"Now we will have to watch Downy or he will be sure to take that trip again," said Bert, as they reached home with the enterprising duck.
"We could build a kind of dam across the narrowest part of the lake," suggested Hal; "kind of a close fence he would not go through. See, over there it is only a little stream, about five feet wide. We can easily fence that up. I've got lots of material up in our garden house."
"That would be a good idea," agreed Bert. "We can put Downy in the barn until we get it built. We won't take any more chances." So Downy was shut up in his box, back of the donkey stall, for the rest of the day.
"How far back do these woods run?" Harry asked his companions, he always being interested in acres, as all real country boys are.
"I don't know," Hal Bingham answered. "I never felt like going to the end to find out. But they say the Indians had reservations out here not many years ago."
"Then I'll bet there are lots of arrow heads and stone hatchets around. Let's go look. Have we time before dinner, Bert?" Harry asked.
"I guess so," replied the cousin. "Uncle William's train does not get in until seven, and we can be back by that time. We'll have to slip away from Freddie, though. Here he comes. Hide!" and at this the boys got behind things near the donkey house, and Freddie, after calling and looking around, went back to the house without finding the "boy boys."
"We can cross the lake in my boat," said Hal, as they left their hiding-places. "Then, we will be right in the woods. I'll tie the boat on the other side until we come back; no one will touch it."
"Is there no bridge?" Harry asked.
"Not nearer than the crossings, away down near the ocean beach," said Bert. "But the boat will be all right. There are no thieves around here."
It was but a few minutes' work to paddle across the lake and tie up the canoe on the opposite shore. Hal and Bert started off, feeling they would find something interesting, under Harry's leadership.
It was quite late in the afternoon, and the thick pines and ferns made the day almost like night, as the boys tramped along.
"Fine big birds around here," remarked Harry, as the feathered creatures of the ocean darted through the trees, making their way to the lake's edge.
"Yes, we're planning for a Thanksgiving shoot," Hal told him. "We hope, if we make it up, you can come down."
"I'd like to first-rate," said Harry. "Hello!" he suddenly exclaimed,"I thought I kicked over a stone hatchet head."
Instantly the three boys were on their knees searching through the brown pine needles.
"There it is!" declared Harry, picking up a queer-shaped stone. "That's real Indian—I know. Father has some, but this is the first I was ever lucky enough to find."
The boys examined the stone. There were queer marks on it, but they were so worn down it was impossible to tell what they might mean.
"What tribe camped here?" asked Harry.
"I don't know," answered Hal. "I just heard an old farmer, out Berkley way, talking about the Indians. You see, we only come down here in the summer time. Then we keep so close to the ocean we don't do much exploring."
The boys were so interested now they did not notice how dark it was getting. Neither did they notice the turns they were making in the deep woodlands. Now and then a new stone would attract their attention. They would kick it over, pick it up, and if it were of queer shape it would be pocketed for further inspection.
"Say," said Hal, suddenly, "doesn't it look like night?" and at that he ran to a clear spot between the trees, where he might see the sky.
"Sure as you live it is night!" he called back to the others. "We better pick the trail back to our canoe, or we may have to become real Indians and camp out here in spite of our appetites."
Then the boys discovered that the trees were much alike, and there were absolutely no paths to follow.
"Well, there's where the sun went down, so we must turn our back to that," advised Hal, as they tramped about, without making any progress toward finding the way home.
What at first seemed to be fun, soon turned out to be a serious matter; for the boys really could not find their way home. Each, in turn, thought he had the right way, but soon found he was mistaken.
"Well, I'll give up!" said Hal. "To think we could be lost like three babies!"
"Only worse," added Harry, "for little fellows would cry and someone might help them."
"Oh! oh! oh! oh! we're lost! We're the babes in the woods!" shoutedBert at the top of his voice, joking, yet a little in earnest.
"Let's build a fire," suggested Harry. "That's the way the Indians used to do. When our comrades see the smoke of the fire they will come and rescue us."
The other boys agreed to follow the chief's direction. So they set to work. It took some time to get wood together, and to start the fire, but when it was finally lighted, they sat around it and wasted a lot of time. It would have been better had they tried to get out of the woods, for as they waited, it grew darker.
"I wouldn't mind staying here all night," drawled Harry, stretching himself out on the dry leaves alongside the fire.
"Well, I'd like supper first," put in Hal. "We were to have roast duck to-night," and he smacked his lips.
"What was that!" Harry exclaimed, jumping up.
"A bell, I thought," whispered Hal, quite frightened.
"Indians!" added Bert. "Oh, take me home!" he wailed, and while he tried to laugh, it was a failure, for he really felt more like crying.
"There it is again. A cow bell!" declared Harry, who could not be mistaken on bells.
"Let's find the cow and maybe she will then find us," he suggested, starting off in the direction that the "tink-tink-tink-tink" came from.
"Here she is!" he called, the next moment, as he walked up to a pretty little cow with the bell on her neck. "Now, where do you belong?" Harry asked the cow. "Do you know where the Cliffs are, and how we can get home?"
The cow was evidently hungry for her supper, and bellowed loud and long. Then she rubbed her head against Harry's sleeve, and started to walk through the dark woods.
"If we follow her she will take us out, all right," said Harry, and so the three boys willingly started off after the cow.
Just as Harry had said, she made her way to a path, then the rest of the way was clear.
"Hurrah!" shouted Hal, "I smell supper already," and now, at the end of the path, an opening in the trees showed a few scattered houses.
"Why, we are away outside of Berkley," went on Hal. "Now, we will have a long tramp home, but I'm glad even at that, for a night under the trees was not a pleasant prospect."
"We must take this cow home first," said Harry, with a farmer's instinct. "Where do you suppose she belongs?"
"We might try that house first," suggested Bert, pointing to a cottage with a small barn, a little way from the wood.
"Come, Cush," said Harry, to the strange cow, and the animal obediently walked along.
There was no need to make inquiries, for outside of the house a little woman met them.
