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Dorothy on a House Boat

by Evelyn Raymond · English · Gutenberg #32606 · 346,134 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Dorothy on a House Boat

Author: Evelyn Raymond

Illustrator: Rudolf Mencl


        
Release date: May 30, 2010 [eBook #32606]
                Most recently updated: January 6, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32606

Credits: Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOROTHY ON A HOUSE BOAT ***




Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net









 DOROTHY
 ON A HOUSE-BOAT

 _By_

 EVELYN RAYMOND

 ILLUSTRATED

 New York

 THE PLATTE & PECK CO.




THE

DOROTHY BOOKS

By EVELYN RAYMOND


These stories of an American girl by an American author have made
"Dorothy" a household synonym for all that is fascinating. Truth and
realism are stamped on every page. The interest never flags, and is
ofttimes intense. No more happy choice can be made for gift books, so
sure are they to win approval and please not only the young in years,
but also "grown-ups" who are young in heart and spirit.

 Dorothy
 Dorothy at Skyrie
 Dorothy's Schooling
 Dorothy's Travels
 Dorothy's House Party
 Dorothy in California
 Dorothy on a Ranch
 Dorothy's House Boat
 Dorothy at Oak Knowe
 Dorothy's Triumph
 Dorothy's Tour

 _Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth
 Price per Volume, 50 Cents_

 COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
 THE PLATT & PECK CO.




[Illustration: "EPHRAIM, DID YOU EVER LIVE IN A HOUSE-BOAT?"--P 15
_Dorothy's House-Boat_]




FOREWORD.


Those who have followed the story of Dorothy Calvert's life thus
far will remember that it has been full of interest and many
adventures--pleasant and otherwise. Beginning as a foundling left upon
the steps of a little house in Brown street, Baltimore, she was
adopted by its childless owners, a letter-carrier and his wife. When
his health failed she removed with them to the Highlands of the
Hudson. There followed her "Schooling" at a fashionable academy; her
vacation "Travels" in beautiful Nova Scotia; her "House Party" at the
home of her newly discovered great aunt, Mrs. Betty Calvert; their
winter together "In California"; a wonderful summer "On a Ranch" in
Colorado; and now the early autumn has found the old lady and the
girl once more in the ancestral home of the Calverts. Enjoying their
morning's mail in the pleasant library of old Bellvieu, they are both
astonished by the contents of one letter which offers for Dorothy's
acceptance the magnificent gift of a "House-Boat." What follows the
receipt of this letter is now to be told.




CONTENTS


 CHAPTER                                                    PAGE

       FOREWORD                                               9

    I. A BIG GIFT FOR A SMALL MAID                           11

   II. INVITATIONS TO A CRUISE OF LOVING KINDNESS            25

  III. THE DIFFICULTIES OF GETTING UNDER WAY                 44

   IV. MATTERS ARE SETTLED                                   62

    V. THE STORM AND WHAT FOLLOWED                           76

   VI. A MULE AND MELON TRANSACTION                          92

  VII. VISITORS                                             105

 VIII. THE COLONEL'S REVELATION                             121

   IX. FISH AND MONKEYS                                     138

    X. A MERE ANNE ARUNDEL GUST                             154

   XI. A MORNING CALL OF MONKEYS                            165

  XII. UNDER THE PERSIMMON TREE                             180

 XIII. WHAT LAY UNDER THE WALKING FERN                      195

  XIV. THE REDEMPTION OF A PROMISE                          213

   XV. IN THE HEART OF AN ANCIENT WOOD                      229

  XVI. WHEN THE MONKEYS' CAGE WAS CLEANED                   243

 XVII. CONCLUSION                                           254




CHAPTER I

A BIG GIFT FOR A SMALL MAID.


"Well, of all things!" exclaimed Mrs. Betty Calvert, shaking her white
head and tossing her hands in a gesture of amazement. Then, as the
letter she had held fell to the floor, her dark eyes twinkled with
amusement and she smilingly demanded: "Dorothy, do you want an
elephant?"

The girl had been reading her own letters, just come in the morning's
mail, but she paused to stare at her great-aunt and to ask in turn:

"Aunt Betty, what do you mean?"

"Because if you do here's the chance of your life to get one!"
answered the old lady, motioning toward the fallen letter.

Dolly understood that she was to pick it up and read it, and, having
done so, remarked:

"Auntie dear, this doesn't say anything about an elephant, as I can
see."

"Amounts to the same thing. The idea of a house-boat as a gift to a
girl like you! My cousin Seth Winters must be getting into his dotage!
Of course, girlie, I don't mean that fully, but isn't it a queer
notion? What in the world can you, could you, do with a house-boat?"

"Live in it, sail in it, have the jolliest time in it! Why not,
Auntie, darling?"

Dorothy's face was shining with eagerness and she ran to clasp Mrs.
Calvert with coaxing arms. "Why not, indeed, Aunt Betty? You've been
shut up in this hot city all summer long; you haven't had a bit of an
outing, anywhere; it would do you lots of good to go sailing about on
the river or bay; and--and--do say 'yes,' please, to dear Mr. Seth's
offer! Oh! do!"

The old lady kissed the uplifted face, merrily exclaiming:

"Don't pretend it's for my benefit, little wheedler! The idea of such
a thing is preposterous--simply preposterous! Run away and write the
silly man that we've no use for house-boats, but if he does happen to
have an elephant on hand, a white elephant, we might consider
accepting it as a gift! We could have it kept at the park Zoo, maybe,
and some city youngsters might like that."

Dorothy's face clouded. She had become accustomed to receiving rich
gifts, during her Summer on a Ranch, as the guest of the wealthy
Fords, and now to have a house-boat offered her was only one more of
the wonderful things life brought to her.

Going back to her seat beside the open window she pushed her own
letters aside, for the moment, to re-read that of her old teacher
and guardian, during her life on the mountain by the Hudson. She had
always believed Mr. Winters to be the wisest of men, justly entitled
to his nickname of the "Learned Blacksmith." He wasn't one to do
anything without a good reason and, of course, Aunt Betty's remarks
about him had been only in jest. That both of them understood; and
Dorothy now searched for the reason of this surprising gift. This was
the letter:

     "Dear Cousin Betty:

     "Mr. Blank has failed in business, just as you warned me he
     would, and all I can recover of the money I loaned him is
     what is tied up in a house-boat, one of his many
     extravagances--though, in this case, not a great one.

     "Of course, I have no use for such a floating structure on
     top of a mountain and I want to give it to our little
     Dorothy. As she has now become a shareholder in a mine with
     a small income of her own, she can afford to accept the boat
     and I know she will enjoy it. I have forwarded the deed of
     gift to my lawyers in your town and trust your own tangled
     business affairs are coming out right in the end. All well
     at Deerhurst. Jim Barlow came down to say that Dr. Sterling
     is going abroad for a few months and that the manse will be
     closed. I wish the boy were ready for college, but he isn't.
     Also, that he wasn't too proud to accept any help from Mr.
     Ford--but he is. He says the discovery of that mine on that
     gentleman's property was an 'accident' on his own part, and
     he 'won't yet awhile.' He wants 'to earn his own way
     through the world' and, from present appearances, I think
     he'll have a chance to try. He's on the lookout now for
     another job."

There followed a few more sentences about affairs in the highland
village where the writer lived, but not a doubt was expressed as to
the fitness of his extraordinary gift to a little girl, nor of its
acceptance by her. Indeed, it was a puzzled, disappointed face which
was now raised from the letter and an appealing glance that was cast
upon the old lady in the chair by the desk.

Meanwhile Aunt Betty had been doing some thinking of her own. She
loved novelty with all the zest of a girl and she was fond of the
water. Mr. Winters's offer began to seem less absurd. Finally, she
remarked:

"Well, dear, you may leave the writing of that note for a time. I'm
obliged to go down town on business, this morning, and after my
errands are done we will drive to that out-of-the-way place where this
house-boat is moored and take a look at it. Are all those letters from
your summer-friends? For a small person you have established a big
correspondence, but, of course, it won't last long. Now run and tell
Ephraim to get up the carriage. I'll be ready in twenty minutes."

Dorothy hastily piled her notes on the wide window-ledge and skipped
from the room, clapping her hands and singing as she went. To her
mind Mrs. Calvert's consent to visit the house-boat was almost proof
that it would be accepted. If it were--Ah! glorious!

"Ephraim, did you ever live in a house-boat?" she demanded, bursting
in upon the old colored coachman, engaged in his daily task of
"shinin' up de harness."

He glanced at her over his "specs," then as hastily removed them and
stuffed them into his pocket. It was his boast that he could see as
"well as evah" and needed no such aids to his sight. He hated to grow
old and those whom he served so faithfully rarely referred to the
fact.

So Dorothy ignored the "specs," though she couldn't help smiling to
see one end of their steel frame sticking out from the pocket, while
she repeated to his astonished ears her question.

"Evah lib in a house-boat? Evah kiss a cat's lef' hind foot? Nebah
heered o' no such contraption. Wheah's it at--dat t'ing?"

"Away down at some one of the wharves and we're going to see it
right away. Oh! I forget. Aunt Betty wants the carriage at the door
in twenty minutes. In fifteen, now, I guess because 'time flies'
fairly away from me. But, Ephy, dear, try to put your mind to the
fact that likely, I guess, maybe, you and I and everybody will go
and live on the loveliest boat, night and day, and every day go
sailing--sailing--sailing--on pretty rivers, between green banks
and heaps of flowers, and----"

Ephraim rose from his stool and waved her away.

"Gwan erlong wid yo' foolishness honey gell! Yo' dreamin', an' my Miss
Betty ain' gwine done erlow no such notionses. My Miss Betty done got
sense, she hab, bress her! She ain' gwine hab not'in' so scan'lous
in yo' raisin' as dat yeah boat talk. Gwan an' hunt yo' bunnit, if
you-all 'spects to ride in ouah bawoosh."

Dorothy always exploded in a gale of laughter to hear Ephraim's
efforts to pronounce "barouche," as he liked to call the old carriage;
and she now swept a mocking curtsey to his pompous dismissal, as she
hurried away to put on her "bunnit" and coat. To Ephraim, any sort of
feminine headgear was simply a "bunnit" and every wrap was a "shawl."

Soon the fat horses drew the glistening carriage through the gateway
of Bellvieu, the fine old residence of the Calverts, and down through
the narrow, crowded streets of the business part of old Baltimore. To
loyal Mrs. Betty, who had passed the greater part of her long life
in the southern city, it was very dear and even beautiful; but to
Dorothy's young eyes it seemed, on that early autumn day, very
"smelly" and almost squalid. Her mind still dwelt upon visions of
sunny rivers and green fields, and she was too anxious for her aunt's
acceptance of Mr. Winters's gift to keep still.

Fidgetting from side to side of the carriage seat, where she had been
left to wait, the impatient girl felt that Aunt Betty's errands were
endless. Even the fat horses, used to standing quietly on the street,
grew restless during a long delay at the law offices of Kidder and
Kidder, Mrs. Calvert's men of business. This, the lady had said, would
be the last stop by the way; and when she at length emerged from the
building, she moved as if but half conscious of what she was doing.
Her face was troubled and looked far older than when she had left the
carriage; and, with sudden sympathy and pity, Dorothy's mood changed.

"Aunt Betty, aren't you well? Let's go straight home, then, and not
bother about that boat."

Mrs. Calvert smiled and bravely put her own worries behind her.

"Thank you, dear, for your consideration, but 'the last's the best of
all the game,' as you children say. I've begun to believe that this
boat errand of ours may prove so. Ephraim, drive to Halcyon Point."

If his mistress had bidden him drive straight into the Chesapeake, the
old coachman would have attempted to obey; but he could not refrain
from one glance of dismay as he received this order. He wouldn't have
risked his own respectability by a visit to such a "low down, ornery"
resort, alone; but if Miss Betty chose to go there it was all right.
Her wish was "sutney cur'us" but being hers not to be denied.

And now, indeed, did Dorothy find the city with its heat a "smelly"
place, but a most interesting one as well. The route lay through the
narrowest of streets, where tumble-down old houses swarmed with
strange looking people. To her it all seemed like some foreign
country, with its Hebrew signs on the walls, its bearded men of many
nations, and its untidy women leaning from the narrow windows,
scolding the dirty children in the gutters beneath.

But after a time, the lane-like streets gave place to wider ones, the
air grew purer, and soon a breath from the salt water beyond refreshed
them all. Almost at once, it seemed, they had arrived; and Dorothy
eagerly sought to tell which of the various craft clustered about the
Point was her coveted house-boat.

The carriage drew up beside a little office on the pier and a man came
out. He courteously assisted Aunt Betty to descend, while he promptly
pointed out a rather squat, but pretty, boat which he informed her was
the "Water Lily," lately the property of Mr. Blank, but now consigned
to one Mr. Seth Winters, of New York, to be held at the commands of
Miss Dorothy Calvert.

"A friend of yours, Madam?" he inquired, concluding that this stately
old lady could not be the "Miss" in question and wholly forgetting
that the little maid beside her might possibly be such.

Aunt Betty laid her hand on Dolly's shoulder and answered:

"This is Miss Dorothy Calvert and the 'Water Lily' is a gift from Mr.
Winters to her. Can we go on board and inspect?"

The gentleman pursed his lips to whistle, he was so surprised, but
instead exclaimed:

"What a lucky girl! The 'Water Lily' is the most complete craft of its
kind I ever saw. Mr. Blank spared no trouble nor expense in fitting
her up for a summer home for his family. She is yacht-shaped and
smooth-motioned; and even her tender is better than most house-boats
in this country. Blank must be a fanciful man, for he named the tender
'The Pad,' meaning leaf, I suppose, and the row-boat belonging is 'The
Stem.' Odd, isn't it, Madam?"

"Rather; but will just suit this romantic girl, here," she replied;
almost as keen pleasure now lighting her face as was shining from
Dorothy's. At her aunt's words she caught the lady's hand and kissed
it rapturously, exclaiming:

"Then you do mean to let me accept it, you precious, darling dear! You
do, you do!"

They all laughed, even Ephraim, who was close at his lady's heels,
acting the stout body-guard who would permit nothing to harm her in
this strange place.

The Water Lily lay lower in the water than the dock and Mrs. Calvert
was carefully helped down the gang plank to its deck. Another plank
rested upon the top of the cabin, or main room of the house-boat, and
Dorothy sped across this and hurried down the steep little winding
stair, leading from it to the lower deck, to join in her aunt's
inspection of the novel "ship."

Delighted astonishment hushed for the time her nimble tongue. Then her
exclamations burst forth:

"It's so big!"

"About one hundred feet long, all told, and eighteen wide;" the wharf
master explained.

"It's all furnished, just like a really, truly house!"

"Indeed, yes; with every needful comfort but not one superfluous
article. See this, please. The way the 'bedrooms' are shut off;"
continued the gentleman, showing how the three feet wide window-seats
were converted into sleeping quarters. Heavy sail cloth had been
shaped into partitions, and these fastened to ceiling and side wall
separated the cots into cosy little staterooms. Extra seats, pulled
from under the first ones, furnished additional cots, if needed.

The walls of the saloon had been sunk below the deck line, giving
ample head room, and the forward part was of solid glass, while
numerous side-windows afforded fine views in every direction. The roof
of this large room could be covered by awnings and became a charming
promenade deck.

Even Aunt Betty became speechless with pleasure as she wandered over
the beautiful boat, examining every detail, from the steam-heating
arrangements to the tiny "kitchen," which was upon the "tender"
behind.

"I thought the tug, or towing boat was always in front," she remarked
at length.

"Mr. Blank found this the best arrangement. The 'Pad' has a steam
engine and its prow fastened to the stern of the Lily propels it
ahead. None of the smoke comes into the Lily and that, too, was why
the galley, or kitchen, was built on the smaller boat. A little bridge
is slung between the two for foot passage and--Well, Madam, I can't
stop admiring the whole affair. It shows what a man's brain can do
in the way of invention, when his heart is in it, too. I fancy that
parting with his Water Lily was about the hardest trial poor old Blank
had to bear."

Silence fell on them all and Dorothy's face grew very sober. It was a
wonderful thing that this great gift should come to her but it grieved
her to know it had so come by means of another's misfortune. Aunt
Betty, too, grew more serious and she asked the practical question:

"Is it a very expensive thing to run? Say for about three months?"

The official shrugged his shoulders, replying:

"That depends on what one considers expensive. It would smash my
pocket-book to flinders. The greatest cost would be the engineer's
salary. One might take the job for three dollars a day and keep.
He might--I don't know. Then the coal, the power for the electric
lights--the lots of little things that crop up to eat up cash as if it
were good bread and butter. Ah! yes. It's a lovely toy--for those who
can afford it. I only wish I could!"

The man's remarks ended in a sigh and he looked at Dorothy as if he
envied her. His expression hurt her, somehow, and she turned away her
eyes, asking a practical question of her own:

"Would three hundred dollars do it?"

"Yes--for a time, at least. But----"

He broke off abruptly and helped Aunt Betty to ascend the plank to
the wharf, while Dorothy followed, soberly, and Ephraim with all
the pomposity he could assume.

There Methuselah Bonaparte Washington, the small colored boy who had
always lived at Bellvieu and now served as Mrs. Betty's page as well
as footman, descended from his perch and untied the horses from the
place where careful Ephraim had fastened them. His air was a perfect
imitation of the old man's and sat so funnily upon his small person
that the wharf master chuckled and Dorothy laughed outright.

"Metty," as he was commonly called, disdained to see the mirth he
caused but climbed to his seat behind, folded his arms as well as he
could for his too big livery, and became as rigid as a statue--or as
all well-conducted footmen should be.

Then good-byes were exchanged, after the good old Maryland fashion
and the carriage rolled away.

As it vanished from view the man left behind sighed again and clenched
his fists, muttering:

"This horrible, uneven world! Why should one child have so much and my
Elsa--nothing! Elsa, my poor, unhappy child!"

Then he went about his duties and tried to forget Dorothy's beauty,
perfect health, and apparent wealth.

For some time neither Mrs. Calvert nor Dorothy spoke; then the girl
said:

"Aunt Betty, Jim Barlow could tend that engine. And he's out of a
place. Maybe----"

"Yes, dear, I've been thinking of him, too. Somehow none of our plans
seem quite perfect without good, faithful James sharing them."

"And that poor Mr. Blank----"

"A very dishonest scoundrel, my child, according to all accounts.
Don't waste pity on him."

"But his folks mayn't be scoundrels. He loved them, too, same as
we love or he wouldn't have built such a lovely Water Lily. Auntie,
that boat would hold a lot of people, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so," answered the lady, absently.

"When we go house-boating may I invite anybody I choose to go with
us?"

"I haven't said yet that we would go!"

"But you've looked it and that's better."

Just then an automobile whizzed by and the horses pretended to be
afraid. Mrs. Calvert was frightened and leaned forward anxiously till
Ephraim had brought them down to quietness again. Then she settled
back against her cushions and became once more absorbed in her own
sombre thoughts. She scarcely heard and wholly failed to understand
Dorothy's repeated question:

"May I, dear Aunt Betty?"

She answered carelessly:

"Why, yes, child. You may do what you like with your own."

But that consent, so rashly given, was to bring some strange
adventures in its train.




CHAPTER II

INVITATIONS TO A CRUISE OF LOVING KINDNESS.


"Huh! Dolly's caught the Ford fashion of sending telegrams where a
letter would do!" exclaimed Jim Barlow, after he had opened the yellow
envelope which Griselda Roemer gave him when he came in from work.

He was back at Deerhurst, living with old Hans and Griselda, the
caretakers, and feeling more at home in his little room above the
lodge doorway than anywhere else. He had come to do any sort of labor
by which he might earn his keep, and to go on with his studies
whenever he had leisure. Mr. Seth Winters, the "Learned Blacksmith,"
and his faithful friend, would give him such help as was needed; and
the lad had settled down in the prospect of a fine winter at his
beloved books. After his long summer on the Colorado mountains he felt
rested and keener for knowledge than ever.

Now as he held the telegram in his hand his face clouded, so that
Griselda, watching, anxiously inquired:

"Is something wrong? Is our good lady sick?"

"It doesn't say so. It's from Dorothy. She wants me to come to
Baltimore and help her fool away lots more time on a house-boat! I
wish she'd mind her business!"

The friendly German woman stared. She had grown to look upon her
lodger, Jim, very much as if he were her own son. He wasn't often so
cross as this and never had been so against Dorothy.

"Well, well! Ah so! Well!"

With this brief comment she made haste to set the dinner on the table
and to call Hans from his own task of hoeing the driveway. Presently
he had washed his face and hands at the little sink in the kitchen,
rubbed them into a fine glow with the spotless roller-towel, and was
ready for the great meal of the day--his generous "Dutch dinner."

Usually Jim was as ready as Hans to enjoy it; but, to-day, he left his
food untasted on his plate while he stared gloomily out of the window,
and for so long that Griselda grew curious and went to see what might
be happening without.

"What seest thou, lad? Is aught wrong beyond already?"

"No. Oh! come back to table, Mrs. Roemer. I'll tell you. I'd just got
fixed, you know, to do a lot of hard work--both kinds. Now comes this
silly thing! I suppose Mrs. Calvert must have let Dolly ask me else
she wouldn't have done it. It seems some simpleton or other, likely
as not that Mr. Ford----"

"Call no names, son!" warned Hans, disposing of a great mouthful, to
promptly reprimand the angry youth. Hans was a man of peace. He hated
nothing so much as ill temper.

Jim said no more, but his wrath cooling began to eat his dinner with a
zeal that made up for lost time. Having finished he went out saying:

"I'll finish my job when I come back. I'm off now for the Shop."

He always spoke of the smithy under the Great Balm of Gilead Tree as
if it began with a capital letter. The old man who called himself a
"blacksmith"--and was, in fact, a good one--and dwelt in the place
stood to eager James Barlow as the type of everything good and great.
He was sure, as he hurried along the road, that Mr. Seth would agree
with him in regard to Dorothy's telegram.

"Hello, Jim! What's up? You look excited," was the blacksmith's
greeting as the lad's shadow darkened the smithy entrance.

