The Troubled Whale
MR. BLACK, his fine dark eyes sparkling with pleasure; his crisp hair,
plentifully sprinkled with white, standing upright from his broad,
benevolent brow, looked with approval at his party as he packed his
merry guests very carefully into his big touring car.
Jean, who was tall and not particularly wide for her fourteen and a
half years, was attractive because of the serene loveliness of her
expression; one knew at a glance that she was a _good_ child. One
guessed, just as quickly, that Henrietta was sometimes naughty, for
an impish light danced in her long-lashed black eyes and there was a
mischievous dimple in the dusky crimson of her cheek. Next to Jean in
height and age, she seemed older and yet less responsible--one couldn't
be quite sure of spirited Henrietta Bedford.
Marjory, two years younger, was both short and narrow for her age; and
so very fair that one had to guess at her eyebrows. But she, too,
was a pretty child, for her small features were pleasing and her pale
golden hair was quite wonderful. Like Henrietta, she was quick and
graceful in all her movements.
Bettie, also between twelve and thirteen, was now mostly eyes; big,
velvety brown ones that played pranks with one's heart-strings;
particularly with those of Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane. She had lost all
her short, curly brown hair during her illness; it was now coming in,
shorter and curlier than ever.
Mabel, the youngest of the group, was also the broadest. But her
undeniable plumpness did not detract from her looks. One couldn't
help liking her honest brown eyes, the wholesome red and white of her
rounded countenance, her sturdy, childlike figure, and the rich bronze
of her abundant--and frequently untidy--hair.
Mrs. Crane, brown as to skin, black as to eyes, stout, elderly, and
warm-hearted, was very like her brother, except that she sometimes
worried. Mr. Black never did.
Finally all these good people, with a coat or sweater for each girl,
with two big hampers of food from Mr. Black's home, with several
baskets of picnic lunch from the other houses, were stowed away in the
capacious car. Mr. Black called his automobile the "Whale," because
once, for a few weeks, it had been driven by Jonah Higginsworth, who,
however, was so frequently cast forth by this modern whale, owing
to dangerously reckless driving, that Mr. Black had been obliged to
discharge him.
"We are seven," said Mr. Black, taking the chauffeur's seat. "I'm going
to drive this car myself; they say the road's a bit rough--isn't used
much. Seven's a good number."
"Eight's better," retorted Henrietta, diving into a silk bag and
dragging forth a queer bundle of mottled fur.
"What's that?" demanded Mr. Black. "I didn't invite anybody like that
to _my_ picnic."
"Just a kitten," explained Henrietta, waving him for all to see. "I
adopted him yesterday, but nobody in our house likes him, so I have to
_wear_ him--he's very tame."
"He looks," laughed Bettie, "just like the pudding Mabel made for me
two weeks ago; purple, yellow, and white, all jumbled together--let's
name him Ambrosial Delight."
"No," objected Henrietta, "he's already named Anthony Fitz-Hubert."
"Because he has fits?" asked Marjory.
"He _doesn't_. Just see how calm he is."
Doctor Bennett, Doctor Tucker, Marjory's Aunty Jane, and all the
mothers stood on the sidewalk to see the merry party started on its
way. Henrietta's dignified little grandmother sat in her carriage.
"Don't worry if we're late," said Mr. Black, turning to this trusting
assemblage and not guessing how very late he was going to be. "The
other end of our road may prove a trifle heavy; the day's so fine that
we're not going to hurry, anyhow. Good-by till you see us again--we'll
take the very best care of all your precious girls. Good-by,
good-by----"
"Just where are you going?" shrieked Aunty Jane, a moment too late.
For the picnic, kitten and all, was already spinning joyously away;
and never was there a happier party. At first the inviting road was all
that road should be, for constant use kept it in excellent condition.
After the first two miles, however, the going was only fair, as it
was necessary to proceed rather slowly because spring rains had
uncovered big boulders that it seemed best to avoid. Also there were
chickens--never had the Whale's way been so beset by loitering hens.
When these had finally been left behind, the Whale came to a pleasant
stretch of country road partly overgrown with short, fragrant grass.
"If it's all like this," said Mrs. Crane, sniffing contentedly, "it
won't take long to travel seventeen miles."
Unfortunately, it wasn't like that for any great distance. Soon the
Whale was panting laboriously up a long, stony hill; down which
a foolish little creek that had strayed from its proper bed was
meandering aimlessly but with most disastrous results. It had made
deep, jagged, treacherous furrows that had to be skilfully avoided; so
it took considerable time to climb the damaged hill. After that, the
road was sandy.
The sand in northern Michigan seems sandier than any other sand. Mr.
Black was certain that it was at least a mile deep along that dreadful
road, skirted by a dreary stretch of small poplars. But far ahead, this
dauntless man could see the beckoning green of lofty trees--he fixed
hopeful eyes on that and coaxed the groaning Whale to nobler efforts.
Where the sand was deepest, everybody but Bettie and Mr. Black got
out and walked--or waded along the dusty roadside; and sometimes they
pushed the Whale when that weary leviathan threatened to stick. At
length, however, the dusty car lurched heavily into the grateful shade
of a fine forest road, carpeted smoothly with pine needles and the
decaying leaves of oak, maple, and elm trees, whose branches, green and
lovely with spring foliage, met overhead.