"Oh, you've found her!" she began. "Well, my husband was just going to the pound, for that old miser of a pound master takes a cow in every chance he gets, just for the fine. Come, Daisy, you're hungry," and she patted the cow affectionately. "Now, young men, I'm obliged to you, and you have saved a poor man a day's pay, for that is just what the fine would be. If you will accept a pail of milk each, I have the cans, and would be glad to give you each a quart. You might have berries for dinner," she finished.
"We would be very glad of the milk," spoke up Harry, promptly, always wide awake and polite when there was a question that concerned farmers.
"Do you live far?" asked the woman.
"Only at the Cliffs," said Harry. "We will soon he home now. But we were lost until your cow found us. She brought us here, or we would be in the woods yet."
"Well, I do declare!" laughed the little woman, filling each of three pails from the fresh milk, that stood on a bench, under the kitchen window. "Now, our man goes right by your house to-morrow morning, and if you leave the pails outside he will get them. Maybe your mothers might like some fresh milk, or buttermilk, or fresh eggs, or new butter?" she asked.
"Shouldn't wonder," said Hal. "We have hard work to get fresh stuff; they seem to send it all to the hotels. I'll let the man know when he comes for the pails."
"Thank you, thank you," replied the little woman, "and much obliged for bringing Daisy home. If you ever want a drink of milk, and are out this way, just knock at my door and I'll see you don't go away thirsty."
After more thanks on both sides, the lost boys started homeward, like a milk brigade, each with his bright tin pail of sweet new milk in his hand.
"It didn't seem right to take all this milk," remarked Hal, as the three boys made their way in the dark, along the ocean road.
"But we would have offended the lady had we refused," said Harry. "Besides, we may be able to get her good customers by giving out the samples," he went on. "I'm sure it is good milk, for the place was clean, and that cow we found, or that found us, was a real Jersey."
The other boys did not attempt to question Harry's right to give expert views where cows and milk were concerned; so they made their way along without further comment.
"I suppose our folks will think we are lost," ventured Hal.
"Then they will think right," admitted Bert, "for that was just what we were, lost."
Crossing the bridge, the boys could hear voices.
"That's father," declared Hal. Then they listened.
"And that's Uncle William," said Bert, as another voice reached them.
"Gracious! I'm sorry this happened the first day I came," spoke up Harry, realizing that the other boys would not have gone into the deep woods if he had not acted as leader.
"Here we are!" called Hal.
"Hello there! That you, Hal?" came a call.
"Yes; we're coming," Hal answered, and the lost boys quickened their steps, as much as the pails of milk allowed.
Presently Uncle William and Mr. Bingham came up, and were so glad to find that Hal, Harry, and Bert were safe, they scarcely required any explanation for the delay in getting home. Of course, both men had been boys themselves, and well remembered how easy it was to get lost, and be late reaching home.
The milk pails, too, bore out the boys' story, had there been any doubt about it, but beyond a word of caution about dangerous places in deep woodlands there was not a harsh word spoken.
A little farther on the road home, Dorothy, Nan, and Nellie met the wanderers, and then the woodland escapade seemed a wild tale about bears, Indians, and even witches, for each girl added, to the boys' story, so much of her own imagination that the dark night and the roaring of the ocean, finished up a very wild picture, indeed.
"Now, you are real heroes," answered Dorothy, "and you are the bravest boys I know. I wish I had been along. Just think of sitting by a campfire in a dark woods, and having no one to bring you home but a poor little cow!" and Dorothy insisted on carrying Bert's milk pail to show her respect for a real hero.
Even Dinah and Susan did not complain about serving a late dinner to the boys, and both maids said they had never before seen such perfectly splendid milk as came from the farmhouse.
"We really might take some extra milk from that farm," said AuntEmily, "for what we get is nothing like as rich in cream as this is."
So, as Harry said, the sample brought good results, for on the following morning, when the man called for the empty pail, Susan ordered two quarts a day, besides some fresh eggs and new butter to be delivered twice a week.
"Do you know," said Uncle William to Mrs. Bobbsey next morning at breakfast, when the children had left the table, "Mr. Bingham was telling me last night that his brother is at sea, on just such a voyage as little Nellie's father went on. And a man named McLaughlin went with him, too. Now, that's Nellie's name, and I believe George Bingham is the very man he went with."
"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey. "And have they heard any news from Mr. Bingham's brother?"
"Nothing very definite, but a vessel sighted the schooner ten days ago. Mr. Bingham has no idea his brother is lost, as he is an experienced seaman, and the Binghams are positive it is only a matter of the schooner being disabled, and the crew having a hard time to reach port," replied Mr. Minturn.
"If Nellie's mother only knew that," said Mrs. Bobbsey.
"Tell you what I'll do," said the brother-in-law; "just give me Mrs. McLaughlin's address, and I'll go to see her to-day while I'm in town. Then I can find out whether we have the right man in mind or not."
Of course, nothing was said to Nellie about the clew to her father's whereabouts, but Mrs. Bobbsey and Aunt Emily were quite excited over it, for they were very fond of Nellie, and besides, had visited her mother and knew of the poor woman's distress.
"If it only could be true that the vessel is trying to get into port," reflected Mrs. Bobbsey. "Surely, there would be enough help along the coast to save the crew."
While this very serious matter was occupying the attention of the grown-up folks, the children were all enthusiasm over the water carnival, coming off that afternoon.
Hal and Bert were dressed like real Indians, and were to paddle inHal's canoe, while Harry was fixed up like a student, a Frenchexplorer, and he was to row alone in Hal's father's boat, to representFather Marquette, the discoverer of the upper Mississippi River.
It was quite simple to make Harry look like the famous discoverer, for he was tall and dark, and the robes were easily arranged with Susan's black shawl, a rough cord binding it about his waist. Uncle William's traveling cap answered perfectly for the French skullcap.
"Then I'm going to be Pocahontas," insisted Dorothy, as the boys' costumes brought her mind back to Colonial days.
