ROBINSON CRUSOE
A long stretch of white, fine sandy beach, packed hard; an orderly
procession of waves, each one breaking in seething, snowy foam that ran or
crept after a child's bare feet as she skipped back and forth, playing with
them; that was Long Island to Jewel.
Of course there was a village and on its edge a dear, clean old farmhouse
where they all lived, and in whose barn Essex Maid and Star found stables.
Then there were rides every pleasant day, over cool, rolling country, and
woods where one was as liable to find shells as flowers. There were wide,
flat fields of grain, above which the moon sailed at night; each spot had
its attraction, but the beach was the place where Jewel found the greatest
joy; and while Mr. Evringham, in the course of his life, had taken part to
the full in the social activities of a summer resort where men are usually
scarce and proportionately prized, it can be safely said that he now set
out upon the most strenuous vacation of his entire career.
It was his habit in moments of excitement or especial impressiveness to
address his daughter-in-law as "madam," and on the second morning after
their arrival, as she was sitting on the sand, viewing the great
bottle-green rollers that marched unendingly landward, she noticed her
father-in-law and Jewel engaged in deep discussion, where they stood,
between her and the water.
Mr. Evringham had just come to the beach, and the incessant noise of the
waves made eavesdropping impossible; but his gestures and Jewel's replies
roused her curiosity. The child's bathing-suit was dripping, and her pink
toes were submerged by the rising tide, when her grandfather seized her
hand and led her back to where her mother was sitting.
"Madam," he said, "this child mustn't overdo this business. She tells me
she has been splashing about for some time, already."
"And I'm not a bit cold, mother," declared Jewel.
"H'm. Her hands are like frogs' paws, madam. I can see she is a perfect
water-baby and will want to be in the waves continually. She says you are
perfectly willing. Then it is because you are ignorant. She should go in
once a day, madam, once a day."
"Oh, grandpa!" protested Jewel, "not even wade?"
"We'll speak of that later; but put on your bathing-suit once a day only."
Mr. Evringham looked down at the glowing face seriously. Jewel lifted her
wet shoulders and returned his look.
"Put it on in the morning, then, and keep it on all day?" she suggested,
smiling.
"At the proper hour," he went on, "the bathing master is here. Then you
will go in, and your mother, I hope."
"And you, too, grandpa?"
"Yes, and I'll teach you to jump the waves. I taught your father in this
very place when he was your age."
"Oh, goody!" Jewel jumped up and down on the warm sand. "What fun it must
have been to be your little boy!" she added.
Mr. Evringham refrained from looking at his daughter-in-law. He suspected
that she knew better.
"Look at all this white sand," he said. "This was put here for babies like
you to play with. Old ocean is too big a comrade for you."
"I just love the foam," returned the child wistfully, "and, oh, grandpa,"
eagerly, "I tasted of it and it's as _salt_!"
Mr. Evringham smiled, looking at his daughter.
"Yes," said Julia. "Jewel has gone into Lake Michigan once or twice, and I
think she was very much surprised to find that the Atlantic did not taste
the same."
"Sit down here," said Mr. Evringham, "and I'll show you what your father
used to like to do twenty-five years ago."
Jewel sat down, with much interest, and watched the speaker scoop out a
shallow place in the sand and make a ring about it.
"There, do you see these little hoppers?"
Julia was looking on, also. "Aren't they cunning, Jewel?" she exclaimed.
"Exactly like tiny lobsters."
"Only they're white instead of red," replied the child, and her grandfather
smiled and caught one of the semi-transparent creatures.
"Lobsters are green when they're at home," he said. "It's only in our homes
that they turn red."
"Really?"
"Yes. There are a number of things you have to learn, Jewel. The ocean is a
splendid playmate, but rough. That is one of the things for you to
remember."
"But I can wade, can't I? I want to build so many things that the water
runs up into."
"Certainly, you can take off your shoes and stockings when it's warm
enough, as it is this morning, if your mother is willing you should drabble
your skirts; but keep your dress on and then you won't forget yourself."
Jewel leaned toward the speaker affectionately. "Grandpa, you know I'm a
pretty big girl. I'll be nine the first of September."
"Yes, I know that."
"Beside, you're going to be with me all the time," she went on.
"H'm. Well, now see these sand-fleas race."
"Oh, are they sand-fleas? Just wait for Anna Belle." The child reached over
to where the doll was gazing, fascinated, at the advancing, roaring
breakers.