"Read that, will you, Mr. Winters?"

The gentleman put on his "reading specs," adjusted the yellow slip of
paper conveniently, and exclaimed:

"Good enough! Mistress Betty has allowed the darling to accept it
then! First rate. Well?"

Then he looked up inquiringly, surprised by the impatience of the
boy's expression.

"Well--of course I sha'n't go. The idea of loafing for another two,
three months is--ridiculous! And what fool would give such a thing as
a house-boat to a chit of a girl like our Dorothy?"

Mr. Seth laughed and pointed to the settee.

"Sit down, chap, and cool off. The world is as full of fools as it is
of wise men. Which is which depends upon the point of view. I'm sorry
to have you number me amongst the first; because I happen to be the
stupid man who gave the 'Water Lily' and its belongings to little
Dorothy. I knew she'd make good use of it, if her aunt would let her
accept the gift, and she flatters you, I think, by inviting you to
come and engineer the craft. You'll go, of course."

Jim did sit down then, rather suddenly, while his face reddened with
shame, remembering what he had just called the wise man before him.
Finally, he faltered:

"I know next to nothing about a steam engine."

"I thought you had a good idea of the matter. Not as a trained expert,
of course, but enough to manage a simple affair like the one in
question. Dr. Sterling told me that you were often pottering about the
machine shops in Newburgh and had picked up some good notions about
steam and its force. He thought you might, eventually, turn your
attention to such a line of work. From the beginning I had you in mind
as helping Dolly to carry out her pleasant autumn plans."

"I'd likely enough blow up the whole concern--through dumb ignorance.
And--and--I was going to study double hard. I do want to get to
college next year!"

"This trip will help you. I wish I could take it myself, though I
couldn't manage even a tiny engine. Besides, lad, as I understand, the
'Water Lily' doesn't wholly depend upon steam for her 'power.'
She--but you'll find out in two minutes of inspection more than I can
suggest in an hour. If you take the seven-thirty train to New York,
to-morrow morning, you can reach Baltimore by three in the afternoon,
easily enough. 'James Barlow. Been given house-boat. You're engineer.
Be Union Station, three, Wednesday.' Signed: 'Dorothy.'"

This was the short dispatch which Mr. Winters now re-read, aloud, with
the comment:

"The child is learning to condense. She's got this message down to the
regulation ten-words-for-a-quarter."

Then he crossed to the bookcase and began to select certain volumes
from its shelves, while Jim watched eagerly, almost hungrily. One
after another, these were the beloved books whose contents he had
hoped to master during the weeks to come. To see them now from the
outside only was fresh disappointment and he rose to leave, saying:

"Well, if I must I must an' no bones about it. I wouldn't stir hand
nor foot, 'cept it's Mrs. Calvert and----"

"Don't leave out Dolly Doodles, boy! She was your first friend among
us all, and your first little teacher in the art of spelling. Oh! I
know. Of course, such a boy as you would have learned, anyway, but
'Praise the bridge that carries you safe over.' Dorothy was the first
'bridge' between you and these volumes, in those far-back days when
you both picked strawberries on Miranda Stott's truck-farm. There. I
think these will be all you can do justice to before you come back.
There's an old 'telescope' satchel of mine in the inner closet that
will hold them nicely. Fetch it and be off with you."

"Those--why, those are your own best beloved books! Would you trust
them with me away from home? Will they be of any use on a house-boat?"

"Yes, yes, you 'doubting Thomas.' Now--how much money have you on
hand?"

"Ten dollars. I'd saved it for a lexicon and some--some other things."

"This bulky fellow is a lexicon I used in my youth; and since Latin is
a 'dead language' it's as much alive and as helpful now as ever. That
book is my parting gift to you; and ten dollars is sufficient for your
fare and a day's needs. Good-bye."

All the time he had been talking Mr. Winters had been deftly packing
the calf-bound volumes in the shabby "telescope," and now strapped it
securely. Then he held out his hand with a cheerful smile lighting
his fine face, and remarking:

"When you see my dear ones just say everything good to them and say I
said it. Good-bye."

Jim hurried away lest his friend should see the moisture that suddenly
filled his eyes. He "hated good-byes" and could never get used to
partings. So he fairly ran over the road to the gates of Deerhurst and
worked off his troublesome emotion by hoeing every vestige of a weed
from the broad driveways on its grounds. He toiled so swiftly and so
well that old Hans felt himself relieved of the task and quietly went
to sleep in his chair by the lodge door.

Gradually, too, the house-boat idea began to interest him. He had but
a vague notion of what such a craft was like and found himself
thinking about it with considerable pleasure. So that when, at three
o'clock the next afternoon, he stepped down from the train at Union
Station he was his old, eager, good-natured self.

"Hello, Doll!"

"O Jim! The three weeks since I saw you seems an age! Isn't it just
glorious? I'm so glad!"

With that the impulsive girl threw her arms around the lad's neck and
tip-toed upwards to reach his brown cheek with her lips. Only to find
her arms unclasped and herself set down with considerable energy.

"Quit that, girlie. Makes me look like a fool!"

"I should think it did. Your face is as red--as red! Aren't you glad
to see me, again?" demanded Miss Dorothy, folding her arms and
standing firmly before him.

She looked so pretty, so bewitching, that some passers-by smiled, at
which poor Jim's face turned even a deeper crimson and he picked up
his luggage to go forward with the crowd.

"But aren't you glad, Jim?" she again mischievously asked, playfully
obstructing his progress.

"Oh! bother! Course. But boys can be glad without such silly kissin'.
I don't know what ails girls, anyway, likin' so to make a feller look
ridic'lous."

Dorothy laughed and now marched along beside him, contenting herself
by a clasp of his burdened arms.

"Jim, you're a dear. But you're cross. I can always tell when you're
that by your 'relapsing into the vernacular,' as I read in Aunt
Betty's book. Never mind, Jim, I'm in trouble!"

"Shucks! I'd never dream it!"

They had climbed the iron stairway leading to the street above and
were now waiting for a street-car to carry them to Bellvieu. So Jim
set down his heavy telescope and light bag of clothing to rest his
arms, while old Ephraim approached from the rear. He had gone with his
"li'l miss" to meet the newcomer but had kept out of sight until now.

"Howdy, Marse Jim. Howdy."

Then he picked up the bag of books and shrugged his shoulders at its
weight. Setting it back on the sidewalk he raised his hand and
beckoned small Methuselah, half-hiding behind a pillar of the
building. That youngster came tremblingly forward. He was attired in
his livery, that he had been forbidden to wear when "off duty," or
save when in attendance upon "Miss Betty." But having been so recently
promoted to the glory of a uniform he appeared in it whenever
possible.

On this trip to the station he had lingered till his grandfather had
already boarded the street-car and too late for him to be sent home to
change. Now he cowered before Ephraim's frown and fear of what would
happen when they two were alone together in the "harness room" of the
old stable. On its walls reposed other whips than those used for Mrs.
Calvert's horses.

"Yeah, chile. Tote dem valeeshes home. Doan' yo let no grass grow,
nudder, whiles yo' doin' it. I'll tend to yo' case bimeby. I ain'
gwine fo'get."

Then he put the little fellow aboard the first car that came by,
hoisted the luggage after him, and had to join in the mirth the
child's appearance afforded--with his scrawny body half-buried beneath
the livery "made to grow in."

Jim was laughing, too, yet anxious over the disappearance of his
books, and explained to Dorothy:

"That gray telescope's full of Mr. Seth's books. We better get the
next car an' follow, else maybe he'll lose 'em."

"He'll not dare. And we're not going home yet. We're going down to the
Water Lily. Oh! she's a beauty! and think that we can do just what we
like with her! No, not that one! This is our car. It runs away down to
the jumping-off place of the city and out to the wharves beyond. Yes,
of course, Ephraim will go with us. That's why Metty was brought
along. To take your things home and to let Aunt Betty know you had
come. O Jim, I'm so worried!"

He looked and laughed his surprise, but she shook her head, and when
they were well on their way disclosed her perplexities, that were,
indeed, real and serious enough.

"Jim Barlow, Aunt Betty's got to give up Bellvieu--and it's just
killing her!"

"Dolly Doodles--what you sayin'?"

It sounded very pleasant to hear that old pet name again and proved
that this was the same loving, faithful Jim, even if he did hate
kissing. But then he'd always done that.

"I mean just what I say and I'm so glad to have you to talk it over
with. I daren't say a word to her about it, of course, and I can't
talk to the servants. They get just frantic. Once I said something to
Dinah and she went into a fit, nearly. Said she'd tear the house down
stone by stone 'scusin' she'd let her 'li'l Miss Betty what was
borned yeah be tu'ned outen it.' You see that dear Auntie, in the
goodness of her heart, has taken care of a lot of old women and old
men, in a big house the family used to own down in the country.
Something or somebody has 'failed' whatever that means and most of
Aunt Betty's money has failed too. If she sells Bellvieu, as the
'city' has been urging her to do for ever so long, she'll have enough
money left to still take care of her 'old folks' and keep up their
Home. If she doesn't--Well there isn't enough to do everything. And,
though she doesn't say a word of complaint, it's heart-breaking to see
the way she goes around the house and grounds, laying her old white
hand on this thing or that in such a loving way--as if she were saying
good-bye to it! Then, too, Jim, did you know that poor Mabel Bruce has
lost her father? He died very suddenly and her mother has been left
real poor. Mabel grieves dreadfully; so, of course, she must be one of
our guests on the Water Lily. She won't cheer up Aunt Betty very well,
but you must do that. She's very fond of _you_, Jim, Aunt Betty is,
and it's just splendid that you're free from Dr. Sterling now and can
come to manage our boat. Why, boy, what's the matter? Why do you look
so 'sollumcolic?' Didn't you want to come? Aren't you glad that 'Uncle
Seth' gave me the 'Water Lily'?"

"No. I didn't want to come. And if Mrs. Betty's so poor, what you
doing with a house-boat, anyway?"

Promptly, they fell into such a heated argument that Ephraim
felt obliged to interfere and remind his "li'l miss" that she
was in a public conveyance and must be more "succumspec' in yo'
behavesomeness." But she gaily returned that they were now the
only passengers left in the car and she must make stupid Jim
understand--everything.

Finally, she succeeded so far that he knew the facts:

How and why the house-boat had become Dorothy's property; that she
had three hundred dollars in money, all her own; and that, instead of
putting it in the bank as she had expected, she was going to use it
to sail the Water Lily and give some unhappy people a real good time;
that Jim was expected to work without wages and must manage the craft
for pure love of the folks who sailed in it; that Aunt Betty had said
Dorothy might invite whom she chose to be her guests; and that, first
and foremost, Mrs. Calvert herself must be made perfectly happy and
comfortable.

"Here we are! There she is! That pretty thing all white and gold, with
the white flag flying her own sweet name--Water Lily! Doesn't she look
exactly like one? Wasn't it a pretty notion to paint the tender green
like a real lily 'Pad?' and that cute little row-boat a reddish brown,
like an actual 'Stem?' Aren't you glad you came? Aren't we going to be
gloriously happy? Does it seem it can be true that it's really, truly
ours?" demanded Dorothy, skipping along the pier beside the soberer
Jim.

But his face brightened as he drew nearer the beautiful boat and a
great pride thrilled him that he was to be in practical charge of her.

"Skipper Jim, the Water Lily. Water Lily, let me introduce you to
your Commodore!" cried Dorothy, as they reached the gang-plank and
were about to go aboard. Then her expression changed to one of
astonishment. Somebody--several somebodies, indeed--had presumed to
take possession of the house-boat and were evidently having "afternoon
tea" in the main saloon.

The wharf master came out of his office and hastily joined the
newcomers. He was evidently annoyed and hastened to explain:

"Son and daughter of Mr. Blank with some of their friends. Come down
here while I was off duty and told my helper they had a right to do
that. He didn't look for you to come, to-day, and anyway, he'd hardly
have stopped them. Sorry. Ah! Elsa! Afraid to stay alone back there?"

A girl, about Dorothy's age, had followed the master and now slipped
her hand about his arm. She was very thin and sallow, with eyes that
seemed too large for her face, and walked with a painful limp. There
was an expression of great timidity on her countenance, so that she
shrank half behind her father, though he patted her hand to reassure
her and explained to Dorothy:

"This is my own motherless little girl. She's not very strong and
rather nervous. I brought her down here this afternoon to show her
your boat, but we haven't been aboard. Those people--they had no
right--I regret--"

Dolly, vexatious with the "interlopers," as she considered the party
aboard the Water Lily, gave place to a sudden, keen liking for the
fragile Elsa. She looked as if she had never had a good time in her
life and the more fortunate girl instantly resolved to give her one.
Taking Elsa's other hand in both of hers, she exclaimed:

"Come along with Jim and me and pick out the little stateroom you'll
have for your own when we start on our cruise--next Monday morning!
You'll be my guest, won't you? The first one invited."

Elsa's large eyes were lifted in amazed delight; then as quickly
dropped, while a fit of violent trembling shook her slight frame. She
was so agitated that her equally astonished father put his arm about
her to support her, and the look he gave Dorothy was very keen as he
said:

"Elsa has always lived alone. She isn't used to the jests of other
girls, Miss Calvert."

"Isn't she? But I wasn't jesting. My aunt has given me permission to
choose my own guests and I choose Elsa, first, if she will come. Will
you, dear?" and again Dolly gave the hand she held an affectionate
squeeze. "Come and help us make our little cruise a perfectly
delightful one."

Once more the great, dark eyes looked into Dorothy's brown ones and
Elsa answered softly: "Ye-es, I'll come. If--if you begin like
this--with a poor girl like me--it should be called 'The Cruise of
Loving Kindness.' I guess--I know--God sent you."

Neither Dorothy nor Jim could find anything to say. It was evident
that this stranger was different from any of their old companions, and
it scarcely needed the father's explanation to convince them that
"Elsa is a deeply religious dreamer." Jim hoped that she wouldn't
prove a "wet blanket" and was provoked with Dorothy's impulsive
invitation; deciding to warn her against any more such as soon as he
could get her alone.

Already the lad was feeling as if he, too, were proprietor of this
wonderful Water Lily, and carried himself with a masterful air which
made Dolly smile, as he now stepped across the little deck into the
main cabin.

It was funny, too, to see the "How-dare-you" sort of expression with
which he regarded the "impudent" company of youngsters that filled the
place, and he was again annoyed by the graciousness with which "Doll"
advanced to meet them. In her place--hello! what was that she was
saying?

"Very happy to meet you, Miss Blank--if I am right in the name."

A tall girl, somewhat resembling Helena Montaigne, though with less
refinement of appearance, had risen as Dorothy moved forward and stood
defiantly awaiting what might happen. Her face turned as pink as her
rose-trimmed hat but she still retained her haughty pose, as she
stiffly returned:

"Quite right. I'm Aurora Blank. These are my friends. That's my
brother. My father owns--I mean--he ought--We came down for a farewell
lark. We'd all expected to cruise in her all autumn till--. Have a cup
of tea, Miss--Calvert, is it?"

"Yes, I'm Dorothy. This is Elsa Carruthers and this--James Barlow. You
seem to be having a lovely time and we won't disturb you. We're going
to inspect the tender. Ephraim, please help Elsa across when we come
to the plank."

The silence which followed proved that the company of merrymakers was
duly impressed by Dolly's treatment of their intrusion. Also, the
dignity with which the old colored man followed and obeyed his small
mistress convinced these other Southerners that his "family" was
"quality." Dorothy's simple suit, worn with her own unconscious
"style," seemed to make the gayer costumes of the Blank party look
tawdry and loud; while the eager spirituality of Elsa's face became a
silent reproof to their boisterous fun, which ceased before it.

Only one member of the tea-party joined the later visitors. This was
the foppish youth whom Aurora had designated as "my brother." Though
ill at ease he forced himself to follow and accost Dorothy with the
excuse:

"Beg pardon, Miss Calvert, but we owe you an apology. We had no
business down here, you know, and I say--it's beastly. I told Rora
so, but--I mean, I'm as much to blame as she. And I say, you know,
I hope you'll have as good times in the Lily as we expected to
have--and--I'll bid you good day. We'll clear out, at once."

But Dorothy laid her hand on his arm to detain him a moment.

"Please don't. Finish your stay--I should be so sorry if you didn't,
and you've saved me a lot of trouble."

Gerald Blank stared and asked:

"In what way, please? I'm glad to think it."

"Why, I was going to hunt up your address, or that of your family. I'd
like to have you and your sister go with us next week on our cruise.
We mayn't take the same route you'd have chosen, but--will you come?
It's fair you should and I'd be real glad. Talk it over with your
sister and let me know, to-morrow, please, at this address. Good-bye."

She had slipped a visiting-card into his hand and while he stood
still, surprised by her unexpected invitation, she hurried after her
own friends--and to meet the disgusted look on Jim Barlow's face.

"I say, Dolly Calvert, have you lost your senses?"

"I hope not. Why?"

"Askin' that fellow to go with us! The idea! Well, I'll tell you right
here and now, there won't be room enough on this boat for that
popinjay an' me at the same time. I don't like his cut. Mrs. Calvert
won't, either, and you'd ought to consult your elders before you
launch out promiscuous, this way. All told, it's nothing but a boat.
Where you going to stow them all, child?"

"Oh, there'll be room enough, and you should be studying your engine
instead of scolding me. You're all right, though, Jimmy-boy, so I
don't mind telling you that whatever invitations I've given so far,
were planned from the very day I was allowed to accept the Lily. Now
get pleasant right away and find out how much or little you know about
that engine."

Jim laughed. Nobody could be offended with happy Dorothy that day, and
he was soon deep in exploration of his new charge; his pride in his
ability to handle such a perfect bit of machinery increasing every
moment.

When they returned from the tender to the main saloon they found it
empty and in order. Everything was as shipshape as possible, the
young Blanks having proudly demonstrated their father's skill
in arrangement, and then quietly departing. Gerald's whispered
announcement to his sister had secured her prompt help in breaking
up their tea-party, and she now felt as ashamed of the affair as he
had been.

At last, even Jim was willing to leave the Water Lily, reminded by
hunger that he'd eaten nothing since his early breakfast; and
returning the grateful Elsa to her father's care, he and Dorothy
walked swiftly down the pier to the car line beyond, to take the first
car which came. It was full of workmen returning from the factories
beyond and for a time Dorothy found no seat, while Jim went far
forward and Ephraim remained on the rear platform, whence, by peering
through the back window, he could still keep a watchful eye over his
beloved "li'l miss."

Somebody left the car and he saw the girl pushed into a vacant place
beside a rough, seafaring man with crutches, and poorly clad. He
resented the "old codger's" nearness to his dainty darling and his
talking to her. Next he saw that the talk was mostly on Dorothy's side
and that when the cripple presently left the car it was with a cordial
handshake of his little lady, and a smiling good-bye from her. Then the
"codger" limped to the street and Ephraim looked after him curiously.
Little did he guess how much he would yet owe that vagrant.




CHAPTER III

THE DIFFICULTIES OF GETTING UNDER WAY.


How that week flew! How busy was everybody concerned in the cruise of
the wonderful Water Lily!

Early on the morning after his arrival, Jim Barlow repaired to Halcyon
Point, taking an expert engineer with him, as Aunt Betty had insisted,
and from that time till the Water Lily sailed he spent every moment of
his waking hours in studying his engine and its management. At the end
he felt fully competent to handle it safely and was as impatient as
Dorothy herself to be off; and, at last, here they all were waiting on
the little pier for the word of command or, as it appeared, for one
tardy arrival.

From her own comfortable steamer-chair, Aunt Betty watched the
gathering of the company and wondered if anybody except Dolly could
have collected such a peculiar lot of contrasts. But the girl was
already "calling the roll" and she listened for the responses as they
came.

"Mrs. Elisabeth Cecil Somerset Calvert?"

"Present!"

"Mrs. Charlotte Bruce?"

"Here."

"Mabel Bruce?"

"Present!"

"Elsa Carruthers?"

"Oh! I--don't know--I guess--." But a firm voice, her father's,
answered for the hesitating girl, whose timidity made her shrink from
all these strangers.

"Aurora Blank? Gerald Blank?"

"Oh, we're both right on hand, don't you know? Pop's pride rather
stood in the way, but--Present!"

"Mr. Ephraim Brown-Calvert?"

The old man bowed profoundly and answered:

"Yeah 'm I, li'l miss!"

"That ends the passengers. Now for the crew. Captain Jack Hurry?"

Nobody responded. Whoever owned the rapid name was slow to claim it.
But Dorothy smiled and proceeded. "Cap'n Jack" was a surprise of her
own. He would keep for a time.

"Engineer James Barlow?"

"At his post!"

"Master Engineer, John Stinson?"

"Present!" called that person, laughing. He was Jim's instructor and
would see them down the bay and into the quiet river where they would
make their first stop.

"Mrs. Chloe Brown, assistant chef and dishwasher?"

"Yeah 'm I?" returned the only one of Aunt Betty's household-women who
dared to trust herself on board a boat "to lib." She was Methuselah's
mother and as his imposing name was read, answered for him; while the
"cabin boy and general utility man" ducked his woolly head beneath her
skirts, for once embarrassed by the attention he received.

"Miss Calvert, did you know that you make the thirteenth person?"
asked Aurora Blank, who had kept tally on her white-gloved fingers.

"I hope I do--there's 'luck in odd numbers' one hears. But I'm
not--I'm not! Auntie, Jim, look yonder--quick! It's Melvin! It surely
is!"

With a cry of delight Dorothy now rushed down the pier to where a
street-car had just stopped and a lad alighted. She clasped his hands
and fairly pumped them up and down in her eagerness, but she didn't
offer to kiss him though she wanted to do so. She remembered in time
that the young Nova Scotian was even shyer than James Barlow and
mustn't be embarrassed. But her questions came swiftly enough, though
his answers were disappointing.

However, she led him straight to Mrs. Calvert, his one-time hostess at
Deerhurst, and there was now no awkward shyness in his respectful
greeting of her, and the acknowledgment he made to the general
introductions which followed.

Seating himself on a rail close to Mrs. Betty's chair he explained his
presence.