"Oh, no," objected Hal, "you girls better take another period of history. We can't all be Indians."
"Well, I'll never be a Puritan, not even for fun," declared Dorothy, whose spirit of frolic was certainly quite opposite that of a Priscilla.
"Who was some famous girl or woman in American history?" asked Harry, glad to get a chance to "stick" Dorothy.
"Oh, there are lots of them," answered the girl, promptly. "Don't think that men were the only people in America who did anything worth while."
"Then be one that you particularly admire," teased Harry, knowing very well Dorothy could not, at that minute, name a single character she would care to impersonate.
"Oh, let us be real," suggested Nellie. "Everybody will be all make-believe. I saw lots of people getting ready, and I'm sure they will all look like Christmas-tree things, tinsel and paper and colored stuffs."
"What would be real?', questioned Dorothy.
"Well, the Fisherman's Daughters," Nellie said, very slowly. "We have a picture at home of two little girls waiting—for their—father."
The boys noticed Nellie's manner, and knew why she hesitated. Surely it would be real for her to be a fisherman's daughter, waiting for her father!
"Oh, good!" said Dorothy. "I've got that picture in a book, and we can copy it exactly. You and I can be in a boat alone. I can row."
"You had better have a line to my boat," suggested Harry. "It would be safer in the crowd."
It had already been decided that Flossie, Freddie, and Nan should go in the Minturn launch, that was made up to look like a Venetian gondola. Mrs. Bobbsey and Aunt Emily and Aunt Sarah were to be Italian ladies, not that they cared to be in the boat parade, but because Aunt Emily, being one of the cottagers, felt obliged to encourage the social features of the little colony.
It was quite extraordinary how quickly and how well Dorothy managed to get up her costume and Nellie's. Of course, the boys were wonderful Indians, and Harry a splendid Frenchman; Mrs. Bobbsey, Aunt Sarah, and Aunt Emily only had to add lace headpieces to their brightest dinner gowns to be like the showy Italians, while Freddie looked like a little prince in his black velvet suit, with Flossie's red sash tied from shoulder to waist, in gay court fashion. Flossie wore the pink slip that belonged under her lace dress, and on her head was a silk handkerchief pinned up at the ends, in that square quaint fashion of little ladies of Venice.
There were to be prizes, of course, for the best costumes and prettiest boats, and the judges' stand was a very showy affair, built at the bridge end of the lake.
There was plenty of excitement getting ready, but finally all hands were dressed, and the music from the lake told our friends the procession was already lining up.
Mrs. Minturn's launch was given second place, just back of the Mayor's, and Mrs. Bingham's launch, fixed up to represent an automobile, came next. Then, there were all kinds of boats, some made to represent impossible things, like big swans, eagles, and one even had a lot of colored ropes flying about it, while an automobile lamp, fixed up in a great paper head, was intended to look like a monster sea-serpent, the ropes being its fangs. By cutting out a queer face in the paper over the lighted lamp the eyes blazed, of course, while the mouth was red, and wide open, and there were horns, too, made of twisted pieces of tin, so that altogether the sea-serpent looked very fierce, indeed.
The larger boats were expected to be very fine, so that as the procession passed along the little lake the steam launches did not bring out much cheering from the crowd. But now the single boats were coming.
"Father Marquette!" cried the people, instantly recognizing the historic figure Harry represented.
So slowly his boat came along, and so solemn he looked!
Then, as he reached the judges' stand, he stood up, put his hand over his eyes, looking off in the distance, exactly like the picture of the famous French explorer.
This brought out long and loud cheering, and really Harry deserved it, for he not only looked like, but really acted, the character.
There were a few more small boats next. In one the summer girl was all lace and parasol, in another there was a rude fisherman, then; some boys were dressed to look like dandies, and they seemed to enjoy themselves more than did the people looking at them. There was also a craft fixed up to look like a small gunboat.
Hal and Bert then paddled along.
They were perfect Indians, even having their faces browned with dark powder. Susan's feather duster had been dissected to make up the boys' headgear, and two overall suits, with jumpers, had been slashed to pieces to make the Indian suits. The canoe, of course, made a great stir.
"Who are they?" everybody wanted to know. But no one could guess.
"Oh, look at this!" called the people, as an old boat with two little girls drifted along.
The Fisherman's Daughters!
Perhaps it was because there was so much gayety around that these little girls looked so real. From the side of their weather-beaten boat dragged an old fishnet. Each girl had on her head a queer half-hood, black, and from under this Nellie's brown hair fell in tangles on her bare shoulders, and Dorothy's beautiful yellow ringlets framed in her own pretty face. The children wore queer bodices, like those seen in pictures of Dutch girls, and full skirts of dark stuff finished out their costumes.
As they sat in the boat and looked out to sea, "watching for the fisherman's return," their attitude and pose were perfect.
The people did not even cheer. They seemed spellbound.
"That child is an actress," they said, noting the "real" look on Nellie's face. But Nellie was not acting. She was waiting for the lost father at sea.
When would he come back to her?
When the last craft in the procession had passed the judges' stand, and the little lake was alive with decorations and nautical novelties, everybody, of course, in the boats and on land, was anxious to know who would get the prizes.
There were four to be given, and the fortunate ones could have gifts in silver articles or the value in money, just as they chose.
Everybody waited anxiously, when the man at the judges' stand stood up and called through the big megaphone:
"Let the Fisherman's Daughters pass down to the stand!"
"Oh, we are going to get a prize," Dorothy said to Nellie. "I'll just cut the line to Harry's boat and row back to the stand."
Then, when the two little girls sailed out all by themselves, Dorothy rowing gracefully, while Nellie helped some, although not accustomed to the oars, the people fairly shouted.
For a minute the girls waited in front of the stand. But the more people inspected them the better they appeared. Finally, the head judge stood up.
"First prize is awarded to the Fisherman's Daughters," he announced.