Her boa and plumed hat had evidently been put away from the moths. She wore
a most becoming bathing costume of blue and white, and a coquettish silk
handkerchief was knotted around her head. It was evident that, in common
with some other summer girls, she did not intend to wet her fetching
bathing-suit, and certainly it would be a risk to go into the water wearing
the necklace that now sparkled in the summer sun.
"Come here, dearie, and see the baby lobsters," said Jewel, holding her
child carefully away from her own glistening wetness, and seating her
against Mrs. Evringham's knee.
"If lobsters could hop like this," said Mr. Evringham, "they would be
shooting out of the ocean like dolphins. Now you choose one, Jewel, and
we'll see which wins the race. We're going to place them in the middle of
the ring, and watch which hops first outside the circle."
Jewel chuckled gleefully as she caught one. "Oh, mother, aren't his eyes
funny! He looks as _surprised_ all the time. Now hop, dearie," she added,
as she placed him beside the one Mr. Evringham had set down. "Which do you
guess, Anna Belle? She guesses grandpa's will beat."
"Well, I guess yours, Jewel," said her mother; but scarcely were the words
spoken when Anna Belle's prophecy was proved correct by the airy bound with
which one of the fleas cleared the barrier while Jewel's choice still
remained transfixed. They all laughed except Anna Belle, who only smiled
complacently.
Jewel leaned over her staring protégée. "If I only knew _what_ you were so
surprised at, dearie, I'd explain it to you," she said. Then she gently
pushed the creature, and it sped, tardily, over the border.
They pursued this game until the bathing-suit was dry; then Mr. Evringham
yawned. "Ah, this bright air makes me sleepy. Haven't you something you can
read to us, Julia?"
"Yes, yes," cried Jewel, "she brought the story-book."
"But I didn't realize it would be so noisy. I could never read aloud
against this roaring."
"Oh, we'll go back among the dunes. That's easy," returned Mr. Evringham.
"You don't want to hear one of these little tales, father," said Julia,
flushing.
"Why, he just loves them," replied Jewel earnestly. "I've told them all to
him, and he's just as _interested_."
Mrs. Evringham did not doubt this, and she and the broker exchanged a look
of understanding, but he smiled.
"I'll be very good if you'll let me come," he said. "I forgot the ribbon
bows, but perhaps you'd let me qualify by holding Anna Belle. Run and get
into your clothes, Jewel, and I'll find a nice place by that dune over
yonder."
Fifteen minutes afterward the little party were comfortably ensconced in
the shade of the sand hill whose sparse grasses grew tall about them.
Jewel began pulling on them. "You'll never pull those up," remarked Mr.
Evringham. "I believe their roots go down to China. I've heard so."
"Anna Belle and I will dig sometime and see," replied Jewel, much
interested.
"There are only two stories left," said Mrs. Evringham, who was running
over the pages of the book.
"And let grandpa choose, won't you?" said Jewel.
"Oh, yes," and the somewhat embarrassed author read the remaining titles.
"I choose Robinson Crusoe, of course," announced Mr. Evringham. "This is an
appropriate place to read that. I dare say by stretching our necks a little
we could see his island."
"Well, this story is a true one," said Julia. "It happened to the children
of some friends of mine, who live about fifty miles from Chicago." Then
she began to read as follows:--
ROBINSON CRUSOE
"I guess I shall like Robinson Crusoe, mamma!" exclaimed Johnnie Ford,
rushing into his mother's room after school one day.
"You would be an odd kind of boy if you did not," replied Mrs. Ford, "and
yet you didn't seem much pleased when your father gave you the book on your
birthday."
"Well, I didn't care much about it then, but Fred King says it is the best
story that ever was, and he ought to know; he rides to school in an
automobile. Say, when'll you read it to me? Do it now, won't you?"
"If what?" corrected Mrs. Ford.
"Oh, if you please. You know I always mean it."
"No, dear, I don't think I will. A boy nine years old ought to be able to
read Robinson Crusoe for himself."
Johnnie looked startled, and stood on one leg while he twisted the other
around it.
"If you have a pleasant object to work for, it will make it so much the
easier to study," continued Mrs. Ford, as she handed Johnnie the blue book
with a gold picture pressed into its side.
Johnnie pouted and looked very cross. "It's a regular old trap," he said.