"The Judge sent me to Baltimore on some errands of his own, and after
they were done I was to call upon you, Madam, and say why her father
couldn't spare Miss Molly so soon again. He missed her so much, I
fancy, while she was at San Leon ranch, don't you know, and she is to
go away to school after a time--that's why. But----"

The lad paused, colored, and was seized by a fit of his old
bashfulness. He had improved wonderfully during the year since he had
been a member of "Dorothy's House Party" and had almost conquered that
fault. No boy could be associated for so long a time with such a man
as Judge Breckenridge and fail to learn much; but it wasn't easy to
offer himself as a substitute for merry Molly, which he had really
arrived to do.

However, Dolly was quick to understand and caught his hands again,
exclaiming:

"You're to have your vacation on our Water Lily! I see, I see! Goody!
Aunt Betty, isn't that fine? Next to Molly darling I'd rather have
you."

Everybody laughed at this frank statement, even Dolly herself; yet
promptly adding the name of Melvin Cook to her list of passengers.
Then as he walked forward over the plank to where Jim Barlow smilingly
awaited him, carrying his small suit-case--his only luggage, she
called after him:

"I hope you brought your bugle! Then we can have 'bells' for time, as
on the steamer!"

He nodded over his shoulder and Dorothy strained her eyes toward the
next car approaching over the street line, while Mrs. Calvert asked:

"For whom are we still waiting, child? Why don't we go aboard and
start?"

"For dear old Cap'n Jack! He's coming now, this minute."

All eyes followed hers and beheld an old man approaching. Even at
that distance his wrinkled face was so shining with happiness and
good nature that they smiled too. He wore a very faded blue uniform
made dazzlingly bright by scores of very new brass buttons. His white
hair and beard had been closely trimmed, and the discarded cap of a
street-car conductor crowned his proudly held head. The cap was
adorned in rather shaky letters of gilt: "Water Lily. Skipper."

Though he limped upon crutches he gave these supports an airy
flourish between steps, as if he scarcely needed them but carried
them for ornaments. Nobody knew him, except Dorothy; not even Ephraim
recognizing in this almost dapper stranger the ragged vagrant he had
once seen on a street car.

But Dorothy knew and ran to meet him--"last but not least of all our
company, good Cap'n Jack, Skipper of the Water Lily."

Then she brought him to Aunt Betty and formally presented him,
expressing by nods and smiles that she would "explain him" later on.
Afterward, each and all were introduced to "our Captain," at whom some
stared rather rudely, Aurora even declining to acknowledge the
presentation.

"Captain Hurry, we're ready to embark. Is that the truly nautical way
to speak? Because, you know, we long to be real sailors on this cruise
and talk real sailor-talk. We cease to be 'land lubbers' from this
instant. Kind Captain, lead ahead!" cried Dorothy, in a very gale of
high spirits and running to help Aunt Betty on the way.

But there was no hurry about this skipper, except his name. With an
air of vast importance and dignity he stalked to the end of the pier
and scanned the face of the water, sluggishly moving to and fro. Then
he pulled out a spy glass, somewhat damaged in appearance, and tried
to adjust it to his eye. This was more difficult because the lens was
broken; but the use of it, the old man reckoned, would be imposing on
his untrained crew, and he had expended his last dollar--presented him
by some old cronies--in the purchase of the thing at a junk shop by
the waterside. Indeed, the Captain's motions were so deliberate, and
apparently, senseless, that Aunt Betty lost patience and indignantly
demanded:

"Dorothy, who is this old humbug you've picked up? You quite
forgot--or didn't forget--to mention him when you named your guests."

"No, Auntie, I didn't forget. I kept him as a delightful surprise. I
knew you'd feel so much safer with a real captain in charge."

"Humph! Who told you he was a captain, or had ever been afloat?"

"Why--he did;" answered the girl, under her breath. "I--I met him on a
car. He used to own a boat. He brought oysters to the city. I think it
was a--a bugeye, some such name. Auntie, don't you like him? I'm so
sorry! because you said, you remember, that I might choose all to go
and to have a real captain who'll work for nothing but his
'grub'--that's food, he says----"

"That will do. For the present I won't turn him off, but I think his
management of the Water Lily will be brief. On a quiet craft--Don't
look so disappointed. I shall not hurt your skipper's feelings though
I'll put up with no nonsense."

At that moment the old man had decided to go aboard and leading the
way with a gallant flourish of crutches, guided them into the cabin,
or saloon, and made his little speech.

"Ladies and gents, mostly ladies, welcome to my new ship--the Water
Lily. Bein' old an' seasoned in the knowledge of navigation I'll do my
duty to the death. Anybody wishin' to consult me will find me on the
bridge."

With a wave of his cap the queer old fellow stumped away to the
crooked stairway, which he climbed by means of the baluster instead of
the steps, his crutches thump-thumping along behind him.

By "bridge" he meant the forward point of the upper deck, or roof of
the cabin, and there he proceeded to rig up a sort of "house" with
pieces of the awning in which there had been inserted panes of glass.

But the effect of his address was to put all these strangers at ease,
for none could help laughing at his happy pomposity, and after people
laugh together once stiffness disappears.

Gerald Blank promptly followed Melvin Cook to Jim's little engine-room
on the tender, and the colored folks as promptly followed him. Their
own bunks were to be on the small boat and Chloe was anxious to see
what they were like.

Then Mrs. Bruce roused from her silence and asked Aunt Betty about the
provisions that had been brought on board and where she might find
them. She had been asked to join the party as housekeeper, really for
Mabel's sake, from whom she couldn't be separated now, and because
Dorothy had argued:

"That dear woman loves to cook better than anything else. She always
did. Now she hasn't anybody left to cook for, 'cept Mabel, and she'll
forget to cry when she has to get a dinner for lots of hungry
sailors."

The first sight of Mrs. Bruce's sad face, that morning, had been most
depressing; and she was relieved to find a change in its aspect as the
woman roused to action. There hadn't been much breakfast eaten by
anybody and Dorothy had begged her old friend to:

"Just give us lots of goodies, this first meal, Mrs. Bruce, no matter
if we have to do with less afterwards. You see--three hundred dollars
isn't so very much----"

"It seems a lot to me, now," sighed the widow.

But Dorothy went on quickly:

"And it's every bit there is. When the last penny goes we'll have to
stop, even if the Lily is right out in the middle of the ocean."

"Pshaw, Dolly! I thought you weren't going out of sight of land!"

"Course, we're not. That is--we shall never go anywhere if my skipper
doesn't start. I'll run up to his bridge and see what's the matter.
You see I don't like to offend him at the beginning of things and
though Jim Barlow is really to manage the boat, I thought it would
please the old gentleman to be put in charge, too."

"Foolish girl, don't you know that there can't be two heads to any
management?" returned the matron, now really smiling. "It's an odd
lot, a job lot, seems to me, of widows and orphans and cripples and
rich folks all jumbled together in one little house-boat. More 'n
likely you'll find yourself in trouble real often amongst us all. That
old chap above is mighty pleasant to look at now, but he's got too
square a jaw to be very biddable, especially by a little girl like
you."

"But, Mrs. Bruce, he's so poor. Why, just for a smell of salt
water--or fresh either--he's willing to sail this Lily; just for the
sake of being afloat and--his board, course. He'll have to eat, but he
told me that a piece of sailor's biscuit and a cup of warmed over tea
would be all he'd ever 'ax' me. I told him right off then I couldn't
pay him wages and he said he wouldn't touch them if I could. Think of
that for generosity!"

"Yes, I'm thinking of it. Your plans are all right--I hope they'll
turn out well. A captain for nothing, an engineer the same, a
housekeeper who's glad to cook for the sake of her daughter's
pleasure, and the rest of the crew belonging--so no more wages to earn
than always. Sounds--fine. By the way, Dorothy, who deals out the
provisions on this trip?"

"Why, you do, of course, Mrs. Bruce, if you'll be so kind. Aunt Betty
can't be bothered and I don't know enough. Here's a key to the
'lockers,' I guess they call the pantries; and now I _must_ make that
old man give the word to start! Why, Aunt Betty thought we'd get as
far as Annapolis by bed-time. She wants to cruise first on the Severn
river. And we haven't moved an inch yet!"

"Well, I'll go talk with Chloe about dinner. She'll know best what'll
suit your aunt."

Dorothy was glad to see her old friend's face brighten with a sense
of her own importance, as "stewardess" for so big a company of
"shipmates," and slipping her arm about the lady's waist went with her
to the "galley," or tiny cook-room on the tender. There she left her,
with strict injunctions to Chloe not to let her "new mistress"
overtire herself.

It was Aunt Betty's forethought which had advised this, saying:

"Let Chloe understand, in the beginning, that she is the helper--not
the chief."

Leaving them to examine and delight in the compact arrangements of the
galley she sped up the crooked stair to old Captain Jack. To her
surprise she found him anything but the sunny old fellow who had
strutted aboard, and he greeted her with a sharp demand:

"Where's them papers at?"

"Papers? What papers?"

"Ship's papers, child alive? Where's your gumption at?"

Dorothy laughed and seated herself on a camp-stool beside him.

"Reckon it must be 'at' the same place as the 'papers.' I certainly
don't understand you."

"Land a sissy! 'Spect we'd be let to sail out o' port 'ithout showin'
our licenses? Not likely; and the fust thing a ship's owner ought to
'tend to is gettin' a clean send off. For my part, I don't want to hug
this dock no longer. I want to take her out with the tide, I do."

Dorothy was distressed. How much or how little this old captain of an
oyster boat knew about this matter, he was evidently in earnest and
angry with somebody--herself, apparently.

"If we had any papers, and we haven't--who'd we show them to, anyway?"

Captain Hurry looked at her as if her ignorance were beyond belief.
Then his good nature made him explain:

"What's a wharf-master for, d'ye s'pose? When you hand 'em over I'll
see him an' up anchor."

But, at that moment, Mr. Carruthers himself appeared on the roof of
the cabin, demanding:

"What's up, Cap'n Jack? Why don't you start--if it's you who's to
manage this craft, as you claim? If you don't cut loose pretty quick,
my Elsa will get homesick and desert."

The skipper rose to his feet, or his crutches, and retorted:

"Can't clear port without my dockyments, an' you know it! Where they
at?"

"Safe in the locker meant for them, course. Young Barlow has all that
are necessary and a safe keeper of them, too. Better give up this
nonsense and let him go ahead. Easier for you, too, Cap'n, and
everything's all right. Good-bye, Miss Dorothy. I'll slip off again
without seeing Elsa, and you understand? If she gets too homesick for
me, or is ill, or--anything happens, telegraph me from wherever you
are and I'll come fetch her. Good-bye."

He was off the boat in an instant and very soon the Water Lily had
begun her trip. The engineer, Mr. Stinson, was a busy man and made
short work of Captain Hurry's fussiness. He managed the start
admirably, Jim and the other lads watching him closely, and each
feeling perfectly capable of doing as much--or as little--as he. For
it seemed so very simple; the turning of a crank here, another there,
and the thing was done.

However, they didn't reach Annapolis that night, as Mrs. Calvert had
hoped. Only a short distance down the coast they saw signs of a storm
and the lady grew anxious at once.

"O Dolly! It's going to blow, and this is no kind of a boat to face a
gale. Tell somebody, anybody, who is real captain of this Lily, to get
to shore and anchor her fast. She must be tied to something strong. I
never sailed on such a craft before nor taken the risk of caring for
so many lives. Make haste."

This was a new spirit for fearless Aunt Betty to show and, although
she herself saw no suggestions of a gale in the clouding sky,
Dorothy's one desire was to make that dear lady happy. So, to the
surprise of the engineers, she gave her message, that was practically
a command, and a convenient beach being near it was promptly obeyed.

"O, Mr. Captain, stop the ship--I want to get out and walk!" chanted
Gerald Blank, in irony; "Is anybody seasick? Has the wild raging of
the Patapsco scared the lady passengers? I brought a lemon in my
pocket----"

But Dorothy frowned at him and he stopped.

"It is Mrs. Calvert's wish," said the girl, with emphasis.

"But Pop would laugh at minding a few black clouds. He built the Water
Lily to stand all sorts of weather. Why, he had her out in one of the
worst hurricanes ever blew on the Chesapeake and she rode it out as
quiet as a lamb. Fact. I wasn't with him, course, but I heard him
tell. I say, Miss Dolly, Stinson's got to leave us, to-night, anyway,
or early to-morrow morning. I wish you'd put me in command. I do
so, don't you know. I understand everything about a boat. Pop has
belonged to the best clubs all his life and I'm an 'Ariel' myself--on
probation; that is, I've been proposed, only not voted on yet, and
I could sail this Lily to beat the band. Aw, come! Won't you?" he
finished coaxingly.

John Stinson was laughing, yet at the same time, deftly swinging both
boats toward the shore; while Jim Barlow's face was dark with anger,
Cap'n Jack was nervously thumping his crutches up and down, and even
gentle Melvin had retreated as far from the spot as the little tender
allowed. His shoulders were hunched in the fashion which showed him,
also, to be provoked and, for an instant Dorothy was distressed. Then
the absurdity of the whole matter made her laugh.

"Seems if everybody wants to be captain, on this bit of a ship that
isn't big enough for one real one! Captain Hurry, Captain Barlow,
Captain Blank, Captain Cook----"

"What do Barlow and Cook know about the water? One said he was a
'farmer,' and the other a 'lawyer's clerk'----"

"But a lawyer's clerk that's sailed the ocean, mind you, Gerald.
Melvin's a sailor-lad in reality, and the son of a sailor. You needn't
gibe at Melvin. As for Jim, he's the smartest boy in the world. He
understands everything about engines and machinery, and--Why, he can
take a sewing-machine to pieces, all to pieces, and put it together as
good as new. He did that for mother Martha and Mrs. Smith back home on
the mountain, and at San Leon, last summer, he helped Mr. Ford decide
on the way the new mine should be worked, just by the books he'd
studied. Think of that! And Mr. Ford's a railroad man himself and is
as clever as he can be. He knows mighty well what's what and he trusts
our Jim----"

"Dorothy, shut up!"

This from Jim, that paragon she had so praised! The effect was a
sudden silence and a flush of anger on her own face. If the lad had
struck her she couldn't have been more surprised, nor when Melvin
faced about and remarked:

"Better stow this row. If Captain Murray, that I sailed under on the
'Prince,' heard it he'd say there'd be serious trouble before we saw
land again. If we weren't too far out he'd put back to port and set
every wrangler ashore and ship new hands. It's awful bad luck to fight
at sea, don't you know?"

Sailors are said to be superstitious and Melvin had caught some of
their notions and recalled them now. He had made a longer speech than
common and colored a little as he now checked himself. Fortunately he
just then caught Mrs. Bruce's eye and understood from her gestures
that dinner was ready to serve. Then from the little locker he had
appropriated to his personal use, he produced his bugle and hastily
blew "assembly."

The unexpected sound restored peace on the instant. Dorothy clapped
her hands and ran to inform Aunt Betty:

"First call for dinner; and seats not chosen yet!"

All unknown to her two tables had been pulled out from somewhere in
the boat's walls and one end of the long saloon had been made a
dining-room. The tables were as neatly spread as if in a stationary
house and chairs had been placed beside them on one side, while the
cushioned benches which ran along the wall would seat part of the
diners.

With his musical signals, Melvin walked the length of the Water
Lily and climbed the stairs to cross the "promenade deck," as the
awning-covered roof was always called. As he descended, Aunt Betty
called him to the little room off one end the cabin, which was her
own private apartment, and questioned him about his bugle.

"Yes, Madam, it's the one you gave me at Deerhurst, at the end of
Dorothy's house-party. My old one I gave Miss Molly, don't you know?
Because she happened to fancy--on account of her hearing it in the
Nova Scotia woods, that time she was lost. It wasn't worth anything,
but she liked it. Yours, Madam, is fine. I often go off for a walk and
have a try at it, just to keep my hand in and to remind me of old
Yarmouth. Miss Molly begged me to fetch it. She said Miss Dolly would
be pleased and I fancy she is."

Then again conquering his shyness, he offered his arm to the lady and
conducted her to dinner. There was no difficulty in seeing what place
was meant for her, because of the fine chair that was set before it
and the big bunch of late roses at her plate. These were from the
Bellvieu garden, and were another of Dolly's "surprises."

As Melvin led her to her chair and bowed in leaving her, old Ephraim
placed himself behind it and stood ready to serve her as he had
always done, wherever she might happen to be.

Then followed a strange thing. Though Mrs. Bruce and Chloe had
prepared a fine meal, and the faces of all in the place showed
eagerness to enjoy it, not one person moved; but each stood as rigid
as possible and as if he or she would so remain for the rest of the
day.

Only Dorothy. She had paused between the two tables and was
half-crying, half-laughing over the absurd dilemma which had presented
itself.

"Why, good people, what's the matter?" asked Mrs. Calvert, glancing
from one to another. But nobody answered; and at this mark of
disrespect she colored and stiffened herself majestically in her
chair.




CHAPTER IV

MATTERS ARE SETTLED


"Aunt Betty, it's Captain Hurry, again!" explained Dorothy, close to
her aunt's ear. "He claims that the captain of any boat always has
head table. He's acted so queer even the boys hate to sit near him,
and the dinner's spoiling and--and I wish I'd never seen him!"

"Very likely. Having seen him it would have been better for you to ask
advice before you invited him. He was the picture of happiness when he
appeared but--we must get rid of him right away. He must be put ashore
at once."

"But, Aunt Betty, I invited him. _Invited_ him, don't you see? How can
a Calvert tell a guest to go home again after that?"

Mrs. Calvert laughed. This was quoting her own precepts against
herself, indeed. But she was really disturbed at the way their trip
was beginning and felt it was time "to take the helm" herself. So she
stood up and quietly announced:

"This is my table. I invite Mrs. Bruce to take the end chair, opposite
me. Aurora and Mabel, the wall seats on one side; Dorothy and Elsa,
the other side, with Elsa next to me, so that she may be well looked
after.

"Captain Hurry, the other table is yours. Arrange it as you choose."

She reseated herself amid a profound silence; but one glance into her
face convinced the old Captain that here was an authority higher than
his own. The truth was that he had been unduly elated by Dorothy's
invitation and her sincere admiration for the cleverness he boasted.
He fancied that nobody aboard the Water Lily knew anything about
"Navigation" except himself and flattered himself that he was very
wise in the art. He believed that he ought to assert himself on all
occasions and had tried to do so. Now, he suddenly resumed his
ordinary, sunshiny manner, and with a grand gesture of welcome
motioned the three lads to take seats at the second table.

Engineer Stinson was on the tender and would remain there till the
others had finished; and the colored folks would take their meals in
the galley after the white folks had been served.

"Well, that ghost is laid!" cried Dorothy, when dinner was over and
she had helped Aunt Betty to lie down in her own little cabin. "But
Cap'n Jack is so different, afloat and ashore!"

"Dolly, dear, I allowed you to invite whom you wished, but I'm rather
surprised by your selections. Why, for instance, the two Blanks?"

"Because I was sorry for them."

"They're not objects of pity. They're quite the reverse and the girl's
manners are rude and disagreeable. Her treatment of Elsa is heartless.
Why didn't you choose your own familiar friends?"

"Elsa! Yes, indeed, Auntie, dear, without her dreaming of it, Elsa
changed all my first plans for this house-boat party. I fell in love
with her gentle, sad little face the first instant I saw it and I just
wanted to see it brighten. She looked as if she'd never had a good
time in her life and I wanted that she should have. Then she said it
would be 'A cruise of loving kindness' and I thought that was
beautiful. I just longed to give every poor, unhappy body in the world
some pleasure. The Blanks aren't really poor, I suppose, for their
clothes are nice and Aurora has brought so many I don't see where
she'll keep them. But she seemed poor in one way--like this: If you'd
built the Water Lily for me and had had to give it up for debt I
shouldn't have felt nice to some other girl who was going to get it. I
thought the least I could do was ask them to come with us and that
would be almost the same thing as if they still owned the house-boat
themselves. They were glad enough to come, too; and I know--I mean, I
hope--they'll be real nice after we get used to each other. You know
we asked Jim because we were sort of sorry for him, too, and because
he wouldn't charge any wages for taking care the engine! Mrs. Bruce
and Mabel--well, sorry for them was their reason just the same. You
don't mind, really, do you, Auntie, darling? 'Cause----"

Dorothy paused and looked anxiously into the beloved face upon the
pillow.

Aunt Betty laughed and drew the girl's own face down to kiss it
fondly. Dorothy made just as many mistakes as any other impulsive girl
would make, but her impulses were always on the side of generosity and
so were readily forgiven.

"How about me, dear? Were you sorry for me, along with the rest?"

Dorothy flushed, then answered frankly:

"Yes, Aunt Betty, I was. You worried so about that horrid 'business,'
of the Old Folks' Home and Bellvieu, that I just wanted to take you
away from everything you'd ever known and let you have everything new
around you. They are all new, aren't they? The Blanks and Elsa, and
the Bruces; yes and Captain Jack, too. Melvin's always a dear and he
seems sort of new now, he's grown so nice and friendly. I'd rather
have had dear Molly, course, but, since I couldn't, Melvin will do.
He'll be company for Jim--he and Gerald act like two pussy cats
jealous of one another. But isn't it going to be just lovely, living
on the Water Lily? I mean, course, after everybody gets used to each
other and we get smoothed off on our corners. I guess it's like the
engine in the Pad. Mr. Stinson says it'll run a great deal better
after it's 'settled' and each part gets fitted to its place.

"There! I've talked you nearly to sleep, so I'll go on deck with the
girls. It isn't raining yet, and doesn't look as if it were going to.
Sleep well, dear Aunt Betty, and don't you dare to worry a single
worry while you're aboard the Lily. Think of it, Auntie! You are my
guest now, my really, truly guest of honor! Doesn't that seem queer?
But you're mistress, too, just the same."

Well, it did seem as if even this brief stay on the house-boat were
doing Mrs. Calvert good, for Dorothy had scarcely slipped away before
the lady was asleep. No sound came to her ears but the gentle lapping
of the water against the boat's keel and a low murmur of voices from
the narrow deck which ran all around the sides.

