THE boy was really better; but very, very weak. Every time he opened an eye, that next day, solicitous Mrs. Crane was ready with a bowl of broth. Once he did not fall asleep immediately but followed her with big, questioning blue eyes as she moved about the tent. He remained awake for twenty minutes that time and even moved his hands slightly.
"You've been real sick," explained Mrs. Crane, sociably, her soft dark eyes very kind and encouraging. "You're pretty weak yet, but you're twice the boy you were yesterday. Could you eat more broth?"
For an instant something that looked like a genuine smile flickered across the boy's lips; and his eyes, Mrs. Crane said afterwards, almost twinkled. Then, in a very thin, weak voice, he said: "Please."
After that he again fell into a long, deep sleep. But now his prolonged slumbers wereno longer terrifying, for his breathing was natural, his fever entirely gone.
"Can'twe see him next time his eyes are open?" pleaded Mabel, waylaying Mrs. Crane in the provision tent, "andcouldn'tI be the first one? I found him, you know, so he's really mostly mine."
"Ye—es," replied Mrs. Crane, pondering this matter. "I guess it's only fair that you should be the first. If you'll stay where you can see the door of my tent, I'll wave a towel when the time comes. But it won't be right away, for he's just gone to sleep again."
"That boat ought to get here to-day," said Mr. Black, who had been expectantly gazing from time to time at the lake, "but I suppose that rascal Dave stopped all along the way to set traps."
Mr. Black was quite right. Davehadstopped to set traps. But first of all, with characteristic stealth, the conscienceless half-breed had begun his journey with a comfortable nap. For almost two hours, within five minutes' walk of Pete's Patch, Dave hadslumbered, with no thought of anything but his own comfort. After that, he attended leisurely to the numerous traps along his almost invisible trail. Fortunately—or he mightneverhave reached his destination, he found only a solitary muskrat. The big rat was still living. Dave eyed him reflectively.
"Goo'-by, li'le son," said Dave, liberating the bright-eyed prisoner. "You ees more bodder dan you ees wort', to-day. An' w'at for Ah'm eat moskrat! Me, Ah'm go for eat dose bifsteak, dose pork shop, dose baked bean hon top of Lakeveele. Go home, you son of a moskrat—Ah catch you som' more nex' veek."
The limping rat splashed into the river, and Dave, after one half-regretful glance at the eddying water, at last started briskly along the trail that led to Lakeville.
He spent the night with his cousin on the outskirts of the town, who refreshed him so generously that faithless Dave didn't know, next morning, whether he was headed toward Lakeville or toward camp. So he slept all that day and the next; while his good friend Mabel,at Pete's Patch, made brave efforts to save him from threatened disaster.
Mabel and all the other girls knew that Dave had every reason to fear the game warden. The youthful castaways, who were not very clear as to the duties of game wardens in general, considered them the natural enemies of all hunters and fishermen. Dave had once shown the girls a battered, yellowed newspaper containing a full-length picture of a brawny, khaki-clad game warden arresting a lawless sportsman. The half-breed had said, half laughingly, half seriously:
"Eef you ees see dose man som' tam', Mees Mabelle, Mees Bettee, don't you go for tole her som't'ing about Dave Gurneau, or maybe, me, Ah'm got maself lock up for sure. Or maybe Ah'm go for pay feefty dollar fine."
The idea of a fifty-dollar fine had probably tickled Dave, who, at that poverty-stricken moment would have found it impossible to pay even fifty cents.
But the girls had been deeply impressed. They saw clearly that a visit from the gamewarden would result disastrously to Dave, whom the youngsters liked, in spite of his many irregularities; for the ignorant half-breed was always good to them in his own peculiar way. And then, too, Mr. Black had said that Dave was to be protected from all chance visitors.
Very soon after the arrival of the nails, Mr. Black had built a rain-proof shed to shelter the disabled "Whale." As it was possible to reach this spot without tumbling into either the lake or the river, Mabel often strolled that way to look for berries, flowers, mushrooms, or mosses—she was apt to return with specimens of all four jumbled untidily together in the skirt of her dress.
This fine morning, Mrs. Crane having suggested that a few mushrooms would add flavor and bulk to the noon meal, Mabel and Henrietta, with the praiseworthy intention of gathering a bushel or two, walked along the swampy, woodsy road that led to Lakeville.
It was not often that Mabel and Henrietta paired off together, for Henrietta was theoldest, Mabel the youngest of the five girls. But in some ways pretty, black-eyed Henrietta was more thoughtless, less responsible than Jean, Marjory, or Bettie. After the death of her young mother, various relatives, including an inexperienced father and a too-indulgent grandmother, had done their best to spoil attractive Henrietta. They hadn't exactly succeeded; but the unrestrained little girl, naturally impulsive, naturally a bit daring, and always very high-spirited, was apt to act first and do her thinking afterwards. As for Mabel—why, Mabel simplyplungedinto trouble. Still, it seemed safe enough to send this pair forth for mushrooms; so, with a basket between them, a smiling sky overhead, they set forth merrily.
"It's funny about mushrooms," observed Mabel. "You can gather all there are and the next day you find just as many more. But when you pick berries that's the last of them for a whole year."
"I wish," returned Henrietta, "it were just the other way."
"So do I," agreed Mabel, her mouth full of big, red wintergreen berries.
"It never is," sighed Henrietta, sentimentally. "Every time there's a storm, the sea brings in millions of cobblestones and only one agate. Iloveto hunt for agates."
"If they came in like cobblestones," said practical Mabel, "you wouldn't have the fun of hunting—— Why! There's something coming down the road. See! That way—toward Lakeville."
"A man on horseback!" exclaimed Henrietta. "Let's hide——"
"What for?" demanded Mabel, bravely.
"His clothes!" breathed Henrietta, in an agonized whisper, as she dragged Mabel backward. "Can't yousee?It's the game warden—I know him by his leggings. Just like that picture. Hurry, Mabel—he's after Dave!"