[Illustration: TRUDGING ALONG BEFORE HIM]
"Yes, dear, a trap to catch a student;" and pretty Mrs. Ford's low laugh
was so contagious that Johnnie marched out of the room, fearing he might
smile in sympathy; but he soon found that leaving the room was not
escaping from the fascinating Crusoe. Up to this time Johnnie had never
taken much interest in school-books beyond scribbling on their blank
margins. Was it really worth while, he wondered, "to buckle down" and learn
to read? He knew just enough about the famous Crusoe to make him wish to
learn more, so he finally decided that it was worth while, if only to
impress Chips Wood, his next-door neighbor and playmate, a boy a year
younger than himself, whom Johnnie patronized out of school hours. So he
worked away until at last there came a proud day when he carried the blue
and gold wonder book into Chips' yard, and, seated beside his friend on the
piazza step, began to read aloud the story of Robinson Crusoe. It would be
hard to tell which pair of eyes grew widest and roundest as the tale
unfolded, and when Johnnie, one day, laid the book down, finished, two
sighs of admiration floated away over Mrs. Wood's crocus bed.
"Chips, I'd rather be Robinson Crusoe than a king!" exclaimed Johnnie.
"So would I," responded Chips. "Let's play it."
"But we can't both be Crusoes. Wouldn't you like to be Friday?" asked
Johnnie insinuatingly, "he was so nice and black."
"Ye-yes," hesitated Chips, who had great confidence in Johnnie's judgment,
but whose fancy had been taken by the high cap and leggings in the golden
picture.
"Then I've got a plan," and Johnnie leaned toward his friend's ear and
whispered something under cover of his hand, that opened the younger boy's
eyes wider than ever.
"Now you mustn't tell," added Johnnie aloud, "'cause that wouldn't he like
men a hit. Promise not to, deed and double!"
"Deed and double!" echoed Chips solemnly, for that was a very binding
expression between him and Johnnie.
For several days following this, Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Ford were besieged by
the boys to permit them to earn money; and Mrs. Ford, especially, was
astonished at the way Johnnie worked at clearing up the yard, and such
other jobs as were not beyond his strength; but, inquire as she might into
the motive of all this labor, she could only discover that Chips and
Johnnie wished to buy a hen.
"Have you asked father if you might keep hens?" she inquired of Johnnie,
but he only shook his head mysteriously.
Chips' mother found him equally uncommunicative. She would stand at her
window which overlooked the Fords' back yard, and watch the boys throw
kindling into the shed, or sweep the paths, and wonder greatly in her own
mind. "Bless their little hearts, what can it all be about?" she
questioned, but she could not get at the truth.
Suddenly the children ceased asking for jobs, and announced that they had
all the money they cared for. The day after this announcement was the first
of April. When Mr. Ford came home to dinner that day, he missed Johnnie.
"I suppose some of his schoolmates have persuaded him to stay and share
their lunch," explained Mrs. Ford.
She had scarcely finished speaking when Mrs. Wood came in, inquiring for
Chips. "I have not seen him for two hours," she said, "and I cannot help
feeling a little anxious, for the children have behaved so queerly lately."
"I know," returned Mrs. Ford, beginning to look worried. "Why, do you know,
Johnnie didn't play a trick on one of us this morning. I actually had to
remind him that it was April Fools' Day."
Mr. Ford laughed. "How woe-begone you both look! I think there is a very
simple explanation of the boys' absence. Chips probably went to school to
meet Johnnie, who has persuaded him to stay during the play hour. I will
drive around there on my way to business and send Chips home."
The mothers welcomed this idea warmly; and in a short time Mr. Ford set
out, but upon reaching the school was met with the word that Johnnie had
not been seen there at all that morning. Then it was his turn to look
anxious. He drove about, questioning every one, until he finally obtained a
clue at the meat market where he dealt.
"Your little boy was in here this morning about half past ten, after a ham.
He wouldn't have it charged; said 'twas for himself," said the market-man,
laughing at the remembrance. "He didn't have quite enough money to pay for
it, but I told him I guessed that would be all right, and off they went,
him and the little Wood boy, luggin' that ham most as big as they was."
"Then they were together. Which way did they go?"
"Straight south, I know, 'cause I went to the door and watched 'em. You
haven't lost 'em, have you?"
"I hope not," and Mr. Ford sprang into his buggy, and drove off in the
direction indicated, occasionally stopping to inquire if the children had
been seen. To his great satisfaction he found it easy to trace them, thanks
to the ham; and a little beyond the outskirts of the town he saw a
promising speck ahead of him on the flat, white road. As he drew nearer,
the speck widened and heightened into two little boys trudging along before
him. His heart gave a thankful bound at sight of the dear little legs in
their black stockings and knee breeches, and leaving his buggy by the side
of the road, he walked rapidly forward and caught up with the boys, who
turned and faced him as he approached. Displeased as he was, Mr. Ford could
hardly resist a hearty laugh at the comical appearance of the runaways.
