"'Dear Cousin Margaret:—We miss you awfully, and Uncle John says it is no kind of a house without you, and it isn't. We went a walk yesterday, Susan D. and me and the dogs, because you know it was Sunday; Uncle John was coming too, but he had roomatizm and coud not. Well Cousin Margaret, we walked over the big hill and just then the dogs began howling and yelling in the most awful manner, and running round and round like they were crazy; and we ran to see what was up, and we found out, I tell you! It was white hornets, about ten thousand of them, and the dogs had rolled in a nest of them, and they were stinging their noses, and they flew at us with perfeck fewry, I mean the hornets did. I hollered and ran, but Susan D. said wait she knew what to do, so she said "Come on," and we ran down to the brook and she took mud and put it on my stings before she touched her own, and it took a good deal of the pane out thoughnot all. And then she put it on the dogs' noses, and they understood like persons, and poked them into the mud themselves and soon forgot their pane. But I thought I would tell you this Cousin Margaret, because Susan D. did really behave like a perfeck brick, and you always said girls were as brave as boys but I never thought so before but now I do; because I hollered right out when they stung me which I am ashamed of. You said confession was good for the sole, and so I think: so now I will say good-by from"'Basil.'"
"'Dear Cousin Margaret:—We miss you awfully, and Uncle John says it is no kind of a house without you, and it isn't. We went a walk yesterday, Susan D. and me and the dogs, because you know it was Sunday; Uncle John was coming too, but he had roomatizm and coud not. Well Cousin Margaret, we walked over the big hill and just then the dogs began howling and yelling in the most awful manner, and running round and round like they were crazy; and we ran to see what was up, and we found out, I tell you! It was white hornets, about ten thousand of them, and the dogs had rolled in a nest of them, and they were stinging their noses, and they flew at us with perfeck fewry, I mean the hornets did. I hollered and ran, but Susan D. said wait she knew what to do, so she said "Come on," and we ran down to the brook and she took mud and put it on my stings before she touched her own, and it took a good deal of the pane out thoughnot all. And then she put it on the dogs' noses, and they understood like persons, and poked them into the mud themselves and soon forgot their pane. But I thought I would tell you this Cousin Margaret, because Susan D. did really behave like a perfeck brick, and you always said girls were as brave as boys but I never thought so before but now I do; because I hollered right out when they stung me which I am ashamed of. You said confession was good for the sole, and so I think: so now I will say good-by from
"'Basil.'"
"What a dear boy!" cried Gertrude.
"Oh, he is!" said Margaret, the happy tears springing to her eyes. "He is one of the very dearest boys that ever lived, Gertrude; so manly and honest, and so funny, too. Gerald knows him!" she added, shyly. "I wish he had been at home when you were there, Peggy."
"Yes; he must be a brick!" said Peggy. "Now, Margaret, you know he is, and you know that nothing but 'brick' expresses what I mean. Girls, I appeal to you. Margaret wants me to talk like a professor all the time, and I am not a professor, and am never likely to be one. Bell, isn't 'brick' all right?"
Bell looked conscious. "I confess I say it, Peggy; I confess it seems much heartier than the same thing in what my mother calls good English. Still—I believe it would sound very queer to me if she used it; the mother, I mean."
"Grace used to say 'a quadrangular piece of baked clay!'" said Gertrude. "Don't you remember, Peggy?"
"So she did—dear thing! Well, but, Bell, would you have girls talk just the way grown-up people do? It would sound awfully stiff and poky. I don't mean that it sounds so when your mother talks!" she cried; "ofcourse you know I don't mean that. But girlsaren'tgrown-up, you know."
"But they are going to be!" said Margaret. "If they don't learn good English now, how are they going to do it later? It does seem to me a terrible pity, with all our great, glorious language, to use so little of it, and to use it so often wrong. You may think me priggish and professorial, and anything else you like, Peggy dear, but that is what I think."
"I love you to distraction," said Peggy; "you are an angel, but I think you carry it too far. What would you say instead of 'brick?' how would you describe this boy—who simplyisa brick?"
Margaret reflected. "I should say he was a nice, manly boy!" she said, presently.
"Nice! now, Margaret! 'nice' is niminy, you know it is, and piminy too."
