Breaking the News
"I WONDER," said Marjory, who, perched on the edge of the bank, was
shaking the sand from a dried bathing suit, "what's happened to Mabel.
She's running down the beach like mad. And calling! I guess she wants
somebody."
"If _you'd_ keep quiet," suggested Henrietta, "perhaps you could hear
what she says."
"It's 'Mr. Bla-a-a-a-a-ack!'" mimicked Marjory.
Mabel was breathless by the time she reached the foot of the steep sand
bank, just below the camp.
"Oh," she panted. "Mr. Black--get him, quick. And, Jean, _you_ come.
And, Mrs. Crane--scissors! I _must_ have scissors. Phew!"
"Be quiet a moment," advised motherly Mrs. Crane, from the bank. "Sit
right down where you are and rest till you get your breath. Marjory,
you're the quickest--you run for Mr. Black; he's just started for the
wigwam to see if he can find Dave. Jean, I'll trust _you_ with my
scissors; but I'm going to tie them to you with a piece of string.
There! Now we'll go down to Mabel.
"Now," said Mrs. Crane, when that stout lady had made a careful descent
of the sandy bank, "tell us exactly what's happened, Mabel."
"It's a boy!" panted Mabel, "and he isn't dead."
"Most boys aren't," encouraged Bettie, who had a large number of lively
brothers. "Go on, Mabel."
"I found him on the beach."
"Well," scoffed Henrietta, "I guess a boy on a beach isn't anything so
wonderful."
"How did he get there?" queried Mrs. Crane.
"Washed up, I guess. I thought he was drowned. He's _most_ dead."
"Where? Where?" shrieked Henrietta, with sudden interest.
"Where? Where?" echoed Bettie.
Just then Marjory flung herself breathlessly over the edge of the bank
with Mr. Black, also short of breath, close at her heels.
"What's it all about?" demanded Mr. Black. "Has Mabel fallen in again?"
"Get the bread-knife, somebody," ordered Mabel, now sufficiently
recovered to scramble to her feet, "and follow me."
"I have a knife," said Mr. Black, displaying as bloodthirsty a bit of
cutlery as one would want to see. "Saunders thought I might need a
hunting knife. If you've caught a deer I'll skin him for you."
"I guess," laughed Bettie, "she doesn't want her game _skinned_. She's
found a boy."
Presently the procession, headed proudly by Mabel, who now felt very
important indeed and would allow none of her impatient followers to
pass her, was marching up the beach. She was, however, too breathless
for speed.
"Couldn't you go a _little_ faster?" pleaded Marjory.
"No, I couldn't," panted Mabel. "And, if you run ahead of me, you
won't know where to turn off--so there."
"Tell us more about it," begged Henrietta. "I've always been crazy to
rescue a shipwrecked crew!"
"No," said Mabel, "I want my breath to walk with."
Fortunately, the beach was smooth and hard; the excited campers soon
reached the cove. Mabel, thoughtfully pausing long enough for Mrs.
Crane and Bettie to catch up, led them to the big, half-buried log.
"There!" said she, pointing to what was behind it. "That's the boy."
Bettie, Marjory, and Henrietta peered eagerly over the log. Jean, Mrs.
Crane, and Mr. Black hurried behind it. Mr. Black whipped out his
knife, dropped to his knees, and began to cut at the mesh of the stout
net. After a moment Jean assisted with the scissors.
Mrs. Crane patted the boy's hand and laid her own motherly palm against
his cheek.
"Poor lamb! Poor lamb!" she murmured.
Presently the lad was freed from the net and the life-preserver and
gently lifted from the wet wreckage to the warm, dry sand. His eyes
were closed, his breathing jerky and strange, his whole countenance
deeply flushed. Big tears rolled down Mabel's cheeks as she looked at
the limp, pathetic figure.
"That boy," said Mrs. Crane, "is terribly ill with a fever. Goodness
only knows how long he's been imprisoned here, chilled and shivering,
before this fever came on."
