly twenty-one years. Before him I stood in speechless awe. Most of the time, except in summer, he was away at a place called Harvard, which drew many of his kind.In summer he, with others like him, rode about on bicycles, and did various interesting things. Often they played tennis at a place farther up Elm Street. Sometimes, on these occasions, Ed Mason and I had been allowed to stand outside the high wire nets, and fetch back balls when they were knocked into the street,—a privilege which we especially esteemed.The balls were of the most fascinating kind imaginable: they would bounce to a tremendous height, and it was rumored that they cost thirty cents apiece.I wondered why Mr. Dennett was at the Bigelows'.However, there was my note to deliver. I left my red velocipede standing beside the enormous bicycle, and rang the front door-bell. After a long wait, a very red-faced, cross-looking woman—not Mrs. Bigelow at all—came to the door."A letther fer Miss Keroo? Well, ye'd betther be afther takin' it to her yersilf. She's out in the garrden, there. An' no more time have I to waste in runnin' fer this bell ivry foive minutes!"And she went away, muttering. I was not surprised to see her so cross. They always were cross; it was their normal condition. I walked through the hall and took the garden path.It was lined on both sides with box, and beyond were flower-beds. Also there were apple trees, and cherry trees, and peach trees,—the last full of red and yellow fruit. A number of bees were inquiring into the hollyhocks, and on a stalk of Canterbury bells sat a brown and black butterfly, slowly opening and closing his wings.But I could not see Miss Carew. Near the foot of the garden the path was arched by a summer-house. Its latticedsides were covered thick with clematis and trumpet-vine. I kept on down the path and walked into the summer-house.There was a quick exclamation, and Miss Carew arose hastily from a seat in the corner. Mr. Dennett was sitting there, and he had a curious expression on his face, which made him rather more terrible to me than usual. Miss Carew, like the cross woman who had let me into the house, had very red cheeks. But in the case of Miss Carew the color was not permanent. It was more noticeable at this moment than I had ever seen it before; but it did not last."Why, it's Sammy!" said Miss Carew, with a laugh.I disliked being called "Sammy" before Mr. Dennett, and I felt my face grow red also. I remembered that Miss Carew was a stranger, who had been visiting the Bigelows scarcely two months, but I corrected her just the same."Sam," I remarked, with dignity."Sam," she repeated apologetically.Then I took the note out of my jacket pocket, and handed it to her. She thanked me, opened the envelope, and read the message. Then she said that it was "all right," and added that I was a good boy to bring the note.Encouraged by this flattery, I backed to a bench on the other side of the summer-house, and sat down facing them. Miss Carew had seated herself again,—though at a somewhat greater distance from Mr. Dennett than before.There was a slight pause.Miss Carew asked me how I came,—had I walked all the way?"No," I replied, "I rode my velocipede.""Did you, really?" she said; "that's a long ride for you, isn't it?"It interested me to hear Miss Carewtalk,—she came from some part of the country where they have a greater respect for the letter R than was usual with us. But I denied that I was fatigued."No'm; it ain't far at all! Once," I continued, growing reminiscent, "I rode nearly up to Chain Bridge!""Is that so?""Yes'm; but when I got up to the Three Roads, Mr. Titcomb came along, an' said I'd better go back,—it was so hot.""Did you go back?""Yes."There was another silence, which Miss Carew again broke."What kind of a velocipede is yours?" she asked."A wooden one," I assured her.Then it struck me that the conversation was becoming a trifle inane, and I tried to make things more interesting."My velocipede is out in front of the house now,—you can come out and see it, if you want to."But Miss Carew thought she would defer that pleasure till another time.Mr. Dennett took the witness."Do you go to school, Sam?"Really, it seemed that he might have done better than that. I had that question asked me about five hundred times a year by grown-ups. Evidently this Harvard was not the place I had thought. But I answered him."Not now: it's vacation.""Yes, I know. But you go when it isn't vacation?""Oh, yes.""What school,—the Jackman?""No; the Kelley.""Oh! Whose room?""Last year I was in Miss Temple's, an' next I'll be in Miss Philipps's."I had apparently satisfied Mr. Dennett's curiosity, for he relapsed into silence. There was a long pause, while I swung my legs, and looked at them expectantly. I was quite ready to answer more questions if they had them to put.They did not seem to think of any point on which they required information for two or three minutes. Then Mr. Dennett did make an inquiry,—or, rather, a suggestion."Perhaps your mother may want you for something, Sam?"But I was able to set his mind at rest instantly."Oh, no; she don't want me till one o'clock, an' it's only half-past ten, now.""Later than that, isn't it?""No, sir. I saw the 'Piscopal clock when I came by."He seemed to be relieved at this, but presently he had another question to ask:"Do you care for blackberries, Sam?""Yes! Have you got any?""There are some down the hill, there,—against the fence. Why don't you go and get them?""Thank you,—shall I bring some of them back to you?""No,—just eat 'em yourself, and have a good time."This was by far the most sensible thing he had said, and I hurried down to the blackberry bushes. But when I got to them, and inspected the long, thorny branches, I found that my expectations were to be disappointed. If there had been any good berries they had been picked. All that remained were unripe.I hurried back to the summer-house, and burst in upon its occupants. They seemed to be having some kind of a misunderstanding: Miss Carew had a bookin her hands, which Mr. Dennett was trying to take from her."Hullo! Back already? What was the matter with the blackberries,—are they green?""No," I replied, "they are red,—but they're red when they're green, you know."And I climbed back to my former place on the bench opposite them. Immediately, Mr. Dennett became concerned about my velocipede."Did you leave your velocipede in the street, Sam? Aren't you afraid some one will steal it?"I laughed."Oh, I guess not. I left it right beside your bicycle, an' there wouldn't any one dare to touch it,—would they, Miss Carew?"The lady agreed that it would require great boldness, but still, she thought, itmight be well for me to go and see if it were safe.To allay her uneasiness I went back as far as the house, and looked through the hall. Both the machines were there, in perfect safety. I returned to the summer-house, and reported the fact, pleased at being able to tell my friends that they need not worry.As I was climbing to my seat again, Mr. Dennett had another suggestion."Look here, Sam, we saw a squirrel in Mr. Moulton's trees when we came out here. Don't you want to go and see if you can find him?"A squirrel is always worth seeing. I asked one or two questions concerning his whereabouts, and then departed, promising to return as soon as I found him. Mr. Moulton's trees were many, and after I had gone through the hole in the hedge, I instituted a careful inspection of each tree.Mr. Moulton came down the drive, and when I told him what I was looking for, he joined in the hunt. I can truthfully say that we examined each branch with care.But no squirrel appeared at all, though we saw three blackbirds, and plenty of robins. When I got back to the summer-house Miss Carew and Mr. Dennett were both gone, although they had left the book behind. I searched and called, but could not find them any more than I had found the squirrel.As I departed down Elm Street again on my velocipede, I thought the matter over at some length. Mr. Dennett had not left the premises, unless he had done so without his bicycle, for that remained where I had first seen it.There was something singular about their behavior. Had they, perchance, picked all the ripe blackberries before Iarrived, and had they been trying, with so much artifice, to conceal that fact from me?That was the most reasonable explanation I could devise,—and, certainly, the circumstances demanded some kind of explanation.

