MINCHIN’S ISLAND.
When Tim had so far recovered from his grief as to present himself for
work again, Minchin’s Island was far astern, and the voyage drawing
rapidly to an end.
Those who were friendly to the boy thought the wisest and kindest
course to pursue was to say nothing about poor Tip; and as those who
were not friendly did not speak of him, Tim got on without giving way
to his grief in public. Captain Pratt seemed to have forgotten his
threat of punishing Tim for venturing on the upper deck, or he may have
thought best to wait till the end of the trip, for he said nothing to
the boy, which was far more kind than he had any idea of being.
At the different landings Tim did not have curiosity enough to look at
the towns, but worked as hard as he could in order to prevent thinking
about poor Tip. Captain Pratt summoned him to the wheel-house several
times, and whenever he went there he felt certain he was to receive the
promised whipping; but he was mistaken, for, after ordering him to do
some trifling work, the captain paid no attention to him.
At about six o’clock on the afternoon of that day the steamer was made
fast to the wharf at Bedlow, and the trip was ended.
After the work of cleaning the cabin was done Mr. Rankin said:
“You can go ashore and see the town, if you want to; but be back by
nine o’clock.”
Tim shook his head; he had no desire to see anything new, since Tip was
not there to enjoy the sights with him, and he crept off to his dirty
berth in the forecastle, where he cried himself to sleep.
On the next morning he succeeded in supplying the captain’s wants at
the table as quickly as that gentleman thought proper, and yet no
mention was made of the events of the previous day.
The steamer was to leave Bedlow on her return trip at noon, and Tim
took no interest in the bustle and excitement on the wharf, save that
each succeeding moment was one less in the time that must elapse before
he saw Tip again.
As the steamer started his spirits rose, and he watched her course
carefully, fretting at the time spent at each landing, content only
when she was going at regular speed toward Minchin’s Island and Tip.
He had formed no plan as to what he should do when he got there. He
knew that Mr. Rankin’s advice that Tip be left there was good, and
should be followed, but he could not make up his mind to do so. Parting
with Tip seemed like parting with a portion of his very life, and
he could not bring himself to say that he would leave this his only
friend, no matter how short the time.
It was nearly nightfall when the steamer neared Minchin’s Island, and
Tim was as far in the bow as he could get on the main-deck, in order
that he might catch the first glimpse of Tip, for he felt sure Bobby
would bring him to the wharf.
At last he could distinctly see the different objects on the wharf,
and his heart sunk when he failed to see any one who at all resembled
Bobby. He looked eagerly among the crowd assembled, and could not even
see one boy, when on the day before there had been at least twenty
there. He was at a loss to account for this cruelty on Bobby’s part. He
knew the dog had been saved, for he had surely seen him held aloft in
Bob’s arms, and a cruel suspicion came into his mind that perhaps the
boy was keeping out of sight with the intention of claiming Tip as his
own.
The boat arrived at the wharf, and was made fast. Not a single boy or
dog could be seen.
Tim’s heart was full to bursting, and as he leaned against the rail he
thought it was not possible for greater trouble to come to him, since
he was denied even a sight of Tip.
Now he would willingly have promised that the dog should remain with
Bobby, if by making such promise he could see and hug him each time the
boat arrived at that place.
So absorbed was he with his grief, caused by what looked very like an
act of perfidy on Bobby’s part, that he failed to notice what several
of the employés on the steamer saw and wondered at. A man had called
Captain Pratt on shore, and was talking to him in such a manner as to
make him angry. So excited was he that he paid no attention to the fact
that the steamer was ready to continue the trip, and that every one
waited for him.
Tim saw nothing of all this; but when the captain called loudly to him
he started, as if he had been caught in wrongdoing.
“Come ashore here!” cried the captain, much as if he was angry with
himself for giving such an order.
Tim walked on to the wharf in a perfect maze of surprise, and when
he went near his employer his wonder was increased by hearing that
gentleman say to the one he had been talking with, “Here’s the boy, and
I wish you joy of him;” and then to see him go quickly on board the
steamer.
Before Tim had time to recover from his surprise the steamer had
started, and as she was leaving the wharf he was almost taken off his
feet by some soft substance that hit him on the legs.
It did not take him many seconds to discover that this substance which
had struck him so suddenly was his own little bob-tailed Tip, and then
he knelt right down on the wharf and hugged him desperately, giving no
heed to anything save the happy fact that he had his pet to himself
once more.
Some time before he had finished hugging and kissing Tip a noisy crowd
of boys emerged from behind one of the freight sheds, where they had
evidently been in hiding, and gave him such a welcome to Minchin’s
Island as he never expected to receive anywhere.
