A PERSEVERING DIVER.
Bob rowed the boat, George stood in the bow, divested of his clothing
and all ready to make the plunge, and Dick sat in the stern and looked
at the rocks.
“I tell you, they look ugly!” said he, with another involuntary shudder.
“If it hadn’t been for you, George, there would have been two vacant
seats at the Montford Academy next Monday. What’s that wedged in between
those two high rocks, a little to the left of the point? It looks to me
like a piece of my lost canoe.”
“That’s just what it is!” answered George, “We’ll go up there and take a
look at it as soon as I find out whether or not I am going to get that
gun. We are pretty near the spot now. Steady! There!”
As Bob ceased rowing and faced about on his seat, there was a splash in
the water, and George had disappeared. He was gone a good while—so long
that the two boys who were awaiting the result of his experiment, began
to look at each other with some uneasiness.
At length, Dick asked suddenly:
“I say, Bob, what are you going to give him if he finds your gun for
you?”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to speak to you about,” was Bob’s reply.
“I don’t think it would be quite the thing to offer him money, for he
doesn’t look to me like a boy who would go to all this trouble for the
sake of earning a reward.”
“That’s my opinion, and I will tell you what I have been thinking of.
You know he said he would like to go to the academy; and he said it in a
way that led me to believe that the only obstacle that stands in his way
is a lack of money. Now you and I have more spare change than we can
use, and if you will pay half his tuition, I’ll pay the other half. He
needn’t know that we’re doing anything for him, for I have an idea that
he would refuse—”
Before Dick could finish his sentence, George’s head bobbed up out of
the water, a short distance away; but the only thing he brought with him
was a handful of gravel, to show that he had been to the bottom.
A few long, sweeping strokes brought him alongside the boat. He climbed
in over the bow, and, after taking a moment’s breathing spell, he went
down again.
This time he was gone longer than before, and Dick and Bob had ample
leisure to decide upon something.
What it was, you will learn as our story progresses.
The second attempt to recover the lost weapon resulted in failure, and
so did the third and fourth; but the fifth was successful. A hand,
grasping the little double-barrel, suddenly appeared above the surface
of the water, followed an instant after by the persevering diver, who
was as highly elated over his achievement as Bob Howard was himself.
“George,” said he, as he grasped the gun and began rubbing it briskly
with his handkerchief, “I don’t know how to thank you for the service
you have rendered me.”
“Then you had better not try,” advised George, with a laugh. “That’s a
beautiful little piece, and well worth saving. Now, I wish I could give
Dick his canoe in good order.”
“Thank you! But that is something that nobody this side of Troy can do.
She is made of paper.”
George, who had never before heard of such a thing as a paper canoe,
opened his eyes and looked incredulous; but when he had pulled over to
the rocks and taken a look at the wreck that was stranded there, he
found that Dick had told him nothing but the truth. The little craft had
been torn completely in two. The stern was nowhere to be seen, and the
bow was wedged so tightly between the rocks that they could not get it
out.
“I say, Bob, take the butt of your oar and break a hole through the
bottom,” said Dick. “Perhaps we shall find something in there.”
And so they did.
Through the opening that Bob’s heavy oar speedily made in the frail
covering he gained access to the forward locker, from which he drew
forth two jointed fishing-rods, and also a liberal supply of canned
goods, such as salmon, lobsters, condensed milk, and fried brook trout.
He likewise brought to light a canister of ground coffee, about half a
peck of potatoes, and lastly, a water-proof bag, which, on being opened,
was found to contain a quantity of crackers, bread, and ginger-snaps,
and also two blackberry pies.
George looked on in wonder.
“Did I understand you to say that you are going back to the academy
to-night?” said he.
“You did,” assured Bob, panting from his exertions. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t wonder that you had to hire a team to bring you up here,”
continued George. “You had your canoe provisioned for a four-weeks’
cruise.”
“That shows how much you know about an academy boy’s appetite,” said
Dick. “Whenever we go into the country for a holiday, we always make our
entertainers open their eyes. Find anything more, Bob? Well, then, shove
off. We’ll stop at the cabin long enough to unload our cargo and give
our poles a good rubbing, and then, perhaps, George will be kind enough
to show us where we can catch a good string of bass. We don’t want to go
back to the academy empty-handed, you know; for if we do the fellows
will laugh at us.”
George’s guests thoroughly enjoyed themselves that day.