When she awoke the craft was in motion and the sun shining far in the
west. She was rather surprised at this, having expected the Lily to
remain anchored in that safe spot which had been chosen close to
shore. However, everything was so calm and beautiful when she stepped
out, the smooth gliding along the wooded banks was so beautiful, that
she readily forgave anybody who had disobeyed her orders. Indeed, she
smilingly assured herself that she was now:

"Nothing and nobody but a guest and must remember the fact and not
interfere. Indeed, it will be delightful just to rest and idle for a
time."

Dorothy came to meet her, somewhat afraid to explain:

"I couldn't help it this time, Aunt Betty. Mr. Stinson says he must
leave at midnight and he wants to 'make' a little town a few miles
further down the shore, where he can catch a train back to city. That
will give him time to go on with his work in the morning. Old Cap'n
Jack, too, says we'd better get along. The storm passed over, to-day,
but he says we're bound to get it soon or late."

Mrs. Calvert's nap had certainly done her good, for she was able now
to laugh at her own nervousness and gaily returned:

"It would be strange, indeed, if we didn't get a storm sometime or
other. But how is the man conducting himself now?"

"Why, Aunt Betty, he's just lovely. Lovely!"

"Doesn't seem as if that adjective fitted very well, but--Ah! yes.
Thank you, my child, I will enjoy sitting in that cosy corner and
watching the water. How low down upon it the Water Lily rides."

Most of this was said to Elsa, who had timidly drawn near and silently
motioned to a sheltered spot on the deck and an empty chair that
waited there. She had never seen such a wonderful old lady as this; a
person who made old age seem even lovelier than youth.

Aunt Betty's simple gown of lavender suited her fairness well, and she
had pinned one of Dorothy's roses upon her waist. Her still abundant
hair of snowy whiteness and the dark eyes, that were yet bright as a
girl's, had a beauty which appealed to the sensitive Elsa's spirit. A
fine color rose in the frail girl's face as her little attention was
so graciously accepted, and from that moment she became Aunt Betty's
devoted slave.

Her shyness lessened so that she dared to flash a look of scorn upon
Aurora, who shrugged her shoulder with annoyance at the lady's
appearance on deck and audibly whispered to Mabel Bruce that:

"She didn't see why an old woman like that had to join a house-boat
party. When _we_ had the Water Lily we planned to have nobody but the
jolliest ones we knew. We wouldn't have had _my_ grandmother along, no
matter what."

Mabel looked at the girl with shocked eyes. She had been fascinated by
Aurora's dashing appearance and the stated fact that she had only worn
her "commonest things," which to Mabel's finery-loving soul seemed
really grand. But to hear that aristocratic dame yonder spoken of as
an "old woman," like any ordinary person, was startling.

"Why Aurora--you said I might call you that----"

"Yes, you may. While we happen to be boatmates and out of the city,
you know. At home, I don't know as Mommer would--would--You see she's
very particular about the girls I know. I shall be in 'Society'
sometime, when Popper makes money again. But, what were you going to
say?"

"I was going to say that maybe you don't know who that lady is. She is
Mrs. Elisabeth Cecil-Somerset-Calvert!"

"Well, what of it? Anybody can tie a lot of names on a string and wear
'em that way. Even Mommer calls herself Mrs. Edward Newcomer-Blank of
R."

"Why 'of R?' What does it mean?" asked Mabel, again impressed.

"Doesn't mean anything, really, as far as I know. But don't you know a
lot of Baltimoreans, or Marylanders, write their names that way?
Haven't you seen it in the papers?"

"No. I never read a paper."

"You ought. To improve your mind and keep you posted on--on current
events. I'm in the current event class at school--I go to the Western
High. I was going to the Girls' Latin, this year, only--only--Hmm. So
I have to keep up with the times."

Aurora settled her silken skirts with a little swagger and again Mabel
felt it a privilege to know so exalted a young person, even if their
acquaintance was limited to a few weeks of boat life. Then she
listened quite humbly while Aurora related some of her social
experiences and discussed with a grown-up air her various
flirtations.

But after a time she tired of all this, and looked longingly across to
the tender, on whose rail Dorothy was now perched, with the three lads
clustered about her, and all intently listening to the "yarns" with
which Cap'n Jack was entertaining them.

All that worthy's animation had returned to him. He had eaten the best
of dinners in place of the "ship's biscuit" he had suggested to his
small hostess: he was relieved of care--which he had pretended to
covet; and the group of youngsters before him listened to his
marvellous tales of the sea with perfect faith in his truthfulness.

Some of the tales had a slight foundation in fact; but even these were
so embellished by fiction as to be almost incredible. In any case, the
shouts of laughter or the cries of horror that rose from his audience
so attracted Mabel that, at last, she broke away from Aurora's tamer
recitals, saying:

"I'm getting stiff, sitting in one place so long. I'll go over to
Dolly. She and me have been friends ever since time was. Good-bye.
Or, will you come, too?"

In her heart, Aurora wished to do so. But hoping to impress her new
acquaintance by her magnificence, she had put on a fanciful white silk
frock, wholly unfitted for her present trip and, indeed, slyly packed
in her trunk without her mother's knowledge. The deck of the Pad
wasn't as spotless as this of the Lily. Even at that moment small
Methuselah was swashing it with a great mop, which dripped more water
than it wiped up. His big eyes were fairly bulging from his round
black face and, having drawn as near the story-teller as he could, he
mopped one spot until Dolly called out:

"That'll do, Metty, boy! Tackle another board. Mustn't wear out the
deck with your neatness!"

Whereupon old Captain Hurry swung his crutch around and caught the
youngster with such suddenness that he pitched head-first into his own
big bucket. Freeing himself with a howl, he raised his mop as high as
his strength would allow and brought it down upon the captain's
glittering cap.

It was the seaman's turn to howl and an ill-matched fight would have
followed if Jim hadn't caught the pickaninny away and Dorothy seized
the cripple's headgear before it suffered any great harm. Gently
brushing it with her handkerchief she restored it to its owner's head,
with the remark:

"Don't mind Metty, Cap'n Jack. He means well, every time, only he has
a little too hasty a temper. He never heard such wonderful stories
before--nor I, either, for that matter. Did you, boys?"

She had believed them wholly, but Jim had begun to doubt; and Melvin
was bold enough to say:

"I've sailed a good many times between New York and Yarmouth, Nova
Scotia, but I never saw--I mean, I haven't happened, don't you know? I
wouldn't fancy being out alone in a cat-boat and having a devil-fish
rise up alongside that way. I----"

"Young man, do you doubt my word, sir?" demanded the Captain, rising
with all the dignity his lameness and the dropping of his crutch would
allow.

"Oh! no, sir. I doubt nothing--nothing, sir. The Judge says the world
is full of marvels and I fancy, your encounter with that giant squid
is one of them. You should have that story published, Captain. You
should, don't you know?"

Melvin's blue eyes twinkled but the otherwise gravity of his face
harmlessly deceived the old seaman and brought back his good temper.

"Reckon I'll go aloft and make out my log," he remarked, with an air
of importance, and stumped forward to his "bridge" above stairs. These
he ascended, as before, by a hand-over-hand climb of the baluster, his
crutches dragging behind; and it was this nimbleness of arm which
convinced the watchers, far more than his impossible yarns had done,
that he had indeed once been a sailor and could ascend the rigging of
a ship.

Then soon came supper and again such hearty appetites were brought to
it that Mrs. Bruce wondered how so much good food could disappear at
one meal. Also, she remembered that the sum of three hundred dollars
had a limit, large as it seemed; and while she sat silent in her place
she was inwardly computing whether it would possibly furnish board for
all these people for six long weeks.

Then she proceeded to "count noses," and suddenly perceived that after
Mr. Stinson's departure there would be left the "unlucky number" of
thirteen souls aboard the Water Lily.

This time the engineer was at table and Jim had taken his place on the
tender; but after this, he had assured everybody that the engine did
not need such constant attention and could be left to itself during
meal-time at least.

However, nobody tarried long at table that night. There was to follow
the first arrangement of the "staterooms," as the canvas-partitioned
spaces for each one of the party were called.

"Cute little cubby-holes," Mabel named them, and promptly selected her
own between her mother's and Aurora's. Dorothy was next to Aurora and
Elsa between her and Mrs. Calvert's bigger room.

Politely giving Elsa her choice, Dorothy couldn't help a keen
disappointment that it separated herself from Aunt Betty. Then she
reflected that she had offered this choice as far back as on the day
of their first meeting; and that she would herself serve as shield
between Aurora's haughtiness and Elsa's timidity.

Those two guests didn't hit it off at all well. Elsa shivered and
shrank before Aurora's boisterous high spirits and the look of
contempt the elder girl bestowed upon her plain attire.

Poor little Elsa had done her best to honor the occasion. She had
forced herself to go with her loving father to a department store and
had suffered real distress in being fitted at the hands of a kindly,
but too outspoken, saleswoman.

The suit selected had been of an ugly blue which brought out all the
sallowness of the poor child's complexion. It had been padded on one
shoulder, "'cause she's crooked in them shoulders," and had been
shortened on one side, "to suit the way she limps." A hat of the same
vicious blue had been purchased, and this trimmed with red roses, "to
sort of set her up like."

Thus attired, Mr. Carruthers had looked with pride upon his motherless
darling, and felt himself amply justified in the expense he had
incurred. The girl's own better taste had rebelled and she would
rather have worn the old gray frock that was at least modest and
unobtrusive; but she saw the pride and tenderness in her father's eyes
and said nothing save fervent thanks.

However, all the varied emotions of the travellers were soon
forgotten in the healthy slumber which came to them. The Water Lily
glided quietly along, forced onward by the tender where the trio of
lads sat long, exchanging experiences and, under cover of the friendly
darkness, growing natural and familiar.

But after a time even they grew drowsy and "turned in," finding their
new "bunks" as snug as comfortable. The chug-chug of the small engine
chimed in with the snores of the colored folks, in their own quarters
beyond the galley and formed a soothing lullaby.

So deeply they slept that none knew how a storm was gathering thick
and fast, except the alert engineer, who made all speed possible to
reach the shelter of the little cove and wharf where he hoped to tie
up; and from whence he could cross the swampy fields to the station
and the midnight train for home.

It proved a race of steam and storm, with the latter victor; for at
almost boat's length from the pier there came a blinding flash of
lightning and a peal of thunder most terrific. At the same moment a
whirlwind shook the Water Lily like a feather, it seemed, and the
shrieks of the awaking negroes startled every soul awake.

"'Tis de yend o' de worl'! 'Tis de Jedgmen' Day! Rise up, sinnahs,
rise to yo' jedgmen'!"




CHAPTER V

THE STORM AND WHAT FOLLOWED


In an instant a crowd of terrified people had gathered in the cabin,
clasping one another's hands, sobbing and shivering as gust after gust
shook the Water Lily so that it seemed its timbers must part.

"We mought ha' knowed! Thirteen po' creatures shet up in dis yeah
boat! Oh! My----"

The greatest outcry was from poor Chloe, now kneeling, or crouching,
at the feet of her Miss Betty, and clutching the lady's gown so that
she could not move. But if her feet were hindered her tongue was not.
In her most peremptory manner she bade:

"Chloe, get up and be still! This is no time for nonsense. Close those
windows. Stop the rain pouring in. Call back your common sense.
Do----"

"O, Ole Miss! I'se done dyin'! I'se gwine----"

"No, you're not. You couldn't screech like that if you were anywhere's
near death. Shut--those--windows--or--let--me!"

Habit was stronger than fear. The idea of her mistress doing Chloe's
own task roused the frightened creature to obey, scarce knowing that
she did so. Seeing her at work restored the calmness of the others, in
a measure, and Dorothy and Mabel rushed each to the sliding panels of
glass, which had been left open for the night and pushed them into
place.

This lessened the roar of the tempest and courage returned as they
found themselves still unhurt, though the constant flashes of light
revealed a group of very white faces, and bodies still shaking with
terror of nature's rage. Mrs. Bruce had always been a coward during
thunderstorms, but even she rallied enough to run for a wrap and fold
it about Mrs. Calvert, who was also shaking; but from cold rather than
fear.

Then between claps, they could hear the scurrying of feet on the roof
overhead, the stumping of Captain Jack's crutches, and the issuing of
sharp orders in tones that were positively cheerful!

"Hark! What are they doing? Can anybody see the tender?" asked
Dorothy, excitedly.

Strangely enough, it was frail, timid Elsa who answered:

"I've been listening. They're taking off the canvas. The boys are up
there. The other boat is away out--yonder. See? Oh! it's grand! grand!
Doesn't it make us all seem puny! If it would only last till everyone
was humble and--adoring!"

Even while she answered, the slender girl turned again to the window
and gazed through it as if she could not have enough of the scene so
frightful to her mates. These watched her, astonished, yet certainly
calmed by her own fearless behavior; so that, presently, all were
hastily dressing.

Mabel had set the example in this, saying quaintly:

"If I've got to be drowned I might as well look decent when I'm picked
up."

"Mabel and her clothes! The 'ruling passion strong in death'!" cried
Dorothy, in a tone meant to be natural but was still rather shaky.
Somebody laughed and that lessened the excitement, so that even Chloe
remembered she had appeared without her white turban and hastily put
her hands smoothing her wool, as if afraid now only of her mistress's
reprimand.

But that lady had joined Elsa at the glass; and standing with her arm
about the girl, drew the slight figure within the folds of her own
roomy wrapper, with a comforting warmth and pressure. For it had
turned icy cold and the unusual heat of the evening before seemed like
a dream.

"Dear little girl, I am glad you came. Brave soul and frail
body, you're stronger than even my healthy Dorothy. And it is
magnificent--magnificent. Only, I dread what the morning will reveal.
If we are damaged much it will mean the end of our trip--at its very
beginning."

"Dear lady; it won't mean that. Even if it had to do it would be all
right--for me, at least. I should have some beautiful things to
remember always."

Then the cheerfulest of whistling was heard; Cap'n Jack's warning that
he was coming down the stairs and that any feminines in night attire
might take warning and flee.

But nobody fled, and Dorothy tried to turn on the electric light which
had been one of the fine features of this palatial house-boat. No
radiance followed, and, watching from the doorway, Cap'n Jack
triumphantly exclaimed:

"Didn't I know it? What's them new-fangled notions wuth in a case o'
need? Taller's the stuff, or good, reli'ble whale-ile. Well, ship's
comp'ny, how'd ye like it? Warn't that the purtiest leetle blow 't
ever you see? Didn't I warn ye 'twas comin'? Yet ye went an' allowed I
warn't no real captain and couldn't run a boat like this easy as
George Washin'ton! Now you're wiser. That there leetle gale has larnt
ye all somethin'. And 'nough said. Give old Jack a couple o' sail or
so an' a man to climb the riggin' an' he'll beat all the steam engines
ever was hatched. Oh! I'm just feelin' prime. That bit o' wind has
blowed all the land-fog out o' my head an' left it clear as glass.

     "'A life on the ocean wave,
       A home on the rolling de-e-ep.'"

The old man's rich voice trailed off toward the tender--or where the
tender should have been--while a clear and boyish one took up the
ditty from the roof above, with:

     "'Where the scattered waters rave
         And the wi-i-inds their vigils ke-e-ep!'"

"Melvin! Jim! Gerald! Are you all up there? Come down, come down!"

"Yes, Captain Dolly! Coming! Here!" shouted Melvin, rattling down the
crooked stair, while Jim's voice responded: "Present!" and Gerald
finished with a merry: "Accounted for!"

Then Aurora ran to meet her brother and to kiss him with an unexpected
affection. To his credit it was that he gently returned her caress,
but laughed at her statement that she had feared he was drowned.

"Not a bit of it! But this doesn't look much like mourning, if you
did!" he jested, pointing at the white silk frock she had again put
on.

"Well, it was the first one I got hold of. That's why. But,
tell--tell--how came you up there?"

"Yes, everything, tell everything!" begged Dorothy, fairly dancing
about them in her eagerness.

"Melvin--Melvin did it!" said Jim. "We might all be at the bottom of
the sea----"

"Hush!" almost screamed Aurora, beginning to tremble. "It was so
horrible--I----"

With more of sympathy than had been between them before, Dolly slipped
her arm around Aurora's shoulders and playfully ordered:

"If you boys don't tell how you came on our promenade deck, when you
belonged on the tender, you sha'n't have any breakfast!"

"Melvin. I tell you it was Melvin. He's the only one of us didn't
sleep like a log. He felt the hurricane coming, right through his
dreams, and waked the lot of us, as soon as the first clap came. So he
rushed us over the plank to take off the awnings----"

"With such a wind sucking under them might have made the boat turn
turtle, Mrs. Calvert, don't you know? At sea--that's why I presumed to
give orders without----"

"Oh, my dear lad, I now 'order' you to 'give orders' whenever you
think best. We can trust you, and do thank you. But how dark it seems
now the lightning has stopped. Isn't there any sort of light we can
get?" said Aunt Betty, sitting down with Elsa and folding a steamer
rug around them both.

Cap'n Jack came stumping back from the rear of the boat in a high
state of excitement and actual glee.

"Clean gone! Plank a-swingin' loose--caught it a-board just in
time--t'other boat flip-floppin' around like she was all-possessed.
Reckon she is. The idee! A reg'lar steam engine on a craft not much
bigger 'n itself! What this house-boat needs isn't steam engines but
a set of stout sails an' a few fust-class poles. Come, lads, let's
anchor her--if the fool that built her didn't put them on the tender,
too, alongside his other silly contraptions."

Mrs. Calvert wondered if the old fellow knew what he was talking
about, but found the resolute tones of his voice a comfort. Whoever
else was frightened he was not and she liked him better at that moment
than she would have thought possible. All his whining discontent was
gone and he was honestly happy. What the others felt to be a terrible
misfortune was his opportunity to prove himself the fine "skipper" he
had boasted of being.

But now that the roar of the storm had subsided, there came across the
little space of water between the Lily and its Pad the outcries of
Ephraim and Methuselah, mingled with halloes of the engineer, John
Stinson.

"They want to come alongside! They're signallin'!" cried Cap'n Jack,
promptly putting his hands before his mouth, trumpet-fashion, and
returning such a lusty answer that those near him clapped hands over
ears.

Then came Melvin, more sea-wise than the other lads, saying:

"I've been fumbling around and there are some poles lashed outside the
rail. Let's unsheath 'em, but it'll take us all to keep them from
tumbling over."

"That's so! You're right! When Pop had this boat built he was told to
provide for all sorts of things. The engine going broke was the last
notion he had, but he had the poles made to please Mommer. I know--I
mean--I guess I do--how they use 'em, but they're mighty heavy."

It was Captain Hurry who again came to the front. In a twinkling he
had inspected the stout poles and explained, that by putting one end
of each down through the water till it reached the bottom, the
house-boat could not only be held steady but could be propelled.

"It's slow but it's safe an' easy, Ma'am," he informed Mrs. Calvert.

"Then it's the very thing, the only thing, we want," she answered,
promptly. "I never did believe in that engine in the hands of an
amateur."

Jim didn't fancy this reflection on his skill, believing that he
already knew as much about machinery as an expert did and that he had
mastered all that John Stinson could teach him. However, he was beyond
reach of the beloved little engine now and the first thing to do was
to bring the two boats together again.

Under Cap'n Jack's direction this was promptly done; and great was old
Ephraim's rejoicing when, at last, the familiar gang-plank was once
more in place and he had crossed over it to his beloved mistress's
presence.

"T'ank de Lord, Miss Betty, you didn't get sca'ed to death! I sutney
beliebed we was all gwine to de bottom of de ribbah! An' I was plumb
scan'lized ter t'ink o' yo' po' li'l white body all kivvered wid mud,
stidder lyin' in a nice, clean tomb lak yo' oughter. I----"

"That'll do, Ephraim. I'll take all the rest you were going to say for
granted. Here, Metty, sit down in that corner and keep still. You're
safe now and--are you hungry?"

The morning light was rapidly increasing and seen by it the little
black face looked piteous indeed. But there were few troubles of
Methuselah's which "eatings" couldn't cure; so his mistress promptly
dispatched Dorothy to her stateroom for a big box of candy, brought
along "in case of need." Never would need be more urgent than now, and
not only did the little page's countenance brighten, when the box
appeared, but everybody else dipped into it as eagerly--it seemed such
a relief to do such an ordinary thing once more.

The sun rose and shone as if to make them forget the night of storm;
and after a breakfast, hastily prepared on the little oil stove in the
tender, a feeling of great content spread through the little company.
Engineer Stinson had missed his train, but was now glad of it; for he
had gained time to examine the engine, though disappointed at the
report he had to make.

"Useless, for the present, Madam, I regret to say. Owing to the sudden
jar against the end of the wharf, or the wind's dashing the tender
about, some parts are broken. To get it repaired will take some time.
Shall I send down a tug to tow you back to the city? And have a man
from the shop attend to it? My own job will keep me from doing it
myself, though I'd like to."

"Thank you," said Aunt Betty, and, for a moment, said nothing more.
But she looked from one to another of the eager young faces about her
and read but one desire on all. This was so evident that she smiled as
she asked:

"Who thinks best to give up this trip? Or, rather, to go back and
start over again--if we dare?"

Nobody spoke but a sort of groan ran around the little company.

"All in favor of going on, with some other sort of 'power,' or of
anchoring the Water Lily at some pleasant point near shore and staying
there, say 'Aye'."

So lusty a chorus of "Ayes" answered that Aunt Betty playfully covered
her ears, till the clamor had subsided. Then a council of ways and
means was held, in which everyone took part, and out of which the
decision came:

That Cap'n Jack should rig up the sails which was another one of Mr.
Blank's provisions against just such a dilemma, and instruct the three
lads how to use them; that when they didn't want to sail they should
use the poles; or using neither, should remain quietly at rest in the
most delightful spot they could find; that the Lily and its Pad should
be fastened together in the strongest way, so that no more separation
by wind or storm could be possible.

"The tender adds a great weight to your 'power' in such a case,"
suggested Mr. Stinson. "Without it you could move much faster."

