THE WRONG BOX
Mr. Martin decided to anchor the _Pine Tree_ for the night, rather than
to try to cruise across the large body of water in the darkness. He had
never been on the lake before, though he had directions for reaching
Bentville.
“But this is a good place to stay,” he told his wife, when they had
reached the point where the river flowed out of the lake. “We’ll camp
here.”
“Do you mean go ashore and camp?” asked Teddy.
“Oh, no; we’ll stay on the boat,” his father answered. “It will be
better, I think.”
“Maybe a big turtle will give us a ride again,” suggested Trouble. He
had been told how the queer creature of the mud had towed the motor
boat, and his great regret was that he had not been awakened to see it.
“No, I hardly think a thing like that will happen the second time,”
said Mr. Martin, with a laugh. “It was only by accident that the turtle
got tangled in our anchor rope.”
Then they made ready to spend the night on board the _Pine Tree_. The
anchor was let down but a short distance from shore, the boat being
close to the bank so they could all reach dry land by crossing a small
gangplank which Mr. Martin ran out.
When the boat had been made fast, the Curlytops and Trouble went
ashore, leaving their mother and father to get supper, for Mr. Martin
was helping his wife.
“Don’t go too far, children,” called Mrs. Martin to the three who were
wandering along the shore of Crystal Lake.
“We’ll soon be back,” promised Janet.
“I’m going to see if I can find any apples,” said Teddy.
“You’ll hardly find any apple orchards around here,” said his father.
But the Curlytop boy did. He was walking along ahead of his sister and
small brother when he suddenly saw a group of trees in a green field,
and a second look told Ted they were apple trees.
“Come on,” he cried. “Let’s see if any of the apples are ripe.”
“Maybe we’d better not,” said Janet. “Whoever owns these apples
wouldn’t like us to take any.”
“Nobody owns ’em,” said her brother. “There’s no house around here. I
guess they’re just wild apples and anybody that wants can pick ’em.”
Ted had rather queer ideas, but he meant no wrong, and soon the three
children were under the trees, gathering the fruit. It was just getting
ripe.
Presently Trouble, who seemed to care more about running around than he
did about picking up apples, gave a cry and pointed at something in a
distant field.
“What is it?” asked Janet.
“It’s a man. He’s coming here,” announced the little fellow. “I see a
tramp man.”
“Oh, Ted!” gasped Janet, “what’ll we do?”
“Well, if it’s a tramp we’ll just go back to our boat,” decided the
Curlytop lad. “He won’t dare say a word when he sees father and
mother.”
“Yes, but s’posin’ it’s the man that owns these apples?” went on Jan.
“Well,” and Teddy thought about that a moment, “we can say daddy will
pay him for ’em, and he will. We only took some because we didn’t think
anybody wanted ’em. I’m not afraid.”
“Where’s the man, Trouble? Show me,” Jan told her small brother. “I
don’t see any one.”
“There he is,” and Trouble led Janet to a corner of the fence. It was
from here that he had looked before, coming back to tell the news.
“He’s taking his time getting here,” thought Teddy, munching an apple
and following his sister and brother. Ted decided that if there was to
be a fuss about the apples he might as well have one to eat, anyhow.
“There’s the man,” Trouble said, pointing the individual in question
out to his sister and brother.
Jan noted the ragged flapping coat and the ragged hat set on one side
of the head. Then Ted saw it and gave a howl of laughter.
“Don’t make fun of him!” his sister begged. “The farmer won’t like it,
and he’ll scold us for taking his apples.”
“Farmer!” chuckled Ted. “That isn’t a farmer.”
“Well, tramp then,” went on Janet. “He does look like a tramp.”
“It isn’t a tramp, either,” laughed Ted.
“What is it then?” Janet wanted to know.
“It’s a scarecrow. That must be a field of corn, or something, over
there, and the farmer that owns it has put up a stuffed man to keep the
crows away. Ho! Ho! It’s a scarecrow!”
“How can you tell?” asked Janet.
“’Cause it hasn’t moved since we’ve been looking at it. Here, I’ll show
you!”
Ted caught up a stone and threw it at the ragged figure, the rock
striking it full in the back. There was a sound as when a stone hits a
board fence, and the ragged figure never moved.
“See! I told you!” cried Ted.
“Yes, I guess it is a scarecrow,” admitted Janet. “I’m glad of it. Now
we can take all the apples we like.”
“Yes, it isn’t an apple-scarer,” laughed Teddy.
“But it looks terribly natural,” said Jan, as they turned back to the
orchard. “No wonder Trouble thought it was a man.”
The scarecrow was very well made, and in the dusk of the evening would
have misled almost any one who did not know about it.
“My, you have enough apples for a pie and some sauce,” said Mrs. Martin
when the children reached the boat and had told about the ragged
figure. “I don’t suppose whoever owns the trees will mind our taking a
few apples,” she said to her husband.
“I think not. But to be on the safe side and to be honest I’ll put
twenty-five cents in an envelope and hang it on one of the branches,”
said Mr. Martin, and he did this.
Very likely the farmer who owned the apples was surprised on visiting
his orchard some time later to find the money and the note with it. He
had made a sale where he had not expected to.
The night passed quietly, but toward morning Mrs. Martin was awakened
by the pitching and tossing of the boat. She looked out to find that
the wind was blowing, making the lake very rough.
“Do you think it will be best to start with the wind blowing like
this?” asked Mrs. Martin after breakfast, when the boat was still
tossing some.
“Oh, yes,” her husband answered. “I think the breeze will go down. I
am anxious to get to Bentville and deliver the albums to Mr. Cardwell.
Then we can go about as we please.”
“I think there’s going to be a bad storm,” went on his wife.
“Oh, I guess we’ll get to the other side of the lake before it comes,”
Mr. Martin said.
But they did not. Though the wind went down for a time just as the
anchor was pulled up and a start made, the breeze began to rise again
when they were out in the wide water. The waves began to toss, and the
_Pine Tree_, though a staunch, stout craft, began to pitch about.
“I wish we hadn’t started,” sighed Mrs. Martin.
“Well, now that we have, we might as well keep on,” her husband said.
“In fact, it is safer to go on, heading into the wind as we are, than
it would be to put back.”
“I like it rough,” cried Teddy, holding fast to prevent himself being
bumped about.
“It’s like being on a nellifunt’s back,” declared Trouble. “It goes up
and down and jiggles.”
“It jiggles all right,” said his mother. “It jiggles too much for me.
What’s that, do you suppose?” she said, as a crash sounded in the
cabin. They were all out on deck at the time.
“Something fell,” replied Mr. Martin. “Perhaps you had better go see
what it is. I can’t leave the wheel.”
Mrs. Martin went down, followed by the children. In the cabin they
saw that a pile of valises, which had been stowed in one corner, had
toppled over. With the valises had been placed the box sent back from
New York by Mr. Portnay.
In falling this box had come out of the paper wrapping, and had opened.
And when Mrs. Martin looked at the contents she exclaimed:
“The wrong box! It’s the wrong box!”
“What do you mean--wrong box?” called her husband.
“I mean Mr. Portnay sent you back his make-up box by mistake, and he
has kept the box of albums! Look, here are his false wigs and paints.
This is the wrong box!”