DOROTHY
ON A HOUSE-BOAT

By

EVELYN RAYMOND

◆◆◆◆

ILLUSTRATED

◆◆◆◆

New York

THE PLATTE & PECK CO.

THE

DOROTHY BOOKS

By EVELYN RAYMOND

These stories of an American girl by an American author have made “Dorothy” a household synonym for all that is fascinating. Truth and realism are stamped on every page. The interest never flags, and is ofttimes intense. No more happy choice can be made for gift books, so sure are they to win approval and please not only the young in years, but also “grown-ups” who are young in heart and spirit.

Dorothy
Dorothy at Skyrie
Dorothy’s Schooling
Dorothy’s Travels
Dorothy’s House Party
Dorothy in California
Dorothy on a Ranch
Dorothy’s House-Boat
Dorothy at Oak Knowe
Dorothy’s Triumph
Dorothy’s Tour

Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth
Price per Volume, 50 Cents

Copyright, 1909, by
The Platt & Peck Co.

“EPHRAIM, DID YOU EVER LIVE IN A HOUSE-BOAT?”—P [15] Dorothy’s House-Boat

FOREWORD.

Those who have followed the story of Dorothy Calvert’s life thus far will remember that it has been full of interest and many adventures—pleasant and otherwise. Beginning as a foundling left upon the steps of a little house in Brown street, Baltimore, she was adopted by its childless owners, a letter-carrier and his wife. When his health failed she removed with them to the Highlands of the Hudson. There followed her “Schooling” at a fashionable academy; her vacation [“Travels”] in beautiful Nova Scotia; her [“House Party”] at the home of her newly discovered great aunt, Mrs. Betty Calvert; their winter together “In California”; a wonderful summer [“On a Ranch”] in Colorado; and now the early autumn has found the old lady and the girl once more in the ancestral home of the Calverts. Enjoying their morning’s mail in the pleasant library of old Bellvieu, they are both astonished by the contents of one letter which offers for Dorothy’s acceptance the magnificent gift of a “House-Boat.” What follows the receipt of this letter is now to be told.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

A BIG GIFT FOR A SMALL MAID.

“Well, of all things!” exclaimed Mrs. Betty Calvert, shaking her white head and tossing her hands in a gesture of amazement. Then, as the letter she had held fell to the floor, her dark eyes twinkled with amusement and she smilingly demanded: “Dorothy, do you want an elephant?”

The girl had been reading her own letters, just come in the morning’s mail, but she paused to stare at her great-aunt and to ask in turn:

“Aunt Betty, what do you mean?”

“Because if you do here’s the chance of your life to get one!” answered the old lady, motioning toward the fallen letter.

Dolly understood that she was to pick it up and read it, and, having done so, remarked:

“Auntie dear, this doesn’t say anything about an elephant, as I can see.”

“Amounts to the same thing. The idea of a house-boat as a gift to a girl like you! My cousin Seth Winters must be getting into his dotage! Of course, girlie, I don’t mean that fully, but isn’t it a queer notion? What in the world can you, could you, do with a house-boat?”

“Live in it, sail in it, have the jolliest time in it! Why not, Auntie, darling?”

Dorothy’s face was shining with eagerness and she ran to clasp Mrs. Calvert with coaxing arms. “Why not, indeed, Aunt Betty? You’ve been shut up in this hot city all summer long; you haven’t had a bit of an outing, anywhere; it would do you lots of good to go sailing about on the river or bay; and—and—do say ‘yes,’ please, to dear Mr. Seth’s offer! Oh! do!”

The old lady kissed the uplifted face, merrily exclaiming:

“Don’t pretend it’s for my benefit, little wheedler! The idea of such a thing is preposterous—simply preposterous! Run away and write the silly man that we’ve no use for house-boats, but if he does happen to have an elephant on hand, a white elephant, we might consider accepting it as a gift! We could have it kept at the park Zoo, maybe, and some city youngsters might like that.”

Dorothy’s face clouded. She had become accustomed to receiving rich gifts, during her Summer on a Ranch, as the guest of the wealthy Fords, and now to have a house-boat offered her was only one more of the wonderful things life brought to her.

Going back to her seat beside the open window she pushed her own letters aside, for the moment, to re-read that of her old teacher and guardian, during her life on the mountain by the Hudson. She had always believed Mr. Winters to be the wisest of men, justly entitled to his nickname of the “Learned Blacksmith.” He wasn’t one to do anything without a good reason and, of course, Aunt Betty’s remarks about him had been only in jest. That both of them understood; and Dorothy now searched for the reason of this surprising gift. This was the letter:

“Dear Cousin Betty:

“Mr. Blank has failed in business, just as you warned me he would, and all I can recover of the money I loaned him is what is tied up in a house-boat, one of his many extravagances—though, in this case, not a great one.

“Of course, I have no use for such a floating structure on top of a mountain and I want to give it to our little Dorothy. As she has now become a shareholder in a mine with a small income of her own, she can afford to accept the boat and I know she will enjoy it. I have forwarded the deed of gift to my lawyers in your town and trust your own tangled business affairs are coming out right in the end. All well at Deerhurst. Jim Barlow came down to say that Dr. Sterling is going abroad for a few months and that the manse will be closed. I wish the boy were ready for college, but he isn’t. Also, that he wasn’t too proud to accept any help from Mr. Ford—but he is. He says the discovery of that mine on that gentleman’s property was an ‘accident’ on his own part, and he ‘won’t yet awhile.’ He wants ‘to earn his own way through the world’ and, from present appearances, I think he’ll have a chance to try. He’s on the lookout now for another job.”

There followed a few more sentences about affairs in the highland village where the writer lived, but not a doubt was expressed as to the fitness of his extraordinary gift to a little girl, nor of its acceptance by her. Indeed, it was a puzzled, disappointed face which was now raised from the letter and an appealing glance that was cast upon the old lady in the chair by the desk.

Meanwhile Aunt Betty had been doing some thinking of her own. She loved novelty with all the zest of a girl and she was fond of the water. Mr. Winters’s offer began to seem less absurd. Finally, she remarked:

“Well, dear, you may leave the writing of that note for a time. I’m obliged to go down town on business, this morning, and after my errands are done we will drive to that out-of-the-way place where this house-boat is moored and take a look at it. Are all those letters from your summer-friends? For a small person you have established a big correspondence, but, of course, it won’t last long. Now run and tell Ephraim to get up the carriage. I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

Dorothy hastily piled her notes on the wide window-ledge and skipped from the room, clapping her hands and singing as she went. To her mind Mrs. Calvert’s consent to visit the house-boat was almost proof that it would be accepted. If it were—Ah! glorious!

“Ephraim, did you ever live in a house-boat?” she demanded, bursting in upon the old colored coachman, engaged in his daily task of “shinin’ up de harness.”

He glanced at her over his “specs,” then as hastily removed them and stuffed them into his pocket. It was his boast that he could see as “well as evah” and needed no such aids to his sight. He hated to grow old and those whom he served so faithfully rarely referred to the fact.

So Dorothy ignored the “specs,” though she couldn’t help smiling to see one end of their steel frame sticking out from the pocket, while she repeated to his astonished ears her question.

“Evah lib in a house-boat? Evah kiss a cat’s lef’ hind foot? Nebah heered o’ no such contraption. Wheah’s it at—dat t’ing?”

“Away down at some one of the wharves and we’re going to see it right away. Oh! I forget. Aunt Betty wants the carriage at the door in twenty minutes. In fifteen, now, I guess because ‘time flies’ fairly away from me. But, Ephy, dear, try to put your mind to the fact that likely, I guess, maybe, you and I and everybody will go and live on the loveliest boat, night and day, and every day go sailing—sailing—sailing—on pretty rivers, between green banks and heaps of flowers, and——”

Ephraim rose from his stool and waved her away.

“Gwan erlong wid yo’ foolishness honey gell! Yo’ dreamin’, an’ my Miss Betty ain’ gwine done erlow no such notionses. My Miss Betty done got sense, she hab, bress her! She ain’ gwine hab not’in’ so scan’lous in yo’ raisin’ as dat yeah boat talk. Gwan an’ hunt yo’ bunnit, if you-all ’spects to ride in ouah bawoosh.”

Dorothy always exploded in a gale of laughter to hear Ephraim’s efforts to pronounce “barouche,” as he liked to call the old carriage; and she now swept a mocking curtsey to his pompous dismissal, as she hurried away to put on her “bunnit” and coat. To Ephraim, any sort of feminine headgear was simply a “bunnit” and every wrap was a “shawl.”

Soon the fat horses drew the glistening carriage through the gateway of Bellvieu, the fine old residence of the Calverts, and down through the narrow, crowded streets of the business part of old Baltimore. To loyal Mrs. Betty, who had passed the greater part of her long life in the southern city, it was very dear and even beautiful; but to Dorothy’s young eyes it seemed, on that early autumn day, very “smelly” and almost squalid. Her mind still dwelt upon visions of sunny rivers and green fields, and she was too anxious for her aunt’s acceptance of Mr. Winters’s gift to keep still.

Fidgetting from side to side of the carriage seat, where she had been left to wait, the impatient girl felt that Aunt Betty’s errands were endless. Even the fat horses, used to standing quietly on the street, grew restless during a long delay at the law offices of Kidder and Kidder, Mrs. Calvert’s men of business. This, the lady had said, would be the last stop by the way; and when she at length emerged from the building, she moved as if but half conscious of what she was doing. Her face was troubled and looked far older than when she had left the carriage; and, with sudden sympathy and pity, Dorothy’s mood changed.

“Aunt Betty, aren’t you well? Let’s go straight home, then, and not bother about that boat.”

Mrs. Calvert smiled and bravely put her own worries behind her.

“Thank you, dear, for your consideration, but ‘the last’s the best of all the game,’ as you children say. I’ve begun to believe that this boat errand of ours may prove so. Ephraim, drive to Halcyon Point.”

If his mistress had bidden him drive straight into the Chesapeake, the old coachman would have attempted to obey; but he could not refrain from one glance of dismay as he received this order. He wouldn’t have risked his own respectability by a visit to such a “low down, ornery” resort, alone; but if Miss Betty chose to go there it was all right. Her wish was “sutney cur’us” but being hers not to be denied.

And now, indeed, did Dorothy find the city with its heat a “smelly” place, but a most interesting one as well. The route lay through the narrowest of streets, where tumble-down old houses swarmed with strange looking people. To her it all seemed like some foreign country, with its Hebrew signs on the walls, its bearded men of many nations, and its untidy women leaning from the narrow windows, scolding the dirty children in the gutters beneath.

But after a time, the lane-like streets gave place to wider ones, the air grew purer, and soon a breath from the salt water beyond refreshed them all. Almost at once, it seemed, they had arrived; and Dorothy eagerly sought to tell which of the various craft clustered about the Point was her coveted house-boat.

The carriage drew up beside a little office on the pier and a man came out. He courteously assisted Aunt Betty to descend, while he promptly pointed out a rather squat, but pretty, boat which he informed her was the “Water Lily,” lately the property of Mr. Blank, but now consigned to one Mr. Seth Winters, of New York, to be held at the commands of Miss Dorothy Calvert.

“A friend of yours, Madam?” he inquired, concluding that this stately old lady could not be the “Miss” in question and wholly forgetting that the little maid beside her might possibly be such.

Aunt Betty laid her hand on Dolly’s shoulder and answered:

“This is Miss Dorothy Calvert and the ‘Water Lily’ is a gift from Mr. Winters to her. Can we go on board and inspect?”

The gentleman pursed his lips to whistle, he was so surprised, but instead exclaimed:

“What a lucky girl! The ‘Water Lily’ is the most complete craft of its kind I ever saw. Mr. Blank spared no trouble nor expense in fitting her up for a summer home for his family. She is yacht-shaped and smooth-motioned; and even her tender is better than most house-boats in this country. Blank must be a fanciful man, for he named the tender ‘The Pad,’ meaning leaf, I suppose, and the row-boat belonging is ‘The Stem.’ Odd, isn’t it, Madam?”

“Rather; but will just suit this romantic girl, here,” she replied; almost as keen pleasure now lighting her face as was shining from Dorothy’s. At her aunt’s words she caught the lady’s hand and kissed it rapturously, exclaiming:

“Then you do mean to let me accept it, you precious, darling dear! You do, you do!”

They all laughed, even Ephraim, who was close at his lady’s heels, acting the stout body-guard who would permit nothing to harm her in this strange place.

The Water Lily lay lower in the water than the dock and Mrs. Calvert was carefully helped down the gang plank to its deck. Another plank rested upon the top of the cabin, or main room of the house-boat, and Dorothy sped across this and hurried down the steep little winding stair, leading from it to the lower deck, to join in her aunt’s inspection of the novel “ship.”

Delighted astonishment hushed for the time her nimble tongue. Then her exclamations burst forth:

“It’s so big!”

“About one hundred feet long, all told, and eighteen wide;” the wharf master explained.

“It’s all furnished, just like a really, truly house!”

“Indeed, yes; with every needful comfort but not one superfluous article. See this, please. The way the ‘bedrooms’ are shut off;” continued the gentleman, showing how the three feet wide window-seats were converted into sleeping quarters. Heavy sail cloth had been shaped into partitions, and these fastened to ceiling and side wall separated the cots into cosy little staterooms. Extra seats, pulled from under the first ones, furnished additional cots, if needed.

The walls of the saloon had been sunk below the deck line, giving ample head room, and the forward part was of solid glass, while numerous side-windows afforded fine views in every direction. The roof of this large room could be covered by awnings and became a charming promenade deck.

Even Aunt Betty became speechless with pleasure as she wandered over the beautiful boat, examining every detail, from the steam-heating arrangements to the tiny “kitchen,” which was upon the “tender” behind.

“I thought the tug, or towing boat was always in front,” she remarked at length.

“Mr. Blank found this the best arrangement. The ‘Pad’ has a steam engine and its prow fastened to the stern of the Lily propels it ahead. None of the smoke comes into the Lily and that, too, was why the galley, or kitchen, was built on the smaller boat. A little bridge is slung between the two for foot passage and—Well, Madam, I can’t stop admiring the whole affair. It shows what a man’s brain can do in the way of invention, when his heart is in it, too. I fancy that parting with his Water Lily was about the hardest trial poor old Blank had to bear.”

Silence fell on them all and Dorothy’s face grew very sober. It was a wonderful thing that this great gift should come to her but it grieved her to know it had so come by means of another’s misfortune. Aunt Betty, too, grew more serious and she asked the practical question:

“Is it a very expensive thing to run? Say for about three months?”

The official shrugged his shoulders, replying:

“That depends on what one considers expensive. It would smash my pocket-book to flinders. The greatest cost would be the engineer’s salary. One might take the job for three dollars a day and keep. He might—I don’t know. Then the coal, the power for the electric lights—the lots of little things that crop up to eat up cash as if it were good bread and butter. Ah! yes. It’s a lovely toy—for those who can afford it. I only wish I could!”

The man’s remarks ended in a sigh and he looked at Dorothy as if he envied her. His expression hurt her, somehow, and she turned away her eyes, asking a practical question of her own:

“Would three hundred dollars do it?”

“Yes—for a time, at least. But——”

He broke off abruptly and helped Aunt Betty to ascend the plank to the wharf, while Dorothy followed, soberly, and Ephraim with all the pomposity he could assume.

There Methuselah Bonaparte Washington, the small colored boy who had always lived at Bellvieu and now served as Mrs. Betty’s page as well as footman, descended from his perch and untied the horses from the place where careful Ephraim had fastened them. His air was a perfect imitation of the old man’s and sat so funnily upon his small person that the wharf master chuckled and Dorothy laughed outright.

“Metty,” as he was commonly called, disdained to see the mirth he caused but climbed to his seat behind, folded his arms as well as he could for his too big livery, and became as rigid as a statue—or as all well-conducted footmen should be.

Then good-byes were exchanged, after the good old Maryland fashion and the carriage rolled away.

As it vanished from view the man left behind sighed again and clenched his fists, muttering:

“This horrible, uneven world! Why should one child have so much and my Elsa—nothing! Elsa, my poor, unhappy child!”

Then he went about his duties and tried to forget Dorothy’s beauty, perfect health, and apparent wealth.

For some time neither Mrs. Calvert nor Dorothy spoke; then the girl said:

“Aunt Betty, Jim Barlow could tend that engine. And he’s out of a place. Maybe——”

“Yes, dear, I’ve been thinking of him, too. Somehow none of our plans seem quite perfect without good, faithful James sharing them.”

“And that poor Mr. Blank——”

“A very dishonest scoundrel, my child, according to all accounts. Don’t waste pity on him.”

“But his folks mayn’t be scoundrels. He loved them, too, same as we love or he wouldn’t have built such a lovely Water Lily. Auntie, that boat would hold a lot of people, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” answered the lady, absently.

“When we go house-boating may I invite anybody I choose to go with us?”

“I haven’t said yet that we would go!”

“But you’ve looked it and that’s better.”

Just then an automobile whizzed by and the horses pretended to be afraid. Mrs. Calvert was frightened and leaned forward anxiously till Ephraim had brought them down to quietness again. Then she settled back against her cushions and became once more absorbed in her own sombre thoughts. She scarcely heard and wholly failed to understand Dorothy’s repeated question:

“May I, dear Aunt Betty?”

She answered carelessly:

“Why, yes, child. You may do what you like with your own.”

But that consent, so rashly given, was to bring some strange adventures in its train.

CHAPTER II

INVITATIONS TO A CRUISE OF LOVING KINDNESS.

“Huh! Dolly’s caught the Ford fashion of sending telegrams where a letter would do!” exclaimed Jim Barlow, after he had opened the yellow envelope which Griselda Roemer gave him when he came in from work.

He was back at Deerhurst, living with old Hans and Griselda, the caretakers, and feeling more at home in his little room above the lodge doorway than anywhere else. He had come to do any sort of labor by which he might earn his keep, and to go on with his studies whenever he had leisure. Mr. Seth Winters, the “Learned Blacksmith,” and his faithful friend, would give him such help as was needed; and the lad had settled down in the prospect of a fine winter at his beloved books. After his long summer on the Colorado mountains he felt rested and keener for knowledge than ever.

Now as he held the telegram in his hand his face clouded, so that Griselda, watching, anxiously inquired:

“Is something wrong? Is our good lady sick?”

“It doesn’t say so. It’s from Dorothy. She wants me to come to Baltimore and help her fool away lots more time on a house-boat! I wish she’d mind her business!”

The friendly German woman stared. She had grown to look upon her lodger, Jim, very much as if he were her own son. He wasn’t often so cross as this and never had been so against Dorothy.

“Well, well! Ah so! Well!”

With this brief comment she made haste to set the dinner on the table and to call Hans from his own task of hoeing the driveway. Presently he had washed his face and hands at the little sink in the kitchen, rubbed them into a fine glow with the spotless roller-towel, and was ready for the great meal of the day—his generous “Dutch dinner.”

Usually Jim was as ready as Hans to enjoy it; but, to-day, he left his food untasted on his plate while he stared gloomily out of the window, and for so long that Griselda grew curious and went to see what might be happening without.

“What seest thou, lad? Is aught wrong beyond already?”

“No. Oh! come back to table, Mrs. Roemer. I’ll tell you. I’d just got fixed, you know, to do a lot of hard work—both kinds. Now comes this silly thing! I suppose Mrs. Calvert must have let Dolly ask me else she wouldn’t have done it. It seems some simpleton or other, likely as not that Mr. Ford——”

“Call no names, son!” warned Hans, disposing of a great mouthful, to promptly reprimand the angry youth. Hans was a man of peace. He hated nothing so much as ill temper.

Jim said no more, but his wrath cooling began to eat his dinner with a zeal that made up for lost time. Having finished he went out saying:

“I’ll finish my job when I come back. I’m off now for the Shop.”