The cheering that followed his words showed the approval of the crowd. Nellie and Dorothy were almost frightened at the noise. Then they rowed their boat to the edge, and as the crowd gathered around them to offer congratulations, the other prizes were awarded.
The second prize went to the Indians!
"Lucky they don't know us," said Hal to Bert, "for they would never let the two best prizes get in one set." The Indians were certainly well made-up, and their canoe a perfect redman's bark.
The third prize went to the "Sea-serpent," for being the funniest boat in the procession; and the fourth to the gunboat. Then came a great shouting!
A perfect day had added to the success of the carnival, and now many people adjourned to the pavilion, where a reception was held, and good things to eat were bountifully served.
"But who was the little girl with Dorothy Minturn?" asked the mayor's wife. Of course everybody knew Dorothy, but Nellie was a stranger.
Mrs. Minturn, Mrs. Bobbsey, Aunt Sarah, Mrs. Bingham, and Mrs. Blake, the latter being the mayor's wife, had a little corner in the pavilion to themselves. Here Nellie's story was quietly told.
"How nice it was she got the prize," said Mrs. Blake, after hearing about Nellie's hardships. "I think we had better have it in money—and we might add something to it," she suggested. "I am sure Mr. Blake would be glad to. He often gives a prize himself. I'll just speak to him."
Of course Dorothy was to share the prize, and she accepted a pretty silver loving cup. But what do you suppose they gave Nellie?
Fifty dollars!
Was not that perfectly splendid?
The prize for Nellie was twenty-five dollars, but urged by Mrs. Blake, the mayor added to it his own check for the balance.
Naturally Nellie wanted to go right home to her mother with it, and nothing about the reception had any interest for her after she received the big check. However, Mrs. Bobbsey insisted that Mr. Minturn would take the money to Nellie's mother the next day, so the little girl had to be content.
Then, when all the festivities were over, and the children's excitement had brought them to bed very tired that night, Nellie sat by her window and looked out at the sea!
Always the same prayer, but to-night, somehow, it seemed answered!
Was it the money for mother that made the father seem so near?
The roaring waves seemed to call out:
"Nellie—Nellie dear! I'm coming—coming home to you!"
And while the little girl was thus dreaming upstairs, Mr. Minturn down in the library was telling about his visit to Nellie's mother.
"There is no doubt about it," he told Mrs. Bobbsey. "It was Nellie's father who went away with George Bingham, and it was certainly that schooner that was sighted some days ago."
The ladies, of course, were overjoyed at the prospect of the best of luck for Nellie—her father's possible return,—and then it was decided that Uncle William should again go to Mrs. McLaughlin, this time to take her the prize money, and that Mrs. Bobbsey should go along with him, as it was such an important errand.
"And you remember that little pearl that Nellie found on the beach? Well, I'm having it set in a ring for her. It is a real pearl, but not very valuable, yet I thought it would be a souvenir of her visit at the Cliffs," said Mr. Minturn.
"That will be very nice," declared Mrs. Bobbsey. "I am sure no one deserves to be made happy more than that child does, for just fancy, how she worked in that store as cash girl until her health gave way. And now she is anxious to go back to the store again. Of course she is worried about her mother, but the prize money ought to help Mrs. McLaughlin so that Nellie would not need to cut her vacation short."
"What kind of treasure was it that these men went to sea after?" AuntEmily asked Uncle William.
"A cargo of mahogany," Mr. Minturn replied. "You see, that wood is scarce now, a cargo is worth a fortune, and a shipload was being brought from the West Indies to New York when a storm blew the vessel out to a very dangerous point. Of course, the vessel was wrecked, and so were two others that later attempted to reach the valuable cargo. You see the wind always blows the one way there, and it is impossible to get the mahogany out of its trap. Now, George Bingham was offered fifty thousand dollars to bring that wood to port, and he decided that he could do it by towing each log around the reef by canoes. The logs are very heavy, each one is worth between eighty and one hundred dollars, but the risk meant such a reward, in case of success, that they went at it. Of course the real danger is around the wreck. Once free from that point and the remainder of the voyage would be only subject to the usual ocean storms."
"And those men were to go through the dangerous waters in little canoes!" exclaimed Aunt Emily.
"But the danger was mostly from winds to the sails of vessels," explained Uncle William. "Small craft are safest in such waters."
"And if they succeeded in bringing the mahogany in?" askedMrs. Bobbsey.
"Nellie would be comparatively rich, for her father went as GeorgeBingham's partner," finished Mr. Minturn.
So, the evening went into night, and Nellie, the Fisherman's Daughter, slept on, to dream that the song of the waves came true.
The calm that always follows a storm settled down upon the Cliffs the day after the carnival. The talk of the entire summer settlement was Nellie and her prize, and naturally, the little girl herself thought of home and the lonely mother, who was going to receive such a surprise—fifty dollars!
It was a pleasant morning, and Freddie and Flossie were out watching Downy trying to get through the fence that the boys had built to keep him out of the ocean. Freddie had a pretty little boat Uncle William had brought down from the city. It had sails, that really caught the wind, and carried the boat along.
Of course Freddie had a long cord tied to it, so it could not get out of his reach, and while Flossie tried to steer the vessel with a long whip, Freddie made believe he was a canal man, and walked along the tow path with the cord in hand.
"I think I would have got a prize in the boat parade if I had this steamer," said Freddie, feeling his craft was really as fine as any that had taken part in the carnival.
"Maybe you would," agreed Flossie. "Now let me sail it a little."
"All right," said Freddie, and he offered the cord to his twin sister.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "I dropped it!"
The next minute the little boat made a turn with the breeze, and before Flossie could get hold of the string it was all in the water!
"Oh, my boat!" cried Freddie. "Get it quick!"
"I can't!" declared Flossie. "It is out too far! Oh, what shall we do!"
"Now you just get it! You let it go," went on the brother, without realizing that his sister could not reach the boat, nor the string either, for that matter.
"Oh, it's going far away!" cried Flossie; almost in tears.