Bobby was among the number, of course, and it was so long before he
could calm himself down sufficiently to explain the meaning of all the
strange occurrences, that Tim was left some time in doubt as to whether
he had really gotten away from the savage Captain Pratt, or if it was
all a pleasant dream, from which he would awake to receive the promised
flogging.
When Bobby did sober down sufficiently to talk understandingly, Tim
learned that, owing to his friend’s pleading and tales of how he had
been abused, Mr. Tucker had promised that he would induce Captain Pratt
to let the boy come ashore at Minchin’s Island, where he should have a
home for a time at least.
Relying on that promise, Bobby had gathered all the boys of the town
together to give Tim a proper welcome, and all had been hidden behind
the shed when the steamer came in, so that the surprise should be as
great as possible. By what means Mr. Tucker had persuaded Captain Pratt
to part with the cabin-boy he was “breaking in” no one knew, and no one
seemed to care, since it had been so successfully accomplished.
When Bobby looked around for his father, to introduce to him the boy
for whom he had done so much, he was nowhere to be seen, and Bobby
said, in apology:
“I s’pose he thought we would want to talk a good deal, an’ so he went
off; but we’ll see him when we get home.”
“But am I really goin’ to live with you?” asked Tim, hardly able to
believe the good-fortune that had come to him so suddenly.
“You’re goin’ to live with me a good while, anyhow, an’ I guess for
all the time; but father didn’t say.” Then, as the boys started up the
wharf, he added, eagerly, “We’re goin’ over to Bill Thompson’s father’s
vessel now. We’ve got some chowder, an’ Bill’s father said we could go
over there an’ have supper; so we’re goin’ to show you one of the best
times you ever had.”
The countenance of all the boys told that some big time was near, and
more especially was that the case with Bill Thompson. By his very
manner he showed that he considered himself of the greatest importance
in that party, and walked on in advance, almost unable to contain
himself because of his excessive dignity. Instead of going up into the
little town, Bill led the way around the shore; and as the boys reached
the headland where Tip had first touched the land of Minchin’s Island,
Bobby pointed to a small fishing schooner that lay at anchor a short
distance from the shore.
Then the other boys began to tell about the supper and the good time
generally, until it was impossible to distinguish one word; but Bill
Thompson walked on in silence, looking neither to the right nor the
left. It was enough for him that he was the one on whom the pleasure
depended, since it was to take place on his father’s vessel, and he
could not lower his dignity by talking.
A dory hauled up on the beach served to convey the party to the
schooner, and once there, Bill Thompson led the way to the cabin, where
every preparation had been made for the feast of welcome.
The table, formed by letting down a shelf from the side of the cabin,
was large enough to accommodate half of the party, and was laid
with every variety of crockery and cutlery such as would be likely
to be found on board a fishing vessel. The only food on the table
was crackers; but a huge pot, which was bubbling and steaming in a
contented sort of way on the stove, told that there was enough to
satisfy the wants of the hungriest boy there.
“Set right down to the table, Tim,” said Bill, unbending from his
dignity a little, “an’ the rest of us will do the work; you’re the
company, you know.”
Tim took the place of honor――the only armchair in the cabin――and was
more than gratified to find that a seat had been placed close beside
him for Tip, who had already jumped on it, sitting there looking as
wise and hungry as a dog could look.
The entire boy portion of the population of Minchin’s Island had worked
hard and earnestly to prepare this feast of welcome, and the result of
their labors was the chowder, which was being served by the means of a
cocoa-nut shell dipper, with a large hole in the side, that somewhat
retarded the progress.
At last all were served, and those who could not find places at the
table were seated on the sides of the berths, on trunks, fishing-tackle,
or any available space, and the feast was begun.
Tip had his share in a saucer, and he ate it in as dignified a manner
as the best-behaved dog could have done.
For several moments all gave their undivided attention to the chowder,
which was not exactly as good as they were accustomed to at home,
but which, being the product of their own labor, tasted better than
anything they had ever eaten before.
Especially to Tim was it good, because of the spirit which prompted
its manufacture, and because it was an evidence of their good-will to
him. Tip rather turned his nose up at it, however. Since his arrival
at Minchin’s Island he had been petted and fed by every boy in town,
thanks to Bobby’s stories of his ability as a bear dog, until now it
required something more than ordinary food to tempt his appetite.
But the feast was not the only way by which the boy who had come
among them was to be honored, as Tim soon found out. A very elaborate
programme had been arranged, and not one single detail was to be
omitted.
Bill Thompson, with his mouth uncomfortably full, arose to his feet in
such a clumsy manner that he upset what remained of Bobby’s chowder,
very much to the disadvantage of the table-cloth and his trousers, and
said, with some hesitation:
“Mr. Babbige, we fellers heard all about you last night from our
esteemed feller-citizen, Mr. Bob Tucker, an’ we wanted to do something
to show you what we thought of you.”