"And without it, where could Ephy sleep and Chloe cook? The boys, too,
will need their warm bunks if it happens to be cold," said Dolly.
"Besides--the kitchen is out there. Oh! we can't possibly spare the
tender."

"Most house-boats get along without one," explained the engineer.

"What about a horse, or a mule? I've seen such a thing somewhere, on
some of our little trips with Mr. Bruce," suggested the widow, then
touched by her own reference to the dead relapsed into silence.

"Many of the little rivers of the Western Shore have banks as level as
those of a canal," said Mrs. Calvert. The idea had approved itself to
her. "I'm afraid you lads would get very tired of the poling, even if
the water was shallow enough. Without wind, sails wouldn't help us; so
Mrs. Bruce's notion is the best one yet."

"A mule would be nice and safe!" commented Mabel.

"First catch your mule," cried Gerald.

"And who'd ride it?" asked Jim.

"You would," promptly answered Melvin, laughing.

"Not all the time, sir!" retorted Jim, yet with an expression which
showed he was really considering the subject. "Turn and turn about's
fair play."

"All right. I'll stand my turn and call it my 'watch.' I could fancy I
was still on shipboard, don't you know?"

"I'd do my third--if we didn't keep it up all the time. A fellow wants
a little chance to fish and have some fun," added Gerald. Now that
they had all been in danger together he was acting like the really
fine lad he was and had dropped the silly affectations of his first
manner.

Aurora, too, seemed more sensible, and, breakfast over, had shut
herself in her tiny stateroom to put on the plainest frock she had. An
approving smile from Mrs. Calvert greeted her reappearance and the
girl began to think it wasn't so bad after all have an old lady
aboard.

"Really, Mabel, there doesn't seem anything old about her except a few
of her looks. I mean her white hair and some wrinkles. I guess it was
all right she came, anyway."

"It surely was all right. Why, what would any of us have done if she
hadn't been here? Mamma was scared worse than I was, even. You know
she saw a person killed by lightning once and has never got over it.
You'll find, if you watch out, that Mrs. Calvert will help us have a
good time, rather than spoil it; if--if--we don't go back. I guess
Mamma wishes we'd have to do that."

Aurora did not answer, for just then the others were eagerly
discussing the situation. They were to "up anchor," run up the sails
to catch the stiff breeze that was rising with the sun, and proceed
down the coast as far as they could while the engineer remained, as he
had agreed to do for a few hours longer, because of Mrs. Calvert's
earnest request.

"Get us safe into some snug harbor, please Mr. Stinson, and I will see
that you lose nothing by the delay."

"That is all right, Madam. I only wish I could join your cruise for
all its length. I'm sure you're bound to have a grand trip, despite
the bad beginning--which should bring the proverbial good ending."

"I wish you could. Oh! I do wish you could," said Aunt Betty. She was
somewhat surprised to find the engineer a man of culture, but was
delighted by the fact. She felt that the presence of such a man would
keep her three boys straight, for she was a little afraid of "pranks"
should they indulge in any.

She had hoped, too, to make the most of their trip up and down the
Severn, with which lovely river her earliest memories lingered.
However, they were not to reach it yet. The friendly wind forsook them
and both Cap'n Jack and Mr. Stinson felt that it would be wise to
enter a little bay further north; and making their slow way between
some islands come to anchor on the shores of the Magothy.

"The Maggotty! That's where the best cantaloupes come from!" cried
Mabel. "Who'll buy my fine wattymillyouns, growed on de Maggotty, down
in An'erunnel! Wattymillyouns! Cant-e-lopes! Oh! I want one this
minute!"

"What a dreadful name for a river! Who'd eat melons full of maggots!"
demanded Aurora, with a little shiver. Evidently, though she must
often have heard them, she had paid scant attention to the cries of
the negro hucksters through her own city's streets.

"It isn't 'Maggotty' but 'Magothy'," explained Dorothy. "I used to
think just as you do until I learned better. I'm bad as Mabel. I just
can't wait. I must have a 'cantaloupe' for supper, I must! Scooped out
and filled with ice--sweet and juicy----"

"Hold on! Hold on! Wait till I fetch it!" returned Gerald, with a
smack of his own lips. Then leaving the others to follow as they chose
he ran to the stern of the tender which the men had brought close to a
grassy bank, and leaped ashore.

"Wheah's he gwine at?" demanded Ephraim, who had been in the way and
unceremoniously pushed aside.

"Wattymillyouns!" yelled Jim, following the other boy's lead.

"Wattymillyouns? Wat-ty-mill-youns? My hea't o' grace! I'se done gwine
get some fo' my Miss Betty!"

"For yo'se'f you-all means, yo' po' triflin' ornery ole niggah! Ain't
it de trufe?" laughed Chloe, coming to the old man's side, and laying
a restraining hand upon his shoulder, while all her white teeth showed
in a wide grin.

Safely anchored, the engineer gone, the old Captain bustling about on
the roof of the boat, making all snug and shipshape for the coming
night, every heart was light. None more so than those of the colored
folks, always in the habit of leaving care to "their white" friends
and like children in their readiness to forget the past.

Ephraim didn't leap the plank, his "roomaticals" prevented; but he
displayed a marvelous agility in getting ashore and speed in following
the vanishing lads.

"What's up?" demanded Melvin, running to where Chloe stood, holding
her sides and shaking with laughter, "where have they gone?"

"Maggotty millyouns! Spyed a millyoun patch ovah yondah an'--Lan' ob
Goshen! If he ain' done gwine, too! Well, my sake! Mebbe Chloe doan'
lub millyouns same's anuddah, mebbe!"

As Melvin disappeared over the side, his own mouth watering for the
southern delicacies so rare to his own northern home, mistress Chloe
gathered up her petticoats and sprang ashore.

Little Methuselah called after her but she did not pause. She meant to
get her own share from that distant melon-patch, and her maternal ears
were deaf to his outcries.

Sharing the common feeling of repose and safety which had fallen upon
all the company when the Water Lily had been tied up for the night,
Metty had felt it a fine time to don his livery and show off his
finery before the white folks. Clad in its loose misfit, but proud as
ever, he clung to the stern-rail of the Pad and gazed after his
departing parent.

What had happened? Why were all those people running away so fast? Was
another frightful tempest coming?

"Mammy! Mam-my! Lemme! Lemme come! Mammy, Mammy, wait--I'se com----"

A point on the water side of the Pad commanded a better view of the
fleeing figures, climbing the gentle rise of ground beyond. Thither
the little fellow rushed; gave one glance downward into the water and
another upon his gorgeous attire; then upward and onward where a fold
of scarlet calico fluttered like a signal; shut his great eyes, and
leaped.

Alas! The fat little legs couldn't compass that space! and Methuselah
Bonaparte Washington Brown sank beneath the waves his own impact had
created.




CHAPTER VI.

A MULE AND MELON TRANSACTION.


The five melon-hungry deserters from the Water Lily came breathlessly
to the "snake" rail-fence which bordered the "patch" and paused with
what Gerald called "neatness and dispatch."

Suddenly there rose from behind the fence a curious figure to confront
them. Two figures, in fact, a man's and a mule's. Both were of a dusty
brown color, both were solemn in expression, and so like one another
in length of countenance that Melvin giggled and nudged Jim, declaring
under his breath:

"Look like brothers, don't you know?"

Ephraim was the first to recover composure as, removing his hat, he
explained:

"We-all's trabellers an' jes' natchally stopped to enquiah has yo'
wattymillyouns fo' sale."

Chloe sniggered at the old man's deft turn of the matter, for she knew
perfectly well that the idea of buying the melons hadn't entered his
mind until that moment. He was an honest creature in general, but no
southern negro considers it a crime to steal a water-melon--until he
is caught at it!

The air with which Ephy bowed and scraped sent the boys into roars of
laughter but didn't in the least lessen the gloom of the farmer's
face. At last he opened his lips, closed them, reopened them and
answered:

"Ye-es. I have. But--I cayn't sell 'em. They ain't never no sale for
_my_ truck. Is they, Billy?"

The mournfulness of his voice was absurd. As absurd as to call the
solemn-visaged mule by the frivolous name of "Billy." Evidently the
animal understood human speech, for in response to his owner's appeal
the creature opened his own great jaws in a prodigious bray. Whereupon
the farmer nodded, gravely, as if to say:

"You see. Billy knows."

"How much yo' tax 'em at?" asked Chloe, gazing over the fence with
longing eyes and mentally selecting the ripest and juiciest of the
fruit.

"I ain't taxin' 'em. I leave it to you."

Then he immediately sat down upon the rock beside the fence where he
had been "resting" for most of that afternoon, or "evenin'" as he
called it. Billy doubled himself up and sprawled on the ground near
his master, to the injury of the vines and one especially big melon.

"O, suh! _Doan'_ let him squush it!" begged Chloe; while Ephraim
turned upon her with a reproving:

"You-all min' yo' place! _Ah_ 'm 'tendin' to dis yeah business."

"Va'y well. Jes' gimme mah millyoun ter tote home to Miss Betty. Ah
mus' ha' left mah pocket-book behin' me!" she jeered. Then, before
they knew what she was about, she had sprung over the fence and picked
up the melon she had all along selected as her own.

Nobody interfered, not even the somber owner of the patch; and with
amazing lightness Chloe scrambled back again, the great melon held in
the skirt of her red gown, and was off down the slope at the top of
her speed.

Ephraim put on his "specs" and gravely stared after her; then shook
his head, saying:

"Dat yeah gell's de flightiest evah! Ain't it de trufe?"

But now a new idea had come to Jim, and laying a hand on the collars
of the other lads, he brought their heads into whispering nearness of
his own:

"Say, fellows, _let's buy Billy_! A mule that understands English is
the mule to draw the Water Lily!"

A pause, while the notion was considered, then Melvin exclaimed:

"Good enough! If he doesn't ask too much. Try him!"

"Yes, ask him. I'll contribute a fiver, myself," added Gerald.

Ephraim had now struggled over the fence and was pottering about among
the melons, with the eye of a connoisseur selecting and laying aside a
dozen of the choicest. Those which were not already black of stem he
passed by as worthless, as he did those which did not yield a peculiar
softness to the pressure of his thumb. His face fairly glittered and
his "roomaticals" were wholly forgotten; till his attention was
suddenly arrested by the word "money," spoken by one of the boys
beyond the fence. At that he stood up, put his hands on his hips, and
groaned; then keenly listened to what was being said.

"Ye-es. I _might_ want to sell Billy, but I cayn't. I cayn't never
sell anything."

"Well, we're looking for a mule, a likely mule. One strong enough to
haul a house-boat. Billy's pretty big; looks as if he could."

"Billy can do anything he's asked to. Cayn't you, Billy?"

It was funny to see the clever beast rise slowly to his feet, shake
the dust from his great frame, turn his sorrowful gaze upon his
master's face, and utter his assenting bray.

Melvin flung himself on the grass and laughed till his sides ached;
then sprang up again wild with eagerness to possess such a comical
creature:

"Oh! Buy him--buy him--no matter the price! He'd be the life of the
whole trip! I'll give something, too, as much as I can spare!"

Jim tried to keep his face straight as he inquired:

"What is the price of Billy, sir?"

The farmer sighed, so long and deeply, that the mule lay down again
as if pondering the matter.

"Young man, that there Billy-mule is beyond price. There ain't another
like him, neither along the Magothy nor on the Eastern Sho'. I cayn't
sell Billy."

During his life upon the mountains James Barlow had seen something of
"horse-traders" and he surmised that he had such an one to deal with
now. He expected that the man would name a price, after a time, much
higher than he really would accept, and the boy was ready for a
"dicker." He meant to show the other lads how clever and astute he
could be. So he now returned:

"Oh, yes. I think you can if you get your price. Everything has its
price, I've read somewhere--even mules!"

"Young man, life ain't no merry jest. I've found that out and so'll
you. _I cayn't sell Billy._"

"Ten dollars?"

No reply, but the man sat down again beside his priceless mule and
reopened the old book he had been reading when interrupted by these
visitors.

"Fifteen?"

"Twenty?" volunteered Gerald.

"Twenty-five?" asked Melvin. Then in an aside to the other boys: "I
wonder if Dorothy will help pay for him!"

"Sure. This is her racket, isn't it? It was Mrs. Calvert, or somebody,
said we could be towed along shore, as if the Lily were a canal-boat.
Sure! We'll be doing her a kindness if we buy it for her and save her
all the trouble of looking for one;" argued Gerald, who had but a
small stock of money and wasn't eager to spend it.

Jim cast one look of scorn upon him, then returned to his "dickering."
He had so little cash of his own that he couldn't assume payment, but
he reasoned that, after he had written an account of their predicament
to Mr. Winters, the generous donor of the Lily would see that she was
equipped with the necessary "power," even if that power lay in the
muscles of a gigantic mule.

"Oh! sir, please think it over. Hark, I'll tell you the whole story,
then I'm sure you'll want to help a lady--several ladies--out of a
scrape," argued Jim, with such a persuasive manner that Melvin was
astonished. This didn't seem at all like the rather close-tongued
student he had known before.

But the truth was that Jim had become infatuated with the idea of
owning at least a share in Billy. He was used to mules. He had handled
and lived among them during his days upon Mrs. Stott's truck-farm. He
was sure that the animal could be made useful in many ways and--in
short, he wanted, he must have Billy!

In a very few moments he had told the whole tale of the house-boat and
its misfortunes, laying great stress upon the "quality" of its owners,
and thus shrewdly appealing to the chivalry of this southern gentleman
who was playing at farming.

For a time his only apparent listener was old Ephraim, who had
picked up a hoe somewhere and now leaned upon it, resting from his
selection of the melons. But, though he didn't interfere with the glib
narrative, he confirmed it by nods of his gray head, and an occasional
"Dat's so, Cunnel."

Evidently, the farmer was impressed. He stopped pretending to read and
folding his arms, leaned back against the rails, his eyes closed, an
expression of patient, sad endurance upon his long face. His manner
said as plainly as words:

"If this young gabbler _will_ talk I suppose I must listen."

But gradually this manner changed. His eyes opened. The book slid to
the ground. In spite of his own unwillingness he was interested. A
house-boat! He'd never heard of such a thing; but, if the tale were
true, it would be something new to see. Besides, ladies in distress?
That was an appeal no gentleman could deny, even though that gentleman
were as poor as himself. He might well have added "as shiftless;" for
another man in his position would have been stirring himself to get
that fine crop of melons into market.

Jim finished his recital with the eager inquiry:

"Now, sir, don't you think you can sell Billy and put a reasonable
price on him?"

The lad rose to his feet as he asked this and the man slowly followed
his example. Then laying his hand on heart he bowed, saying:

"I cayn't sell Billy. I give you my word. But, a southern planter is
never beyond the power, sir, to bestow a gift. Kindly convey said
Billy to Miss Calvert with the compliments of Colonel Judah Dillingham
of T. Yonder are the bars. They are down. They are always down. So are
my fortunes. Billy, old friend, farewell."

This strange gentleman then solemnly reseated himself and again picked
up his book. A deeper gloom than ever had settled upon him and a sigh
that was almost a sob shook him from head to foot.

Billy, also, slowly and stiffly rose, regarded the reader with what
seemed like grieved amazement and dismally brayed. There was an old
harness upon him, half-leather, half-rope, with a few wisps of
corn-husk, and without delay Jim laid his hand on the bit-ring and
started away.

"Of course, sir, we will pay for the mule. My folks wouldn't, I mean
couldn't, accept such a gift from a stranger. Our house-boat is tied
up at the little wharf down yonder and we'll likely be there for
awhile. I'll come back soon and tell what they say."

Colonel Dillingham made no motion as if he heard and James was too
afraid he would repent of the bargain to tarry. But Billy wasn't easy
to lead. He followed peaceably enough as far as the designated bars,
even stepped over the fallen rails into the grassy fields beyond. But
there he firmly planted his fore-feet and refused to go further.

Left behind and scarcely believing his own eyes, Ephraim now
respectfully inquired, with pride at having guessed the man's title:

"How much dese yeah millyouns wuth, Cunnel?"

The question was ignored although the gentleman seemed listening to
something. It was the dispute now waging in the field beyond, where
Jim was trying to induce Billy to move and the other lads were
offering suggestions in the case. At last something akin to a smile
stole over the farmer's grim features and he roughly ordered:

"Shut up, you nigger! Huh! Just as I thought. I couldn't sell Billy
and Billy won't be given. Eh? what? Price of melons? You black idiot,
do you reckon a gentleman who can afford to give away a mule's goin'
to take money for a few trumpery water-melons? Go on away. Go to the
packin'-house yonder and find a sack. Fill it. Take the whole field
full. Eat enough to kill yourself. I wish you would!"

Far from being offended by this outbreak, Ephraim murmured:

"Yes, suh, t'ank yo', suh," and hobbled over the uneven ground toward
the whitewashed building in the middle of the patch. Some more thrifty
predecessor had built this for the storing and packing of produce, but
under the present owner's management it was fast tumbling to ruin. But
neither did this fact surprise Ephy, nor hinder him from choosing the
largest sack from a pile on the floor. With this in hand he hurried
back to the goodly heap of melons he had made ready and hastily loaded
them into the sack.

Not till then did he consider how he was to get that heavy load to the
Water Lily. Standing up, he took off his hat, scratched his wool,
hefted the melons, and finally chuckled in delight.

"'Mo' ways 'an one to skin a cat'! Down-hill's easier 'an up!"

With that he began to drag the sack toward the fence and, having
reached it, took out its contents and tossed them over the fence. When
the bag was empty he rolled and tucked it into the back of his coat,
then climbed back to the field outside. The controversy with Billy was
still going lustily on, but Ephy had more serious work on hand than
that. Such a heap of luscious melons meant many a day's feast, if they
could be stored in some safe, cool place.

"Hello! Look at old Eph!" suddenly cried Gerald, happening to turn
about.

"Huh! Now ain't that clever? Wonder I never thought o' that myself!"
cried the Colonel, with some animation. "Clever enough for a white
man. Billy, you'd ought have conjured that yourself. But that's always
the way. I cayn't think a thought but somebody else has thought it
before me. I cayn't never get ahead of the tail end of things. Oh!
hum!"

The Colonel might be sighing but the three lads were laughing heartily
enough to drown the sighs, for there was the old negro starting one
after another of the great melons a-roll down the gentle slope, to
bring up on the grassy bank at the very side of the Water Lily. If a
few fell over into the water they could easily be fished out, reasoned
Ephraim, proud of his own ingenuity.

But the group beside the bars didn't watch to see the outcome of that
matter, nor Ephraim's reception. They were too busy expostulating with
Billy, and lavishing endearments upon him.

"'Stubborn as a mule'," quoted Melvin, losing patience.

"Or fate," responded the Colonel, drearily.

"Please, sir, won't you try to make him go?" pleaded Gerald. "I think
if you just started him on the right way he'd keep at it."

"Billy is--Billy!" said the farmer. He was really greatly interested.
Nothing so agreeable as this had happened in his monotonous life since
he could remember. Here were three lads, as full of life as he had
been once, jolly, hearty, with a will to do and conquer everything;
and--here was Billy. A great, awkward, inert mass of bone and muscle,
merely, calmly holding these clever youngsters at bay.

"Can he be ridden?" demanded Jim, at length.

"He might. Try;" said the man, in heart-broken accents.

Jim tried. Melvin tried. Gerald tried. With every attempt to cross his
back the animal threw up his heels and calmly shook the intruder off.

The Colonel folded his arms and sorrowfully regarded these various
attempts and failures; then dolefully remarked:

"It seems I cayn't even _give_ Billy away. Ah! hum."

Jim lost his temper.

"Well, sir, we'll call it off and bid you good night. Somebody will
come back to pay you for the melons."

As he turned away in a huff his mates started to follow him; but
Melvin was surprised by a touch on his shoulder and looked up to see
the Colonel beside him.

"Young man, you look as if you came of gentle stock. Billy was brought
up by a gentlewoman, my daughter. She forsook him and me for another
man. I mean she got married. That's why Billy and I live alone now,
except for the niggers. They's a right and a wrong way to everything.
_This_--is the right way with Billy. Billy, lie down."

For an instant the animal hesitated as if suspecting some treachery in
this familiar command; then he doubled himself together like a
jack-knife, or till he was but a mound of mule-flesh upon the grass.

"She taught him. She rode this way. Billy, get up."

This strange man had seated himself sidewise upon the mule's back,
leisurely freeing his feet from the loose-hanging harness and
balancing himself easily as the animal got up. Then still sitting
sidewise he ordered:

"Billy, proceed."

At once Billy "proceeded" at an even and decorous pace, while the lads
walked alongside, vastly entertained by this unusual rider and his
mount. He seemed to think a further explanation necessary, for as they
neared the bottom of the slope he remarked:

"Learned that in Egypt. Camel riding. She came home and taught him."

Then they came to the edge of the bank and paused in surprise. Instead
of the gay welcome they had expected, there was Chloe walking
frantically up and down, hugging a still dripping little figure to her
breast and refusing to yield it to the outstretched arms of poor old
Ephraim, who stood in the midst of his melons, a woe-begone, miserable
creature, wholly unlike his jubilant self of a brief while before.

"What's--happened?" asked Jim, running to Chloe's side.

"'Tis a jedgmen'! A jedgmen'! Oh! de misery--de misery!" she wailed,
breaking away from him and wildly running to and fro again, in the
fierce excitement of her race.

Yet there upon the roof of the cabin, cheerily looking out from his
"bridge" was Cap'n Jack. He was waving his crutches in jovial welcome
and trying to cover Chloe's wailing by his exultant:

"I fished him out with a boat-hook! With--a--boat-hook, d'ye hear?"




CHAPTER VII.

VISITORS.


Attracted by the wild flowers growing in the fields around the cove
where the Water Lily was moored, the four girls had left the boat a
little while before the melon seekers had done so.

Mabel and Aurora cared little for flowers in themselves but Dorothy's
eagerness was infectious, and Elsa's pale face had lighted with
pleasure. But even then her timidity moved her to say:

"Suppose something happens? Suppose we should get lost? It's a
strange, new place--I guess--I'm afraid--I'll stay with Mrs. Calvert,
please."

