THE LAST DAY
“For the land sakes, Silas! what happened? Did ye break your leg?”
This was what Mrs. Remington asked as she saw her son driving up in the
automobile to the little house in the clearing, leading the strayed
horse by the halter from the back seat.
“There has been no accident,” said Mr. Bobbsey quickly, for he did not
want the boy’s mother to worry. “We just met your son and gave him a
ride home, and—”
“These folks have been out in the woods all night, Mother!” Silas
Remington explained. “I found them when I was hunting old Jim down the
wood road. Now if you can give them some breakfast—”
“I’m sure we don’t want to trouble you,” interrupted Mr. Bobbsey. “But
I’d be glad to pay—”
“Pay! Nonsense! No trouble at all! Come right in, and I’ll have
breakfast ready in a jiffy!” exclaimed the kind Mrs. Remington. “You
take the horse to the barn, Silas, and then come in and get your
breakfast, and bring your pa with you. Silas started out early to find
Jim,” she explained to the Bobbseys, as she bustled about.
“It’s a good thing for us that he did,” said Mr. Bobbsey, “or I don’t
know how much longer we might have been wandering in the woods. But
where can I get a telephone? I must let my wife know we are all
right—she’ll be worried.”
“We’ve got a telephone,” said Mrs. Remington. “I don’t bother with it
much myself, but my husband thought he had to have one. Next I know
he’ll be gettin’ a tin Lizzie, I guess,” and she laughed.
Mr. Bobbsey was soon talking to his wife over the telephone, while the
farmer’s wife was getting breakfast.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right!” exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, when she
heard her husband’s voice. “I couldn’t imagine what had happened, but I
knew the children would be all right with you. How’s Baby May? Oh, she’s
fine, and she’s cut another tooth! That’s why she fretted so last
night!”
Bert and Nan were glad to know all were well at home, and then they sat
down to a good breakfast. All their troubles were over now, for Mr.
Remington, who had come into breakfast with Silas and who had a small
farm on the edge of the woods, told Mr. Bobbsey where to drive to get
back to the main road to Hankertown.
“But about that strange old woman with the faded shawl you were after, I
don’t know,” and the farmer shook his head. “I never seen her around
these parts. She must be a stranger here.”
“Could it have been old Mary Dodd back by the spring?” asked Mrs.
Remington. “She’s very odd.”
“You mean the woman with the frog in the spring?” inquired Mr. Bobbsey.
“No, we saw old Mary and she gave us water. The woman I am seeking is
another person.”
“Wa-all, then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” said Mr. Remington, with a
shake of his head. “But if Silas or I see the old woman around I’ll try
and find out who she is and let you know.”
“Sure we will!” piped up Silas.
“I wish you would,” returned Mr. Bobbsey, and he prepared to set out
again with Nan and Bert in the automobile.
They bade good-bye to the kind farmer and his wife and to his talkative
son, and were soon out of the woods and on the main highway. Mr. Bobbsey
did not think it would be of any use to try further to locate the
strange woman, so he drove directly back to Lakeport.
“My, you had an adventure, didn’t you?” exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, when the
twins and their father arrived.
“I should say we did!” ejaculated Nan.
“But it was jolly fun!” laughed Bert. “Even when the horse tried to
stick his head in through the side curtains.”
“Tell me about it!” begged Freddie.
“I want to hear, too,” said Flossie. “And Baby May has a new tooth—she
has!”
“Yes, we heard about that over the telephone,” laughed Nan.
The smaller twins were delighted to hear the account of the adventures
of Nan and Bert in the night, and Freddie declared that the next time
his father went on a trip like that he was going too.
“Well, so you didn’t find the old woman after all?” remarked Mrs.
Bobbsey, after she had talked matters over quietly with her husband.
“No. And it begins to look as if we never should. She is more of a
mystery than ever. I have notified the police of Hankertown, though, and
they said they would keep a lookout for her.”
“And until she is found and tells us the secret of Baby May, we will
keep the little girl,” suggested Mrs. Bobbsey.
