A MISSING FAMILY
The walk was long, but at last Jeanne reached the blossoming bank,
against which Old Captain's freight car rested. Nobody home at Old
Captain's; but it was much too pleasant a day for a fisherman to stay
ashore. One of his nets, however, hung over his queer house and his old
shoes were beside his bed--the biggest, broadest shoes in all Bancroft;
there was no mistaking _those_.
Half a dozen steps down the grassy dock and Jeanne stood stock-still.
The lake! _There_, all big and clear and blue. And just the same--_her_
lake!
A great big lump in her throat and suddenly the lake became so misty
that she couldn't see it.
"What a goose-y thing to do," said surprised Jeanne, wiping away the
fog; "when I'm _glad_ all the way to my heels. I didn't believe folks
really cried for joy; but I guess they do. I wonder where those children
are. They ought to be catching pollywogs, but they aren't. And here are
flowers just asking to be picked--Annie must be getting lazy. Why
doesn't somebody see me and come _running_? And why isn't Mollie sitting
outside the door in the sun? Why! How queer the house looks--sort of
shut up."
By this time, Jeanne was almost at the end of the dock and her heart was
beating fast. The house _was_ shut up; not only that but _boarded_ up,
from the outside. It was certainly very strange and disconcerting.
Puzzled Jeanne seated herself on an old keg and reflectively eyed her
deserted home.
"They've _moved_," she decided. "They've rented a house somewhere in
town so Michael and Sammy can go to school. It's probably more
comfortable, but I know the yard isn't half so beautiful. By and by,
when I can stop looking at the lake, I'll find something to eat in Old
Captain's house. I'm just about starved. I'll have to wait until he
comes home to find out about everybody? I _wonder_ why nobody told me."
It was five o'clock when Barney's boat touched at the dock. Old Captain
climbed out. Barney followed. Together they picked their way along the
crumbling wharf. Something brown--a _warm_ brown that caught the glow
from the afternoon sun--was curled on Captain Blossom's doorstep. When
you've traveled for two nights and spent a long day outdoors on a breezy
wharf, exploring all the haunts of your childhood, sleep comes easily.
There was Jeanne, her head on her elbow, sound asleep.
Barney took one good look at the small, brunette face; and then, as if
all the bad dreams he had _ever_ had, had gotten after him at once, fled
up the steep bank behind Old Captain's car and was gone. The Captain,
when he had recognized his sleeping visitor, looked as if he, too, would
have been glad to flee.
"So, so," he muttered, helplessly wringing his big hands. "Darned if
I--hum, ladies present--dinged if I know what to do."
Suddenly Jeanne sat up and looked at him. Next she had flown at him and
had kissed both of his broad red cheeks.
"Well!" she exclaimed. "It's _time_ you were coming home. Where is my
father? Where's _everybody_?"
"Well, you see," said Old Captain, patting her gently, "they
ain't--well, they ain't exactly _here_."
"I can _see_ that," returned Jeanne, exasperated by the Captain's
remarkable slowness, "but where _are_ they?"
"Well, now, Jeannie girl, maybe your father wrote you about Mis'
Shannon's son John takin' her away to St. Louis last spring? Well, he
done it."
"Yes?"
"After--well, after a while--Mollie was took sick. You see there was
some sort o' reason for that there laziness of hern. There was something
wrong with her inside. Her brother John come--I telegraphed him--and
had her took to a hospital. Up at St. Mary's--t'other side of town.
She's there yet. She ain't a-goin' to come out, they say."
"Oh!" breathed Jeanne, her eyes very big. "Oh, _poor_ Mollie!"
"She's just as contented as ever," assured the Captain, whose consoling
pats had grown stronger and stronger until now they were so nearly
_blows_, that Jeanne winced under them. "I'll take you to see her first
chance I git; she'll be thar for some time yet!"
"But the children," pleaded Jeanne. "Where are they?"
"Well, they're in St. Louis."
"Oh, _no_."
