BEN'S DISCOVERY.
It is doubtful whether Pine Tree Island, since the days when the red
men had dwelt upon its shores, had heard such a shout as went up from
our boys when they discovered that the visitor was Jock's father. When
the lad learned that his mother was at Alexandria Bay, and that she
and his father had come from New York that very day, nothing would
satisfy him but to return to the hotel.
Before they departed, Jock's father explained that he had come over to
the camp in the early evening with a boatman, but when he discovered
that no one was there, he had decided to remain until they returned.
As it was now after ten o'clock, he had begun to feel somewhat uneasy;
but the fact that all were gone, and that everything about the camp
seemed to be in good order, had led him to believe that they could be
in no danger, at all events, and so he had waited until the time when
his patience had been amply rewarded.
After the messages from the other homes had been delivered, and Mr.
Cope had satisfied himself that all were well, he said, "I think we'd
better go back to the hotel now, my boy. Your mother will be uneasy
about me, to say nothing of you."
"Do you think it will be safe for Jock to go?" inquired Bob, soberly.
"Safe? Why, yes. Why shouldn't it be safe?"
"Oh, I don't know. We've been living here in primitive style, you
know, and whether Jock will remember how to behave is a question."
"It's time he reviewed his lessons, then," was the reply. "Good night,
boys," he added, as he started toward the dock.
The campers followed Jock and his father to the dock, and as they were
about to put off, Bob called out, "I say, Jock, don't forget to use
your fork when you go into the dining room to-morrow."
"I'll try not to," promised Jock.
"And if I'm not mistaken they have napkins there, too."
"Good night, fellows. I'll see you in the morning," called Jock; and
the skiff soon disappeared in the darkness.
Few words were spoken by the remaining campers that night as they
prepared for bed. Perhaps the presence of Jock's father, and the
eagerness of their friend to see his mother, may have produced similar
longings in their own hearts; but if it was so, no one referred to
them, and soon the great pile of logs was sending its ruddy glow over
the shadows of the silent river, and the sounds which came from the
tent indicated that any possible feeling of homesickness had at
least been forgotten for the time.
When Bert awoke early in the following morning, he speedily discovered
that he was alone in the tent. As he dressed himself hastily, and ran
forth toward the bank of the river, he discovered the long form of Ben
paddling in his canoe not far away, but Bob was nowhere to be seen.
It was such an unusual occurrence for Bob to be awake so early in the
morning that the sturdy Bert was at a loss to account for his absence.
As a rule, Bob was the last to appear for breakfast, and not
infrequently a dash of cold water had been required to make him fully
aware of the hour; and now to find him gone was, to say the least,
surprising.
Ethan and Tom arrived, but still Bob did not appear. Ben came in from
his daily task, but he, too, had not seen the missing Bob, and
declared that he had left him sleeping in the tent when he himself had
departed. The absence certainly was strange, and the boys were just
beginning to feel uneasy as to the missing boy's whereabouts, when the
lad in question was seen approaching the camp. But he was coming from
among the trees, and his eager friends hailed him with the question,--
"Where have you been, Bob?"
"Out taking a peep at the rising sun."
"You've been taking more than that," exclaimed Ben, quickly, as he
perceived that Bob's garments were all dripping wet. "You've been in
the water."
"The early dew is heavy here," replied Bob, evasively, as he turned to
the tent to change his clothing.
It was evident that Bob did not intend to disclose the purpose of his
early rising, and Ben's suspicions were at once aroused. He concluded
that his friend was practising for the race in which he himself was to
enter. He did not refer to his surmise, however, and in a few minutes
Bob came forth and took his seat at the table with his friends.
Soon after breakfast, Jock, accompanied by his father and mother,
returned to the camp, and the greeting which Mr. Cope gave his old
schoolfellow, Ethan, was one which warmed the heart of that worthy
boatman.
"I thought mebbe ye'd forgotten yer old friends since ye've got so
rich," said Ethan, soberly.
"Forgotten them? Why, man, they're the best part of my life. I've a
painting of the old red schoolhouse hanging in my dining room, and I
never see it without thinking of the boys and girls who were there
years ago, and the good times we used to have."
"Got a pictur of it? Ye don't say so!" exclaimed Ethan, in surprise.
"Well, I never thought nobody'd want a pictur o' that place. It's most
gone to rack an' ruin now. I'm afeard we'll have to fix it up purty
quick or it'll fall down o' itself."
"That's too bad; I should think the district would keep it in repair."
"The deestrict hain't got no money. The only folks hereabouts what has
any money are mostly those who've gone off deown to New York. Seems as
if 'most any fool could make money deown there. The' say as how Homer
Perkins's boy has gone deown there, an' is a-gettin' a dollar an' a
half a day the whole year through, an' all he has to do is to drive a
hoss car."
Mr. Cope laughed as he replied, "I'm telling you the truth, Ethan,
when I say I never worked so hard in my life as I do now. I used to
pick up stones on the old farm, and haul and chop wood, and get up at
four o'clock in the morning and milk eight or ten cows before
breakfast, and then carry the milk to the factory, and that was before
the day's work was supposed to have begun; but all that's as nothing
compared with the way I have to work now."
Ethan was evidently incredulous, and said, "What time do ye get up in
the mornin' now?"
"About eight o'clock."
"And I s'pose ye don't get down to yer store till abeout nine?"
"I usually go down to the office about that time."
"An' when do ye shut up?"
"Anywhere from half-past four to six."
"An' ye call _that_ workin' harder 'n ye did on the old stone hill
farm, do ye?"