"The great advantage of 'brick,'" said Bell, "is that it is one word, and 'nice manly boy'is three, and doesn't mean the same thing then."
"There!" cried Peggy, in triumph. "What do you say to that, Margaret? Find one word in your old 'good English' that does express 'brick?'"
"Well—it isn't easy!" Margaret admitted. "'Trump' is the only one I can think of, and I suppose that was slang fifty years ago."
"The mother says that when a word has held its own for twenty years, it isn't slang any more," said Gertrude. "The question is—"
At this moment the sound of a horn was heard; a long, ringing blast, followed by a second and a third.
The girls sprang to their feet. "Hurrah for a swim!" cried Bell. "Come, bricks and trumps—I'll race you all to the tents!" And off they went with a flash of petticoats, leaving the chipmunk to speculate on the sudden upheavals of nature.
Thefloating wharf, as has been said, lay at the end of a long, narrow slip that ran out on piers over the water. Down the slip, one by one, now came the Merryweathers and their guests, in bathing array, the boys shouting and skylarking,—the girls singing and tossing their long hair about. Jack and Phil brought out a long spring-board, and set it up at the end of the wharf; and then the fun began. Mr. Merryweather was the first to run along the board, and take a sober and dignified dive. He was followed by Gerald, turning handsprings, and carolling to the effect that he was a pirate king, he was; hurrah for the pirate king! Next cameJack, who turned a back somersault, ending with a noble splash; and so, one by one, like so many ducks, they dove and leaped and tumbled in, and splashed and swam about in the clear water. Peggy was with the rest, splashing as merrily as any of them; but Margaret sat on the wharf, in her pretty blue bathing-dress, her feet tucked under her, looking on.
"'COME ON! COME IN!'""'COME ON! COME IN!'"
"Come on, Margaret!" cried Peggy. "Come on! come in! It's perfectly great!"
"In a minute," said Margaret. "I like to watch you a bit first; it takes me a little while to get my courage up."
"Come, oh, come with me!" sang Gerald, emerging from the water, at her feet, and clinging to the wharf, while he shook the drops from his hair and eyes. "Come swim with me and be my swan! Come where the duckweed twineth! Come!"
"Oh, Gerald, yes; in just a minute. Is it very cold?"
"Cold? No; just right. Liquid crystal, sparkling sapphire, perfection! Come, you must have your swimming lesson. Forget the cheerful swain,—behold the stern instructor!"
He held out his hand with an imperative gesture. Margaret laid hers in it timidly.
"Let me get near the rope!" she said, rather nervously.
"Here is the rope, close by your hand. Now, then, hold fast! There we go!"
With one hand on the rope, and the other in Gerald's, Margaret slid into the water, giving a little cry as it bubbled up about her. "Gerald!"
"Right here, my lady. There; both hands on the rope now. Take it easy! Now you are all right."
"Ye'—yes, Gerald. Oh, isn't it glorious?"
"Rather! It's really the element to livein, you see. A mistake was made somewhere. If I had but gills, I should ask no more of fate. As it is—"
He dove, and came up on the other side of the rope. "Don't you think I would be charming with gills,—pretty little quivering, rosy gills,—instead of side whiskers?"
"I never saw you in side whiskers," said Margaret, demurely, "so I cannot tell. You certainly don't seem to need the gills, though. Howdoyou manage to keep under so long? Yesterday, when you stayed down picking up these pebbles, I was sure something had happened. Really, Gerald, I was very much frightened."
"I ought to have been switched," said Gerald. "I never thought of your noticing. I say, come down with me, and I'll show you the trick of it. It's just as easy!"
"Not for worlds!" cried Margaret, clutching the rope, as if she expected to be dragged from it by force. "I never should come upalive. Oh, look, Gerald! what are they going to do now?"
"Going to dive over the elephants. Do you mind—oh, here is the child, Toots. Toots, will you stay here by Margaret, while I take my place in the ring? You are sure you are all right, Margaret?"
"Oh, yes; do go. I want to see it. Gertrude, whatarethey doing?"
"Look and see," said Gertrude. "Put your arms on the rope, and lift yourself higher. That's right."