CHAPTER XIVWHEN MY SHIP COMES INAbout the middle of the month my family went to spend a week or two in a cottage at a neighboring beach. I enjoyed being at the sea-side, but I was hard up for playmates. For a few days there was a boy in the cottage next ours, and he spent most of his time riding around the veranda on a velocipede.This made me feel that I needed a velocipede, too, and I suggested to my father that he supply my lack."You shall have one," he said,—"when my ship comes in."I had never heard of the ship before—had never known that my father owned so much as a rowboat. But he had saidit himself—I was to have a velocipede "when his ship came in." I tried to find out how soon he expected her, and where she was coming from. But he was hurrying away to take the train which carried him each day to the city, and I could get no particulars about his ship. He laughed, waved his hand, and was gone.This left me rather dissatisfied, but I reflected, as I strolled around the veranda, that it was a good thing I had heard about this ship while we were living at the seashore. At home there was less opportunity to watch for ships. Here I saw dozens of them every day. Sometimes there would not be one in sight when I went to bed, but in the morning seven or eight would ride at anchor a mile or more from the beach.Great steamers passed along, leaving a trail of smoke behind, and once or twice I had seen dainty yachts, glittering withwhite paint and polished brass. Then heavy barges would go slowly by, pulled by puffing tugs. I had been told that they were loaded with coal, and I hoped that my father's ship was not one of them. If there was a velocipede for me on a barge, it would get black and sooty. I much preferred to have it come by one of the yachts—or, wait a moment—once there had swept by a fine three-masted schooner, her hull painted white and all her sails set. She was a beauty, and she looked big enough to sail around, the world by herself. The yachts could hardly do that.I decided that I would rather have my father's ship turn out to be a schooner like that white one.By the time I had reached this decision I had come to the water's edge. It was a warm morning, and the sun, three or four hours high, sparkled on the ocean.The waves broke, ran hissing up the beach, and retreated, leaving hundreds of little bubbling holes in the sand. I knew these holes—they were the dwellings of sand-fleas, who now were in a fair way of getting drowned out.Farther up the beach, out of danger from the waves, I came upon a large sand-flea hopping along energetically. I sat down to head him off, and find what he was about. With his hard-shelled and rounded back he looked like a small model of some prehistoric and armored monster—only he had two very mild blue eyes. As soon as I tried to intercept him with a piece of dried marsh-grass he put his head down and dug so vigorously that he was soon covered with sand.His disappearance left me alone. It was a lonely place, that beach, for the peanut-man and the merry-go-round had not discovered it, and its only inhabitantswere a few cottagers, like our family, and the fishermen.But I did not miss the crowd. A few minutes' walk farther down the beach brought me to a point of sand that ran out into the ocean for fifty or sixty yards at low tide. At the end it curved around and enclosed a small salt-water pond.This was an enchanted spot.In the first place, it was the very kind of a pond for "going in wading." That mysterious and dangerous thing called the undertow, which lived among the breakers, had no influence in these quiet waters. Then, along the edges could be found, more than anywhere else, all kinds of interesting shells and sea creatures. There were large white shells, well adapted for scooping holes in the sand, and smaller, roundish cockle-shells whose inmates were usually at home. When you picked up one of them the cockle retiredinside and drew a trap-door over the entrance.There were starfish with waving tentacles, sand-dollars, and the empty shells of sea-urchins and razor-clams. The black and ominous-looking objects which I implicitly believed to be sharks' eggs were often found near the borders of that ocean pond, and horseshoe crabs crawled darkly beneath its surface or lay dry and deceased on the sand.Some rocks, covered with seaweed, sheltered a colony of ordinary crabs—little ones, who scuttled away as you approached, and big, dignified, ferocious veterans, who looked up at you defiantly and blew a multitude of bubbles, though whether they did this through wrath and indignation, or merely with the conscious joy of the artist, I could never discover.These rocks were also the haunt of sea-gulls, who took flight before youcould come close to them. The sandpipers were more neighborly, skipping along the beach in front of you, though even they were shy and wary.The waves brought up many charming varieties of seaweed, red, green, and brown. Beautiful enough it looked in the water; the disappointment came when you took it out.Besides all these living or growing things, each high tide cast up on the sands an assortment of fascinating objects—pebbles of odd shapes and colors, smooth bits of wood rounded by the waves, spindles and spools that had come down the river from the mills of far-away towns, and bottles which always looked as if they were going to contain a message from some ship-wrecked mariner—but never did.And now the greatest delight of all had been added, for I could watch for myfather's ship to come in. It would naturally land there, I argued; while he was living at the seashore he would have it come as near as possible to his house. It might run right up to the beach; they would put out a gangplank and one of the sailors would wheel my velocipede ashore.Then I could spend the day riding it around the veranda of our cottage.Or perhaps the ship would not be able to come so close to the shore. It would anchor a mile or two out, and send a boat. The velocipede might get wet coming in an open boat that way, and, if it were made of iron, the water would rust it. I hoped they would know enough to cover it up before they started to row in to the beach.There were certainly no ships in sight that I could believe were my father's. Two fishing schooners were riding atanchor, and the smoke of a steamer showed on the horizon—that was all. I left the pond behind and walked out to the end of the little cape. At any moment my father's ship might come in sight, and it was surely well for me to be ready for her. The sailors would be glad to see me, for then they could hand over the velocipede, sail away again to wherever they came from, and get anything else my father might want.Wherewerethey coming from?That was an interesting question. I could see no land out there, but I had been told that if a ship sailed straight ahead in that direction the first land reached would be Portugal."I wonder what kind of velocipedes they have in Portugal?"I uttered this aloud, and I jumped when I heard a voice say:—"What's that you are wondering?"A man had walked up behind me. He was a stranger—a tall man, carrying his hat in his hand. He repeated his question, and I told him that I was wondering about the velocipedes in Portugal."Portugal—Portugal," he ruminated. "I've never been in Portugal. I've been near it, though. I've been in Spain. In fact, I own some property in Spain.""Do you?" I queried in astonishment. "But you look like an American. And Portugal's right straight out there. Why didn't you go there first?""Well, I went another way, you see. And then the Spaniards are easier to get along with—they're better landlords.""Can you talk Spanish?" I demanded."A little," he replied modestly; "enough to answer. Tell me about this velocipede of yours. How did it get to Portugal?""It didn't get there," I told him; "it'scoming from there. Or, anyhow, it's coming from somewhere. On my father's ship.""Oh, your father has a ship, has he?""Yes. He told me this morning that I could have a velocipede when his ship came in."He looked down at me seriously enough."I see. And so now you're waiting for his ship to come in.""Yes."There was a pause. Then he seemed struck by the appearance of my bare legs."What is the matter with your shins?" he asked."Mosquito bites," I replied briefly.After another pause he said, gravely:"Camphor is good for mosquito bites.""Yes, I know. My mother puts it on every night."I thought a moment, and then asked,"Do they have mosquitoes in Spain?""Not on my estates," he assured me; "nothing unpleasant on them at all. But it's funny you should be here waiting for a ship to come in. For that's just what I am doing.""Have you a ship?""One exactly like your father's.""Do you know my father?""No, but I know his ship.""Is it a three-masted schooner, painted white?""Why, it's white. I am not sure about the three masts. But it's white sure enough, all bright and shiny. So is mine. Most of 'em are.""Do many people have ships?""Oh, yes, lots and lots. Some of them have velocipedes on board, and some have—oh, all kinds of things.""What have you on yours?"He eyed me again."You would laugh if I told you.""No, I wouldn't either.""Yes, you would.""No, I wouldn'teither," I insisted. "Tell me what you've got on your ship.""Promise you won't tell?" he asked."Yes, of course.""Cross your throat?""Yes."And I did so.He bent down. "Well, then, it's a—"He broke off and looked along the beach. I looked too, but saw nothing remarkable; only Miss Norton, who lived in the cottage next but one to ours. She had Boojum, the Nortons' bull terrier, on a leash. Boojum was pulling at the leash and dragging her along as usual, and she seemed to be quite out of breath when she reached the little sandy point.My friend, the man, told me to come on, and hurried off to meet Miss Norton.They shook hands and began to talk. I stood where I was and watched them. At last the man turned toward me and shouted:—"Come on! Don't you want to go for a walk? We'll watch for your ship as we go."But I shook my head. I did not intend to be drawn from my vigil as easy as that. Miss Norton did not interest me particularly—I could see her any day.The man was apparently glad to see her; they slipped Boojum's leash, let him rush off by himself, and then started together along the sand.He could not have had anything valuable on his ship, for he never glanced at the ocean at all.I turned again to inspect the horizon, reflecting that it was quite different when you expected your ship to bring you a velocipede.CHAPTER XVTHE LUCKY-BUGAfter all my waiting and watching I never saw the ship that fetched my velocipede. It came—during the night, I fancy—shortly after we got home from the beach.But I had the velocipede,—that was the main thing. It was built mostly of wood, and painted red. On it, I spent four happy days, riding up and down the sidewalks of Oak Street.Then, somehow, it got broken, and had to be sent away to be mended. This was distressing enough of itself. But it turned out to be the first of a veritable series of misfortunes.On the same day that I broke the velocipede,the cat made an attempt on the life of my sole surviving goldfish. She had been unsuccessful, I am glad to say, and she now had to disappear over the fence with more than her usual speed whenever I came out of the house. But in her efforts she had dislodged a pail of minnows that stood beside the goldfish's residence, and a quart or more of pond-water, with fifteen unfortunate minnows, had been deposited on my bed. I was not there to distress my eyes with their dying struggles, but the household authorities had made much of the incident, dwelling quite irrelevantly on the state of the bedclothes, rather than the fate of the minnows.Consequently I was led to believe that any more minnows would be received into the house with a coolness bordering upon absolute inhospitality.The shocking unreasonableness of thisattitude was perfectly plain to me, as I think it will be to any fair-minded person. I pointed out that neither I, nor the goldfish, nor the deceased minnows were in any degree to blame. Not the most biassed tribunal in the world, save one composed of feminine housekeepers, would ever think of finding guilty any party to the accident except the cat.But did they so much as reproveher?Not they.She was a moth of peace, rusting in idleness under the kitchen stove or on the back fence, fat, lazy, and full of sin. Like all of her kind, she tempered a career of sloth with occasional deeds of cruelty and blood by day and with diabolical yells at night. Yet she was maintained, a favored pensioner, in the household, under the superstitious delusion that she caught mice, and she would have gone over to the neighbors any day if it hadstruck her that they were more generous with rations than we were.My estimate of her was formed the night I heard the screams of a nest of young robins in the apple tree, up which she had dragged her fat body, like an overfed snake, bent on slaughter. And nothing in the vast amount of misleading literature lauding her race has ever succeeded in whitewashing the character of the old reprobate.The velocipede went away to be repaired, and the minnows departed this life on Monday. On Tuesday I broke the large blade of my jack-knife, and on Wednesday fell in with three boys from the parochial school, who still recalled with animosity their captivity in Peter Bailey's stable.It was three against one, and I emerged from the encounter with very little glory, a good deal of dust on my clothes, andtwo or three rather lame spots on my person.Beyond argument, I had somehow got into disgrace with fortune and men's eyes. At this rate, unless the gods were propitiated, it seemed unlikely that I should survive until the end of the week.What could I do to win fortune back? Some great stroke was evidently necessary. Ever since Monday, the day of the first catastrophes, I had carefully dropped stones down the culvert under the railway track every time I passed.Nothing at all had come of it.Yet it is, as every one knows, a very potent charm indeed. To all who doubt I have only to say that Charley Carter, after dropping stones in the culvert three or four times a week for two years, had, one day,only an hour and a halfafter dropping a stone, found eleven cents (twonickels and a copper) down in Market Square. But it did not work with me.Billy Mason, an unquestioned authority in all such matters, advised the capture of a Lucky-bug. That was his recipe, delivered when the shades of Wednesday evening were drawing in. And now behold me, in the bright sunlight of Thursday morning, anxiously following the movements of a large Lucky-bug, who was sliding merrily over the surface of the frog pond.He darted swiftly about on the water, making two little ripples that broadened to the right and left behind him. His neat, dark, gentleman-like coat was slightly glossy, catching the sunshine in one tiny bright spot on his back. Ten or a dozen inches he would slide in one direction, looking always like the tip of an arrow-head whose sides were formed by the ripples he made.Then he would shoot off abruptly at right angles, halt again, and change his course once more. There was no method in his actions; no vulgar pursuit of food.The swallows, who in ceaseless parabolas soared, swept, and fluttered over that end of the pond, had a very practical purpose, however charming their flight might appear. They were gathering a comfortable meal of gnats and mosquitoes.But the Lucky-bug, so far as I could see, was in it merely for the fun of the thing. Why toil and fuss about breakfast on a fine morning of summer? Much pleasanter to skim over the water, mindful only of the waving branches of the great elms overhead and the grassy bankings dotted with the yellow blossoms of the arnica.That was his philosophy, I thought, and I sympathized with it. But I realized that it was not for me. The grindingcares of life oppressed me, and left no time for idle amusement. My needs had driven me forth with a glass fruit-jar filled with water, and I must capture that Lucky-bug. He might continue his antics, but it must be in the narrow, circumscribed limits of the fruit-jar; not on the surface of the frog pond.That good luck would attend me if I could catch him, I had no manner of doubt. Billy Mason had cited specific instances of the extreme felicity of those who caught and held these small black water-beetles, and Jimmy Toppan reënforced Billy's thesis by relating that it was only four months afterhehad caught a Lucky-bug that his father had bought him a Shetland pony.The possession of a pony was beyond my utmost hopes, but I did pray, at least, that when I had attained a Lucky-bug the misfortunes which had assailed meduring the last three days might come to an end. Indeed, at that moment of desperation, fresh from my unhappy meeting with the parochial school boys, I would have gladly foregone any future pony for the mere privilege of being let alone by whatever malign deity it was that seemed bent on pestering me.The Lucky-bug sailed warily about, never coming within easy reach. Evidently he had noticed me and my fruit-jar. If I had brought a net, his capture would have been easy, but the authorities held that he ought to be seized with the hand. Otherwise, the charm might fail.I observed him in silence, and at last was glad to see that his motions were bringing him nearer the shore. He darted in and out, but, on the whole, came gradually within reach.I leaned forward over the water, my hand outstretched.Another swift movement brought him nearer me. Evidently he had decided that I was not a hostile object. His trustfulness was going to get him into trouble. Still another slide toward me, and I made a quick grab at him.But he was quicker. He seized a tiny bubble—where he got it, I could not see—and dived like a flash, carrying the bubble with him. It was evidently his air supply, or else for illuminating purposes,—I could not be sure which, but he looked like a diver carrying an electric searchlight.Once he reached the bottom—it was only about six inches distant there at the edge of the pond—he became invisible among the pebbles and bits of wood. I groped about, but could not dislodge him.So I drew back and waited. In a few moments he came to the surface again, ayard or two to the left. I made ready to snatch at him once more, but he was plainly cautious now, for he went below with his bubble before I had any chance of getting him.I decided to look for another Lucky-bug with less suspicion in his character, and I set out to stroll around the pond.A little farther along I found two or three toads,—meditating, apparently, near the edge of the water. I reflected on the unfairness of calling that pond after the gay and handsome frog when it was almost exclusively occupied by that more sedate and useful citizen, the toad. That was the way of the world as it seemed to me on that morning. The frog had a smart coat, his carriage was jaunty, and his movements nimble. Also was he an expert swimmer. When you had said that about him you had said all.Nobody liked the toad's appearance;his progress on land was lumbering, to say the least, and no one thought of going to him for swimming lessons. With him swimming was a duty during certain weeks of the year. With the frog it was an art and a joy forever. But did the frog ever contribute to the happiness of the world as the toad had been doing but a few weeks earlier?I think not.The toad had not only the nightingale's eyes; he had, during those early spring months, the other gift of the nightingale as well. Had not all heard him on the mild evenings when, with his throat swelled out, he trilled love songs that made the whole pond musical? And did any one give him credit?No; they said, "Hear thefrogssinging!"Musing thus on the black injustice of things, I circled the pond and came againto the haunt of the original Lucky-bug. There he was, or his twin, skimming about as before. I approached, stooped over, reached out my hand, and grabbed.I had him!He was instantly in the fruit-jar, where he seemed perfectly contented, sailing and diving as if he were on the pond.I walked home triumphant. Did my luck change? Can you ask the question? I do not want to make the case too strong, for my attitude is that of the scientific investigator. So I will mention only two of the events that followed the capture of that Lucky-bug.And mind, please, that both of them occurred on that same Thursday.On my way home, I found the works of an old alarm clock which somebody had abandoned. The cover, face, and bell were gone; but you could still wind it up and make a delightful whirringsound, calculated to distract all grown-ups.That was not all.When I got home, I found that there was to be blueberry pudding for dinner—and my brother was gone for the day!CHAPTER XVIWEST INJY LANEEvery one called it "West Injy Lane," but some of the property holders had put up a sign-post with the words, "Washington Avenue."There was never a Washington Avenue which looked so little like one. A pleasant old road,—it had not greatly changed its appearance since the day when the man for whom it had been renamed passed by. It meandered along, innocent of sidewalks, and bordered, right and left, with grass. A pond at one end was musical all the spring and summer,—first with the high notes of the "peepers," then with the soprano trilling oftoads, and finally with the gruff performances of basso-profundo bullfrogs.Cows and sheep nibbled the grass at the sides of the road, or grazed in the meadows beyond the stone walls. There were only five or six farm-houses throughout the mile and a half of the lane, and their barns stood open all summer, while the swallows flashed in and out. Solemn files of white ducks waddled down to the pond, where they spread devastation among the minnows and polliwogs, and then waddled contentedly back again, clapping their yellow bills as if smacking their lips. Their bills and feet gleamed in the sunlight.It does not seem that any kind of weather but bright sunshine ever prevailed in West Injy Lane. Certainly, Ed Mason and I did not see how it could be improved. At one end, near the pond, was the country grocery where youcould get weighed on the scales, and buy jumbles (shaped like an elephant) at two for a cent. Near the other end was Haskell's Field,—a hallowed spot, for it always contained one or two grass-covered rings, the relics of circuses past and the promise of circuses to come.Midway between the two, and in front of one of the houses, was a gigantic and half-ruined elm, already celebrated in legend and verse. Its romantic story never impressed us, except to make me wonder how it happened that when the young man had stuck a willow branch into the ground in front of his sweetheart's dwelling, an elm tree should have sprouted therefrom."'Twasn't a willow," said Ed Mason, as we walked through the lane one morning, "'twas a piece of elm.""'Twasa willow," I retorted."How do you know?""'Cos Charley Carter told me.""He don't know anything 'bout it.""Yes, he does, too! Fred Noyes told him, and Peter Bailey toldhim, and Cap'n Bannister toldhim."Ed was silent.The name of Captain Bannister was potent. He lived in a house on this very lane,—a small, red-faced man with black hair. He had been a sailor, it was said, but he was a farmer now, so far as he had any occupation at all. He had no family and no servants, and he dwelt alone with a fluctuating number of cats.His house was painted white,—spotless and shining. It was without blinds, and so dazzling as to make you sneeze when you looked at it. The path up to his front door was lined, not with the usual white-washed rocks, but with large white sea-shells from some foreign country. Back of these were double rows ofcinnamon pinks, the Captain's joy and pride.Once I had been taken by my elders to call on Captain Bannister. He showed us around his house,—a museum of curiosities. But of all the stuffed birds, all the spiny and prickly fishes, all the curious bits of coral and wooden ships somehow stuffed into glass bottles,—none had seemed so interesting as a small box filled with what the Captain assured me was "tooth-powder from China." That the Chinese should know and use a pink substance so much like that with which I had to struggle every morning seemed to me nothing less than marvellous.The fact had another aspect as well,—it robbed foreign travel of one of its charms. If one could wander so far and still be pursued by enervating domestic customs, one might as well stay at home.Why subject yourself to the dangers of the deep if liberty fled always before your coming?One room in the Captain's house gave me a fright. It was a small, dark apartment, a closet for size. In it the owner had chosen to place four or five lay figures in old-fashioned garments. They had dried pumpkins for heads and they sat in ghostly silence amid the gloom. There was a man with a pipe in his mouth sitting in front of an empty fireplace, an old woman, and two or three children. There was even a baby in a cradle,—its yellow, pumpkin face looking out from a ruffled cap.I did not linger there.Ever since that visit the silent family had haunted my dreams, and I more than half suspected that Captain Bannister would like to lock me up in the room with them. I did not know what advantagehe would get by such an action, but its possibility seemed very near.Even on the bright morning that Ed Mason and I, walking through West Injy Lane engaged in a discussion about the old tree—even then, to me the Captain's house was an eerie place.There was no reason—aside from the pumpkin family—why it should be so. It glistened with all its usual brightness, and there was the owner himself puttering about in the little garden. Ed Mason walked up to the picket fence, bold as a lion, and addressed the captain in an easy, conversational tone."Good mornin', Cap'n Bannister!"The sailor faced about."Hullo, boys! Won't yer come in?... Yer needn't be afraid, I won't hurt yer."This last was for my benefit; I had not shown as much readiness to enter the gate as had my companion."Come right in."So I went in. The next remark of the old man did much to put everything on an agreeable footing."Do you boys like peaches?"We did like peaches, and we said so."Well, just wait till I pull up two or three of these plantains, an' we'll go round to the side of the house an' see if there's any on the tree.... There ... now come on."We followed him around the corner of the house. A black cat with a white breast came running to meet his master."Hullo, here's Nickerdemus; I told him to watch the peaches. Did yer keep the bees away, Nickerdemus?"Nicodemus yawned and gave every sign of having been asleep, after the manner of his kind when there is no personal advantage in keeping awake.The captain put a ladder against thetree, climbed up, and began to drop peaches to us. Until then I had a faint suspicion that he might be merely luring us on and on toward the room where sat the pumpkin family. But all such suspicions vanished now. You cannot think ill of a man who gives you peaches like those.Ed Mason intended to find out about the old elm tree, and he broached the subject fearlessly."Cap'n, Sam says thatyousaid they planted a piece of willow where the old elm came up.""What's that? No; they didn't plant no willow, but all this about the young feller that came callin' on his girl, an' cut a stick to keep off the dogs, an' stuck the stick in the ground in front of her door, an' then went away an' forgot it, an' the tree grew outer that stick,—all that's bosh. Don't yer believe it."We promised not to believe it. The captain came down the ladder with two more peaches, which he passed over to us. He stood, watching us eat them, and enlarged on the subject of the tree."I know all 'bout it, 'cos my second cousin, Silas Winkley, lived there, an' his great-gran'father planted that there tree jus' like any other tree. Silas's great-gran'father, ol' Deacon Plummer, wa'n't callin' on any girls there, 'cos he was up'ards of seventy when he planted the tree, an' had children an' gran'-children of his own. These here poems is all cat's-foot-in-yer-pocket!"We did not know exactly what that meant, but it seemed to cast some doubt on the truth of the legend, at any rate."Silas Winkley," ruminated the Captain, "thought he was a sailor. He went two or three v'yges with ol' Dick Cutter an' fin'lly he got Melvin Bailey,—gran'-fatherofthisMelvin that's alive now, to give him command of a ship. I've heard my father tell 'bout it lots of times,—he was second mate. She was theNanny Karr,—spelt it with a K, they did then. Well, Silas took her down as fur as Nantucket all right,—hee, hee, hee!"Here Captain Bannister paused and chuckled for a few moments."Yes, siree, he got her down there without no difficulties,—hee, hee, hee! an' then he run her plumb on to the south side of the island. In a dead ca'm, mind yer, an' on a night as clear as a whistle. The crew all went ashore,—they could a dropped off'n her bows on to land without wettin' their feet a'most, an' the next mornin' Silas went aboard ag'in to git his wife's knittin'-needles,—his wife was along with him."The captain paused again to choke and wheeze."Well, in a day or two there come a high tide, an' they got whale-boats, an' hawsers, an' some fellers on the island, an' they got her off all right,—she wa'n't no ways hurt in the sand, an' they went on their way rej'icin',—'cept Melvin Bailey, who had had a hunderd an' forty dollars of his forked out to the fellers with the whale-boats. However, he didn't know nothin' 'bout this till months arterwards. Silas set out ag'in, he was bound for Fayal,—d'yer know where Fayal is?"We were silent, till at last I suggested:"It's in Spain, I mean Portugal, isn't it?""Now look at that! I betcher when I was your age there wa'n't any boy inthistown that didn't know Fayal. It's one o' the Azores, an' some ways this side of Spain or Portugal either. Well, Silas was bound for Fayal, but he hadthe most terrible luck you ever see. Fust, he run into a gale and got drove way south of the Capes. When he wrote back to Melvin Bailey 'bout this gale he said that the seas run tremenjus high, an' that the ship was put into great jeopardy. Well, Melvin wa'n't what yer call a very edjicated man, an' he got down his atlas an'—hee, hee, hee! an' tried to find Great Jeopardy! Hee, hee, hee!"I thought I was not appreciating the joke to its utmost, so I inquired politely:"WhereisGreat Jeopardy, Cap'n?""It ain't nowhere, son. That's just the pint of the hull thing,—there ain't no such place! 'Jeopardy' meansdanger, an' all Silas meant was that, owin' to the gale, the ship was put into danger,—hee, hee, hee! I s'pose Melvin thought 'twas one of them islands like the Lesser Antilles, or some ofthem."This time Ed Mason and I could join in Captain Bannister's mirth. The captain, still chuckling, led the way across the yard and sat down on the stone doorstep, warm in the noon sunshine. Ed and I perched on a grass banking beside him to hear the further adventures of Silas Winkley."Well, Silas he kep' havin' bad luck. His fust mate, Andy Spauldin', was took down sick pretty soon with yaller janders, an' that left Silas an' my father to navigate the ship. It was my father's fust v'yge as an officer, an' I guess he wa'n't no great shakes navigatin',—though he was most as good as Silas was, at that.""In 'bout two weeks they made what Silas thought was Fayal. Silas sailed into harbor as proud as Nebberkernezzar, when one of the men come up an' says, says he, 'That ain't Fayal, Cap'n,' butSilas told him to shut his mouth, he guessed he knew where he was without no Joppa clam-digger tellin' him his business. Yer see Silas he was born over to Ipswich, an' terrible proud of it,—I dunno why. But after he'd come to anchor, an' he'd got on his shore clothes, he got into the boat an' went ashore. It didn't take him long to find out that the feller was right; it wa'n't Fayal, it wa'n't even one of the Azores, he hadn't made no east'ard at all,—hee, hee, hee! Hee, hee, hee! It was—hee, hee, hee!"The captain's laughing was so prolonged this time, he was so doubled up with excruciating merriment as to cause us some anxiety. He coughed and strangled, and his usually red face became deep purple. Finally he managed to control himself enough to gasp faintly:—"It was one of theWest Injies! Yessir, Silas had sailed pretty nigh due south after the gale was over, an' here he was on one of the West Injy Islands. I dunno what one: my father said Silas wouldn't never tell 'em, thoughhereckoned it might 'a' been Cubia. Joe Noyes was in the crew, an' he said it was further to the east'ard than Cubia, but it was one of the West Injies all right. The story got out, of course, when theNannygot back here, an,' when Silas come down to live on this lane with his mother's folks,—for Melvin Bailey didn't ask him to command no more ships,—why then they began to call this West Injy Lane. That wa'n't its name,—'twas Plummer's Lane, but folks has called it West Injy Lane ever since,—'cept these cotty-dummers that want it called Washington Avenue. Yessir, that's the way it happened."And then the captain added, somewhat irrelevantly:—"So yer see I know all 'bout that tree, an' yer don't want to believe any of them poets!"CHAPTER XVIITHEIR UNACCOUNTABLE BEHAVIORMy orders were explicit.I was to take a note up to the Bigelow's house on Elm Street, and I was to give the note to Miss Carew. There was no answer. After delivering the note I might do as I pleased, but I must not be late for dinner.The member of my family who issued these directions was one with whom it paid to keep on good terms. I might have felt grieved about this errand on such a morning, but I had already found that Jimmy Toppan and Ed Mason had departed from their homes on some private mission which did not seem to include me. Bereft of playmates I hadspent a lonely half-hour in the side yard, blowing on blades of grass, and raising fiendish shrieks therewith. So my employment on business which would send me far from home was mutually agreeable. I had only one request to make."Can I go on my velocipede?""Yes; but don't go too fast and get overheated, and don't lose the note."The prohibition about going too fast was superfluous. The velocipede had tires which were but bands of iron. Progress upon it, over the uneven brick sidewalks, was slow and not altogether painless. The pedals (they looked like large spools) were attached at such an angle that a thrilling speed was hard to attain.But to me, as I rode it along the pleasant, shaded sidewalks of Elm Street on that morning, it was a chariot of joy.Naturally, I paused for a moment atMr. Hawkins's gate to exchange salutations with that gentleman. Mr. Hawkins did not believe that it would rain: though it might. Fortified with this information, I continued past Jimmy Toppan's house, past the frog pond and the school. I proceeded at a moderate rate,—not over three-quarters of a mile an hour. At the street crossings, paved as they were with cobblestones, it was, on the whole, easier to dismount and wheel my velocipede.When I reached Higginson's toy-shop I stopped again, flattened my nose against the window, and observed the condition of the market. There had been a sharp break in marbles, evidently,—they were now offered at fifteen for a cent. Return-balls remained firm, however; and tops had advanced. After I had noted these facts, and concluded, further, that some one had, since yesterday,purchased two of the five sticks of striped candy from the glass jar in the window, I continued on my journey.Fifteen minutes later I reached the Bigelow house,—a square, three-storied residence set a little back from the street. The front door was open, and you could look right through the broad, cool hall, through a back door, and down the garden path. Everything about the house was big, and quiet, and cool, and there was no one to be seen, and no sign of any one,—except for a tall bicycle which stood at the curb-stone.I knew that bicycle: it belonged to a neighbor of mine,—Mr. Dennett. He was a grave, elderly man of nearly twenty-one years. Before him I stood in speechless awe. Most of the time, except in summer, he was away at a place called Harvard, which drew many of his kind.In summer he, with others like him, rode about on bicycles, and did various interesting things. Often they played tennis at a place farther up Elm Street. Sometimes, on these occasions, Ed Mason and I had been allowed to stand outside the high wire nets, and fetch back balls when they were knocked into the street,—a privilege which we especially esteemed.The balls were of the most fascinating kind imaginable: they would bounce to a tremendous height, and it was rumored that they cost thirty cents apiece.I wondered why Mr. Dennett was at the Bigelows'.However, there was my note to deliver. I left my red velocipede standing beside the enormous bicycle, and rang the front door-bell. After a long wait, a very red-faced, cross-looking woman—not Mrs. Bigelow at all—came to the door."A letther fer Miss Keroo? Well, ye'd betther be afther takin' it to her yersilf. She's out in the garrden, there. An' no more time have I to waste in runnin' fer this bell ivry foive minutes!"And she went away, muttering. I was not surprised to see her so cross. They always were cross; it was their normal condition. I walked through the hall and took the garden path.It was lined on both sides with box, and beyond were flower-beds. Also there were apple trees, and cherry trees, and peach trees,—the last full of red and yellow fruit. A number of bees were inquiring into the hollyhocks, and on a stalk of Canterbury bells sat a brown and black butterfly, slowly opening and closing his wings.But I could not see Miss Carew. Near the foot of the garden the path was arched by a summer-house. Its latticedsides were covered thick with clematis and trumpet-vine. I kept on down the path and walked into the summer-house.There was a quick exclamation, and Miss Carew arose hastily from a seat in the corner. Mr. Dennett was sitting there, and he had a curious expression on his face, which made him rather more terrible to me than usual. Miss Carew, like the cross woman who had let me into the house, had very red cheeks. But in the case of Miss Carew the color was not permanent. It was more noticeable at this moment than I had ever seen it before; but it did not last."Why, it's Sammy!" said Miss Carew, with a laugh.I disliked being called "Sammy" before Mr. Dennett, and I felt my face grow red also. I remembered that Miss Carew was a stranger, who had been visiting the Bigelows scarcely two months, but I corrected her just the same."Sam," I remarked, with dignity."Sam," she repeated apologetically.Then I took the note out of my jacket pocket, and handed it to her. She thanked me, opened the envelope, and read the message. Then she said that it was "all right," and added that I was a good boy to bring the note.Encouraged by this flattery, I backed to a bench on the other side of the summer-house, and sat down facing them. Miss Carew had seated herself again,—though at a somewhat greater distance from Mr. Dennett than before.There was a slight pause.Miss Carew asked me how I came,—had I walked all the way?"No," I replied, "I rode my velocipede.""Did you, really?" she said; "that's a long ride for you, isn't it?"It interested me to hear Miss Carewtalk,—she came from some part of the country where they have a greater respect for the letter R than was usual with us. But I denied that I was fatigued."No'm; it ain't far at all! Once," I continued, growing reminiscent, "I rode nearly up to Chain Bridge!""Is that so?""Yes'm; but when I got up to the Three Roads, Mr. Titcomb came along, an' said I'd better go back,—it was so hot.""Did you go back?""Yes."There was another silence, which Miss Carew again broke."What kind of a velocipede is yours?" she asked."A wooden one," I assured her.Then it struck me that the conversation was becoming a trifle inane, and I tried to make things more interesting."My velocipede is out in front of the house now,—you can come out and see it, if you want to."But Miss Carew thought she would defer that pleasure till another time.Mr. Dennett took the witness."Do you go to school, Sam?"Really, it seemed that he might have done better than that. I had that question asked me about five hundred times a year by grown-ups. Evidently this Harvard was not the place I had thought. But I answered him."Not now: it's vacation.""Yes, I know. But you go when it isn't vacation?""Oh, yes.""What school,—the Jackman?""No; the Kelley.""Oh! Whose room?""Last year I was in Miss Temple's, an' next I'll be in Miss Philipps's."I had apparently satisfied Mr. Dennett's curiosity, for he relapsed into silence. There was a long pause, while I swung my legs, and looked at them expectantly. I was quite ready to answer more questions if they had them to put.They did not seem to think of any point on which they required information for two or three minutes. Then Mr. Dennett did make an inquiry,—or, rather, a suggestion."Perhaps your mother may want you for something, Sam?"But I was able to set his mind at rest instantly."Oh, no; she don't want me till one o'clock, an' it's only half-past ten, now.""Later than that, isn't it?""No, sir. I saw the 'Piscopal clock when I came by."He seemed to be relieved at this, but presently he had another question to ask:"Do you care for blackberries, Sam?""Yes! Have you got any?""There are some down the hill, there,—against the fence. Why don't you go and get them?""Thank you,—shall I bring some of them back to you?""No,—just eat 'em yourself, and have a good time."This was by far the most sensible thing he had said, and I hurried down to the blackberry bushes. But when I got to them, and inspected the long, thorny branches, I found that my expectations were to be disappointed. If there had been any good berries they had been picked. All that remained were unripe.I hurried back to the summer-house, and burst in upon its occupants. They seemed to be having some kind of a misunderstanding: Miss Carew had a bookin her hands, which Mr. Dennett was trying to take from her."Hullo! Back already? What was the matter with the blackberries,—are they green?""No," I replied, "they are red,—but they're red when they're green, you know."And I climbed back to my former place on the bench opposite them. Immediately, Mr. Dennett became concerned about my velocipede."Did you leave your velocipede in the street, Sam? Aren't you afraid some one will steal it?"I laughed."Oh, I guess not. I left it right beside your bicycle, an' there wouldn't any one dare to touch it,—would they, Miss Carew?"The lady agreed that it would require great boldness, but still, she thought, itmight be well for me to go and see if it were safe.To allay her uneasiness I went back as far as the house, and looked through the hall. Both the machines were there, in perfect safety. I returned to the summer-house, and reported the fact, pleased at being able to tell my friends that they need not worry.As I was climbing to my seat again, Mr. Dennett had another suggestion."Look here, Sam, we saw a squirrel in Mr. Moulton's trees when we came out here. Don't you want to go and see if you can find him?"A squirrel is always worth seeing. I asked one or two questions concerning his whereabouts, and then departed, promising to return as soon as I found him. Mr. Moulton's trees were many, and after I had gone through the hole in the hedge, I instituted a careful inspection of each tree.Mr. Moulton came down the drive, and when I told him what I was looking for, he joined in the hunt. I can truthfully say that we examined each branch with care.But no squirrel appeared at all, though we saw three blackbirds, and plenty of robins. When I got back to the summer-house Miss Carew and Mr. Dennett were both gone, although they had left the book behind. I searched and called, but could not find them any more than I had found the squirrel.As I departed down Elm Street again on my velocipede, I thought the matter over at some length. Mr. Dennett had not left the premises, unless he had done so without his bicycle, for that remained where I had first seen it.There was something singular about their behavior. Had they, perchance, picked all the ripe blackberries before Iarrived, and had they been trying, with so much artifice, to conceal that fact from me?That was the most reasonable explanation I could devise,—and, certainly, the circumstances demanded some kind of explanation.