"I'm afeared they _be_. You see, Mis' Shannon was no good at
housekeepin' with that there rheumatism of hern; so, John up and married
a real strong young woman to do the work. When he come here to look
after Mollie, he took Sammy and Annie and the little 'un back to St.
Louis with him."
"And Michael?"
"I'll tell you the rest tomorry," promised the Captain, who had stopped
patting Jeanne, to wipe large beads of perspiration from his brow. "I'm
a hungry man and I got a heap o' work to do after supper. You got to
sleep some'eres, you know. My idee is to knock open the doors and windys
of the two best rooms in your old shack out there. This here fish car
ain't no real proper place for a lady. It was me nailed them doors up
after--hum--me nailed 'em _up_."
"After _what_?" demanded Jeanne.
"After--after breakfast, I think it was," dissembled Old Captain,
lamely. "I wisht that mean skunk of a Barney--hum, ladies present--that
there _Barney_, I mean, was here to help. Now, girl, I'm goin' up town
to get somethin' fitten for a lady's supper--"
"I ate all your crackers and all your cheese," confessed Jeanne.
"Glad you did. You can put a chip in the fire now and again to keep her
going. I'll start it for you and put the kettle on. Anythin' I can do
for you up town?"
"Yes," said Jeanne, "I checked my suitcase at the station. Don't _you_
carry it. Here's a quarter--get some boy to do it."
"Huh!" grunted Old Captain, "thar ain't no boy goin' to carry _your_
suitcase. No, siree, not while I'm here to do it. Just let these here
potatoes bile while I'm gone."
Jeanne, finding no cloth, spread clean newspapers over the greasy table,
scoured two knives and a pair of three-tined forks with clean white sand
from the beach, and set out two very thick plates, one cup and a saucer.
After that, she washed the teapot and found Old Captain's caddy of
strong green tea. Then she picked up a basket of bits of snowy driftwood
from the beach--such clean, smooth pieces that it seemed a pity to burn
them, yet nothing made a more pleasing fire.
Presently Old Captain returned with Jeanne's suitcase. With him was a
breathless boy who had found it difficult to keep up with the Captain's
long stride. The boy's basket contained bread, butter, eggs, and a piece
of round steak. Also there was a bundle containing a brand-new sheet and
pillow-case.
"Them thar's a present for _you_," explained Old Captain. "They was
somethin' the matter with the towels--had _glue_ in 'em, I guess. Stiff
as a board, anyhow. But your paw left some in his room--"
"Where _is_ my--"
"Now, I'm _cookin'_," returned Old Captain, hastily. "_When_ I'm
cookin', I ain't answerin' no questions. I'm _askin'_ 'em. You can tell
me how you got here and what started ye--I'm dyin' to hear all about it.
But you can't ask no questions. And just remember this. I'm darn
glad--hum--_real_ glad you come. This here's a lonesome place with no
children runnin' 'round; and I'm mighty glad to hear somethin'
twitterin' besides them swallows, so just twitter away. First of all,
who brung you?"
In spite of her dismay at Mollie's illness, in spite of her keen
disappointment regarding the missing children, in spite of her
bewilderment and her growing fear concerning her strangely absent
father, Jeanne was conscious of a warm glow of happiness. Even if
_everybody_ had been gone, the Cinder Pond, more beautiful than ever,
would still have been _home_.
But Old Captain's hearty welcome, and, more than all, the kindliness
that seemed to radiate from his broad, ruddy face, seemed to enfold her
like a warm, woolly bathrobe. The Captain was rough and uncultured; but
you couldn't look at him without knowing that he was _good_.
Supper was a bit late that night. Jeanne, very neat in her brown poplin
dress, Old Captain, very comfortable in his faded shirt-sleeves, ate it
by lamplight at the Captain's small, square table. Truly an oddly
contrasted pair. But in spite of the fact that the Captain's heart was
much better than his table manners, Jeanne was able to eat enough for
_two_ small girls.
