THE CASTAWAYS OF PETE'S PATCH
_by_
Carroll Watson Rankin
_Illustrated by_
ADA C. WILLIAMSON
_Frontispiece and jacket illustrations
by_ MIRIAM SELSS
How many girls have wished to spend a summer in a real camp on the
shores of a lake, with soft grass, kind to bare feet, comfortable camp
beds of fragrant balsam tips and plenty of real adventure.
Here are our friends of the Dandelion Cottage marooned on a point of
land. Indian boys, a castaway sailor lad, and many other happenings
fill this book full of delight for the girls, who, having read the
earlier volumes of the series, will be glad to meet again these cheery
little lassies of the justly famous Dandelion Cottage Series.
[Illustration: IT SEEMED TO MABEL THAT SHE COULD DETECT A SOUND OF
BREATHING]
Dandelion Series
THE CASTAWAYS OF PETE'S PATCH
(_A Sequel to The Adopting of Rosa Marie_)
BY
CARROLL WATSON RANKIN
Author of "Dandelion Cottage," "The Girls of
Gardenville," etc.
_With Illustrations by_
ADA C. WILLIAMSON
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
August, 1937
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY
THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY
RAHWAY, N. J.
TO
ERNEST AND BERWICK
AND ALL OTHER GOOD CAMPERS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION xi
I. AN INNOCENT PLAN 1
II. THE TROUBLED WHALE 12
III. A PREDICAMENT 24
IV. A NIGHT OUT 36
V. THE MISSING WHALE 49
VI. THE COMING OF DAVE 59
VII. DELIVERED BY DAVE 68
VIII. THE PANGS OF HUNGER 78
IX. AN EXCITING AFTERNOON 87
X. A STORMY NIGHT 100
XI. DRY CLOTHES FOR FIVE 110
XII. MABEL'S ASTONISHING DISCOVERY 118
XIII. BREAKING THE NEWS 127
XIV. A MISSING MESSENGER 136
XV. DOCTOR DAVE 147
XVI. A VALUABLE INSECT 158
XVII. THE GAME WARDEN'S VISIT 168
XVIII. THE BOY'S NAME 179
XIX. A BELATED TRAVELER 188
XX. A SURPRISE PARTY 199
XXI. DAVE MAKES HIMSELF USEFUL 213
XXII. A TWISTED CONSCIENCE 225
XXIII. BILLY'S MEMORY 234
XXIV. A MUTUAL FRIEND 241
XXV. A CAPTURED FISHERMAN 252
XXVI. IN FAIRYLAND 264
XXVII. A VISITOR FOR LADDIE 274
XXVIII. BREAKING CAMP 285
THE PERSONS OF THE STORY
BETTIE TUCKER}
JEANIE MAPES } Once of Dandelion Cottage, now
MARJORY VALE } of Pete's Patch.
MABEL BENNETT}
HENRIETTA BEDFORD: Their Chum.
MR. BLACK: A Childless but Fatherly Man.
MRS. CRANE: His Warm-hearted Sister.
DAVE GURNEAU: A Good and Bad Half-breed.
MAHJIGEEZIGOQUA: An Old Acquaintance.
MR. WILLIAM SAUNDERS: Mr. Black's Right-hand.
MISS BLOSSOM: A Timely Visitor.
ROSA MARIE: A Very Young Old Friend.
TERRIBLE TIM: Always to the Point.
BILLY BLUE-EYES: The Most Cast-away of all the Cast-aways.
A Number of Parents and Other Necessary Grown-ups.
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
IT SEEMED TO MABEL THAT SHE COULD DETECT A
SOUND OF BREATHING _Frontispiece_
THE SPACE BEHIND THE LOG WAS ALREADY OCCUPIED 124
SEATED ON THE DRY END WAS A STOUT, PLACID MAN 256
"MOTHER!" HE CRIED. "MOTHER! IT'S MY MOTHER!" 276
INTRODUCTION
WHEN the biggest lake there is chooses to go on one of her very best
rampages, even the bravest of mariners make as speedily as possible for
safe harbors. At midnight, therefore, following a certain blustery day
in early summer, it was not strange that the huge, storm-tossed lake
appeared, for as far as eye could reach, absolutely deserted.
