after-deck. Miss Proctor leaned her back against the low gunwale astern.
The men disposed themselves about her. They talked with a great deal of
laughter; but Bobby did not find their conversation amusing. Finally
they began to entreat Mr. Bradford to play his banjo. That young
gentleman became suddenly afflicted with shyness.
"I don't play much," he objected. "Honestly I don't--just picked up a
few chords by ear."
"Oh, Mr. _Bradford_," cried Miss Proctor, "I've heard you play
_beautifully_. _Do_ get it."
Mr. Bradford objected further; and was further cajoled by Miss Proctor.
Bobby wondered why he had brought the banjo along, if he didn't want to
play on it. The other men did none of the persuading. Finally Mr.
Bradford procured the instrument. He took some time to tune it; and had
something to say concerning damp air and the strings. Finally he played
the "Spanish Fandango," to the enthusiasm of Miss Proctor and the polite
attention of the other men. This he followed by a song called "Listen to
the Mocking Bird," the chorus to which consisted of complicated gurgling
whistling supposed to represent the song of the mocking bird, though it
is to be doubted if that performer would have recognized himself in it.
Miss Proctor approving of this, Bradford next played a trick piece, in
the course of which he did acrobatics with his instrument, but without
missing a note.
Carlin and Welton finally strolled away unnoticed. The lumberman offered
the other a cigar.
"Ain't no use buckin' the funny man with the banjo, Tommy," he observed
with a rueful grin.
Mr. Bradford now put two pennies under the bridge.
"Makes it sound like a guitar," he explained; and drifted into
thrillingly sentimental selections. He sang three in so low a voice that
Bobby began to think it useless to listen any more; when a loud and
prolonged whistle from the tug drowned all other sounds. Mr. Bradford
looked savage; but the boys were delighted.
"Going to pass the drawbridge!" shrieked Angus.
They raced away to the bow in order to watch the imminence of the great
structure over their heads; to see the smokestack dip back on its hinges
as they passed beneath; and to gloat over the smash of their waves
against the piling of the bridge's foundation. Here Bobby was captured
by Mrs. Orde.
"Here, Bobby," said she, "This is Celia Carleton, and I want you to be
nice to her."
With that she left them staring at each other.
"How do you do?" remarked Bobby gravely.
"How do you do?" said she.
They were no further along.
"I got a new knife," blurted out Bobby, in desperation.
"That's nice," said Celia politely. "Let's see it."
"I haven't got it with me," confessed Bobby. He was ashamed to say that
he was not yet permitted to use it.
He glanced at her sideways. Somehow he liked the fresh clean stiffness
of her starched, skirts, and the biscuit brown of her complexion. He
desired all at once that she think well of him.
"I can jump off our high-board fence to the ground," he boasted.
Celia seemed impressed.
"My knife's nothing," said Bobby, "My father's got a razor that can cut
anything. He lets me take it whenever I want it. It's awful sharp. If I
had it here I could cut this boat right in two with it."
"My!" said Celia, "But I wouldn't want to cut it in two. Would you?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Bobby, his legs apart, his head on one side. He
was sure now that he liked this new acquaintance; she seemed pleasantly
to be awestricken. "Come on, let's go in the back part of the boat" he
suggested, "and I'll show you things."
"All right," said she.
Bobby led her past the scornful Angus to the narrow deck.
"This is the engine room," he announced out of his new knowledge.
But Celia did not care for it.
"It's awfully dirty," said she.
This was a new point of view; and Bobby marvelled. However, she was
delighted with the after-deck, and the wake, and the attendant waves.
Bobby showed them off to her as though they had been his private
possessions. This was the first little girl he had ever known. The
novelty appealed to him; the daintiness of her; the freshness and
cleanness; the dependence of her on Bobby's ten years of experience--all
this brought out the latent and instinctive male admiration of the
child. He remained heedless of the other three boys hanging awkwardly in
the middle distance. All his small store of knowledge he poured out
before her--he told her everything, without reservation--of Duke, and
the sand-hills, and the fort, and Sir Thomas Malory, and the booms, and
the Flobert Rifle, and the "Dutchmen" on the side street. She found it
all interesting. They became very good friends.
In the meantime Mr. Bradford had long since laid aside the banjo, and
was basking in Miss Proctor's unshared attention. The pleased smile
never left his face; the lean of his head bespoke deep deference; the
curve of his body respectful devotion. He talked in a low voice, and
every moment or so Miss Proctor would giggle, or exclaim, "Oh, Mr.