Having caught a pailful of minnows for them, George rowed them down to
his favorite fishing-grounds, and by the time the fish stopped biting
they had sixteen black bass to show to the academy boys as trophies of
their skill.
George offered to increase the size of their string by adding to it the
fish he had caught himself—being an expert angler, he had caught an even
dozen while the others were catching sixteen—but Dick and Bob would not
listen to it. When they exhibited their fish they wanted to be able to
say that they had caught them all themselves, and they couldn’t say that
if they accepted any help from George.
The dinner that was served up in the cabin that afternoon was the best
that George had eaten for many a day, and he disposed of his full share
of it.
When they had satisfied their appetites, Dick and Bob began to get ready
to start for home.
“Now, George,” said the latter, as he shouldered his gun and
fishing-rod, which he had tied together so that they could be easily
carried, “how much do we owe you?”
“Not a red cent,” was George’s reply.
“Cheap enough,” said Dick. “We’ll come again.”
“I hope you will. I shall be glad to see you at any time—that is, if you
can be satisfied with such poor accommodations as I have to offer you.”
“Say nothing about that!” exclaimed Bob. “What better accommodations can
we ask for than a tight roof, a good bed and plenty to eat and drink?”
“And good hunting and fishing within a stone’s throw of your door,”
chimed in Dick. “You may expect us next Friday evening. We can get away
every week if we only behave ourselves during study hours, and I am
perfectly willing to be good for five consecutive days for the sake of
enjoying such squirrel shooting as I had this morning.”
As the nearest way to the village was through Mr. Stebbins’ sheep
pasture, George took his guests across the lake in his boat, thus saving
them a three-mile walk.
After putting them on the road, and giving them explicit directions
regarding the course they were to follow in order to reach the academy,
George said good-by, and set out on his return to the lake; but while he
was crossing the sheep pasture he was confronted by Mr. Stebbins, who,
in no amiable tones, demanded to know what he was doing there, and what
business he had to bring those young vagabonds on his grounds.
“They are not vagabonds,” replied George, with some spirit. “They are
gentlemen, and that is more than I can say for some other people I
know.”
“I don’t want none of your sass!” snapped the old man, angrily, at the
same time whisking a heavy black snake whip he carried in his hand. “I
tell you that I don’t like the looks of them fellers.”
“I can’t help it, can I?” asked George.
“I never slept a wink t’other night,” continued Mr. Stebbins, “’cause
they was in my barn, an’ I was expectin’ every minute that they would
break into my house an’ rob me. I don’t want them to come foolin’ round
here no more. You hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you. They will be up here again next Friday night, and I
will tell them what you say.”
“Wal, they shan’t sleep in my barn ag’in, if they do come up here,
’cause I’m afeared of ’em. Why don’t they stay to home, where they
belong? They’ve got no ’arthly business up here. An’ I tell you another
thing I don’t like,” went on Mr. Stebbins, flourishing his whip over his
head. “Be you livin’ over there on t’other side of the lake?”
The boy replied that he was.
“I thought so, ’cause I seed a smoke comin’ out of the chimbly. Now I
don’t want you nor nobody else over there, an’ I won’t have it, nuther.”
“Is my cabin on your grounds?” questioned George.
“No, it ain’t,” said Mr. Stebbins, emphatically.
“Then you have nothing to say about it. I had permission from the man
who owns that land to build my cabin there, and so long as he does not
object, you have no right to complain.”
“Hain’t I though?” Mr. Stebbins almost shouted. “Wal, I shall ask the
selectmen about that. There’s a poorhouse pervided for them that ain’t
able to make an honest livin’ for themselves.”
“I am able to make an honest living,” said George, with no little
indignation in his tones, “and I shall not go to the poorhouse to please
anybody.”
“You ain’t your own boss yet by a few years,” reminded the man, with a
sneer; “an’ if you’re too stuck up to earn a livin’ by hard work, like
an honest boy had oughter do, you may find yourself in jail, the first
thing you know. I’ve been a-lookin’ for it, ’cause there’s been a heap
of stealin’—Wal, go on; but remember what I’m a-tellin’ you.”
George, who was too angry to listen to another word, hurried down to the
beach, sprang into his boat, and pushed off into deep water.
His little cabin was lonely enough now. He missed his new friends, whom
he had learned to like during his short acquaintance with them, and his
interview with Mr. Stebbins had thrown a gloom over him that he could
not shake off.