"Oh! do youthinkso?" gasped Mabel, paralyzed with horror. "And all that venison hanging near Dave's wigwam! And all those partridge feathers on Mr. Black's land! Theymight arrest him, too! And us! Oh, Henrietta! What'll we do?"
"Run," urged Henrietta, tugging at Mabel's dress.
"But—but I can't!" gasped Mabel, helplessly. "And, anyway, it's too late—he's looking right this way. But, oh! We mustn't let him go anywhere near Pete's Patch."
"Sh!" breathed Henrietta, warningly; but with a quick, decisive nod that seemed vaguely reassuring. "Stop looking scared."
The rider, having cautiously and more or less successfully skirted a bad bit of swamp, caught sight of the girls and checked his travel-stained horse.
"Is this the way," he asked, politely, "to Barclay's Point?"
Henrietta's forefinger promptly pointed toward the north—directly toward the concealed Point.
"Just keep going," she advised. "It's quite a long way, but you're headed right for Barclay's."
"Yes," assisted Mabel, after a closer scrutinyof the telltale leggings, "you just keep going."
"I'm looking," explained the man, "for Mr. Black. He's at Barclay's Point, isn't he?"
"Sometimes," replied Henrietta, truthfully.
"How's the fishing up there?"
"I haven't fished," returned Henrietta, shortly. The game warden, it was plain, would get no incriminating information from Henrietta.
"This road, you say, leads to the Point?"
"Ye—es," faltered Mabel; "yes, if——"
"Never mind the 'if,'" hissed Henrietta, into Mabel's surprised ear. "Yes," she added aloud, and very convincingly, "itdoeslead to the Point. But you'd better hurry, or Mr. Black may be starting out for some other place."
"I'd hate to miss him," said the man, touching his hat. "Thank you, young ladies. I'll go at once—perhaps I'll see you later."
Mabel and Henrietta eyed each other in discreet silence until the sound of hoofbeats had gradually died away.
"We've been bad," breathed Mabel.
"It was necessary," sighed Henrietta. "Goodness knows, I'dratherbe good. And that roaddoeslead to Barclay's Point."
"Yes—if you're smart enough to find the turn off."
"That's why I told him to hurry—if he rides fast, he'llneversee it."
"Nobody would," agreed Mabel. "Where does this road go, anyway?"
"Seventeen miles to an old lumber camp—Dave told me. There's another camp, not so far, but it has a 'blind turn-off'—you'dneverfind it if you didn't know just exactly where to look. Even then you'dthinkyou were wrong. I guess it'll take him all day to find Pete's Patch. Anyhow, I hope so."
"Shall we tell the others?"
"N—no," decided Henrietta, contemplatively. "By the time he's reached the end of that swampy road without coming to anything he'll be too tired and discouraged towantto arrest anybody. He'll just make tracks for home. But when Dave comes we'll tell him to hide his venison."
"And," said Mabel, not knowing the depths of Dave's depravity, "he'll surely be here soon—he'll hurry right back with my father."
"Why, that's so," laughed Henrietta. "Your fatheriscoming. Well, he won't know you—he'll think you're some relative of Dave's, and prescribe soap. But let's get those mushrooms. If that man comes back he mustn't find us here—hemightask questions we couldn't answer. And I think we'd better roll a log across the turn-off to Pete's Patch and throw a little old brush against it so it won't show."
AN hour later, with a splendid lot of glistening mushrooms, Mabel and Henrietta returned to camp. As they neared the clearing, Mrs. Crane could be seen in the doorway of her tent, frantically waving a large towel.
"Oh," cried Mabel, quickening her pace, "the boy's awake! She wantsme—I'm to be first—I'm to be——"
"If you plunge in that way," admonished Henrietta, running lightly beside Mabel, "you'll scare him to death. Do stop long enough to wash your face—he'll think you're a murderous young squaw coming with another dose of Dave's medicine."
Five minutes later, when Mabel, very red and very shining from a hasty application of laundry soap and cold water, looked in at the tent door, a pair of big, bright blue eyes smiled at her from the low, balsam bed.
"Hello!" said the boy, "are you the kidthey call Mabel? They tell me you picked me up on the beach, along with some driftwood, when I was drowned."
"Yes," admitted Mabel, bashfully. "And I guess youweredrowned, too—almost. I'm glad you've come to, at last. When are you going to get up?"
"I tried to just now, but my head's made of lead—it won't come up."
"I guess your neck's weak—Bettie's was. What's your name?"
The laughter and the light suddenly faded from the boy's eyes.
"I don't know," said the boy, blankly. "I—it's queer, isn't it? That lady with the broth asked me once before, I think——"
"I asked you yesterday," corroborated Mrs. Crane. "But don't worry, my dear. You've been very ill and your mind is as weak as your body, no doubt. They'll both be stronger in a few days. All you need to remember is that we are your friends."
"And your real name doesn't matter, anyway," added Mabel, noting the troubled expressionthat still clouded the boy's countenance. "I'm going to call you Billy Blue-eyes—I used to know a goat——"
The boy's expressive face suddenly brightened, the blue eyes actually twinkled with fun.
"The very thing," cried Mrs. Crane. "We'll call him Billy Blue-eyes. I told him this morning that, when he came out of the lake, he must have brought some of the color with him. His eyes are certainly blue. Shall we call you Billy?"
"Sounds all right to me," agreed the boy; "but—but IhopeI wasn't that goat."
"You weren't," assured Mabel, earnestly. "Iliked him, but he butted so many people that Grandma Pike—he belonged to her—had to have him chloroformed and stuffed. The stuffed-animal man wanted him. They didn't have any real glass goat eyes to put in him so they used blue glass marbles. But how did you get in the lake—or out of it, Mr. Billy?"
Again the boy looked troubled.
"I don't know," said he, after a long pause.
"Don't ask any more questions," warnedMrs. Crane. "There'll be plenty of time for that later. Mr. Black sent a notice to the Lakeville paper, by Dave, so his folks'll know he's alive—we described him as well as we could. I even measured him with my tape-measure. He isn't as wide as he ought to be for his length, poor lamb."