“Wouldn’t you rather send her to an orphan asylum?” asked Mr. Bobbsey,
thinking perhaps the care of the baby was too much for his wife.
“Oh, no indeed!” she exclaimed. “I never could give her up now, unless
it were to her real mother.”
“I’d like to know where the real mother is,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “It
certainly seems very strange!”
Baby May did not seem to mind being the center of a mystery. She grew
fatter and taller, her eyes seemed bluer, her hair more golden, and
certainly her smile was sweeter. She was a dear little baby, and every
one loved her, especially the Bobbsey twins.
Summer was close at hand now. Every day it seemed warmer and warmer to
have to go to school. With the windows open, so the sweet wind blew in
and the songs of birds could be heard, it was quite a task to keep the
children at their lessons. Miss Riker found it so in the room where Bert
and Nan recited.
“Well, children,” said the teacher one Monday afternoon, as the class
was about to leave for the day, “Friday, you know, is the last day of
school for the term.”
The girls looked at one another with glad eyes, and the boys wanted to
shout, but that would not have been allowed. So they kept quiet, though
it was hard work.
“We will have some exercises in our room for the last day,” went on Miss
Riker, “and those who wish to may recite a piece or sing. We will make
up a program. There will be no lessons, but just some exercises. Now,
those of you who wish to recite will please tell me the name of their
piece after school. Now you may go!”
There was a buzz of excitement, all the boys and girls talking about the
joyous “last day” of school.
Examinations were over, Nan and Bert successfully “passed,” as did most
of their chums, and Freddie and Flossie proudly brought home their
report cards, showing that they had done well and could be advanced to a
higher class next term.
“I’m going to speak that piece about the Indian Chief,” announced Bert,
as the last day drew near.
“And I’m going to sing a duet with Nellie Parks,” said Nan.
The two children were practicing hard to have their numbers a success
when they got up before the class on the last day of school.
There was in Bert’s class a boy named Sam Todd. He was a pretty good
boy—sometimes; but he was very fond of playing tricks or jokes—on
others, you must know. Bert didn’t remember that he ever played a trick
or joke on himself, though.
Sam had heard about the piece Bert was going to speak, and just before
the last day Sam said to his chum, Joe Norton:
“I’m going to play a good joke when Bert Bobbsey gets up to speak his
piece.”
“What are you goin’ to do?” Joe asked.
“Well, I got a lot of turkey feathers and I fastened ’em to an old
football. I made it look like the head of an Indian. I made this
football-Indian-head fast to a string. I sit right near the window, you
know, and when Bert gets up to speak I’m going to pull on the string,
and I’ll pull it in through the window, the football with feathers on.
I’ll pull it in just when Bert hollers out that line about: ‘What is
this fearful thing I see?’ In will pop the feathered football, and
say—won’t there be a howl!”
“Goodness, yes!” gasped Joe. “That’s a dandy trick! But are you sure the
thing will come in the window when you pull the string?”
“I’ll put it outside the window just before we come in for the last day,
and I’ll tie the string to my desk. It’ll be easy for me to pull it in.
Oh, boy! Some joke! Eh?”
“Oh, boy! Some joke!” echoed Joe, with a chuckle.
Bert, knowing nothing of this, kept on studying his piece. Finally the
last day of school came. There were to be exercises in the different
rooms, more simple ones where Flossie and Freddie were.
After Nan and Nellie had sung and other boys and girls had taken their
parts, Bert’s turn came. He walked rather nervously up to the platform
on which stood Miss Riker’s desk.
“Now for the joke!” whispered Sam Todd to Joe, who sat in front of him.
There was a string running from Sam’s desk out of the open window. The
other end of the string had been fastened to the old football covered
with feathers. At a distance it did look like the head of an Indian.
Bert started his recitation. He got along very well, and at last he came
to the line where he had to call, several times, loudly:
“What is this fearful thing I see?”
Just as Bert started this Sam gave a hard pull on the string. He
expected to haul in his “trick.”
But something had gone wrong!