"You'll do nothing of the kind, my dear," said that lady, smiling.
"You've done altogether too much 'staying' in your short life. Time
now to get outdoor air and girlish fun. Go with Dorothy and get some
color into your cheeks. You want to go back to that father of yours
looking a very different Elsa from the one he trusted to us. Run
along! Don't bother about a hat and jacket. Exercise will keep you
from taking cold. Dolly, dear, see that the child has a good time."

Elsa's mother had died of consumption and her father had feared that
his child might inherit that disease. In his excessive love and care
for her he had kept her closely housed in the poor apartment of a
crowded tenement, the only home he could afford. The result had been
to render her more frail than she would otherwise have been. Her
shyness, her lameness, and her love of books with only her father for
teacher, made her contented enough in such a life, but was far from
good for her. The best thing that had ever happened to her was this
temporary breaking up of this unwholesome routine and her having
companions of her own age.

So that even now she had looked wistfully upon the small bookshelf in
the cabin, with the few volumes placed there; but Mrs. Calvert shook
her head and Elsa had to obey.

"But, Dorothy, aren't you afraid? There might be snakes. It might
rain. It looks wet and swampy--I daren't get my feet wet--father's so
particular----"

"If it rains I'll run back and get you an umbrella, Aunt Betty's
own--the only one aboard, I fancy. And as for fear--child alive! Did
you never get into the woods and smell the ferns and things? There's
nothing so sweet in the world as the delicious woodsy smell! Ah! um!
Let's hurry!" cried Dolly, linking her arm in the lame girl's and
helping her over the grassy hummocks.

Even then Elsa would have retreated, startled by the idea of "woods"
where the worst she had anticipated was a leisurely stroll over a
green meadow. But there was no resisting her friend's enthusiasm;
besides, looking backward she was as much afraid to return and try
clambering aboard the Lily, unaided, as she was to go forward.

So within a few minutes all four had entered the bit of woodland and,
following Dorothy's example, were eagerly searching for belated
blossoms. Learning, too, from that nature-loving girl, things they
hadn't known before.

"A cardinal flower--more of them--a whole lot! Yes, of course, it's
wet there. Cardinals always grow in damp places, along little streams
like this I've slipped my foot into! Oh! aren't they beauties! Won't
dear Aunt Betty go just wild over them! if Father John, the darling
man who 'raised' me, were only here! He's a deal lamer than you, Elsa
Carruthers, but nobody's feet would get over the ground faster than
his crutches if he could just have one glimpse of this wonderland!

"Did you ever notice? Almost all the autumn flowers are either purple
or yellow or white? There are no real blues, no rose-colors; with just
this lovely, lovely cardinal for an exception."

Dorothy sped back to where Elsa stood nervously balancing herself upon
a fallen tree-trunk and laid the brilliant flowers in her hands. Elsa
looked at them in wonder and then exclaimed:

"My! how pretty! They look just as if they were made out of velvet in
the milliner's window! And how did you know all that about the
colors?"

"Oh! Father John, and Mr. Winters--Uncle Seth, he likes me to call
him--the dear man that gave us the Water Lily--they told me. Though I
guessed some things myself. You can't help that, you know, when you
love anything. I think, I just do think, that the little bits of
things which grow right under a body's feet are enough to make one
glad forever. Sometime, when I grow up, if Aunt Betty's willing, and I
don't have to work for my living, I shall build us a little house
right in the woods and live there."

"Pshaw, Dolly Doodles! You couldn't build a house if you tried. And
you'd get mighty sick of staying in the woods all the time, with
nobody coming to visit you----" remarked Mabel coming up behind them.

"I should have the birds and the squirrels, and all the lovely
creatures that live in the forest!"

"And wild-cats, and rattlesnakes, and horrid buggy things! Who'd see
any of your new clothes?"

"I shouldn't want any. I'd wear one frock till it fell to pieces----"

"You wouldn't be let! Mrs. Calvert's awful particular about your
things."

"That's so," commented Aurora. "They're terrible plain but they look
just right, somehow. Righter 'n mine do, Gerry says, though I don't
believe they cost near as much."

"Well, we didn't come into these lovely woods to talk about clothes.
Anybody can make clothes but only the dear God can make a cardinal
flower!" cried Dorothy, springing up, with a sudden sweet reverence on
her mobile face.

Elsa as suddenly bent and kissed her, and even the other
matter-of-fact girls grew thoughtful.

"It's like a church, isn't it? Only more beautiful," whispered the
lame girl.

"Yes, isn't it? Makes all the petty hatefulness of things seem not
worth while. What matter if the storm did break the engine--that
stranded us right here and gave us _this_. If we'd kept on down the
bay we'd have missed it. That's like dear Uncle Seth says--that things
are _meant_. So I believe that it was 'meant' you should come here
to-day and have your first taste of the woods. You'll never be afraid
of them again, I reckon."

"Never--never! I'm glad you made me come. I didn't want to. I wanted
to read, but this is better than any book could be, because like you
said--God made it."

Aurora and Mabel had already turned back toward the Lily and now
called that it was time to go. Though the little outing had meant less
to them than it had to Elsa and Dorothy, it had still given them a
pleasure that was simple and did them good. Aurora had gathered a big
bunch of purple asters for the table, thinking how well they would
harmonize with the dainty lavender of her hostess's gown; and Mabel
had plucked a lot of "boneset" for her mother, remembering how much
that lady valued it as a preventive of "malary"--the disease she had
been sure she would contract, cruising in shallow streams.

"Come on, girls! Something's happened! The boys are waving to us like
all possessed!" shouted Mabel, when they had neared the wharf and the
boat which already seemed like home to them.

Indeed, Gerald and Melvin were dancing about on the little pier
beckoning and calling: "Hurry up, hurry up!" and the girls did hurry,
even Elsa moving faster than she had ever done before. Already she
felt stronger for her one visit to that wonderful forest and she was
hoping that the Water Lily might remain just where it was, so that she
might go again and again.

Then Gerald came to meet them, balancing a water-melon on his head,
trying to imitate the ease with which the colored folks did that same
trick. But he had to use his hands to keep it in place and even so it
slipped from his grasp and fell, broken to pieces at Elsa's feet.

"Oh! What a pity!" she cried, then dropped her eyes because she had
been surprised into speaking to this boy who had never noticed her
before.

"Not a bit! Here, my lady, taste!"

She drew back her head from the great piece he held at her lips but
was forced to take one mouthful in self-defence. But Dorothy, in
similar fix was eating as if she were afraid of losing the dainty,
while Gerald merrily pretended to snatch it away.

"Ha! That shows the difference--greed and daintiness!"

Then in a changed tone he exclaimed:

"Pretty close shave for the pickaninny!"

Dorothy held her dripping bit of melon at arm's length and quickly
asked:

"What do you mean? Why do you look so sober all of a sudden?"

"Metty came near drowning. Tried to follow his mother over the field
to the melon-patch and fell into the water. Mrs. Calvert was walking
around the deck and heard the splash. Nobody else was near. She ran
around to that side and saw him. Then she screamed. Old Cap'n says by
the time he got there the little chap was going under for the last
time. Don't know how he knew that--doubt if he did--but if he did--but
he wouldn't spoil a story for a little thing like a lie. Queer old
boy, that skipper, with his pretended log and his broken spy-glass.
He----"

"Never mind that, go on--go on! He was saved, wasn't he? Oh! say that
he was!" begged Dolly, wringing her hands.

"Course. And you're dripping pink juice all over your skirt!"

"If you're going to be so tantalizing----" she returned and forgetful
of lame Elsa, sped away to find out the state of things for herself.

Left alone Elsa began to tremble, so that her teeth chattered when
Gerald again held the fruit to her lips.

"Please don't! I--I can't bear it! It seems so dreadful! Nothing's so
dreadful as--death! Poor, poor, little boy!"

The girl's face turned paler than ordinary and she shook so that
Gerald could do no less than put his arm around her to steady her.

"Don't feel that way, Elsa! Metty isn't dead. I tell you he's all
right. He's the most alive youngster this minute there is in the
country. Old Cap'n is lame; of course he couldn't swim, even if he'd
tried. But he didn't. He just used his wits, and they're pretty
nimble, let me tell you! There was a boat-hook hanging on the
rail--that's a long thing with a spike, or hook, at one end, to pull a
boat to shore, don't you know? He caught that up and hitched it into
the seat of Metty's trousers and fished him out all right. Fact."

Elsa's nervousness now took the form of tears, mingled with hysterical
laughter, and it was Gerald's turn to grow pale. What curious sort of
a girl was this who laughed and cried all in one breath, and just
because a little chap wasn't drowned, though he might have been?

"I say, girlie, Elsa, whatever your name is, quit it! You're behaving
horrid! _Metty isn't dead._ He's very much happier than--than I am, at
this minute. He's eating water-melon and you'd show some sense if
you'd do that, too. When his mother got back, after stealing her
melon, she found things in a fine mess. Old Cap'n had fished the
youngster out but he wasn't going to have him drip muddy water all
over his nice clean 'ship.' Not by a long shot! So he carries him by
the boat-hook, just as he'd got him, over to the grass and hung him up
in a little tree that was there, to dry. Yes, sir! Gave him a good
spanking, too, Mrs. Bruce said, just to keep him from taking cold!
Funny old snoozer, ain't he?"

In spite of herself Elsa stopped sobbing and smiled; while relieved by
this change Gerald hurriedly finished his tale.

"He was hanging there, the Cap'n holding him from falling, when his
mother came tearing down the hill and stopped so short her melon fell
out her skirt--ker-smash! 'What you-all doin' ter mah li'l lamb?' says
she. 'Just waterin' the grass,' says he. 'Why-fo'?' says she. ''Cause
the ornery little fool fell into the river and tried to spile his nice
new livery. Why else?' says he. Then--Did you ever hear a colored
woman holler? Made no difference to her that the trouble was all over
and Methuselah Washington Bonaparte was considerable cleaner than he
had been before his plunge; she kept on yelling till everybody was
half-crazy and we happened along with--Billy! Say, Elsa----"

"Gerald, I mean Mr. Blank, is all that true?"

"What's the use eyeing a fellow like that? I guess it's true. That's
about the way it must have been and, anyway, that part that our good
skipper fished the boy out of the water is a fact. Old Ephraim
grand-daddy hated Cap'n Jack like poison before; now he'd kiss the
ground he walks on, if he wasn't ashamed to be caught at it. Funny!
That folks should make such an everlasting fuss over one little black
boy!"

"I suppose they love him," answered Elsa. She was amazed to find
herself walking along so quietly beside this boy whom she had thought
so rough, and from whom she shrank more than from any of the others.
He had certainly been kind. He was the one who had stayed to help her
home when even Dorothy forsook her. She had hated his rude boisterous
ways and the sound of his voice, with its sudden changes from a deep
bass to a squeaking falsetto. Now she felt ashamed and punished, that
she had so misjudged the beautiful world into which she had come, and,
lifting her large eyes to Gerald's face, said so very prettily.

But the lad had little sentiment in his nature and hated it in others.
If she was going to act silly and "sissy" he'd leave her to get home
the best way she could. The ground was pretty even now and, with her
hand resting on his arm, she was walking steadily enough. Of course,
her lame foot did drag but----

A prolonged bray broke into his uncomfortable mood and turning to the
startled Elsa, he merrily explained:

"That's Billy! Hurry up and be introduced to Billy! I tell you he's a
character----"

"Billy? _Billy!_ Don't tell me there's another boy come to stay on the
Lily!"

"Fact. The smartest one of the lot! Hurry up!"

Elsa had to hurry, though she shrank from meeting any more strangers,
because Gerald forgot that he still grasped her arm and forced her
along beside him, whether or no. But she released herself as they came
to the wharf and the people gathered there.

This company included not only the house-boat party but a number of
other people. So novel a craft as a house-boat couldn't be moored
within walking distance of Four-Corners' Post-Office, and the
waterside village of Jimpson's Landing, without arousing great
curiosity. Also, the other boats passing up and down stream, scows and
freighters mostly these were, plying between the fertile lands of Anne
Arundel and the Baltimore markets, had spread the tale.

Now, at evening, when work was over, crowds flocked from the little
towns to inspect the Water Lily and its occupants. Also, many of them
to offer supplies for its convenience. The better to do this last,
they unceremoniously climbed aboard, roamed at will over both boat and
tender, inspected and commented upon everything and, finally, demanded
to see the "Boss."

Outside on the grass beside the wharf sat Colonel Dillingham of T,
side-saddle-wise upon great Billy, who had gone to sleep. He was
waiting to be presented to Mrs. Calvert and would not presume to
disturb her till she sent for him. Meanwhile he was very comfortable,
and with folded arms, his habitual attitude, he sadly observed the
movements of his neighbors.

Most of these nodded to him as they passed, with an indifferent
"Howdy, Cunnel?" paying no further attention to him. Yet there was
something about the man on mule-back that showed him to be of better
breeding than the rustics who disdained him. Despite his soiled and
most unhappy appearance he spoke with the accents of a gentleman, and
when his name was repeated to Mrs. Calvert she mused over it with a
smile.

"Dillingham? Dillingham of T? Why, of course, Dolly dear, he's of good
family. One of the best in Maryland. I reckon I'll have to go into the
cabin and receive him. Is it still full of those ill-bred men, who
swarmed over this boat as if they owned it?"

"Yes, Aunt Betty, pretty full. Some, a few, have gone. Those who
haven't want to see the 'Boss.'"

Mrs. Calvert peered from her stateroom whither she had fled at the
first invasion of visitors, and smiled. Then she remarked:

"Just go ashore and be interviewed there, dear."

"Auntie! What do you mean?"

"I fancy you're the real 'boss,' or head of this company, when it
comes to fact. It's _your_ Water Lily, _you_ are bearing the expenses,
I'm your guest, and 'where the honey is the bees will gather.' If
these good people once understand that it's you who carry the
purse----"

"But I don't! You know that. I gave it to Mrs. Bruce. I asked her to
take care of the money because--Well, because I'm careless, sometimes,
you know, and might lose it."

"It's the same thing. Ask her to go with you and advise you, if there
is anything you need. But, remember, money goes fast if one doesn't
take care."

It sounded rather strange to Dorothy to hear Aunt Betty say this for
it wasn't the lady's habit to discuss money matters. However, she
hadn't time to think about that for here was Mrs. Bruce, urging:

"Dorothy, do come and do something with these men. There's one fairly
badgering me to buy cantaloupes--and they do look nice--but with all
the water-melons--Yes, sir; this is the 'Boss;' this is Miss Calvert,
the owner of the Water Lily."

A man with a basket of freshly dug potatoes had followed Mrs. Bruce
to the door of Mrs. Calvert's stateroom which, with a hasty "Beg
pardon" from within, had been closed in their faces. Another man,
carrying smaller baskets of tempting plums, was trying to out-talk his
neighbor; while a third, dangling a pair of chickens above the heads
of the other two, was urging the sale of these, "raised myself, right
here on Annyrunnell sile! Nicest, fattest, little br'ilers ever you
see, Ma'am!"

"Huh! that pair of chickens wouldn't make a mouthful for our
family!" cried the matron, desperately anxious to clear the cabin
of these hucksters. She had made it her business to keep the
Water Lily in spotless order and this invasion of muddy boots and
dirt-scattering baskets fretted her. Besides, like all the rest of
that "ship's company," her one desire was to make Mrs. Calvert
perfectly comfortable and happy. She knew that this intrusion of
strangers would greatly annoy her hostess and felt she must put an
end to it at once. But how?

Dorothy rose to the occasion. Assuming all the dignity her little
body could summon she clapped her hands for silence and unexpectedly
obtained it. People climbing the crooked stairs to the roof and the
"Skipper's bridge" craned their necks to look at her; those testing
the arrangement of the canvas partitions between the cots on one side
stopped with the partitions half-adjusted and stared; while the
chattering peddlers listened, astonished.

"Excuse me, good people, but this boat is private property. None
should come aboard it without an invitation. Please all go away at
once. I'll step ashore with this lady and there we'll buy whatever she
thinks best."

Probably because her words made some of the intruders ashamed a few
turned to leave; more lingered, among these the hucksters, and Dorothy
got angry. Folding her arms and firmly standing in her place she
glared upon them till one by one they slipped away over the gang-plank
and contented themselves with viewing the Water Lily and its Pad from
that point.

As the last smock-clad farmer disappeared Dorothy dropped upon the
floor and laughed.

"O Mrs. Bruce! Wasn't that funny? Those great big men and I--a little
girl! They mustn't do it again. They shall not!"

"The best way to stop them is to do as you promised--step to the shore
and see them there. Those potatoes were real nice. We might get some
of them, but the chickens--it would take so many. Might get one for
Mrs. Calvert's breakfast--oatmeal will do for the rest of us."

Dorothy sprang up and hurried with her friend off from the Lily. But
she made a wry face at the mention of oatmeal-breakfasts and
explained:

"Aunt Betty wouldn't eat chicken if none of the others had it. And
just oatmeal--I hate oatmeal! It hasn't a bit of expression and I'm as
hungry after it as before. Just do get enough of those 'br'ilers' for
all. Please, Mrs. Bruce! There's nobody in the world can broil a
chicken as you do! I remember! I've eaten them at your house before I
ever left Baltimore!"

Naturally, the matron was flattered. She wasn't herself averse to
fine, tasty poultry, and resolved to gratify the teasing girl that
once. But she qualified her consent with the remark:

"It mustn't be such luxury very often, child, if you're to come out
even with this trip and the money. My! What a great mule! What a
curious man on it! Why does he sit sidewise and gloom at everybody,
that way?"

Dorothy hadn't yet spoken with Colonel Dillingham though the boys had
given her a brief description of him and their attempted purchase. But
she was unprepared to have him descend from his perch and approach
her, saying:

"Your servant, Miss Calvert. You resemble your great-grandfather. _He_
was a man. He--_was_ a man! Ah! yes! he was a--_man_! I cayn't be too
thankful that you are you, and that it's to a descendant of a true
southern nobleman I now present--Billy. Billy, Miss Calvert. Miss
Calvert, Billy!"

With a sigh that seemed to come from his very boots the gallant
Colonel placed one of the mule's reins in Dorothy's astonished hand
and bowed again; and as if fully appreciating the introduction old
Billy bobbed his head up and down in the mournfulest manner and
gravely brayed, while the observant bystanders burst into a loud
guffaw.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE COLONEL'S REVELATION.


"Aunt Betty, what does that 'of T' mean after that queer Colonel's
name?"

"There is no sense in it, dear, of course. The family explained it
this way. The gentleman's real name is Trowbridge. His wife's family
was Dillingham. It was of much older origin than his and she was very
proud of it. When she consented to marry him it was upon the condition
that he would take her name, not she take his. A slight legal
proceeding made it right enough but he added the 'of T.' It was a
tribute to his honesty, I fancy, though it's quite a custom of
Marylanders to do as the Dillinghams did. Here he comes now. I must
ask him about his daughter. He had one, a very nice girl I've heard."

"Coming! Why, Aunt Betty, we haven't had breakfast yet!"

Mrs. Betty laughed.

"Another familiar custom, dear, among country neighbors in this old
State. Why, my own dear mother thought nothing of having a party of
uninvited guests arrive with the sunrise, expecting just the same
cordial welcome she would have accorded later and invited ones. It
never made any difference in the good old days. There was always
plenty of food in the storehouse and plenty of help to prepare it. The
Colonel isn't so very old but he seems to cling to the traditions of
his ancestors. I wonder, will he expect us to feed Billy also! And I
do hope Mrs. Bruce will have something nice for breakfast. The poor
gentleman looks half-starved."

"Oh! yes, she has. We bought a half-dozen pairs of 'broilers' last
night; but she meant them to last for supper, too."

"Run. Bid her cook the lot. There'll be none too many."

"But, Auntie, dear! They cost fifty cents a-piece. Six whole dollars
for one single breakfast? Besides the potatoes and bread and other
stuff! Six dollars a meal, eighteen dollars a day, how long will what
is left of three hundred dollars last, after we pay for Billy, as you
said we must?"

This was on the morning after the Colonel's first call at the Water
Lily. This had been a prolonged one because of--Billy. That wise
animal saw no stable anywhere about and, having been petted beyond
reason by his loving, sad-hearted master, decided that he dared
not--at his time of life--sleep out of doors. At least that was the
way James Barlow understood it, and no persuasion on the part of his
new friends could induce the mule to remain after the Colonel started
for home.

"Tie him to the end of the wharf," suggested Gerald.

"That would be cruel. He might fall into the water in his sleep. We
don't want two to do that in one day," protested Dorothy.

At that point Billy began to bray; so mournfully and continuously that
Mrs. Calvert sent word:

"Stop that beast! We shan't be able to sleep a wink if he keeps that
noise up!"

The Colonel paused once more. His departure had been a succession of
pauses, occasioned by two things: one that the lazy man never walked
when he could ride; the other, that he could not bring himself to part
from his "only faithful friend." The result was that he had again
mounted the stubborn beast and disappeared in the darkness of his
melon-patch.

Now he was back again, making his mount double himself up on the
ground and so spare his rider the trouble of getting off in the usual
way.

"My hearties! Will you see that, lads?" demanded Melvin, coming down
the bank with his towels over his arm. He had promptly discovered a
sheltered spot, up stream, where he could take his morning dip,
without which his English training made him uncomfortable. "Pooh! He's
given the mule and himself with it! He's fun for a day, but we can't
stand him long. I hope Mrs. Calvert will give him his 'discharge
papers' right away."

"If she doesn't I will!" answered Gerald, stoutly. "A very little of
the 'Cunnel' goes a long way with yours truly."

Jim looked up sharply. His own face showed annoyance at the
reappearance of the farmer but he hadn't forgotten some things the
others had.

"Look here, fellows! This isn't our picnic, you know!"

Melvin flushed and ducked his head, as if from a blow, but Gerald
retorted:

"I don't care if it isn't. I'd rather quit than have that old snoozer
for my daily!"

"I don't suppose anybody will object to your quitting when you want
to. The Water Lily ain't yours, though you 'pear to think so. And let
me tell you right now; if you don't do the civil to anybody my
mistress has around I'll teach you better manners--that's all!"

