THE CRUSOES
Plans were on foot for a huge fair and bazaar to be held in aid of the
Associated Charities. Everybody in and around Sandy Cove was interested,
and the fair, which would be held the last week in August, was expected
to eclipse all previous efforts of its kind.
All three of the Fairfields were energetically assisting in the work, and
each was a member of several important committees.
The Barlows, too, were working hard, and the Rolands thought they were
doing so, though somehow they accomplished very little. As the time drew
near for the bazaar to open, Patty grew so excited over the work and had
such a multitude of responsibilities, that she flew around as madly as
when she was preparing for the play at school.
"But I'm perfectly well, now," she said to her father when he
remonstrated with her, "and I don't mind how hard I work as long as I
haven't lessons to study at the same time."
Aside from assisting with various booths and tables, Patty had charge of
a gypsy encampment, which she spared no pains to make as gay and
interesting as possible.
The "Romany Rest" she called the little enclosure which was to represent
the gypsies'home, and Patty not only superintended the furnishing and
arranging of the place, but also directed the details of the costumes
which were to be worn by the young people who were to represent gypsies.
The Fairfields' house was filled with guests who had come down for the
fair.
Patty had invited Elise and Roger Farrington, and Bertha and Winthrop
Warner. Mr. Hepworth and Kenneth Harper were there, too, and the merry
crowd of young people worked zealously in their endeavours to assist
Patty and Nan.
Mr. Hepworth, of course, was especially helpful in arranging the gypsy
encampment, and designing the picturesque costumes for the girls and
young men who were to act as gypsies. The white blouses with gay-coloured
scarfs and broad sombreros were beautiful to look at, even if, as Patty
said, they were more like Spanish fandangoes than like any gypsy garments
she had ever seen.
"Don't expose your ignorance, my child," said Mr. Hepworth, smiling at
her. "A Romany is not an ordinary gypsy and is always clothed in this
particular kind of garb."
"Then that's all that's necessary," said Patty. "I bow to your superior
judgment, and I feel sure that all the patrons of the fair will spend
most of their time at the 'Romany Rest.'"
The day on which the fair was to open was a busy one, and everybody was
up betimes, getting ready for the grand event.
A fancy dress parade was to be one of the features of the first evening,
and as a prize was offered for the cleverest costume, all of the
contestants were carefully guarding the secret of the characters their
costumes would represent. Although Roger had given no hint of what his
costume was to be, he calmly announced that he knew it would take the
prize. The others laughed, thinking this a jest, and Patty was of a
private opinion that probably Mr. Hepworth's costume would be cleverer
than Roger's, as the artist had most original and ingenious ideas.
The fair was to open at three in the afternoon, and soon after twelve
o'clock Patty rushed into the house looking for somebody to send on an
errand. She found no one about but Bertha Warner, who was hastily putting
some finishing touches to her own gypsy dress.
"That's almost finished, isn't it, Bertha?" began Patty breathlessly.
"Yes; why? Can I help you in any way?"
"Indeed you can, if you will. I have to go over to Black Island for some
goldenrod. It doesn't grow anywhere else as early, at least I can't find
any. I've hunted all over for somebody to send, but the boys are all so
busy, and so I'm just going myself. I wish you'd come along and help me
row. It's ever so much quicker to go across in a boat and get it there,
than to drive out into the country for it."
"Of course I will," said Bertha, "but will there be time?"
"Yes, if we scoot right along."
The girls flew down to the dock, jumped into a small rowboat and began to
row briskly over to Black Island. It was not very far, and they soon
reached it. They scrambled out, pulled the boat well up onto the beach,
and went after the flowers.
Sure enough, as Patty had said, there was a luxuriant growth of goldenrod
in many parts of the island. Patty had brought a pair of garden shears,
and by setting to work vigorously, they soon had as much as they could
carry.
"There," said Patty, triumphantly, as she tied up two great sheaves, "I
believe we gathered that quicker than if we had brought some boys along
to help. Now let's skip for home."
The island was not very large, but in their search for the flowers they
had wandered farther than they thought.
"It's nearly one o'clock," said Patty, looking at her watch, and carrying
their heavy cargo of golden flowers, they hastened back to where they had
left their boat.
But no boat was there.
"Oh, Bertha," cried Patty, "the boat has drifted away!"
"Oh, pshaw," said Bertha, "I don't believe it. We pulled it ever so far
up on the sand."
"Well, then, where is it?"
"Why, I believe Winthrop or Kenneth or somebody came over and pulled it
away, just to tease us. I believe they're around the corner waiting for
us now."
Patty tried to take this view of it, but she felt a strange sinking of
her heart, for it wasn't like Kenneth to play a practical joke, and she
didn't think Winthrop would, either.
Laying down her bundle of flowers, Bertha ran around the end of the
island, fully expecting to see her brother's laughing face.
But there was no one to be seen, and no sign of the boat.
Then Bertha became alarmed, and the two girls looked at each other in
dismay.
"Look off there," cried Patty, suddenly, pointing out on the water.
Far away they saw an empty boat dancing along in the sunlight!
Bertha began to cry, and though Patty felt like it, it seemed really too
babyish, and she said, "Don't be a goose, Bertha, we're not lost on a
desert island, and of course somebody will come after us, anyway."
But Patty was worried more than she would admit. For no one knew where
they had gone, and the empty boat was drifting away from Sandy Cove
instead of toward it.