Somewhere, however, on that fearfully tumultuous sea, one direly
threatened craft was still abroad, and, what is a greater marvel, still
afloat. At best, the ancient yawl was but a poor excuse for a ship;
now, at her worst, she was little more than a raft. Driven before the
wind, tossed here and there by the buffeting waves, she carried a
solitary passenger and only a little one at that.
Indeed, he wasn't at all the kind of sailor that one would _expect_ to
find sailing dangerous seas all alone at midnight, for the solitary
mariner, adrift in all that wilderness of tumbling water, was a
twelve-year-old boy.
There was no sail to the little boat--that had been torn away in the
furious gale--but a short, stumpy mast remained. To that the boy,
happily unconscious of his plight, was firmly but rather clumsily bound
by means of many folds of stout fish-net wrapped tightly about his
slender body. Also about his waist hung a battered life-preserver.
The lad had been fastened there by other hands than his own, for
most of the knots were out of his reach. The little chap's head hung
forward; his eyes were closed; he no longer heard the roar of the sea
or felt the cold or suffered from hunger; but in spite of this merciful
oblivion, he still had a life to lose--and was in very grave danger of
losing it.
It isn't fair, of course, to leave a really attractive little lad in a
plight like this; with darkness and an angry sea all about him; with,
seemingly no possible help at hand, since the nearest coast was still
many miles distant and supposedly uninhabited.
Yet, in this truly terrible predicament, this poor boy--strange little
hero of a girls' story--must remain until you've learned just how a
certain "Whale" (you must admit that it isn't usual to find whales near
fresh water) contributed to his rescue.
To discover exactly how it all happened we must go way back to the very
beginning; and the beginning of it all was Bettie.
THE CASTAWAYS OF PETE'S PATCH
CHAPTER I
An Innocent Plan
"THIS," said Bettie Tucker, one morning, with approving glances at the
offerings heaped about her, "is certainly a pretty fine world. I'm glad
I stayed in it, even if I haven't feet enough for eleven pairs of pink
bed socks."
For an alarming number of weeks, Bettie's friends had feared that this
most lovable of little girls might _not_ remain in it; but now that all
danger was past, she was able to sit for long hours by the window that
afforded the best view of the Tuckers' front gate.
Ordinarily it was not much of a gate. So many little Tuckers had
climbed upon it and tumbled off that it had grown shaky as to hinges
and bald as to paint; though, if one used rope enough, it was still
useful as a barrier between the world and the adventuresome Tucker
babies.
But now this gate--or rather this gateway--had become a most
interesting spot. Through it, at delightfully frequent intervals, came
baskets, boxes, and bundles. Most of them contained offerings, more or
less enjoyable, for convalescent Bettie; for all the members of Doctor
Tucker's church loved the gentle, kindly, absent-minded clergyman. Now
that a member of his household was recovering from a serious illness,
it seemed, as Doctor Bennett, the family physician said, as if the
parish were bent on making her ill again by sending her more things to
eat than any one small Bettie-girl could possibly hold. Everything from
soup to dessert flowed in at that gate, for Lakeville was a kindly town
and everybody knew that overworked Mrs. Tucker had quite enough to do
without the extra work of preparing dainty food.
Moreover, to add very seriously to Bettie's danger from promiscuous
donations, Doctor Bennett's own warm-hearted but decidedly
inexperienced young daughter Mabel was laboriously cooking things out
of a large number of cook-books to carry triumphantly or despondently,
according to her degree of success, to her very dearest friend Bettie.
"This," explained Mabel, one morning, displaying a dull purple, most
uninviting object that quivered uncannily when one shook the bowl, "is
'Ambrosial Delight.'"