"Or just when the waves flung him behind that log," said Mr. Black. "It
might have been early last night, any time yesterday, or even during
the previous night. He was lashed to something with that net--yes, here
it is; a piece of rotten pole as thick as my arm--possibly a mast or
part of a raft. But what concerns us just now is what we're to do for
him."
"He's certainly a sick boy," agreed Mrs. Crane, "and there's nobody but
us to help him."
"Mabel," said Mr. Black, "you'd better take off his shoes--he'll be
lighter without them. Sarah, you'd better hurry back to camp and fix
a bed for him in your tent. Jean, you go with her, build a fire, and
put some water on to boil--a little hot broth might help. If you other
girls will boost him a little, when I say the word, I think I can carry
him."
The girls boosted. Mr. Black, with the long, thin boy hanging limply
over his shoulder, started toward camp. Mabel, a wet shoe dangling from
each hand, plodded after.
"Isn't it exciting?" breathed bright-eyed Henrietta, falling into line.
"A boy right out of the skies."
"I guess you mean right out of the lake," corrected Marjory. "I hope
he'll wake up pretty soon--I'm dying to know how he got behind that
log."
"Perhaps it was a good thing," said Bettie, "that the log was there.
The end of that pole swung under the log and held him right there, or
the waves might have carried him out again or hurled him against the
rocks--ugh!"
"His father," declared Henrietta, dreamily, "was the captain of a
gallant ship. When the vessel was about to sink he said: 'Men! Save
yourselves. As for me, I perish with her.' Then he lashed his only son
to the mast of the sinking ship----"
"What for?" demanded practical Marjory.
"I guess maybe he didn't," amended Henrietta, reflectively. "He made a
raft out of one of the hatches and tied him to that with the only thing
he had at hand--a fish-net."
"But first," added Marjory, "he fastened a life-preserver about him."
"If I could run the way I used to," said thoughtful little Betty
(this was the longest walk she had taken since her arrival at Pete's
Patch), "I'd rush ahead and help Mrs. Crane with that bed. As it is,
I'm willing to help with one of the baskets we're coming to--I guess
Mabel's forgotten all about them."
"I'll help Mrs. Crane," promised nimble-footed Marjory, "if you and
Henrietta will bring the wood--they may need it for the fire that Jean
is to build."
Mr. Black undressed the thin, still-unconscious lad, wrapped him in a
warm blanket (his feet, Mrs. Crane said, were like lumps of ice), and
tucked him into bed.
"If we were in town," declared Mrs. Crane, "I'd send for the doctor."
"Just what I'm going to do, as soon as Dave turns up. I'll go to his
wigwam now--perhaps he's back. Too bad there isn't any medicine----"
"But there is," said Mrs. Crane. "Mrs. Tucker sent a bottle to Bettie
to be used in case her fever should return. She sent a tonic, too, but
neither bottle has been opened. If you think it's safe----"
"Good for Mrs. Tucker! Give that boy a dose of the fever medicine--he
certainly needs that. Now for Dave--I'd like to get him started for
Lakeville at once."
Dave, however, was not to be found. His ways were strange and
mysterious; he had an inconvenient habit of disappearing without
warning for hours at a stretch. No one would see him go. He would set
out, ostensibly for his wigwam; but if Mr. Black followed him to that
habitation, as he sometimes did, no sign would he find of Dave. This
time, the canoe was gone, also, and, of course, Dave's dog.
"He hasn't shown up," said Mr. Black, returning from the wigwam. "I
suppose he rose at daybreak and took to the lake; for his canoe isn't
in the river. And here I am _paying_ him to bring water and wood for us
and help with the boats."
"Paying him!" gasped Mrs. Crane, "when he lived on your land for four
years without paying rent? _Peter!_"
"Well," returned Mr. Black, "it's only a dollar a day. Perhaps that
isn't enough--I'll raise his wages!"
"But that poor boy----"
"We'll just have to wait until Dave gets back, I suppose. But you can
dose the boy with Bettie's fever medicine--not the tonic--and perhaps
we can pull him through."
"Anyway, we'll try," assured Mrs. Crane.