He always spoke of the smithy under the Great Balm of Gilead Tree as if it began with a capital letter. The old man who called himself a “blacksmith”—and was, in fact, a good one—and dwelt in the place stood to eager James Barlow as the type of everything good and great. He was sure, as he hurried along the road, that Mr. Seth would agree with him in regard to Dorothy’s telegram.

“Hello, Jim! What’s up? You look excited,” was the blacksmith’s greeting as the lad’s shadow darkened the smithy entrance.

“Read that, will you, Mr. Winters?”

The gentleman put on his “reading specs,” adjusted the yellow slip of paper conveniently, and exclaimed:

“Good enough! Mistress Betty has allowed the darling to accept it then! First rate. Well?”

Then he looked up inquiringly, surprised by the impatience of the boy’s expression.

“Well—of course I sha’n’t go. The idea of loafing for another two, three months is—ridiculous! And what fool would give such a thing as a house-boat to a chit of a girl like our Dorothy?”

Mr. Seth laughed and pointed to the settee.

“Sit down, chap, and cool off. The world is as full of fools as it is of wise men. Which is which depends upon the point of view. I’m sorry to have you number me amongst the first; because I happen to be the stupid man who gave the ‘Water Lily’ and its belongings to little Dorothy. I knew she’d make good use of it, if her aunt would let her accept the gift, and she flatters you, I think, by inviting you to come and engineer the craft. You’ll go, of course.”

Jim did sit down then, rather suddenly, while his face reddened with shame, remembering what he had just called the wise man before him. Finally, he faltered:

“I know next to nothing about a steam engine.”

“I thought you had a good idea of the matter. Not as a trained expert, of course, but enough to manage a simple affair like the one in question. Dr. Sterling told me that you were often pottering about the machine shops in Newburgh and had picked up some good notions about steam and its force. He thought you might, eventually, turn your attention to such a line of work. From the beginning I had you in mind as helping Dolly to carry out her pleasant autumn plans.”

“I’d likely enough blow up the whole concern—through dumb ignorance. And—and—I was going to study double hard. I do want to get to college next year!”

“This trip will help you. I wish I could take it myself, though I couldn’t manage even a tiny engine. Besides, lad, as I understand, the ‘Water Lily’ doesn’t wholly depend upon steam for her ‘power.’ She—but you’ll find out in two minutes of inspection more than I can suggest in an hour. If you take the seven-thirty train to New York, to-morrow morning, you can reach Baltimore by three in the afternoon, easily enough. ‘James Barlow. Been given house-boat. You’re engineer. Be Union Station, three, Wednesday.’ Signed: ‘Dorothy.’”

This was the short dispatch which Mr. Winters now re-read, aloud, with the comment:

“The child is learning to condense. She’s got this message down to the regulation ten-words-for-a-quarter.”

Then he crossed to the bookcase and began to select certain volumes from its shelves, while Jim watched eagerly, almost hungrily. One after another, these were the beloved books whose contents he had hoped to master during the weeks to come. To see them now from the outside only was fresh disappointment and he rose to leave, saying:

“Well, if I must I must an’ no bones about it. I wouldn’t stir hand nor foot, ’cept it’s Mrs. Calvert and——”

“Don’t leave out Dolly Doodles, boy! She was your first friend among us all, and your first little teacher in the art of spelling. Oh! I know. Of course, such a boy as you would have learned, anyway, but ‘Praise the bridge that carries you safe over.’ Dorothy was the first ‘bridge’ between you and these volumes, in those far-back days when you both picked strawberries on Miranda Stott’s truck-farm. There. I think these will be all you can do justice to before you come back. There’s an old ‘telescope’ satchel of mine in the inner closet that will hold them nicely. Fetch it and be off with you.”

“Those—why, those are your own best beloved books! Would you trust them with me away from home? Will they be of any use on a house-boat?”

“Yes, yes, you ‘doubting Thomas.’ Now—how much money have you on hand?”

“Ten dollars. I’d saved it for a lexicon and some—some other things.”

“This bulky fellow is a lexicon I used in my youth; and since Latin is a ‘dead language’ it’s as much alive and as helpful now as ever. That book is my parting gift to you; and ten dollars is sufficient for your fare and a day’s needs. good-bye.”

All the time he had been talking Mr. Winters had been deftly packing the calf-bound volumes in the shabby “telescope,” and now strapped it securely. Then he held out his hand with a cheerful smile lighting his fine face, and remarking:

“When you see my dear ones just say everything good to them and say I said it. Good-bye.”

Jim hurried away lest his friend should see the moisture that suddenly filled his eyes. He “hated good-byes” and could never get used to partings. So he fairly ran over the road to the gates of Deerhurst and worked off his troublesome emotion by hoeing every vestige of a weed from the broad driveways on its grounds. He toiled so swiftly and so well that old Hans felt himself relieved of the task and quietly went to sleep in his chair by the lodge door.

Gradually, too, the house-boat idea began to interest him. He had but a vague notion of what such a craft was like and found himself thinking about it with considerable pleasure. So that when, at three o’clock the next afternoon, he stepped down from the train at Union Station he was his old, eager, good-natured self.

“Hello, Doll!”

“O Jim! The three weeks since I saw you seems an age! Isn’t it just glorious? I’m so glad!”

With that the impulsive girl threw her arms around the lad’s neck and tip-toed upwards to reach his brown cheek with her lips. Only to find her arms unclasped and herself set down with considerable energy.

“Quit that, girlie. Makes me look like a fool!”

“I should think it did. Your face is as red—as red! Aren’t you glad to see me, again?” demanded Miss Dorothy, folding her arms and standing firmly before him.

She looked so pretty, so bewitching, that some passers-by smiled, at which poor Jim’s face turned even a deeper crimson and he picked up his luggage to go forward with the crowd.

“But aren’t you glad, Jim?” she again mischievously asked, playfully obstructing his progress.

“Oh! bother! Course. But boys can be glad without such silly kissin’. I don’t know what ails girls, anyway, likin’ so to make a feller look ridic’lous.”

Dorothy laughed and now marched along beside him, contenting herself by a clasp of his burdened arms.

“Jim, you’re a dear. But you’re cross. I can always tell when you’re that by your ‘relapsing into the vernacular,’ as I read in Aunt Betty’s book. Never mind, Jim, I’m in trouble!”

“Shucks! I’d never dream it!”

They had climbed the iron stairway leading to the street above and were now waiting for a street-car to carry them to Bellvieu. So Jim set down his heavy telescope and light bag of clothing to rest his arms, while old Ephraim approached from the rear. He had gone with his “li’l miss” to meet the newcomer but had kept out of sight until now.

“Howdy, Marse Jim. Howdy.”

Then he picked up the bag of books and shrugged his shoulders at its weight. Setting it back on the sidewalk he raised his hand and beckoned small Methuselah, half-hiding behind a pillar of the building. That youngster came tremblingly forward. He was attired in his livery, that he had been forbidden to wear when “off duty,” or save when in attendance upon “Miss Betty.” But having been so recently promoted to the glory of a uniform he appeared in it whenever possible.

On this trip to the station he had lingered till his grandfather had already boarded the street-car and too late for him to be sent home to change. Now he cowered before Ephraim’s frown and fear of what would happen when they two were alone together in the “harness room” of the old stable. On its walls reposed other whips than those used for Mrs. Calvert’s horses.

“Yeah, chile. Tote dem valeeshes home. Doan’ yo let no grass grow, nudder, whiles yo’ doin’ it. I’ll tend to yo’ case bimeby. I ain’ gwine fo’get.”

Then he put the little fellow aboard the first car that came by, hoisted the luggage after him, and had to join in the mirth the child’s appearance afforded—with his scrawny body half-buried beneath the livery “made to grow in.”

Jim was laughing, too, yet anxious over the disappearance of his books, and explained to Dorothy:

“That gray telescope’s full of Mr. Seth’s books. We better get the next car an’ follow, else maybe he’ll lose ’em.”

“He’ll not dare. And we’re not going home yet. We’re going down to the Water Lily. Oh! she’s a beauty! and think that we can do just what we like with her! No, not that one! This is our car. It runs away down to the jumping-off place of the city and out to the wharves beyond. Yes, of course, Ephraim will go with us. That’s why Metty was brought along. To take your things home and to let Aunt Betty know you had come. O Jim, I’m so worried!”

He looked and laughed his surprise, but she shook her head, and when they were well on their way disclosed her perplexities, that were, indeed, real and serious enough.

“Jim Barlow, Aunt Betty’s got to give up Bellvieu—and it’s just killing her!”

“Dolly Doodles—what you sayin’?”

It sounded very pleasant to hear that old pet name again and proved that this was the same loving, faithful Jim, even if he did hate kissing. But then he’d always done that.

“I mean just what I say and I’m so glad to have you to talk it over with. I daren’t say a word to her about it, of course, and I can’t talk to the servants. They get just frantic. Once I said something to Dinah and she went into a fit, nearly. Said she’d tear the house down stone by stone ’scusin’ she’d let her ‘li’l Miss Betty what was borned yeah be tu’ned outen it.’ You see that dear Auntie, in the goodness of her heart, has taken care of a lot of old women and old men, in a big house the family used to own down in the country. Something or somebody has ‘failed’ whatever that means and most of Aunt Betty’s money has failed too. If she sells Bellvieu, as the ‘city’ has been urging her to do for ever so long, she’ll have enough money left to still take care of her ‘old folks’ and keep up their Home. If she doesn’t—Well there isn’t enough to do everything. And, though she doesn’t say a word of complaint, it’s heart-breaking to see the way she goes around the house and grounds, laying her old white hand on this thing or that in such a loving way—as if she were saying good-bye to it! Then, too, Jim, did you know that poor Mabel Bruce has lost her father? He died very suddenly and her mother has been left real poor. Mabel grieves dreadfully; so, of course, she must be one of our guests on the Water Lily. She won’t cheer up Aunt Betty very well, but you must do that. She’s very fond of you, Jim, Aunt Betty is, and it’s just splendid that you’re free from Dr. Sterling now and can come to manage our boat. Why, boy, what’s the matter? Why do you look so ‘sollumcolic?’ Didn’t you want to come? Aren’t you glad that ‘Uncle Seth’ gave me the ‘Water Lily’?”

“No. I didn’t want to come. And if Mrs. Betty’s so poor, what you doing with a house-boat, anyway?”

Promptly, they fell into such a heated argument that Ephraim felt obliged to interfere and remind his “li’l miss” that she was in a public conveyance and must be more “succumspec’ in yo’ behavesomeness.” But she gaily returned that they were now the only passengers left in the car and she must make stupid Jim understand—everything.

Finally, she succeeded so far that he knew the facts:

How and why the house-boat had become Dorothy’s property; that she had three hundred dollars in money, all her own; and that, instead of putting it in the bank as she had expected, she was going to use it to sail the Water Lily and give some unhappy people a real good time; that Jim was expected to work without wages and must manage the craft for pure love of the folks who sailed in it; that Aunt Betty had said Dorothy might invite whom she chose to be her guests; and that, first and foremost, Mrs. Calvert herself must be made perfectly happy and comfortable.

“Here we are! There she is! That pretty thing all white and gold, with the white flag flying her own sweet name—Water Lily! Doesn’t she look exactly like one? Wasn’t it a pretty notion to paint the tender green like a real lily ‘Pad?’ and that cute little row-boat a reddish brown, like an actual ‘Stem?’ Aren’t you glad you came? Aren’t we going to be gloriously happy? Does it seem it can be true that it’s really, truly ours?” demanded Dorothy, skipping along the pier beside the soberer Jim.

But his face brightened as he drew nearer the beautiful boat and a great pride thrilled him that he was to be in practical charge of her.

“Skipper Jim, the Water Lily. Water Lily, let me introduce you to your Commodore!” cried Dorothy, as they reached the gang-plank and were about to go aboard. Then her expression changed to one of astonishment. Somebody—several somebodies, indeed—had presumed to take possession of the house-boat and were evidently having “afternoon tea” in the main saloon.

The wharf master came out of his office and hastily joined the newcomers. He was evidently annoyed and hastened to explain:

“Son and daughter of Mr. Blank with some of their friends. Come down here while I was off duty and told my helper they had a right to do that. He didn’t look for you to come, to-day, and anyway, he’d hardly have stopped them. Sorry. Ah! Elsa! Afraid to stay alone back there?”

A girl, about Dorothy’s age, had followed the master and now slipped her hand about his arm. She was very thin and sallow, with eyes that seemed too large for her face, and walked with a painful limp. There was an expression of great timidity on her countenance, so that she shrank half behind her father, though he patted her hand to reassure her and explained to Dorothy:

“This is my own motherless little girl. She’s not very strong and rather nervous. I brought her down here this afternoon to show her your boat, but we haven’t been aboard. Those people—they had no right—I regret—”

Dolly, vexatious with the “interlopers,” as she considered the party aboard the Water Lily, gave place to a sudden, keen liking for the fragile Elsa. She looked as if she had never had a good time in her life and the more fortunate girl instantly resolved to give her one. Taking Elsa’s other hand in both of hers, she exclaimed:

“Come along with Jim and me and pick out the little stateroom you’ll have for your own when we start on our cruise—next Monday morning! You’ll be my guest, won’t you? The first one invited.”

Elsa’s large eyes were lifted in amazed delight; then as quickly dropped, while a fit of violent trembling shook her slight frame. She was so agitated that her equally astonished father put his arm about her to support her, and the look he gave Dorothy was very keen as he said:

“Elsa has always lived alone. She isn’t used to the jests of other girls, Miss Calvert.”

“Isn’t she? But I wasn’t jesting. My aunt has given me permission to choose my own guests and I choose Elsa, first, if she will come. Will you, dear?” and again Dolly gave the hand she held an affectionate squeeze. “Come and help us make our little cruise a perfectly delightful one.”

Once more the great, dark eyes looked into Dorothy’s brown ones and Elsa answered softly: “Ye-es, I’ll come. If—if you begin like this—with a poor girl like me—it should be called ‘The Cruise of Loving Kindness.’ I guess—I know—God sent you.”

Neither Dorothy nor Jim could find anything to say. It was evident that this stranger was different from any of their old companions, and it scarcely needed the father’s explanation to convince them that “Elsa is a deeply religious dreamer.” Jim hoped that she wouldn’t prove a “wet blanket” and was provoked with Dorothy’s impulsive invitation; deciding to warn her against any more such as soon as he could get her alone.

Already the lad was feeling as if he, too, were proprietor of this wonderful Water Lily, and carried himself with a masterful air which made Dolly smile, as he now stepped across the little deck into the main cabin.

It was funny, too, to see the “How-dare-you” sort of expression with which he regarded the “impudent” company of youngsters that filled the place, and he was again annoyed by the graciousness with which “Doll” advanced to meet them. In her place—hello! what was that she was saying?

“Very happy to meet you, Miss Blank—if I am right in the name.”

A tall girl, somewhat resembling Helena Montaigne, though with less refinement of appearance, had risen as Dorothy moved forward and stood defiantly awaiting what might happen. Her face turned as pink as her rose-trimmed hat but she still retained her haughty pose, as she stiffly returned:

“Quite right. I’m Aurora Blank. These are my friends. That’s my brother. My father owns—I mean—he ought—We came down for a farewell lark. We’d all expected to cruise in her all autumn till—. Have a cup of tea, Miss—Calvert, is it?”

“Yes, I’m Dorothy. This is Elsa Carruthers and this—James Barlow. You seem to be having a lovely time and we won’t disturb you. We’re going to inspect the tender. Ephraim, please help Elsa across when we come to the plank.”

The silence which followed proved that the company of merrymakers was duly impressed by Dolly’s treatment of their intrusion. Also, the dignity with which the old colored man followed and obeyed his small mistress convinced these other Southerners that his “family” was “quality.” Dorothy’s simple suit, worn with her own unconscious “style,” seemed to make the gayer costumes of the Blank party look tawdry and loud; while the eager spirituality of Elsa’s face became a silent reproof to their boisterous fun, which ceased before it.

Only one member of the tea-party joined the later visitors. This was the foppish youth whom Aurora had designated as “my brother.” Though ill at ease he forced himself to follow and accost Dorothy with the excuse:

“Beg pardon, Miss Calvert, but we owe you an apology. We had no business down here, you know, and I say—it’s beastly. I told Rora so, but—I mean, I’m as much to blame as she. And I say, you know, I hope you’ll have as good times in the Lily as we expected to have—and—I’ll bid you good day. We’ll clear out, at once.”

But Dorothy laid her hand on his arm to detain him a moment.

“Please don’t. Finish your stay—I should be so sorry if you didn’t, and you’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

Gerald Blank stared and asked:

“In what way, please? I’m glad to think it.”

“Why, I was going to hunt up your address, or that of your family. I’d like to have you and your sister go with us next week on our cruise. We mayn’t take the same route you’d have chosen, but—will you come? It’s fair you should and I’d be real glad. Talk it over with your sister and let me know, to-morrow, please, at this address. good-bye.”

She had slipped a visiting-card into his hand and while he stood still, surprised by her unexpected invitation, she hurried after her own friends—and to meet the disgusted look on Jim Barlow’s face.

“I say, Dolly Calvert, have you lost your senses?”

“I hope not. Why?”

“Askin’ that fellow to go with us! The idea! Well, I’ll tell you right here and now, there won’t be room enough on this boat for that popinjay an’ me at the same time. I don’t like his cut. Mrs. Calvert won’t, either, and you’d ought to consult your elders before you launch out promiscuous, this way. All told, it’s nothing but a boat. Where you going to stow them all, child?”

“Oh, there’ll be room enough, and you should be studying your engine instead of scolding me. You’re all right, though, Jimmy-boy, so I don’t mind telling you that whatever invitations I’ve given so far, were planned from the very day I was allowed to accept the Lily. Now get pleasant right away and find out how much or little you know about that engine.”

Jim laughed. Nobody could be offended with happy Dorothy that day, and he was soon deep in exploration of his new charge; his pride in his ability to handle such a perfect bit of machinery increasing every moment.

When they returned from the tender to the main saloon they found it empty and in order. Everything was as shipshape as possible, the young Blanks having proudly demonstrated their father’s skill in arrangement, and then quietly departing. Gerald’s whispered announcement to his sister had secured her prompt help in breaking up their tea-party, and she now felt as ashamed of the affair as he had been.

At last, even Jim was willing to leave the Water Lily, reminded by hunger that he’d eaten nothing since his early breakfast; and returning the grateful Elsa to her father’s care, he and Dorothy walked swiftly down the pier to the car line beyond, to take the first car which came. It was full of workmen returning from the factories beyond and for a time Dorothy found no seat, while Jim went far forward and Ephraim remained on the rear platform, whence, by peering through the back window, he could still keep a watchful eye over his beloved “li’l miss.”

Somebody left the car and he saw the girl pushed into a vacant place beside a rough, seafaring man with crutches, and poorly clad. He resented the “old codger’s” nearness to his dainty darling and his talking to her. Next he saw that the talk was mostly on Dorothy’s side and that when the cripple presently left the car it was with a cordial handshake of his little lady, and a smiling good-bye from her. Then the “codger” limped to the street and Ephraim looked after him curiously. Little did he guess how much he would yet owe that vagrant.

CHAPTER III

THE DIFFICULTIES OF GETTING UNDER WAY.

How that week flew! How busy was everybody concerned in the cruise of the wonderful Water Lily!

Early on the morning after his arrival, Jim Barlow repaired to Halcyon Point, taking an expert engineer with him, as Aunt Betty had insisted, and from that time till the Water Lily sailed he spent every moment of his waking hours in studying his engine and its management. At the end he felt fully competent to handle it safely and was as impatient as Dorothy herself to be off; and, at last, here they all were waiting on the little pier for the word of command or, as it appeared, for one tardy arrival.

From her own comfortable steamer-chair, Aunt Betty watched the gathering of the company and wondered if anybody except Dolly could have collected such a peculiar lot of contrasts. But the girl was already “calling the roll” and she listened for the responses as they came.

