AT TURTLE COVE
Busy days followed. There was so much to do before Gloria should leave
home and before her father should go on his extended trip, that it took
the combined energies of Jane and Gloria, to say nothing of help offered
by Millie, to get things into order for the important events.
But all preparations were halted when her dad came home, for he at once
planned a picnic and ordered his daughter to gather her friends for the
festivity.
As a father Edward Doane was disappointing to strangers. He was in no
way old, did not have a visible gray hair, he was not fat, nor funny,
did not wear glasses, and as a widower he failed utterly to mope and
lament. Instead, he was an attractive young man who had more than once
been taken for Gloria’s big brother. But in spite of their close
companionship, Gloria was the most devoted daughter and the best little
business partner one would hope to find in all Barbend. Their
companionship was doubly dear, as the loss of her mother left Gloria so
much to the care of her young father, and perhaps it was the similarity
of dispositions that gave each so complete an understanding of the
other.
When he was at home Gloria could do nothing but enjoy his company, and
now even the temporary breaking up of her home did not debar her from
this coveted pleasure.
Millie and Tom helped distribute the picnic invitations, Mr. Doane
insisted that every one who could be piled into the Finnan-Laddie be
asked, and when Saturday afternoon came it brought with it exquisite
sunshine from a sapphire sky that belongs distinctly to the early
autumn.
Jane-the-wonderful did up the lunch. She insisted it be carried in her
second sized bread box, as that would surely be impervious to sunshine,
engine heat and dampness. The lemon juice was stored in patent topped
soda bottles, and because Tom insisted the boys should fetch something,
he carried to the launch the most precious prize of all: a packed
container of real store ice cream, and Jerry Mack carried the dozen
cones to dish it into. Only Mr. Doane knew of this treat, as Tom and
Jerry “made it up” and the other four boys chipped in.
When Millie checked up her list of guests it included besides herself
and Gloria, Margie Trebold, Grace Ayres, Nettie Leonard and Blanche
Richmond. On Tom’s list were besides Jerry and himself, Arthur Williams,
George Alton, Ranny Blake, Ralph Dana and little Neddie Mack, Jerry’s
irrepressible brother, who had to go or Terry would have had to stay
away “to mind him.”
Mr. Doane ran the launch, of course, and on the way over to the cove the
children sang, shouted, yelled and did everything that youngsters
usually do when turned loose for a good time. Neddie required
considerable cautioning about leaning over to trail his very small
fingers through the waves left in the boat’s track, but Gloria loved
him, she “adored his kinky curls,” and she didn’t mind in the least his
irresponsible lolly-pop that now and then would brush her sleeve.
Tom crouched up front with the skipper, and not a turn of the engine but
he checked up with a smile, if not with an outright grin. He loved this
boat—it was the pride of the lake, and not often did the little ones get
a chance to enjoy it. Mr. Doane was plainly very fond of the boys who
paid him homage outright—no king on his throne could have received more
flagrant tribute.
The girls naturally gave color to the party. They wore their brightest
if not their newest, sweaters, and the prospect of romping in the woods
suggested skirts not easily affected by brush or briar.
It was a wonderful sail. The lake was lined with jagged trees, and the
deep green of cedars and hemlock sent the softest shadows along the
water’s edge.
Tom had told Mr. Doane privately that the ice cream cones would have to
be served at once or drank from cups, so that the usual planting of a
stake to make their landing, was delayed until after the treat had been
administered.
“Tom Whitely!” exclaimed Gloria when she beheld with surprise, Tom and
his box of cream, and Jerry with the row of cones all set up in the long
cover of a paste-board box so that the “dishing” might be exactly even.
“However did you manage—”
“Eat, lady, eat,” cautioned Tom. “This isn’t any pie imitation, it’s the
real thing. Hey, there, Ranny! hand these out. Jerry’s rack is a bit
wobbly.”
“The best I ever tasted!” declared Millie, who ate cream in spite of her
fear of fat. “You boys are just—just fine!” she insisted.
Gloria was seeing to it that Neddie got his cone. Her solicitude was
really not necessary, Neddie being more apt to get more than his share
than to be neglected, but her devotion to the small boy helped her to
cover other emotions, and her companions, noticing her strange manner,
naturally ascribed it to threatening homesickness.
“Mr. Doane,” called Grace Ayres, she with the lovely, long brown braids
and two active dimples, “I think you should have two cones. You are the
guest of honor.”
“Count ’em out first,” called back the man who was still doing something
to the engine. “I like cones but I could get along with the regular
allowance.”
Tom took personal care of this serving, stepping gingerly over the
boat’s edge and offering the rather liquid little portion to Mr. Doane.
“Well, I’ll say this is a treat,” declared the boat’s captain, dropping
the screw driver and taking his place on Gloria’s cushion—the one she
always insisted he make himself comfortable on. Tom had his own cone in
the other hand, and with a show of importance rather unlike Tom, he
squatted down beside the captain.
“We’re awfully sorry Gloria’s going away,” he said quietly. “She and
I’ve been chums ever since we lived in the quarry house.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Doane, “you have, Tom, and I know you will miss Gloria.”
