Breaking Camp
"GIRLS," said Mr. Black, when he had finished his delayed breakfast, "I
have a very sorrowful confession to make. I've got to lose you."
"Oh, _no_," protested Mrs. Crane, "not so soon."
"I don't like it myself, Sarah, but all those mothers, grandmothers,
and Aunty Janes came and sat around my office and reminded me that
their precious girls were all going away to school, told me that the
school was _almost_ picked out--they've narrowed down to four--and
dragged from me a promise that I just hated to make. As far as I can
discover, they've bought all the cloth in Lakeville, engaged all the
dressmakers, and are in a fever to try things on. And I promised----"
"To send us all home?" guessed Bettie.
"Yes. A lot of men are coming this afternoon with a tug and a big
flat scow to take the Whale home--I suspect she'll have to go to the
factory for repairs. There'll be room on the scow for us and all our
belongings besides. But cheer up. We won't need to start until along
toward night."
"So this is our last day," mourned Jean.
"Dear me," sighed Bettie, "we'll _never_ have so splendid a time again."
"We'll come again next summer," promised Mr. Black, "unless you get so
young-ladyfied at your boarding school that you won't _want_ to camp."
"You just wait and see," said Marjory.
"No danger," declared Henrietta.
"But," mourned Mabel, "we won't have any Billy Blue-eyes."
"Perhaps I'll get wrecked again," consoled Laddie, "and you can pick me
up some more. But you'll forget all about me before next summer."
"I will not," contradicted Mabel. "I'm going to write to you."
"That's good," declared Laddie; "let's _all_ write to each other."
"Mrs. Lombard," offered Bettie, rather shyly, "we've always wondered
who Laddie would turn out to be. When he asked for a toothbrush we were
quite sure that he was a young duke, or a prince, or--or----"
"No," laughed Mrs. Lombard, "he isn't even a youthful millionaire. He's
just a plain boy. We have enough to live on, to be sure; but after
awhile Billy will have to work like any other man for his living. I
hope you're not disappointed."
"No," said Mabel, magnanimously, "we'd like him, just the same, even if
he were just a coal-heaver."
That last day was spent in visiting all the spots that were dear to the
young campers and in showing many of them to Mrs. Lombard, who proved
a very pleasant little woman, even if she did cling rather tightly to
Laddie when he suggested going out in the boat for a pail of water.
"Well," laughed Billy, "I can just as easily _walk_ out, if you
consider that safer; but it's rather drier to go by boat."
Dave, of course, had to hear all about Billy Blue-eyes' experience.
"Ah'm have som' brudder Charlie wan tam'," remarked Dave, thoughtfully.
"Ah'm scare for go out on som' boat wit' dose fellow maself, w'en Ah'm
leeve hon Canadaw."
"Do you think he _was_ your brother?" pursued Laddie.
"Ah don't know," returned Dave, who evidently was not greatly concerned
by the news of a possible relative's death. "Me, Ah'm got eight-nine
brodder som' plass. Not moch good hon herself, dose brodder, hey?"
But when Dave learned that the campers were about to depart for
Lakeville he was far more distressed.
"Me, Ah'm find eet lonesom' widout dose Jean, dose Margy, dose Mabelle,
dose petite Bet_tee_, dose good Mees Crane, dose good Pete Black, dose
fine Bil_lee_--maybe dose good dinnaire, too."
Even numerous gifts of food, clothing, and cooking utensils; even the
bestowal of Terrible Tim and Anthony Fitz-Hubert (the kitten was now
so wild that only the half-breed could catch him) did not serve to
raise Dave's drooping spirits. Although he assisted in breaking camp,
it was easy to see that he hated the task. He sighed heavily as each
tent fell.
The campers, already looking far ahead, as happy children always do,
toward new scenes and new experiences, trooped merrily aboard the big
scow just at sunset that evening, eager for the picnic supper that was
to be eaten on the deck of the safe, clumsy craft; eager, too, though
they did not realize it, for a sight of home.
The evening was peaceful, the pale lake calm and softly tinted like
a big shining opal. The homeward trip, with so much to relate at the
end of it to the dear home people, promised so much enjoyment that no
actual tears were shed as the tug began slowly to move her heavy burden
seaward. Still, the backward glances were sufficiently regretful; for
Pete's Patch was not a spot to be lightly deserted, and never had
the place seemed more beautiful than it appeared now from the slowly
departing boat.
Dave stood alone on the bank, for his sister was already eagerly
examining the ample store of provisions left for their use. For as long
as they could see him, the girls waved to the solitary watcher. But
long after that Dave strained his eyes after the boat that was carrying
away the dearest friends that he had ever known.
"Ah'm lak' dose peop'," said Dave, with a catch in his throat, as he
turned away at last. "Ver' moch, Ah'm lak' dose good peop'. Me, Ah'm
good frien' to hall dose; until Ah'm go for die hon maself."
At nine o'clock that night the castaways landed safely in Lakeville,
and the picnic that had lasted for weeks instead of hours and proved so
much more than a mere picnic was at an end.
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Page 140, "sprinling" changed to "sprinkling" (a generous sprinkling)
Page 141, "beween" changed "between" (stuck out between the loops)
Page 171, "half-breeed" changed to "half-breed" (The half-breed had)
Page 199, "is" changed to "it" (But it _is_)
Page 238, "Ofter" changed "Often" (Often, when glancing)
Page 241, "namd" changed to "named" (young woman named Miss)