“Mrs. Elisabeth Cecil Somerset Calvert?”

“Present!”

“Mrs. Charlotte Bruce?”

“Here.”

“Mabel Bruce?”

“Present!”

“Elsa Carruthers?”

“Oh! I—don’t know—I guess—.” But a firm voice, her father’s, answered for the hesitating girl, whose timidity made her shrink from all these strangers.

“Aurora Blank? Gerald Blank?”

“Oh, we’re both right on hand, don’t you know? Pop’s pride rather stood in the way, but—Present!”

“Mr. Ephraim Brown-Calvert?”

The old man bowed profoundly and answered:

“Yeah ’m I, li’l miss!”

“That ends the passengers. Now for the crew. Captain Jack Hurry?”

Nobody responded. Whoever owned the rapid name was slow to claim it. But Dorothy smiled and proceeded. “Cap’n Jack” was a surprise of her own. He would keep for a time.

“Engineer James Barlow?”

“At his post!”

“Master Engineer, John Stinson?”

“Present!” called that person, laughing. He was Jim’s instructor and would see them down the bay and into the quiet river where they would make their first stop.

“Mrs. Chloe Brown, assistant chef and dishwasher?”

“Yeah ’m I?” returned the only one of Aunt Betty’s household-women who dared to trust herself on board a boat “to lib.” She was Methuselah’s mother and as his imposing name was read, answered for him; while the “cabin boy and general utility man” ducked his woolly head beneath her skirts, for once embarrassed by the attention he received.

“Miss Calvert, did you know that you make the thirteenth person?” asked Aurora Blank, who had kept tally on her white-gloved fingers.

“I hope I do—there’s ‘luck in odd numbers’ one hears. But I’m not—I’m not! Auntie, Jim, look yonder—quick! It’s Melvin! It surely is!”

With a cry of delight Dorothy now rushed down the pier to where a street-car had just stopped and a lad alighted. She clasped his hands and fairly pumped them up and down in her eagerness, but she didn’t offer to kiss him though she wanted to do so. She remembered in time that the young Nova Scotian was even shyer than James Barlow and mustn’t be embarrassed. But her questions came swiftly enough, though his answers were disappointing.

However, she led him straight to Mrs. Calvert, his one-time hostess at Deerhurst, and there was now no awkward shyness in his respectful greeting of her, and the acknowledgment he made to the general introductions which followed.

Seating himself on a rail close to Mrs. Betty’s chair he explained his presence.

“The Judge sent me to Baltimore on some errands of his own, and after they were done I was to call upon you, Madam, and say why her father couldn’t spare Miss Molly so soon again. He missed her so much, I fancy, while she was at San Leon ranch, don’t you know, and she is to go away to school after a time—that’s why. But——”

The lad paused, colored, and was seized by a fit of his old bashfulness. He had improved wonderfully during the year since he had been a member of “Dorothy’s House Party” and had almost conquered that fault. No boy could be associated for so long a time with such a man as Judge Breckenridge and fail to learn much; but it wasn’t easy to offer himself as a substitute for merry Molly, which he had really arrived to do.

However, Dolly was quick to understand and caught his hands again, exclaiming:

“You’re to have your vacation on our Water Lily! I see, I see! Goody! Aunt Betty, isn’t that fine? Next to Molly darling I’d rather have you.”

Everybody laughed at this frank statement, even Dolly herself; yet promptly adding the name of Melvin Cook to her list of passengers. Then as he walked forward over the plank to where Jim Barlow smilingly awaited him, carrying his small suit-case—his only luggage, she called after him:

“I hope you brought your bugle! Then we can have ‘bells’ for time, as on the steamer!”

He nodded over his shoulder and Dorothy strained her eyes toward the next car approaching over the street line, while Mrs. Calvert asked:

“For whom are we still waiting, child? Why don’t we go aboard and start?”

“For dear old Cap’n Jack! He’s coming now, this minute.”

All eyes followed hers and beheld an old man approaching. Even at that distance his wrinkled face was so shining with happiness and good nature that they smiled too. He wore a very faded blue uniform made dazzlingly bright by scores of very new brass buttons. His white hair and beard had been closely trimmed, and the discarded cap of a street-car conductor crowned his proudly held head. The cap was adorned in rather shaky letters of gilt: “Water Lily. Skipper.”

Though he limped upon crutches he gave these supports an airy flourish between steps, as if he scarcely needed them but carried them for ornaments. Nobody knew him, except Dorothy; not even Ephraim recognizing in this almost dapper stranger the ragged vagrant he had once seen on a street car.

But Dorothy knew and ran to meet him—“last but not least of all our company, good Cap’n Jack, Skipper of the Water Lily.”

Then she brought him to Aunt Betty and formally presented him, expressing by nods and smiles that she would “explain him” later on. Afterward, each and all were introduced to “our Captain,” at whom some stared rather rudely, Aurora even declining to acknowledge the presentation.

“Captain Hurry, we’re ready to embark. Is that the truly nautical way to speak? Because, you know, we long to be real sailors on this cruise and talk real sailor-talk. We cease to be ‘land lubbers’ from this instant. Kind Captain, lead ahead!” cried Dorothy, in a very gale of high spirits and running to help Aunt Betty on the way.

But there was no hurry about this skipper, except his name. With an air of vast importance and dignity he stalked to the end of the pier and scanned the face of the water, sluggishly moving to and fro. Then he pulled out a spy glass, somewhat damaged in appearance, and tried to adjust it to his eye. This was more difficult because the lens was broken; but the use of it, the old man reckoned, would be imposing on his untrained crew, and he had expended his last dollar—presented him by some old cronies—in the purchase of the thing at a junk shop by the waterside. Indeed, the Captain’s motions were so deliberate, and apparently, senseless, that Aunt Betty lost patience and indignantly demanded:

“Dorothy, who is this old humbug you’ve picked up? You quite forgot—or didn’t forget—to mention him when you named your guests.”

“No, Auntie, I didn’t forget. I kept him as a delightful surprise. I knew you’d feel so much safer with a real captain in charge.”

“Humph! Who told you he was a captain, or had ever been afloat?”

“Why—he did;” answered the girl, under her breath. “I—I met him on a car. He used to own a boat. He brought oysters to the city. I think it was a—a bugeye, some such name. Auntie, don’t you like him? I’m so sorry! because you said, you remember, that I might choose all to go and to have a real captain who’ll work for nothing but his ‘grub’—that’s food, he says——”

“That will do. For the present I won’t turn him off, but I think his management of the Water Lily will be brief. On a quiet craft—Don’t look so disappointed. I shall not hurt your skipper’s feelings though I’ll put up with no nonsense.”

At that moment the old man had decided to go aboard and leading the way with a gallant flourish of crutches, guided them into the cabin, or saloon, and made his little speech.

“Ladies and gents, mostly ladies, welcome to my new ship—the Water Lily. Bein’ old an’ seasoned in the knowledge of navigation I’ll do my duty to the death. Anybody wishin’ to consult me will find me on the bridge.”

With a wave of his cap the queer old fellow stumped away to the crooked stairway, which he climbed by means of the baluster instead of the steps, his crutches thump-thumping along behind him.

By “bridge” he meant the forward point of the upper deck, or roof of the cabin, and there he proceeded to rig up a sort of “house” with pieces of the awning in which there had been inserted panes of glass.

But the effect of his address was to put all these strangers at ease, for none could help laughing at his happy pomposity, and after people laugh together once stiffness disappears.

Gerald Blank promptly followed Melvin Cook to Jim’s little engine-room on the tender, and the colored folks as promptly followed him. Their own bunks were to be on the small boat and Chloe was anxious to see what they were like.

Then Mrs. Bruce roused from her silence and asked Aunt Betty about the provisions that had been brought on board and where she might find them. She had been asked to join the party as housekeeper, really for Mabel’s sake, from whom she couldn’t be separated now, and because Dorothy had argued:

“That dear woman loves to cook better than anything else. She always did. Now she hasn’t anybody left to cook for, ’cept Mabel, and she’ll forget to cry when she has to get a dinner for lots of hungry sailors.”

The first sight of Mrs. Bruce’s sad face, that morning, had been most depressing; and she was relieved to find a change in its aspect as the woman roused to action. There hadn’t been much breakfast eaten by anybody and Dorothy had begged her old friend to:

“Just give us lots of goodies, this first meal, Mrs. Bruce, no matter if we have to do with less afterwards. You see—three hundred dollars isn’t so very much——”

“It seems a lot to me, now,” sighed the widow.

But Dorothy went on quickly:

“And it’s every bit there is. When the last penny goes we’ll have to stop, even if the Lily is right out in the middle of the ocean.”

“Pshaw, Dolly! I thought you weren’t going out of sight of land!”

“Course, we’re not. That is—we shall never go anywhere if my skipper doesn’t start. I’ll run up to his bridge and see what’s the matter. You see I don’t like to offend him at the beginning of things and though Jim Barlow is really to manage the boat, I thought it would please the old gentleman to be put in charge, too.”

“Foolish girl, don’t you know that there can’t be two heads to any management?” returned the matron, now really smiling. “It’s an odd lot, a job lot, seems to me, of widows and orphans and cripples and rich folks all jumbled together in one little house-boat. More ’n likely you’ll find yourself in trouble real often amongst us all. That old chap above is mighty pleasant to look at now, but he’s got too square a jaw to be very biddable, especially by a little girl like you.”

“But, Mrs. Bruce, he’s so poor. Why, just for a smell of salt water—or fresh either—he’s willing to sail this Lily; just for the sake of being afloat and—his board, course. He’ll have to eat, but he told me that a piece of sailor’s biscuit and a cup of warmed over tea would be all he’d ever ‘ax’ me. I told him right off then I couldn’t pay him wages and he said he wouldn’t touch them if I could. Think of that for generosity!”

“Yes, I’m thinking of it. Your plans are all right—I hope they’ll turn out well. A captain for nothing, an engineer the same, a housekeeper who’s glad to cook for the sake of her daughter’s pleasure, and the rest of the crew belonging—so no more wages to earn than always. Sounds—fine. By the way, Dorothy, who deals out the provisions on this trip?”

“Why, you do, of course, Mrs. Bruce, if you’ll be so kind. Aunt Betty can’t be bothered and I don’t know enough. Here’s a key to the ‘lockers,’ I guess they call the pantries; and now I must make that old man give the word to start! Why, Aunt Betty thought we’d get as far as Annapolis by bed-time. She wants to cruise first on the Severn river. And we haven’t moved an inch yet!”

“Well, I’ll go talk with Chloe about dinner. She’ll know best what’ll suit your aunt.”

Dorothy was glad to see her old friend’s face brighten with a sense of her own importance, as “stewardess” for so big a company of “shipmates,” and slipping her arm about the lady’s waist went with her to the “galley,” or tiny cook-room on the tender. There she left her, with strict injunctions to Chloe not to let her “new mistress” overtire herself.

It was Aunt Betty’s forethought which had advised this, saying:

“Let Chloe understand, in the beginning, that she is the helper—not the chief.”

Leaving them to examine and delight in the compact arrangements of the galley she sped up the crooked stair to old Captain Jack. To her surprise she found him anything but the sunny old fellow who had strutted aboard, and he greeted her with a sharp demand:

“Where’s them papers at?”

“Papers? What papers?”

“Ship’s papers, child alive? Where’s your gumption at?”

Dorothy laughed and seated herself on a camp-stool beside him.

“Reckon it must be ‘at’ the same place as the ‘papers.’ I certainly don’t understand you.”

“Land a sissy! ’Spect we’d be let to sail out o’ port ’ithout showin’ our licenses? Not likely; and the fust thing a ship’s owner ought to ’tend to is gettin’ a clean send off. For my part, I don’t want to hug this dock no longer. I want to take her out with the tide, I do.”

Dorothy was distressed. How much or how little this old captain of an oyster boat knew about this matter, he was evidently in earnest and angry with somebody—herself, apparently.

“If we had any papers, and we haven’t—who’d we show them to, anyway?”

Captain Hurry looked at her as if her ignorance were beyond belief. Then his good nature made him explain:

“What’s a wharf-master for, d’ye s’pose? When you hand ’em over I’ll see him an’ up anchor.”

But, at that moment, Mr. Carruthers himself appeared on the roof of the cabin, demanding:

“What’s up, Cap’n Jack? Why don’t you start—if it’s you who’s to manage this craft, as you claim? If you don’t cut loose pretty quick, my Elsa will get homesick and desert.”

The skipper rose to his feet, or his crutches, and retorted:

“Can’t clear port without my dockyments, an’ you know it! Where they at?”

“Safe in the locker meant for them, course. Young Barlow has all that are necessary and a safe keeper of them, too. Better give up this nonsense and let him go ahead. Easier for you, too, Cap’n, and everything’s all right. Good-bye, Miss Dorothy. I’ll slip off again without seeing Elsa, and you understand? If she gets too homesick for me, or is ill, or—anything happens, telegraph me from wherever you are and I’ll come fetch her. Good-bye.”

He was off the boat in an instant and very soon the Water Lily had begun her trip. The engineer, Mr. Stinson, was a busy man and made short work of Captain Hurry’s fussiness. He managed the start admirably, Jim and the other lads watching him closely, and each feeling perfectly capable of doing as much—or as little—as he. For it seemed so very simple; the turning of a crank here, another there, and the thing was done.

However, they didn’t reach Annapolis that night, as Mrs. Calvert had hoped. Only a short distance down the coast they saw signs of a storm and the lady grew anxious at once.

“O Dolly! It’s going to blow, and this is no kind of a boat to face a gale. Tell somebody, anybody, who is real captain of this Lily, to get to shore and anchor her fast. She must be tied to something strong. I never sailed on such a craft before nor taken the risk of caring for so many lives. Make haste.”

This was a new spirit for fearless Aunt Betty to show and, although she herself saw no suggestions of a gale in the clouding sky, Dorothy’s one desire was to make that dear lady happy. So, to the surprise of the engineers, she gave her message, that was practically a command, and a convenient beach being near it was promptly obeyed.

“O, Mr. Captain, stop the ship—I want to get out and walk!” chanted Gerald Blank, in irony; “Is anybody seasick? Has the wild raging of the Patapsco scared the lady passengers? I brought a lemon in my pocket——”

But Dorothy frowned at him and he stopped.

“It is Mrs. Calvert’s wish,” said the girl, with emphasis.

“But Pop would laugh at minding a few black clouds. He built the Water Lily to stand all sorts of weather. Why, he had her out in one of the worst hurricanes ever blew on the Chesapeake and she rode it out as quiet as a lamb. Fact. I wasn’t with him, course, but I heard him tell. I say, Miss Dolly, Stinson’s got to leave us, to-night, anyway, or early to-morrow morning. I wish you’d put me in command. I do so, don’t you know. I understand everything about a boat. Pop has belonged to the best clubs all his life and I’m an ‘Ariel’ myself—on probation; that is, I’ve been proposed, only not voted on yet, and I could sail this Lily to beat the band. Aw, come! Won’t you?” he finished coaxingly.

John Stinson was laughing, yet at the same time, deftly swinging both boats toward the shore; while Jim Barlow’s face was dark with anger, Cap’n Jack was nervously thumping his crutches up and down, and even gentle Melvin had retreated as far from the spot as the little tender allowed. His shoulders were hunched in the fashion which showed him, also, to be provoked and, for an instant Dorothy was distressed. Then the absurdity of the whole matter made her laugh.

“Seems if everybody wants to be captain, on this bit of a ship that isn’t big enough for one real one! Captain Hurry, Captain Barlow, Captain Blank, Captain Cook——”

“What do Barlow and Cook know about the water? One said he was a ‘farmer,’ and the other a ‘lawyer’s clerk’——”

“But a lawyer’s clerk that’s sailed the ocean, mind you, Gerald. Melvin’s a sailor-lad in reality, and the son of a sailor. You needn’t gibe at Melvin. As for Jim, he’s the smartest boy in the world. He understands everything about engines and machinery, and—Why, he can take a sewing-machine to pieces, all to pieces, and put it together as good as new. He did that for mother Martha and Mrs. Smith back home on the mountain, and at San Leon, last summer, he helped Mr. Ford decide on the way the new mine should be worked, just by the books he’d studied. Think of that! And Mr. Ford’s a railroad man himself and is as clever as he can be. He knows mighty well what’s what and he trusts our Jim——”

“Dorothy, shut up!”

This from Jim, that paragon she had so praised! The effect was a sudden silence and a flush of anger on her own face. If the lad had struck her she couldn’t have been more surprised, nor when Melvin faced about and remarked:

“Better stow this row. If Captain Murray, that I sailed under on the ‘Prince,’ heard it he’d say there’d be serious trouble before we saw land again. If we weren’t too far out he’d put back to port and set every wrangler ashore and ship new hands. It’s awful bad luck to fight at sea, don’t you know?”

Sailors are said to be superstitious and Melvin had caught some of their notions and recalled them now. He had made a longer speech than common and colored a little as he now checked himself. Fortunately he just then caught Mrs. Bruce’s eye and understood from her gestures that dinner was ready to serve. Then from the little locker he had appropriated to his personal use, he produced his bugle and hastily blew “assembly.”

The unexpected sound restored peace on the instant. Dorothy clapped her hands and ran to inform Aunt Betty:

“First call for dinner; and seats not chosen yet!”

All unknown to her two tables had been pulled out from somewhere in the boat’s walls and one end of the long saloon had been made a dining-room. The tables were as neatly spread as if in a stationary house and chairs had been placed beside them on one side, while the cushioned benches which ran along the wall would seat part of the diners.

With his musical signals, Melvin walked the length of the Water Lily and climbed the stairs to cross the “promenade deck,” as the awning-covered roof was always called. As he descended, Aunt Betty called him to the little room off one end the cabin, which was her own private apartment, and questioned him about his bugle.

“Yes, Madam, it’s the one you gave me at Deerhurst, at the end of Dorothy’s house-party. My old one I gave Miss Molly, don’t you know? Because she happened to fancy—on account of her hearing it in the Nova Scotia woods, that time she was lost. It wasn’t worth anything, but she liked it. Yours, Madam, is fine. I often go off for a walk and have a try at it, just to keep my hand in and to remind me of old Yarmouth. Miss Molly begged me to fetch it. She said Miss Dolly would be pleased and I fancy she is.”

Then again conquering his shyness, he offered his arm to the lady and conducted her to dinner. There was no difficulty in seeing what place was meant for her, because of the fine chair that was set before it and the big bunch of late roses at her plate. These were from the Bellvieu garden, and were another of Dolly’s “surprises.”

As Melvin led her to her chair and bowed in leaving her, old Ephraim placed himself behind it and stood ready to serve her as he had always done, wherever she might happen to be.

Then followed a strange thing. Though Mrs. Bruce and Chloe had prepared a fine meal, and the faces of all in the place showed eagerness to enjoy it, not one person moved; but each stood as rigid as possible and as if he or she would so remain for the rest of the day.

Only Dorothy. She had paused between the two tables and was half-crying, half-laughing over the absurd dilemma which had presented itself.

“Why, good people, what’s the matter?” asked Mrs. Calvert, glancing from one to another. But nobody answered; and at this mark of disrespect she colored and stiffened herself majestically in her chair.

CHAPTER IV

MATTERS ARE SETTLED

“Aunt Betty, it’s Captain Hurry, again!” explained Dorothy, close to her aunt’s ear. “He claims that the captain of any boat always has head table. He’s acted so queer even the boys hate to sit near him, and the dinner’s spoiling and—and I wish I’d never seen him!”

“Very likely. Having seen him it would have been better for you to ask advice before you invited him. He was the picture of happiness when he appeared but—we must get rid of him right away. He must be put ashore at once.”

“But, Aunt Betty, I invited him. Invited him, don’t you see? How can a Calvert tell a guest to go home again after that?”