Chips carried the big, heavy ham, and Johnnie was keeping firm hold of a
hen, who stretched her neck and looked very uncomfortable in her quarters
under his arm.
"Why, father!" exclaimed Johnnie, recovering from a short tussle with the
poor hen, "how funny that you should be here."
"No stranger than that you should be here, I think. Where, if I have any
right to ask, are you going?"
"To Lake Michigan," replied Johnnie composedly. "Oh, I do wish this old hen
would keep still!"
"Then you have fifty miles before you," said Mr. Lord.
"Yes, sir," replied Johnnie, "but it would have been a thousand miles to
the ocean, you know."
"Ha, ha, ha!" roared Mr. Ford, mystified, but unable to control himself any
longer at sight of Johnnie and the hen, and patient-faced Chips clutching
the ham.
"I am glad you don't mind, father," said Johnnie. "I thought it would be so
nice for you and mother and Mrs. Wood not to have Chips and me to worry
about any more."
"It was very thoughtful of you," replied Mr. Ford, remembering the anxious
faces at home. "And what are you going to do at Lake Michigan?"
"Take a boat and go away and get wrecked on a desert island, like Robinson
Crusoe," responded Johnnie glibly, at the same time hitching the hen up
higher under his arm.
"And how about Chips?"
"Oh, I'm Man Friday," chirped Chips, his poor little face quite black
enough for the character.
"I am so sorry we had to tell you so soon," said Johnnie. "We were keeping
it a secret until we got to the lake; then we were going to send you a
letter."
Mr. Ford looked gravely into his son's grimy face. It was an honest face,
and Johnnie had always been a truthful boy, and just now seemed only
troubled by the restless behavior of his hen; so the father rightly
concluded that the blue and gold book had captivated him into the belief
that what he and Chips were doing was admirable and heroic.
"What part is the hen going to play?" asked the gentleman. "Is she going to
help stock your island?"
"Oh, no, but we couldn't get along without her, because she's going to lay
eggs along the way."
"Lay eggs?"
"Yes, for our lunch. At first we weren't going to take anything but the
hen, but Chips said he liked ham and eggs better'n anything, so we decided
to take it."
Another pause; then Mr. Ford said: "You both look tired, haven't you had
enough of it? I'm going home now."
"No, no," asserted the boys.
"And have you thought of your mothers, whom you didn't even kiss good-by?"
Johnnie stood on one leg and twisted the other foot around it, after his
manner when troubled.
"I thought you knew, Johnnie, that nothing ever turns out right when you
undertake it without first consulting mother."
"I wish now I'd kissed mine good-by," observed Friday thoughtfully.
"Come, we'll go back together," said Mr. Ford quietly, moving off as he
spoke, "and we will see what Mrs. Wood and mother have to say on the
subject."
Johnnie and Chips followed slowly. "Father," said the former emphatically,
"I can't be happy without being wrecked, and I do hope mother won't
object."
His father made no reply to this, and three quarters of an hour afterward
the children jumped out of the buggy into their mothers' arms, and as they
still clung to their lunch, the ham and the hen came in for a share of the
embracing, which the hen objected to seriously, never having been hugged
before this eventful day.
"Never mind, mother," said Johnnie patronizingly, "father'll tell you all
about it while I go and put Speckle in a safe place." So the boys went, and
Mr. Ford seated himself in an armchair, and related the events of the
afternoon to the ladies, adding some advice as to the manner of making the
boys see the folly of their undertaking.
Mrs. Wood and Chips took tea at the Fords' that evening, and the boys, once
delivered from the necessity of keeping their secret, rattled on
incessantly of their plans; talked so much and so fast, in fact, that their
parents were not obliged to say anything, which was a great convenience, as
they had nothing they wished to say just then. It had been a mild first of
April, and after supper the little company sat out on the piazza for a
time.
"As Johnnie and Chips will be obliged to spend so many nights out of doors
on their way to Lake Michigan, it will be an excellent plan to begin
immediately," said Mr. Ford. "You'll like to spend the night out here, of
course, boys. To be sure, it will be a good deal more comfortable than the
road, still you can judge by it how such a life will suit you."
Johnnie looked at Chips and Chips looked at Johnnie; for the exertions of
the day had served to make the thought of their white beds very inviting;
but Mr. Ford and the ladies talked on different subjects, and took no
notice of them. At last the evening air grew uncomfortably cool, and the
grown people rose to go in.