"He'll get fat on camp fare," promised Mabel. "Look at me!"
Billy Blue-eyes looked and the troubled expression gave way to one of amusement.
"Phew!" said he, "I'd better not be fed so often—I guess I'll wait awhile for that broth—I've only one suit of clothes, the broth lady says. If I outgrow that——"
"You can borrow mine," laughed Mabel. "My gray sweater would fit you splendidly."
"He'll need it, too," said Mrs. Crane, "when he sits up to-morrow. That is, IthinkI'll let him sit up to-morrow—he hasn't had a scrap of fever for quite awhile."
"Perhaps," suggested Mabel, "Dave's medicine really did cure him. Did you taste it, Billy?"
"Once," said Billy, "but I don't know when, I drank something like red-hot coals, flavored with tobacco and vinegar and ink—was that it?"
"Yes," laughed Mabel, "that must have been it."
"There's a queer taste in my mouth yet," declared the boy. "It's all puckered up—like choke-cherries."
"I guess you'd better run along, Mabel," advised Mrs. Crane, noting that the boy's eyes, in spite of his best efforts, were closing wearily. "He doesn't stay awake very long at a time."
"Good-by," said Mabel, cheerfully.
"Come again," breathed the boy, sleepily.
Of course Mabel felt very important indeed when the other youthful castaways, waiting impatiently just outside the tent, seized her and wanted to know all about it.
"He's awfully thin," said Mabel, condescending finally to answer some of the eager little girls' questions. "And his eyes are perfectly huge and sort of twinkly. And blue; yes, bluer than Marjory's. I think we're goingto like him; but he can't remember his own name."
"Can't remember his own name!" exclaimed Henrietta. "Perhaps he doesn'twantto. Perhaps he's an escaped convict trying to hide from the police. Perhaps he's a burglar——"
"He isn't either," snorted Mabel, indignantly. "Do you s'pose I'd rescue anybody like that? Besides, you can tell. Hewantsto remember and can't."
"But what," demanded sympathetic Bettie, "will that poor child do for a name? Are we to call him 'that boy' forever? And shout 'Say, Boy' when we want him?"
"Of course not," said Henrietta, promptly. "We'll name him ourselves. Vincent de Manville Holmes would be nice—or Neptune something, because he came out of the sea."
"That was Venus," corrected Jean.
"Oh, well," amended Henrietta, cheerfully, "Ulysses might be better. Still, I always did like Reginald. Or Percival—Percival Orlando de Courcy."
"You go home," blurted indignant Mabel, no longer able to listen in triumphant silence. "His name's Billy. He's my boy and I named him; and that's enough."
"What?" demanded Marjory. "Just Billy?"
"Billy Blue-eyes."
"My!" teased Marjory. "Just like a paper doll!"
"Never mind," soothed tactful Jean, "I think Billy's a beautiful name."
"For a goat," scoffed Henrietta.
There's no knowing what would have happened if Mr. Black, gently shooing a strange object before him, had not appeared just then, from the woods back of the clearing.
"Hi there, girls," he shouted, "I'm bringing you a pet!"
At that the girls, all differences forgotten, raced toward Mr. Black.
"Stop! Stop!" he shouted. "You'll scare him away. Stand where you are. That's right. Now, Marjory, you run for the clothesline—we'll try to get a noose about his neck."
"Goodness!" gasped Henrietta, backing away as the pet waddled toward her; "what is it? It looks just like a bad dream."
"I know," laughed Jean. "It's a porcupine. Just see how his quills stick out—Mercy! Look out, Bettie!"
"Ouch!" squealed short-skirted Bettie, as the clumsy beast hurtled past her. "My legs!"
"Why!" cried Mabel, "there's quills in your stockings!"
"Inme, too," giggled Bettie. "I guess nobody'll petthatpet very much."
"Perhaps we don't want him," said Mr. Black, rather apologetically; "but I thought you might enjoy studying a porcupine at close quarters."
"Nottooclose," laughed Bettie, rubbing her shin.
"They're easily tamed," said Mr. Black, "and they'll eat most anything. I found this one on the river bank. He seemed willing enough to run, but it took quite a while to get him going in the right direction."
Mr. Black succeeded presently in getting anoose fastened about the porcupine's neck. Then, because there happened to be a convenient tree at that point, the other end of the rope was made fast to a sturdy maple near the path that led to the beach.
"We'll namehimPercival Orlando de Courcy," declared Henrietta.
"No," said Mr. Black, "this is Terrible Tim, the watchdog. Stationed at this point, he'll keep all intruders at bay."
Terrible Tim, however, looked the mildest of beasts by this time, for with quills lowered, he was cowering bashfully among the shrubbery.
A BRILLIANT moon had aided Dave in the latter portion of his journey to Lakeville. The following night, a similarly illumined sky was of great assistance to another solitary wayfarer, for the man in leather leggings, misdirected that morning by Mabel and Henrietta, was laboriously making his way back toward Pete's Patch. Before he hadquitereached the end of the unspeakable road over which the girls had sent him, he had met a camping fisherman who had given him explicit directions for finding Mr. Black's land.
At ten o'clock that night, having at last reached Barclay's Point, he urged his patient horse along the beach until he came to the embers of a dying camp fire, and noted, on the bank above, a number of white tents gleaming like ghosts in the moonlight. Tying his weary steed to a convenient log, the man, very stiff and sore from his long ride, clamberedup the sand bank, only to fall prone at the top over a strange and most alarmingly prickly object that stood directly in his path.
Rising with considerable difficulty and separating himself as speedily as possible from Terrible Tim, who was emitting queer, frightened grunts, the surprised traveler moved cautiously along the path, shouting, in a voice that quavered persistently in spite of his manly efforts to control it:
"Mr. Black! Oh, Mr. Bla—ack!"
Mr. Black, only half awake, sat up to listen. The call came again.