Mrs. Calvert laughed. This was quoting her own precepts against herself, indeed. But she was really disturbed at the way their trip was beginning and felt it was time “to take the helm” herself. So she stood up and quietly announced:

“This is my table. I invite Mrs. Bruce to take the end chair, opposite me. Aurora and Mabel, the wall seats on one side; Dorothy and Elsa, the other side, with Elsa next to me, so that she may be well looked after.

“Captain Hurry, the other table is yours. Arrange it as you choose.”

She reseated herself amid a profound silence; but one glance into her face convinced the old Captain that here was an authority higher than his own. The truth was that he had been unduly elated by Dorothy’s invitation and her sincere admiration for the cleverness he boasted. He fancied that nobody aboard the Water Lily knew anything about “Navigation” except himself and flattered himself that he was very wise in the art. He believed that he ought to assert himself on all occasions and had tried to do so. Now, he suddenly resumed his ordinary, sunshiny manner, and with a grand gesture of welcome motioned the three lads to take seats at the second table.

Engineer Stinson was on the tender and would remain there till the others had finished; and the colored folks would take their meals in the galley after the white folks had been served.

“Well, that ghost is laid!” cried Dorothy, when dinner was over and she had helped Aunt Betty to lie down in her own little cabin. “But Cap’n Jack is so different, afloat and ashore!”

“Dolly, dear, I allowed you to invite whom you wished, but I’m rather surprised by your selections. Why, for instance, the two Blanks?”

“Because I was sorry for them.”

“They’re not objects of pity. They’re quite the reverse and the girl’s manners are rude and disagreeable. Her treatment of Elsa is heartless. Why didn’t you choose your own familiar friends?”

“Elsa! Yes, indeed, Auntie, dear, without her dreaming of it, Elsa changed all my first plans for this house-boat party. I fell in love with her gentle, sad little face the first instant I saw it and I just wanted to see it brighten. She looked as if she’d never had a good time in her life and I wanted that she should have. Then she said it would be ‘A cruise of loving kindness’ and I thought that was beautiful. I just longed to give every poor, unhappy body in the world some pleasure. The Blanks aren’t really poor, I suppose, for their clothes are nice and Aurora has brought so many I don’t see where she’ll keep them. But she seemed poor in one way—like this: If you’d built the Water Lily for me and had had to give it up for debt I shouldn’t have felt nice to some other girl who was going to get it. I thought the least I could do was ask them to come with us and that would be almost the same thing as if they still owned the house-boat themselves. They were glad enough to come, too; and I know—I mean, I hope—they’ll be real nice after we get used to each other. You know we asked Jim because we were sort of sorry for him, too, and because he wouldn’t charge any wages for taking care the engine! Mrs. Bruce and Mabel—well, sorry for them was their reason just the same. You don’t mind, really, do you, Auntie, darling? ’Cause——”

Dorothy paused and looked anxiously into the beloved face upon the pillow.

Aunt Betty laughed and drew the girl’s own face down to kiss it fondly. Dorothy made just as many mistakes as any other impulsive girl would make, but her impulses were always on the side of generosity and so were readily forgiven.

“How about me, dear? Were you sorry for me, along with the rest?”

Dorothy flushed, then answered frankly:

“Yes, Aunt Betty, I was. You worried so about that horrid ‘business,’ of the Old Folks’ Home and Bellvieu, that I just wanted to take you away from everything you’d ever known and let you have everything new around you. They are all new, aren’t they? The Blanks and Elsa, and the Bruces; yes and Captain Jack, too. Melvin’s always a dear and he seems sort of new now, he’s grown so nice and friendly. I’d rather have had dear Molly, course, but, since I couldn’t, Melvin will do. He’ll be company for Jim—he and Gerald act like two pussy cats jealous of one another. But isn’t it going to be just lovely, living on the Water Lily? I mean, course, after everybody gets used to each other and we get smoothed off on our corners. I guess it’s like the engine in the Pad. Mr. Stinson says it’ll run a great deal better after it’s ‘settled’ and each part gets fitted to its place.

“There! I’ve talked you nearly to sleep, so I’ll go on deck with the girls. It isn’t raining yet, and doesn’t look as if it were going to. Sleep well, dear Aunt Betty, and don’t you dare to worry a single worry while you’re aboard the Lily. Think of it, Auntie! You are my guest now, my really, truly guest of honor! Doesn’t that seem queer? But you’re mistress, too, just the same.”

Well, it did seem as if even this brief stay on the house-boat were doing Mrs. Calvert good, for Dorothy had scarcely slipped away before the lady was asleep. No sound came to her ears but the gentle lapping of the water against the boat’s keel and a low murmur of voices from the narrow deck which ran all around the sides.

When she awoke the craft was in motion and the sun shining far in the west. She was rather surprised at this, having expected the Lily to remain anchored in that safe spot which had been chosen close to shore. However, everything was so calm and beautiful when she stepped out, the smooth gliding along the wooded banks was so beautiful, that she readily forgave anybody who had disobeyed her orders. Indeed, she smilingly assured herself that she was now:

“Nothing and nobody but a guest and must remember the fact and not interfere. Indeed, it will be delightful just to rest and idle for a time.”

Dorothy came to meet her, somewhat afraid to explain:

“I couldn’t help it this time, Aunt Betty. Mr. Stinson says he must leave at midnight and he wants to ‘make’ a little town a few miles further down the shore, where he can catch a train back to city. That will give him time to go on with his work in the morning. Old Cap’n Jack, too, says we’d better get along. The storm passed over, to-day, but he says we’re bound to get it soon or late.”

Mrs. Calvert’s nap had certainly done her good, for she was able now to laugh at her own nervousness and gaily returned:

“It would be strange, indeed, if we didn’t get a storm sometime or other. But how is the man conducting himself now?”

“Why, Aunt Betty, he’s just lovely. Lovely!”

“Doesn’t seem as if that adjective fitted very well, but—Ah! yes. Thank you, my child, I will enjoy sitting in that cosy corner and watching the water. How low down upon it the Water Lily rides.”

Most of this was said to Elsa, who had timidly drawn near and silently motioned to a sheltered spot on the deck and an empty chair that waited there. She had never seen such a wonderful old lady as this; a person who made old age seem even lovelier than youth.

Aunt Betty’s simple gown of lavender suited her fairness well, and she had pinned one of Dorothy’s roses upon her waist. Her still abundant hair of snowy whiteness and the dark eyes, that were yet bright as a girl’s, had a beauty which appealed to the sensitive Elsa’s spirit. A fine color rose in the frail girl’s face as her little attention was so graciously accepted, and from that moment she became Aunt Betty’s devoted slave.

Her shyness lessened so that she dared to flash a look of scorn upon Aurora, who shrugged her shoulder with annoyance at the lady’s appearance on deck and audibly whispered to Mabel Bruce that:

“She didn’t see why an old woman like that had to join a house-boat party. When we had the Water Lily we planned to have nobody but the jolliest ones we knew. We wouldn’t have had my grandmother along, no matter what.”

Mabel looked at the girl with shocked eyes. She had been fascinated by Aurora’s dashing appearance and the stated fact that she had only worn her “commonest things,” which to Mabel’s finery-loving soul seemed really grand. But to hear that aristocratic dame yonder spoken of as an “old woman,” like any ordinary person, was startling.

“Why Aurora—you said I might call you that——”

“Yes, you may. While we happen to be boatmates and out of the city, you know. At home, I don’t know as Mommer would—would—You see she’s very particular about the girls I know. I shall be in ‘Society’ sometime, when Popper makes money again. But, what were you going to say?”

“I was going to say that maybe you don’t know who that lady is. She is Mrs. Elisabeth Cecil-Somerset-Calvert!”

“Well, what of it? Anybody can tie a lot of names on a string and wear ’em that way. Even Mommer calls herself Mrs. Edward Newcomer-Blank of R.”

“Why ‘of R?’ What does it mean?” asked Mabel, again impressed.

“Doesn’t mean anything, really, as far as I know. But don’t you know a lot of Baltimoreans, or Marylanders, write their names that way? Haven’t you seen it in the papers?”

“No. I never read a paper.”

“You ought. To improve your mind and keep you posted on—on current events. I’m in the current event class at school—I go to the Western High. I was going to the Girls’ Latin, this year, only—only—Hmm. So I have to keep up with the times.”

Aurora settled her silken skirts with a little swagger and again Mabel felt it a privilege to know so exalted a young person, even if their acquaintance was limited to a few weeks of boat life. Then she listened quite humbly while Aurora related some of her social experiences and discussed with a grown-up air her various flirtations.

But after a time she tired of all this, and looked longingly across to the tender, on whose rail Dorothy was now perched, with the three lads clustered about her, and all intently listening to the “yarns” with which Cap’n Jack was entertaining them.

All that worthy’s animation had returned to him. He had eaten the best of dinners in place of the “ship’s biscuit” he had suggested to his small hostess: he was relieved of care—which he had pretended to covet; and the group of youngsters before him listened to his marvellous tales of the sea with perfect faith in his truthfulness.

Some of the tales had a slight foundation in fact; but even these were so embellished by fiction as to be almost incredible. In any case, the shouts of laughter or the cries of horror that rose from his audience so attracted Mabel that, at last, she broke away from Aurora’s tamer recitals, saying:

“I’m getting stiff, sitting in one place so long. I’ll go over to Dolly. She and me have been friends ever since time was. good-bye. Or, will you come, too?”

In her heart, Aurora wished to do so. But hoping to impress her new acquaintance by her magnificence, she had put on a fanciful white silk frock, wholly unfitted for her present trip and, indeed, slyly packed in her trunk without her mother’s knowledge. The deck of the Pad wasn’t as spotless as this of the Lily. Even at that moment small Methuselah was swashing it with a great mop, which dripped more water than it wiped up. His big eyes were fairly bulging from his round black face and, having drawn as near the story-teller as he could, he mopped one spot until Dolly called out:

“That’ll do, Metty, boy! Tackle another board. Mustn’t wear out the deck with your neatness!”

Whereupon old Captain Hurry swung his crutch around and caught the youngster with such suddenness that he pitched head-first into his own big bucket. Freeing himself with a howl, he raised his mop as high as his strength would allow and brought it down upon the captain’s glittering cap.

It was the seaman’s turn to howl and an ill-matched fight would have followed if Jim hadn’t caught the pickaninny away and Dorothy seized the cripple’s headgear before it suffered any great harm. Gently brushing it with her handkerchief she restored it to its owner’s head, with the remark:

“Don’t mind Metty, Cap’n Jack. He means well, every time, only he has a little too hasty a temper. He never heard such wonderful stories before—nor I, either, for that matter. Did you, boys?”

She had believed them wholly, but Jim had begun to doubt; and Melvin was bold enough to say:

“I’ve sailed a good many times between New York and Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, but I never saw—I mean, I haven’t happened, don’t you know? I wouldn’t fancy being out alone in a cat-boat and having a devil-fish rise up alongside that way. I——”

“Young man, do you doubt my word, sir?” demanded the Captain, rising with all the dignity his lameness and the dropping of his crutch would allow.

“Oh! no, sir. I doubt nothing—nothing, sir. The Judge says the world is full of marvels and I fancy, your encounter with that giant squid is one of them. You should have that story published, Captain. You should, don’t you know?”

Melvin’s blue eyes twinkled but the otherwise gravity of his face harmlessly deceived the old seaman and brought back his good temper.

“Reckon I’ll go aloft and make out my log,” he remarked, with an air of importance, and stumped forward to his “bridge” above stairs. These he ascended, as before, by a hand-over-hand climb of the baluster, his crutches dragging behind; and it was this nimbleness of arm which convinced the watchers, far more than his impossible yarns had done, that he had indeed once been a sailor and could ascend the rigging of a ship.

Then soon came supper and again such hearty appetites were brought to it that Mrs. Bruce wondered how so much good food could disappear at one meal. Also, she remembered that the sum of three hundred dollars had a limit, large as it seemed; and while she sat silent in her place she was inwardly computing whether it would possibly furnish board for all these people for six long weeks.

Then she proceeded to “count noses,” and suddenly perceived that after Mr. Stinson’s departure there would be left the “unlucky number” of thirteen souls aboard the Water Lily.

This time the engineer was at table and Jim had taken his place on the tender; but after this, he had assured everybody that the engine did not need such constant attention and could be left to itself during meal-time at least.

However, nobody tarried long at table that night. There was to follow the first arrangement of the “staterooms,” as the canvas-partitioned spaces for each one of the party were called.

“Cute little cubby-holes,” Mabel named them, and promptly selected her own between her mother’s and Aurora’s. Dorothy was next to Aurora and Elsa between her and Mrs. Calvert’s bigger room.

Politely giving Elsa her choice, Dorothy couldn’t help a keen disappointment that it separated herself from Aunt Betty. Then she reflected that she had offered this choice as far back as on the day of their first meeting; and that she would herself serve as shield between Aurora’s haughtiness and Elsa’s timidity.

Those two guests didn’t hit it off at all well. Elsa shivered and shrank before Aurora’s boisterous high spirits and the look of contempt the elder girl bestowed upon her plain attire.

Poor little Elsa had done her best to honor the occasion. She had forced herself to go with her loving father to a department store and had suffered real distress in being fitted at the hands of a kindly, but too outspoken, saleswoman.

The suit selected had been of an ugly blue which brought out all the sallowness of the poor child’s complexion. It had been padded on one shoulder, “’cause she’s crooked in them shoulders,” and had been shortened on one side, “to suit the way she limps.” A hat of the same vicious blue had been purchased, and this trimmed with red roses, “to sort of set her up like.”

Thus attired, Mr. Carruthers had looked with pride upon his motherless darling, and felt himself amply justified in the expense he had incurred. The girl’s own better taste had rebelled and she would rather have worn the old gray frock that was at least modest and unobtrusive; but she saw the pride and tenderness in her father’s eyes and said nothing save fervent thanks.

However, all the varied emotions of the travellers were soon forgotten in the healthy slumber which came to them. The Water Lily glided quietly along, forced onward by the tender where the trio of lads sat long, exchanging experiences and, under cover of the friendly darkness, growing natural and familiar.

But after a time even they grew drowsy and “turned in,” finding their new “bunks” as snug as comfortable. The chug-chug of the small engine chimed in with the snores of the colored folks, in their own quarters beyond the galley and formed a soothing lullaby.

So deeply they slept that none knew how a storm was gathering thick and fast, except the alert engineer, who made all speed possible to reach the shelter of the little cove and wharf where he hoped to tie up; and from whence he could cross the swampy fields to the station and the midnight train for home.

It proved a race of steam and storm, with the latter victor; for at almost boat’s length from the pier there came a blinding flash of lightning and a peal of thunder most terrific. At the same moment a whirlwind shook the Water Lily like a feather, it seemed, and the shrieks of the awaking negroes startled every soul awake.

“’Tis de yend o’ de worl’! ’Tis de Jedgmen’ Day! Rise up, sinnahs, rise to yo’ jedgmen’!”

CHAPTER V

THE STORM AND WHAT FOLLOWED

In an instant a crowd of terrified people had gathered in the cabin, clasping one another’s hands, sobbing and shivering as gust after gust shook the Water Lily so that it seemed its timbers must part.

“We mought ha’ knowed! Thirteen po’ creatures shet up in dis yeah boat! Oh! My——”

The greatest outcry was from poor Chloe, now kneeling, or crouching, at the feet of her Miss Betty, and clutching the lady’s gown so that she could not move. But if her feet were hindered her tongue was not. In her most peremptory manner she bade:

“Chloe, get up and be still! This is no time for nonsense. Close those windows. Stop the rain pouring in. Call back your common sense. Do——”

“O, Ole Miss! I’se done dyin’! I’se gwine——”

“No, you’re not. You couldn’t screech like that if you were anywhere’s near death. Shut—those—windows—or—let—me!”

Habit was stronger than fear. The idea of her mistress doing Chloe’s own task roused the frightened creature to obey, scarce knowing that she did so. Seeing her at work restored the calmness of the others, in a measure, and Dorothy and Mabel rushed each to the sliding panels of glass, which had been left open for the night and pushed them into place.

This lessened the roar of the tempest and courage returned as they found themselves still unhurt, though the constant flashes of light revealed a group of very white faces, and bodies still shaking with terror of nature’s rage. Mrs. Bruce had always been a coward during thunderstorms, but even she rallied enough to run for a wrap and fold it about Mrs. Calvert, who was also shaking; but from cold rather than fear.

Then between claps, they could hear the scurrying of feet on the roof overhead, the stumping of Captain Jack’s crutches, and the issuing of sharp orders in tones that were positively cheerful!

“Hark! What are they doing? Can anybody see the tender?” asked Dorothy, excitedly.

Strangely enough, it was frail, timid Elsa who answered:

“I’ve been listening. They’re taking off the canvas. The boys are up there. The other boat is away out—yonder. See? Oh! it’s grand! grand! Doesn’t it make us all seem puny! If it would only last till everyone was humble and—adoring!”

Even while she answered, the slender girl turned again to the window and gazed through it as if she could not have enough of the scene so frightful to her mates. These watched her, astonished, yet certainly calmed by her own fearless behavior; so that, presently, all were hastily dressing.

Mabel had set the example in this, saying quaintly:

“If I’ve got to be drowned I might as well look decent when I’m picked up.”

“Mabel and her clothes! The ‘ruling passion strong in death’!” cried Dorothy, in a tone meant to be natural but was still rather shaky. Somebody laughed and that lessened the excitement, so that even Chloe remembered she had appeared without her white turban and hastily put her hands smoothing her wool, as if afraid now only of her mistress’s reprimand.

But that lady had joined Elsa at the glass; and standing with her arm about the girl, drew the slight figure within the folds of her own roomy wrapper, with a comforting warmth and pressure. For it had turned icy cold and the unusual heat of the evening before seemed like a dream.

“Dear little girl, I am glad you came. Brave soul and frail body, you’re stronger than even my healthy Dorothy. And it is magnificent—magnificent. Only, I dread what the morning will reveal. If we are damaged much it will mean the end of our trip—at its very beginning.”

“Dear lady; it won’t mean that. Even if it had to do it would be all right—for me, at least. I should have some beautiful things to remember always.”

Then the cheerfulest of whistling was heard; Cap’n Jack’s warning that he was coming down the stairs and that any feminines in night attire might take warning and flee.

But nobody fled, and Dorothy tried to turn on the electric light which had been one of the fine features of this palatial house-boat. No radiance followed, and, watching from the doorway, Cap’n Jack triumphantly exclaimed:

“Didn’t I know it? What’s them new-fangled notions wuth in a case o’ need? Taller’s the stuff, or good, reli’ble whale-ile. Well, ship’s comp’ny, how’d ye like it? Warn’t that the purtiest leetle blow ’t ever you see? Didn’t I warn ye ’twas comin’? Yet ye went an’ allowed I warn’t no real captain and couldn’t run a boat like this easy as George Washin’ton! Now you’re wiser. That there leetle gale has larnt ye all somethin’. And ’nough said. Give old Jack a couple o’ sail or so an’ a man to climb the riggin’ an’ he’ll beat all the steam engines ever was hatched. Oh! I’m just feelin’ prime. That bit o’ wind has blowed all the land-fog out o’ my head an’ left it clear as glass.

“‘A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling de-e-ep.’”

The old man’s rich voice trailed off toward the tender—or where the tender should have been—while a clear and boyish one took up the ditty from the roof above, with:

“‘Where the scattered waters rave
And the wi-i-inds their vigils ke-e-ep!’”

“Melvin! Jim! Gerald! Are you all up there? Come down, come down!”

“Yes, Captain Dolly! Coming! Here!” shouted Melvin, rattling down the crooked stair, while Jim’s voice responded: “Present!” and Gerald finished with a merry: “Accounted for!”

Then Aurora ran to meet her brother and to kiss him with an unexpected affection. To his credit it was that he gently returned her caress, but laughed at her statement that she had feared he was drowned.