With that Jim returned to the polishing of his useless engine, making
no further response to Gerald's taunts.

"Mistress! _Mistress?_ Well, I'll have you to know, you young
hireling, that I'm my own master. _I_ don't work for any mistress,
without wages or with 'em, and in my set we don't hobnob with
workmen--ever. Hear that? And mind you keep your own place, after
this!"

An ugly look came over Jim's face and his hands clenched. With utmost
difficulty he kept from rising to knock the insolent Gerald down, and
a few words more might have brought on a regular battle of fists, had
not Melvin interposed in his mild voice yet with indignation in his
eyes:

"You don't mean that, Gerald. 'A man's a man for a' that.' I'm a
'hireling,' too, d'ye mind? A gentleman, that you boast you are,
doesn't bully his inferiors nor behave like a ruffian in a lady's
house--or boat--which is the same thing. Gentlemen don't do that--Not
in our Province."

Then, fortunately, Chloe appeared, asking if one of them would go to
the nearest farmhouse and fetch a pail of cream for breakfast.

"They's quality come, so li'l Miss says, an' ole Miss boun' ter hev
t'ings right down scrumptious, lak wese do to home in Baltimo'."

With great willingness each and every lad offered to do the errand;
and in a general tussle to grab her outstretched "bucket" their anger
vanished in a laugh. The "good side" of Gerald came uppermost and he
awkwardly apologized:

"Just forget I was a cad, will you, boys? I didn't mean it. I'd just
as lief go for that cream as not."

"I'd liefer!" said Melvin.

Jim said nothing but the ugly look vanished from his face and it was
he who secured the pail and started with it on a run over the plank
and the field beyond.

"I'll beat you there!" shouted Melvin; and "You can't do it!" yelled
Gerald; while Chloe clasped her hands in dismay, murmuring:

"Looks lak dere won't be much cweam lef' in de bucket if it comes
same's it goes!"

That visit to the farmhouse, short though it was, gave a turn to
affairs on the Water Lily. The farmer told the lads of a little branch
a few miles further on, which would be an ideal place for such a craft
to anchor, for "a day, a week, or a lifetime."

"It's too fur off for them village loafers to bother any. You won't
have to anchor in midstream to get shet of 'em, as would be your only
chance where you be now. I was down with the crowd, myself, last night
an' I was plumb scandalized the way some folks acted. No, sir, I
wasn't aboard the Water Lily nor set foot to be. I come home and told
my wife: 'Lizzie,' says I, 'them water-travellers'll have a lot o'
trouble with the Corner-ites and Jimpson-ites. It's one thing to be
civil an' another to be imperdent.' I 'lowed to Lizzie, I says: 'I
ain't volunteerin' my opinion till it's asked, but when it is I'll
just mention Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta Run. Ain't a purtier spot on
the whole map o' Maryland 'an that is. Good boatin', good fishin',
good springs in the woods, good current to the Run and no malary.
Better 'n that--good neighbors on the high ground above.' That's what
I says to Lizzie."

Jim's attention was caught by the name Deer-Copse. He thought Mrs.
Calvert would like that, it was so much like her own Deerhurst on the
Hudson. Also, he had overheard her saying to Mrs. Bruce: "I do wish we
could find some quiet stream, right through the heart of green woods,
where there'd be no danger and no intruders." From this friendly
farmer's description it seemed as if that bit of forest on the
Ottawotta would be an ideal camping-ground.

There followed questions and answers. Yes, the Water Lily might be
hauled there by a mule walking on the bank, as far as the turn into
the branch. After that, poling and hauling, according to the depth of
the water and what the Lily's keel "drawed," or required. They could
obtain fresh vegetables real near.

"I'm runnin' a farm that-a-way, myself; leastwise me an' my brother
together. He's got no kind of a wife like Lizzie. A poor, shiftless
creatur' with more babies under foot 'an she can count, herself. One
them easy-goin' meek-as-Moses sort. Good? Oh! yes, real good. Too
good. Thinks more o' meetin' than of gettin' her man a decent meal o'
victuals. Do I know what sort of mule Cunnel Dillingham has? Well, I
guess! That ain't no ornery mule, Billy Dillingham ain't. You see, him
and the Cunnel has lived so long together 't they've growed alike.
After the Cunnel's daughter quit home an' married Jabb, Cunnel up an'
sold the old place. Thought he'd go into truck-farmin'--him the
laziest man in the state. Farmin' pays, course, 'specially here in
Annyrunnell. Why, my crop o' melons keeps my family all the year round
an' my yuther earnin's is put in the bank. Cunnel's got as big a patch
as mine an' you cayn't just stop melons from growin' down here in
Annyrunnell! No, sir, cayn't stop 'em! Not if you 'tend 'em right.
They's an old sayin', maybe you've heard. 'He that by the plough would
thrive, Himself must either hold or drive.' The Cunnel won't do ary
one. He leaves the whole thing to his crew o' niggers an', course,
they're some shiftlesser 'n he is. They're so plumb lazy, the whole
crowd, 't they won't even haul their truck as fur as Jimpson's, to
have it loaded on a boat for market, an' that ain't further 'n you
could swing a cat! Losin' his old home an' losin' his gal, an' failin'
to make truck pay, has made him downhearteder'an he was by natur'--and
that's sayin' consid'able. Must ye go, boys? Got any melons? Give ye
as many as ye can carry if ye want 'em. Call again. Yes, the cream's
wuth five cents. Not this time, though. Lizzie'd be plumb scandalized
if I took pay for a mite o' cream for breakfast--such a late one, too.
We had ours couple hours ago. Eh? About Billy? Well, if he war mine,
which he ain't, an' if I war asked to set a price on him, which I
couldn't, I should say how 't he war a fust-class mule, but not wuth a
continental without the Cunnel--nor with him, nuther. If you take one
you'll have to take t'other. Call again. My respects to the lady owns
the house-boat an'--Good-by!"

As the lads thanked their talkative neighbor and hurried down the
fields, Jim exclaimed:

"Was afraid this cream'd all turn to butter before he'd quit and let
us go! But, we've learned a lot about some things. I'm thinking that
Ottawotta Run is the business for us: and I fear--Billy isn't. There
must be other mules in Anne Arundel county will suit us better. Mrs.
Calvert won't want him as a gift--with the Colonel thrown in!"

Mrs. Bruce met them impatiently.

"Seems as if boys never could do an errand without loitering. There's
all those chickens drying to flinders in that oil-stove-oven, and that
horrid old man talking Mrs. Calvert into a headache. Least, he isn't
talking so much as she is. Thinks she must entertain him, I suppose.
The idea! Anybody going visiting to _breakfast_ without being asked!"

But by this time the good woman had talked her annoyance off, and
while she dished up the breakfast--a task she wouldn't leave to Chloe
on this state occasion--Jim hastily condensed the information he had
received and was glad that she promptly decided, as he had, that a
sojourn on the quiet, inland Run would best please Aunt Betty.

"It would certainly suit me," assented the matron.

"Oh! hang it all! What's the use? Hiding in a silly little creek when
there's the whole Chesapeake to cruise in!" cried the disgusted
Gerald, leaning upon the little table and hungrily eyeing the platter
of chicken.

"How can we dare, how could we if we dared, try the Bay? We haven't
any engine to use now," said Jim.

"Well, get one, then! If that girl can afford to run a house-boat and
ask folks to stay on it, she ought to provide something decent for
their entertainment. When _we_ owned the Water Lily we did things up
to the queen's taste. I'm not going to bury myself in any backwoods.
I'll quit first."

"Boy, are you always so cross before breakfast?" asked a girl's voice
over his shoulder, and he turned to see Dorothy smiling upon him.

"No. Except when I'm sent for cream and hear fool talk from a measly
old farmer in a blue smock," he answered, laughing rather foolishly.

"Was it the color of his smock made him measly? And what was that I
heard about quitting?"

"Oh! nothing. I was just fooling. But, I say, Dorothy, don't you let
any old woman coax you into a dead-and-alive hole in the woods. Mark
what I say. They'll be trying it, but the Water Lily's your boat now,
isn't it?"

"So I understood. But from the amount of advice I receive as to
managing it, I think, maybe, it isn't. Well, I've heard you--now
listen to me. 'The one who eats the most bread-and-butter can have the
most cake'--or chicken. They look terrible little, don't they, now
they're cooked? And I warn you, I never saw anybody look so hungry in
all my life--no, not even you three boys!--as that poor, unhappy
Colonel of T, in there with Aunt Betty. Yes, Mrs. Bruce, we're ready
for breakfast at last. But mind what I say--_all we youngsters like
oatmeal_! We _must_ like it this time for politeness sake. Fourteen
eaters and twelve halves of broiled chicken--Problem, who goes
without?"

But nobody really did that. Mrs. Bruce was mistress of the art of
carving and managed that each should have at least a small portion of
the delicacies provided, though she had to tax her ingenuity to
accomplish this.

At the head of her table Mrs. Calvert motioned Chloe to serve her
guest again and again; and each time that Ephraim jealously snatched a
dainty portion for her own plate she as promptly and quietly restored
it to the platter.

Also, the "Skipper" at his own board played such a lively knife and
fork that dishes were emptied almost before filled and Gerald
viciously remarked:

"Aren't as fond of ship's biscuit as you were, are you, Cap'n Jack?"

The Captain helped himself afresh and answered with good nature:

"Oh! yes. Jes' as fond. But I likes a change. Yes, I c'n make out to
relish 'most anything. I ain't a mite partic'lar."

This was too much for the lads and a laugh arose; but the old man
merely peered over his specs at them and mildly asked:

"What you-all laughin' at? Tell me an' lemme laugh, too. Laughin' does
old folks good. Eh, Cunnel? Don't you think so?" he asked, wheeling
around to address the guest of honor.

But that gentleman was too engaged at that moment to reply, even if he
would have condescended so to do. Just now, in the presence of Mrs.
Calvert, whose mere name was a certificate of "quality," he felt
himself an aristocrat, quite too exalted in life to notice a poor
captain of a house-boat.

Breakfast over, Aunt Betty excused herself and withdrew to the shelter
of her little stateroom. Shelter it really was, now, against her
uninvited guest. She had done her best to make his early call
agreeable and to satisfy him with more substantial things than old
memories. They had discussed all the prominent Maryland families, from
the first Proprietor down to that present day; had discovered a
possible relationship, exceedingly distant, he being the discoverer;
and had talked of their beloved state in its past and present glories
till she was utterly worn out.

He had again "given" her his most cherished possession, Billy the
mule; and she had again declined to receive it. Buy him, of course,
Dorothy would and should, if it proved that a mule was really needed.
But not without fair payment for the animal would she permit "him" to
become a member of her family. The Colonel so persistently spoke of
the creature as a human being that she began to think of Billy as a
monstrosity.

The morning passed. Aunt Betty had deserted, and Dorothy had to take
her place as hostess. All her heart was longing for the green shore
beyond that little wharf, where now all the other young folks were
having a lively frolic. It was such a pity to waste that glorious
sunshine just sitting in that little cabin talking to a dull old man.

He did little talking himself. Indeed, warmed by the sunshine on the
deck where he sat, and comfortably satisfied with a more generous meal
than he had enjoyed for many months, the Colonel settled back on the
steamer chair which was Aunt Betty's own favorite and went to sleep.
He slept so long and quietly that she was upon the point of leaving
him, reflecting:

"Even a Calvert ought not to have to stay here now, and watch an old
man--snore. It's dreadful, sometimes, to have a 'family name.' Living
up to it is such a tax. I wish--I almost wish--I was just a Smith,
Jones, Brown, or anybody! I will run away, just for a minute, sure!
and see what happens!"

But, despite the snores, the visitor was a light sleeper. At her first
movement from her own chair, he awoke and actually smiled upon her.

"Beg pardon, little lady. I forgot where I was and just lost myself.
Before I dropped off I was goin' to tell you--Pshaw! I cayn't talk. I
enjoy quiet. D'ye happen to see Billy, anywhere?"

"Certainly. He's right over on that bank yonder and the boys are
trying to fix a rope to his harness, so he can begin to draw the boats
up stream. They want to try and see if it will work. Funny! To turn
this lovely Water Lily into a mere canal-boat. But I suppose we can
still have some good times even that way."

The Colonel shook his head.

"No, you cayn't. Nobody can. They ain't any good times for anybody any
more."

"What a lot of 'anys'! Seems as if out of so many there might be one
good time for somebody. I was in hopes you were having such just now.
What can I do to make it pleasanter for you?"

"Sit right down and let me speak. Your name's Calvert, ain't it?"

"Why, of course. I thought you knew;" answered the girl, reluctantly
resuming her seat.

"Never take anything for granted. I cayn't do it, you cayn't do it.
Something'll always go wrong. It did with your great-grandfather's
brother that time when he hid--Ah! hum! It ought to be yours, but it
won't be. There couldn't be any such luck in this world. Is Billy
lookin' comf'table?"

Billy answered for himself by a most doleful bray. Indeed, he was
resenting the lads' endeavors to remove his harness. Jim fancied he
could fix it better for the purpose of hauling the Water Lily, but the
animal objected, because that harness had never been taken from his
back since it was put on early in the spring. Then the more ambitious
of the negroes who managed the Colonel's truck-farm had equipped Billy
for ploughing the melon-patch. After each day's work the beast had
seemed tired and the gentleman-farmer had suggested:

"Don't fret him takin' it off. You'll only have to put it on again,
to-morrow."

This saved labor and suited all around; and Billy was trying to
explain to these tormenting lads how ill-at-ease and undressed he
would feel, if he were stripped of his regalia.

"Sounds like he was in trouble, poor Billy. But, of course, he is.
Everybody is. You are. If you had that buried--Pshaw! What's the use!
You ain't, you cayn't, nobody could find it, else things wouldn't
have happened the way they did; and your great-grandfather wouldn't
have forgot where he buried it; and it wouldn't have gone out the
family; and since your great-grandfather's brother married my
great-grandmother's sister we'd all have shared and shared alike. It's
sad to think any man would be so careless for his descendants as to go
and do what your great-grandfather's brother did and then forget it.
But--it's the way things always go in this lop-sided world. Ah! um."

The Colonel's breakfast had made him more talkative than had seemed
possible and because she could do no better for her own amusement,
Dorothy inquired:

"Tell me the story of our great-grand-folks and what they buried.
Please. It would be interesting, I think."

"Very well, child, I'll try. But just keep an eye on Billy. Is he
comf'table? I don't ask if he's happy. He isn't. Nobody is."

"Beg pardon, but you are mistaken about that mule. No matter what the
boys and Captain Hurry try to do with him, he manages to get his nose
back to the ground again and eat--Why, he hasn't really stopped eating
one full minute since he came. That makes me think. Will the man who
owns that grass like to have him graze it that way? Isn't grass really
hay? Don't they sell hay up home at Baltimore? Won't it cost a great
deal to let Billy do that, if hay is worth much?"

"You ask as many questions as--as I've heard your folks always do. But
it's no use worryin' over a little hay. It ain't wuth much. Nothing's
wuth anything in Annyrunnell. The only thing in the whole county wuth
a continental is what your great-grandfather's brother buried in the
woods on Ottawotta Run. Deer-Copse was the spot. Buried it in a
brass-bound chest, kept the key, and then forgot. Ah! hum."

"Ottawotta Run? Deer-Copse! Why, that's the very place the boys said
the man said that you say--Oh! Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty! There's a
buried fortune belonging to our family out in the woods! We'll find
it, we _must_ find it, and that will save all your Old Folks their
Home and you won't have to sell Bellvieu!" almost shrieked Dolly,
running to her aunt's stateroom and flinging wide the little door,
regardless of knocking for admittance. But disappointment awaited
her--the stateroom was empty.




CHAPTER IX.

FISH AND MONKEYS.


Farmer Wickliffe Stillwell proved a friend in need.

About the middle of that eventful morning he appeared with a big
basket on either arm, his blue-checked smock swaying in the breeze
that had arisen, his iron-gray, luxuriant whiskers doing the same, and
his head bare.

He had started with his Sunday hat perched on his "bald-spot," which
was oddly in contrast with the hirsute growth below. Lizzie, his wife,
had affirmed such headgear was "more politer" than the old straw hat
he commonly wore and that had the virtue of staying where it was put,
as the stiff Derby did not.

Having arrived at the wharf where the Water Lily was fastened he
paused and awaited the invitation without which he wouldn't have
crossed the gang-plank. He had plenty of time to rest before the
invitation came. None of the lads who had visited his place for cream
was in sight. Mrs. Calvert and Mrs. Bruce glanced toward him and
looked away. They supposed him to be another of those "peddlers" who
had swarmed over the boat the evening of its arrival, and didn't wish
"to be annoyed."

The Colonel saw him but gave no sign of recognition. He waited to see
what his hostess would do and would then follow her example. She
looked away--so did this too chivalrous guest.

The girls had gone to the woods, searching for wild grapes; and Cap'n
Jack, with the lads, had taken the row-boat down stream on a fishing
trip. Fish, of many varieties, had been brought to the Lily for sale,
but fish that one caught for one's self would be finer and cost less;
so they reasoned with a fine access of economy.

Ephraim and Chloe were "tidying up;" and only little Methuselah and
Billy-mule gave the visitor a word of welcome. These two were fast
becoming friends, and both were prone on the ground; one suffering
from a surfeit of grass--the other of water-melon.

Metty looked up and sat up--with a groan:

"Say, Mister, 'd you evah hab de tummy-ache?" while Billy's sad bray
seemed to be asking the same question.

"Heaps of times. When I'd eaten too much green stuff. Got it?"

"Yep. Dey's a orful misery all eroun' me yeah! I'd lak some peppymin'
but Mammy she ain' done got none. Oh! my!"

"Get a _rollin'_. Nothing cures a colic quicker than that. And,
look-a-here? How's this for medicine?"

Metty considered this the "mos' splendides' gemplemum" he had ever
met. A gentleman made to order, indeed, with a paper bag in his
pocket, chock full of beautiful red and white "peppymin's" which he
lavishly dealt out to the small sufferer--a half one at a time! But
many halves make several wholes, and Metty's now happy tones, in place
of complaints, brought Chloe to the spot, and to the knowledge of the
stranger's real errand.

"Come right erway in, suh. I sure gwine tell Miss Betty you-all ain'
none dem peddlah gemplemums, but a genuwine calleh. Dis yeah way, suh.
Metty, yo' triflin' little niggah! Why ain' yo' tote one dese yeah
bastics?"

A familiar, not-too-heavy, cuff on the boy's ear set him briskly
"toting" one basket while his mother carried the other. Mr. Stillwell
followed his guide to where Mrs. Calvert sat and explained himself and
his visit so simply and pleasantly that she was charmed and exclaimed:

"This is delightful, to find neighbors where we looked for strangers
only. How kind and how generous of your wife! I wish I could see and
thank her in person."

Chloe had uncovered the daintily packed baskets and Mrs. Bruce fairly
glowed in housewifely pleasure over the contents.

"Looks as if an artist had packed them," said Aunt Betty; and it did.

Tomatoes resting in nests of green lettuce; half-husked green corn
flanked by purple eggplant and creamy squashes; crimson beets and
brown skinned potatoes; these filled one basket. The other was packed
with grapes of varying colors, with fine peaches, pears, rosy apples
and purple plums. Together they did make a bright spot of color on the
sunny deck and brought a warm glow to Mrs. Calvert's heart. The
cheerful face of the farmer and his open-hearted neighborliness were
an agreeable contrast to the dolefulness of the more aristocratic
Colonel--called such by courtesy and custom but not from any right to
the title.

"If the girls would only come!" said Mrs. Bruce. "I'd like to have
them see the things before we move one out of its pretty place."

"Well, they will. I'm sure Mr. Stillwell will wait and take our
mid-day dinner with us. Besides being glad to make his acquaintance, I
want to ask advice. What we are to do with the Water Lily; how to
safely get the most pleasure out of it. Would you like to go over the
boats, Mr. Stillwell?"

This was exactly what he did wish; and presently Aunt Betty was
guiding him about, displaying and explaining every detail of the
little craft, as eager and animated as if she had designed it. The
Colonel stalked solemnly in the rear, sighing now and then over such
wasted effort and enthusiasm, and silently wondering how a Calvert
could meet on such equal terms a mere farmer, one of those "common
Stillwells."

However, neither of the others paid him any attention, being too
absorbed in their own talk; and the stranger in maturing a plan to
help his hostess and her household.

When everything had been examined and tested by his common sense he
explained:

"If this here Water Lily war mine, which she isn't; and I wanted
to get the most good and most fun out of her, which I don't, I'd
light right out from this region. I'd get shet of all them gapin'
Corner-ites and Jimpson-ites, and boats passin' by an' takin' notes
of things. I'd get a sensible tug to haul me, tender an' all, a mite
further up stream till I met the Branch. I'd be hauled clean into that
fur as war practical, then I'd 'paddle my own canoe.' Meanin' that
then I'd hitch a rope to my mule, or use my poles, till I fetched up
alongside Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta Run. There ain't no purtier
spot on the face of God's good earth nor that. I war born there, or
nigh-hand to it. If a set of idle folks can't be happy on the
Ottawotta, then they sure deserve to be unhappy."

Aunt Betty was enchanted. From his further description she felt that
this wonderful Run was the very stream for them to seek; and with her
old decision of manner she asked Mr. Stillwell to arrange everything
for her and not to stint in the matter of expense. Then she laughed:

"I have really no right to say that, either, for I'm only a guest on
this boat-party. The Water Lily belongs to my little niece and it is
she who will pay the bills. I wonder how soon it could be arranged
with such a tug! Do you know one?"

"Sure. Right away, this evenin', if you like. I happen to have a loose
foot, to-day, and can tend to it. To-morrow's market and I'll have to
be up soon, and busy late. Is 't a bargain? If 'tis, I'll get right
about it."

By "evening" meant with these Marylanders all the hours after mid-day;
and, declining any refreshment, Mr. Stillwell departed about this
business. His alertness and cheerfulness put new life into Aunt Betty
and the widow, who hustled about putting into fresh order the already
immaculate Lily.