CHAPTER XIVWHEN MY SHIP COMES INAbout the middle of the month my family went to spend a week or two in a cottage at a neighboring beach. I enjoyed being at the sea-side, but I was hard up for playmates. For a few days there was a boy in the cottage next ours, and he spent most of his time riding around the veranda on a velocipede.This made me feel that I needed a velocipede, too, and I suggested to my father that he supply my lack."You shall have one," he said,—"when my ship comes in."I had never heard of the ship before—had never known that my father owned so much as a rowboat. But he had saidit himself—I was to have a velocipede "when his ship came in." I tried to find out how soon he expected her, and where she was coming from. But he was hurrying away to take the train which carried him each day to the city, and I could get no particulars about his ship. He laughed, waved his hand, and was gone.This left me rather dissatisfied, but I reflected, as I strolled around the veranda, that it was a good thing I had heard about this ship while we were living at the seashore. At home there was less opportunity to watch for ships. Here I saw dozens of them every day. Sometimes there would not be one in sight when I went to bed, but in the morning seven or eight would ride at anchor a mile or more from the beach.Great steamers passed along, leaving a trail of smoke behind, and once or twice I had seen dainty yachts, glittering withwhite paint and polished brass. Then heavy barges would go slowly by, pulled by puffing tugs. I had been told that they were loaded with coal, and I hoped that my father's ship was not one of them. If there was a velocipede for me on a barge, it would get black and sooty. I much preferred to have it come by one of the yachts—or, wait a moment—once there had swept by a fine three-masted schooner, her hull painted white and all her sails set. She was a beauty, and she looked big enough to sail around, the world by herself. The yachts could hardly do that.I decided that I would rather have my father's ship turn out to be a schooner like that white one.By the time I had reached this decision I had come to the water's edge. It was a warm morning, and the sun, three or four hours high, sparkled on the ocean.The waves broke, ran hissing up the beach, and retreated, leaving hundreds of little bubbling holes in the sand. I knew these holes—they were the dwellings of sand-fleas, who now were in a fair way of getting drowned out.Farther up the beach, out of danger from the waves, I came upon a large sand-flea hopping along energetically. I sat down to head him off, and find what he was about. With his hard-shelled and rounded back he looked like a small model of some prehistoric and armored monster—only he had two very mild blue eyes. As soon as I tried to intercept him with a piece of dried marsh-grass he put his head down and dug so vigorously that he was soon covered with sand.His disappearance left me alone. It was a lonely place, that beach, for the peanut-man and the merry-go-round had not discovered it, and its only inhabitantswere a few cottagers, like our family, and the fishermen.But I did not miss the crowd. A few minutes' walk farther down the beach brought me to a point of sand that ran out into the ocean for fifty or sixty yards at low tide. At the end it curved around and enclosed a small salt-water pond.This was an enchanted spot.In the first place, it was the very kind of a pond for "going in wading." That mysterious and dangerous thing called the undertow, which lived among the breakers, had no influence in these quiet waters. Then, along the edges could be found, more than anywhere else, all kinds of interesting shells and sea creatures. There were large white shells, well adapted for scooping holes in the sand, and smaller, roundish cockle-shells whose inmates were usually at home. When you picked up one of them the cockle retiredinside and drew a trap-door over the entrance.There were starfish with waving tentacles, sand-dollars, and the empty shells of sea-urchins and razor-clams. The black and ominous-looking objects which I implicitly believed to be sharks' eggs were often found near the borders of that ocean pond, and horseshoe crabs crawled darkly beneath its surface or lay dry and deceased on the sand.Some rocks, covered with seaweed, sheltered a colony of ordinary crabs—little ones, who scuttled away as you approached, and big, dignified, ferocious veterans, who looked up at you defiantly and blew a multitude of bubbles, though whether they did this through wrath and indignation, or merely with the conscious joy of the artist, I could never discover.These rocks were also the haunt of sea-gulls, who took flight before youcould come close to them. The sandpipers were more neighborly, skipping along the beach in front of you, though even they were shy and wary.The waves brought up many charming varieties of seaweed, red, green, and brown. Beautiful enough it looked in the water; the disappointment came when you took it out.Besides all these living or growing things, each high tide cast up on the sands an assortment of fascinating objects—pebbles of odd shapes and colors, smooth bits of wood rounded by the waves, spindles and spools that had come down the river from the mills of far-away towns, and bottles which always looked as if they were going to contain a message from some ship-wrecked mariner—but never did.And now the greatest delight of all had been added, for I could watch for myfather's ship to come in. It would naturally land there, I argued; while he was living at the seashore he would have it come as near as possible to his house. It might run right up to the beach; they would put out a gangplank and one of the sailors would wheel my velocipede ashore.Then I could spend the day riding it around the veranda of our cottage.Or perhaps the ship would not be able to come so close to the shore. It would anchor a mile or two out, and send a boat. The velocipede might get wet coming in an open boat that way, and, if it were made of iron, the water would rust it. I hoped they would know enough to cover it up before they started to row in to the beach.There were certainly no ships in sight that I could believe were my father's. Two fishing schooners were riding atanchor, and the smoke of a steamer showed on the horizon—that was all. I left the pond behind and walked out to the end of the little cape. At any moment my father's ship might come in sight, and it was surely well for me to be ready for her. The sailors would be glad to see me, for then they could hand over the velocipede, sail away again to wherever they came from, and get anything else my father might want.Wherewerethey coming from?That was an interesting question. I could see no land out there, but I had been told that if a ship sailed straight ahead in that direction the first land reached would be Portugal."I wonder what kind of velocipedes they have in Portugal?"I uttered this aloud, and I jumped when I heard a voice say:—"What's that you are wondering?"A man had walked up behind me. He was a stranger—a tall man, carrying his hat in his hand. He repeated his question, and I told him that I was wondering about the velocipedes in Portugal."Portugal—Portugal," he ruminated. "I've never been in Portugal. I've been near it, though. I've been in Spain. In fact, I own some property in Spain.""Do you?" I queried in astonishment. "But you look like an American. And Portugal's right straight out there. Why didn't you go there first?""Well, I went another way, you see. And then the Spaniards are easier to get along with—they're better landlords.""Can you talk Spanish?" I demanded."A little," he replied modestly; "enough to answer. Tell me about this velocipede of yours. How did it get to Portugal?""It didn't get there," I told him; "it'scoming from there. Or, anyhow, it's coming from somewhere. On my father's ship.""Oh, your father has a ship, has he?""Yes. He told me this morning that I could have a velocipede when his ship came in."He looked down at me seriously enough."I see. And so now you're waiting for his ship to come in.""Yes."There was a pause. Then he seemed struck by the appearance of my bare legs."What is the matter with your shins?" he asked."Mosquito bites," I replied briefly.After another pause he said, gravely:"Camphor is good for mosquito bites.""Yes, I know. My mother puts it on every night."I thought a moment, and then asked,"Do they have mosquitoes in Spain?""Not on my estates," he assured me; "nothing unpleasant on them at all. But it's funny you should be here waiting for a ship to come in. For that's just what I am doing.""Have you a ship?""One exactly like your father's.""Do you know my father?""No, but I know his ship.""Is it a three-masted schooner, painted white?""Why, it's white. I am not sure about the three masts. But it's white sure enough, all bright and shiny. So is mine. Most of 'em are.""Do many people have ships?""Oh, yes, lots and lots. Some of them have velocipedes on board, and some have—oh, all kinds of things.""What have you on yours?"He eyed me again."You would laugh if I told you.""No, I wouldn't either.""Yes, you would.""No, I wouldn'teither," I insisted. "Tell me what you've got on your ship.""Promise you won't tell?" he asked."Yes, of course.""Cross your throat?""Yes."And I did so.He bent down. "Well, then, it's a—"He broke off and looked along the beach. I looked too, but saw nothing remarkable; only Miss Norton, who lived in the cottage next but one to ours. She had Boojum, the Nortons' bull terrier, on a leash. Boojum was pulling at the leash and dragging her along as usual, and she seemed to be quite out of breath when she reached the little sandy point.My friend, the man, told me to come on, and hurried off to meet Miss Norton.They shook hands and began to talk. I stood where I was and watched them. At last the man turned toward me and shouted:—"Come on! Don't you want to go for a walk? We'll watch for your ship as we go."But I shook my head. I did not intend to be drawn from my vigil as easy as that. Miss Norton did not interest me particularly—I could see her any day.The man was apparently glad to see her; they slipped Boojum's leash, let him rush off by himself, and then started together along the sand.He could not have had anything valuable on his ship, for he never glanced at the ocean at all.I turned again to inspect the horizon, reflecting that it was quite different when you expected your ship to bring you a velocipede.

WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN

About the middle of the month my family went to spend a week or two in a cottage at a neighboring beach. I enjoyed being at the sea-side, but I was hard up for playmates. For a few days there was a boy in the cottage next ours, and he spent most of his time riding around the veranda on a velocipede.

This made me feel that I needed a velocipede, too, and I suggested to my father that he supply my lack.

"You shall have one," he said,—"when my ship comes in."

I had never heard of the ship before—had never known that my father owned so much as a rowboat. But he had saidit himself—I was to have a velocipede "when his ship came in." I tried to find out how soon he expected her, and where she was coming from. But he was hurrying away to take the train which carried him each day to the city, and I could get no particulars about his ship. He laughed, waved his hand, and was gone.

This left me rather dissatisfied, but I reflected, as I strolled around the veranda, that it was a good thing I had heard about this ship while we were living at the seashore. At home there was less opportunity to watch for ships. Here I saw dozens of them every day. Sometimes there would not be one in sight when I went to bed, but in the morning seven or eight would ride at anchor a mile or more from the beach.

Great steamers passed along, leaving a trail of smoke behind, and once or twice I had seen dainty yachts, glittering withwhite paint and polished brass. Then heavy barges would go slowly by, pulled by puffing tugs. I had been told that they were loaded with coal, and I hoped that my father's ship was not one of them. If there was a velocipede for me on a barge, it would get black and sooty. I much preferred to have it come by one of the yachts—or, wait a moment—once there had swept by a fine three-masted schooner, her hull painted white and all her sails set. She was a beauty, and she looked big enough to sail around, the world by herself. The yachts could hardly do that.

I decided that I would rather have my father's ship turn out to be a schooner like that white one.

By the time I had reached this decision I had come to the water's edge. It was a warm morning, and the sun, three or four hours high, sparkled on the ocean.The waves broke, ran hissing up the beach, and retreated, leaving hundreds of little bubbling holes in the sand. I knew these holes—they were the dwellings of sand-fleas, who now were in a fair way of getting drowned out.

Farther up the beach, out of danger from the waves, I came upon a large sand-flea hopping along energetically. I sat down to head him off, and find what he was about. With his hard-shelled and rounded back he looked like a small model of some prehistoric and armored monster—only he had two very mild blue eyes. As soon as I tried to intercept him with a piece of dried marsh-grass he put his head down and dug so vigorously that he was soon covered with sand.

His disappearance left me alone. It was a lonely place, that beach, for the peanut-man and the merry-go-round had not discovered it, and its only inhabitantswere a few cottagers, like our family, and the fishermen.

But I did not miss the crowd. A few minutes' walk farther down the beach brought me to a point of sand that ran out into the ocean for fifty or sixty yards at low tide. At the end it curved around and enclosed a small salt-water pond.

This was an enchanted spot.

In the first place, it was the very kind of a pond for "going in wading." That mysterious and dangerous thing called the undertow, which lived among the breakers, had no influence in these quiet waters. Then, along the edges could be found, more than anywhere else, all kinds of interesting shells and sea creatures. There were large white shells, well adapted for scooping holes in the sand, and smaller, roundish cockle-shells whose inmates were usually at home. When you picked up one of them the cockle retiredinside and drew a trap-door over the entrance.

There were starfish with waving tentacles, sand-dollars, and the empty shells of sea-urchins and razor-clams. The black and ominous-looking objects which I implicitly believed to be sharks' eggs were often found near the borders of that ocean pond, and horseshoe crabs crawled darkly beneath its surface or lay dry and deceased on the sand.

Some rocks, covered with seaweed, sheltered a colony of ordinary crabs—little ones, who scuttled away as you approached, and big, dignified, ferocious veterans, who looked up at you defiantly and blew a multitude of bubbles, though whether they did this through wrath and indignation, or merely with the conscious joy of the artist, I could never discover.

These rocks were also the haunt of sea-gulls, who took flight before youcould come close to them. The sandpipers were more neighborly, skipping along the beach in front of you, though even they were shy and wary.

The waves brought up many charming varieties of seaweed, red, green, and brown. Beautiful enough it looked in the water; the disappointment came when you took it out.

Besides all these living or growing things, each high tide cast up on the sands an assortment of fascinating objects—pebbles of odd shapes and colors, smooth bits of wood rounded by the waves, spindles and spools that had come down the river from the mills of far-away towns, and bottles which always looked as if they were going to contain a message from some ship-wrecked mariner—but never did.

And now the greatest delight of all had been added, for I could watch for myfather's ship to come in. It would naturally land there, I argued; while he was living at the seashore he would have it come as near as possible to his house. It might run right up to the beach; they would put out a gangplank and one of the sailors would wheel my velocipede ashore.

Then I could spend the day riding it around the veranda of our cottage.

Or perhaps the ship would not be able to come so close to the shore. It would anchor a mile or two out, and send a boat. The velocipede might get wet coming in an open boat that way, and, if it were made of iron, the water would rust it. I hoped they would know enough to cover it up before they started to row in to the beach.

There were certainly no ships in sight that I could believe were my father's. Two fishing schooners were riding atanchor, and the smoke of a steamer showed on the horizon—that was all. I left the pond behind and walked out to the end of the little cape. At any moment my father's ship might come in sight, and it was surely well for me to be ready for her. The sailors would be glad to see me, for then they could hand over the velocipede, sail away again to wherever they came from, and get anything else my father might want.

Wherewerethey coming from?

That was an interesting question. I could see no land out there, but I had been told that if a ship sailed straight ahead in that direction the first land reached would be Portugal.

"I wonder what kind of velocipedes they have in Portugal?"

I uttered this aloud, and I jumped when I heard a voice say:—

"What's that you are wondering?"

A man had walked up behind me. He was a stranger—a tall man, carrying his hat in his hand. He repeated his question, and I told him that I was wondering about the velocipedes in Portugal.

"Portugal—Portugal," he ruminated. "I've never been in Portugal. I've been near it, though. I've been in Spain. In fact, I own some property in Spain."

"Do you?" I queried in astonishment. "But you look like an American. And Portugal's right straight out there. Why didn't you go there first?"

"Well, I went another way, you see. And then the Spaniards are easier to get along with—they're better landlords."

"Can you talk Spanish?" I demanded.

"A little," he replied modestly; "enough to answer. Tell me about this velocipede of yours. How did it get to Portugal?"

"It didn't get there," I told him; "it'scoming from there. Or, anyhow, it's coming from somewhere. On my father's ship."

"Oh, your father has a ship, has he?"

"Yes. He told me this morning that I could have a velocipede when his ship came in."

He looked down at me seriously enough.

"I see. And so now you're waiting for his ship to come in."

"Yes."

There was a pause. Then he seemed struck by the appearance of my bare legs.

"What is the matter with your shins?" he asked.

"Mosquito bites," I replied briefly.

After another pause he said, gravely:

"Camphor is good for mosquito bites."

"Yes, I know. My mother puts it on every night."