The little boat was certainly making its way out into the lake, and it sailed along so proudly, it must have been very glad to be free.
"There's Hal Bingham's boat," ventured Flossie. "Maybe I could go out a little ways in that."
"Of course you can," promptly answered Freddie. "I can row."
"I don't know, we might upset!" Flossie said, hesitating.
"But it isn't deep. Why, Downy walks around out here," went on the brother.
This assurance gave the little girl courage, and slipping the rope off the peg that secured the boat to the shore, very carefully she put Freddie on one seat, while she sat herself on the other.
The oars were so big she did not attempt to handle them, but just depended on the boat to do its own sailing.
"Isn't this lovely!" declared Freddie, as the boat drifted quietly along.
"Yes, but how can we get back?" asked Flossie, beginning to realize their predicament.
"Oh, easy!" replied Freddie, who suddenly seemed to have become a man, he was so brave. "The tide comes down pretty soon, and then our boat will go back to shore."
Freddie had heard so much about the tide he felt he understood it perfectly. Of course, there was no tide on the lake, although the waters ran lazily toward the ocean at times.
"But we are not getting near my boat," Freddie complained, for indeed the toy sailboat was drifting just opposite their way.
"Well, I can't help it, I'm sure," cried Flossie. "And I just wish I could get back. I'm going to call somebody."
"Nobody can hear you," said her brother. "They are all down by the ocean, and there's so much noise there you can't even hear thunder."
Where the deep woods joined the lake there was a little island. This was just around the turn, and entirely out of view of either the Minturn or the Bingham boat landing. Toward this little island the children's boat was now drifting.
"Oh, we'll be real Robinson Crusoes!" exclaimed Freddie, delighted at the prospect of such an adventure.
"I don't want to be no Robinson Crusoe!" pouted his sister. "I just want to get back home," and she began to cry.
"We're going to bunk," announced Freddie, as at that minute the boat did really bump into the little island. "Come, Flossie, let us get ashore," said the brother, in that superior way that had come to him in their distress.
Flossie willingly obeyed.
"Be careful!" she cautioned. "Don't step out till I get hold of your hand. It is awfully easy to slip getting out of a boat."
Fortunately for the little ones they had been taught to be careful when around boats, so that they were able to take care of themselves pretty well, even in their present danger.
Once on land, Flossie's fears left her, and she immediately set about picking the pretty little water flowers, that grew plentifully among the ferns and flag lilies.
"I'm going to build a hut," said Freddie, putting pieces of dry sticks up against a willow tree. Soon the children became so interested they did not notice their boat drift away, and really leave them all alone on the island!
In the meantime everybody at the house was looking for the twins. Their first fear, of course, was the ocean, and down to the beach Mrs. Bobbsey, Aunt Sarah, and the boys hurried, while Aunt Emily and the girls made their way to the Gypsy Camp, fearing the fortune tellers might have stolen the children in order to get money for bringing them back again.
Dorothy walked boldly up to the tent. An old woman sat outside and looked very wicked, her face was so dark and her hair so black and tangled.
"Have you seen a little boy and girl around here?" asked Dorothy, looking straight into the tent.
"No, nobody round here. Tell your fortune, lady?" This to Aunt Emily, who waited for Dorothy.
"Not to-day," answered Aunt Emily. "We are looking for two children.Are you sure you have not seen them?"
"No, lady. Gypsy tell lady's fortune, then lady find them," she suggested, with that trick her class always uses, trying to impose on persons in trouble with the suggestion of helping them out of it.
"No, we have not time," insisted Aunt Emily; really quite alarmed now that there was no trace of the little twins.
"Let me look through your tent?" asked Dorothy, bravely.
"What for?" demanded the old woman.
"To make sure the children are not hiding," and without waiting for a word from the old woman, Dorothy walked straight into that gypsy tent!
Even Aunt Emily was frightened.
Suppose somebody inside should keep Dorothy?
"Come out of my house!" muttered the woman, starting after Dorothy.
"Come out, Dorothy," called her mother, but the girl was making her way through the old beds and things inside, to make sure there was no Freddie or Flossie to be found in the tent.
It was a small place, of course, and it did not take Dorothy very long to search it.
Presently she appeared again, much to the relief of her mother, Nan, and Nellie, who waited breathlessly outside.
"They are not around here," said Dorothy. "Now, mother, give the old woman some change to make up for my trespassing."
Aunt Emily took a coin from her chatelaine.
"Thank the lady! Good lady," exclaimed the old gypsy. "Lady find her babies; babies play—see!" (And she pretended to look into the future with some dirty cards.) "Babies play in woods. Natalie sees babies picking flowers."
Now, how could anybody ever guess that the old gypsy had just come down from picking dandelions by the lake, where she really had seen Freddie and Flossie on the island?
And how could anybody know that she was too wicked to tell Aunt Emily this, but was waiting until night, to bring the children back home herself, and get a reward for doing so?
She had seen the boat drift away and she knew the little ones were helpless to return home unless someone found them.
Mrs. Bobbsey and the boys were now coming up from the beach.
What, at first, seemed only a mishap, now looked like a very serious matter.
"We must go to the woods," insisted Dorothy. "Maybe that old woman knew they were in the woods."
But as such things always happen, the searchers went to the end of the woods, far away from the island. Of course they all called loudly, and the boys gave the familiar yodel, but the noise of the ocean made it impossible for the call to reach Freddie and Flossie.
"Oh, I'm so afraid they are drowned!" exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, breaking down and crying.
"No, mamma," insisted Nan, "I am sure they are not. Flossie is so afraid of the water, and Freddie always minds Flossie. They must be playing somewhere. Maybe they are home by this time," and so it was agreed to go back to the house and if the little ones were not there—then——
"But they must be there," insisted Nellie, starting on a run over the swampy grounds toward the Cliffs.
And all this time Freddie and Flossie were quite unconcerned playing on the island.
