STARTING ADVENTURE
The girls awoke next morning to a day that seemed just made for them.
The air was balmy and unusually cool for that time of the year. The sun
shone brightly and there was not a cloud to spoil the even blue of the
sky.
The boys had agreed to carry their luggage for them down to the dock.
As the latter consisted of a few blankets, with utensils and some other
small and necessary articles wrapped snuggly inside, the burden would
not be great.
They had laid in quite a stock of canned goods, bacon, and other
foodstuffs which they had already stowed away in the _Gem_.
“I hope some tramp doesn’t take it into his head to investigate,” Betty
had said the day before, when they were leaving the little boat. “If
so, we might find ourselves minus provisions.”
“At the worst, we could always buy more,” Mollie had retorted, and the
matter had dropped there.
Since Henry Blackford’s cabin would serve them for ample shelter the
girls had no need for a tent or for tent furnishings. This had, of
course, simplified their preparations considerably.
According to Amy’s brother, there was a good oil stove in the cabin,
also several utensils. However, as the girls had no way of knowing what
condition these utensils were in, they preferred to furnish their own.
It had been arranged the night before that, promptly at seven-thirty
the next morning, Allen was to repair to Betty’s house, Frank Haley to
Mollie’s, Roy to Amy’s. Will Ford was taking down his sister’s luggage.
Although Grace had argued that seven-thirty was an unheard of hour to
start and absolutely unnecessary, considering the short distance they
had to go, she had been ruled down by a majority of three to one.
“It’s always more fun to start early,” Betty had declared, adding: “And
you never know what trouble we may run into. If anything should happen
to the engine it might take some time to get it going again.”
“And we want to get to camp while it’s light enough to do plenty of
exploring,” Mollie had finished, resolutely.
Just the same, Betty, excited and flushed with a sense of adventure,
standing on her front porch waiting for Allen the next morning, was not
at all sure that Grace would be true to her promise.
“If she keeps us waiting this morning----” she began, to break off as
she saw Allen coming at a swift pace up the street.
“Hello,” he called, his eyes lighting up as he spied Betty. “Where did
you get the new togs? My, but you look great!”
“Thanks,” said the Little Captain, demurely, glancing down at the trim
tweed of the knicker suit she had bought in Kayford. “I rather like me,
myself.”
And then they laughed together, merrily and for no particular reason
except that it was the kind of day which seems just made for laughing.
On the way down to the dock where the _Gem_ lay rocking in the gentle
swell from the river, they were still gay. But when they reached
the pier and found that they were the first to arrive, Allen became
suddenly grave.
“Somehow I don’t like the idea of your going to this lonely cabin all
alone,” he said, as, under Betty’s instructions, he disposed of the
small blanket roll in the stern of the _Gem_. “There may be tramps up
there.”
“Yes,” retorted Betty gayly. “And there may be wild elephants too, and
cyclones or maybe an earthquake. Anything may happen, but I’ve a strong
hunch it isn’t going to.”
“Just the same, I’ll feel better when we fellows get up there with you.”
“You’re coming then, Allen?” she asked, quickly. “Do you think you can
leave your horrid old clients long enough?”
“Long enough for week-ends, anyway,” said Allen, with a smile, adding
soberly: “It’s going to be mighty lonesome down here without you.”
“Oh, well, you’ll always have your work,” said Betty, wickedly. It was
not a fair remark at all and she knew it was not. She had seen the boys
and girls coming down the street which led to the dock and a moment
later they were completely surrounded, leaving Allen not one chance to
retort.
Every one was joyful, even Grace--which was unusual at this early
hour--and they got under way amid a bombardment of persiflage from the
boys.
As the motor of the _Gem_ began its rhythmic putt-putt, Roy began to
sing in a far from melodious voice “The Boys They Left Behind Them.”
The others joined in, ending the song in a joyful shout.
Just before they passed out of earshot Allen made a megaphone of his
hands and shouted something which only Betty understood.
“I’ll get even yet,” he yelled, and for answer Betty waved a mocking
hand.
“Now what have you been doing to him?” asked Grace, adding virtuously:
“I think it’s a shame the way you treat that poor boy, Betty Nelson.
You never give him an easy moment. Dancing so much with Frank last
night, for instance. I could see murder in Allen’s eye.”