“Not a bit of it! But this doesn’t look much like mourning, if you did!” he jested, pointing at the white silk frock she had again put on.

“Well, it was the first one I got hold of. That’s why. But, tell—tell—how came you up there?”

“Yes, everything, tell everything!” begged Dorothy, fairly dancing about them in her eagerness.

“Melvin—Melvin did it!” said Jim. “We might all be at the bottom of the sea——”

“Hush!” almost screamed Aurora, beginning to tremble. “It was so horrible—I——”

With more of sympathy than had been between them before, Dolly slipped her arm around Aurora’s shoulders and playfully ordered:

“If you boys don’t tell how you came on our promenade deck, when you belonged on the tender, you sha’n’t have any breakfast!”

“Melvin. I tell you it was Melvin. He’s the only one of us didn’t sleep like a log. He felt the hurricane coming, right through his dreams, and waked the lot of us, as soon as the first clap came. So he rushed us over the plank to take off the awnings——”

“With such a wind sucking under them might have made the boat turn turtle, Mrs. Calvert, don’t you know? At sea—that’s why I presumed to give orders without——”

“Oh, my dear lad, I now ‘order’ you to ‘give orders’ whenever you think best. We can trust you, and do thank you. But how dark it seems now the lightning has stopped. Isn’t there any sort of light we can get?” said Aunt Betty, sitting down with Elsa and folding a steamer rug around them both.

Cap’n Jack came stumping back from the rear of the boat in a high state of excitement and actual glee.

“Clean gone! Plank a-swingin’ loose—caught it a-board just in time—t’other boat flip-floppin’ around like she was all-possessed. Reckon she is. The idee! A reg’lar steam engine on a craft not much bigger ’n itself! What this house-boat needs isn’t steam engines but a set of stout sails an’ a few fust-class poles. Come, lads, let’s anchor her—if the fool that built her didn’t put them on the tender, too, alongside his other silly contraptions.”

Mrs. Calvert wondered if the old fellow knew what he was talking about, but found the resolute tones of his voice a comfort. Whoever else was frightened he was not and she liked him better at that moment than she would have thought possible. All his whining discontent was gone and he was honestly happy. What the others felt to be a terrible misfortune was his opportunity to prove himself the fine “skipper” he had boasted of being.

But now that the roar of the storm had subsided, there came across the little space of water between the Lily and its Pad the outcries of Ephraim and Methuselah, mingled with halloes of the engineer, John Stinson.

“They want to come alongside! They’re signallin’!” cried Cap’n Jack, promptly putting his hands before his mouth, trumpet-fashion, and returning such a lusty answer that those near him clapped hands over ears.

Then came Melvin, more sea-wise than the other lads, saying:

“I’ve been fumbling around and there are some poles lashed outside the rail. Let’s unsheath ’em, but it’ll take us all to keep them from tumbling over.”

“That’s so! You’re right! When Pop had this boat built he was told to provide for all sorts of things. The engine going broke was the last notion he had, but he had the poles made to please Mommer. I know—I mean—I guess I do—how they use ’em, but they’re mighty heavy.”

It was Captain Hurry who again came to the front. In a twinkling he had inspected the stout poles and explained, that by putting one end of each down through the water till it reached the bottom, the house-boat could not only be held steady but could be propelled.

“It’s slow but it’s safe an’ easy, Ma’am,” he informed Mrs. Calvert.

“Then it’s the very thing, the only thing, we want,” she answered, promptly. “I never did believe in that engine in the hands of an amateur.”

Jim didn’t fancy this reflection on his skill, believing that he already knew as much about machinery as an expert did and that he had mastered all that John Stinson could teach him. However, he was beyond reach of the beloved little engine now and the first thing to do was to bring the two boats together again.

Under Cap’n Jack’s direction this was promptly done; and great was old Ephraim’s rejoicing when, at last, the familiar gang-plank was once more in place and he had crossed over it to his beloved mistress’s presence.

“T’ank de Lord, Miss Betty, you didn’t get sca’ed to death! I sutney beliebed we was all gwine to de bottom of de ribbah! An’ I was plumb scan’lized ter t’ink o’ yo’ po’ li’l white body all kivvered wid mud, stidder lyin’ in a nice, clean tomb lak yo’ oughter. I——”

“That’ll do, Ephraim. I’ll take all the rest you were going to say for granted. Here, Metty, sit down in that corner and keep still. You’re safe now and—are you hungry?”

The morning light was rapidly increasing and seen by it the little black face looked piteous indeed. But there were few troubles of Methuselah’s which “eatings” couldn’t cure; so his mistress promptly dispatched Dorothy to her stateroom for a big box of candy, brought along “in case of need.” Never would need be more urgent than now, and not only did the little page’s countenance brighten, when the box appeared, but everybody else dipped into it as eagerly—it seemed such a relief to do such an ordinary thing once more.

The sun rose and shone as if to make them forget the night of storm; and after a breakfast, hastily prepared on the little oil stove in the tender, a feeling of great content spread through the little company. Engineer Stinson had missed his train, but was now glad of it; for he had gained time to examine the engine, though disappointed at the report he had to make.

“Useless, for the present, Madam, I regret to say. Owing to the sudden jar against the end of the wharf, or the wind’s dashing the tender about, some parts are broken. To get it repaired will take some time. Shall I send down a tug to tow you back to the city? And have a man from the shop attend to it? My own job will keep me from doing it myself, though I’d like to.”

“Thank you,” said Aunt Betty, and, for a moment, said nothing more. But she looked from one to another of the eager young faces about her and read but one desire on all. This was so evident that she smiled as she asked:

“Who thinks best to give up this trip? Or, rather, to go back and start over again—if we dare?”

Nobody spoke but a sort of groan ran around the little company.

“All in favor of going on, with some other sort of ‘power,’ or of anchoring the Water Lily at some pleasant point near shore and staying there, say ‘Aye’.”

So lusty a chorus of “Ayes” answered that Aunt Betty playfully covered her ears, till the clamor had subsided. Then a council of ways and means was held, in which everyone took part, and out of which the decision came:

That Cap’n Jack should rig up the sails which was another one of Mr. Blank’s provisions against just such a dilemma, and instruct the three lads how to use them; that when they didn’t want to sail they should use the poles; or using neither, should remain quietly at rest in the most delightful spot they could find; that the Lily and its Pad should be fastened together in the strongest way, so that no more separation by wind or storm could be possible.

“The tender adds a great weight to your ‘power’ in such a case,” suggested Mr. Stinson. “Without it you could move much faster.”

“And without it, where could Ephy sleep and Chloe cook? The boys, too, will need their warm bunks if it happens to be cold,” said Dolly. “Besides—the kitchen is out there. Oh! we can’t possibly spare the tender.”

“Most house-boats get along without one,” explained the engineer.

“What about a horse, or a mule? I’ve seen such a thing somewhere, on some of our little trips with Mr. Bruce,” suggested the widow, then touched by her own reference to the dead relapsed into silence.

“Many of the little rivers of the Western Shore have banks as level as those of a canal,” said Mrs. Calvert. The idea had approved itself to her. “I’m afraid you lads would get very tired of the poling, even if the water was shallow enough. Without wind, sails wouldn’t help us; so Mrs. Bruce’s notion is the best one yet.”

“A mule would be nice and safe!” commented Mabel.

“First catch your mule,” cried Gerald.

“And who’d ride it?” asked Jim.

“You would,” promptly answered Melvin, laughing.

“Not all the time, sir!” retorted Jim, yet with an expression which showed he was really considering the subject. “Turn and turn about’s fair play.”

“All right. I’ll stand my turn and call it my ‘watch.’ I could fancy I was still on shipboard, don’t you know?”

“I’d do my third—if we didn’t keep it up all the time. A fellow wants a little chance to fish and have some fun,” added Gerald. Now that they had all been in danger together he was acting like the really fine lad he was and had dropped the silly affectations of his first manner.

Aurora, too, seemed more sensible, and, breakfast over, had shut herself in her tiny stateroom to put on the plainest frock she had. An approving smile from Mrs. Calvert greeted her reappearance and the girl began to think it wasn’t so bad after all have an old lady aboard.

“Really, Mabel, there doesn’t seem anything old about her except a few of her looks. I mean her white hair and some wrinkles. I guess it was all right she came, anyway.”

“It surely was all right. Why, what would any of us have done if she hadn’t been here? Mamma was scared worse than I was, even. You know she saw a person killed by lightning once and has never got over it. You’ll find, if you watch out, that Mrs. Calvert will help us have a good time, rather than spoil it; if—if—we don’t go back. I guess Mamma wishes we’d have to do that.”

Aurora did not answer, for just then the others were eagerly discussing the situation. They were to “up anchor,” run up the sails to catch the stiff breeze that was rising with the sun, and proceed down the coast as far as they could while the engineer remained, as he had agreed to do for a few hours longer, because of Mrs. Calvert’s earnest request.

“Get us safe into some snug harbor, please Mr. Stinson, and I will see that you lose nothing by the delay.”

“That is all right, Madam. I only wish I could join your cruise for all its length. I’m sure you’re bound to have a grand trip, despite the bad beginning—which should bring the proverbial good ending.”

“I wish you could. Oh! I do wish you could,” said Aunt Betty. She was somewhat surprised to find the engineer a man of culture, but was delighted by the fact. She felt that the presence of such a man would keep her three boys straight, for she was a little afraid of “pranks” should they indulge in any.

She had hoped, too, to make the most of their trip up and down the Severn, with which lovely river her earliest memories lingered. However, they were not to reach it yet. The friendly wind forsook them and both Cap’n Jack and Mr. Stinson felt that it would be wise to enter a little bay further north; and making their slow way between some islands come to anchor on the shores of the Magothy.

“The Maggotty! That’s where the best cantaloupes come from!” cried Mabel. “Who’ll buy my fine wattymillyouns, growed on de Maggotty, down in An’erunnel! Wattymillyouns! Cant-e-lopes! Oh! I want one this minute!”

“What a dreadful name for a river! Who’d eat melons full of maggots!” demanded Aurora, with a little shiver. Evidently, though she must often have heard them, she had paid scant attention to the cries of the negro hucksters through her own city’s streets.

“It isn’t ‘Maggotty’ but ‘Magothy’,” explained Dorothy. “I used to think just as you do until I learned better. I’m bad as Mabel. I just can’t wait. I must have a ‘cantaloupe’ for supper, I must! Scooped out and filled with ice—sweet and juicy——”

“Hold on! Hold on! Wait till I fetch it!” returned Gerald, with a smack of his own lips. Then leaving the others to follow as they chose he ran to the stern of the tender which the men had brought close to a grassy bank, and leaped ashore.

“Wheah’s he gwine at?” demanded Ephraim, who had been in the way and unceremoniously pushed aside.

“Wattymillyouns!” yelled Jim, following the other boy’s lead.

“Wattymillyouns? Wat-ty-mill-youns? My hea’t o’ grace! I’se done gwine get some fo’ my Miss Betty!”

“For yo’se’f you-all means, yo’ po’ triflin’ ornery ole niggah! Ain’t it de trufe?” laughed Chloe, coming to the old man’s side, and laying a restraining hand upon his shoulder, while all her white teeth showed in a wide grin.

Safely anchored, the engineer gone, the old Captain bustling about on the roof of the boat, making all snug and shipshape for the coming night, every heart was light. None more so than those of the colored folks, always in the habit of leaving care to “their white” friends and like children in their readiness to forget the past.

Ephraim didn’t leap the plank, his “roomaticals” prevented; but he displayed a marvelous agility in getting ashore and speed in following the vanishing lads.

“What’s up?” demanded Melvin, running to where Chloe stood, holding her sides and shaking with laughter, “where have they gone?”

“Maggotty millyouns! Spyed a millyoun patch ovah yondah an’—Lan’ ob Goshen! If he ain’ done gwine, too! Well, my sake! Mebbe Chloe doan’ lub millyouns same’s anuddah, mebbe!”

As Melvin disappeared over the side, his own mouth watering for the southern delicacies so rare to his own northern home, mistress Chloe gathered up her petticoats and sprang ashore.

Little Methuselah called after her but she did not pause. She meant to get her own share from that distant melon-patch, and her maternal ears were deaf to his outcries.

Sharing the common feeling of repose and safety which had fallen upon all the company when the Water Lily had been tied up for the night, Metty had felt it a fine time to don his livery and show off his finery before the white folks. Clad in its loose misfit, but proud as ever, he clung to the stern-rail of the Pad and gazed after his departing parent.

What had happened? Why were all those people running away so fast? Was another frightful tempest coming?

“Mammy! Mam-my! Lemme! Lemme come! Mammy, Mammy, wait—I’se com——”

A point on the water side of the Pad commanded a better view of the fleeing figures, climbing the gentle rise of ground beyond. Thither the little fellow rushed; gave one glance downward into the water and another upon his gorgeous attire; then upward and onward where a fold of scarlet calico fluttered like a signal; shut his great eyes, and leaped.

Alas! The fat little legs couldn’t compass that space! and Methuselah Bonaparte Washington Brown sank beneath the waves his own impact had created.

CHAPTER VI.

A MULE AND MELON TRANSACTION.

The five melon-hungry deserters from the Water Lily came breathlessly to the “snake” rail-fence which bordered the “patch” and paused with what Gerald called “neatness and dispatch.”

Suddenly there rose from behind the fence a curious figure to confront them. Two figures, in fact, a man’s and a mule’s. Both were of a dusty brown color, both were solemn in expression, and so like one another in length of countenance that Melvin giggled and nudged Jim, declaring under his breath:

“Look like brothers, don’t you know?”

Ephraim was the first to recover composure as, removing his hat, he explained:

“We-all’s trabellers an’ jes’ natchally stopped to enquiah has yo’ wattymillyouns fo’ sale.”

Chloe sniggered at the old man’s deft turn of the matter, for she knew perfectly well that the idea of buying the melons hadn’t entered his mind until that moment. He was an honest creature in general, but no southern negro considers it a crime to steal a water-melon—until he is caught at it!

The air with which Ephy bowed and scraped sent the boys into roars of laughter but didn’t in the least lessen the gloom of the farmer’s face. At last he opened his lips, closed them, reopened them and answered:

“Ye-es. I have. But—I cayn’t sell ’em. They ain’t never no sale for my truck. Is they, Billy?”

The mournfulness of his voice was absurd. As absurd as to call the solemn-visaged mule by the frivolous name of “Billy.” Evidently the animal understood human speech, for in response to his owner’s appeal the creature opened his own great jaws in a prodigious bray. Whereupon the farmer nodded, gravely, as if to say:

“You see. Billy knows.”

“How much yo’ tax ’em at?” asked Chloe, gazing over the fence with longing eyes and mentally selecting the ripest and juiciest of the fruit.

“I ain’t taxin’ ’em. I leave it to you.”

Then he immediately sat down upon the rock beside the fence where he had been “resting” for most of that afternoon, or “evenin’” as he called it. Billy doubled himself up and sprawled on the ground near his master, to the injury of the vines and one especially big melon.

“O, suh! Doan’ let him squush it!” begged Chloe; while Ephraim turned upon her with a reproving:

“You-all min’ yo’ place! Ah ’m ’tendin’ to dis yeah business.”

“Va’y well. Jes’ gimme mah millyoun ter tote home to Miss Betty. Ah mus’ ha’ left mah pocket-book behin’ me!” she jeered. Then, before they knew what she was about, she had sprung over the fence and picked up the melon she had all along selected as her own.

Nobody interfered, not even the somber owner of the patch; and with amazing lightness Chloe scrambled back again, the great melon held in the skirt of her red gown, and was off down the slope at the top of her speed.

Ephraim put on his “specs” and gravely stared after her; then shook his head, saying:

“Dat yeah gell’s de flightiest evah! Ain’t it de trufe?”

But now a new idea had come to Jim, and laying a hand on the collars of the other lads, he brought their heads into whispering nearness of his own:

“Say, fellows, let’s buy Billy! A mule that understands English is the mule to draw the Water Lily!”

A pause, while the notion was considered, then Melvin exclaimed:

“Good enough! If he doesn’t ask too much. Try him!”

“Yes, ask him. I’ll contribute a fiver, myself,” added Gerald.

Ephraim had now struggled over the fence and was pottering about among the melons, with the eye of a connoisseur selecting and laying aside a dozen of the choicest. Those which were not already black of stem he passed by as worthless, as he did those which did not yield a peculiar softness to the pressure of his thumb. His face fairly glittered and his “roomaticals” were wholly forgotten; till his attention was suddenly arrested by the word “money,” spoken by one of the boys beyond the fence. At that he stood up, put his hands on his hips, and groaned; then keenly listened to what was being said.

“Ye-es. I might want to sell Billy, but I cayn’t. I cayn’t never sell anything.”

“Well, we’re looking for a mule, a likely mule. One strong enough to haul a house-boat. Billy’s pretty big; looks as if he could.”

“Billy can do anything he’s asked to. Cayn’t you, Billy?”

It was funny to see the clever beast rise slowly to his feet, shake the dust from his great frame, turn his sorrowful gaze upon his master’s face, and utter his assenting bray.

Melvin flung himself on the grass and laughed till his sides ached; then sprang up again wild with eagerness to possess such a comical creature:

“Oh! Buy him—buy him—no matter the price! He’d be the life of the whole trip! I’ll give something, too, as much as I can spare!”

Jim tried to keep his face straight as he inquired:

“What is the price of Billy, sir?”

The farmer sighed, so long and deeply, that the mule lay down again as if pondering the matter.

“Young man, that there Billy-mule is beyond price. There ain’t another like him, neither along the Magothy nor on the Eastern Sho’. I cayn’t sell Billy.”

During his life upon the mountains James Barlow had seen something of “horse-traders” and he surmised that he had such an one to deal with now. He expected that the man would name a price, after a time, much higher than he really would accept, and the boy was ready for a “dicker.” He meant to show the other lads how clever and astute he could be. So he now returned:

“Oh, yes. I think you can if you get your price. Everything has its price, I’ve read somewhere—even mules!”

“Young man, life ain’t no merry jest. I’ve found that out and so’ll you. I cayn’t sell Billy.”

“Ten dollars?”

No reply, but the man sat down again beside his priceless mule and reopened the old book he had been reading when interrupted by these visitors.

“Fifteen?”

“Twenty?” volunteered Gerald.

“Twenty-five?” asked Melvin. Then in an aside to the other boys: “I wonder if Dorothy will help pay for him!”

“Sure. This is her racket, isn’t it? It was Mrs. Calvert, or somebody, said we could be towed along shore, as if the Lily were a canal-boat. Sure! We’ll be doing her a kindness if we buy it for her and save her all the trouble of looking for one;” argued Gerald, who had but a small stock of money and wasn’t eager to spend it.

Jim cast one look of scorn upon him, then returned to his “dickering.” He had so little cash of his own that he couldn’t assume payment, but he reasoned that, after he had written an account of their predicament to Mr. Winters, the generous donor of the Lily would see that she was equipped with the necessary “power,” even if that power lay in the muscles of a gigantic mule.

“Oh! sir, please think it over. Hark, I’ll tell you the whole story, then I’m sure you’ll want to help a lady—several ladies—out of a scrape,” argued Jim, with such a persuasive manner that Melvin was astonished. This didn’t seem at all like the rather close-tongued student he had known before.

But the truth was that Jim had become infatuated with the idea of owning at least a share in Billy. He was used to mules. He had handled and lived among them during his days upon Mrs. Stott’s truck-farm. He was sure that the animal could be made useful in many ways and—in short, he wanted, he must have Billy!

In a very few moments he had told the whole tale of the house-boat and its misfortunes, laying great stress upon the “quality” of its owners, and thus shrewdly appealing to the chivalry of this southern gentleman who was playing at farming.

For a time his only apparent listener was old Ephraim, who had picked up a hoe somewhere and now leaned upon it, resting from his selection of the melons. But, though he didn’t interfere with the glib narrative, he confirmed it by nods of his gray head, and an occasional “Dat’s so, Cunnel.”