"Oh, there's a man!" shouted Freddie, seeing someone in the woods. "Maybe it's Friday. Say there, Mister!" he shouted. "Say, will you help us get to land?"
The man heard the child's voice and hurried to the edge of the lake.
"Wall, I declare!" he exclaimed, "if them babies ain't lost out there. And here comes their boat. Well, I'll just fetch them in before they try to swim out," he told himself, swinging into the drifting boat, and with the stout stick he had in his hand, pushing off for the little island.
The island was quite near to shore on that side, and it was only a few minutes' work for the man to reach the children.
"What's your name?" he demanded, as soon as he touched land.
"Freddie Bobbsey," spoke up the little fellow, bravely, "and we live at the Cliffs."
"You do, eh? Then it was your brothers who brought my cow home, so I can pay them back by taking you home now. I can't row to the far shore with this stick, so we'll have to tramp it through the woods. Come along." and carefully he lifted the little ones into the boat, pushing to the woods, and started off to walk the round-about way, through the woods, to the bridge, then along the road back to the Cliffs, where a whole household was in great distress because of the twins' absence.
"Here they come!" called Nellie, who was searching around the barn, and saw the farmer with the two children crossing the hill.
"I'm Robinson Crusoe!" insisted Freddie, "and this is my man, Friday," he added, pointing to the farmer.
Of course it did not take long to clear up the mystery of the little ones' disappearance. But since his return Freddie acted like a hero, and certainly felt like one, and Flossie brought home with her a dainty bouquet of pink sebatia, that rare little flower so like a tiny wild rose. The farmer refused to take anything for his time and trouble, being glad to do our friends a favor.
Aunt Sarah and Harry were to leave for Meadow Brook that afternoon, but the worry over the children being lost made Aunt Sarah feel quite unequal to the journey, so Aunt Emily prevailed upon her to wait another day.
"There are so many dangers around here," remarked Aunt Sarah, when all the "scare" was over. "It is different in the country. We never worry about lost children out in Meadow Brook."
"But I often got lost out there," insisted Freddie. "Don't you remember?"
Aunt Sarah had some recollection of the little fellow's adventures in that line, and laughed over them, now that they were recalled.
Late that afternoon Dorothy, Nan, and Nellie had a conference: that is, they talked with their heads so close together not even Flossie could get an idea of what they were planning. But it was certainly mischief, for Dorothy had most to say, and she would rather have a good joke than a good dinner any day, so Susan said.
Harry, Hal, and Bert had been chasing through the woods after a queer-looking bird. It was large, and had brilliant feathers, and when it rested for a moment on a tree it would pick at the bark as if it were trying to play a tune with its beak. Each time it struck the bark its head bobbed up and down in a queer way for a bird. But the boys could not get it. They set Hal's trap, and even used an air rifle in hopes of bringing it down without killing it, but the bird puttered from place to place, not in a very great hurry, but just fast enough to keep the boys busy chasing it.
That evening, at dinner, the strange bird was much talked about.
"Dat's a ban-shee!" declared Dinah, jokingly. "Dat bird came to bring a message from somebody. You boys will hear dat tonight, see if you doesn't," and she gave a very mysterious wink at Dorothy, who just then nearly choked with her dessert.
A few hours later the house was all quiet. The happenings of the day brought a welcome night, and tired little heads comfortably hugged their pillows.
It must have been about midnight, Bert was positive he had just heard the clock strike a lot of rings, surely a dozen or so, when at his window came a queer sound, like something pecking. At first Bert got it mixed up with his dreams, but as it continued longer and louder, he called to Harry, who slept in the alcove in Bert's room, and together the boys listened, attentively.
"That's the strange bird," declared Harry. "Sure enough it is bringing us a message, as Dinah said," and while the boys took the girl's words in a joke, they really seemed to be coming true.
"Don't light the gas," cautioned Bert, "or that will surely frighten it off. We can get our air guns, and I'll go crawl out on the veranda roof back of it, so as to get it if possible."
All this time the "peck-peck-peck" kept at the window, but just as soon as Bert went out in the hall to make his way through the storeroom window to the veranda roof, the pecking ceased. Harry hurried after Bert to tell him the bird was gone, and then together the boys put their heads out of their own window.
But there was not a sound, not even the distant flutter of a bird's wing to tell the boys the messenger had gone.
"Back to bed for us," said Harry, laughing. "I guess that bird is a joker and wants to keep us busy," and both boys being healthy were quite ready to fall off to sleep as soon as they felt it was of no use to stay awake longer looking for their feathered visitor.
"There it is again," called Bert, when Harry had just begun to dream of hazelnuts in Meadow Brook. "I'll get him this time!" and without waiting to go through the storeroom, Bert raised the window and bolted out on the roof.
"What's de matter down dere?" called Dinah from the window above. "'Pears like as if you boys had de nightmare. Can't you let nobody get a wink ob sleep? Ebbery time I puts my head down, bang! comes a noise and up pops my head. Now, what's a-ailin' ob you, Bert?" and the colored girl showed by her tone of voice she was not a bit angry, but "chock-full of laugh," as Bert whispered to Harry.
But the boys had not caught the bird, had not even seen it, for that matter.
Both Bert and Harry were now on the roof in their pajamas.
"What's—the—matter—there?" called Dorothy, in a very drowsy voice, from her window at the other end of the roof.
"What are you boys after?" called Uncle William, from a middle window.
"Anything the matter?" asked Aunt Sarah, anxiously, from the spare room.
"Got a burgulor?" shrieked Freddie, from the nursery.
"Do you want any help?" offered Susan, her head out of the top-floor window.
All these questions came so thick and fast on the heads of Bert and Harry that the boys had no idea of answering them. Certainly the bird was nowhere to be seen, and they did not feel like advertising their "April-fool game" to the whole house, so they decided to crawl into bed again and let others do the same.
The window in the boys' room was a bay, and each time the pecking disturbed them they thought the sound came from a different part of the window. Bert said it was the one at the left, so where the "bird" called from was left a mystery.
