THE PICNIC TO BOOTHBAY
“This is certainly one wonderful time to me,” remarked Virgie to
Isabel. “Lobster and clams on Tuesday, either a trip or something
going on every minute since, and now this picnic to the boys’
island. I have to shake myself sometimes and say ‘remember the
Maine’ or something for fear I’ll get spoiled. And G. G. G. G. again
next year!”
“Explain your abbreviations; something to do with Greycliff, I
suppose.”
“Yes; Greycliff Gay, Grand and Glorious. Won’t we be in fine trim
for the sports there? We girls never half appreciated our privileges
there.”
“It takes camp life to wake us up, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Then, of course, there are so many other things that you have
to do at school.”
“A few lessons, for instance.”
“And I have too much sense to tire myself out on athletics and not
get those lessons. I say to myself every so often ‘Virginia Hope,
here is your chance to learn something; don’t miss it!’”
“Miss Randolph has the right idea. Do you remember how she says to
us once in a while ‘Take the hard courses, girls. Make your minds
work and you will never regret it’?”
“I’m going to have school and a little athletics during the year,
and camp in the summer, with lots of it, if I can, after this.”
About ten o’clock the girls started for Boothbay. As this was a very
popular picnic, held annually, nobody but a few councillors remained
at home. The boats went down the river with the girls singing as
usual, the weather propitious, young hearts gay.
“Shall we have a visit with Campbell, Hilary?” asked June, who had
been quite taken with the young man.
Lilian glanced roguishly at Hilary, who had replied soberly to June.
“Yes, perhaps so, but I think that he will be quite busy with the
entertaining and all.”
“Probably he will have a few minutes for you and Hilary, June,” said
Lilian. June perceived that there was some undercurrent of mischief,
but not understanding just what, subsided.
“I wish Philip were here,” said Hilary, “don’t you, Lilian?”
“Cathalina’s the one who would wish so the most,” said June,
“because he’s her brother.”
“Can’t the rest of us like him too?” asked Hilary, who was rather
regretting her blunt retort to Lilian’s teasing.
“O, yes; we all couldn’t help liking Philip, but sisters, of course,
are nearest.”
At this the girls smiled and Cathalina said, “I forgot to tell you
all about my letter from Philip. I read it in a hurry just before we
left. Somebody must have brought up some mail late last night,
because I looked just before we went to our klondike and there was
nothing for any of us in the box. He wrote that he met Lilian’s
brother in New York the other day. They just happened to be at lunch
at the same place and were eating away without knowing each other,
when in walked Judge North, and sat down by Dick, saying that he
found he could get away from somewhere after all. Then he spied
Philip and Philip saw him. They had met at Rochester, you know. Dick
is reading law with his father, isn’t he, Lilian?”
“Yes. Our families seem to meet by chance, don’t they?”
“Philip said that he is a fine fellow. He took Dick and the Judge
out home later for dinner, and Father and the Judge had a great talk
over the war, politics, business and everything. I say ‘Dick’ as if
I knew your brother, Lilian, but Philip called him that in the
letter and I have heard you speak of him so for so long. I wouldn’t
think of addressing him so familiarly.”
“We have been trying to call him ‘Richard’ lately, since he is so
grown up, but can’t remember to do it.”
“‘Richard’ is prettier,—‘Richard North’,” commented Cathalina.
“Dick wrote me a little scribble, too,” said Lilian. “I was so
surprised, because I rarely hear from him. We get news of each other
through Mother, of course. He said that next to Mother, Mrs. Van
Buskirk was the most lovely woman he ever met.”
Cathalina looked pleased at this. “O, isn’t that nice? and that he
is so loyal to his own mother, too.”
“You must meet our mother, Cathalina, and it would be nice if they
knew each other.” Lilian did not mention that she, too, had heard
from Philip. She intended to tell both Cathalina and Hilary, who was
now her closest friend, but the conversation in the pine grove, and
the letters, were just her own now.
“Here we are at Boothbay. I believe that Thorn Island is the name of
the boys’ island. We are going around to the other dock, aren’t we?
These are certainly high rocks. What a great old river the Kennebec
is! Where’s our little Canadian warbler?—O, Betty!”
Betty had been sitting up in front with Marion and Frances, but
joined Cathalina as soon as they landed.
The boys and their councillors had made great plans for the
entertainment of the girls. The picnic meal was at noon, instead of
the later time when it was celebrated at Merrymeeting. With great
gallantry the boys waited upon the girls, who enjoyed every minute.
The girls had been reminded by their head councillor that morning at
breakfast that they should show their appreciation of the courtesies
offered at Boothbay, and that they should consider how much easier
it always was for the girls to accept attentions than it was for the
younger and shy boys to offer them.
In the afternoon the boys played a “left-hand” game of baseball with
the girls, then staged a regular game, at which the girls rooted
impartially for both teams. There were also some singles and doubles
in tennis, which showed the boys’ skill. It must be admitted that in
athletics the boys are usually ahead. But the girls did not mind
being beaten, even when the boys were compelled to use their left
hands to throw and catch, and the boys admitted that the girls
played well, “for girls”.
Not until after the cafeteria dinner did Campbell have time to visit
with Hilary, on whom, however, he quite often kept an eye. But when
the games were in progress, he came up and asked her to take a
stroll around with him. This singling out of Hilary did not pass
unnoticed by the other girls, and Hilary knew that she might come in
for a good share of teasing from the Merrymeeting company. But so
far there was only good comradeship between Hilary and Campbell, at
least, so far as any expression of feeling was concerned. Both were
quite young, with some school years before them and life purposes to
be worked out.