“Just the same,” remarked Mollie as the _Gem_ gathered speed and they
left the shore further and further behind them, “I notice he always
comes back for more. You must admit, Grace dear, that Betty has a way
with her.”
“Altogether too much so,” said Grace, with a sigh. “When she’s around
none of the rest of us has a chance.”
“Don’t mind me, ladies,” chuckled Betty. “I’m not listening.”
“You don’t have to,” said Mollie, the ever-generous. “You know it
anyway, without our telling you. All the boys are crazy about you----”
“Even Percy Falconer,” murmured Grace, and Betty wrinkled up her pretty
little nose.
“Why spoil a perfect morning by mentioning Percy?” she inquired. “I
should think you’d know better, Gracie.”
Percy Falconer, a native of Deepdale, was a fast and fatuous young
man with more money than brains. He was a dandy with a liking for the
extreme in style, and on several occasions had attempted to ingratiate
himself with Betty. However, Betty had always managed to discourage
his budding attentions, and usually in a manner most discomforting to
Percy. It goes without saying that the youth was a standing joke with
the girls.
“I hear Percy isn’t going with that fast crowd any more,” spoke up
gentle Amy. “Maybe he’s reformed.”
“Well,” remarked Mollie, her nose in the air, “I’ll say he can stand a
good bit of it.”
For a while everything went well with the girls and they were beginning
to see visions of getting to camp in time to cook luncheon when
suddenly something went wrong with the _Gem’s_ engine. It did not go
dead, but there was a queer note in its putt-putting that worried Betty.
As they were passing Triangle Island--one of the many picturesque
islands which dotted the Argono River--Grace suggested that they run
into shore while Mollie and Betty “looked the engine over.”
“Be sure you say Mollie and Betty,” snorted Mollie. “What’s the matter
with your ‘looking the engine over?’”
“I’d feel sorry for the engine,” chuckled Betty, and even Grace joined
in the laugh at her expense.
Having visited the island before, Betty knew the very spot where
conditions were best for landing. This was a little inlet from the
river, deep enough to allow the _Gem_ to come close to shore.
As soon as they came near enough Grace and Amy grasped the overhanging
branches of trees and swung themselves to firm ground, leaving Betty
and Mollie in the boat to do the “dirty work.”
After considerable tinkering Betty announced that they were ready to
start again but so much time had passed in the operation that Amy and
Grace declared they were starving, despite the fact that it was not yet
twelve o’clock.
“This is the best place ever for lunch,” Grace argued. “And we had our
breakfast so early I really think we need something to eat.”
As the girls had thoughtfully brought along a picnic lunch in case
they were not able to reach camp till later in the afternoon, Betty
and Mollie brought it to light and then scrambled nimbly on to shore,
the Little Captain with a rope in her hand with which she intended to
fasten the boat to some sort of mooring.
“It would be a great thing, wouldn’t it,” she said, as she wound the
rope about a stout tree and tied a seamanlike knot in it, “to wake up
and find the _Gem_ sailing out to sea with us marooned on a desert
isle?”
“More thrilling in the movies than in real life,” drawled Grace. “Now
let’s get busy, girls. I’m starved.”
“Oh, not down here,” Betty protested. “I know of a perfect duck of a
place on the other side of the hill up there--flat rock for a table and
everything.”
“But the boat!” protested Amy. “Suppose it should----”
“Now don’t go imagining things,” interrupted Betty, gayly slipping an
arm through Amy’s and drawing her upward. “The _Gem_ couldn’t get away
from her moorings if she tried. Trust your aunt Elizabeth.”
They found the “perfect duck of a place” Betty had mentioned and all
agreed that she had not said half enough for it. There was the great
flat rock surrounded by mossy grass and on the rock they spread their
lunch while they plumped to the soft and yielding ground with signs of
content.
“We’re as alone as though we were at the end of the world,” said Grace,
contentedly munching a sandwich. “I wouldn’t change places with the
King of England just now.”
“I don’t suppose many people come here, except to picnic like us,” said
Amy, and then sat up suddenly as though she had heard something.
Betty made a grab for a glass of crabapple jelly which had almost been
upset by Amy’s sudden motion.
“What’s the matter, Amy?” asked Grace, lazily. “You look like a scared
jack rabbit.”
Amy made a motion for silence.
“I hard a noise,” she said, with an uneasy glance over her shoulder.
“It was like some one stealing through the woods. Oh, girls!”