"Oh, Mr. Bla-a-a-ack!"
The owner of the name, wrapped in a blanket, thrust an inquiring head from the doorway of his tent.
"What's all the row about?" he demanded.
"Oo!" groaned Henrietta, who had wakened at the first call, "it's that game warden! He'll never spare usnow."
Keen-eared Marjory, too, was sitting up to listen; and, at Mr. Black's reply, Jean and Bettie opened their eyes.
"Wake up," commanded Henrietta, in a terrifying whisper, as she pummeled Mabel mercilessly. "Wake up, wake up—the game warden's here."
The response to this was so surprising that Henrietta, whose teeth were already chattering with fright, almost tumbled over.
"Who—oop!" shouted Mabel, doubling up her sturdy fists and hitting out, first with one, then another. "Who—oop! Who—oop! Who—oop!"
"Mabel! For goodness' sake, what do you think you're doing!" gasped Henrietta. "Oh, my poor chin!"
"Mabel! Stop pounding my ribs!" shrieked Bettie. "You can't sleep next tomeagain."
"I—I killed him," breathed Mabel, subsiding with a deep, satisfied sigh. "Oh, is it breakfast time?"
"What did you kill?" demanded Henrietta, rubbing her chin.
"The father-bear—Bettie was running away with his cubs. What's the matter with everybody?"
"The game warden," whispered Henrietta. "He's outside with Mr. Black—arresting him, I guess. But listen—they're talking."
"What!" Mr. Black was exclaiming, excitedly. "Two girls? Two ofmygirls sent you—why, Saunders! You must be dreaming!"
"Saunders!" gasped Henrietta.
"Saunders!" echoed Mabel. "Why! Saunders is the man in Mr. Black's office. I've never seen him, but I've heard a lot about him."
"Girls!" called Mr. Black, "are you awake?"
"Yes," shrieked all five.
"Here's a hungry man. Could one of you roll up in a blanket and find him something to eat?"
"Sure!" shrieked all five.
Then, of course, there followed a lively scramble for shoes and blankets and, in another moment, the five girls, looking like so many disheveled little squaws, were out in the moonlight.
"There's some cold johnny-cake," said Jean, rather doubtfully, "and some mushroom soup that I could warm up."
"And beans," added Marjory, stalking after her towards the camp cupboard. "I'll get the dishes."
"Girls," said Mr. Black, "this is Mr. Saunders—Mr. William Saunders—of Lakeville. Saunders, which of these young women did you see this morning?"
"Well, really," stammered the visitor, glancing from one to another of the blanketed maidens, "I couldn't say."
"Mabel and me," mumbled Henrietta, half-heartedly.
"And you sent him——"
"We thought," explained Mabel, balancing unsteadily on the only foot for which she had been able to find a shoe, "that he was the game warden."
"Game warden!" gasped Mr. Black. "Do you mean to say that youmeantto send him seventeen miles from Barclay's?"
The guilty little girls accomplished the difficultfeat of nodding and hanging their heads at the same time.
"In all that mud!" groaned Saunders, "and on that awful saddle!"
"We," faltered Henrietta, whose red blanket was most becoming to her sparkling brunette countenance, "we didn't want the game warden to find out about Dave."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Black. "That reminds me. Dave is in Lakeville, Saunders is here—he brought up an important paper for me to sign. With Saunders gone, Dave won't know what to do about the doctor. Hemaystart back."
"Not if there's anything drinkable left in Lakeville," assured Saunders. "I know mighty well where I'll find him. But Ican'tgo back to-night—I'm not accustomed to riding, and I've been on that poor old nag all day."
"I'll fix a bed for you in my tent," said Mr. Black. "There's plenty of room."
"I'm awfully sorry for what we did," mumbled Henrietta, contritely, "but wedidmistake you for that dreadful game warden."
"That looks," said Saunders, with mock severity, "as if you'd been breaking the game laws."
"It's that rascal Dave," explained Mr. Black. "He has damaged them all; but please don't mention it in town."
Mr. Saunders was fed and escorted to bed; but before he had had time to unlace his shoes, there were wild shrieks from the girls' tent. Mabel, the first to plunge in, had collided with a horribly prickly object that grunted like a frightened pig and scratched like a thousand needles. Then, as girl after girl rubbed against Terrible Tim, who had somehow escaped and was calmly eating their tallow candle, a chorus of shrieks rang forth. This outcry, of course, sent Mr. Black flying to the rescue. And Mrs. Crane, roused at last and puzzled by the presence of Mr. Saunders, joined the relief party.
"It's Terrible Tim!" shrieked Marjory. "He's in all our beds!"
"We'll let him go," declared Mr. Black. "He's too troublesome a pet."
"No, no, no!" shrieked the alarmed girls. "He'll get in here again."
"And I'm sure," said Mrs. Crane, "that he isn't wanted inmytent."
"Well," agreed Mr. Black, "I guess itiswiser to tie him up than to attempt to chase him away—perhaps he's forgotten the way home."
So Terrible Tim, cowering in a corner and quite as frightened as his victims, was fastened to his clothesline and driven to his tree. It was days, however, before the girls' blankets were free from the irritating porcupine quills that Timothy had shed so generously.
In the morning Mr. Saunders, still stiff and sore from his long ride, was safely started on his way to Lakeville; but, during his brief stay, he had made friends with all the girls and even conversed for a few moments with Billy Blue-eyes, who was greatly taken with the pleasant young man.
"You see," explained Saunders, with a twinkle in his shrewd gray eye as he glanced toward Mabel and Henrietta, "I want to makesuch a good impression that I'll be recognized a mile awaynexttime."
"Well," complained Mabel, "you might havesaidyou weren't that game warden."
At that, lame as he was, Saunders threw back his head and roared.
When Saunders, bountifully supplied with lists and instructions, had departed, Mrs. Crane told the girls that Billy was clamoring for visitors.
"I guess," said she, "we'll let Jean and Bettie in first—they're the quietest."