_Bradford_!" in a pleased and reproving voice.
In the meantime the tug was going rapidly up river; and yet, with the
exception of an occasional glance from some isolated individual, and the
sporadic attention of the boys, no one saw what was passing. All were
absorbed by the people, the little happenings and the talk aboard the
craft. So without comment they swept past the tall yellow sand-hills
with their fringe of crested trees on the left; and the wide plain on
the right. Only Bobby remarked the deep bayou in the bosom of the hills
where dreamed in the peace and mystery of an honourable old age the
hulks of a dozen vessels rotting in the sun. The shipyards and the mills
the other side the drawbridge nobody saw, for at that time even Bobby
was absorbed in his new acquaintance.
But beyond that, the boy having offered and the girl received the first
burst of confidence, the children turned their attention to things
passing. They saw the wide marshes of rushes and cat-tails, with their
bayous and channels wherein swam the white-billed mud-hens; and the long
booms to the left filled with brown logs. From this level, low to the
water, these things seemed to them wonderful and vast. After a little
the _Robert O_ whistled again. They passed the swing at the upper end of
the booms. Old man North stood, in the doorway of his hut, smoking his
short black pipe upside down. Bobby was astonished to see how different
the hut looked from this point of view. He would hardly have recognized
it were it not for the swing-tender, who waved his pipe at Bobby when
the tug passed.
"I know him," said Bobby proudly to Celia.
The _Robert O_ swept through, and the long slanting waves, and the round
following waves sucked up and down among the piles.
"Now we're going around the Bend!" cried Bobby excitedly. "I never been
around the Bend!"
But Celia suddenly arose.
"I'm going back to mamma and the rest," she announced.
"Why?" asked Bobby astonished. "Come on; stay here and see what there is
around the Bend."
Celia stood on one foot, her black eyes wide and speculative, staring
past Bobby into some fair realm of feminine caprice. She shook her head,
slowly, so that first a curl on one side, then on the other fell across
her eyes. After a long deliberate moment she turned and went forward,
followed at a distance by the grieved and puzzled Bobby. In the bow she
sidled up to her mother, against whom she leaned lightly, her head on
one side, her eyes dreamy, her hand slipped into one of her mother's
open palms. Bobby, shut out, made his way to the prow, where he rested
his chin on the rail, and rather glumly contemplated the surprises of
"around the Bend."
But over the prow the little boy was the first--except for Captain
Marsh--to see from afar the landing, first as a glimmering shadow under
the reflection of the elms; then as a vague ill-defined form above the
River's glassy surface; finally as a wide, low, T-shaped platform wharf,
reaching its twenty feet from the grassy banks to shimmer in the heat
above its own wavering reflection.
The tug sidled alongside with a great turmoil of white-and-green
bubble-shot water drifting around in eddies from her labouring
propeller. Captain Marsh, after one prolonged jingle of his bell emerged
from his pilot-house, seized a heavy rope, and sprang ashore. The end of
the rope he cast around a snubbing-pile.
But some inset of current or excess of momentum made it impossible to
hold her. The rope creaked and cried as it was dragged around the smooth
snubbing-pile. Finally the end was drawn so close that Captain Marsh was
in danger of jamming his hands. At once, with inconceivable dexterity
and quickness, he cast loose, ran forward, wrapped the line three times
around another pile farther on and braced his short, sturdy legs against
the post for a trial of strength. Here the heavy, slow surge of the tug
was effectually checked. Captain Marsh turned his wide grin of triumph
toward his passengers. Everybody laughed, and prepared to disembark.
Between the gunwale and the wharf's edge could be seen a narrow glinting
strip of very black water. The _Robert O_ slowly approached and receded
from the dock; and this strip of water correspondingly widened and
narrowed. Over it every one must step; and the anxieties and precautions
were something tremendous. Bobby came toward the last, and was lifted
bodily across, his sturdy legs curling up under like a crab's.