But neither boy had time to close his eyes before the noise started up again!
"Well, if that isn't a ghost it certainly is a ban-shee, as Dinah said," whispered Bert. "I'm going out to Uncle William's room and tell him. Maybe he will have better luck than we had," and so saying, Bert crept out into the hall and down two doors to his uncle's room.
Uncle William had also heard the sound.
"Don't make a particle of noise," cautioned the uncle, "and we can go up in the cupola and slide down a post so quietly the bird will not hear us," and as he said this, he, in his bath robe, went cautiously up the attic stairs, out of a small window, and slid down the post before Bert had time to draw his own breath.
But there was no bird to be seen anywhere!
"I heard it this very minute!" declared Harry, from the window.
"It might be bats!" suggested Uncle William. "But listen! I thought I heard the girls laughing," and at that moment an audible titter was making its way out of Nan's room!
"That's Dorothy's doings!" declared Uncle William, getting ready to laugh himself. "She's always playing tricks," and he began to feel about the outside ledge of the bay window.
But there was nothing there to solve the mystery.
"A tick-tack!" declared Harry, "I'll bet, from the girls' room!" and without waiting for another word he jumped out of his window, ran along the roof to Nan's room, and then grabbed something.
"Here it is!" he called, confiscating the offending property. "You just wait, girls!" he shouted in the window. "If we don't give you a good ducking in the ocean for this to-morrow!"
The laugh of the three girls in Nan's room made the joke on the boys more complete, and as Uncle William went back to his room he declared to Mrs. Bobbsey and Aunt Emily that his girl, Dorothy, was more fun than a dozen boys, and he would match her against that number for the best piece of good-natured fun ever played.
"A bird!" sneered Bert, making fun of himself for being so easily fooled.
"A girls' game of tick-tack!" laughed Harry, making up his mind that if he did not "get back at Dorothy," he would certainly have to haul in his colors as captain of the Boys' Brigade of Meadow Brook; "for she certainly did fool me," he admitted, turning over to sleep at last.
"Now, Aunt Sarah," pleaded Nan the next morning, "you might just as well wait and go home on the excursion train. All Meadow Brook will be down, and it will be so much pleasanter for you. The train will be here by noon and leave at three o'clock."
"But think of the hour that would bring us to Meadow Brook!" objectedAunt Sarah.
"Well, you will have lots of company, and if Uncle Daniel shouldn't meet you, you can ride up with the Hopkinses or anybody along your road."
Mrs. Bobbsey and Aunt Emily added their entreaties to Nan's, and AuntSarah finally agreed to wait.
"If I keep on," she said, "I'll be here all summer. And think of the fruit that's waiting to be preserved!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Bert, giving his aunt a good hug. "Then Harry and I can have a fine time with the Meadow Brook boys," and Bert dashed out to take the good news to Harry and Hal Bingham, who were out at the donkey house.
"Come on, fellows!" he called. "Down to the beach! We can have a swim before the crowd gets there." And with renewed interest the trio started off for the breakers.
"I would like to live at the beach all summer," remarked Harry. "Even in winter it must be fine here."
"It is," said Hal. "But the winds blow everything away regularly, and they all have to be carted back again each spring. This shore, with all its trimmings now, will look like a bald head by the first of December."
All three boys were fine swimmers, and they promptly struck off for the water that was "straightened out," as Bert said, beyond the tearing of the breakers at the edge. There were few people in the surf and the boys made their way around as if they owned the ocean.
Suddenly Hal thought he heard a call!
Then a man's arm appeared above the water's surface, a few yards away.
"Cramps," yelled Hal to Harry and Bert, while all three hurried to where the man's hand had been seen.
But it did not come up again.
"I'll dive down!" spluttered Hal, who had the reputation of being able to stay a long time under water.
It seemed quite a while to Bert and Harry before Hal came up again, but when he did he was trying to pull with him a big, fat man, who was all but unconscious.
"Can't move," gasped Hal, as the heavy burden was pulling him down.
Bit by bit the man with cramps gained a little strength, and with the boys' help he was towed in to shore.
There was not a life-guard in sight, and Hal had to hurry off to the pier for some restoratives, for the man was very weak. On his way, Hal met a guard who, of course, ran to the spot where Harry and Bert were giving the man artificial respiration.
"You boys did well!" declared the guard, promptly, seeing how hard they worked with the sick man.
"Yes—they saved—my life!" gasped the half-drowned man. "This little fellow"—pointing to Hal—"brought—me up—almost—from—the bottom!" and he caught his breath, painfully.
The man was assisted to a room at the end of the pier, and after a little while he became much better. Of course the boys did not stand around, being satisfied they could be of no more use.
"I must get those lads' names," declared the man to the guard. "Mine is ——," and he gave the name of the famous millionaire who had a magnificent summer home in another colony, three miles away.
"And you swam from the Cedars, Mr. Black," exclaimed the guard. "No wonder you got cramps."
An hour later the millionaire was walking the beach looking for the life-savers. He finally spied Hal.
"Here, there, you boy," he called, and Hal came in to the edge, but hardly recognized the man in street clothes.
"I want your name," demanded the stranger. "Do you know there are medals given to young heroes like you?"
"Oh, that was nothing," stammered Hal, quite confused now.
"Nothing! Why, I was about dead, and pulled on you with all my two hundred pounds. You knew, too, you had hardly a chance to bring me up. Yes, indeed, I want your name," and as he insisted, Hal reluctantly gave it, but felt quite foolish to make such a fuss "over nothing," as he said.
It was now about time for the excursion train to come in, so the boys left the water and prepared to meet their old friends.
"I hope Jack Hopkins comes," said Bert, for Jack was a great friend.
"Oh, he will be along," Harry remarked. "Nobody likes a good time better than Jack."
"Here they come!" announced Hal, the next minute, as a crowd of children with many lunch boxes came running down to the ocean.