After supper, the Captain lighted a big lantern, collected his tools,
and trudged down the cindery road to the Duval corner of the old wharf.
Presently Jeanne, who was clearing away after the meal, heard the sound
of hammering and the "squawk" of nails being pulled from wood--noises
travel far, over water that is quiet. When she had washed and dried the
dishes, she followed Old Captain.
"Thought ye'd come, too, did ye! Well, she's all opened up. You'd best
take your father's room--for tonight, anyway. It ain't been disturbed
since--hum! The blankets is all right, I guess. There's a bolt on the
door--better lock yourself in. Few boats ever touches here, but one
_might_ come. I'd hate like thunder to have ye kidnapped--wouldn't want
to lose ye so soon. Did you bring along that sheet? Good. I'll leave you
the lamp while I fixes up a bunk in Mollie's part of the house for my
old bones."
The little room seemed full of her father's presence. An old coat hung
behind the door. The little old trunk stood against the wall. On the big
box that served for a table, with a mark to keep the place, was a
library book. Happily, sleepy Jeanne did not think of looking at the
card. If she _had_ looked, she would have learned that the book was long
overdue. Thanks to the big clean lake and the wind-swept wharf, there
was no dust to show how long the place had been untenanted.
The music of the water rippling under the old dock, how sweet it was.
The air that blew in at her open window, how good and how soothing. The
bright stars peeping in through the little square seemed such _friendly_
stars. Even the cold stiffness of the brand-new sheet was not
sufficiently disturbing to keep the tired little girl awake.
She found her breakfast on the Captain's stove. Just in time, for the
fire was out and a bright-eyed chipmunk, perched on the edge of the
frying-pan, was nibbling a bit of fried potato. The Captain had
disappeared. Jeanne didn't guess that he had purposely fled.
"There's so much to do," said Jeanne, eying the Captain's grimy
teakettle, after she had finished her breakfast, "that I don't know
where to begin. If I could find my old pink dress--I know what I'll do,
I'll _buy_ something and make me a great big apron. Even my everyday
clothes are too good for a working lady. But first, I guess I'll clean
the room Old Captain slept in. Mollie kept a lot of old stuff that ought
to be thrown away. I hope there aren't any rats. And I _must_ remember
to mail the letter that I wrote to my grandfather just before I got to
Chicago. It's still in my work-box. I think some fresh hay would be nice
for the Captain's bunk. There's a lot of long grass on top of the
bank--perhaps I can cut some of that and dry it. I used to love to do
that. I could make fresh pillows, too. But I _must_ have something to
work in."
A very ragged blue cotton shirt of Old Captain's was finally pressed
into service. Of course it was much too big, but Jeanne tied up the
flopping sleeves with bits of twine; found the Captain's broom, and
marched down the dock.
The morning was gone by the time Old Captain's new room was cleared of
rubbish. Jeanne, clad mostly in the old blue shirt, dumped it into the
lake. Once her work had been interrupted by an old man who wanted to buy
a fish. Jeanne, giggling at a sudden amusing thought, trotted down the
dock to sell it to him from the end of the Captain's car. The business
now was mostly a wholesale one; but neither Jeanne nor the customer knew
that, so the fish were ungrudgingly displayed.
"Be you the fishman's little girl?" he asked, as Jeanne weighed the
trout he had selected.
"I _be_," she returned, gravely. But as soon as the customer was out of
earshot, Jeanne's amusing thought became too much for her.
"If Aunt Agatha could see me now," she giggled, "she'd drop into the
Cinder Pond. And what a splendid splash she'd make! Think of Aunt
Agatha's niece selling a fish! I hope I charged him enough for it. He
looked as if he thought it a good deal."
It _was_ a good deal. The Captain chuckled when she told him about it.
"You'd make money at the business," said he, "but I ain't going to have
_you_ sellin' fish. Besides, we ships most of 'em wholesale, out of
town. They'd been none in that there box if Barney'd been tendin' to
business."