The wharf he found broad and square and shady, with a narrow way leading
ashore. In the middle of it were piled, awaiting shipment on the _Lucy
Belle_, three tiers of the old-fashioned, open-built, pail-shaped
peach-baskets containing the famous Michigan fruit. Each was filled to a
gentle curve above the brim, and over the top was wired pink mosquito
netting. This at once protected the fruit from insects; added to the
brilliancy and softness of its colouring; and lent to the rows of
baskets a gay and holiday appearance. The men examined them attentively,
talking of "cling stones," "free stones," "Crawfords," and other
technicalities which Bobby could not understand. When the last lunch
basket had been passed ashore, all crossed to the bank of the river and
the grove of elms, leaving the _Robert O_ and Captain Marsh and the
engineer.
In the grove the boys immediately scattered in search of adventure. All
but Bobby. He remained with the older people, wishing mightily to take
Celia with him; but suddenly afraid to approach her with the direct
request. So he contented himself with expressive gestures, which she,
close to her mother, chose to ignore.
Two of the men disappeared up the path, one carrying an empty pail. The
others went busily about collecting wood, building a fire, smoothing out
a place to spread the rugs which would serve as a table. All the women
fluttered about the lunch baskets examining the contents, discussing
them, finally distributing them in accordance with the mysterious system
considered proper in such matters. Bobby, left alone, without occupation
on the one hand, nor the desire for his companions' amusements on the
other, was then the only one at leisure to look about him, to observe
through the alders that fringed the bank the hide-and-seek glint of the
River; to gaze with wonder and a little awe on the canopy of waving
light green that to his childish sense of proportion seemed as far above
him as the skies themselves; to notice how the sunlight splashed through
the rifts as though it had been melted and poured down from above; to
feel the friendly warmth of summer air under trees; to savour the hot
springwood-smells that wandered here and there in the careless
irresponsibility of forest spirits off duty. This was Bobby's first
experience with woods; and his keenest perceptions were alive to them.
The tall trunks of trees rising from the graceful, fragile,
half-translucence of undergrowth; little round tunnels to a distant
delicate green; lights against shadows, and shadows against lights; the
wing-flashes of birds hidden and mysterious; and above all the
marvellous green transparence of all the shadows, which tinted the very
air itself, so that to the little boy it seemed he could bathe in it as
in a clear fountain--all these came to him at once. And each brought by
the hand another wonder for recognition, so that at last the picnic
party disappeared from his vision, the loud and laughing voices were
hushed from his ears. He stood there, lips apart, eyes wide, spirit
hushed, looking half upward. The light struck down across him.
The picnic party went about its business unaware of the wonderful thing
transacting in their very presence. Men do not grow as plants, so many
inches, so many months. The changes prepare long and in secret, without
visible indication. Then swiftly they take place. The qualities of the
soul unfold silently their splendid wings.
After a moment the boys ran whooping through the woods from one
direction demanding food; the two men came shouting from the other
carrying a pail of water and an open basket of magnificent peaches.
Bobby shivered slightly, and looked about him, half dazed, as though he
had just awakened. Then quietly he crept to a tree near the table and
sat down. For perhaps a minute he remained there; then with a rush came
the reaction. Bobby was wildly and reprehensibly naughty.
Once in a while, and after meals, Mrs. Orde allowed him a single piece
of sponge-cake; no more. But now, Bobby, catching the eye of Celia upon
him, grimaced, pantomimed to call attention, and deliberately _broke_
off a big chunk of Mrs. Owen's frosted work of art and proceeded to
devour it. Celia's eyes widened with horror; which to Bobby's depraved
state of mind was reward enough. Then Mrs. Orde uttered a cry of
astonishment; Mrs. Owen a dignified but outraged snort; and Bobby was
yanked into space.
After the storm had cleared, he found himself, somewhat dishevelled,
aboard the _Robert O_, entrusted to Captain Marsh, provided with three
bread-and-butter sandwiches, and promised a hair-brush spanking for the
morrow.
Mrs. Orde was not only mortified, but shocked to the very depths of her
faith.
"I don't know how to explain it!" she said again and again. "Bobby is
always so good about such things! I've brought him up--and
_deliberately_. My dear Mrs. Owen, such a beautiful frosting, and to
have it ruined like that!"
But Mrs. Fuller, fat, placid, perhaps slightly stupid, here rose to the
heights of what her husband always admiringly called "horse sense."
"Now, Carroll," she said, "stop your worrying about it. You'll get
yourself all worked up and spoil your lunch and ours, all for nothing.
Children will be naughty sometimes. I was naughty myself. So were you,
probably. That's human nature. Just don't worry about it and spoil the
good time."