"Yes, a good deal harder. It's true I used to get tired and go to bed
some nights feeling as if every bone in my body ached, but I would go
to sleep right away and forget it all, and next morning I'd be all
ready for another day. Now I have to carry my load day and night, and
there is no escape. I have hundreds, yes, thousands, of men dependent
on me. When hard times come, and it sometimes seems to me that they
come pretty often, I carry a good many of these men through just for
the sake of their families, and when good times come they seem to
forget all about it, and some of them are always ready to make
trouble. There are times, Ethan, when it seems to me my load is
heavier than I can bear. I almost never have a day off, and sometimes
I long to return to the old farm, and am hungry for its peace and
quiet."
"I guess there ain't nuthin' to hinder ye from comin' back if ye want
to," grunted Ethan. "The old place is for sale, an 'twon't cost over
twenty-five or thirty dollars an acre. Ye can stand that much, can't
ye? Yer boy here says he guesses ye're worth more 'n five thousand
dollars."
Mr. Cope's cheeks flushed slightly, and he glanced reprovingly at
Jock; but evidently wishing to change the subject, he said, "I fancy,
Ethan, that most of the boys and girls who used to go to school with
us are gone now."
"Pretty much."
"What's ever become of Hiram Munsell? Hi Munsell we called him."
"Oh, he went out to the state o' Milwaukee. He's got rich too, they
say."
"Went where?"
"The state o' Milwaukee. He's a policeman an' gets a thousan' dollars
a year, or leastwise that's what the report is. You know as much as I
do about whether it's true or not. I hev my doubts, myself. Hi always
was one to stretch it pooty good, as you may recommember yerself."
Mr. Cope glanced again reprovingly at the boys, who for some strange
reason appeared to be highly delighted at the reference to the
"state" to which the wealthy Hi had gone, and said quickly,--
"Well, Ethan, I want to talk over old times with you some more, and I
want to go over to the old schoolhouse, too; but I'm to have only a
day or two here, and I fancy the boys are more interested in my
putting that to good use than they are in our reminiscences, so if
you're agreed, we'll try the sport for a time. Can you take us fishing
now?"
Ethan responded that he could, and when the two skiffs were made ready
it was discovered that Bob was not to go with them. Ben said nothing,
though his suspicions were at once aroused, and at first he, too, was
inclined to remain in camp; but Jock's evident disappointment was so
marked that he hastily recalled his words, and said that he would go,
making one proviso, that he should be permitted to take his canoe with
him.
Mrs. Cope was to remain in the camp, declaring that she wished to look
after some of the belongings of the boys, which she said were in a
"sad state," though just what she meant by the expression she did not
explain, and that she was not in the least afraid of being lonesome.
The party soon set forth in the skiffs, from one of which Ben's ever
present canoe was towed, and Ethan directed the way to a spot where
none of them had as yet been. Mr. Cope apparently was most
enthusiastic of all. Whatever may have been his inability to cast
aside his pressing problems when he was at home, here certainly they
were not to be found, and he entered into the sport with all the zest
of the boys themselves.
Their former successes in no way seemed to interfere with the
eagerness of the campers in the present experience, and when at last
Ethan and Tom rowed ashore to prepare dinner, they had all had a
degree of success which corresponded with their most ardent desires.
After dinner the sport was resumed, but about the middle of the
afternoon Ethan rowed his skiff close in to the other, and Mr. Cope
called out: "Boys, we've decided to land over here and go up to the
old schoolhouse, which isn't more than a mile and a half from the
shore. Jock wants to go; and if you would like to go too, we should be
glad to have you. What do you say?"
Ben looked at Bert a moment, and then said, "Thank you, Mr. Cope, Bert
would like to go and so should I, but I ought to go back to the camp."
"Why? What's wrong?" inquired Mr. Cope, quickly.
"There isn't anything wrong, only I've something I ought to do. I was
just thinking that I would take my canoe and go back, and leave you
all here anyway. I didn't want to break up your sport."
"He wants to write a letter, I guess," said Jock. "Well, Bert, you
come along, and let Ben go back if he wants to."
The proposal was agreed to, and Tom was to wait on the shore and guard
the skiff while his companions were gone to visit the scene of Mr.
Cope's and Ethan's earlier days. Ben did not wait, but hoisting his
little sail began to speed over the river in the direction of Pine
Tree Island.
What the urgent duty was which had induced him to depart from his
companions became apparent when he approached within a half mile of
the camp. He then lowered his sail and carefully scanned the river
before him.
Apparently satisfied with the inspection, he took his paddle and
began to send the light canoe swiftly over the water, but instead of
making his way to the dock he paddled around to the opposite side of
the island.
There he landed, and lifting his canoe, bore it up the shore and
carefully concealed it among the bushes. Satisfied that he had not
been seen, he cautiously made his way toward the shore of a sheltered
bay not far away. As soon as he had arrived at a place from which the
waters of the bay could be seen, he halted for a moment and peered
cautiously about him.
Evidently not satisfied with what he saw, he began to advance again,
stepping carefully from tree to tree, and at last arrived at a
sheltered spot from which he could see both the shore and bay.
Instantly he was deeply interested in something he there discovered,
for he peered farther out from behind the tree, and watched Bob, who
now could be seen near the shore.
"The rascal! He thought he'd fool us all," muttered Ben, as he watched
his friend, who plainly was unaware that his actions were observed.
"What's that he's doing?" he suddenly added. "If that doesn't beat
anything I ever saw before!"
So interested was Ben that he remained in the secluded spot for more
than an hour, watching the movements of Bob, who was in sight all the
time. Occasionally the watching Ben almost laughed aloud, and
frequently uttered exclamations expressive of his astonishment or
pleasure,--any one who might have heard him could hardly have told
which,--but at last he retraced his way through the woods to the spot
where he had left his canoe.
Speedily embarking, he paddled back around the island, and soon
afterward approached the dock; and the first person he discerned there
was Bob himself, seated on the edge and lazily swinging his feet out
over the water.