Dry Clothes for Five
INSPIRED by the prospect of candy, Mabel was eager for the campward
trail. This trail was wide and clearly marked near Barclay's, so Mabel
ran gaily ahead; but the others followed closely at her heels--it was
too windy for much lingering on that exposed shore.
Mabel, with just one thought in her head, started heedlessly to run
across the log that spanned the river. If a squirrel hadn't started
at the same moment from the other end, Mabel might have rushed safely
across. But, startled by the sudden, affrighted chattering of the
surprised squirrel, Mabel stopped, staggered, swayed, and began to
clutch wildly for support. She found it in the scarlet necktie of
Henrietta's blouse.
Henrietta, clutched by the throat, as it were, seized Mabel with one
hand and Marjory with the other in order to sustain her own suddenly
disturbed balance. For a moment, all three swayed uncertainly. Then,
there was a mighty splash. All three were gone!
The disturbed river bottom sent up bubbles of mud, a hand, a foot,
then a bedraggled hair ribbon. Mr. Black, followed by courageous
Jean, plunged to the rescue. In a moment, they had all three of the
struggling, half-strangled girls on their feet. As the river bottom was
of the softest of mud, no one was hurt; but the rescuers as well as the
rescued were completely drenched.
"Now, see here, Mabel," said Mr. Black, wiping that subdued young
person's dripping countenance with his own wet handkerchief, "you'll
have this whole camp drowned if you don't look out. After this, you're
to stick to solid earth. I'm in earnest about this, Mabel. You're not
to attempt to cross this log again, unless I'm with you."
"You were here _this_ time," complained the dripping culprit.
"It's a good thing I was. Jean would have had a fine time fishing the
three of you out of that mud. Now, we'll just wade across here where
it isn't so deep--we can't get any wetter than we are--and race home
before we begin to feel cold."
They raced as well as they could, in clinging garments and water-soaked
shoes; but they presented a curious sight as they trailed into the
clearing. Mrs. Crane and Bettie advanced eagerly to greet them.
"Company!" warned Bettie, running ahead. "Two young men that drove up
in a buckboard to spend the day fishing in our river--Mr. Saunders sent
some letters by them. Thought I'd tell you so you could prink a little,
Henrietta--my goodness! What's happened?"
"I've been fishing in the river myself," explained Mr. Black, "and this
is what I caught--three very much speckled trout."
"My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane. "What an awful mess!"
"It's just mud," said Marjory. "A few of us landed head first in
several inches of it. It was Mabel, of course, that pulled us in--she
fell off the big log on the trail to Barclay's."
"Well, you're certainly a sight," laughed Bettie, turning back with her
friends. "I don't know which of you looks worst."
"They _all_ do," groaned Mrs. Crane. "And here was I just telling those
two young men that we had with us as pretty a lot of children as they'd
find in the state!"
The young men, seated on one of the benches, looked at the "pretty
lot of children." Then, throwing back their heads, they laughed
uproariously.
"We knew there were fish in the river," said one of the visitors, "but
we hadn't been told about your mermaids."
"I've caught two lots this spring," said Mr. Black, "but this is my
largest--and, I hope, my last--haul. This sort of fishing is hard on my
limited wardrobe."
"Dear me," said Mrs. Crane, "these shivering scarecrows must get out
of their wet garments at once. Here, Jean, you and Henrietta may dress
in my tent--I'll bring your clothes. And, girls, throw all your wet
garments outside--don't drop them on the blankets."
The visitors declined an invitation to dinner, as they had brought an
ample lunch; but before departing they helped Mrs. Crane stretch a long
clothesline between two trees in the clearing.
"These things _should_ be washed," said Mrs. Crane, fastening the
garments to the line with all the safety pins the camp afforded, "but
we can't use the lake just now and it's a little too far to a place
that is just the right depth in the river."
"Perhaps," suggested Bettie, helpfully, "most of the mud will brush off
when the things are dry."
"The sand will, anyway. I hope those girls can find enough clothes to
put on."
"They have the ones they came in," said Bettie, "and Jean's bundle was
extra large."
The active castaways, clothed in dry garments, spent a busy if not
particularly exciting afternoon exploring the trails that led from
the clearing. They gathered flowers, mushrooms, firewood, birch bark,
moss, ferns, and even a few wild strawberries. Dave, who was mysterious
in his comings and goings, taught them how to make willow whistles and
promised to show them some day how to catch chipmunks.
"I think," said Jean, when the campers had assembled for supper, "that
this camp should have a name. We might call it 'Camp Comfort.'"
"Everybody that _has_ a camp," objected Mr. Black, "calls it that.
Let's have something truly poetic."
"We might," suggested Henrietta, "name it the Black Basin."
"That," demurred Bettie, "seems awfully pirate-y. Bob has a book about
pirates that used to hide in a cave called the 'Black Basin'--I'd be
afraid to go to bed nights in a Black Basin."
"Perhaps," offered Henrietta, "'The Crane's Cove' would sound safer."
"That doesn't work right," protested Marjory, wiggling her small pink
tongue comically. "I'd always be saying 'Crane's Crove.'"
"Besides," said Jean, "that isn't romantic enough. We want something
like 'Lover's Leap,' or 'Breezy Bluff,' or 'River's Rest.'"
Just then Dave approached with an offering for Jean--he had already
given her his best willow whistle and a partridge wing. This time it
was a fine speckled trout, bigger than any that Mr. Black had been able
to hook.
"Where'd you catch him?" asked Mr. Black.
Dave shrugged his shoulders and replied evasively: "Pretty goo' fishin'
groun' here at 'Pete's Patch.'"
"Where's Pete's Patch?" demanded Mr. Black, suspiciously.
"Right here," replied Dave, with a gesture that included Mr. Black's
entire property. "He name after you--Ah name heem maself."
"That's nerve for you," breathed Henrietta.
"Pete's Patch!" murmured Mr. Black, who seemed decidedly taken aback.
"Pete's Patch!"
Then the surprised gentleman caught Bettie's dancing eye and suddenly
choked.
"What a lovely name," teased impish Henrietta. "So romantic! So poetic!
I'm glad I came to Pete's Patch--I think I'll have to write some verses
about it--something like this, for instance:
"If a trout or two you'd catch,
Or of mushrooms like a batch--
If a taste of heaven you'd snatch,
Hie away unto Pete's Patch."
"That's pretty bad," laughed Bettie, "but it goes pretty well with the
name."
Of course the name stuck. Mr. Black tried a number of times to think of
a more suitable or finer sounding name for his beautiful lakeside camp,
but Dave's title was there to stay, so the amused castaways had to make
the best of "Pete's Patch."
"Never mind, Peter," Mrs. Crane would say, "it's a nice place, anyway;
and the name goes very well with our birch-bark stationery."