The boy was now visibly gaining in strength; also he seemed sufficiently cheerful and contented until Bettie, forgetting that she was not to trouble him with questions, asked if he lived in Lakeville.
"Where's that?" queried the boy.
"About fifteen miles from here," returned Bettie. "You could see it on a clear day if it wasn't for Sugar Loaf and a lot of other scenery in the way."
"What's Sugar Loaf—sounds like a candy shop?"
"A very high hill right on the edge of the lake. Lakeville is a town around several corners in a little bay. Wheredidyou come from?"
The boy's eyes clouded. "I don't know," said he. "When I wake up in the night Ialmostremember things—my bed, for instance, belongs over there—but there's always a piece of everything gone. I—it bothers me. I guess you think I'm pretty queer."
"Don't worry," soothed Jean. "You're not strong yet. You'll be all right when you're well."
"Think so?" demanded Billy, brightening. "Then I'll eat all the broth Mrs.—some kind of a bird—brings me."
"She's making some now," said Bettie, "from a piece of Dave's venison. We'll have all sorts of good things to eat as soon as Mr. Saunders gets to town. He said he'd travel as fast as hecould—I guess he's pretty lame."
"But," groaned Jean, "he can't possibly get anything here before to-morrow and I'm just starved for pie."
"Pie!" laughed the boy. "I'd like a piece myself. Why, when I lived in—in—— Now wouldn't that make you tired! I canseea table with pie on it and a whole pitcher full of cream; but, if you offered me a thousand dollars I couldn't tell you where to find that table! Pshaw! It makes me so mad when things float off like that that I want to—cry."
Whereupon Jean, noting that big tears blurred the blue eyes, began hastily to tell how Terrible Tim had devoured one of Mabel's shoes, left carelessly within his reach; and presently the lad was again smiling.
THE following afternoon, all the castaways except Billy, who, however, was sitting up in bed, crouched in a row on the bank to watch two slowly approaching objects.
"Surely we never asked fortwoboat-loads of food," remarked puzzled Bettie.
"Or medicine," added Mrs. Crane.
"Or books," said Jean.
"Or clothes," supplemented Henrietta.
"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Black, "the other boat isn't coming here."
"But itis," asserted far-sighted Marjory. "It's headed right this way. And the bigger one is Captain Berry's launch, Iknow."
Twenty minutes later the boat that wasnotCaptain Berry's dropped anchor in the little bay.
"It's people!" Marjory exclaimed, as thesmaller launch swung about. "It looks like a picnic."
"Dear me," said alarmed Mrs. Crane, "I hope they've brought their own lunch—wecouldn't give them much. And I feel like hiding in the woods—we're terribly in need of starch and flatirons."
"They'rewaving," cried Bettie. "I do believe they're visitors for us. Oh, I guess they want a boat."
Mr. Black, who had hastened to the launch with one of the small boats, was first to recognize the passengers. Jean, who followed with the second boat (by this time all the girls had learned to row in the shallow, usually calm little bay), was second.
"Mercy!" exclaimed astonished Jean, almost catching a crab, "it's most of our parents and Aunty Jane—I do hope they're not going to take us home!"
Presently the visitors were safely landed. Doctor and Mrs. Bennett, Doctor and Mrs. Tucker, Mrs. Mapes, Henrietta's grandmother, Mrs. Slater, and Marjory's Aunty Jane.
"Where's that dreadful boy?" demanded Aunty Jane, the moment she was on shore. "Are you sure he hasn't something catching? I haven't known a moment's peace since I knew that you'd sent for the doctor; for Marjory's never hadanything. Are you sure it isn't smallpox? Those lumber camps up the lake——"
"Dear me," said Mrs. Crane, "didn't we write that the boy was more than half drowned? I'msureI said so."
"It was that Indian—that unspeakably filthy Indian," returned Aunty Jane. "He said the boy had a fever. I went to the jail—to thejail, Mrs. Crane—to talk to that—that beast."
"Who—Dave?"
"I suppose so. From what little I could understand, I gathered that that boy had some malignant illness—typhoid, diphtheria, scarlet fever, smallpox——"
"Mr. Black," interposed Doctor Bennett, "I did all I could to keep these women home, but theywouldcome."
"I don't blame them," beamed Mr. Black, hospitably. "They wanted to see their girls. We're glad to see you all."
Aunty Jane, the neatest housekeeper in Lakeville, cast disapproving glances in every direction as Mr. Black led the way to the campground. Everybody else was busy exclaiming over Bettie.
"Are you sure youareBettie?" demanded Mrs. Tucker, with delighted eyes. "Why, you'refat—Doctor Bennett, she hasn't been fat since she was three years old. And brown! And look at the red in her cheeks! And her lips!"
"I've certainly lost my patient," laughed Doctor Bennett. "But Mabel seems to be all here."
"Just look at my long Jean's brown arms," cried pleased Mrs. Mapes, vainly endeavoring to span the rounded forearm. "Bigger than mine!"
"That's muscle," laughed Jean. "Rowing and climbing trees are great for your muscle—but hard on your clothes."
"Ugh!" shuddered Aunty Jane, sniffing disgustedly. "How horrible everything smells! Bacon, onions, fish—just like that filthy Indian!"
"All camps smell camp-y," explained Doctor Bennett. "You'llsmell camp-y after a day in the woods. But where's that boy? Until I've seen him, these anxious mothers won't be satisfied that he hasn't something contagious."
Mrs. Mapes, Doctor and Mrs. Tucker, and the Bennetts were delighted with Pete's Patch and went quite wild over the scenery; but it was clear to everybody that Henrietta's decidedly aristocratic little grandmother and Marjory's overwhelmingly neat Aunty Jane had never been intended by nature for camp life. Mrs. Slater, to be sure, enjoyed the fine sky, the wonderful expanse of blue water, the beautiful golden-brown river, and the deep, cool forest. She liked all these in a quiet, understanding way; but one could see, although the tactful gentlewoman was most polite about it all, that the lowly balsam beds, the rough benches, the careless attire of the castaways hadproved rather shocking to a lady accustomed always to luxurious ways of living. As for Aunty Jane, she liked nothing and did not hesitate to denounce camp life and all pertaining to it, Terrible Tim included.