I thought a moment, and then asked,

"Do they have mosquitoes in Spain?"

"Not on my estates," he assured me; "nothing unpleasant on them at all. But it's funny you should be here waiting for a ship to come in. For that's just what I am doing."

"Have you a ship?"

"One exactly like your father's."

"Do you know my father?"

"No, but I know his ship."

"Is it a three-masted schooner, painted white?"

"Why, it's white. I am not sure about the three masts. But it's white sure enough, all bright and shiny. So is mine. Most of 'em are."

"Do many people have ships?"

"Oh, yes, lots and lots. Some of them have velocipedes on board, and some have—oh, all kinds of things."

"What have you on yours?"

He eyed me again.

"You would laugh if I told you."

"No, I wouldn't either."

"Yes, you would."

"No, I wouldn'teither," I insisted. "Tell me what you've got on your ship."

"Promise you won't tell?" he asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Cross your throat?"

"Yes."

And I did so.

He bent down. "Well, then, it's a—"

He broke off and looked along the beach. I looked too, but saw nothing remarkable; only Miss Norton, who lived in the cottage next but one to ours. She had Boojum, the Nortons' bull terrier, on a leash. Boojum was pulling at the leash and dragging her along as usual, and she seemed to be quite out of breath when she reached the little sandy point.

My friend, the man, told me to come on, and hurried off to meet Miss Norton.They shook hands and began to talk. I stood where I was and watched them. At last the man turned toward me and shouted:—

"Come on! Don't you want to go for a walk? We'll watch for your ship as we go."

But I shook my head. I did not intend to be drawn from my vigil as easy as that. Miss Norton did not interest me particularly—I could see her any day.

The man was apparently glad to see her; they slipped Boojum's leash, let him rush off by himself, and then started together along the sand.

He could not have had anything valuable on his ship, for he never glanced at the ocean at all.

I turned again to inspect the horizon, reflecting that it was quite different when you expected your ship to bring you a velocipede.

CHAPTER XVTHE LUCKY-BUGAfter all my waiting and watching I never saw the ship that fetched my velocipede. It came—during the night, I fancy—shortly after we got home from the beach.But I had the velocipede,—that was the main thing. It was built mostly of wood, and painted red. On it, I spent four happy days, riding up and down the sidewalks of Oak Street.Then, somehow, it got broken, and had to be sent away to be mended. This was distressing enough of itself. But it turned out to be the first of a veritable series of misfortunes.On the same day that I broke the velocipede,the cat made an attempt on the life of my sole surviving goldfish. She had been unsuccessful, I am glad to say, and she now had to disappear over the fence with more than her usual speed whenever I came out of the house. But in her efforts she had dislodged a pail of minnows that stood beside the goldfish's residence, and a quart or more of pond-water, with fifteen unfortunate minnows, had been deposited on my bed. I was not there to distress my eyes with their dying struggles, but the household authorities had made much of the incident, dwelling quite irrelevantly on the state of the bedclothes, rather than the fate of the minnows.Consequently I was led to believe that any more minnows would be received into the house with a coolness bordering upon absolute inhospitality.The shocking unreasonableness of thisattitude was perfectly plain to me, as I think it will be to any fair-minded person. I pointed out that neither I, nor the goldfish, nor the deceased minnows were in any degree to blame. Not the most biassed tribunal in the world, save one composed of feminine housekeepers, would ever think of finding guilty any party to the accident except the cat.But did they so much as reproveher?Not they.She was a moth of peace, rusting in idleness under the kitchen stove or on the back fence, fat, lazy, and full of sin. Like all of her kind, she tempered a career of sloth with occasional deeds of cruelty and blood by day and with diabolical yells at night. Yet she was maintained, a favored pensioner, in the household, under the superstitious delusion that she caught mice, and she would have gone over to the neighbors any day if it hadstruck her that they were more generous with rations than we were.My estimate of her was formed the night I heard the screams of a nest of young robins in the apple tree, up which she had dragged her fat body, like an overfed snake, bent on slaughter. And nothing in the vast amount of misleading literature lauding her race has ever succeeded in whitewashing the character of the old reprobate.The velocipede went away to be repaired, and the minnows departed this life on Monday. On Tuesday I broke the large blade of my jack-knife, and on Wednesday fell in with three boys from the parochial school, who still recalled with animosity their captivity in Peter Bailey's stable.It was three against one, and I emerged from the encounter with very little glory, a good deal of dust on my clothes, andtwo or three rather lame spots on my person.Beyond argument, I had somehow got into disgrace with fortune and men's eyes. At this rate, unless the gods were propitiated, it seemed unlikely that I should survive until the end of the week.What could I do to win fortune back? Some great stroke was evidently necessary. Ever since Monday, the day of the first catastrophes, I had carefully dropped stones down the culvert under the railway track every time I passed.Nothing at all had come of it.Yet it is, as every one knows, a very potent charm indeed. To all who doubt I have only to say that Charley Carter, after dropping stones in the culvert three or four times a week for two years, had, one day,only an hour and a halfafter dropping a stone, found eleven cents (twonickels and a copper) down in Market Square. But it did not work with me.Billy Mason, an unquestioned authority in all such matters, advised the capture of a Lucky-bug. That was his recipe, delivered when the shades of Wednesday evening were drawing in. And now behold me, in the bright sunlight of Thursday morning, anxiously following the movements of a large Lucky-bug, who was sliding merrily over the surface of the frog pond.He darted swiftly about on the water, making two little ripples that broadened to the right and left behind him. His neat, dark, gentleman-like coat was slightly glossy, catching the sunshine in one tiny bright spot on his back. Ten or a dozen inches he would slide in one direction, looking always like the tip of an arrow-head whose sides were formed by the ripples he made.Then he would shoot off abruptly at right angles, halt again, and change his course once more. There was no method in his actions; no vulgar pursuit of food.The swallows, who in ceaseless parabolas soared, swept, and fluttered over that end of the pond, had a very practical purpose, however charming their flight might appear. They were gathering a comfortable meal of gnats and mosquitoes.But the Lucky-bug, so far as I could see, was in it merely for the fun of the thing. Why toil and fuss about breakfast on a fine morning of summer? Much pleasanter to skim over the water, mindful only of the waving branches of the great elms overhead and the grassy bankings dotted with the yellow blossoms of the arnica.That was his philosophy, I thought, and I sympathized with it. But I realized that it was not for me. The grindingcares of life oppressed me, and left no time for idle amusement. My needs had driven me forth with a glass fruit-jar filled with water, and I must capture that Lucky-bug. He might continue his antics, but it must be in the narrow, circumscribed limits of the fruit-jar; not on the surface of the frog pond.That good luck would attend me if I could catch him, I had no manner of doubt. Billy Mason had cited specific instances of the extreme felicity of those who caught and held these small black water-beetles, and Jimmy Toppan reënforced Billy's thesis by relating that it was only four months afterhehad caught a Lucky-bug that his father had bought him a Shetland pony.The possession of a pony was beyond my utmost hopes, but I did pray, at least, that when I had attained a Lucky-bug the misfortunes which had assailed meduring the last three days might come to an end. Indeed, at that moment of desperation, fresh from my unhappy meeting with the parochial school boys, I would have gladly foregone any future pony for the mere privilege of being let alone by whatever malign deity it was that seemed bent on pestering me.The Lucky-bug sailed warily about, never coming within easy reach. Evidently he had noticed me and my fruit-jar. If I had brought a net, his capture would have been easy, but the authorities held that he ought to be seized with the hand. Otherwise, the charm might fail.I observed him in silence, and at last was glad to see that his motions were bringing him nearer the shore. He darted in and out, but, on the whole, came gradually within reach.I leaned forward over the water, my hand outstretched.Another swift movement brought him nearer me. Evidently he had decided that I was not a hostile object. His trustfulness was going to get him into trouble. Still another slide toward me, and I made a quick grab at him.But he was quicker. He seized a tiny bubble—where he got it, I could not see—and dived like a flash, carrying the bubble with him. It was evidently his air supply, or else for illuminating purposes,—I could not be sure which, but he looked like a diver carrying an electric searchlight.Once he reached the bottom—it was only about six inches distant there at the edge of the pond—he became invisible among the pebbles and bits of wood. I groped about, but could not dislodge him.So I drew back and waited. In a few moments he came to the surface again, ayard or two to the left. I made ready to snatch at him once more, but he was plainly cautious now, for he went below with his bubble before I had any chance of getting him.I decided to look for another Lucky-bug with less suspicion in his character, and I set out to stroll around the pond.A little farther along I found two or three toads,—meditating, apparently, near the edge of the water. I reflected on the unfairness of calling that pond after the gay and handsome frog when it was almost exclusively occupied by that more sedate and useful citizen, the toad. That was the way of the world as it seemed to me on that morning. The frog had a smart coat, his carriage was jaunty, and his movements nimble. Also was he an expert swimmer. When you had said that about him you had said all.Nobody liked the toad's appearance;his progress on land was lumbering, to say the least, and no one thought of going to him for swimming lessons. With him swimming was a duty during certain weeks of the year. With the frog it was an art and a joy forever. But did the frog ever contribute to the happiness of the world as the toad had been doing but a few weeks earlier?I think not.The toad had not only the nightingale's eyes; he had, during those early spring months, the other gift of the nightingale as well. Had not all heard him on the mild evenings when, with his throat swelled out, he trilled love songs that made the whole pond musical? And did any one give him credit?No; they said, "Hear thefrogssinging!"Musing thus on the black injustice of things, I circled the pond and came againto the haunt of the original Lucky-bug. There he was, or his twin, skimming about as before. I approached, stooped over, reached out my hand, and grabbed.I had him!He was instantly in the fruit-jar, where he seemed perfectly contented, sailing and diving as if he were on the pond.I walked home triumphant. Did my luck change? Can you ask the question? I do not want to make the case too strong, for my attitude is that of the scientific investigator. So I will mention only two of the events that followed the capture of that Lucky-bug.And mind, please, that both of them occurred on that same Thursday.On my way home, I found the works of an old alarm clock which somebody had abandoned. The cover, face, and bell were gone; but you could still wind it up and make a delightful whirringsound, calculated to distract all grown-ups.That was not all.When I got home, I found that there was to be blueberry pudding for dinner—and my brother was gone for the day!

THE LUCKY-BUG

After all my waiting and watching I never saw the ship that fetched my velocipede. It came—during the night, I fancy—shortly after we got home from the beach.

But I had the velocipede,—that was the main thing. It was built mostly of wood, and painted red. On it, I spent four happy days, riding up and down the sidewalks of Oak Street.

Then, somehow, it got broken, and had to be sent away to be mended. This was distressing enough of itself. But it turned out to be the first of a veritable series of misfortunes.

On the same day that I broke the velocipede,the cat made an attempt on the life of my sole surviving goldfish. She had been unsuccessful, I am glad to say, and she now had to disappear over the fence with more than her usual speed whenever I came out of the house. But in her efforts she had dislodged a pail of minnows that stood beside the goldfish's residence, and a quart or more of pond-water, with fifteen unfortunate minnows, had been deposited on my bed. I was not there to distress my eyes with their dying struggles, but the household authorities had made much of the incident, dwelling quite irrelevantly on the state of the bedclothes, rather than the fate of the minnows.

Consequently I was led to believe that any more minnows would be received into the house with a coolness bordering upon absolute inhospitality.

The shocking unreasonableness of thisattitude was perfectly plain to me, as I think it will be to any fair-minded person. I pointed out that neither I, nor the goldfish, nor the deceased minnows were in any degree to blame. Not the most biassed tribunal in the world, save one composed of feminine housekeepers, would ever think of finding guilty any party to the accident except the cat.

But did they so much as reproveher?

Not they.

She was a moth of peace, rusting in idleness under the kitchen stove or on the back fence, fat, lazy, and full of sin. Like all of her kind, she tempered a career of sloth with occasional deeds of cruelty and blood by day and with diabolical yells at night. Yet she was maintained, a favored pensioner, in the household, under the superstitious delusion that she caught mice, and she would have gone over to the neighbors any day if it hadstruck her that they were more generous with rations than we were.

My estimate of her was formed the night I heard the screams of a nest of young robins in the apple tree, up which she had dragged her fat body, like an overfed snake, bent on slaughter. And nothing in the vast amount of misleading literature lauding her race has ever succeeded in whitewashing the character of the old reprobate.

The velocipede went away to be repaired, and the minnows departed this life on Monday. On Tuesday I broke the large blade of my jack-knife, and on Wednesday fell in with three boys from the parochial school, who still recalled with animosity their captivity in Peter Bailey's stable.

It was three against one, and I emerged from the encounter with very little glory, a good deal of dust on my clothes, andtwo or three rather lame spots on my person.

Beyond argument, I had somehow got into disgrace with fortune and men's eyes. At this rate, unless the gods were propitiated, it seemed unlikely that I should survive until the end of the week.

What could I do to win fortune back? Some great stroke was evidently necessary. Ever since Monday, the day of the first catastrophes, I had carefully dropped stones down the culvert under the railway track every time I passed.

Nothing at all had come of it.

Yet it is, as every one knows, a very potent charm indeed. To all who doubt I have only to say that Charley Carter, after dropping stones in the culvert three or four times a week for two years, had, one day,only an hour and a halfafter dropping a stone, found eleven cents (twonickels and a copper) down in Market Square. But it did not work with me.

Billy Mason, an unquestioned authority in all such matters, advised the capture of a Lucky-bug. That was his recipe, delivered when the shades of Wednesday evening were drawing in. And now behold me, in the bright sunlight of Thursday morning, anxiously following the movements of a large Lucky-bug, who was sliding merrily over the surface of the frog pond.

He darted swiftly about on the water, making two little ripples that broadened to the right and left behind him. His neat, dark, gentleman-like coat was slightly glossy, catching the sunshine in one tiny bright spot on his back. Ten or a dozen inches he would slide in one direction, looking always like the tip of an arrow-head whose sides were formed by the ripples he made.

Then he would shoot off abruptly at right angles, halt again, and change his course once more. There was no method in his actions; no vulgar pursuit of food.

The swallows, who in ceaseless parabolas soared, swept, and fluttered over that end of the pond, had a very practical purpose, however charming their flight might appear. They were gathering a comfortable meal of gnats and mosquitoes.

But the Lucky-bug, so far as I could see, was in it merely for the fun of the thing. Why toil and fuss about breakfast on a fine morning of summer? Much pleasanter to skim over the water, mindful only of the waving branches of the great elms overhead and the grassy bankings dotted with the yellow blossoms of the arnica.

That was his philosophy, I thought, and I sympathized with it. But I realized that it was not for me. The grindingcares of life oppressed me, and left no time for idle amusement. My needs had driven me forth with a glass fruit-jar filled with water, and I must capture that Lucky-bug. He might continue his antics, but it must be in the narrow, circumscribed limits of the fruit-jar; not on the surface of the frog pond.