Phil and Jack and Willy had placed themselves side by side, on their hands and knees, at the edge of the wharf, and were calling loudly for Gerald. He stepped back to the farther end of the float, then, running forward, soared into the air, over the backs of the "elephants," and came down straight as an arrow into the water; then, scrambling out, took his place in the row, while Phil performed the same manœuvre. Over andover and over they went, running, rising, plunging, rising again. Margaret grew dizzy watching them. Now Mr. Merryweather advanced, holding a rubber hoop, which was neither more nor less than the discarded tire of a bicycle. This he and Gerald held out at arm's length, and the other boys dove through it, amid the applause of the girls.
"Oh, pretty!" cried Peggy. "Do you do that, girls?"
"Gertrude does; I haven't tried it yet," said Bell, who was floating placidly, her arms under her head, her face turned to the sky.
"I am going to try," said Peggy. "May I, Mr. Merryweather?"
"By all means!" said the Chief, heartily. "Take a good run—steady, Jerry. Hold it out well—there! hurrah!"
For Peggy had gone through the hoop like a bird, and after a clean dive, was coming up again, radiant and panting.
"Oh, Peggy, how splendid!" cried Margaret,her eyes shining with pleasure and pride in her Peggy's prowess. "Gertrude, didn't she do it well? Such a pretty, graceful thing to do."
"C'était une corquerre!" said Gerald, heartily. "Elle est aussi une corquerre, la Peggy.You will be doing it soon yourself."
"Oh, never, never! You cannot seem to understand, Gerald, that I am notmadefor these things. I love to see them; I admire them intensely, but I cannot so much as think of trying."
"Point de stonte pour Marguerite?" said Gerald. "Alas the day! Because you really would do them so corkingly, you know, if only you should do them. Well, see here, I am going to give you a troll. You will like that, I am sure."
"A troll? I thought they were mountain goblins. I don't want one, thank you, sir! water nixies and pixies are as much as I can bear in the goblin line."
"Verb, not substantive!" replied Gerald.
"I troll, thou lettest thyself be trolled, he, she, or it sees you being trolled and wishes that he, she, or it had such luck. Observe!"
He climbed into one of the Rangeley boats that lay near the float, loosed her moorings, and, taking up the oars, brought her close to the rope. "Now, Margaret, catch hold; here, at the stern!"
"What are you going to do with me, Gerald? I fear thee, ancient mariner, I fear thy skinny hand!"
"I hold you with my glittering eye, you cannot choose but come. I am going to take you off a-trolling. Hold on tight with your hands, and let all the rest of you go, as if you had nothing to do with it."
He took a few strokes, slowly and easily. Margaret, clinging to the stern, was drawn along without effort or motion of her own. Her long hair floated behind her; her whitearms gleamed like ivory through the clear water; her face was alight with pleasure.
"'Not wholly bad, Lysander Pratt?'" quoted Gerald, interrogatively.
"Oh, Gerald! it is almost too perfect! no, you needn't stop, I only saidalmost. The water feels like silk flowing by me: no, silk is rough beside it; it feels like—like—"
"Like water, possibly?" said Gerald; "stranger things have been."
"Well, there isn't anything else like it, is there? Oh! are you sure you will not take cold or anything, Gerald? I could go on forever, floating here—trolling, I mean."
"Nothing easier," said Gerald, pulling on with long, steady strokes. "We will just keep on; I ask nothing better. Years passed. A form was seen, gray and bent with age, feebly tugging at a pair of oars. Trailing behind the crazy boat, another figure might be distinguished—I forbear further description, Margaret: I may grow old, but not you;please stay as you are always. Anyhow, the people will flock to the shore. Ha! the Muse! the afflatus descends.
"The people thronged the rocky shore,And viewed that graybeard old and hoar;'Oh! why thus dodderest at the oar,Unhappy soul?'The answer came: 'Forever moreShe wished to troll!'"
"Gerald, I think we'd better go back now."
"Wait! she hasn't finished. Never interrupt a Muse! it isn't the thing to do.
"And still along that rocky coast,A gibbering yet a gallant ghost,He dodders, dodders at his post,Nor nears the goal;For she, the spook he cares for most,Still loves to troll."
"Gerald, take me back, please! see, we are ever so far from shore, and it is time for me to go in, I am sure."