"Marjory!" she had exclaimed, at first sight of her usually spotless niece, "your dress is a perfect sight! Go this instant and put on a clean one."
"Why!" returned surprised Marjory, "this is my clean one—I washed it yesterday."
"Washedit!" gasped Aunty Jane. "Well, you couldn't have used much water."
"Only the whole lake," returned Marjory, meekly. "But we haven't any flatirons, so we just pull things somewhere near the right shape and dry them on the bushes. It's lovely fun to wash—we go right in with our clothes."
"Do youcookin those filthy pans?" next demanded Aunty Jane, inspecting the fruit of the large pine that served, as Mr. Black punned merrily, as a "pan-tree."
"They're cleaninside," defended Jean. "That's smoke from the camp fire."
"I wash theoutsideof my saucepans," sniffed Aunty Jane, with blighting emphasis. "Also my frying-pans."
"It isn't considered proper in camp," returned Mr. Black, whose eyes were twinkling wickedly; "but if you'd like a little missionary work, Miss Jane, there's the dishcloth."
"Dishcloth!" gasped Aunty Jane, disdainfully, eying the fairly clean rag drying in the sun. "I wouldn't scrub my coal bin with a cloth the color of that."
"I wouldn't scrub mine withanything," laughed Mrs. Bennett; "but never mind, Aunty Jane, our girls seem to be thriving in spite of torn dresses and unscoured pans. This life is doing them a world of good."
"Good!" sniffed Aunty Jane. "Why! The place must be fairly swarming with germs. I shouldn'tthinkof permitting Marjory to remain here—I shall take her home with me to-night."
This was lightning from a clear sky. For a moment nobody said a word. Then there was a chorus of protests.
"No, no!" shrieked Bettie, hurling herself upon Aunty Jane. "She can't go."
"Oh,please, Aunty Jane," cried Jean. "We can't spare her—she's our telescope and our ears."
"Oh,no," stormed Mabel, "wemustkeep her.Shelikes it here—and look at her face—all brown——"
"With dirt," snapped Auntie Jane. "It'll take me a month to get that child clean—and a year to scour off those disgusting freckles."
Marjory groaned. The prospect was certainly dismal.
"Never mind," counseled impish Henrietta, whispering in Marjory's ear. "You can run away—I'll help you. You can easily hide in the bushes so she can't find you when the time comes—there's forty good places to hide in—let's find one now."
"No," moaned Marjory, "Ican'tdo that—I wouldn't dare to. And it won't do a mite of good to tease. If she says a thing she sticks to it—it's all over for poor me."
When things went wrong, Bettie cried easily,Henrietta wept copiously, and Mabel wailed uproariously; but Marjory, restrained little soul that she was, was seldom known to shed tears. But now several large specimens began to roll down Marjory's cheeks, and presently, to Mr. Black's dismay, the little girl was sobbing bitterly, with her head against Jean's flat but motherly bosom.
Both Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane pleaded with Aunty Jane. All the parents reasoned with her. Even Mrs. Slater, who was no camper herself, implored Miss Higgins to change her mind. But that was a thing that the poor lady nevercoulddo. Some peoplecan'tchange their minds—Aunty Jane couldn't. Even when she wanted to she couldn't.
"Perhaps she'll be more amiable after dinner," suggested gentle Doctor Tucker, whose mild eyes were shining at the prospect of catching a trout with the hook that Mr. Black was baiting for him. "Many persons are."
But the splendid noon dinner that hungry Aunty Jane had expected to devour was still nearly a mile from shore in Captain Berry'slaunch, and the other launch-man couldn't go after it; because, having incautiously ventured too near shore, he was now engaged in half-hearted attempts to dislodge his stranded craft from a troublesome sand bar. He declined all offers of assistance, saying that Captain Berry, whose engine would surely worksometime, could easily tow him into deeper water—hewasn't goin' to work hisself to death for nobody, no, not he.
As nobody wanted to row a mile or more and then back again with a load of heavy baskets, nobody did; so Mrs. Crane did the best she could with what she had; but the camp-cooked dinner did not appeal to Aunty Jane, who refused to eat venison that Dave had touched and had no appetite for plain beans, boiled potatoes, and cindery johnny-cake. Altogether, poor Aunty Jane, who was neververypleasant, was in her unhappiest mood.
"You see," apologized Mrs. Crane, "our provisions are pretty low; we haven't a very large supply of cups and plates, and of courseyou haven't been here long enough to acquire an appetite for camp fare. Let me give you a piece of this trout, Miss Higgins."
"No, thank you," was Aunty Jane's frigid reply. "I never eat fish."
"These beans," assured Mrs. Slater, politely, "are very nice indeed."
"And I'm sure," said Doctor Bennett, "this is excellent coffee, even if Idohave to drink from a cocoa can."
But Aunty Jane scorned them both.
"Tell us," urged Mr. Black, "about that boy of ours. What do you think of him?"
"Why," replied the merry doctor, "the lad's all right, considering what he's been through. But, judging from his extreme thinness, being shipwrecked is only a small part of his unhappy experience."
"Whatdoyou mean?" demanded Mrs. Mapes, uneasily.
"No, my dear woman—allmy dear women," Doctor Bennett hastened to add, "he hasn't had smallpox. But Idoknow that he was a sick boybeforehe was shipwrecked,because his body shows that he has lost more flesh than a boycouldlose in so short a time."
"Yes," corroborated Mrs. Crane, "he wasverythin when we found him."
"Tuberculosis!" breathed Aunty Jane.
"Nothing of the kind," declared the doctor.
"But he was dreadfully thin," asserted Mabel. "His legs——"
"Never mind his legs," said Doctor Bennett. "It's his head that troubles us now. His body is mending with every moment; but there's something seriously wrong with his memory——"
"A dangerous lunatic!" gasped excitable Aunty Jane, half rising from her seat.