At first, the girls were buoyed up by the excitement of the situation,
and felt that somebody must find them shortly. But no other boat was in
sight, and as Patty said, everybody was getting ready for the fair and no
one was likely to go out rowing that day.
One o'clock came, and then half-past one, and though the girls had tried
to invent some way out of their difficulty they couldn't think of a thing
to do, but sit still and wait. They had tied their handkerchiefs on the
highest bushes of the island, there being no trees, but they well knew
that these tiny white signals were not likely to attract anybody's
attention.
They had shouted until they were hoarse, and they had talked over all the
possibilities of the case.
"Of course they have missed us by this time," said Patty, "and of course
they are looking for us."
"I don't believe they are," said Bertha disconsolately, "because all the
people at the house will think we're down at the fair grounds, and all
the people there will think we're up at the house."
"That's so," Patty admitted, for she well knew how everybody was
concerned with his or her own work for the fair, and how little thought
they would be giving to one another at this particular time.
And yet, though Patty would not mention it, and would scarcely admit the
thought to herself, she couldn't help feeling sure that Mr. Hepworth
would be wondering where she was.
"The only hope is," she said to Bertha, "if somebody should want to see
me especially, about some of the work, and should try to hunt me up."
"Well," said Bertha, "even if they did, it never would occur to them that
we are over here."
"No, they'd never think of that; even if they do miss us, and try to hunt
for us. They'll only telephone to different houses, or something like
that. It will never occur to them that we're over here, and why should
it?"
"I'm glad I came with you," said Bertha, affectionately. "I should hate
to think of you over here all alone."
"If I were here alone," said Patty, laughing, "you wouldn't be thinking
of me as here alone. You'd just be wondering where I was."
"So I would," said Bertha, laughing, too; "but oh, Patty, do let's do
_something!_ It's fearful to sit here helpless like this."
"I know it," said Patty, "but what can we do? We're just like Robinson
Crusoe and his man Friday, except that we haven't any goat."
"No, and we haven't any raft, from which to select that array of useful
articles that he had at his disposal. Do you remember the little bag,
that always held everything that could possibly be required?"
"Oh, that was in 'Swiss Family Robinson,'" said Patty; "your early
education is getting mixed up. I hope being cast on a desert island
hasn't affected your brain. I don't want to be over here with a lunatic."
"You will be, if this keeps up much longer," said poor Bertha, who was of
an emotional nature, and was bravely trying hard not to cry.
"We might make a fire," said Patty, "if we only had some paper and
matches."
"I don't know what good a fire would do. Nobody would think that meant
anything especial. I wish we could put up a bigger signal of some sort."
"We haven't any bigger signal, and if we had, we haven't any way of
raising it any higher than these silly low bushes. I never saw an island
so poorly furnished for the accommodation of two young lady Crusoes."
"I never did, either. I'm going to shout again."
"Do, if it amuses you, but truly they can't hear you. It's too far."
"What do you think will happen, Patty? Do you suppose we'll have to stay
here all night?"
"I don't know," said Patty, slowly. "Of course when it's time for the
fair to open, and we're not there, they'll miss us; and of course papa
will begin a search at once. But the trouble is, Bertha, they'll never
think of searching over here. They'll look in every other direction, but
they'll never dream that we came out in the boat."
So the girls sat and waited, growing more and more down-hearted, with
that peculiar despondency which accompanies enforced idleness in a
desperate situation.
"Look!" cried Patty, suddenly, and startled, Bertha looked where Patty
pointed.
Yes, surely, a boat had put out from the shore, and was coming toward
them. At least it was headed for the island, though not directly toward
where they sat.
"They're going to land farther down," cried Patty, excitedly, "come on,
Bertha."
The two girls rushed along the narrow rough beach, wildly waving their
handkerchiefs at the occupants of the boat.
"It's Mr. Hepworth," cried Patty, though the knowledge seemed to come to
her intuitively, even before she recognised the man who held the stroke
oar.
"And Winthrop is rowing, too," said Bertha, recognising her brother, "and
I think that's Kenneth Harper, steering."
By this time the boat was near enough to prove that these surmises were
correct.
Relieved of her anxiety, mischievous Patty, in the reaction of the
moment, assumed a saucy and indifferent air, and as the boat crunched its
keel along the pebbly beach she called out, gaily, "How do you do, are
you coming to call on us? We're camping here for the summer."
"You little rascals!" cried Winthrop Warner. "What do you mean by running
away in this fashion, and upsetting the whole bazaar, and driving all
your friends crazy with anxiety about you?"
"Our boat drifted away," said Bertha, "and we couldn't catch it, and we
thought we'd have to stay here all night."
"I didn't think we would," said Patty. "I felt sure somebody would come
after us."
"I don't know why you thought so," said Winthrop, "for nobody knew where
you were."
"I know that," said Patty, smiling, "and yet I can't tell you why, but I
just felt sure that somebody would come in a boat, and carry us safely
home."
"Whom did you expect?" asked Kenneth, "me?"
Patty looked at Kenneth, and then at Mr. Hepworth, and then dropping her
eyes demurely, she said:
"I didn't know _who_ would come, only I just knew _somebody_ would."
"Well, somebody did," said Kenneth, as he stowed the great bunches of
goldenrod in the bow of the boat.
"Yes, somebody did," said Patty, softly, flashing a tiny smile at Mr.
Hepworth, who said nothing, but he smiled a little, too, as he bent to
his oars.