That good luck would attend me if I could catch him, I had no manner of doubt. Billy Mason had cited specific instances of the extreme felicity of those who caught and held these small black water-beetles, and Jimmy Toppan reënforced Billy's thesis by relating that it was only four months afterhehad caught a Lucky-bug that his father had bought him a Shetland pony.

The possession of a pony was beyond my utmost hopes, but I did pray, at least, that when I had attained a Lucky-bug the misfortunes which had assailed meduring the last three days might come to an end. Indeed, at that moment of desperation, fresh from my unhappy meeting with the parochial school boys, I would have gladly foregone any future pony for the mere privilege of being let alone by whatever malign deity it was that seemed bent on pestering me.

The Lucky-bug sailed warily about, never coming within easy reach. Evidently he had noticed me and my fruit-jar. If I had brought a net, his capture would have been easy, but the authorities held that he ought to be seized with the hand. Otherwise, the charm might fail.

I observed him in silence, and at last was glad to see that his motions were bringing him nearer the shore. He darted in and out, but, on the whole, came gradually within reach.

I leaned forward over the water, my hand outstretched.

Another swift movement brought him nearer me. Evidently he had decided that I was not a hostile object. His trustfulness was going to get him into trouble. Still another slide toward me, and I made a quick grab at him.

But he was quicker. He seized a tiny bubble—where he got it, I could not see—and dived like a flash, carrying the bubble with him. It was evidently his air supply, or else for illuminating purposes,—I could not be sure which, but he looked like a diver carrying an electric searchlight.

Once he reached the bottom—it was only about six inches distant there at the edge of the pond—he became invisible among the pebbles and bits of wood. I groped about, but could not dislodge him.

So I drew back and waited. In a few moments he came to the surface again, ayard or two to the left. I made ready to snatch at him once more, but he was plainly cautious now, for he went below with his bubble before I had any chance of getting him.

I decided to look for another Lucky-bug with less suspicion in his character, and I set out to stroll around the pond.

A little farther along I found two or three toads,—meditating, apparently, near the edge of the water. I reflected on the unfairness of calling that pond after the gay and handsome frog when it was almost exclusively occupied by that more sedate and useful citizen, the toad. That was the way of the world as it seemed to me on that morning. The frog had a smart coat, his carriage was jaunty, and his movements nimble. Also was he an expert swimmer. When you had said that about him you had said all.

Nobody liked the toad's appearance;his progress on land was lumbering, to say the least, and no one thought of going to him for swimming lessons. With him swimming was a duty during certain weeks of the year. With the frog it was an art and a joy forever. But did the frog ever contribute to the happiness of the world as the toad had been doing but a few weeks earlier?

I think not.

The toad had not only the nightingale's eyes; he had, during those early spring months, the other gift of the nightingale as well. Had not all heard him on the mild evenings when, with his throat swelled out, he trilled love songs that made the whole pond musical? And did any one give him credit?

No; they said, "Hear thefrogssinging!"

Musing thus on the black injustice of things, I circled the pond and came againto the haunt of the original Lucky-bug. There he was, or his twin, skimming about as before. I approached, stooped over, reached out my hand, and grabbed.

I had him!

He was instantly in the fruit-jar, where he seemed perfectly contented, sailing and diving as if he were on the pond.

I walked home triumphant. Did my luck change? Can you ask the question? I do not want to make the case too strong, for my attitude is that of the scientific investigator. So I will mention only two of the events that followed the capture of that Lucky-bug.

And mind, please, that both of them occurred on that same Thursday.

On my way home, I found the works of an old alarm clock which somebody had abandoned. The cover, face, and bell were gone; but you could still wind it up and make a delightful whirringsound, calculated to distract all grown-ups.

That was not all.

When I got home, I found that there was to be blueberry pudding for dinner—and my brother was gone for the day!

CHAPTER XVIWEST INJY LANEEvery one called it "West Injy Lane," but some of the property holders had put up a sign-post with the words, "Washington Avenue."There was never a Washington Avenue which looked so little like one. A pleasant old road,—it had not greatly changed its appearance since the day when the man for whom it had been renamed passed by. It meandered along, innocent of sidewalks, and bordered, right and left, with grass. A pond at one end was musical all the spring and summer,—first with the high notes of the "peepers," then with the soprano trilling oftoads, and finally with the gruff performances of basso-profundo bullfrogs.Cows and sheep nibbled the grass at the sides of the road, or grazed in the meadows beyond the stone walls. There were only five or six farm-houses throughout the mile and a half of the lane, and their barns stood open all summer, while the swallows flashed in and out. Solemn files of white ducks waddled down to the pond, where they spread devastation among the minnows and polliwogs, and then waddled contentedly back again, clapping their yellow bills as if smacking their lips. Their bills and feet gleamed in the sunlight.It does not seem that any kind of weather but bright sunshine ever prevailed in West Injy Lane. Certainly, Ed Mason and I did not see how it could be improved. At one end, near the pond, was the country grocery where youcould get weighed on the scales, and buy jumbles (shaped like an elephant) at two for a cent. Near the other end was Haskell's Field,—a hallowed spot, for it always contained one or two grass-covered rings, the relics of circuses past and the promise of circuses to come.Midway between the two, and in front of one of the houses, was a gigantic and half-ruined elm, already celebrated in legend and verse. Its romantic story never impressed us, except to make me wonder how it happened that when the young man had stuck a willow branch into the ground in front of his sweetheart's dwelling, an elm tree should have sprouted therefrom."'Twasn't a willow," said Ed Mason, as we walked through the lane one morning, "'twas a piece of elm.""'Twasa willow," I retorted."How do you know?""'Cos Charley Carter told me.""He don't know anything 'bout it.""Yes, he does, too! Fred Noyes told him, and Peter Bailey toldhim, and Cap'n Bannister toldhim."Ed was silent.The name of Captain Bannister was potent. He lived in a house on this very lane,—a small, red-faced man with black hair. He had been a sailor, it was said, but he was a farmer now, so far as he had any occupation at all. He had no family and no servants, and he dwelt alone with a fluctuating number of cats.His house was painted white,—spotless and shining. It was without blinds, and so dazzling as to make you sneeze when you looked at it. The path up to his front door was lined, not with the usual white-washed rocks, but with large white sea-shells from some foreign country. Back of these were double rows ofcinnamon pinks, the Captain's joy and pride.Once I had been taken by my elders to call on Captain Bannister. He showed us around his house,—a museum of curiosities. But of all the stuffed birds, all the spiny and prickly fishes, all the curious bits of coral and wooden ships somehow stuffed into glass bottles,—none had seemed so interesting as a small box filled with what the Captain assured me was "tooth-powder from China." That the Chinese should know and use a pink substance so much like that with which I had to struggle every morning seemed to me nothing less than marvellous.The fact had another aspect as well,—it robbed foreign travel of one of its charms. If one could wander so far and still be pursued by enervating domestic customs, one might as well stay at home.Why subject yourself to the dangers of the deep if liberty fled always before your coming?One room in the Captain's house gave me a fright. It was a small, dark apartment, a closet for size. In it the owner had chosen to place four or five lay figures in old-fashioned garments. They had dried pumpkins for heads and they sat in ghostly silence amid the gloom. There was a man with a pipe in his mouth sitting in front of an empty fireplace, an old woman, and two or three children. There was even a baby in a cradle,—its yellow, pumpkin face looking out from a ruffled cap.I did not linger there.Ever since that visit the silent family had haunted my dreams, and I more than half suspected that Captain Bannister would like to lock me up in the room with them. I did not know what advantagehe would get by such an action, but its possibility seemed very near.Even on the bright morning that Ed Mason and I, walking through West Injy Lane engaged in a discussion about the old tree—even then, to me the Captain's house was an eerie place.There was no reason—aside from the pumpkin family—why it should be so. It glistened with all its usual brightness, and there was the owner himself puttering about in the little garden. Ed Mason walked up to the picket fence, bold as a lion, and addressed the captain in an easy, conversational tone."Good mornin', Cap'n Bannister!"The sailor faced about."Hullo, boys! Won't yer come in?... Yer needn't be afraid, I won't hurt yer."This last was for my benefit; I had not shown as much readiness to enter the gate as had my companion."Come right in."So I went in. The next remark of the old man did much to put everything on an agreeable footing."Do you boys like peaches?"We did like peaches, and we said so."Well, just wait till I pull up two or three of these plantains, an' we'll go round to the side of the house an' see if there's any on the tree.... There ... now come on."We followed him around the corner of the house. A black cat with a white breast came running to meet his master."Hullo, here's Nickerdemus; I told him to watch the peaches. Did yer keep the bees away, Nickerdemus?"Nicodemus yawned and gave every sign of having been asleep, after the manner of his kind when there is no personal advantage in keeping awake.The captain put a ladder against thetree, climbed up, and began to drop peaches to us. Until then I had a faint suspicion that he might be merely luring us on and on toward the room where sat the pumpkin family. But all such suspicions vanished now. You cannot think ill of a man who gives you peaches like those.Ed Mason intended to find out about the old elm tree, and he broached the subject fearlessly."Cap'n, Sam says thatyousaid they planted a piece of willow where the old elm came up.""What's that? No; they didn't plant no willow, but all this about the young feller that came callin' on his girl, an' cut a stick to keep off the dogs, an' stuck the stick in the ground in front of her door, an' then went away an' forgot it, an' the tree grew outer that stick,—all that's bosh. Don't yer believe it."We promised not to believe it. The captain came down the ladder with two more peaches, which he passed over to us. He stood, watching us eat them, and enlarged on the subject of the tree."I know all 'bout it, 'cos my second cousin, Silas Winkley, lived there, an' his great-gran'father planted that there tree jus' like any other tree. Silas's great-gran'father, ol' Deacon Plummer, wa'n't callin' on any girls there, 'cos he was up'ards of seventy when he planted the tree, an' had children an' gran'-children of his own. These here poems is all cat's-foot-in-yer-pocket!"We did not know exactly what that meant, but it seemed to cast some doubt on the truth of the legend, at any rate."Silas Winkley," ruminated the Captain, "thought he was a sailor. He went two or three v'yges with ol' Dick Cutter an' fin'lly he got Melvin Bailey,—gran'-fatherofthisMelvin that's alive now, to give him command of a ship. I've heard my father tell 'bout it lots of times,—he was second mate. She was theNanny Karr,—spelt it with a K, they did then. Well, Silas took her down as fur as Nantucket all right,—hee, hee, hee!"Here Captain Bannister paused and chuckled for a few moments."Yes, siree, he got her down there without no difficulties,—hee, hee, hee! an' then he run her plumb on to the south side of the island. In a dead ca'm, mind yer, an' on a night as clear as a whistle. The crew all went ashore,—they could a dropped off'n her bows on to land without wettin' their feet a'most, an' the next mornin' Silas went aboard ag'in to git his wife's knittin'-needles,—his wife was along with him."The captain paused again to choke and wheeze."Well, in a day or two there come a high tide, an' they got whale-boats, an' hawsers, an' some fellers on the island, an' they got her off all right,—she wa'n't no ways hurt in the sand, an' they went on their way rej'icin',—'cept Melvin Bailey, who had had a hunderd an' forty dollars of his forked out to the fellers with the whale-boats. However, he didn't know nothin' 'bout this till months arterwards. Silas set out ag'in, he was bound for Fayal,—d'yer know where Fayal is?"We were silent, till at last I suggested:"It's in Spain, I mean Portugal, isn't it?""Now look at that! I betcher when I was your age there wa'n't any boy inthistown that didn't know Fayal. It's one o' the Azores, an' some ways this side of Spain or Portugal either. Well, Silas was bound for Fayal, but he hadthe most terrible luck you ever see. Fust, he run into a gale and got drove way south of the Capes. When he wrote back to Melvin Bailey 'bout this gale he said that the seas run tremenjus high, an' that the ship was put into great jeopardy. Well, Melvin wa'n't what yer call a very edjicated man, an' he got down his atlas an'—hee, hee, hee! an' tried to find Great Jeopardy! Hee, hee, hee!"I thought I was not appreciating the joke to its utmost, so I inquired politely:"WhereisGreat Jeopardy, Cap'n?""It ain't nowhere, son. That's just the pint of the hull thing,—there ain't no such place! 'Jeopardy' meansdanger, an' all Silas meant was that, owin' to the gale, the ship was put into danger,—hee, hee, hee! I s'pose Melvin thought 'twas one of them islands like the Lesser Antilles, or some ofthem."This time Ed Mason and I could join in Captain Bannister's mirth. The captain, still chuckling, led the way across the yard and sat down on the stone doorstep, warm in the noon sunshine. Ed and I perched on a grass banking beside him to hear the further adventures of Silas Winkley."Well, Silas he kep' havin' bad luck. His fust mate, Andy Spauldin', was took down sick pretty soon with yaller janders, an' that left Silas an' my father to navigate the ship. It was my father's fust v'yge as an officer, an' I guess he wa'n't no great shakes navigatin',—though he was most as good as Silas was, at that.""In 'bout two weeks they made what Silas thought was Fayal. Silas sailed into harbor as proud as Nebberkernezzar, when one of the men come up an' says, says he, 'That ain't Fayal, Cap'n,' butSilas told him to shut his mouth, he guessed he knew where he was without no Joppa clam-digger tellin' him his business. Yer see Silas he was born over to Ipswich, an' terrible proud of it,—I dunno why. But after he'd come to anchor, an' he'd got on his shore clothes, he got into the boat an' went ashore. It didn't take him long to find out that the feller was right; it wa'n't Fayal, it wa'n't even one of the Azores, he hadn't made no east'ard at all,—hee, hee, hee! Hee, hee, hee! It was—hee, hee, hee!"The captain's laughing was so prolonged this time, he was so doubled up with excruciating merriment as to cause us some anxiety. He coughed and strangled, and his usually red face became deep purple. Finally he managed to control himself enough to gasp faintly:—"It was one of theWest Injies! Yessir, Silas had sailed pretty nigh due south after the gale was over, an' here he was on one of the West Injy Islands. I dunno what one: my father said Silas wouldn't never tell 'em, thoughhereckoned it might 'a' been Cubia. Joe Noyes was in the crew, an' he said it was further to the east'ard than Cubia, but it was one of the West Injies all right. The story got out, of course, when theNannygot back here, an,' when Silas come down to live on this lane with his mother's folks,—for Melvin Bailey didn't ask him to command no more ships,—why then they began to call this West Injy Lane. That wa'n't its name,—'twas Plummer's Lane, but folks has called it West Injy Lane ever since,—'cept these cotty-dummers that want it called Washington Avenue. Yessir, that's the way it happened."And then the captain added, somewhat irrelevantly:—"So yer see I know all 'bout that tree, an' yer don't want to believe any of them poets!"

WEST INJY LANE

Every one called it "West Injy Lane," but some of the property holders had put up a sign-post with the words, "Washington Avenue."

There was never a Washington Avenue which looked so little like one. A pleasant old road,—it had not greatly changed its appearance since the day when the man for whom it had been renamed passed by. It meandered along, innocent of sidewalks, and bordered, right and left, with grass. A pond at one end was musical all the spring and summer,—first with the high notes of the "peepers," then with the soprano trilling oftoads, and finally with the gruff performances of basso-profundo bullfrogs.