He paused with his cone half way to his lips. For a few moments neither
spoke, then the father continued: “I hate to think of letting her go,
but it was her mother’s wish that she be educated at that seminary. She
just couldn’t go—before.”
“Oh, I know,” replied Tom. “It’s the best thing, of course, and it’ll do
her a lot of good.” Tom’s words were meaningless to him but he felt he
had to say something. As a matter of fact he had not the slightest idea
what a boarding school was intended to do for its pupils. He had not
even read a story with a boarding school girl mentioned in it. His
stories were built upon sterner lines.
Clamoring for their leader, the children upon the shore would have
presently re-embarked if Tom and Mr. Doane had not met their demands to
“Come ashore.” Every one seemed to have a separate and individual plan
for the afternoon’s enjoyment, but that which included a preliminary
hike to the top of the hill was decided upon by a majority vote.
“Who’s going to watch the grub can?” asked Jerry Mack. He felt himself
to be provision custodian. Didn’t Jane tell him not to let any one take
the lid off that box until Gloria said so?
“That’ll be all right,” answered Ranny Blake, quite out of order.
“Nobody’s around here,” chimed in Neddie Mack, sending a searching eye
up and down the beach.
“We’ll just cover things up and forget them,” suggested Mr. Doane. “When
we come back we’ll be hungry enough to eat the screw driver.”
This brought forth a shout from the boys, but the girls were already
starting up the hill in that precise, deliberate way girls have of doing
things when boys are in the party.
But there was nothing self conscious about the followers of Mr. Doane.
The boys looked up to him as if he were a veritable miracle man; they
repeated his words, they openly jostled each other for the coveted place
nearest him, and Jerry, being really quite a talker, received a jab from
Tom’s bare elbow, at regular intervals.
“When I was a boy I lived in the city,” Mr. Doane would say. Whereat his
listeners would know of so many others who “lived in the city” that the
proposed story would flutter away on the wings of a hearty laugh.
“But there’s nothing like the great outdoors to give fellows muscle—”
“I’m goin’ to take boxin’ lessons,” put in Jerry eagerly, but the jeers
and groans from his companions offered very slight encouragement for
such an undertaking.
“I’ve got the gloves,” he declared. “An’ can’t a feller put on weight
boxin’, Mr. Doane?”
“Skin—nay!” retorted Ranny Blake.
“You ought to get enough exercise around here without putting on the
gloves, Jerry,” said Mr. Doane kindly. As a matter of fact any one would
have suggested the rest cure to put flesh on the thinnest boy in the
crowd.
But the mention of athletics uncorked the most popular topic for male
consideration, and in spite of the great outdoors all around them—the
greatest kind of a day and the most perfect piece of rural scenery all
the way up the hill, even over the county landmark, a huge boulder that
was painted white and shone for miles around—every step and mis-step of
the way the boys talked of sports. Boxing, baseball, skating, football
and every other line of amateur and professional activity was discussed
fully and enthusiastically, Mr. Doane acting as referee and umpiring the
“meet” and its distant prospects.
The girls were gathering wild asters, golden rod and sweet fern. They
romped about now with little Neddie as an excuse, hiding from him,
teasing him with Indian calls and animal imitations, although Neddie was
only tolerating their excessive attention.
“Come on and be Peter Pan,” suggested Gloria while she and Millie
“boosted” the small boy into a dogwood tree.
This gave the embarrassed youngster his chance. The tree was heavy
enough to climb and climb it he did, never pausing until he reached a
perfectly safe perch far from the reach of mere girls.
“You’ll fall!” shouted Gloria.
“That limb is bending!” warned Grace.
“Come down, Neddie, the boys are going snake hunting,” tempted Millie.
But Neddie hugged a branch and swung on his limb in such a reckless
fashion that Margie suggested making a life net.
How could they know how much a boy hates to be fussed over? Gloria was
enough fusser, but when the others all piled in he felt like the prize
baby at the Cattle Show—the one that was weighed right before everybody.
Jerry was so glad to be free of the small brother he would not have
cared if the climb went still higher, but when Mr. Doane held out his
strong arms, down came the little Peter Pan ker-plunk! He had no
intention of missing the snake hunt.
“Come along, girls,” called out Mr. Doane when the petulant Peter Pan
had been once more disposed of. “If you don’t want to hunt snakes make
it b’ars! Big black woolly ones, that old Sam Sykes is always insisting
he used to chum with up in this baby mountain. Gloria, you know the worn
trail, but don’t get out of speaking distance. We boys will head for the
first slant, over toward the big tree, and if we don’t find snakes, or
bears—”
“We’ll find deers,” shouted Jerry, ignoring the regular way of making
the plural. “Nort Sloane saw a deer up here last week!”
“All right,” laughed Mr. Doane. “Snakes, b’ars or deer, all the same to
the hunters. But don’t use sling-shots, now, boys,” as Ralph and George
examined a suspicious bit of string. “Sling-shots are not safe in mixed
company.”
So the hunt for wild animals began.