"No, no!" shouted the exasperated doctor, who didn't like Aunty Jane. "Nothing of the sort. Merely a very pitiable boy who has been extremely ill, probably with pneumonia. A boy who is naturally very bright, in all ways but the one. A boy with an excellent constitution or this last experience would have finished him. The best thing we can possibly do for him is to keep him right here, build up his strengthin this splendid air, and then, when he's entirely well, take him to a specialist—I'm wiser about bodies than brains."
"Could I make him a pudding?" demanded Mabel, unexpectedly.
"No," roared the doctor. "We want him to getwell."
"As for me," said Henrietta, "I shan't be able to sleep nights until I know that boy's real name."
"Take my word for it," warned Aunty Jane, "he isn't worth saving. He'll prove either a thief or a tramp; or perhaps both. I wouldn'tthinkof taking in a stranger like that."
Mabel was about to retort indignantly, and, it is to be feared, impolitely; for this candid child was sometimes too candid; when Henrietta whispered in her ear:
"Wouldn't it be terrible if he proved to be just like Aunty Jane!"
This thought was so appalling, in spite of its impossibility, that for ten seconds Mabel sat in silence, with her eyes fairly bulging.
"Henrietta," she breathed finally, "weren't—weren't you just fooling?"
"Listen!" warned Henrietta.
"I'd rather be deceived fifty times," Mrs. Crane was saying, "than let even a tramp go hungry; but that's an honest lad or I never saw one. It's quite possible that he's poor, but that's no crime."
SHOUTS from the lake now claimed the campers' attention. Captain Berry's obstinate engine had suddenly decided to work and was now making up for lost time by refusing to stop. The captain, as near shore as he dared approach, was spinning round and round in circles. Each time he neared the land he shouted lustily.
"He wants something," interpreted Mr. Black, rising from the table. "Marjory—where is Marjory with her sharp ears?"
"Crying in our tent," replied Mabel, with a vindictive glance toward Aunty Jane. "If she wasn't agoodchild, she'd climb a tree and stay there until some folks——"
"There, there," squelched Doctor Bennett, "we mustn't criticise our elders. Let's see what that crazy boat is doing."
"She's stopped," said Mr. Black, "andDave's swimming ashore—after the boats, I guess. Let's help him."
Presently all sorts of boxes, bundles, and baskets were safely landed; all the campers and most of the visitors helping the good work along. Even Marjory, her face swollen and disfigured from much weeping, assisted a little.
"Hullo!" cried Dave, catching sight of the sorrowful countenance. "W'at you ees cry for, li'le gal?"
Tactful Jean, seeing that Marjory was unable to speak, replied for her.
"Her aunt—she hasn't any mother, you know—is going to take her home. She doesn't want to go; but she can't help herself."
"Dat's too bad," sympathized Dave. "W'ich of dose ees hees aunt?"
Jean pointed out Aunty Jane—a middle-aged, unattractive lady, who sat bolt upright when everybody else loafed in comfortable, camp-y attitudes.
"Yas, Ah'm see dose old gal biffore," admitteddisrespectful Dave, eying Aunty Jane's stiff, unconscious back reflectively. "Ah'm not lak' dose kind of lady ver' moch—she ees tole me for take som'bat'."
Even Marjory smiled forlornly at the idea of Dave's taking a bath. But smiles did not last long that day. In spite of all the good things that came in baskets and bundles, in spite of a big box of candy that Saunders had included for Mabel and Henrietta, and inscribed "With the Game Warden's Compliments," the sympathetic little girls were very unhappy at the thought of losing Marjory. They hadalwaysplayed together; and now they were absolutely certain that theycouldn'thave good times during the rest of their stay with no Marjory to help enjoy them. As for Marjory, that small maiden was shedding so many tears that Mabel feared there would soon be nothing left of her unhappy little friend. And by afternoon even the grown-ups were thoroughly vexed by Aunty Jane's obstinacy.
"Oh, we all know," said Mrs. Bennett to Mrs. Tucker, who sat under a tree, lettingdown a skirt for Bettie, "that Aunty Janemeanswell; she'd work her fingers to the bone for Marjory; but arealmother wouldn't be a—a——"
"Vinegar cruet," supplied Doctor Bennett.
"She has completely spoiled the day," declared Mrs. Tucker, "for all those children; and wemeantto give them a pleasant surprise."
"Poor Aunty Janecouldn'tbe a pleasant surprise," protested Mrs. Bennett, "but we mustn't blame her—shedidn't pick out her unfortunate disposition. We'll just have to be extra cheerful ourselves this afternoon to make up for her unpleasantness."
But no one succeeded in being "extra cheerful," when there was so much gloom to dispel; to the children, especially, the day seemed absolutely spoiled in spite of much unexpected and rather amusing sympathy from Dave, who plainly considered going home with Aunty Jane an unmixed calamity.
"I guess," said Jean, shrewdly, "that Davelikesto have us here."
"And why not?" demanded Henrietta. "We give him all sorts of good things to eat and Mr. Black pays him besides, for all the work he doesn't do. He's just bought himself a nice new blanket and a fine big quilt—I noticed them on the beach. Why! Something's happening. Let's see what it is."
Dave, with a large bundle on his shoulder, was crossing the clearing, in the direction of his wigwam. Aunty Jane, pointing at the bundle and scolding loudly, was scurrying after him. Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Mapes were scurrying afterher. Mrs. Slater, under a tree with Mrs. Tucker, seemed greatly amused; for this bright old lady possessed a strong sense of humor.
"Whatisit, Granny?" demanded Henrietta, pausing at sight of the dainty little grandmother's smiling countenance. "Is she trying again to make Dave take a bath?"
"No, Honey," laughed Mrs. Slater. "She thinks she recognizes that quilt—she missed one off her clothesline several nights ago."