“O, Campbell,” called June as Hilary and Campbell passed a group of
the younger boys and girls who were playing a game. “Tell me more
about the hunters’ cabin before we go, will you?”
“All I know is what I told you the other day. Ask Jack here. She
wants to hear those smuggler and pirate stories, Jack, that the boys
were telling.”
“O, could you tell me, Jack?”
Jack was a bright-eyed youngster of about fourteen years, who was
usually ashamed to be seen talking to a girl. But in his enforced
position as host it was different. Several of the boys and girls
immediately sat down upon the big rock near to hear or help tell the
story.
“Who told it in the first place, Jack?” asked one of the boys, a
little fellow of some nine years.
“A boy last year was telling the first I ever heard about this
country. I think he made it up, because he told us the awfullest
yarns all the time about ghosts and pirates and everything; but it
was fun to listen, and we all added to it.”
“Come on and tell, Jack.” June was sitting with her elbows on her
knees, her face in her hands, ready to listen in breathless
interest.
“All right. You know that cabin up at Merrymeeting doesn’t look very
old, does it?”
“No. It’s made of shingles, isn’t it? Seems so silly to try to have
a story like that one about it.”
“Well, that wasn’t the original cabin, according to Tom’s story, but
built on the same place where the old smuggler’s cabin stood. And
somewhere around there his treasure is buried, under the cabin, in
the cracks of some of the rocks and ledges, or maybe some tree has
grown over the place. He was a terrible old fellow, a sort of
retired pirate, I guess, and Tom said that the smuggler used to live
along the Kennebec and knew that it would be a good place to hide
his stores and treasures. So he built this cabin, the old one, I
mean. He would be gone for months and then his old boat would come
up the Kennebec in the night when the tide was coming this way from
the sea. And he’d drag old sacks full of something from the boat to
the cabin. He was so fierce looking that everybody was afraid of him
and if any boat was on the river when he came along they’d get out
of the way or hide somewhere till he had passed. Once somebody heard
horrible groaning from his boat,—”
“O, Jack!” It was getting too vivid for June.
“One time some people with some officers went to see what there was
in the cabin, while the old man was away. But they only found the
bunks and some food and an old chest with clothes in it.”
“Perhaps he just had food in the sacks and ate it up while he stayed
at the cabin,” suggested practical June.
“Yes. Perhaps he wasn’t a pirate. And perhaps he was,” said Jack.
“You just listen now. This is what Tom told. One night in a
rainstorm a boy that lived on a farm near the river came to shore in
a canoe, because he couldn’t get home in the wind and bucking the
tide. The waves were just _dashing_ every way by the time he got
into the Merrymeeting Bay, and pretty soon the canoe went plump,
crash, bang, smash, right on the rocks near the cove. But of course
the boy could swim and he kept up a minute or two, when he was
carried back from the rocks by the water, and finally he crawled up
on shore. It was in the days of Indians, and he was afraid of being
found by some of them that were not friendly or had had too much
fire-water, so he got among the bushes first. Then he saw a light in
the cabin, shining through cracks, and crept up, real still, to see
if he dared go in. There he saw the old pirate, or smuggler,
whatever he was, taking jewelry out of the chest. It flashed and
sparkled and the old man chuckled and chortled, as he ran the jewels
through his fingers. They always do that in stories, you know,” and
Jack laughed.
“This is a fine story,” said Jo, while Dot said, “O, I hope he
didn’t kill the boy!” and snuggled closer to June.
“Then the boy made a little noise, accidentally, stepped on a stick
or something, and the old man whisked the things into the chest,
caught up his gun, looked to see if his long knife was at his belt
and ran out. The boy was so scared that he scrambled up on a ledge
and climbed a tree, while the wicked old pirate hunted around, and
growled to himself, and said, ‘Nobuddy’d better come a-spyin’ on me!
Nobuddy’d better come a-spyin’ on me! I’ll give his bones to the
fishes!’”
Jack told this part of the story with relish, while June, Jo and
Dot, with the rest of the little girls, kept big eyes on him and in
imagination sat in the tree with the boy of long ago.
“Did he catch the boy?”
“No; I guess he thought it must have been a bear or some other
animal. He went back into his cabin and barred up the door, and
after a while the boy saw the light go out. It had been shining
through the chinks, you know.”
“What else?”
“Nothin’, except that the boy waited a while and slipped down from
the tree and got away from there as soon as he could. He had an
awful time getting home through the wood, afraid of meeting a bear,
and he didn’t have his gun, of course, had lost his canoe and
everything in it. By good luck he was on the mainland, and walked
home. They used to tramp around so much and so far that I imagine
that wasn’t much to him. We can hike a good distance ourselves, you
know.”
“The Indians really used to come to Merrymeeting, you know,” said
Dot.
“O, yes, and maybe this old smuggler or pirate traded with ’em. But
they say that he buried a lot of treasure up there and that his
ghost was seen hunting around and whispering in a hollow voice,
‘Four from the pine tree, Ten from the ledge, Six grey stones at the
water’s edge!’”
“Whoever made that up,” laughed one of the boys, “got up a good one,
for there are about a million pine trees more or less, and all the
stones along the bay are grey ones, I guess, to say nothing of all
the ledges of rock and stone along there!”
“Four from the pine tree,
Ten from the ledge,
Six grey stones
At the water’s edge.”
“I’ll remember that,” said Dot, “when we start digging!”
“It’s a great yarn,” said Jack.