"If we're going to move I want everything spick-and-span. And the
girls'll come in right tired after their wood tramp. Wonderful, ain't
it? How 't that peeked, puny Elsa is a gainin' right along. Never see
the beat. She'll make a right smart lot of good, wholesome flesh, if
she keeps on enjoyin' her victuals as she does now. Looks as if she
lived on slops most of her short life. See anything more wants doing,
Mrs. Calvert?"

"No, Mrs. Bruce, I do not. I wish you'd let Chloe bear her share of
the work, not do so much yourself. I want you to rest--as I'm doing,"
answered the other.

"It plumb wears me out to have folks fussin' so, Ma'am. They ain't no
use. A day's only a day, when all's said and done. Why not take it
easy? Take it as easy as you can and it don't amount to much, life
don't. Ah! hum."

But the Colonel's protest was lost on energetic Mrs. Bruce. She tossed
her comely head and retorted:

"Some folks find their rest in doin' their duty, not in loafin' round
on other people's time and things. Not meaning any disrespect, I'm
sure, but I never did have time to do nothin' in. I'm going right now
and set to work on that dinner. I do wish the girls could see those
baskets, first, though!"

"Leave them untouched, then, Mrs. Bruce. Surely, we had enough
provided before we had this present."

"Yes, Mrs. Calvert, we did have--for our own folks; and counting a
little on the fish the men-folks was to bring in. Seems if they's gone
a dreadful spell, don't it? And I heard that old Cap'n Jack say
something about the Bay. If he's enticed 'em to row out onto that big
water--Oh! dear! I wish they'd come!"

The Colonel roused himself to remark:

"Squalls is right frequent on the Chesapeake. And that old man is no
captain at all. Used to work on an oyster boat and don't know--shucks.
Likely they've had an upset. Boys got to foolin' and--Ah! hum! Wasn't
none of 'em your sons, were they, Ma'am?"

From the moment of their first meeting there had been a silent
battle between the capable housekeeper and the incapable "southern
gentleman." She had had several talks with Dorothy and Jim over the
finances of this trip and she knew that it would have to be a short
one if "ends were to meet." She felt that this man, aristocrat though
he might be, had no right to impose himself and his prodigious
appetite upon them just because the lads had tried to buy his old mule
and he had, instead, so generously presented it.

"I don't see what good that yapping Billy does, anyway! He doesn't
work at all and he's living on somebody else's grass. There'll be a
bill coming in for his fodder, next we know;" she had grumbled. It may
be said, to her credit, that she was infinitely more careful of
Dorothy's interests than she would have been of her own. But all her
grumbling and hints failed to effect what she had hoped they
would--the Colonel's permanent departure for home along with the
useless Billy.

Now all that was to be changed. Almost before he had gone, it seemed,
Farmer Stillwell came steaming down stream on a small tugboat, which
puffed and fussed as if it were some mighty steamship, and passing the
Water Lily manoeuvred to turn around and face upstream again.
Presently, a rope was made fast to the prow of the house-boat and
securely tied, and Mr. Stillwell stepped aboard to announce:

"All ready to move, Ma'am. Your company all back?"

"Not all. The girls have just come but the Captain and the boys are
still away. We'll have to wait for them."

Mrs. Calvert's answer fell on unheeding ears.

"Guess not, Ma'am. This here tug's got another job right soon and if
we lose this chance may not be another in a dog's age. I knowed she
was around and could help us out, was the reason I spoke to you about
her. I guess it's now or never with the 'Nancy Jane.' Once she goes up
to Baltimo' she'll have more jobs an' she can tackle. Wouldn't be here
now, only she had one down, fetching some truck-scows back. Well, what
you say?"

A brief consultation was held in the cabin of the Water Lily in which
the voices of four eager girls prevailed:

"Why, let's take the chance, of course, Auntie dear. We can leave a
note pinned to the wharf telling the boys and Cap'n Jack that we've
gone on to the Ottawotta. They can follow in their row-boat. And,
Colonel Dillingham, can't you ride Billy alongside, on the shores we
pass? We can't possibly take him on board, and he won't go without
you."

But now, at last, was the doughty Colonel energetic.

"No, sir. I mean, no, madam! I go to Ottawotta? I allow my faithful
Billy to set foot on that soil? No, ma'am. I will not. I will simply
bid you good day. And young miss, let me tell you, what your relative
here seems to have forgot; that no old Marylander, of first quality,
would ha' turned a guest loose to shift for himself in such a way as
this. But--what can you expect? Times ain't what they were and you
cayn't count on anybody any more. I bid you all good day, and a
pleasant v'yage. As for Billy an' me, we'll bestow ourselves where we
are better appreciated."

Poor Mrs. Calvert was distressed. Not often in her long life had the
charge of inhospitality been laid at her door, and she hastened to
explain that she wished him still to remain with them, only----

With a magnificent wave of his not too clean hand and bowing in the
courtliest fashion, the disappointed visitor stepped grandly over the
gang-plank, and a moment later was ordering, in his saddest tones:

"Billy, lie down!"

Billy obediently shook his harness, disordered by the efforts of the
lads to straighten it, and crumpled himself up on the sward. The
Colonel majestically placed himself upon the back of "his only
friend;" commanded: "Billy, get up!" and slowly rode away up-slope to
his own deserted melon-patch.

"Now, isn't that a pity!" cried Dorothy, with tears in her eyes. "I
didn't care for him while he was here, though Billy was just
charming--for a mule! But I do hate quarreling and he's gone off mad."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" said Mrs. Bruce, fervently. Then
shaded her eyes with her hands to stare out toward the broader water
in search of the missing fishermen, while the pretty Water Lily began
to move away from the little wharf which had become so familiar.

Meanwhile, out beyond the mouth of the river, within the shelter of a
tree-shaded cove, the would-be fishermen were having adventures of
their own. It was a spot which Cap'n Jack knew well and was that he
had intended to reach when the little red "Stem" of the Water Lily was
lowed away from her. Here was a collection of small houses, mere huts
in fact, occupied by fishermen during the mild seasons. Here would
always be found some old cronies of his, shipmates of the oyster-boats
that plied their trade during the cold months of the year.

The truth was that the "skipper" was not only lonely, so far from his
accustomed haunts, but he wanted a chance to show these old mates of
his how his fortunes had risen, to hear the news and give it.

"Are there any fish here?" demanded Jim, when they rested on their
oars just off shore.

"More fish 'an you could catch in a lifetime! Look a yonder!"

So saying, the captain raised his broken spy-glass to his good eye--he
had the sight of but one--and surveyed the cove. Around and around he
turned it, standing firmly on the bottom of the "Stem," his multitude
of brass buttons glittering in the sun, and his squat figure a notable
one, seen just then and there. At last, came a cry from shore.

"Ship ahoy!"

"Aye, aye! Port about!" roared the Captain, and dropped to his seat
again. He had succeeded in his effort to attract attention, and now
picked up the oars and began to pull in. Until now he had generously
allowed the lads to do the rowing, despite considerable grumbling from
Gerald, who was newer to that sort of work than he had pretended. But
Cap'n Jack did not care for this; and he did succeed in impressing a
small company of men who were industriously fishing in the cove.

Most of these were in small boats, like the "Stem," but a larger craft
was moored at the little wharf and about it were gathered real sailors
fresh from the sea. At sight of them, the three lads forgot fishing in
eagerness to meet these sailors, who had come from--nobody could guess
how far! At all events, they must have seen strange things and have
many "yarns to spin," which it would be fine to hear.

Events proved that the sailors had never heard of "Cap'n Jack," and
were duly impressed by the importance he assumed. On his tongue, the
Water Lily became a magnificent yacht and he its famous Commodore, and
though there were those among the fishermen who did know him well,
they humored his harmless pretensions and added to his stories such
marvelous details that even he was astonished into believing himself a
much greater man than he had pretended.

That was a gala day for the three lads. Somebody proposed lunch and
some fishermen prepared it; of the freshly caught fish, cooked over a
beach-wood fire, and flanked by the best things the hosts could offer.
Over the food and the fire tongues were loosened, and the sailors did
"yarn it" to their guests' content. At last the talk turned upon
animals and one sailor, who was no older than these young landsmen,
remarked:

"Speakin' of monkeys, I've got a dandy pair right down in the hold
now. Want to see 'em?"

Of course they did! They were in a mood to wish to see anything and
everything which came from afar. For, during the "yarns," in
imagination they had followed these men of the sea into wonderful
lands, through tropical forests, and among strange people, till even
Jim's fancy was kindled. As for Melvin and Gerald, their eyes fairly
shone with eagerness, and when the sailor returned to the little
camp-fire, bringing a wooden cage containing the monkeys, each was
possessed of a desire to own them.

"For sale?" asked Gerald.

"Course. I always bring home a few. Last trip I did a hundred and
fifty for a Baltimore department store. Fact! Head of the firm ordered
'em. He sold 'em for two-fifty a-piece, and they went like hot cakes.
Women went crazy over 'em, I heard, and, course, it was good business
for him. A woman would go in the store, out of curiosity to see the
monks. See something else she'd buy, and finally be talked into buying
one o' them. Reckon I'll lay alongside that same store and try for
another consignment."

"How much?" asked Melvin. He was thinking that if so many "women went
crazy" over such animals as pets, it would be a nice thing to buy this
pair and present them to Dorothy. She did love animals so!

"Oh! I don't know, exactly. This is the last pair I've got--they are
extra clever--could be taught to speak just as well as children, I
believe, only, course, a sailor don't have time to fool with 'em." He
might have added that not only was this his "last pair" but his only
one; and that though the transaction he described was a fact, he was
not the dealer who had supplied the monkey market. Besides--but there
was no need to tell all he knew about monkeys to these two possible
purchasers.

"Jim, don't you want to take a chance? Go thirds with us in 'em?"

"No, Gerald. I don't. I mean I can't. I've only a little bit left in
my purse on the boat, and I've got to get back to New York State
sometime. Back to the Water Lily mighty sudden, too, seems if. Must
ha' been here a terrible time. Shucks! I clean forgot our folks were
waiting for their fish-dinner while we were eatin' our own. Come on!
We must go! and not a single fish to show for our whole morning!"

"Wait a minute. It's so late now it can't matter. They'd have had
their dinner, anyway. You won't join?" again asked Gerald.

"Can't."

"I will, if he doesn't ask too much. What's the price, sailor? We'll
take them if it isn't too high," said Melvin.

The man named a sum that was greater than the combined capital of
Gerald and Melvin. Then, although he wasn't a purchaser himself, Jim
tried his usual "dickering" and succeeded in lowering the price of the
simians, "clever enough to talk English," to ten dollars for the pair.

"All right! Here's my fiver!" cried Gerald, reluctantly pulling out a
last, dilapidated bill from a very flat pocket-book.

"And mine," added Melvin, tendering his own part.

"Now, we must go, right away!" declared Jim, hastily rising.

He thought the sailor who had promptly pocketed the ten dollars of his
friends was suspiciously kind, insisting upon carrying the cage of
monkeys down to the "Stem," and himself placing it securely in the
bottom of the boat. The little animals kept up a chattering and showed
their teeth, after a manner that might be as clever as their late
owner claimed but certainly showed anger.

Indeed, they tore about their cage in such a fury of speed that it
nearly fell overboard and in the haste of embarking everyone forgot
the original object of this trip, till Jim exclaimed:

"Went a-fishin' and caught monkeys! Won't they laugh at us?"

An hour later they brought up alongside the wharf which they had begun
to think was their own, so familiar and homelike it had become. But
there was nothing familiar about it now. The water lapped gently
against the deserted pier and a forgotten painter dangled limply from
the post at its end.

"Gone!" cried one and another of the lads, looking with frightened
eyes over the scene.

"Gone! Somebody's stole--my--ship!" groaned Cap'n Jack, for once in
actual terror. For that the Water Lily could "navigate" without his
aid under any circumstances was a thing beyond belief.




CHAPTER X.

A MERE ANNE ARUNDEL GUST.


Then they found Dorothy's note.

     "Dear boys and Captain:

     "We've gone on to Ottawotta Run. Farmer Stillwell's tug,
     that he owns half of, is towing us to the Branch. There some
     more men will be hired to pole us to Deer-Copse. Aunt Betty
     says you're to hire a wagon, or horses, or somebody to bring
     you and the Stem after us. She will pay for it, or I will,
     that's just the same. And, oh! I can't wait to tell you!
     There's a _buried treasure_ up there that we must find! A
     regular 'Captain Kidd' sort, you know, so just hurry up--I
     mean take it easy, as Auntie advises; but come, and do it
     quick! Don't forget to bring the fish. Mrs. Bruce says put
     them in a basket and trail them after you, if you come by
     boat; or, anyway, try to keep them fresh for breakfast.
     Dolly."

"I reckon they'll keep, seeing they aren't caught yet. What fools we
were to go off just then! How do you suppose, in this mortal world,
those women and girls had gumption enough to run away with that
house-boat? I'll bet they did it just to get ahead of _me_, 'cause I'd
said plain enough I wouldn't go to any old hole-in-the-woods. I simply
wouldn't. And I shan't. I'll get passage on one these fruit-scows
going back to Baltimore and quit the whole thing. I will so;" declared
Gerald, fuming about the wharf in a fine rage.

"Got money left for your 'passage?'" asked Jim. He was pondering how
best and soonest to "follow" the Water Lily, as he had been bid. They
were all too tired with their rowing to do any more of it that day,
and his pride shrank from hiring a wagon, for his own convenience,
that he wasn't able to pay for.

"What about your monkey, Gerry?" queried Melvin.

"Oh! I'll--I mean--you take it off my hands till--later."

"No, thank you. I've invested all I can afford in monkeys just now,
don't you know? But I'd sell out, only I do want to give them to her.
She's such a darling of a girl, to entertain us like this. She might
have been born in our Province, I fancy, she's so like a Canadian in
kindness and generosity."

It was a long speech for modest Melvin and an enthusiastic one. He
blushed a little as he felt his comrades' eyes turned teasingly upon
him, but he did not retract his words. He added to them:

"Dorothy Calvert makes me think of my mother, don't you know? And a
girl that does that is an all right sort I fancy. Anyway, I've thought
lots of times, since I found out it was she and not the rich aunt who
was paying the expenses of our jaunt, that it was mighty unselfish of
her to do it. Jim's let that 'cat out the bag.' He was too top-lofty
to take a cent of profit from that mine he discovered last summer for
Mr. Ford, but all the girls were made small shareholders and got three
hundred dollars a-piece for a send-off. Miss Molly, whose father I
work for, put hers right into gew-gaws or nonsense, but I think
Dolly's done better. The least I can do to show her my appreciation is
to give her the monkeys."

"Speak for yourself, sir, please. Half that monkey transaction is
mine, and I don't intend to impoverish myself for any girl. I mean to
train them till they're worth a lot of money, then sell them."

"Oh! no you won't. You're not half bad, don't you know? You like to
talk something fierce but it's _talk_. If it isn't, pick out your own
monk and be off with it. You'll have to leave me the cage for Dorothy
because she'll have to keep _my_ monk, _her_ monk, _the_ monk in it
sometimes."

"Most of the times I guess. I don't like the looks of the creatures
anyway. They're ugly. I wish you fellows had left them on that
sailor's hands. He just befooled us with his big talk. Why, sir, I
got so interested myself I'd have hired out to any ship would have me
if it had come along just then. Queer, ain't it? The way just _talk_
can change a fellow's mind," said Jim. "Hello, Cap'n! What you found
now?"

The old man had been limping about on the bank where Billy had enjoyed
himself, and which his teeth had shorn smooth as a mowing machine
might have done. It was a field rarely used, which explains why Billy
and Methuselah had been left to do as they pleased there. So Metty had
carried thither all the trifling toys and playthings he had picked up
during his trip. Shells, curious stones, old nails, a battered
jew's-harp, and a string of buttons, had been stored in an old basket
which the pickaninny called his playhouse.

The playhouse caught the old man's eye and the end of his crutch as
well, and he glared angrily upon the "trash" which had come in his
way. Also, he lifted the crutch and flung Metty's treasures broadcast.
Among them was an old wallet, still securely strapped with a bit of
leather. Captain Jack had a notion he'd seen that wallet before, but
couldn't recall where. Opening it he drew out a yellowed bit of
old-fashioned letter-paper on which a rude picture was sketched. There
were a few written words at the bottom of the sketch, but "readin'
handwrite" was one of the accomplishments the good captain disdained.

But his curiosity was aroused and he whistled to the lads to join him,
holding up the paper as an inducement. They did so, promptly, and Jim
took the extended paper, thinking it was another note from the absent
"Lilies," as the house-boat company had named itself.

Then he, too, whistled, and cried:

"Hello! Here's a find! Has something to do with that fool talk o'
Dolly's about 'buried treasure.' Somebody's been bamboozlin' her and
this is part of it."

The four heads bent together above the odd little document, which had
been folded and unfolded so often it was quite frayed in places with
even some of the writing gone.

The drawing represented a bit of woodland, with a stream flowing past,
and a ford indicated at one point, with animals drinking. It was
marked by the initials of direction, N, S, E, W; and toward the latter
point a zig-zag line suggested a path. The path ended at the root of a
tree whose branches grew into something like the semblance of a cross.
Unfortunately, the writing was in French, a language not one
understood. But, found as it was, evidently lost by somebody who had
valued it, and taken in conjunction with Dorothy's words--"buried
treasure"--it was enough to set all those young heads afire with
excitement. Even the Captain took the paper and again critically
studied it; remarking as he replaced it in the wallet:

"Dretful sorry I didn't fetch my readin'-specs when I come away from
town. Likely, if I had I could ha' explained its hull meanin'."

"Dreadful sorry it wasn't Greek, or even Latin! I could have ciphered
the meaning then, if it has a meaning. But every-day French, shucks!"

"How do you know it's French if you don't know French?" demanded
Gerry.

"Oh! I've seen it in Dr. Sterling's library. I know a word or two an'
I plan to know more. Don't it beat all? That just a little bit of
ignorance can hide important things from a fellow, that way? I tell
you there never was a truer word spoke than that 'knowledge is
power'."

Melvin cried:

"Come off! That'll do. Once you get talking about learning and you're
no good. Cap'n, you best stow that in your pocket and help us settle
how to 'follow our leaders'. For my part, I've no notion of sleeping
out doors, now that it looks so likely to storm. What'll we do?"

"Hoof it to the Landin' and hire a conveyance. One that'll carry us
an' the boat, too. That's what she says, and if there's a girl in the
hull state o' Maryland, or Annyrunnell, either, that's got more sense
in her little head nor my 'fust mate', Dorothy, you show me the man
'at says so, an' I'll call him a liar to his face."

"That's all right, Cap'n, only don't get so excited about it. Nobody's
trying to take the wind out of Dorothy's sails. So let's get on. I
reckon I can punt along as far as that Landing, even with a cargo of
monkeys. Then Gerry can take his and skip, and we'll take the other to
our folks."

Melvin was laughing as he talked. Gerald's angry, disgusted face had
changed its expression entirely, since that finding of the curious map
which made the possibility of the "buried treasure" seem so real.

"Oh! I won't bother now. I reckon I'd ought to go on and ask Aurora if
she wants to go home with me, or not. Popper and Mommer'd be sure to
ask me why I didn't bring her. We can settle about the monkeys later."

"Huh! I tell you what I believe! 'Wild horses couldn't drag' you back
to town till you've found out all about what that Frenchy letter means
and have had a dig for the 'treasure'. I know it couldn't _me_. There
isn't a word of sense in the whole business, course. Likely these
whole States have been dug over, foot by foot, same's our Province
has, don't you know? But my mother says there always have been just
such foolish bodies and there always will be. Silly, I fancy; all the
same, if Dorothy or anybody else starts on this business of digging,
I'll ply the liveliest shovel of the lot."

Melvin but expressed the sentiments of all three lads. Even the old
captain was recalling wonder-tales, such as this might be, and feeling
thrills of excitement in his old veins. Suddenly, he burst out:

"Well, I'd be some hendered by my crutches but when you get to diggin'
just lemme know an' I'll be thar!"

They waited no longer then, but stepped back into the "Stem," the
caged monkeys viciously scolding and sometimes yelling, till the
Captain fairly choked with fear and indignation. However, nothing
serious happened. They reached Jimpson's in a little while, and were
fortunate in finding a teamster about to start home along the river
road. His wagon was empty, the row-boat could be slung across it,
there would be abundant room for passengers--including monkeys--a new
sort of "fare" to him.

But they had scarcely got started on this part of their journey before
the threatening storm was upon them. This "gust" was a fearful one,
and they were exposed to its full fury. The driver shielded himself as
best he could under his blankets but offered none to his passengers.
The sky grew dark as night, relieved only by the lightning, and
rivalled, in fact, that tempest which had visited them on the first
day of their trip.

Fortunately, horses know the homeward way--though to be literal these
horses were mules--and they travelled doggedly along, unguided save by
their own instinct. Also, when they had ridden so far that it seemed
to the drenched travellers that they had always been so riding and
always should be, there came a sudden slackening in the storm and an
outburst of moonlight from behind the scattering clouds that was
fairly startling.

After a moment of surprise Melvin broke the silence, asking:

"Do you have this kind of thing often in Maryland?"

"Sure. Down in Annyrunnell we do. 'S nothin' but a 'gust'. Most
gen'ally has 'em if the day opens up hot, like this one did. But it's
purty when it's over, and yender's the turn to the Copse. My road lies
t'other way. It's a quarter a-piece for you white folks an' fifty
a-head fer the monks. I 'low 'twas them hoodooed the trip. Hey? What?
Can't pay? What in reason 'd ye hire me for, then? I ain't workin' for
fun, I'd let you know. We're honest folks in Annyrunnell an' we don't
run up no expenses 't we can't meet. No, siree. You asked me to bring
you an' I've brung. Now you don't leave this here wagon till I've got
my money for my job."

"Look here, farmer! What sort of a man are you, anyway? We went off
fishing not expecting our house-boat would go on without us. We had no
mon----" began Jim, about as angry as he had ever been in his
self-controlled life.

"You had money enough to buy fool monkeys, didn't you?"

Gerald answered promptly:

"That's none of your business! Suppose w

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