Dave, seeing that Aunty Jane was not tobe shaken off, stopped, untied his bundle, separated the quilt from the other articles, and offered it to the pursuing lady.
"Yas," grinned Dave, "Ah'm t'ink dose queelt she ees yours, maybe. She's grow on som' clothesline jus' biffore de back part of dose house of madame hon Lakeveele. Me, Ah'm need som' more queelt—som' tam' Ah'm got company. Mus' feex noddaire bed, Ah'm t'ink."
"Well," replied Aunty Jane, tartly, as she reached for the guilt, "you'd better think again. Give it to me this instant."
Then, catching a whiff of the aroma that was ever a part of Dave, Aunty Jane fairly hurled the restored comforter at the grinning thief.
"For goodness' sake!" she gasped. "Takeit, you filthy Indian. There isn't water enough in Lake Superior to get the smell out of anything you've touched."
"Yas," returned Dave, blandly accepting the quilt, "Ah'm sleep hon dose queelt hall de way from Lakeveele. Night biffore, halso. Ah'mmoch obliged for dose present, madame. Dose ver' good queelt, Ah'm t'ink."
"A great deal too good for you, you filthy beast."
Dave's ill-kept teeth still gleamed in his wide, amiable smile; but his narrowed black eyes suddenly glittered in a cold, snaky way that started an unpleasant chill down Aunty Jane's spine.
"That wicked Indian," she said afterwards, "thanked me and looked as if he'd like to murder me, all in the same breath."
"Indians," mused Doctor Tucker, "are said to be revengeful."
Perhaps, with so many little girls sorrowful on Marjory's account, the sky hadn't the heart to keep on smiling. At any rate, a full hour earlier than the visitors had expected to leave, their launch-man was pointing pessimistically toward gathering clouds—no one else had noticed them.
"If you folks want to get home before it rains," said he, "you'd better be climbing aboard—less'n you want to stay here all night."
"Mercy!" cried Aunty Jane, springing to her feet, "I wouldn't stay for a million dollars."
Mrs. Slater was too polite tosaythat she wouldn't either; but she, too, rose rather hastily to look about for scattered belongings.
Dave assisted everybody with wonderful alacrity. He was here, there, and everywhere. The girls assisted, too—perhaps that was why it took so long to find all Marjory's widely dispersed garments. They were still at this task after most of the mothers had climbed aboard the launch. Marjory, by this time fairly helpless with grief, sat on a log and wept; while Aunty Jane, on her knees under a nearby tree, attempted to roll the accumulated garments into a neat bundle.
Somehow—nobody knew exactly how—Terrible Tim, the porcupine, made his presence felt just at this busy moment. One instant the object in Aunty Jane's grasp was an innocent bundle of clothing. The next, the horrified lady was clutching an astonished and most dreadfully prickly porcupine; for Timothy,propelled by some mysterious force, had landed squarely in her arms.
Instantly the air was rent with shrieks. No one noticed the extra shriek or two that Marjory added to the chorus as a dark, sinewy arm shot forth and suddenly grasped her. No one saw lithe Dave draw the frightened, dazed little girl into the thicket, toss her across his shoulder, and flee, by a roundabout trail that no civilized foot could have found, toward his own wigwam.
"Be still," commanded Dave, clapping his hand gently but effectually over Marjory's mouth. "Don't be scare—Ah'm good frien' to you, li'le gal. Now ron, ron fast hon your own leg."
Astonishment prevented further desire to shriek, for, near the doorway of Dave's wigwam and washing a grimy pan with a grimier rag, stood a dark but decidedly attractive young woman. And down in the dirt at her feet, as Marjory had seen her many times previously, groveled the Dandelion Cottage baby, the unforgettable Rosa Marie.
Marjory, at sight of the funny little Indian baby that Mabel had once adopted, almost forgot her own troubles.
"Ma sistaire," explained Dave, pointing toward the woman. "Hees name ees Mahjigeezigoqua. Can you say dose name?"
"Mar-gee-gee-ze-go-qua," repeated Marjory, correctly making the first g soft, the second hard. "But how did you get them here? We didn't see them leave the boat."
"Ah'm pack dem wit' dose proveesion," laughed Dave. "Ah'm poot dose two hon shore behin' som' point, w'ile all dose peop' ees too busy for look at Dave. Ma sistaire ees come for pick som' berry. Hey, you know dose kid? W'y you no talk, Rosa Marie? Here ees som' frien' for you."
Then Dave spoke rapidly in some strange tongue to his sister, concluding in his broken English, as he turned to go:
"Now Ah'm go for help dose ol' Aunt hon top dose boat. You stay here."
Nevertheless, conscientious Marjory started to follow him; but Rosa Marie's mother, steppingquickly into the narrow pathway, gently but unmistakably detained her.
"You talk som' leetle t'ing to Rosa Marie—she ees remembaire you, ees eet not, Rosa? See, how he ees grow som' hon herself, dose so fat Rosa."
So Marjory, seeing no way of immediate escape with the attractive young Indian woman firmly blocking the pathway, renewed her acquaintance with Rosa Marie, who apparently was as stolid and as unemotional as ever.
"Hees fadaire lak' dat," explained Mahjigeezigoqua. "He t'ink hon hees inside honly. No talk, no mak' som' smile hon her face, dose man."
If Rosa Mariedidany thinking, it is certain that the process went on "inside only," for if ever there was a wooden little Indian it was Rosa Marie. But by dint of hard work, Marjory finally extracted a smile. Then Rosa Marie, groping under her brief skirts, produced the very dirtiest and most disreputable doll that Marjory had ever beheld.
"Ma-bel," said Rosa Marie. "Ma-bel."
"She ees name for Mees Mabel," explained the Indian baby's mother.
"Mabel ought to feel flattered," giggled Marjory. "I'll tell her about her namesake. But mercy! I must go back——"
"Wait," said Dave's sister, lightly clasping her slender brown fingers about Marjory's wrist. "Ah show you how to catch som' chipmunk."
And Marjory, realizing that she was a prisoner, stayed where she was.