"Oh," breathed Bettie, lying back luxuriously among her cushions,
"isn't this just beautiful!"
"Let's go slowly," pleaded Mrs. Crane. "It's years since I've seen such
woods. I declare! I'd like to stay right here."
"I guess the mosquitoes 'd be glad to have you," said Mr. Black. "Are
all those girls aboard? They won't need to do any walking as long as
this lasts--it was _made_ for the Whale!"
Unfortunately, the beautifully smooth ground stretched before them for
only a few precious moments, though the forest itself grew wilder and
more interesting at every turn of the wheels. After a time, the road
began to dip steadily downward. Presently the Whale was sliding over
clay, pushing through deep, clinging mire, splashing through puddles of
stagnant water, or bumping over stretches of half-submerged corduroy.
"Peter," said Mrs. Crane, rather nervously, when her patient, elderly
brother had climbed out for the fourth time to pull long ropes of
tangled weeds out of the wheels, "don't you think we'd better give up
and turn back? It's getting worse and worse."
"No," returned Mr. Black, "I don't. I started out to look at that land
and I'm going to find it. Besides, Timothy Burbank drove over this road
this spring and he says it's open all the way to Barclay's Point--my
place is a mile this side of Barclay's."
"But Timothy rode in a buckboard."
"He said he guessed the Whale could make it and I've no reason to doubt
his word. Anyhow, we're going on--we're so muddy now that a little more
won't hurt us; and there's one comfort; there are no steep precipices
on this road for us to tumble from."
It was fortunate, too, that Mr. Black carried a hatchet, because
several times it became necessary to chop fallen trees--luckily they
were small ones--out of the road; and once it was necessary to repair a
broken bridge; but the girls, who helped with that, thoroughly enjoyed
the task. Occasionally, the Whale was obliged to ford a certain small
river that crossed the road an astonishing number of times. Also, with
increasing frequency, Mr. Black was obliged to crawl under the car to
see what was the matter with the machinery; but, on the whole, the
Whale behaved surprisingly well.
Presently the road which, up to that moment, had stretched mainly
toward the north, turned sharply toward the east.
"Ah!" breathed Mr. Black, with a deep sigh of satisfaction. "Timothy
says our place is just three miles from this turn. Does anybody want to
go back _now_?"
Nobody did, so the Whale pushed on; and, wonder of wonders! For a whole
delightful mile the road was good, alluringly good. The big car fairly
pranced with pleasure, and all the passengers settled back comfortably
against the cushions. But after that one deceiving mile! Never was
there a more discouraging stretch of road--if it _were_ road. Sunken
boulders, slime-covered water, deep black mud, rotting corduroy,
jutting logs, weed-grown swamp. The Whale's passengers were jounced and
jolted, spattered and scratched. Low-growing branches slapped their
faces and reached maliciously for unguarded tresses. Altogether, this
final two miles of wilderness surpassed all the rest--suppose there
were no bottom to that mud! Even Henrietta was too frightened for
speech.
Finally the Whale, with a last despairing gasp that died away to an
alarming silence, refused to go a single inch farther.
"It's all out for everybody," said Mr. Black, who now looked as
concerned as the others. "Something's given out--it's not surprising."
"But," objected Mrs. Crane, "how are we to get home?"
"Hush, woman," returned Mr. Black, whimsically, "folks on their way
_to_ a picnic don't talk about going home. Let's get there first."
"Why!" cried light-footed Marjory, who had darted ahead and back again
with her news, "we're out of that swamp, anyway. This road goes right
uphill and it's sandy."
"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Black. "That means that we're almost there. Come
back, Marjory, and get your share of the load; everybody must carry
something. Bettie, can you walk half a mile if you're helped over the
rough places?"
"A whole mile if I have to--I'm not tired."
"The air," remarked Jean, sniffing curiously, when the party had
reached the top of the brief ascent, "smells different. My! Isn't it
good! I feel it way down inside of me."
"It's the lake," explained Mr. Black. "In less than ten minutes you're
going to see something."
The prediction proved true. In a very few moments the road branched,
the right fork led them north, then swerved again toward the east, the
forest stopped with a suddenness that was startling, and the picnic
found itself in a wide, grassy clearing at the very edge of the big,
blue lake. The bigness and the blueness were dazzling. The curved beach
stretched like a broad golden ribbon in either direction.
"This," said Mr. Black, "is the place."
"Oh, Peter!" cried Mrs. Crane, dropping her end of the heaviest hamper.
"How much of it is ours?"
"Every scrap. All that you can see."
"What! Down to that rocky point?"
"Yes, and up the other way to that other rocky point--a whole mile of
shore line."
"And the island off that little projection--is _that_ ours?"
"Every inch of it."
"Why, Peter!"
"Fine, isn't it? We own a river, too--there's the mouth of it down the
shore. What do you think of it all, Sarah?"
"Peter, it's--it's heaven!"
"And uninhabited," declared Mr. Black, supposing that he was speaking
the exact truth, "except for our seven selves."
There was, however, an eighth inhabitant; and a human one at that. But
for the time being no one suspected it.