Evidently, the farmer was impressed. He stopped pretending to read and folding his arms, leaned back against the rails, his eyes closed, an expression of patient, sad endurance upon his long face. His manner said as plainly as words:

“If this young gabbler will talk I suppose I must listen.”

But gradually this manner changed. His eyes opened. The book slid to the ground. In spite of his own unwillingness he was interested. A house-boat! He’d never heard of such a thing; but, if the tale were true, it would be something new to see. Besides, ladies in distress? That was an appeal no gentleman could deny, even though that gentleman were as poor as himself. He might well have added “as shiftless;” for another man in his position would have been stirring himself to get that fine crop of melons into market.

Jim finished his recital with the eager inquiry:

“Now, sir, don’t you think you can sell Billy and put a reasonable price on him?”

The lad rose to his feet as he asked this and the man slowly followed his example. Then laying his hand on heart he bowed, saying:

“I cayn’t sell Billy. I give you my word. But, a southern planter is never beyond the power, sir, to bestow a gift. Kindly convey said Billy to Miss Calvert with the compliments of Colonel Judah Dillingham of T. Yonder are the bars. They are down. They are always down. So are my fortunes. Billy, old friend, farewell.”

This strange gentleman then solemnly reseated himself and again picked up his book. A deeper gloom than ever had settled upon him and a sigh that was almost a sob shook him from head to foot.

Billy, also, slowly and stiffly rose, regarded the reader with what seemed like grieved amazement and dismally brayed. There was an old harness upon him, half-leather, half-rope, with a few wisps of corn-husk, and without delay Jim laid his hand on the bit-ring and started away.

“Of course, sir, we will pay for the mule. My folks wouldn’t, I mean couldn’t, accept such a gift from a stranger. Our house-boat is tied up at the little wharf down yonder and we’ll likely be there for awhile. I’ll come back soon and tell what they say.”

Colonel Dillingham made no motion as if he heard and James was too afraid he would repent of the bargain to tarry. But Billy wasn’t easy to lead. He followed peaceably enough as far as the designated bars, even stepped over the fallen rails into the grassy fields beyond. But there he firmly planted his fore-feet and refused to go further.

Left behind and scarcely believing his own eyes, Ephraim now respectfully inquired, with pride at having guessed the man’s title:

“How much dese yeah millyouns wuth, Cunnel?”

The question was ignored although the gentleman seemed listening to something. It was the dispute now waging in the field beyond, where Jim was trying to induce Billy to move and the other lads were offering suggestions in the case. At last something akin to a smile stole over the farmer’s grim features and he roughly ordered:

“Shut up, you nigger! Huh! Just as I thought. I couldn’t sell Billy and Billy won’t be given. Eh? what? Price of melons? You black idiot, do you reckon a gentleman who can afford to give away a mule’s goin’ to take money for a few trumpery water-melons? Go on away. Go to the packin’-house yonder and find a sack. Fill it. Take the whole field full. Eat enough to kill yourself. I wish you would!”

Far from being offended by this outbreak, Ephraim murmured:

“Yes, suh, t’ank yo’, suh,” and hobbled over the uneven ground toward the whitewashed building in the middle of the patch. Some more thrifty predecessor had built this for the storing and packing of produce, but under the present owner’s management it was fast tumbling to ruin. But neither did this fact surprise Ephy, nor hinder him from choosing the largest sack from a pile on the floor. With this in hand he hurried back to the goodly heap of melons he had made ready and hastily loaded them into the sack.

Not till then did he consider how he was to get that heavy load to the Water Lily. Standing up, he took off his hat, scratched his wool, hefted the melons, and finally chuckled in delight.

“‘Mo’ ways ’an one to skin a cat’! Down-hill’s easier ’an up!”

With that he began to drag the sack toward the fence and, having reached it, took out its contents and tossed them over the fence. When the bag was empty he rolled and tucked it into the back of his coat, then climbed back to the field outside. The controversy with Billy was still going lustily on, but Ephy had more serious work on hand than that. Such a heap of luscious melons meant many a day’s feast, if they could be stored in some safe, cool place.

“Hello! Look at old Eph!” suddenly cried Gerald, happening to turn about.

“Huh! Now ain’t that clever? Wonder I never thought o’ that myself!” cried the Colonel, with some animation. “Clever enough for a white man. Billy, you’d ought have conjured that yourself. But that’s always the way. I cayn’t think a thought but somebody else has thought it before me. I cayn’t never get ahead of the tail end of things. Oh! hum!”

The Colonel might be sighing but the three lads were laughing heartily enough to drown the sighs, for there was the old negro starting one after another of the great melons a-roll down the gentle slope, to bring up on the grassy bank at the very side of the Water Lily. If a few fell over into the water they could easily be fished out, reasoned Ephraim, proud of his own ingenuity.

But the group beside the bars didn’t watch to see the outcome of that matter, nor Ephraim’s reception. They were too busy expostulating with Billy, and lavishing endearments upon him.

“‘Stubborn as a mule’,” quoted Melvin, losing patience.

“Or fate,” responded the Colonel, drearily.

“Please, sir, won’t you try to make him go?” pleaded Gerald. “I think if you just started him on the right way he’d keep at it.”

“Billy is—Billy!” said the farmer. He was really greatly interested. Nothing so agreeable as this had happened in his monotonous life since he could remember. Here were three lads, as full of life as he had been once, jolly, hearty, with a will to do and conquer everything; and—here was Billy. A great, awkward, inert mass of bone and muscle, merely, calmly holding these clever youngsters at bay.

“Can he be ridden?” demanded Jim, at length.

“He might. Try;” said the man, in heart-broken accents.

Jim tried. Melvin tried. Gerald tried. With every attempt to cross his back the animal threw up his heels and calmly shook the intruder off.

The Colonel folded his arms and sorrowfully regarded these various attempts and failures; then dolefully remarked:

“It seems I cayn’t even give Billy away. Ah! hum.”

Jim lost his temper.

“Well, sir, we’ll call it off and bid you good night. Somebody will come back to pay you for the melons.”

As he turned away in a huff his mates started to follow him; but Melvin was surprised by a touch on his shoulder and looked up to see the Colonel beside him.

“Young man, you look as if you came of gentle stock. Billy was brought up by a gentlewoman, my daughter. She forsook him and me for another man. I mean she got married. That’s why Billy and I live alone now, except for the niggers. They’s a right and a wrong way to everything. This—is the right way with Billy. Billy, lie down.”

For an instant the animal hesitated as if suspecting some treachery in this familiar command; then he doubled himself together like a jack-knife, or till he was but a mound of mule-flesh upon the grass.

“She taught him. She rode this way. Billy, get up.”

This strange man had seated himself sidewise upon the mule’s back, leisurely freeing his feet from the loose-hanging harness and balancing himself easily as the animal got up. Then still sitting sidewise he ordered:

“Billy, proceed.”

At once Billy “proceeded” at an even and decorous pace, while the lads walked alongside, vastly entertained by this unusual rider and his mount. He seemed to think a further explanation necessary, for as they neared the bottom of the slope he remarked:

“Learned that in Egypt. Camel riding. She came home and taught him.”

Then they came to the edge of the bank and paused in surprise. Instead of the gay welcome they had expected, there was Chloe walking frantically up and down, hugging a still dripping little figure to her breast and refusing to yield it to the outstretched arms of poor old Ephraim, who stood in the midst of his melons, a woe-begone, miserable creature, wholly unlike his jubilant self of a brief while before.

“What’s—happened?” asked Jim, running to Chloe’s side.

“’Tis a jedgmen’! A jedgmen’! Oh! de misery—de misery!” she wailed, breaking away from him and wildly running to and fro again, in the fierce excitement of her race.

Yet there upon the roof of the cabin, cheerily looking out from his “bridge” was Cap’n Jack. He was waving his crutches in jovial welcome and trying to cover Chloe’s wailing by his exultant:

“I fished him out with a boat-hook! With—a—boat-hook, d’ye hear?”

CHAPTER VII.

VISITORS.

Attracted by the wild flowers growing in the fields around the cove where the Water Lily was moored, the four girls had left the boat a little while before the melon seekers had done so.

Mabel and Aurora cared little for flowers in themselves but Dorothy’s eagerness was infectious, and Elsa’s pale face had lighted with pleasure. But even then her timidity moved her to say:

“Suppose something happens? Suppose we should get lost? It’s a strange, new place—I guess—I’m afraid—I’ll stay with Mrs. Calvert, please.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind, my dear,” said that lady, smiling. “You’ve done altogether too much ‘staying’ in your short life. Time now to get outdoor air and girlish fun. Go with Dorothy and get some color into your cheeks. You want to go back to that father of yours looking a very different Elsa from the one he trusted to us. Run along! Don’t bother about a hat and jacket. Exercise will keep you from taking cold. Dolly, dear, see that the child has a good time.”

Elsa’s mother had died of consumption and her father had feared that his child might inherit that disease. In his excessive love and care for her he had kept her closely housed in the poor apartment of a crowded tenement, the only home he could afford. The result had been to render her more frail than she would otherwise have been. Her shyness, her lameness, and her love of books with only her father for teacher, made her contented enough in such a life, but was far from good for her. The best thing that had ever happened to her was this temporary breaking up of this unwholesome routine and her having companions of her own age.

So that even now she had looked wistfully upon the small bookshelf in the cabin, with the few volumes placed there; but Mrs. Calvert shook her head and Elsa had to obey.

“But, Dorothy, aren’t you afraid? There might be snakes. It might rain. It looks wet and swampy—I daren’t get my feet wet—father’s so particular——”

“If it rains I’ll run back and get you an umbrella, Aunt Betty’s own—the only one aboard, I fancy. And as for fear—child alive! Did you never get into the woods and smell the ferns and things? There’s nothing so sweet in the world as the delicious woodsy smell! Ah! um! Let’s hurry!” cried Dolly, linking her arm in the lame girl’s and helping her over the grassy hummocks.

Even then Elsa would have retreated, startled by the idea of “woods” where the worst she had anticipated was a leisurely stroll over a green meadow. But there was no resisting her friend’s enthusiasm; besides, looking backward she was as much afraid to return and try clambering aboard the Lily, unaided, as she was to go forward.

So within a few minutes all four had entered the bit of woodland and, following Dorothy’s example, were eagerly searching for belated blossoms. Learning, too, from that nature-loving girl, things they hadn’t known before.

“A cardinal flower—more of them—a whole lot! Yes, of course, it’s wet there. Cardinals always grow in damp places, along little streams like this I’ve slipped my foot into! Oh! aren’t they beauties! Won’t dear Aunt Betty go just wild over them! if Father John, the darling man who ‘raised’ me, were only here! He’s a deal lamer than you, Elsa Carruthers, but nobody’s feet would get over the ground faster than his crutches if he could just have one glimpse of this wonderland!

“Did you ever notice? Almost all the autumn flowers are either purple or yellow or white? There are no real blues, no rose-colors; with just this lovely, lovely cardinal for an exception.”

Dorothy sped back to where Elsa stood nervously balancing herself upon a fallen tree-trunk and laid the brilliant flowers in her hands. Elsa looked at them in wonder and then exclaimed:

“My! how pretty! They look just as if they were made out of velvet in the milliner’s window! And how did you know all that about the colors?”

“Oh! Father John, and Mr. Winters—Uncle Seth, he likes me to call him—the dear man that gave us the Water Lily—they told me. Though I guessed some things myself. You can’t help that, you know, when you love anything. I think, I just do think, that the little bits of things which grow right under a body’s feet are enough to make one glad forever. Sometime, when I grow up, if Aunt Betty’s willing, and I don’t have to work for my living, I shall build us a little house right in the woods and live there.”

“Pshaw, Dolly Doodles! You couldn’t build a house if you tried. And you’d get mighty sick of staying in the woods all the time, with nobody coming to visit you——” remarked Mabel coming up behind them.

“I should have the birds and the squirrels, and all the lovely creatures that live in the forest!”

“And wild-cats, and rattlesnakes, and horrid buggy things! Who’d see any of your new clothes?”

“I shouldn’t want any. I’d wear one frock till it fell to pieces——”

“You wouldn’t be let! Mrs. Calvert’s awful particular about your things.”

“That’s so,” commented Aurora. “They’re terrible plain but they look just right, somehow. Righter ’n mine do, Gerry says, though I don’t believe they cost near as much.”

“Well, we didn’t come into these lovely woods to talk about clothes. Anybody can make clothes but only the dear God can make a cardinal flower!” cried Dorothy, springing up, with a sudden sweet reverence on her mobile face.

Elsa as suddenly bent and kissed her, and even the other matter-of-fact girls grew thoughtful.

“It’s like a church, isn’t it? Only more beautiful,” whispered the lame girl.

“Yes, isn’t it? Makes all the petty hatefulness of things seem not worth while. What matter if the storm did break the engine—that stranded us right here and gave us this. If we’d kept on down the bay we’d have missed it. That’s like dear Uncle Seth says—that things are meant. So I believe that it was ‘meant’ you should come here to-day and have your first taste of the woods. You’ll never be afraid of them again, I reckon.”

“Never—never! I’m glad you made me come. I didn’t want to. I wanted to read, but this is better than any book could be, because like you said—God made it.”

Aurora and Mabel had already turned back toward the Lily and now called that it was time to go. Though the little outing had meant less to them than it had to Elsa and Dorothy, it had still given them a pleasure that was simple and did them good. Aurora had gathered a big bunch of purple asters for the table, thinking how well they would harmonize with the dainty lavender of her hostess’s gown; and Mabel had plucked a lot of “boneset” for her mother, remembering how much that lady valued it as a preventive of “malary”—the disease she had been sure she would contract, cruising in shallow streams.

“Come on, girls! Something’s happened! The boys are waving to us like all possessed!” shouted Mabel, when they had neared the wharf and the boat which already seemed like home to them.

Indeed, Gerald and Melvin were dancing about on the little pier beckoning and calling: “Hurry up, hurry up!” and the girls did hurry, even Elsa moving faster than she had ever done before. Already she felt stronger for her one visit to that wonderful forest and she was hoping that the Water Lily might remain just where it was, so that she might go again and again.

Then Gerald came to meet them, balancing a water-melon on his head, trying to imitate the ease with which the colored folks did that same trick. But he had to use his hands to keep it in place and even so it slipped from his grasp and fell, broken to pieces at Elsa’s feet.

“Oh! What a pity!” she cried, then dropped her eyes because she had been surprised into speaking to this boy who had never noticed her before.

“Not a bit! Here, my lady, taste!”

She drew back her head from the great piece he held at her lips but was forced to take one mouthful in self-defence. But Dorothy, in similar fix was eating as if she were afraid of losing the dainty, while Gerald merrily pretended to snatch it away.

“Ha! That shows the difference—greed and daintiness!”

Then in a changed tone he exclaimed:

“Pretty close shave for the pickaninny!”

Dorothy held her dripping bit of melon at arm’s length and quickly asked:

“What do you mean? Why do you look so sober all of a sudden?”

“Metty came near drowning. Tried to follow his mother over the field to the melon-patch and fell into the water. Mrs. Calvert was walking around the deck and heard the splash. Nobody else was near. She ran around to that side and saw him. Then she screamed. Old Cap’n says by the time he got there the little chap was going under for the last time. Don’t know how he knew that—doubt if he did—but if he did—but he wouldn’t spoil a story for a little thing like a lie. Queer old boy, that skipper, with his pretended log and his broken spy-glass. He——”

“Never mind that, go on—go on! He was saved, wasn’t he? Oh! say that he was!” begged Dolly, wringing her hands.

“Course. And you’re dripping pink juice all over your skirt!”

“If you’re going to be so tantalizing——” she returned and forgetful of lame Elsa, sped away to find out the state of things for herself.

Left alone Elsa began to tremble, so that her teeth chattered when Gerald again held the fruit to her lips.

“Please don’t! I—I can’t bear it! It seems so dreadful! Nothing’s so dreadful as—death! Poor, poor, little boy!”

The girl’s face turned paler than ordinary and she shook so that Gerald could do no less than put his arm around her to steady her.

“Don’t feel that way, Elsa! Metty isn’t dead. I tell you he’s all right. He’s the most alive youngster this minute there is in the country. Old Cap’n is lame; of course he couldn’t swim, even if he’d tried. But he didn’t. He just used his wits, and they’re pretty nimble, let me tell you! There was a boat-hook hanging on the rail—that’s a long thing with a spike, or hook, at one end, to pull a boat to shore, don’t you know? He caught that up and hitched it into the seat of Metty’s trousers and fished him out all right. Fact.”

Elsa’s nervousness now took the form of tears, mingled with hysterical laughter, and it was Gerald’s turn to grow pale. What curious sort of a girl was this who laughed and cried all in one breath, and just because a little chap wasn’t drowned, though he might have been?

“I say, girlie, Elsa, whatever your name is, quit it! You’re behaving horrid! Metty isn’t dead. He’s very much happier than—than I am, at this minute. He’s eating water-melon and you’d show some sense if you’d do that, too. When his mother got back, after stealing her melon, she found things in a fine mess. Old Cap’n had fished the youngster out but he wasn’t going to have him drip muddy water all over his nice clean ‘ship.’ Not by a long shot! So he carries him by the boat-hook, just as he’d got him, over to the grass and hung him up in a little tree that was there, to dry. Yes, sir! Gave him a good spanking, too, Mrs. Bruce said, just to keep him from taking cold! Funny old snoozer, ain’t he?”

In spite of herself Elsa stopped sobbing and smiled; while relieved by this change Gerald hurriedly finished his tale.

“He was hanging there, the Cap’n holding him from falling, when his mother came tearing down the hill and stopped so short her melon fell out her skirt—ker-smash! ‘What you-all doin’ ter mah li’l lamb?’ says she. ‘Just waterin’ the grass,’ says he. ‘Why-fo’?’ says she. ‘’Cause the ornery little fool fell into the river and tried to spile his nice new livery. Why else?’ says he. Then—Did you ever hear a colored woman holler? Made no difference to her that the trouble was all over and Methuselah Washington Bonaparte was considerable cleaner than he had been before his plunge; she kept on yelling till everybody was half-crazy and we happened along with—Billy! Say, Elsa——”

“Gerald, I mean Mr. Blank, is all that true?”

“What’s the use eyeing a fellow like that? I guess it’s true. That’s about the way it must have been and, anyway, that part that our good skipper fished the boy out of the water is a fact. Old Ephraim grand-daddy hated Cap’n Jack like poison before; now he’d kiss the ground he walks on, if he wasn’t ashamed to be caught at it. Funny! That folks should make such an everlasting fuss over one little black boy!”

“I suppose they love him,” answered Elsa. She was amazed to find herself walking along so quietly beside this boy whom she had thought so rough, and from whom she shrank more than from any of the others. He had certainly been kind. He was the one who had stayed to help her home when even Dorothy forsook her. She had hated his rude boisterous ways and the sound of his voice, with its sudden changes from a deep bass to a squeaking falsetto. Now she felt ashamed and punished, that she had so misjudged the beautiful world into which she had come, and, lifting her large eyes to Gerald’s face, said so very prettily.

But the lad had little sentiment in his nature and hated it in others. If she was going to act silly and “sissy” he’d leave her to get home the best way she could. The ground was pretty even now and, with her hand resting on his arm, she was walking steadily enough. Of course, her lame foot did drag but——

A prolonged bray broke into his uncomfortable mood and turning to the startled Elsa, he merrily explained:

“That’s Billy! Hurry up and be introduced to Billy! I tell you he’s a character——”

“Billy? Billy! Don’t tell me there’s another boy come to stay on the Lily!”

“Fact. The smartest one of the lot! Hurry up!”

Elsa had to hurry, though she shrank from meeting any more strangers, because Gerald forgot that he still grasped her arm and forced her along beside him, whether or no. But she released herself as they came to the wharf and the people gathered there.