"Where--where did you get it?" asked Bettie, eying the strange mixture
distrustfully.
"Out of an advertising cook-book that somebody left on our doorstep.
It said 'Ambrosial Delight' under the picture, but someway the pudding
looks--different."
"What makes it such a very queer color?" demanded interested Bettie.
"Grape juice and eggs," explained Mabel, tenderly clasping her
handiwork to her breast. "You see, according to the picture, it ought
to be in even purple and yellow stripes and standing up in a stiff
para--parachute--those things in Egypt----"
"Pyramid. Go on," assisted Bettie, accustomed to Mabel's difficulties
of speech.
"Pyramid, but someway the custard part and the jelly part all ran
together and sat down. But it tastes a lot better than it looks."
"Bettie mustn't eat anything more for two hours," interposed Mrs.
Tucker. "She's just had a big piece of strawberry shortcake. I'll set
this pudding in the ice-box--that'll harden the jelly."
"I'm ever so much obliged," beamed Bettie, suspecting that Mabel would
have enjoyed seeing her eat the "Ambrosial Delight." "It's nice of you
to cook things for me."
"Even if they do turn out wrong most every time," supplemented Mabel.
"Yes, I think it is nice, because I sort of hate to cook anyway, and
everybody in our house just hates to have me. I'm so untidy, they say.
I always have to do it when Bridget isn't looking and it makes me
nervous to have to hurry. Can you think of anything else you'd like me
to make?" continued this martyr. "Because I'd _do_ it, if I had to get
up before daylight."
"I don't know of anything unless somebody invents a dish that will go
right straight to my knees. They wabble. I feel as if I'd like to run a
mile, but by the time I've tottered to the gate I'm glad it isn't more
than a dozen steps. There's your father coming--I'm going to ask him
why my knees wabble so awfully."
Impulsive Mabel, at this news, instinctively scrambled under the bed.
Then, remembering that she had really been pretty good all day, she
sheepishly crawled out, to Bettie's amusement, to greet her surprised
father.
"I'm on my way home," said she.
"So I notice," returned Doctor Bennett, his mouth stern, his eyes
twinkling. "Don't let me detain you."
"I want to know," demanded Bettie, "why I haven't any knees?"
"I think," replied Doctor Bennett, "that we ought to get you outdoors
a great deal more than we do. You're not getting air enough. Where's
your jacket? I'll take you for a drive this minute--I'm going to South
Lakeville by the shore road to see a patient. Think you're good for a
buggy ride?"
"I'm sure of it," laughed Bettie, "but I'm afraid my bones will scratch
all the varnish off your nice bright buggy. I've twice as many ribs as
I used to have--perhaps my knees have turned into ribs!"
Bettie returned an hour later; none the worse for her drive and hungry
enough to eat even Mabel's unsightly pudding, after finishing a large
bowl of broth.
"It tastes fine," she confided to Doctor Bennett, who had insisted on
carrying the slender invalid upstairs, "if you eat it with your eyes
shut. My! I'm hungry as a bear--wasn't it lucky that mother had my
lunch ready?"
"I guess you'll have to have another ride to-morrow," laughed the
pleased doctor. "Fresh air is all the medicine you need--you ought to
_live_ outdoors."
There was danger, however, of Bettie's getting more fresh air than any
one little maid could ever hope to breathe, for, the next morning,
there was an item in Lakeville's daily paper that brought curious and
almost instantaneous results. The paragraph read:
"Miss Bettie Tucker, who has been seriously ill for several
weeks, enjoyed her first outing yesterday."
It wasn't a very big item, Bettie thought, for so momentous an event,
but it was quite large enough for kind-hearted Lakeville. Immediately,
everybody with anything one _could_ ride in wanted to take Bettie
driving. Mr. Black placed his automobile at her disposal. Henrietta
Bedford's grandmother, Mrs. Slater, laid her horses, the grandest of
her carriages, and her only coachman at Bettie's bedroom-slippered
feet; Jean and Marjory laboriously collected sufficient money to hire
a sad old horse, more or less attached to a dilapidated cab, from
the very cheapest livery stable for a whole expensive hour. Nearly
all the members of Doctor Tucker's congregation took turns inviting
Bettie to ride in anything from a buckboard to an omnibus. Even Julius
Muhlhauser, the milkman, insisted on carrying her, in his flaming
scarlet cart, over three-fourths of his milk-route, one morning.