"Hello there! Hello there!" called everybody at once, for, of course, all the children knew Harry and many also knew Bert.
There were Tom Mason, Jack Hopkins, August Stout, and Ned Prentice in the first crowd, while a number of girls, friends of Nan's, were in another group. Nan, Nellie, and Dorothy had been detained by somebody further up on the road, but were now coming down, slowly.
Such a delight as the ocean was to the country children!
As each roller slipped out on the sands the children unconsciously followed it, and so, many unsuspected pairs of shoes were caught by the next wave that washed in.
"Well, here comes Uncle Daniel!" called Bert, as, sure enough, down to the edge came Uncle Daniel with Dorothy holding on one arm, Nan clinging to the other, while Nellie carried his small satchel.
Santa Claus could hardly have been more welcome to the Bobbseys at that moment than was Uncle Daniel. They simply overpowered him, as the surprise of his coming made the treat so much better. The girls had "dragged him" down to the ocean, he said, when he had intended first going to Aunt Emily's.
"I must see the others," he insisted; "Freddie and Flossie."
"Oh, they are all coming down," Nan assured him. "Aunt Sarah, too, is coming."
"All right, then," agreed Uncle Daniel. "I'll wait awhile. Well, Harry, you look like an Indian. Can you see through that coat of tan?"
Harry laughed and said he had been an Indian in having a good time.
Presently somebody jumped up on Uncle Daniel's back. As he was sitting on the sands the shock almost brought him down. Of course it was Freddie, who was so overjoyed he really treated the good-natured uncle a little roughly.
"Freddie boy! Freddie boy!" exclaimed Uncle Daniel, giving his nephew a good long hug. "And you have turned Indian, too! Where's that sea-serpent you were going to catch for me?"
"I'll get him yet," declared the little fellow. "It hasn't rained hardly since we came down, and they only come in to land out of the rain."
This explanation made Uncle Daniel laugh heartily. The whole family sat around on the sands, and it was like being in the country and at the seashore at the one time, Flossie declared.
The boys, of course, were in the water. August Stout had not learned much about swimming since he fell off the plank while fishing in Meadow Brook, so that out in the waves the other boys had great fun with their fat friend.
"And there is Nettie Prentice!" exclaimed Nan, suddenly, as she espied her little country friend looking through the crowd, evidently searching for friends.
"Oh, Nan!" called Nettie, in delight, "I'm just as glad to see you as I am to see the ocean, and I never saw that before," and the two little girls exchanged greetings of genuine love for each other.
"Won't we have a perfectly splendid time?" declared Nan. "Dorothy, my cousin, is so jolly, and here's Nellie—you remember her?"
Of course Nettie did remember her, and now all the little girls went around hunting for fun in every possible corner where fun might be hidden.
As soon as the boys were satisfied with their bath they went in search of the big sun umbrellas, so that Uncle William, Aunt Emily, Mrs. Bobbsey, and Aunt Sarah might sit under the sunshades, while eating lunch. Then the boys got long boards and arranged them from bench to bench in picnic style, so that all the Meadow Brook friends might have a pleasant time eating their box lunches.
"Let's make lemonade," suggested Hal. "I know where I can get a pail of nice clean water."
"I'll buy the lemons," offered Harry.
"I'll look after sugar," put in Bert.
"And I'll do the mixing," declared August Stout, while all set to work to produce the wonderful picnic lemonade.
"Now, don't go putting in white sand instead of sugar," teased Uncle Daniel, as the "caterers," with sleeves rolled up, worked hard over the lemonade.
"What can we use for cups?" asked Nan.
"Oh, I know," said Harry, "over at the Indian stand they have a lot of gourds, the kind of mock oranges that Mexicans drink out of. I can buy them for five cents each, and after the picnic we can bring them home and hang them up for souvenirs."
"Just the thing!" declared Hal, who had a great regard for things that hang up and look like curios. "I'll go along and help you make the bargain."
When the boys came back they had a dozen of the funny drinking cups.
The long crooked handles were so queer that each person tried to get the cup to his or her mouth in a different way.
"We stopped at the hydrant and washed the gourds thoroughly," declaredHal, "so you need not expect to find any Mexican diamonds in them."
"Or tarantulas," put in Uncle Daniel.
"What's them?" asked Freddie, with an ear for anything that sounded like a menagerie.
"A very bad kind of spider, that sometimes comes in fruit from other countries," explained Uncle Daniel. Then Nan filled his gourd from the dipper that stood in the big pail of lemonade, and he smacked his lips in appreciation.
There was so much to do and so much to see that the few hours allowed the excursionists slipped by all too quickly. Dorothy ran away and soon returned with her donkey cart, to take Nettie Prentice and a few of Nettie's friends for a ride along the beach. Nan and Nellie did not go, preferring to give the treat to the little country girls.
"Now don't go far," directed Aunt Emily, for Aunt Sarah and Uncle Daniel were already leaving the beach to make ready for the train. Of course Harry and Aunt Sarah were all "packed up" and had very little to do at Aunt Emily's before starting.
Hal and Bert were sorry, indeed, to have Harry go, for Harry was such a good leader in outdoor sports, his country training always standing by him in emergencies.
Finally Dorothy came back with the girls from their ride, and the people were beginning to crowd into the long line of cars that waited on a switch near the station.
"Now, Nettie, be sure to write to me," said Nan, bidding her little friend good-by.
"And come down next year," insisted Dorothy.
"I had such a lovely time," declared Nettie. "I'm sure I will come again if I can."
The Meadow Brook Bobbseys had secured good seats in the middle car,—Aunt Sarah thought that the safest,—and now the locomotive whistle was tooting, calling the few stragglers who insisted on waiting at the beach until the very last minute.
Freddie wanted to cry when he realized that Uncle Daniel, Aunt Sarah, and even Harry were going away, but with the promises of meeting again Christmas, and possibly Thanksgiving, all the good-bys were said, and the excursion train puffed out on its long trip to dear old Meadow Brook, and beyond.