"Just look down, Margaret! see the bottom, all white sand; isn't that pleasant? Hi! there's a bream watching his nest. See him fanning about over it, never leaving the place. He'll keep that up for hours at a time. Domestic party, the bream! this is an excellent opportunity to study the habits of—"
"Gerald, I am cold!"
"We'll be there in two minutes!" said Gerald, settling to his oars. "Hold tight, now, Margaret! troll as the wolves of Apennine were all upon your track!" and with long, powerful strokes he sent the boat flying through the water, while Margaret fairly shrieked with delight and excitement.
Her face had been turned away from the float; but now she was speeding toward it, and looked eagerly to see what the others of the party were doing. To her great amazement, no one was in sight. The wharf lay wet and glistening in the sunshine, but no blue-clad figures leaped and pranced across it,no merry faces emerged from the blue, sparkling water. All was silent and solitary.
"Why, Gerald," cried Margaret, "where are they all? have they gone in? Surely I heard their voices just a moment ago, and a great splash: where can they be?"
"A stunt!" replied Gerald. "For our benefit, I presume, but I scorn their levity. I advise you to take no notice of their childish pranks. I myself was young, once upon a time, but what then?"
They were now at the float, and Margaret looked about her, in utter amazement. All was silent; not a voice, not a whisper; no soul was in sight. It was as if she and Gerald were alone in the world. She stepped out on the float: at the instant, up from under her feet rose a sound as if the biggest giant that ever swung a club were sneezing. "A—tchoo!"
Margaret screamed outright. "Gerald! what is it?"
"Come out from there!" cried Gerald. "They are under the float, imbeciles that they are. The Pater has gone ashore, and the others manifest their nature, that is all. Come out, Apes of the Apennines! or I'll—"
The threat remained unfinished, for the Merryweathers came out. Swarming up from under the float, where they had been treading water at their ease, with plenty of breathing-space, they flung themselves with one accord upon Gerald's boat, capsized it, and dragged him into the water. A great splashing contest ensued, with much shouting and merriment, and they were still hard at it when "All in!" sounded from the boat-house.
"Stillraining, Phil?" asked Mrs. Merryweather, looking up from her writing.
"Still, honored parent! or rather, to be exact, anything but still. Up on the hill, the wind is fierce. I had to ride round the blast once or twice, instead of going through it. Solid old wind, that!"
He threw off his dripping oilskin jacket, and came in, unslinging the letter-bag from his shoulder as he came.
"Letters! letters!" he cried. "Who wants letters?"
Every one gathered around him, holding out eager hands.
"One for me, Phil!"
"For me, Protector of the Poor!"
"Oh! please, Phil! I want three at least."
"If there is none for me, Fergy my boy, I shudder at the consequences for you!"
Phil distributed letters and papers; the family subsided on chairs and benches with their treasures, and for some minutes nothing was heard but the rustle of paper and the steady downpour of the rain.
"Oh!" cried Peggy, presently. "Oh—eee! splendid!"
"Sapolio!" exclaimed Gerald; and "Well! well!" said Mrs. Merryweather.
The three exclamations were simultaneous, and Bell, who had no letters, raised her hand with an imperative gesture. "Exclamation must be followed by explanation!" she said. "Law of the Medes and Persians. We shall be glad to hear from the exclaimers."
"Who? me? did I?" asked Peggy, looking up with sparkling eyes. "Semiramis has eight puppies. Think of it! eight whole puppies!"
"I never buy more than half a puppy at a time," said Gerald, "unless it is for a veal and ham pie."
"Gerald!"
"Well, it's a fact, Mater; I never do. What kind of puppies, thou of Limavaddy?"
"Gordon setters, black and tan: oh, she says they are perfect beauties. She says—this is Jean, you know, my sister—'they are all like Semmy except one, and he isblue.' Who ever heard of a blue puppy? You shall have one, Snowy: I promised you one, don't you remember? oh—eee! and the new colt is a perfect beauty too, and they have named her Peggy. Oh!"
Peggy looked down at her letter, then looked up again shyly. "I—don't suppose you would care to hear any of it?" she said, interrogatively.
"Indeed we should!" said Mrs. Merryweather, heartily. "We should like it extremely, Peggy. A letter from the FarWest; why, it will be a journey for all of us."