Mrs. Orde thereupon fell silent, for she was a sensible woman and could
see the point as to lessening the other's enjoyment. Little by little
she cooled off, until at last she was able to join in the fun; although
always in the background of her mind persisted the necessity of knowing
a _reason_ for such an outbreak.
The flurry over, Welton insisted that they all admire the peaches.
"Best Michigan produces," he boasted. "Every one big as a coffee-cup;
and perfect in shape, colour and flavour. Freestone, too. Nothing
exceptional about them either. Millions more just like 'em. Can't match
them anywhere in the world."
"Saw by the paper this spring that the peach crop was ruined by the
frost," marvelled Carlin.
Taylor laughed.
"My dear fellow, the Michigan peach crop is destroyed regularly _every_
spring. Seem to be enough peaches by August, however."
They fell to on the lunch. When they had eaten all they could, there
still remained enough to have fed four other picnics of the same size as
their own.
Bobby remained not long cast down, however.
"Been at it, have you?" observed Captain Marsh after the irate parent
had departed. "What was it this time?"
"I ate a piece of cake," replied Bobby.
"H'm! That doesn't sound very bad."
"It was Mrs. Owen's cake," supplemented Bobby.
"I see," said the Captain gravely in enlightenment. "What are you going
to do now?"
"I'm going to eat my lunch," Bobby informed him, showing the three
bread-and-butter sandwiches.
"H'm. So'm I," said the Captain. "Better join me."
They entered the pilot-house and established themselves facing each
other on the wide leather seat. The Captain produced a tin dinner-pail
with a cupola top such as Bobby had often seen men carrying, and which
he had always desired to investigate. This came apart in the middle. The
top proved to contain cold coffee all sugared and creamed. The bottom
had a fringed red-checked napkin, two slabs of pie, two doughnuts, and
four thick ham sandwiches made of coarse bread. They ate. Captain Marsh
insisted on Bobby's accepting a doughnut and a piece of pie. Bobby did
so, with many misgivings; but found them delicious exceedingly because
they were so different from what he was used to at home.
"Now," said the Captain, brushing away the crumbs with one comprehensive
gesture, "what do you want to do now? You got to stay aboard, you
know?"
"Can't we fish?" suggested Bobby timidly.
The Captain looked about him with some doubt.
"Well," he decided at last, "we might try. The time of day's wrong, and
the place don't look much good; but there's no harm trying."
Two long bamboo poles fitted with lines, hooks, and sinkers were slung
alongside the deck-house. Captain Marsh produced worms in a can. The two
sat side by side, dangling their feet over the stern, the poles slanting
down toward the dark water, silent and intent. In not more than two
minutes Bobby felt his pole twitch. Without much difficulty he drew to
the surface a broad flat little fish that flashed as he turned in the
water.
"Hi!" cried Bobby, "there _are_ fish here!"
"Oh, that's a sunfish," said Captain Marsh.
Bobby looked up.
"Aren't sunfish good?" he inquired anxiously.
Captain Marsh opened his mouth to reply, caught Bobby's apprehensive and
half-disappointed expression, and thought better of it.
"Why, sure!" said he. "They're a fine fish."
At the end of an hour Bobby had acquired a goodly string. Captain Marsh
early drew in his line, saying he preferred to smoke. Bobby had an
excellent time. He was very much surprised at the return of the picnic
party. The period of punishment had not hung heavy.
By the time all had embarked, the steam pressure was up. The _Robert O_
swung down stream for home.
But now Celia, forgetting her earlier caprice of indifference, watched
Bobby constantly. After a little he became aware of it, and was
flattered in his secret soul, but he attempted no more advances, nor did
he vouchsafe her the smallest glance. Soon she sidled over to him shyly.
"What made you do it?" she asked in a whisper.
"Do what?" pretended Bobby.
"Break Mrs. Owen's cake."
"'Cause I wanted to."
"Didn't you know 't was very bad?"
"'Course."
Celia contemplated Bobby with a new and respectful interest. "I wouldn't
dare do it," she acknowledged at last. In this lay confession of the
reason for her change of whim; but Bobby could not be expected to
realize that. With masculine directness he seized the root of his
grievance and brought it to light.
"Why were you so mean this noon?" he demanded.
She made wide eyes.