Here Bill stopped to swallow a portion of the cracker that impeded his
speech, and Tim looked around him in blank amazement, not understanding
this portion of the proceedings. Bill continued, in the most serious
manner:
“We knowed what a hard time you was havin’ on the _Pride_, an’ we
wanted to have you come an’ live here, ’cause we thought we should like
you, an’ ’cause you had such a fine dog. This little chowder welcome
ain’t all we’ve got for yer. To-morrer we’re goin’ to take Tip an’ you
out in the woods, an’ we’ve decided that the first bear he kills shall
be skinned, an’ the skin nailed up on Bobby Tucker’s father’s barn,
where everybody can see what your Tip has done.”
At that point Bobby Tucker slyly pinched Tip’s stub tail, and he
uttered such a yelp that the remainder of the company applauded loudly,
thinking he must have understood what was said.
When the noise ceased Bill bowed gracefully to Tip, as an
acknowledgment of his appreciation, and, having swallowed that which
had been in his mouth, was able to speak more plainly.
“Mr. Babbige, we fellers want to ’gratulate you on gettin’ off the
_Pride_, an’ more ’specially on comin’ to this town, where the fellers
will treat you an’ Tip as you ought to be treated. We hope you’ll stay
forever with us, an’ never want to go away. Now, fellers, I say three
cheers for Tip an’ Tim Babbige.”
The cheers were given with a will, causing Tim’s face to turn as red as
a boiled beet, while his confusion was as great as his face was red.
As soon as the noise had died away Bobby was on his feet, ready to
express his opinion on the subject.
“Mr. Tim――I mean Tim――no, Mr. Timothy Babbige,” he began, very
earnestly; but his difficulty in getting the name right so confused him
that he forgot what he was to say next. He cleared his throat until his
voice was as hoarse as an aged frog’s, and yet no words came. Then he
seized a glass of water, drinking it so fast that he gasped and choked
until the tears came into his eyes and his face became as red as Tim’s.
“Mr. Babbige,” he began; but Tim’s big eyes were fixed on him so
pityingly that he was all at sea again so far as words were concerned.
At length, making a desperate effort, he said: “Well, we’re glad to see
you here, Tim, an’ we mean to make it jest as lively for you as we know
how.”
Then Bobby sat down, very much ashamed that he had made such a failure;
but when the boys cheered him as loudly as they had Bill he began to
think it was quite a speech after all.
Every one now looked expectantly at Tim, and he knew he was obliged
to make some reply. He gazed at Tip, and Tip gazed at him; but no
inspiration came from that source, and he stood up in a desperate way,
feeling that as a rule he had rather go hungry than pay such a price
for a supper.
“Fellers,” he said, loudly, believing, if the thing must be done, the
more noise the better, “I want to thank you all for what you did for
Tip when you pulled him out of the water, an’ for what you’ve done for
me. The chowder was splendid――”
Here he was interrupted by loud and continued applause for his delicate
compliment to their skill as cooks, and it was some moments before he
could continue:
“Tip an’ me have had a nice time eatin’ it, an’ we’re a good deal more
glad to be here than you are to have us.”
He could think of nothing more to say, and was about to sit down when
Bobby asked: “What about killin’ the bears?”
“I’d most forgotten about them,” he said, as he straightened himself up
and looked down at Tip with pride. “If you’ve got any bears round here
that wants to be killed, Tip will fix ’em for you; but if you want to
save the skins to nail up on the barn, you must rush in an’ catch Tip
before he chews ’em all up. Why, I saw Tip catch a woodchuck once, an’
before you could say ‘scat’ he’d chewed him awfully. So you’ll have to
be kinder careful of your bears when Tip once gets his eye on ’em.”
That was the end of Tim’s speech, for the applause was so great that
for the next five minutes it would have been useless for any one to try
to make himself heard.
It was very near nine o’clock by the time the formal welcome to Tim was
concluded, and after the cabin had been cleaned Bill Thompson said, as
he wiped the dish-water from his hands, smoothed down his hair, and
made himself presentable for an appearance at home:
“I guess we’d better go now, an’ to-morrer mornin’ we’ll go round back
of Bobby Tucker’s father’s woodshed an’ fix up about the bear-hunt.”
The idea that they were to start the ferocious bear from his lair so
soon caused a fresh burst of enthusiasm, and each one made another and
a personal examination of Tip, until the much-inspected dog came very
near being cross.
It was rather a sleepy party that clambered over the side of the
schooner that night; but it was a party that had the most absolute
faith in Tip Babbige’s ability to kill all the bears on the island.