Cows and sheep nibbled the grass at the sides of the road, or grazed in the meadows beyond the stone walls. There were only five or six farm-houses throughout the mile and a half of the lane, and their barns stood open all summer, while the swallows flashed in and out. Solemn files of white ducks waddled down to the pond, where they spread devastation among the minnows and polliwogs, and then waddled contentedly back again, clapping their yellow bills as if smacking their lips. Their bills and feet gleamed in the sunlight.

It does not seem that any kind of weather but bright sunshine ever prevailed in West Injy Lane. Certainly, Ed Mason and I did not see how it could be improved. At one end, near the pond, was the country grocery where youcould get weighed on the scales, and buy jumbles (shaped like an elephant) at two for a cent. Near the other end was Haskell's Field,—a hallowed spot, for it always contained one or two grass-covered rings, the relics of circuses past and the promise of circuses to come.

Midway between the two, and in front of one of the houses, was a gigantic and half-ruined elm, already celebrated in legend and verse. Its romantic story never impressed us, except to make me wonder how it happened that when the young man had stuck a willow branch into the ground in front of his sweetheart's dwelling, an elm tree should have sprouted therefrom.

"'Twasn't a willow," said Ed Mason, as we walked through the lane one morning, "'twas a piece of elm."

"'Twasa willow," I retorted.

"How do you know?"

"'Cos Charley Carter told me."

"He don't know anything 'bout it."

"Yes, he does, too! Fred Noyes told him, and Peter Bailey toldhim, and Cap'n Bannister toldhim."

Ed was silent.

The name of Captain Bannister was potent. He lived in a house on this very lane,—a small, red-faced man with black hair. He had been a sailor, it was said, but he was a farmer now, so far as he had any occupation at all. He had no family and no servants, and he dwelt alone with a fluctuating number of cats.

His house was painted white,—spotless and shining. It was without blinds, and so dazzling as to make you sneeze when you looked at it. The path up to his front door was lined, not with the usual white-washed rocks, but with large white sea-shells from some foreign country. Back of these were double rows ofcinnamon pinks, the Captain's joy and pride.

Once I had been taken by my elders to call on Captain Bannister. He showed us around his house,—a museum of curiosities. But of all the stuffed birds, all the spiny and prickly fishes, all the curious bits of coral and wooden ships somehow stuffed into glass bottles,—none had seemed so interesting as a small box filled with what the Captain assured me was "tooth-powder from China." That the Chinese should know and use a pink substance so much like that with which I had to struggle every morning seemed to me nothing less than marvellous.

The fact had another aspect as well,—it robbed foreign travel of one of its charms. If one could wander so far and still be pursued by enervating domestic customs, one might as well stay at home.Why subject yourself to the dangers of the deep if liberty fled always before your coming?

One room in the Captain's house gave me a fright. It was a small, dark apartment, a closet for size. In it the owner had chosen to place four or five lay figures in old-fashioned garments. They had dried pumpkins for heads and they sat in ghostly silence amid the gloom. There was a man with a pipe in his mouth sitting in front of an empty fireplace, an old woman, and two or three children. There was even a baby in a cradle,—its yellow, pumpkin face looking out from a ruffled cap.

I did not linger there.

Ever since that visit the silent family had haunted my dreams, and I more than half suspected that Captain Bannister would like to lock me up in the room with them. I did not know what advantagehe would get by such an action, but its possibility seemed very near.

Even on the bright morning that Ed Mason and I, walking through West Injy Lane engaged in a discussion about the old tree—even then, to me the Captain's house was an eerie place.

There was no reason—aside from the pumpkin family—why it should be so. It glistened with all its usual brightness, and there was the owner himself puttering about in the little garden. Ed Mason walked up to the picket fence, bold as a lion, and addressed the captain in an easy, conversational tone.

"Good mornin', Cap'n Bannister!"

The sailor faced about.

"Hullo, boys! Won't yer come in?... Yer needn't be afraid, I won't hurt yer."

This last was for my benefit; I had not shown as much readiness to enter the gate as had my companion.

"Come right in."

So I went in. The next remark of the old man did much to put everything on an agreeable footing.

"Do you boys like peaches?"

We did like peaches, and we said so.

"Well, just wait till I pull up two or three of these plantains, an' we'll go round to the side of the house an' see if there's any on the tree.... There ... now come on."

We followed him around the corner of the house. A black cat with a white breast came running to meet his master.

"Hullo, here's Nickerdemus; I told him to watch the peaches. Did yer keep the bees away, Nickerdemus?"

Nicodemus yawned and gave every sign of having been asleep, after the manner of his kind when there is no personal advantage in keeping awake.

The captain put a ladder against thetree, climbed up, and began to drop peaches to us. Until then I had a faint suspicion that he might be merely luring us on and on toward the room where sat the pumpkin family. But all such suspicions vanished now. You cannot think ill of a man who gives you peaches like those.

Ed Mason intended to find out about the old elm tree, and he broached the subject fearlessly.

"Cap'n, Sam says thatyousaid they planted a piece of willow where the old elm came up."

"What's that? No; they didn't plant no willow, but all this about the young feller that came callin' on his girl, an' cut a stick to keep off the dogs, an' stuck the stick in the ground in front of her door, an' then went away an' forgot it, an' the tree grew outer that stick,—all that's bosh. Don't yer believe it."

We promised not to believe it. The captain came down the ladder with two more peaches, which he passed over to us. He stood, watching us eat them, and enlarged on the subject of the tree.

"I know all 'bout it, 'cos my second cousin, Silas Winkley, lived there, an' his great-gran'father planted that there tree jus' like any other tree. Silas's great-gran'father, ol' Deacon Plummer, wa'n't callin' on any girls there, 'cos he was up'ards of seventy when he planted the tree, an' had children an' gran'-children of his own. These here poems is all cat's-foot-in-yer-pocket!"

We did not know exactly what that meant, but it seemed to cast some doubt on the truth of the legend, at any rate.

"Silas Winkley," ruminated the Captain, "thought he was a sailor. He went two or three v'yges with ol' Dick Cutter an' fin'lly he got Melvin Bailey,—gran'-fatherofthisMelvin that's alive now, to give him command of a ship. I've heard my father tell 'bout it lots of times,—he was second mate. She was theNanny Karr,—spelt it with a K, they did then. Well, Silas took her down as fur as Nantucket all right,—hee, hee, hee!"

Here Captain Bannister paused and chuckled for a few moments.

"Yes, siree, he got her down there without no difficulties,—hee, hee, hee! an' then he run her plumb on to the south side of the island. In a dead ca'm, mind yer, an' on a night as clear as a whistle. The crew all went ashore,—they could a dropped off'n her bows on to land without wettin' their feet a'most, an' the next mornin' Silas went aboard ag'in to git his wife's knittin'-needles,—his wife was along with him."

The captain paused again to choke and wheeze.

"Well, in a day or two there come a high tide, an' they got whale-boats, an' hawsers, an' some fellers on the island, an' they got her off all right,—she wa'n't no ways hurt in the sand, an' they went on their way rej'icin',—'cept Melvin Bailey, who had had a hunderd an' forty dollars of his forked out to the fellers with the whale-boats. However, he didn't know nothin' 'bout this till months arterwards. Silas set out ag'in, he was bound for Fayal,—d'yer know where Fayal is?"

We were silent, till at last I suggested:

"It's in Spain, I mean Portugal, isn't it?"

"Now look at that! I betcher when I was your age there wa'n't any boy inthistown that didn't know Fayal. It's one o' the Azores, an' some ways this side of Spain or Portugal either. Well, Silas was bound for Fayal, but he hadthe most terrible luck you ever see. Fust, he run into a gale and got drove way south of the Capes. When he wrote back to Melvin Bailey 'bout this gale he said that the seas run tremenjus high, an' that the ship was put into great jeopardy. Well, Melvin wa'n't what yer call a very edjicated man, an' he got down his atlas an'—hee, hee, hee! an' tried to find Great Jeopardy! Hee, hee, hee!"

I thought I was not appreciating the joke to its utmost, so I inquired politely:

"WhereisGreat Jeopardy, Cap'n?"

"It ain't nowhere, son. That's just the pint of the hull thing,—there ain't no such place! 'Jeopardy' meansdanger, an' all Silas meant was that, owin' to the gale, the ship was put into danger,—hee, hee, hee! I s'pose Melvin thought 'twas one of them islands like the Lesser Antilles, or some ofthem."

This time Ed Mason and I could join in Captain Bannister's mirth. The captain, still chuckling, led the way across the yard and sat down on the stone doorstep, warm in the noon sunshine. Ed and I perched on a grass banking beside him to hear the further adventures of Silas Winkley.

"Well, Silas he kep' havin' bad luck. His fust mate, Andy Spauldin', was took down sick pretty soon with yaller janders, an' that left Silas an' my father to navigate the ship. It was my father's fust v'yge as an officer, an' I guess he wa'n't no great shakes navigatin',—though he was most as good as Silas was, at that."

"In 'bout two weeks they made what Silas thought was Fayal. Silas sailed into harbor as proud as Nebberkernezzar, when one of the men come up an' says, says he, 'That ain't Fayal, Cap'n,' butSilas told him to shut his mouth, he guessed he knew where he was without no Joppa clam-digger tellin' him his business. Yer see Silas he was born over to Ipswich, an' terrible proud of it,—I dunno why. But after he'd come to anchor, an' he'd got on his shore clothes, he got into the boat an' went ashore. It didn't take him long to find out that the feller was right; it wa'n't Fayal, it wa'n't even one of the Azores, he hadn't made no east'ard at all,—hee, hee, hee! Hee, hee, hee! It was—hee, hee, hee!"

The captain's laughing was so prolonged this time, he was so doubled up with excruciating merriment as to cause us some anxiety. He coughed and strangled, and his usually red face became deep purple. Finally he managed to control himself enough to gasp faintly:—

"It was one of theWest Injies! Yessir, Silas had sailed pretty nigh due south after the gale was over, an' here he was on one of the West Injy Islands. I dunno what one: my father said Silas wouldn't never tell 'em, thoughhereckoned it might 'a' been Cubia. Joe Noyes was in the crew, an' he said it was further to the east'ard than Cubia, but it was one of the West Injies all right. The story got out, of course, when theNannygot back here, an,' when Silas come down to live on this lane with his mother's folks,—for Melvin Bailey didn't ask him to command no more ships,—why then they began to call this West Injy Lane. That wa'n't its name,—'twas Plummer's Lane, but folks has called it West Injy Lane ever since,—'cept these cotty-dummers that want it called Washington Avenue. Yessir, that's the way it happened."

And then the captain added, somewhat irrelevantly:—

"So yer see I know all 'bout that tree, an' yer don't want to believe any of them poets!"

