MRS. BOBSTER’S MYSTERIOUS FRIEND
Rosa Wildwood quickly showed improvement after her arrival at Pleasant
Cove. Under the ministrations of the little old woman who lived in a
shoe the Southern girl could not help feeling a measure of
contentment, if nothing else.
Her hostess was such a cheerful body! And, as Agnes had promised, Rosa
was supplied with good, hearty food—and plenty of it.
There was a glass of warm milk, fresh from the cow, on the stand
beside the head of her little chintz-hung bed every morning when Rosa
awoke. For Mrs. Bobster was up and about by daybreak.
When Rosa came down to the sunlit kitchen, breakfast was ready and the
little old woman who lived in a shoe declared she had all her
“outside” chores done, saving her regular work in her garden.
Rosa sometimes helped about the housework. The doctor had told her
that certain forms of housework would be good for her. But she had to
be very exact and careful in doing the work about the shoe-house, for
Mrs. Bobster was a New England housekeeper of the old school and was
as methodical as Grandfather’s Clock.
The girls from Milton did not neglect Rosa Wildwood. At least, the
Corner House girls and their friends did not. Pearl Harrod and the
girls at Spoondrift Bungalow came with a wagonette and took her
driving. The repairs had been made upon the bungalow and Pearl’s party
was there again—all but the Corner House girls.
Ruth had decided to stick to the tent for the remainder of their stay
at Pleasant Cove. And Willowbend Camp was becoming the liveliest spot
along the entire beach-front.
Ruth and her sisters came after Rosa and took her out in their boat.
The boys who were living at Willowbend, too, took an interest in the
frail Southern girl. For Rosa Wildwood, with the color stealing back
into her cheeks and lips, and her eyes bright again, was a very
attractive girl indeed!
Dot Kenway’s birthday came at this time, and that was the date set for
the Frankfurter Party. Dot’s guesses about the origin and nature of
the hearty and inviting, if not delicate, frankfurter, had delighted
the campers who heard the story; and Dot’s sisters and Neale spent
some time and a good deal of ingenuity in preparing for the festive
occasion.
Rosa came over to the tent colony and helped the girls prepare for the
party. Moreover, she had a secret to impart to Ruth.
“Don’t let the other girls hear, Ruth Kenway,” she said, with much
mystery. “But Mrs. Bobster is the oddest thing!”
“Well! I guess she is,” laughed Ruth. “But she’s _good_.”
“Good as gold,” agreed Rosa. “But she has some funny ways. Of course I
go to bed early. The doctor told me I should.”
“Well?”
“You’d think she’d go to bed early, too, when she’s up so soon in the
morning?”
“Well——I suppose that’s a matter of taste,” Ruth observed.
“Anyway, you know how lonesome it is over there?”
“I guess there are not many people about—after dark.”
“That’s just it!” cried Rosa. “Mrs. Bobster scurries around and does
all her out of doors chores before dark. And she locks and bolts all
the doors. She is really afraid after dark.”
Ruth nodded. She remembered how once the little old woman who lived in
a shoe had spoken to her about being afraid.
“Well, she locks and bolts the doors,” said Rosa, “and then we have
supper and I go to bed. Sometimes, like a good child, I go right to
sleep. Sometimes, like a bad child, I _don’t_.”
“Well—what then?”
“Then I hear Mrs. Bobster talking. She has company. I never hear the
company come in, or go out; but she has it every night.”
“And never says anything about it?”
“Not a word,” said Rosa. “I hinted once or twice that she must have
company every night, and all she said was that she didn’t like sitting
alone.”
“Is it a man or a woman?” asked Ruth.
“I don’t know,” laughed Rosa. “That’s one of the funny things about
it. Although I hear Mrs. Bobster sometimes chattering like a magpie, I
never hear an answer.”
“What?” gasped Ruth, in amazement.
“That’s right,” said Rosa, nodding confidently. “Whoever it is talks
so low that I haven’t heard his, or her, voice yet!”
“A dumb person?” suggested Ruth.
“Maybe. At any rate, I couldn’t tell you for the life of me whether it
is a man or a woman that comes to see the little old woman who lives
in a shoe. Isn’t it odd, Ruth?”
“I should say it was,” admitted Ruth.
“But she treats me well,” sighed Rosa. “I wouldn’t do her any harm for
the world. But I _am_ awfully curious!”
It was this day, too—the day of Dot’s party—that the wooden-legged
clam-digger came along through the Willowbend tent colony again. He
always came to the tent of the Corner House girls when he appeared;
Ruth was a regular customer, for she and her sisters were fond of
shellfish.
“I’ll have fifty to-day, Mr. Kuk,” she said to the saltish individual
when he hailed her from outside the tent. Ruth had learned that his
name was Habakuk Somes; everybody along the beach called him “Kuk,”
and Ruth, to be polite, tagged him with “Mister” in addition.