"Great!" said Phil.
"Corking!" said Gerald. And one and all, in their several ways, expressed their desire to hear the letter.
Dimpling with pleasure, her rosy face beaming, Peggy began to read.
"'Dear old'—oh, well, I won't read just the beginning, because it is just the way we talk to each other, you know. I wish you knew Jean, Snowy. Let me see! oh, yes, here it is.
"'This is eight birthdays all at once, for what do you think, Peggy? this morning we missed Semmy at breakfast, and could not find her anywhere. There were kidneys, and you know she always finishes the dish off, because she is so fond of them. Well, and so I went to look for her, and she wasn't in her box, or in the shed, or behind the kitchen stove, or anywhere where she usually is. SoI went out to the stable, and there I heard little squeaks and squeals, the funniest you ever heard, and then a growl in Semmy's voice as I opened the door. Then the dear thing heard my step, and was ashamed of growling, and began thumping her tail on the floor till I should have thought she would break it. And there she was, all cuddled down in a pile of hay, and the dear little darling things all cuddled round her. I never saw anything so perfectly dear! they were all blind, and bald all over, and pink, and squealing like anything; you neverdidsee anything so lovely in all your life, at least I never did. Well, she let me take them up, one by one, old darling, though I could see that it made her nervous. Most of them are like her, beautifully marked, with pink noses, and black ears, and just the right blackness and tanness on them; but one is very queer, great splotches of black on his nose and his hind quarters, and all the rest of him white.So they named him "Magpie," right off; but I haven't come to the names yet. He is not very pretty, but he looksverybright, and I shouldn't wonder if he was terribly clever, to make up for not being so handsome as the others. And the other different one is a perfect beauty, though you may not think so when I tell you that he isblue. Yes, truly blue; of course I don't mean sky blue, nor navy, but the black is all mixed in through the white,—I can't explain to you just how it is—but anyhow, at a little distance, he does truly and honestly look blue. Well, so—I was the first to find them, so Father said I might name them, but of course I wanted us all to do it together; so we all thought, and each made a list. Oh, Peggy, we did want you; and I wanted to wait till you could send your list too, but the others thought you would not mind, and it is nicer to have them named quickly, because then their names seem to belong to them more,and they look like them. Perhaps, I mean, if you had been called something else till you were two or three years old, you might not have been so just exactly Peggy as you are, you dear old thing.'
"Perhaps I ought not to have read that," said Peggy, looking up with a blush; "but it is as like Jean as I am like Peggy, if I am like it, whatever it is."
"You certainly are like 'it,'" said Gertrude, laughing, "and 'it' certainly is a dear old thing. Go on, please. We are all longing to hear the list."
Peggy threw her a kiss, and went on.
"'I will not give you all the lists, for that would take up all the rest of my letter; but here is the one we finally made out. There are three females, and five males, you know:Cleopatra,Meg(Merrilies; that was Flora's, because she is just reading "Guy Mannering"),Diana,Guy(for the same reason),Shot,Hector,Ajax, andMagpie.'
"Well, I do think that is a queer list," Peggy concluded, folding up the letter. "I wish they had called one 'Gray Brother,' or 'Bagheera.'"
"But they are not wolves or panthers," objected Mr. Merryweather. "I should say that was a very fair list of names, Peggy, as names go. It is always hard to find a good name for a dog. 'Shot' is an excellent name. We had a good old dog named Shot, and I have always liked the name."
"Mammy," said Bell, "are we not to hear something from you?"
"From me, my dear?" repeated Mrs. Merryweather. "What would you like to hear?"
"I should think you were an amiable gramophone," replied her daughter, with affectionate disrespect. "And Ithinkyou really know what I mean, madam, in spite of that innocent look. On reading your letters, you and Jerry exclaimed: 'Well,well!' and 'Sapolio!' at the same instant, and your letters are on the same kind of paper, I cannot help seeing that. Have you something to break to us? 'Sapolio' is a baleful utterance, delivered as Jerry delivered it just now."