CHAPTER XVIITHEIR UNACCOUNTABLE BEHAVIORMy orders were explicit.I was to take a note up to the Bigelow's house on Elm Street, and I was to give the note to Miss Carew. There was no answer. After delivering the note I might do as I pleased, but I must not be late for dinner.The member of my family who issued these directions was one with whom it paid to keep on good terms. I might have felt grieved about this errand on such a morning, but I had already found that Jimmy Toppan and Ed Mason had departed from their homes on some private mission which did not seem to include me. Bereft of playmates I hadspent a lonely half-hour in the side yard, blowing on blades of grass, and raising fiendish shrieks therewith. So my employment on business which would send me far from home was mutually agreeable. I had only one request to make."Can I go on my velocipede?""Yes; but don't go too fast and get overheated, and don't lose the note."The prohibition about going too fast was superfluous. The velocipede had tires which were but bands of iron. Progress upon it, over the uneven brick sidewalks, was slow and not altogether painless. The pedals (they looked like large spools) were attached at such an angle that a thrilling speed was hard to attain.But to me, as I rode it along the pleasant, shaded sidewalks of Elm Street on that morning, it was a chariot of joy.Naturally, I paused for a moment atMr. Hawkins's gate to exchange salutations with that gentleman. Mr. Hawkins did not believe that it would rain: though it might. Fortified with this information, I continued past Jimmy Toppan's house, past the frog pond and the school. I proceeded at a moderate rate,—not over three-quarters of a mile an hour. At the street crossings, paved as they were with cobblestones, it was, on the whole, easier to dismount and wheel my velocipede.When I reached Higginson's toy-shop I stopped again, flattened my nose against the window, and observed the condition of the market. There had been a sharp break in marbles, evidently,—they were now offered at fifteen for a cent. Return-balls remained firm, however; and tops had advanced. After I had noted these facts, and concluded, further, that some one had, since yesterday,purchased two of the five sticks of striped candy from the glass jar in the window, I continued on my journey.Fifteen minutes later I reached the Bigelow house,—a square, three-storied residence set a little back from the street. The front door was open, and you could look right through the broad, cool hall, through a back door, and down the garden path. Everything about the house was big, and quiet, and cool, and there was no one to be seen, and no sign of any one,—except for a tall bicycle which stood at the curb-stone.I knew that bicycle: it belonged to a neighbor of mine,—Mr. Dennett. He was a grave, elderly man of nearly twenty-one years. Before him I stood in speechless awe. Most of the time, except in summer, he was away at a place called Harvard, which drew many of his kind.In summer he, with others like him, rode about on bicycles, and did various interesting things. Often they played tennis at a place farther up Elm Street. Sometimes, on these occasions, Ed Mason and I had been allowed to stand outside the high wire nets, and fetch back balls when they were knocked into the street,—a privilege which we especially esteemed.The balls were of the most fascinating kind imaginable: they would bounce to a tremendous height, and it was rumored that they cost thirty cents apiece.I wondered why Mr. Dennett was at the Bigelows'.However, there was my note to deliver. I left my red velocipede standing beside the enormous bicycle, and rang the front door-bell. After a long wait, a very red-faced, cross-looking woman—not Mrs. Bigelow at all—came to the door."A letther fer Miss Keroo? Well, ye'd betther be afther takin' it to her yersilf. She's out in the garrden, there. An' no more time have I to waste in runnin' fer this bell ivry foive minutes!"And she went away, muttering. I was not surprised to see her so cross. They always were cross; it was their normal condition. I walked through the hall and took the garden path.It was lined on both sides with box, and beyond were flower-beds. Also there were apple trees, and cherry trees, and peach trees,—the last full of red and yellow fruit. A number of bees were inquiring into the hollyhocks, and on a stalk of Canterbury bells sat a brown and black butterfly, slowly opening and closing his wings.But I could not see Miss Carew. Near the foot of the garden the path was arched by a summer-house. Its latticedsides were covered thick with clematis and trumpet-vine. I kept on down the path and walked into the summer-house.There was a quick exclamation, and Miss Carew arose hastily from a seat in the corner. Mr. Dennett was sitting there, and he had a curious expression on his face, which made him rather more terrible to me than usual. Miss Carew, like the cross woman who had let me into the house, had very red cheeks. But in the case of Miss Carew the color was not permanent. It was more noticeable at this moment than I had ever seen it before; but it did not last."Why, it's Sammy!" said Miss Carew, with a laugh.I disliked being called "Sammy" before Mr. Dennett, and I felt my face grow red also. I remembered that Miss Carew was a stranger, who had been visiting the Bigelows scarcely two months, but I corrected her just the same."Sam," I remarked, with dignity."Sam," she repeated apologetically.Then I took the note out of my jacket pocket, and handed it to her. She thanked me, opened the envelope, and read the message. Then she said that it was "all right," and added that I was a good boy to bring the note.Encouraged by this flattery, I backed to a bench on the other side of the summer-house, and sat down facing them. Miss Carew had seated herself again,—though at a somewhat greater distance from Mr. Dennett than before.There was a slight pause.Miss Carew asked me how I came,—had I walked all the way?"No," I replied, "I rode my velocipede.""Did you, really?" she said; "that's a long ride for you, isn't it?"It interested me to hear Miss Carewtalk,—she came from some part of the country where they have a greater respect for the letter R than was usual with us. But I denied that I was fatigued."No'm; it ain't far at all! Once," I continued, growing reminiscent, "I rode nearly up to Chain Bridge!""Is that so?""Yes'm; but when I got up to the Three Roads, Mr. Titcomb came along, an' said I'd better go back,—it was so hot.""Did you go back?""Yes."There was another silence, which Miss Carew again broke."What kind of a velocipede is yours?" she asked."A wooden one," I assured her.Then it struck me that the conversation was becoming a trifle inane, and I tried to make things more interesting."My velocipede is out in front of the house now,—you can come out and see it, if you want to."But Miss Carew thought she would defer that pleasure till another time.Mr. Dennett took the witness."Do you go to school, Sam?"Really, it seemed that he might have done better than that. I had that question asked me about five hundred times a year by grown-ups. Evidently this Harvard was not the place I had thought. But I answered him."Not now: it's vacation.""Yes, I know. But you go when it isn't vacation?""Oh, yes.""What school,—the Jackman?""No; the Kelley.""Oh! Whose room?""Last year I was in Miss Temple's, an' next I'll be in Miss Philipps's."I had apparently satisfied Mr. Dennett's curiosity, for he relapsed into silence. There was a long pause, while I swung my legs, and looked at them expectantly. I was quite ready to answer more questions if they had them to put.They did not seem to think of any point on which they required information for two or three minutes. Then Mr. Dennett did make an inquiry,—or, rather, a suggestion."Perhaps your mother may want you for something, Sam?"But I was able to set his mind at rest instantly."Oh, no; she don't want me till one o'clock, an' it's only half-past ten, now.""Later than that, isn't it?""No, sir. I saw the 'Piscopal clock when I came by."He seemed to be relieved at this, but presently he had another question to ask:"Do you care for blackberries, Sam?""Yes! Have you got any?""There are some down the hill, there,—against the fence. Why don't you go and get them?""Thank you,—shall I bring some of them back to you?""No,—just eat 'em yourself, and have a good time."This was by far the most sensible thing he had said, and I hurried down to the blackberry bushes. But when I got to them, and inspected the long, thorny branches, I found that my expectations were to be disappointed. If there had been any good berries they had been picked. All that remained were unripe.I hurried back to the summer-house, and burst in upon its occupants. They seemed to be having some kind of a misunderstanding: Miss Carew had a bookin her hands, which Mr. Dennett was trying to take from her."Hullo! Back already? What was the matter with the blackberries,—are they green?""No," I replied, "they are red,—but they're red when they're green, you know."And I climbed back to my former place on the bench opposite them. Immediately, Mr. Dennett became concerned about my velocipede."Did you leave your velocipede in the street, Sam? Aren't you afraid some one will steal it?"I laughed."Oh, I guess not. I left it right beside your bicycle, an' there wouldn't any one dare to touch it,—would they, Miss Carew?"The lady agreed that it would require great boldness, but still, she thought, itmight be well for me to go and see if it were safe.To allay her uneasiness I went back as far as the house, and looked through the hall. Both the machines were there, in perfect safety. I returned to the summer-house, and reported the fact, pleased at being able to tell my friends that they need not worry.As I was climbing to my seat again, Mr. Dennett had another suggestion."Look here, Sam, we saw a squirrel in Mr. Moulton's trees when we came out here. Don't you want to go and see if you can find him?"A squirrel is always worth seeing. I asked one or two questions concerning his whereabouts, and then departed, promising to return as soon as I found him. Mr. Moulton's trees were many, and after I had gone through the hole in the hedge, I instituted a careful inspection of each tree.Mr. Moulton came down the drive, and when I told him what I was looking for, he joined in the hunt. I can truthfully say that we examined each branch with care.But no squirrel appeared at all, though we saw three blackbirds, and plenty of robins. When I got back to the summer-house Miss Carew and Mr. Dennett were both gone, although they had left the book behind. I searched and called, but could not find them any more than I had found the squirrel.As I departed down Elm Street again on my velocipede, I thought the matter over at some length. Mr. Dennett had not left the premises, unless he had done so without his bicycle, for that remained where I had first seen it.There was something singular about their behavior. Had they, perchance, picked all the ripe blackberries before Iarrived, and had they been trying, with so much artifice, to conceal that fact from me?That was the most reasonable explanation I could devise,—and, certainly, the circumstances demanded some kind of explanation.

THEIR UNACCOUNTABLE BEHAVIOR

My orders were explicit.

I was to take a note up to the Bigelow's house on Elm Street, and I was to give the note to Miss Carew. There was no answer. After delivering the note I might do as I pleased, but I must not be late for dinner.

The member of my family who issued these directions was one with whom it paid to keep on good terms. I might have felt grieved about this errand on such a morning, but I had already found that Jimmy Toppan and Ed Mason had departed from their homes on some private mission which did not seem to include me. Bereft of playmates I hadspent a lonely half-hour in the side yard, blowing on blades of grass, and raising fiendish shrieks therewith. So my employment on business which would send me far from home was mutually agreeable. I had only one request to make.

"Can I go on my velocipede?"

"Yes; but don't go too fast and get overheated, and don't lose the note."

The prohibition about going too fast was superfluous. The velocipede had tires which were but bands of iron. Progress upon it, over the uneven brick sidewalks, was slow and not altogether painless. The pedals (they looked like large spools) were attached at such an angle that a thrilling speed was hard to attain.

But to me, as I rode it along the pleasant, shaded sidewalks of Elm Street on that morning, it was a chariot of joy.

Naturally, I paused for a moment atMr. Hawkins's gate to exchange salutations with that gentleman. Mr. Hawkins did not believe that it would rain: though it might. Fortified with this information, I continued past Jimmy Toppan's house, past the frog pond and the school. I proceeded at a moderate rate,—not over three-quarters of a mile an hour. At the street crossings, paved as they were with cobblestones, it was, on the whole, easier to dismount and wheel my velocipede.

When I reached Higginson's toy-shop I stopped again, flattened my nose against the window, and observed the condition of the market. There had been a sharp break in marbles, evidently,—they were now offered at fifteen for a cent. Return-balls remained firm, however; and tops had advanced. After I had noted these facts, and concluded, further, that some one had, since yesterday,purchased two of the five sticks of striped candy from the glass jar in the window, I continued on my journey.

Fifteen minutes later I reached the Bigelow house,—a square, three-storied residence set a little back from the street. The front door was open, and you could look right through the broad, cool hall, through a back door, and down the garden path. Everything about the house was big, and quiet, and cool, and there was no one to be seen, and no sign of any one,—except for a tall bicycle which stood at the curb-stone.

I knew that bicycle: it belonged to a neighbor of mine,—Mr. Dennett. He was a grave, elderly man of nearly twenty-one years. Before him I stood in speechless awe. Most of the time, except in summer, he was away at a place called Harvard, which drew many of his kind.

In summer he, with others like him, rode about on bicycles, and did various interesting things. Often they played tennis at a place farther up Elm Street. Sometimes, on these occasions, Ed Mason and I had been allowed to stand outside the high wire nets, and fetch back balls when they were knocked into the street,—a privilege which we especially esteemed.

The balls were of the most fascinating kind imaginable: they would bounce to a tremendous height, and it was rumored that they cost thirty cents apiece.

I wondered why Mr. Dennett was at the Bigelows'.

However, there was my note to deliver. I left my red velocipede standing beside the enormous bicycle, and rang the front door-bell. After a long wait, a very red-faced, cross-looking woman—not Mrs. Bigelow at all—came to the door.

"A letther fer Miss Keroo? Well, ye'd betther be afther takin' it to her yersilf. She's out in the garrden, there. An' no more time have I to waste in runnin' fer this bell ivry foive minutes!"

And she went away, muttering. I was not surprised to see her so cross. They always were cross; it was their normal condition. I walked through the hall and took the garden path.

It was lined on both sides with box, and beyond were flower-beds. Also there were apple trees, and cherry trees, and peach trees,—the last full of red and yellow fruit. A number of bees were inquiring into the hollyhocks, and on a stalk of Canterbury bells sat a brown and black butterfly, slowly opening and closing his wings.

But I could not see Miss Carew. Near the foot of the garden the path was arched by a summer-house. Its latticedsides were covered thick with clematis and trumpet-vine. I kept on down the path and walked into the summer-house.

There was a quick exclamation, and Miss Carew arose hastily from a seat in the corner. Mr. Dennett was sitting there, and he had a curious expression on his face, which made him rather more terrible to me than usual. Miss Carew, like the cross woman who had let me into the house, had very red cheeks. But in the case of Miss Carew the color was not permanent. It was more noticeable at this moment than I had ever seen it before; but it did not last.

"Why, it's Sammy!" said Miss Carew, with a laugh.

I disliked being called "Sammy" before Mr. Dennett, and I felt my face grow red also. I remembered that Miss Carew was a stranger, who had been visiting the Bigelows scarcely two months, but I corrected her just the same.

"Sam," I remarked, with dignity.

"Sam," she repeated apologetically.

Then I took the note out of my jacket pocket, and handed it to her. She thanked me, opened the envelope, and read the message. Then she said that it was "all right," and added that I was a good boy to bring the note.

Encouraged by this flattery, I backed to a bench on the other side of the summer-house, and sat down facing them. Miss Carew had seated herself again,—though at a somewhat greater distance from Mr. Dennett than before.

There was a slight pause.

Miss Carew asked me how I came,—had I walked all the way?

"No," I replied, "I rode my velocipede."

"Did you, really?" she said; "that's a long ride for you, isn't it?"

It interested me to hear Miss Carewtalk,—she came from some part of the country where they have a greater respect for the letter R than was usual with us. But I denied that I was fatigued.

"No'm; it ain't far at all! Once," I continued, growing reminiscent, "I rode nearly up to Chain Bridge!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes'm; but when I got up to the Three Roads, Mr. Titcomb came along, an' said I'd better go back,—it was so hot."

"Did you go back?"

"Yes."

There was another silence, which Miss Carew again broke.

"What kind of a velocipede is yours?" she asked.

"A wooden one," I assured her.

Then it struck me that the conversation was becoming a trifle inane, and I tried to make things more interesting.

"My velocipede is out in front of the house now,—you can come out and see it, if you want to."

But Miss Carew thought she would defer that pleasure till another time.

Mr. Dennett took the witness.

"Do you go to school, Sam?"

Really, it seemed that he might have done better than that. I had that question asked me about five hundred times a year by grown-ups. Evidently this Harvard was not the place I had thought. But I answered him.

"Not now: it's vacation."

"Yes, I know. But you go when it isn't vacation?"

"Oh, yes."

"What school,—the Jackman?"

"No; the Kelley."

"Oh! Whose room?"

"Last year I was in Miss Temple's, an' next I'll be in Miss Philipps's."

I had apparently satisfied Mr. Dennett's curiosity, for he relapsed into silence. There was a long pause, while I swung my legs, and looked at them expectantly. I was quite ready to answer more questions if they had them to put.

They did not seem to think of any point on which they required information for two or three minutes. Then Mr. Dennett did make an inquiry,—or, rather, a suggestion.

"Perhaps your mother may want you for something, Sam?"

But I was able to set his mind at rest instantly.

"Oh, no; she don't want me till one o'clock, an' it's only half-past ten, now."

"Later than that, isn't it?"

"No, sir. I saw the 'Piscopal clock when I came by."

He seemed to be relieved at this, but presently he had another question to ask:

"Do you care for blackberries, Sam?"

"Yes! Have you got any?"

"There are some down the hill, there,—against the fence. Why don't you go and get them?"

"Thank you,—shall I bring some of them back to you?"

"No,—just eat 'em yourself, and have a good time."

This was by far the most sensible thing he had said, and I hurried down to the blackberry bushes. But when I got to them, and inspected the long, thorny branches, I found that my expectations were to be disappointed. If there had been any good berries they had been picked. All that remained were unripe.

I hurried back to the summer-house, and burst in upon its occupants. They seemed to be having some kind of a misunderstanding: Miss Carew had a bookin her hands, which Mr. Dennett was trying to take from her.

"Hullo! Back already? What was the matter with the blackberries,—are they green?"

"No," I replied, "they are red,—but they're red when they're green, you know."

And I climbed back to my former place on the bench opposite them. Immediately, Mr. Dennett became concerned about my velocipede.

"Did you leave your velocipede in the street, Sam? Aren't you afraid some one will steal it?"

I laughed.

"Oh, I guess not. I left it right beside your bicycle, an' there wouldn't any one dare to touch it,—would they, Miss Carew?"

The lady agreed that it would require great boldness, but still, she thought, itmight be well for me to go and see if it were safe.

To allay her uneasiness I went back as far as the house, and looked through the hall. Both the machines were there, in perfect safety. I returned to the summer-house, and reported the fact, pleased at being able to tell my friends that they need not worry.

As I was climbing to my seat again, Mr. Dennett had another suggestion.

"Look here, Sam, we saw a squirrel in Mr. Moulton's trees when we came out here. Don't you want to go and see if you can find him?"

A squirrel is always worth seeing. I asked one or two questions concerning his whereabouts, and then departed, promising to return as soon as I found him. Mr. Moulton's trees were many, and after I had gone through the hole in the hedge, I instituted a careful inspection of each tree.

Mr. Moulton came down the drive, and when I told him what I was looking for, he joined in the hunt. I can truthfully say that we examined each branch with care.

But no squirrel appeared at all, though we saw three blackbirds, and plenty of robins. When I got back to the summer-house Miss Carew and Mr. Dennett were both gone, although they had left the book behind. I searched and called, but could not find them any more than I had found the squirrel.

As I departed down Elm Street again on my velocipede, I thought the matter over at some length. Mr. Dennett had not left the premises, unless he had done so without his bicycle, for that remained where I had first seen it.

There was something singular about their behavior. Had they, perchance, picked all the ripe blackberries before Iarrived, and had they been trying, with so much artifice, to conceal that fact from me?

That was the most reasonable explanation I could devise,—and, certainly, the circumstances demanded some kind of explanation.

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