Tom Jonah appeared and showed his disapproval of the clam man by a
throaty growl. “That thar dawg don’t like me none too well,” said the
clam man. “What d’yeou call him?”
“Tom Jonah.”
“Thet’s enough to sink him,” said the man with a grin. “How’d ye come
ter call him that?”
“It’s his name,” said Ruth. “It was engraved on his collar when he
came to our house in Milton.”
“Oh! then he ain’t allus been your dawg, shipmet?” demanded the man.
“No. He came to us. We don’t know where from. But he is a gentleman,
and he is going to stay with us as long as he will.”
The clam man blinked, and said nothing more. But he cast more than one
glance at Tom Jonah before he went away.
The preparations made for the birthday party included the purchase of
a good many pounds of first quality frankfurters. And when they were
delivered to the Corner House girls’ tent, the fun began.
Tess and Dot were sent away for the morning to play with some of the
children at Enterprise Camp. Then Ruth and Agnes and Rosa and Neale
set to work to make frankfurters into the very funniest looking things
that you could imagine!
With bits of tinsel and colored paper and pins and other small wares,
the young folks set to work. They made frankfurters look like
caricatures of all kinds of beasts and birds, and insects as well. One
was the body of a huge, gaily-winged butterfly. Another was striped
and horned like a worm of ferocious aspect.
They were made into fishes, with tails and fins. Neale made a nest
with several “young” frankfurters poking their heads out for food,
while the mother frankfurter was just poised upon the edge of the
nest, her wings spread to balance her.
There were short-legged frankfurters, with long, flapping ears, like
dachshunds, and long, stiff-legged frankfurters, with abbreviated
tails, and appearing to gambol like lambs. There were several linked
together and apparently creeping about like a species of jointed,
horrid caterpillar.
Then they actually _were_ bunched like bananas! while some grew,
husked, like sweetcorn, and some had the green, fluffy tops of carrots
cunningly fastened to them and were tied together as carrots are
bunched in the market.
Neale’s ingenuity, however, rose to its height when he stretched a
slanting wire across the tent, higher than the partition, and made
several “aeroplanes” with bodies of the succulent sausage, which he
could start at one end of the wire to “fly” to the other end.
The young folks came to Willowbend Camp about five o’clock to enjoy
the festivities. The older Corner House girls, with the help of some
of their friends, served the crowd a hearty supper, the main course of
which was hot frankfurters, prepared by the “frankfurter man” whose
acquaintance Tess and Dot had made.
When the fun was over the guests took the fancy-dressed sausages home
as souvenirs.
Neale and Agnes and Ruth went home with Rosa, for it was a long walk,
and part of the way it was lonely. One of the ladies who had
chaperoned the party remained with Tess and Dot while their sisters
were absent.
The young folk had a pleasant walk, for there was a moon. Coming
finally in sight of the home of the little old woman who lived in a
shoe, Ruth said to Rosa, who walked with her:
“It is a lonely spot, isn’t it?”
“But I never feel afraid. Only I’m curious about Mrs. Bobster’s
friend——There! See it?” she cried, suddenly, but under her breath.
“See what?” Ruth asked.
“The shadow on the curtain,” said Rosa.
At the same moment Agnes said: “Hello! Mrs. Bobster has company.”
There was a lamp lit in the tiny front room of the cottage. Plainly
silhouetted upon the white shade was a man sitting in a chair.
“What! With his hat on?” exclaimed Ruth. “Who can it be?”
“He isn’t very polite, whoever he is,” said Neale.
“Let’s see about it,” suggested Agnes. “Do you know anything about
him, Rosa?”
“I only know she has had a visitor sometimes—after I’m in bed,” said
the Southern girl.
“Come on! let’s go in the side door,” said Agnes, in a low voice.
But when they had tiptoed to the door they found it locked. Rosa
laughed. “I tell you she never leaves a door or window unfastened
after dark,” she said.
They heard the little old woman who lived in a shoe coming to the door
to let them in. But Rosa had to assure her who it was before Mrs.
Bobster unlocked the door.
“But you had company?” said Agnes, rather pertly.
“Eh?” returned Mrs. Bobster, setting the broom behind the hall door.
“Oh, yes! I don’t never kalkerlate ter be alone many evenings.”
“Is he here now?” demanded Neale, laughing.
“Who? _Him?_ No,” said the widow, calmly. “He’s bashful. He went out
jest as you young folks come in. Sit right down, children, an’ I’ll
find a pitcher of milk an’ some cookies.”
The Corner House girls and Rosa—to say nothing of Neale O’Neil—were
amazed. They looked at each other wonderingly as the widow bustled out
to the pantry.
“I’d give a penny,” murmured Rosa Wildwood, “to know who her
mysterious friend is.”