"Gee! I should think it was!" muttered Gerald, gloomily. He had brightened up while Peggy was reading her letter, but now his usually bright face was clouded with unmistakable vexation.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Merryweather, with what seemed a rather elaborately cheerful expression. "My letter? It is from Cousin Anna Belleville. She tells me that Claud has been with her at Bar Harbor for some time, and that he is coming to visit us on his way back. He will be here some day next week, she thinks."
A certain pensiveness stole over the aspect of the Merryweathers. Bell and Gertrude exchanged a swift glance, but said nothing.Gerald whistled, "Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket!"
After a brief silence, Mr. Merryweather said, thoughtfully, "I was thinking of taking the boys off on a camping trip next week."
"You cannot, Miles," said his wife, quickly. "It is out of the question."
"Oh, certainly," said Mr. Merryweather. "I only—a—quite so!"
He relapsed into inarticulate murmurs over his pipe. Mrs. Merryweather, after a reproachful glance at him, turned to Gerald, as she folded her letter. "You have a letter from Claud, Gerald?" she asked, cheerfully.
"I have, madam," said Gerald, with a brow of thunder. "He informs me that he is looking forward with the greatest pleasure to roughing it a bit with us, and says that we must make no preparations, but let him take things just as they are. He's a Christian soul, that's what he is."
"What is to be the order of the evening?"asked Mrs. Merryweather, addressing Bell with a shade of warning in her voice. "Are we to have games, or boat-building?"
"Oh! boat-building! the regatta is to-morrow, and we are not half ready."
There was a general rush toward cupboards and lockers, and in an incredibly short space of time the whole room was a pleasant litter of chips, shingles, and brown paper. The rules for the regattas at Merryweather were few and simple. All boats must be built by their owners, unaided; no boat must be over a foot long from stem to stern; all sails must be of paper. Aside from these limitations, the fancies of the campers might roam at will; accordingly, the boats were of every shape and description, from Kitty's shingle, ballasted with pebbles, to Phil's elaborate catamaran. Peggy was struggling with a stout and somewhat "nubbly" piece of wood, which was slowly shaping itself under the vigorous strokes of her jack-knife.
"She's coming on!" Peggy declared, cheerfully. "She really begins to look quite like a boat now, doesn't she, Mr. Merryweather?"
"Certainly!" the Chief assented. "I don't see why she should not make a very good boat, Peggy. I would round off her stern a bit, if I were you. So! that's better."
"What is her name, Peggy?" inquired Mrs. Merryweather. "I must be entering the names in the Log."
"TheLovely Peggy, of course!" said Phil. "What else should it be?"
"It might be theLimavaddy!" said Gerald.
"Gerald, Iwishyou would tell me what you mean by 'Limavaddy,'" said Peggy. "It sounds like—I don't know what; tea-caddy, or something like that. Mrs. Merryweather, won't you tell me what it means?"
"It is a compliment he is paying you, Peggy," said her hostess, smiling. "Peg of Limavaddy is the charming heroine of a charming ballad of Thackeray's.
"'This I do declare,Happy is the laddyWho the heart can shareOf Peg of Limavaddy.Married if she were,Blest would be the daddyOf the children fairOf Peg of Limavaddy.Beauty is not rareIn the land of Paddy,Fair beyond compareIs Peg of Limavaddy.'
That is not one of the prettiest stanzas, but it shows you why Gerald has nicknamed you."
"I say with Captain Corcoran," Gerald observed, pausing in the critical adjustment of a sail:
"'Though I'm anything but clever,I could talk like that forever.'
As thus!
"When she makes the tea,Brews it from a caddy,Who so blithe as she,Peg of Limavaddy?"See her o'er the stove,Broiling of a haddie;Thus she won my love,Peg of Limavaddy."But building of a boat,Her success is shady;Bet you she won't float,Peg ofLimavaddy!"
"Wait till to-morrow," cried Peggy, laughing, "and you'll see whether she floats or not. And anyhow, she is my first boat. Isn't there a special class for beginners, Mr. Merryweather?"
"No, no! no fear or favor shown; the rigor of the game, little Peggy. Margaret, have you given up?"
"Oh, yes, please, Mr. Merryweather!" said Margaret, looking up from her knitting with a smile. "I could not; it simply was not possible. Gerald was positive at first that he could teach me, but after one lesson he was equally positive that he could not. I needed no conviction, because I knew I could not."