"That," laughed Bettie, after the milkman had delivered her safely at
her own door, "was something different. It isn't everybody who has a
chance to drive down the milky way."
"Are you hungry?" asked her mother, meeting her at the door, with a
bowl of broth.
"Not so very," returned Bettie, nevertheless accepting the broth and
eating it eagerly. "I drank a whole pint of the milk-wagon milk."
Next, all Bettie's friends began to invite the little girl to visit
them. She had to spend whole days or pieces of days with Jean, with
Marjory, with Henrietta, with Mabel (who nursed her so devotedly that
she almost suffered a relapse), and with Mrs. Crane and Mr. Black. But,
as yet, she had not returned to her old footing with her comrades; she
was not yet sufficiently strong for the old rough-and-tumble play, the
happy-go-lucky hours in Dandelion Cottage. She was a new variety of
Bettie, a fragile Bettie, to be handled with the utmost tenderness.
Mr. Black and his stout sister, Mrs. Crane, than whom Bettie had no
stauncher friends, had swung the largest and most gorgeous hammock that
Lakeville could furnish, under their trees for her--they were only
sorry that she couldn't use _two_ hammocks.
"Peter," said Mrs. Crane (they were sitting on the porch to keep an eye
on Bettie, who, in spite of the gorgeousness of her swaying couch, had
fallen asleep), "that child ought to stay outdoors all the time. That
rectory is a stuffy place, crowded up against the church and right in
the smoke of two factories. As soon as she's strong enough to stand it,
she ought to go camping--some place on the lake shore where the air is
pure."
"Of course she ought," agreed Mr. Black, heartily. "It's the best tonic
in the world for growing children--there's nothing like it in bottles."
"Isn't there any way we could manage it? If we only had a camp----"
"We'll have one," promised Mr. Black, promptly.
"But we haven't any land----"
"Yes, we have; a lot of it. About four years ago I bought forty acres
from an Indian, forty more from his brother, and then, just to be
obliging, forty more from his friend, all for a few dollars an acre.
Afterwards somebody suggested that it was all the same forty, but it
wasn't; I looked it up to see. It's seventeen miles from here on the
shore of the biggest and wettest lake there is, with the cleanest,
sweetest air that ever was made. Just the finest spot in the world for
a camp--I saw it once.
"When? Oh, six or seven years ago. I tell you what, Sarah! Suppose we
take a run up there in the automobile and have a look at it. There used
to be a road--it's probably there yet."
"Why couldn't we make a picnic of it and take Bettie and the girls?"
asked good Mrs. Crane, instantly falling in with her brother's plan.
"Seventeen miles is no distance at all for the car--I'm sure Bettie
could stand it because she could get a nap there as well as at home."
"We could," agreed Mr. Black, "and I guess there'd be room for
Henrietta, too--she'll want to go."
"I always did enjoy a picnic," confessed Mrs. Crane, a little
sheepishly. "I guess I haven't quite grown up, in some ways."
"I like 'em myself," owned Mr. Black. "Besides, I've been thinking for
some time that I'd like a look at that land--haven't seen it since I
bought it. This is Monday, isn't it? Suppose we go there day after
to-morrow if the weather stays right--that'll give us a day to cook in.
We'll ask the girls to-night."
So, in this commonplace fashion, was planned the picnic that proved
utterly unlike any picnic that this good, elderly couple had ever
attended; for this particular outing behaved in a most extraordinary
way. Mr. Black supposed that this innocent excursion was his, that
it belonged to him, that it was subservient to his will; instead of
which--but you shall hear what happened.