"I wasn't mean. How was I mean?"
"You went away; and you wouldn't look at me or talk to me."
"I didn't care whether I talked to you or not," she denied. "I wanted to
be with my mamma."
So on the return trip, too, Bobby had a good time. The wharf surprised
him, and the flurry of disembarkation prevented his saying formal
good-bye to Celia. He waved his hand at her, however, and grinned
amiably. To his astonishment she gave him the briefest possible nod over
her shoulder; and walked away, her hand clasping that of her mother,
even yet a dainty airy figure in her mussed white dress still flaring
with starch, her slim black legs, and her wide leghorn hat with the red
roses.
The hurt and puzzle of this lasted him to his home, and caused him to
forget the spanking in prospect. He ate his supper in silence, quite
unaware of his mother's disapproval. After supper he hunted up Duke and
sat watching the sunset behind the twisted pines on the sandhills. He
did much cogitating, but arrived nowhere.
"Bobby!" called his mother. "Come to bed."
He said good night to Duke, and obeyed.
"Now, Bobby," said Mrs. Orde, "I don't like to do this, but you have
been a very naughty boy to-day. Come here."
Bobby came. The hair brush did its work. Usually in such case Bobby
howled before the first blow fell, but to-night he set his lips and
uttered no sounds. _Slap!_ _slap!_ _slap!_ _slap!_ with deliberate
spaces between. Bobby was released. He climbed down, his soul tense,
with agony, but his face steady--and laughed!
It was not much of a laugh, to be sure, but a laugh it was. Mrs. Orde,
shocked, scandalized, outraged and now thoroughly angry, yanked her son
again across her knees.
"Why! I never heard of anything like it!" she cried. "You naughty,
_naughty_ boy! I don't see what's got into you to-day. I'll teach you to
laugh at my spankings!"
Bobby did not laugh at this spanking. It was more than a stone could
have borne. After the fifth well-directed and vigorous smack, he howled.
Later, when the tempest of sobs had stilled to occasional gulps, Mrs.
Orde questioned him about it. They were rocking back and forth in the
big chair, the twilight all about them. Bobby said he was sorry and his
mamma had cuddled him and loved him, and all was forgiven.
"Now, Bobby, tell mamma," soothed Mrs. Orde. "Why were you such a bad
little boy as to laugh at mamma when she spanked you just now?"
"I wasn't bad," protested Bobby, "I was trying to be good. You told me
not to cry when I got hurt, but to jump up and laugh about it."
"Oh, my baby, my poor little man!" cried Mrs. Orde between laughter and
tears.
They rocked some more.
"Now, Bobby, tell mamma," insisted Mrs. Orde gently. "Why did you break
Mrs. Owen's cake? Were you as hungry as all that?"
"No ma'am," replied Bobby.
"Why did you do it, then?"
"I don't know."
Mr. Orde laughed uproariously when told of Bobby's attempt to be brave
under affliction.
"The little snoozer!" he cried. "Guess I'll go up and see him."
Bobby loved to have his father lie beside him on the bed. They never
said much; but the little boy lay, looking up through the dimness,
bathed in a deep comfortable content at the man's physical presence.
To-night they lay thus in silence for at least five minutes. Then Bobby
spoke.
"Papa," said he "don't you think Celia Carleton is pretty?"
"Very pretty, Bobby."
Another long silence.
"Papa," complained Bobby at last, "why does Celia be nice to me; and
then not be nice to me; and change all the while?"
Mr. Orde chuckled softly to himself.
"That's the way of 'em, Bobby," said he. "There's no explaining it. All
little girls are that way--and big girls, too," he added.
So long a pause ensued that Mr. Orde thought his son must be asleep, and
was preparing softly to escape.
"Papa," came the little boy's voice from the darkness, "I like her just
the same."
"Carroll," said Mr. Orde to his wife as blinking he entered the lighted
sitting room, "you can recover your soul's equanimity. I've found out
why he broke into the cake."
"Why?" asked Mrs. Orde eagerly.
"He was showing off before that little Carleton girl," replied Mr.
Orde.
III
HIDE AND COOP
Early Monday morning Bobby was afoot and on his way to the Ottawa Hotel.
He ran fast until within a block of it; then unexpectedly his gait
slackened to a walk, finally to a loiter. He became strangely reluctant,
strangely bashful about approaching the place. This was not to be
understood.