"Nobody can do absolutely everything," said Gerald, "except the Codger,—I allude to my revered uncle, Margaret,—and I have at times desired to drown him for that qualification. You shall be the starter, Margaret; you'll do that to perfection."
"What are the duties of a starter?" asked Margaret; "I shall be very glad to do anything I really can."
"To sit still and look pretty!" said Gerald, demurely. "Ithinkyou can manage it."
"Have I the full list?" asked Mrs. Merryweather. "I'll read it aloud.
"ThePrincipal Whale,—Papa."
"I wish you would not call my father names!" murmured Gerald.
"Jerry, do be still!
"TheTintinnabula, Bell.
"TheJollycumpop, Gertrude.
"TheCome-at-a-Body, Gerald.
"TheMolasses Cooky, Phil.
"ThePolly Cologne, Kitty.
"TheWhopper, Willy."
"Is that all?"
"All but Peggy's," said Gertrude. "Peggy, you must decide on the name of your boat."
"Oh! Gertrude, that is the hardest part of all. Margaret, you must name her for me."
"Why notSemiramis, after the happy mother of the puppies?" suggested Margaret.
"The whole puppies!" echoed Gerald. "Don't half name them, Margaret!"
"Why isn't that the name for the boat?" cried Phil.
"It is! it is!" cried all the rest. "TheWhole Puppy, it is!" And Peggy laughing, submitted.
"I neverwasso teased in all my life!" she said; "but I feel it doing me good."
"That is our one object, my charming child!" said Gerald, gravely. "We invited you here in the hope that our united effortsmight counteract the pernicious influences of Fernley House."
"Nobody will ever explain to me what a Come-at-a-Body is!" said Margaret. "Whenever I ask, you all say, 'Oh, hush! it might come!' Mrs. Merryweather, won't you tell me?"
"I will read you the description of it in the Log," said Mrs. Merryweather, smiling; "that is the best I can do for you."
She turned over the pages of the book that lay open in her lap. "Here it is!" she said. "Now mark and learn, Margaret.
"'The Come-at-a-Body is found only in its native habitat, where it may be observed at the proper season, indulging in the peculiar actions that characterize it. It has more arms than legs, and more hair than either. It moves with great rapidity, its gait being something between a wallop and a waddle; and as it comes (one of its peculiarities is that it always comes, and never goes), itutters loud screams, and gnashes its teeth in time with its movements.'
"Now, my dear, you know all that I do!" Mrs. Merryweather concluded with a candid smile.
"Thank you so much!" said Margaret, laughing. "I am certainly enlightened."
At this moment Phil, who was sitting near the door, laid down his work, and held up a warning hand. "Hark!" he said. "What is that?"
"Only the wind!" said some one.
"Or the car rattling o'er the stony street!" said another.
"No!" said Phil. "I heard a voice, I am sure. Listen!"
All were silent. Outside the rain was pouring, the wind wailing in long sighing gusts; but—yes! mingling with the wind, a voice was certainly calling:
"Hallo! hallo, there! Merryweather!"
Gerald sprang to his feet, and struck histwin brother on the shoulder. "The Philistines are upon thee, Samson!" he cried. "I should know that voice in the shock of spears: it is Claud Belleville!"
"MR. CLAUD BELLEVILLE WAS A TALL, PALLID YOUTH.""MR. CLAUDBELLEVILLEWAS A TALL, PALLID YOUTH."
TheMontforts and Jack Ferrers looked up with much curiosity and some apprehension as the twins returned ushering in the unexpected visitor. Mr. and Mrs. Merryweather and the girls welcomed him cordially, but Margaret could not help contrasting their somewhat subdued cheerfulness with the joyous outburst that had welcomed herself and Peggy on their arrival.
Mr. Claud Belleville was a tall, pallid youth, with blond hair carefully arranged, pale blue eyes, in one of which an eyeglass was neatly fitted, and a languid air. He spoke with a pronounced English accent, and, on being presented to the other guests, said"Oh! very, very, very!" in a most affable tone.
The Merryweathers bestirred themselves, some bringing dry garments, some preparing a hasty meal; the guest meanwhile stood in the centre of the hearthstone, and adjured them not to put themselves to inconvenience.