"Good-night, all," said Mrs. Wood, starting for home.
Chips watched her down to the gate. "Aren't you going to kiss me
good-night?" he called.
"Of course, if you want me to," she answered, turning back, "but you went
away this morning without kissing me, you know." Then she kissed him and
went away; and in all his eight years of life little Man Friday had never
felt so forlorn. Johnnie held up his lips sturdily to bid his father and
mother good-night.
"I think we are going to have a thunder-storm, unseasonable as it will be,"
remarked Mr. Ford pleasantly, standing in the doorway. "Well, I suppose you
won't mind it. Good luck to you, boys!" then the heavy front door closed.
Johnnie had never before realized what a clang it made when it was shut.
The key turned with a squeaking noise, a bolt was pushed with a solid thud;
all the windows came banging down, their locks were made fast, and Johnnie
and Chips felt literally, figuratively, and every other way left out in the
cold.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute; then Chips spoke.
"Your house is splendid and safe, isn't it, Johnnie?"
"Yes, it is."
"I wonder where we'd better lie down," pursued Chips. "I'm sleepy. Let's
play we're Crusoe and Friday now."
"Oh, we can't," responded Johnnie impatiently, "not with so many com--" he
was going to say comforts, but changed his mind.
The night was very dark, not a twinkling star peeped down at the children,
and the naked branches of the climbing roses rattled against the pillars to
which they were nailed, for the wind was rising.
The boys sat down on the steps and Chips edged closer to his companion. "I
think it was queer actions in my mother," he said, "to leave me here
without any shawl or pillow or anything."
A little chill crept over Johnnie's head from sleepiness and cold. "Our
mothers don't care what happens to us," he replied gloomily. The stillness
of the house and the growing lateness of the hour combined to make him feel
that if being wrecked was more uncomfortable than this, he could, after
all, be happy without it.
"What do you think?" broke in the shivering Man Friday. "Mamma says ham
isn't good to eat if it isn't cooked."
"And that's the meanest old hen that ever lived!" returned Crusoe. "She
hasn't laid an egg since I got her."
A distant rumble sounded in the air. "What's that?" asked Chips.
"Well, I should think you'd know that's thunder," replied Johnnie crossly.
"Oh, yes," said little Chips meekly, "and we're going to get wet."
They were both quiet for another minute, while the wind rose and swept by
them.
"I really think, Johnnie," began Chips apologetically, "that I'm not big
enough to be a good Man Friday. I think to-morrow you'd better find
somebody else."
"No, indeed," replied Johnnie feelingly. "I'd rather give up being wrecked
than go off with any one but you. If you give up, I shall."
The rain began to patter down.
"If you don't like to get wet, Chips, I'd just as lieves go and ring the
bell as not," he added.
A sudden sweep of wind nearly tipped the children over, for they had risen,
undecidedly.
"No," called Chips stoutly, to be heard above the blast. "I'll be Friday
till to-morrow." His last word sounded like a shout, for the wind suddenly
died.
"What do you scream so for?" asked Johnnie impatiently; but the storm had
only paused, as it were to get ready, and now approached swiftly, gathering
strength as it came. It swept across the piazza, taking the children's
breath away and bending the tall maple in front of the house with such
sudden fury that a branch snapped off; then the wind died in the distance
with a rushing sound and the breaking tree was illumined by a flash of
lightning.
"I think, Johnnie," said Chips unsteadily, "that God wants us to go in the
house."
A peal of thunder roared. "I've just thought," replied Johnnie, keeping his
balance by clutching the younger boy as tightly as Chips was clinging to
him, "that perhaps it wasn't right for us to run off the way we did,
without getting any advice."
They strove with the wind only a few seconds more, then, with one accord,
struggled to the door where one rang peal after peal at the bell, while the
other pounded sturdily.
Johnnie didn't stop then to wonder how his father could get downstairs to
open the door so quickly. Mrs. Ford, too, seemed to have been waiting for
the pair of heroes, and she took them straight to Johnnie's room, where she
undressed them in silence and rolled them into bed. They said their prayers
and were asleep in two minutes, while the storm howled outside. Then, in
some mysterious way, Mrs. Wood came into the room, and the three parents
stood watching the unconscious children.
"That's the last of one trial with those boys, I'm sure," said Mr. Ford,
laughing, and he was right; for it was years before any one heard either
Johnnie or Chips mention Robinson Crusoe or his Man Friday.