This company included not only the house-boat party but a number of other people. So novel a craft as a house-boat couldn’t be moored within walking distance of Four-Corners’ Post-Office, and the waterside village of Jimpson’s Landing, without arousing great curiosity. Also, the other boats passing up and down stream, scows and freighters mostly these were, plying between the fertile lands of Anne Arundel and the Baltimore markets, had spread the tale.

Now, at evening, when work was over, crowds flocked from the little towns to inspect the Water Lily and its occupants. Also, many of them to offer supplies for its convenience. The better to do this last, they unceremoniously climbed aboard, roamed at will over both boat and tender, inspected and commented upon everything and, finally, demanded to see the “Boss.”

Outside on the grass beside the wharf sat Colonel Dillingham of T, side-saddle-wise upon great Billy, who had gone to sleep. He was waiting to be presented to Mrs. Calvert and would not presume to disturb her till she sent for him. Meanwhile he was very comfortable, and with folded arms, his habitual attitude, he sadly observed the movements of his neighbors.

Most of these nodded to him as they passed, with an indifferent “Howdy, Cunnel?” paying no further attention to him. Yet there was something about the man on mule-back that showed him to be of better breeding than the rustics who disdained him. Despite his soiled and most unhappy appearance he spoke with the accents of a gentleman, and when his name was repeated to Mrs. Calvert she mused over it with a smile.

“Dillingham? Dillingham of T? Why, of course, Dolly dear, he’s of good family. One of the best in Maryland. I reckon I’ll have to go into the cabin and receive him. Is it still full of those ill-bred men, who swarmed over this boat as if they owned it?”

“Yes, Aunt Betty, pretty full. Some, a few, have gone. Those who haven’t want to see the ‘Boss.’”

Mrs. Calvert peered from her stateroom whither she had fled at the first invasion of visitors, and smiled. Then she remarked:

“Just go ashore and be interviewed there, dear.”

“Auntie! What do you mean?”

“I fancy you’re the real ‘boss,’ or head of this company, when it comes to fact. It’s your Water Lily, you are bearing the expenses, I’m your guest, and ‘where the honey is the bees will gather.’ If these good people once understand that it’s you who carry the purse——”

“But I don’t! You know that. I gave it to Mrs. Bruce. I asked her to take care of the money because—Well, because I’m careless, sometimes, you know, and might lose it.”

“It’s the same thing. Ask her to go with you and advise you, if there is anything you need. But, remember, money goes fast if one doesn’t take care.”

It sounded rather strange to Dorothy to hear Aunt Betty say this for it wasn’t the lady’s habit to discuss money matters. However, she hadn’t time to think about that for here was Mrs. Bruce, urging:

“Dorothy, do come and do something with these men. There’s one fairly badgering me to buy cantaloupes—and they do look nice—but with all the water-melons—Yes, sir; this is the ‘Boss;’ this is Miss Calvert, the owner of the Water Lily.”

A man with a basket of freshly dug potatoes had followed Mrs. Bruce to the door of Mrs. Calvert’s stateroom which, with a hasty “Beg pardon” from within, had been closed in their faces. Another man, carrying smaller baskets of tempting plums, was trying to out-talk his neighbor; while a third, dangling a pair of chickens above the heads of the other two, was urging the sale of these, “raised myself, right here on Annyrunnell sile! Nicest, fattest, little br’ilers ever you see, Ma’am!”

“Huh! that pair of chickens wouldn’t make a mouthful for our family!” cried the matron, desperately anxious to clear the cabin of these hucksters. She had made it her business to keep the Water Lily in spotless order and this invasion of muddy boots and dirt-scattering baskets fretted her. Besides, like all the rest of that “ship’s company,” her one desire was to make Mrs. Calvert perfectly comfortable and happy. She knew that this intrusion of strangers would greatly annoy her hostess and felt she must put an end to it at once. But how?

Dorothy rose to the occasion. Assuming all the dignity her little body could summon she clapped her hands for silence and unexpectedly obtained it. People climbing the crooked stairs to the roof and the “Skipper’s bridge” craned their necks to look at her; those testing the arrangement of the canvas partitions between the cots on one side stopped with the partitions half-adjusted and stared; while the chattering peddlers listened, astonished.

“Excuse me, good people, but this boat is private property. None should come aboard it without an invitation. Please all go away at once. I’ll step ashore with this lady and there we’ll buy whatever she thinks best.”

Probably because her words made some of the intruders ashamed a few turned to leave; more lingered, among these the hucksters, and Dorothy got angry. Folding her arms and firmly standing in her place she glared upon them till one by one they slipped away over the gang-plank and contented themselves with viewing the Water Lily and its Pad from that point.

As the last smock-clad farmer disappeared Dorothy dropped upon the floor and laughed.

“O Mrs. Bruce! Wasn’t that funny? Those great big men and I—a little girl! They mustn’t do it again. They shall not!”

“The best way to stop them is to do as you promised—step to the shore and see them there. Those potatoes were real nice. We might get some of them, but the chickens—it would take so many. Might get one for Mrs. Calvert’s breakfast—oatmeal will do for the rest of us.”

Dorothy sprang up and hurried with her friend off from the Lily. But she made a wry face at the mention of oatmeal-breakfasts and explained:

“Aunt Betty wouldn’t eat chicken if none of the others had it. And just oatmeal—I hate oatmeal! It hasn’t a bit of expression and I’m as hungry after it as before. Just do get enough of those ‘br’ilers’ for all. Please, Mrs. Bruce! There’s nobody in the world can broil a chicken as you do! I remember! I’ve eaten them at your house before I ever left Baltimore!”

Naturally, the matron was flattered. She wasn’t herself averse to fine, tasty poultry, and resolved to gratify the teasing girl that once. But she qualified her consent with the remark:

“It mustn’t be such luxury very often, child, if you’re to come out even with this trip and the money. My! What a great mule! What a curious man on it! Why does he sit sidewise and gloom at everybody, that way?”

Dorothy hadn’t yet spoken with Colonel Dillingham though the boys had given her a brief description of him and their attempted purchase. But she was unprepared to have him descend from his perch and approach her, saying:

“Your servant, Miss Calvert. You resemble your great-grandfather. He was a man. He—was a man! Ah! yes! he was a—man! I cayn’t be too thankful that you are you, and that it’s to a descendant of a true southern nobleman I now present—Billy. Billy, Miss Calvert. Miss Calvert, Billy!”

With a sigh that seemed to come from his very boots the gallant Colonel placed one of the mule’s reins in Dorothy’s astonished hand and bowed again; and as if fully appreciating the introduction old Billy bobbed his head up and down in the mournfulest manner and gravely brayed, while the observant bystanders burst into a loud guffaw.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE COLONEL’S REVELATION.

“Aunt Betty, what does that ‘of T’ mean after that queer Colonel’s name?”

“There is no sense in it, dear, of course. The family explained it this way. The gentleman’s real name is Trowbridge. His wife’s family was Dillingham. It was of much older origin than his and she was very proud of it. When she consented to marry him it was upon the condition that he would take her name, not she take his. A slight legal proceeding made it right enough but he added the ‘of T.’ It was a tribute to his honesty, I fancy, though it’s quite a custom of Marylanders to do as the Dillinghams did. Here he comes now. I must ask him about his daughter. He had one, a very nice girl I’ve heard.”

“Coming! Why, Aunt Betty, we haven’t had breakfast yet!”

Mrs. Betty laughed.

“Another familiar custom, dear, among country neighbors in this old State. Why, my own dear mother thought nothing of having a party of uninvited guests arrive with the sunrise, expecting just the same cordial welcome she would have accorded later and invited ones. It never made any difference in the good old days. There was always plenty of food in the storehouse and plenty of help to prepare it. The Colonel isn’t so very old but he seems to cling to the traditions of his ancestors. I wonder, will he expect us to feed Billy also! And I do hope Mrs. Bruce will have something nice for breakfast. The poor gentleman looks half-starved.”

“Oh! yes, she has. We bought a half-dozen pairs of ‘broilers’ last night; but she meant them to last for supper, too.”

“Run. Bid her cook the lot. There’ll be none too many.”

“But, Auntie, dear! They cost fifty cents a-piece. Six whole dollars for one single breakfast? Besides the potatoes and bread and other stuff! Six dollars a meal, eighteen dollars a day, how long will what is left of three hundred dollars last, after we pay for Billy, as you said we must?”

This was on the morning after the Colonel’s first call at the Water Lily. This had been a prolonged one because of—Billy. That wise animal saw no stable anywhere about and, having been petted beyond reason by his loving, sad-hearted master, decided that he dared not—at his time of life—sleep out of doors. At least that was the way James Barlow understood it, and no persuasion on the part of his new friends could induce the mule to remain after the Colonel started for home.

“Tie him to the end of the wharf,” suggested Gerald.

“That would be cruel. He might fall into the water in his sleep. We don’t want two to do that in one day,” protested Dorothy.

At that point Billy began to bray; so mournfully and continuously that Mrs. Calvert sent word:

“Stop that beast! We shan’t be able to sleep a wink if he keeps that noise up!”

The Colonel paused once more. His departure had been a succession of pauses, occasioned by two things: one that the lazy man never walked when he could ride; the other, that he could not bring himself to part from his “only faithful friend.” The result was that he had again mounted the stubborn beast and disappeared in the darkness of his melon-patch.

Now he was back again, making his mount double himself up on the ground and so spare his rider the trouble of getting off in the usual way.

“My hearties! Will you see that, lads?” demanded Melvin, coming down the bank with his towels over his arm. He had promptly discovered a sheltered spot, up stream, where he could take his morning dip, without which his English training made him uncomfortable. “Pooh! He’s given the mule and himself with it! He’s fun for a day, but we can’t stand him long. I hope Mrs. Calvert will give him his ‘discharge papers’ right away.”

“If she doesn’t I will!” answered Gerald, stoutly. “A very little of the ‘Cunnel’ goes a long way with yours truly.”

Jim looked up sharply. His own face showed annoyance at the reappearance of the farmer but he hadn’t forgotten some things the others had.

“Look here, fellows! This isn’t our picnic, you know!”

Melvin flushed and ducked his head, as if from a blow, but Gerald retorted:

“I don’t care if it isn’t. I’d rather quit than have that old snoozer for my daily!”

“I don’t suppose anybody will object to your quitting when you want to. The Water Lily ain’t yours, though you ’pear to think so. And let me tell you right now; if you don’t do the civil to anybody my mistress has around I’ll teach you better manners—that’s all!”

With that Jim returned to the polishing of his useless engine, making no further response to Gerald’s taunts.

“Mistress! Mistress? Well, I’ll have you to know, you young hireling, that I’m my own master. I don’t work for any mistress, without wages or with ’em, and in my set we don’t hobnob with workmen—ever. Hear that? And mind you keep your own place, after this!”

An ugly look came over Jim’s face and his hands clenched. With utmost difficulty he kept from rising to knock the insolent Gerald down, and a few words more might have brought on a regular battle of fists, had not Melvin interposed in his mild voice yet with indignation in his eyes:

“You don’t mean that, Gerald. ‘A man’s a man for a’ that.’ I’m a ‘hireling,’ too, d’ye mind? A gentleman, that you boast you are, doesn’t bully his inferiors nor behave like a ruffian in a lady’s house—or boat—which is the same thing. Gentlemen don’t do that—Not in our Province.”

Then, fortunately, Chloe appeared, asking if one of them would go to the nearest farmhouse and fetch a pail of cream for breakfast.

“They’s quality come, so li’l Miss says, an’ ole Miss boun’ ter hev t’ings right down scrumptious, lak wese do to home in Baltimo’.”

With great willingness each and every lad offered to do the errand; and in a general tussle to grab her outstretched “bucket” their anger vanished in a laugh. The “good side” of Gerald came uppermost and he awkwardly apologized:

“Just forget I was a cad, will you, boys? I didn’t mean it. I’d just as lief go for that cream as not.”

“I’d liefer!” said Melvin.

Jim said nothing but the ugly look vanished from his face and it was he who secured the pail and started with it on a run over the plank and the field beyond.

“I’ll beat you there!” shouted Melvin; and “You can’t do it!” yelled Gerald; while Chloe clasped her hands in dismay, murmuring:

“Looks lak dere won’t be much cweam lef’ in de bucket if it comes same’s it goes!”

That visit to the farmhouse, short though it was, gave a turn to affairs on the Water Lily. The farmer told the lads of a little branch a few miles further on, which would be an ideal place for such a craft to anchor, for “a day, a week, or a lifetime.”

“It’s too fur off for them village loafers to bother any. You won’t have to anchor in midstream to get shet of ’em, as would be your only chance where you be now. I was down with the crowd, myself, last night an’ I was plumb scandalized the way some folks acted. No, sir, I wasn’t aboard the Water Lily nor set foot to be. I come home and told my wife: ‘Lizzie,’ says I, ‘them water-travellers’ll have a lot o’ trouble with the Corner-ites and Jimpson-ites. It’s one thing to be civil an’ another to be imperdent.’ I ’lowed to Lizzie, I says: ‘I ain’t volunteerin’ my opinion till it’s asked, but when it is I’ll just mention Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta Run. Ain’t a purtier spot on the whole map o’ Maryland ’an that is. Good boatin’, good fishin’, good springs in the woods, good current to the Run and no malary. Better ’n that—good neighbors on the high ground above.’ That’s what I says to Lizzie.”

Jim’s attention was caught by the name Deer-Copse. He thought Mrs. Calvert would like that, it was so much like her own Deerhurst on the Hudson. Also, he had overheard her saying to Mrs. Bruce: “I do wish we could find some quiet stream, right through the heart of green woods, where there’d be no danger and no intruders.” From this friendly farmer’s description it seemed as if that bit of forest on the Ottawotta would be an ideal camping-ground.

There followed questions and answers. Yes, the Water Lily might be hauled there by a mule walking on the bank, as far as the turn into the branch. After that, poling and hauling, according to the depth of the water and what the Lily’s keel “drawed,” or required. They could obtain fresh vegetables real near.

“I’m runnin’ a farm that-a-way, myself; leastwise me an’ my brother together. He’s got no kind of a wife like Lizzie. A poor, shiftless creatur’ with more babies under foot ’an she can count, herself. One them easy-goin’ meek-as-Moses sort. Good? Oh! yes, real good. Too good. Thinks more o’ meetin’ than of gettin’ her man a decent meal o’ victuals. Do I know what sort of mule Cunnel Dillingham has? Well, I guess! That ain’t no ornery mule, Billy Dillingham ain’t. You see, him and the Cunnel has lived so long together ’t they’ve growed alike. After the Cunnel’s daughter quit home an’ married Jabb, Cunnel up an’ sold the old place. Thought he’d go into truck-farmin’—him the laziest man in the state. Farmin’ pays, course, ’specially here in Annyrunnell. Why, my crop o’ melons keeps my family all the year round an’ my yuther earnin’s is put in the bank. Cunnel’s got as big a patch as mine an’ you cayn’t just stop melons from growin’ down here in Annyrunnell! No, sir, cayn’t stop ’em! Not if you ’tend ’em right. They’s an old sayin’, maybe you’ve heard. ‘He that by the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive.’ The Cunnel won’t do ary one. He leaves the whole thing to his crew o’ niggers an’, course, they’re some shiftlesser ’n he is. They’re so plumb lazy, the whole crowd, ’t they won’t even haul their truck as fur as Jimpson’s, to have it loaded on a boat for market, an’ that ain’t further ’n you could swing a cat! Losin’ his old home an’ losin’ his gal, an’ failin’ to make truck pay, has made him downhearteder’an he was by natur’—and that’s sayin’ consid’able. Must ye go, boys? Got any melons? Give ye as many as ye can carry if ye want ’em. Call again. Yes, the cream’s wuth five cents. Not this time, though. Lizzie’d be plumb scandalized if I took pay for a mite o’ cream for breakfast—such a late one, too. We had ours couple hours ago. Eh? About Billy? Well, if he war mine, which he ain’t, an’ if I war asked to set a price on him, which I couldn’t, I should say how ’t he war a fust-class mule, but not wuth a continental without the Cunnel—nor with him, nuther. If you take one you’ll have to take t’other. Call again. My respects to the lady owns the house-boat an’—Good-by!”

As the lads thanked their talkative neighbor and hurried down the fields, Jim exclaimed:

“Was afraid this cream’d all turn to butter before he’d quit and let us go! But, we’ve learned a lot about some things. I’m thinking that Ottawotta Run is the business for us: and I fear—Billy isn’t. There must be other mules in Anne Arundel county will suit us better. Mrs. Calvert won’t want him as a gift—with the Colonel thrown in!”

Mrs. Bruce met them impatiently.

“Seems as if boys never could do an errand without loitering. There’s all those chickens drying to flinders in that oil-stove-oven, and that horrid old man talking Mrs. Calvert into a headache. Least, he isn’t talking so much as she is. Thinks she must entertain him, I suppose. The idea! Anybody going visiting to breakfast without being asked!”

But by this time the good woman had talked her annoyance off, and while she dished up the breakfast—a task she wouldn’t leave to Chloe on this state occasion—Jim hastily condensed the information he had received and was glad that she promptly decided, as he had, that a sojourn on the quiet, inland Run would best please Aunt Betty.

“It would certainly suit me,” assented the matron.

“Oh! hang it all! What’s the use? Hiding in a silly little creek when there’s the whole Chesapeake to cruise in!” cried the disgusted Gerald, leaning upon the little table and hungrily eyeing the platter of chicken.

“How can we dare, how could we if we dared, try the Bay? We haven’t any engine to use now,” said Jim.

“Well, get one, then! If that girl can afford to run a house-boat and ask folks to stay on it, she ought to provide something decent for their entertainment. When we owned the Water Lily we did things up to the queen’s taste. I’m not going to bury myself in any backwoods. I’ll quit first.”

“Boy, are you always so cross before breakfast?” asked a girl’s voice over his shoulder, and he turned to see Dorothy smiling upon him.

“No. Except when I’m sent for cream and hear fool talk from a measly old farmer in a blue smock,” he answered, laughing rather foolishly.

“Was it the color of his smock made him measly? And what was that I heard about quitting?”

“Oh! nothing. I was just fooling. But, I say, Dorothy, don’t you let any old woman coax you into a dead-and-alive hole in the woods. Mark what I say. They’ll be trying it, but the Water Lily’s your boat now, isn’t it?”

“So I understood. But from the amount of advice I receive as to managing it, I think, maybe, it isn’t. Well, I’ve heard you—now listen to me. ‘The one who eats the most bread-and-butter can have the most cake’—or chicken. They look terrible little, don’t they, now they’re cooked? And I warn you, I never saw anybody look so hungry in all my life—no, not even you three boys!—as that poor, unhappy Colonel of T, in there with Aunt Betty. Yes, Mrs. Bruce, we’re ready for breakfast at last. But mind what I say—all we youngsters like oatmeal! We must like it this time for politeness sake. Fourteen eaters and twelve halves of broiled chicken—Problem, who goes without?”

But nobody really did that. Mrs. Bruce was mistress of the art of carving and managed that each should have at least a small portion of the delicacies provided, though she had to tax her ingenuity to accomplish this.

At the head of her table Mrs. Calvert motioned Chloe to serve her guest again and again; and each time that Ephraim jealously snatched a dainty portion for her own plate she as promptly and quietly restored it to the platter.

Also, the “Skipper” at his own board played such a lively knife and fork that dishes were emptied almost before filled and Gerald viciously remarked:

“Aren’t as fond of ship’s biscuit as you were, are you, Cap’n Jack?”

The Captain helped himself afresh and answered with good nature:

“Oh! yes. Jes’ as fond. But I likes a change. Yes, I c’n make out to relish ’most anything. I ain’t a mite partic’lar.”

This was too much for the lads and a laugh arose; but the old man merely peered over his specs at them and mildly asked:

“What you-all laughin’ at? Tell me an’ lemme laugh, too. Laughin’ does old folks good. Eh, Cunnel? Don’t you think so?” he asked, wheeling around to address the guest of honor.