"Now, my dear people, I beg of you!" he said. "Nothing, positively nothing, but a biscuit and a cup of tea! Really, now, I cannot allow it. Thanks, Jerry! awfully good of you, don't you know! oh! very, very, very! now, my dear fellow,notyour best coat! It is too absurd."
"It isn't my best, it's my worst!" said Gerald, bluntly.
"Oh! very good! very diverting! thanks awfully! don't mention it. Well, Cousin Miranda, this is charming; this is positively charming. So delightfully primitive, don't you know! oh, very, very, very! I told my people that before I went back to Paris I mustpositively look you up. It is such an age since I have seen any of you. My little cousins are all grown up into young ladies, and such charming young ladies: I congratulate you, Cousin,de tout mon cœur!"
"Thank you, Claud!" said Mrs. Merryweather, quietly. "I trust your mother is quite well? I only received her note, and Gerald yours, to-day. She spoke of your coming next week; if we had known that you were coming to-night, we would have sent to the station for you."
"Ah, yes; I knew that!" said Mr. Belleville. "I know your hospitality never fails, Cousin Miranda. But you know me, too—a butterfly—here to-day, gone to-morrow! A summons from the Dunderblincks—races going on at their place, don't you know; midsummerfêtes, that sort of thing—changed my plans. Mamma said, 'You will have to give up the Camp,Chéri!' 'No!' I said. 'They expect me; I have passed my word, itis all I have. I go to the Camp to-day.' I came—I saw—I dare not say I conquered!" Here he bowed, and threw a killing glance at Gertrude, who was passing at the moment, carrying the teapot.
"Canthis be the little Gertrude?" he added, addressing her, and lowering his voice to a sentimental half-tone. "She has not forgotten Cousin Claud?"
"Certainly not, Claud!" replied Gertrude, smiling. "It is only three years since you were with us at home for two or three weeks. I remember you perfectly."
"Only three years!" murmured Mr. Belleville. "Is it possible? but what momentous years! The change from thepetite fille, the charming child, to the woman, the—but I must not say too much!"
"You'll burn your bloom—your boots, if you stand so near the fire!" said Gerald, in a growl so threatening that Margaret looked up startled.
"Yourboots, dear fellow!" Mr. Belleville corrected him. "Right! I am a little near the cheerful blaze. I am a fire-worshipper, you know; oh, very, very, very!"
"Boys, you'd better see to the boats before you go to bed!" said Mr. Merryweather, speaking for the first time since his greeting of the newcomer.
"All right, sir!" said the twins, rising with alacrity. "Jack, will you come along?"
"Always thoughtful, Cousin Miles!" said Mr. Belleville. "Always the prop of the family! so unchanged!"
Mr. Merryweather's reply was inarticulate, and its tone caused his wife to begin hastily a series of inquiries for the visitor's family.
The twins and Jack Ferrers walked slowly down the slip in the rain. No one spoke till they reached the float; then Gerald said slowly: "Sapolio—Saccarappa—Sarcophagus—Squedunk!"
"Feel better?" asked his brother, sympathetically.
"There is one thing," said Gerald, still speaking slowly and emphatically, "that I wish, in this connection, distinctly understood. Indoors he is safe: hospitality—salt—Arabs—that kind of thing. But if in the immediate proximity of the cleansing flood"—he waved his hand toward the lake—"he continues to patronize the parents, in he goes! I have spoken!"
"I should not presume to restrain my half-hour elder!" said Phil. "Jack, I'm afraid we shall have to put this curled darling in your tent. It's only for the night, fortunately."
"Oh! of course! delighted!" said Jack, somewhat embarrassed.
"Very, very, very, eh?" said Phil. "Oh! what's the use of making believe, with any one we know so well as you? It's a nuisance, and we don't pretend it isn't."
"Mark my words, John Ferrers!" broke in Gerald. "We mean to be civil to this youth. He is our second cousin, and we know it. He is also a blooming, blossoming, burgeoning Ass, and he doesn't know it. They seldom do. We mean, I say, to be civil to him, barring patronage of the parents. He has been our thorn, and we have borne him—at intervals, mercifully not too short—all our lives. But we aren't going to pretend that we love him, because we don't. No more doesn't he love us.