But that gentleman was too engaged at that moment to reply, even if he would have condescended so to do. Just now, in the presence of Mrs. Calvert, whose mere name was a certificate of “quality,” he felt himself an aristocrat, quite too exalted in life to notice a poor captain of a house-boat.

Breakfast over, Aunt Betty excused herself and withdrew to the shelter of her little stateroom. Shelter it really was, now, against her uninvited guest. She had done her best to make his early call agreeable and to satisfy him with more substantial things than old memories. They had discussed all the prominent Maryland families, from the first Proprietor down to that present day; had discovered a possible relationship, exceedingly distant, he being the discoverer; and had talked of their beloved state in its past and present glories till she was utterly worn out.

He had again “given” her his most cherished possession, Billy the mule; and she had again declined to receive it. Buy him, of course, Dorothy would and should, if it proved that a mule was really needed. But not without fair payment for the animal would she permit “him” to become a member of her family. The Colonel so persistently spoke of the creature as a human being that she began to think of Billy as a monstrosity.

The morning passed. Aunt Betty had deserted, and Dorothy had to take her place as hostess. All her heart was longing for the green shore beyond that little wharf, where now all the other young folks were having a lively frolic. It was such a pity to waste that glorious sunshine just sitting in that little cabin talking to a dull old man.

He did little talking himself. Indeed, warmed by the sunshine on the deck where he sat, and comfortably satisfied with a more generous meal than he had enjoyed for many months, the Colonel settled back on the steamer chair which was Aunt Betty’s own favorite and went to sleep. He slept so long and quietly that she was upon the point of leaving him, reflecting:

“Even a Calvert ought not to have to stay here now, and watch an old man—snore. It’s dreadful, sometimes, to have a ‘family name.’ Living up to it is such a tax. I wish—I almost wish—I was just a Smith, Jones, Brown, or anybody! I will run away, just for a minute, sure! and see what happens!”

But, despite the snores, the visitor was a light sleeper. At her first movement from her own chair, he awoke and actually smiled upon her.

“Beg pardon, little lady. I forgot where I was and just lost myself. Before I dropped off I was goin’ to tell you—Pshaw! I cayn’t talk. I enjoy quiet. D’ye happen to see Billy, anywhere?”

“Certainly. He’s right over on that bank yonder and the boys are trying to fix a rope to his harness, so he can begin to draw the boats up stream. They want to try and see if it will work. Funny! To turn this lovely Water Lily into a mere canal-boat. But I suppose we can still have some good times even that way.”

The Colonel shook his head.

“No, you cayn’t. Nobody can. They ain’t any good times for anybody any more.”

“What a lot of ‘anys’! Seems as if out of so many there might be one good time for somebody. I was in hopes you were having such just now. What can I do to make it pleasanter for you?”

“Sit right down and let me speak. Your name’s Calvert, ain’t it?”

“Why, of course. I thought you knew;” answered the girl, reluctantly resuming her seat.

“Never take anything for granted. I cayn’t do it, you cayn’t do it. Something’ll always go wrong. It did with your great-grandfather’s brother that time when he hid—Ah! hum! It ought to be yours, but it won’t be. There couldn’t be any such luck in this world. Is Billy lookin’ comf’table?”

Billy answered for himself by a most doleful bray. Indeed, he was resenting the lads’ endeavors to remove his harness. Jim fancied he could fix it better for the purpose of hauling the Water Lily, but the animal objected, because that harness had never been taken from his back since it was put on early in the spring. Then the more ambitious of the negroes who managed the Colonel’s truck-farm had equipped Billy for ploughing the melon-patch. After each day’s work the beast had seemed tired and the gentleman-farmer had suggested:

“Don’t fret him takin’ it off. You’ll only have to put it on again, to-morrow.”

This saved labor and suited all around; and Billy was trying to explain to these tormenting lads how ill-at-ease and undressed he would feel, if he were stripped of his regalia.

“Sounds like he was in trouble, poor Billy. But, of course, he is. Everybody is. You are. If you had that buried—Pshaw! What’s the use! You ain’t, you cayn’t, nobody could find it, else things wouldn’t have happened the way they did; and your great-grandfather wouldn’t have forgot where he buried it; and it wouldn’t have gone out the family; and since your great-grandfather’s brother married my great-grandmother’s sister we’d all have shared and shared alike. It’s sad to think any man would be so careless for his descendants as to go and do what your great-grandfather’s brother did and then forget it. But—it’s the way things always go in this lop-sided world. Ah! um.”

The Colonel’s breakfast had made him more talkative than had seemed possible and because she could do no better for her own amusement, Dorothy inquired:

“Tell me the story of our great-grand-folks and what they buried. Please. It would be interesting, I think.”

“Very well, child, I’ll try. But just keep an eye on Billy. Is he comf’table? I don’t ask if he’s happy. He isn’t. Nobody is.”

“Beg pardon, but you are mistaken about that mule. No matter what the boys and Captain Hurry try to do with him, he manages to get his nose back to the ground again and eat—Why, he hasn’t really stopped eating one full minute since he came. That makes me think. Will the man who owns that grass like to have him graze it that way? Isn’t grass really hay? Don’t they sell hay up home at Baltimore? Won’t it cost a great deal to let Billy do that, if hay is worth much?”

“You ask as many questions as—as I’ve heard your folks always do. But it’s no use worryin’ over a little hay. It ain’t wuth much. Nothing’s wuth anything in Annyrunnell. The only thing in the whole county wuth a continental is what your great-grandfather’s brother buried in the woods on Ottawotta Run. Deer-Copse was the spot. Buried it in a brass-bound chest, kept the key, and then forgot. Ah! hum.”

“Ottawotta Run? Deer-Copse! Why, that’s the very place the boys said the man said that you say—Oh! Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty! There’s a buried fortune belonging to our family out in the woods! We’ll find it, we must find it, and that will save all your Old Folks their Home and you won’t have to sell Bellvieu!” almost shrieked Dolly, running to her aunt’s stateroom and flinging wide the little door, regardless of knocking for admittance. But disappointment awaited her—the stateroom was empty.

CHAPTER IX.

FISH AND MONKEYS.

Farmer Wickliffe Stillwell proved a friend in need.

About the middle of that eventful morning he appeared with a big basket on either arm, his blue-checked smock swaying in the breeze that had arisen, his iron-gray, luxuriant whiskers doing the same, and his head bare.

He had started with his Sunday hat perched on his “bald-spot,” which was oddly in contrast with the hirsute growth below. Lizzie, his wife, had affirmed such headgear was “more politer” than the old straw hat he commonly wore and that had the virtue of staying where it was put, as the stiff Derby did not.

Having arrived at the wharf where the Water Lily was fastened he paused and awaited the invitation without which he wouldn’t have crossed the gang-plank. He had plenty of time to rest before the invitation came. None of the lads who had visited his place for cream was in sight. Mrs. Calvert and Mrs. Bruce glanced toward him and looked away. They supposed him to be another of those “peddlers” who had swarmed over the boat the evening of its arrival, and didn’t wish “to be annoyed.”

The Colonel saw him but gave no sign of recognition. He waited to see what his hostess would do and would then follow her example. She looked away—so did this too chivalrous guest.

The girls had gone to the woods, searching for wild grapes; and Cap’n Jack, with the lads, had taken the row-boat down stream on a fishing trip. Fish, of many varieties, had been brought to the Lily for sale, but fish that one caught for one’s self would be finer and cost less; so they reasoned with a fine access of economy.

Ephraim and Chloe were “tidying up;” and only little Methuselah and Billy-mule gave the visitor a word of welcome. These two were fast becoming friends, and both were prone on the ground; one suffering from a surfeit of grass—the other of water-melon.

Metty looked up and sat up—with a groan:

“Say, Mister, ’d you evah hab de tummy-ache?” while Billy’s sad bray seemed to be asking the same question.

“Heaps of times. When I’d eaten too much green stuff. Got it?”

“Yep. Dey’s a orful misery all eroun’ me yeah! I’d lak some peppymin’ but Mammy she ain’ done got none. Oh! my!”

“Get a rollin’. Nothing cures a colic quicker than that. And, look-a-here? How’s this for medicine?”

Metty considered this the “mos’ splendides’ gemplemum” he had ever met. A gentleman made to order, indeed, with a paper bag in his pocket, chock full of beautiful red and white “peppymin’s” which he lavishly dealt out to the small sufferer—a half one at a time! But many halves make several wholes, and Metty’s now happy tones, in place of complaints, brought Chloe to the spot, and to the knowledge of the stranger’s real errand.

“Come right erway in, suh. I sure gwine tell Miss Betty you-all ain’ none dem peddlah gemplemums, but a genuwine calleh. Dis yeah way, suh. Metty, yo’ triflin’ little niggah! Why ain’ yo’ tote one dese yeah bastics?”

A familiar, not-too-heavy, cuff on the boy’s ear set him briskly “toting” one basket while his mother carried the other. Mr. Stillwell followed his guide to where Mrs. Calvert sat and explained himself and his visit so simply and pleasantly that she was charmed and exclaimed:

“This is delightful, to find neighbors where we looked for strangers only. How kind and how generous of your wife! I wish I could see and thank her in person.”

Chloe had uncovered the daintily packed baskets and Mrs. Bruce fairly glowed in housewifely pleasure over the contents.

“Looks as if an artist had packed them,” said Aunt Betty; and it did.

Tomatoes resting in nests of green lettuce; half-husked green corn flanked by purple eggplant and creamy squashes; crimson beets and brown skinned potatoes; these filled one basket. The other was packed with grapes of varying colors, with fine peaches, pears, rosy apples and purple plums. Together they did make a bright spot of color on the sunny deck and brought a warm glow to Mrs. Calvert’s heart. The cheerful face of the farmer and his open-hearted neighborliness were an agreeable contrast to the dolefulness of the more aristocratic Colonel—called such by courtesy and custom but not from any right to the title.

“If the girls would only come!” said Mrs. Bruce. “I’d like to have them see the things before we move one out of its pretty place.”

“Well, they will. I’m sure Mr. Stillwell will wait and take our mid-day dinner with us. Besides being glad to make his acquaintance, I want to ask advice. What we are to do with the Water Lily; how to safely get the most pleasure out of it. Would you like to go over the boats, Mr. Stillwell?”

This was exactly what he did wish; and presently Aunt Betty was guiding him about, displaying and explaining every detail of the little craft, as eager and animated as if she had designed it. The Colonel stalked solemnly in the rear, sighing now and then over such wasted effort and enthusiasm, and silently wondering how a Calvert could meet on such equal terms a mere farmer, one of those “common Stillwells.”

However, neither of the others paid him any attention, being too absorbed in their own talk; and the stranger in maturing a plan to help his hostess and her household.

When everything had been examined and tested by his common sense he explained:

“If this here Water Lily war mine, which she isn’t; and I wanted to get the most good and most fun out of her, which I don’t, I’d light right out from this region. I’d get shet of all them gapin’ Corner-ites and Jimpson-ites, and boats passin’ by an’ takin’ notes of things. I’d get a sensible tug to haul me, tender an’ all, a mite further up stream till I met the Branch. I’d be hauled clean into that fur as war practical, then I’d ‘paddle my own canoe.’ Meanin’ that then I’d hitch a rope to my mule, or use my poles, till I fetched up alongside Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta Run. There ain’t no purtier spot on the face of God’s good earth nor that. I war born there, or nigh-hand to it. If a set of idle folks can’t be happy on the Ottawotta, then they sure deserve to be unhappy.”

Aunt Betty was enchanted. From his further description she felt that this wonderful Run was the very stream for them to seek; and with her old decision of manner she asked Mr. Stillwell to arrange everything for her and not to stint in the matter of expense. Then she laughed:

“I have really no right to say that, either, for I’m only a guest on this boat-party. The Water Lily belongs to my little niece and it is she who will pay the bills. I wonder how soon it could be arranged with such a tug! Do you know one?”

“Sure. Right away, this evenin’, if you like. I happen to have a loose foot, to-day, and can tend to it. To-morrow’s market and I’ll have to be up soon, and busy late. Is ’t a bargain? If ’tis, I’ll get right about it.”

By “evening” meant with these Marylanders all the hours after mid-day; and, declining any refreshment, Mr. Stillwell departed about this business. His alertness and cheerfulness put new life into Aunt Betty and the widow, who hustled about putting into fresh order the already immaculate Lily.

“If we’re going to move I want everything spick-and-span. And the girls’ll come in right tired after their wood tramp. Wonderful, ain’t it? How ’t that peeked, puny Elsa is a gainin’ right along. Never see the beat. She’ll make a right smart lot of good, wholesome flesh, if she keeps on enjoyin’ her victuals as she does now. Looks as if she lived on slops most of her short life. See anything more wants doing, Mrs. Calvert?”

“No, Mrs. Bruce, I do not. I wish you’d let Chloe bear her share of the work, not do so much yourself. I want you to rest—as I’m doing,” answered the other.

“It plumb wears me out to have folks fussin’ so, Ma’am. They ain’t no use. A day’s only a day, when all’s said and done. Why not take it easy? Take it as easy as you can and it don’t amount to much, life don’t. Ah! hum.”

But the Colonel’s protest was lost on energetic Mrs. Bruce. She tossed her comely head and retorted:

“Some folks find their rest in doin’ their duty, not in loafin’ round on other people’s time and things. Not meaning any disrespect, I’m sure, but I never did have time to do nothin’ in. I’m going right now and set to work on that dinner. I do wish the girls could see those baskets, first, though!”

“Leave them untouched, then, Mrs. Bruce. Surely, we had enough provided before we had this present.”

“Yes, Mrs. Calvert, we did have—for our own folks; and counting a little on the fish the men-folks was to bring in. Seems if they’s gone a dreadful spell, don’t it? And I heard that old Cap’n Jack say something about the Bay. If he’s enticed ’em to row out onto that big water—Oh! dear! I wish they’d come!”

The Colonel roused himself to remark:

“Squalls is right frequent on the Chesapeake. And that old man is no captain at all. Used to work on an oyster boat and don’t know—shucks. Likely they’ve had an upset. Boys got to foolin’ and—Ah! hum! Wasn’t none of ’em your sons, were they, Ma’am?”

From the moment of their first meeting there had been a silent battle between the capable housekeeper and the incapable “southern gentleman.” She had had several talks with Dorothy and Jim over the finances of this trip and she knew that it would have to be a short one if “ends were to meet.” She felt that this man, aristocrat though he might be, had no right to impose himself and his prodigious appetite upon them just because the lads had tried to buy his old mule and he had, instead, so generously presented it.

“I don’t see what good that yapping Billy does, anyway! He doesn’t work at all and he’s living on somebody else’s grass. There’ll be a bill coming in for his fodder, next we know;” she had grumbled. It may be said, to her credit, that she was infinitely more careful of Dorothy’s interests than she would have been of her own. But all her grumbling and hints failed to effect what she had hoped they would—the Colonel’s permanent departure for home along with the useless Billy.

Now all that was to be changed. Almost before he had gone, it seemed, Farmer Stillwell came steaming down stream on a small tugboat, which puffed and fussed as if it were some mighty steamship, and passing the Water Lily manoeuvred to turn around and face upstream again. Presently, a rope was made fast to the prow of the house-boat and securely tied, and Mr. Stillwell stepped aboard to announce:

“All ready to move, Ma’am. Your company all back?”

“Not all. The girls have just come but the Captain and the boys are still away. We’ll have to wait for them.”

Mrs. Calvert’s answer fell on unheeding ears.

“Guess not, Ma’am. This here tug’s got another job right soon and if we lose this chance may not be another in a dog’s age. I knowed she was around and could help us out, was the reason I spoke to you about her. I guess it’s now or never with the ‘Nancy Jane.’ Once she goes up to Baltimo’ she’ll have more jobs an’ she can tackle. Wouldn’t be here now, only she had one down, fetching some truck-scows back. Well, what you say?”

A brief consultation was held in the cabin of the Water Lily in which the voices of four eager girls prevailed:

“Why, let’s take the chance, of course, Auntie dear. We can leave a note pinned to the wharf telling the boys and Cap’n Jack that we’ve gone on to the Ottawotta. They can follow in their row-boat. And, Colonel Dillingham, can’t you ride Billy alongside, on the shores we pass? We can’t possibly take him on board, and he won’t go without you.”

But now, at last, was the doughty Colonel energetic.

“No, sir. I mean, no, madam! I go to Ottawotta? I allow my faithful Billy to set foot on that soil? No, ma’am. I will not. I will simply bid you good day. And young miss, let me tell you, what your relative here seems to have forgot; that no old Marylander, of first quality, would ha’ turned a guest loose to shift for himself in such a way as this. But—what can you expect? Times ain’t what they were and you cayn’t count on anybody any more. I bid you all good day, and a pleasant v’yage. As for Billy an’ me, we’ll bestow ourselves where we are better appreciated.”

Poor Mrs. Calvert was distressed. Not often in her long life had the charge of inhospitality been laid at her door, and she hastened to explain that she wished him still to remain with them, only——

With a magnificent wave of his not too clean hand and bowing in the courtliest fashion, the disappointed visitor stepped grandly over the gang-plank, and a moment later was ordering, in his saddest tones:

“Billy, lie down!”

Billy obediently shook his harness, disordered by the efforts of the lads to straighten it, and crumpled himself up on the sward. The Colonel majestically placed himself upon the back of “his only friend;” commanded: “Billy, get up!” and slowly rode away up-slope to his own deserted melon-patch.

“Now, isn’t that a pity!” cried Dorothy, with tears in her eyes. “I didn’t care for him while he was here, though Billy was just charming—for a mule! But I do hate quarreling and he’s gone off mad.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish!” said Mrs. Bruce, fervently. Then shaded her eyes with her hands to stare out toward the broader water in search of the missing fishermen, while the pretty Water Lily began to move away from the little wharf which had become so familiar.

Meanwhile, out beyond the mouth of the river, within the shelter of a tree-shaded cove, the would-be fishermen were having adventures of their own. It was a spot which Cap’n Jack knew well and was that he had intended to reach when the little red “Stem” of the Water Lily was lowed away from her. Here was a collection of small houses, mere huts in fact, occupied by fishermen during the mild seasons. Here would always be found some old cronies of his, shipmates of the oyster-boats that plied their trade during the cold months of the year.

The truth was that the “skipper” was not only lonely, so far from his accustomed haunts, but he wanted a chance to show these old mates of his how his fortunes had risen, to hear the news and give it.

“Are there any fish here?” demanded Jim, when they rested on their oars just off shore.

“More fish ’an you could catch in a lifetime! Look a yonder!”

So saying, the captain raised his broken spy-glass to his good eye—he had the sight of but one—and surveyed the cove. Around and around he turned it, standing firmly on the bottom of the “Stem,” his multitude of brass buttons glittering in the sun, and his squat figure a notable one, seen just then and there. At last, came a cry from shore.

“Ship ahoy!”

“Aye, aye! Port about!” roared the Captain, and dropped to his seat again. He had succeeded in his effort to attract attention, and now picked up the oars and began to pull in. Until now he had generously allowed the lads to do the rowing, despite considerable grumbling from Gerald, who was newer to that sort of work than he had pretended. But Cap’n Jack did not care for this; and he did succeed in impressing a small company of men who were industriously fishing in the cove.

Most of these were in small boats, like the “Stem,” but a larger craft was moored at the little wharf and about it were gathered real sailors fresh from the sea. At sight of them, the three lads forgot fishing in eagerness to meet these sailors, who had come from—nobody could guess how far! At all events, they must have seen strange things and have many “yarns to spin,” which it would be fine to hear.

Events proved that the sailors had never heard of “Cap’n Jack,” and were duly impressed by the importance he assumed. On his tongue, the Water Lily became a magnificent yacht and he its famous Commodore, and though there were those among the fishermen who did know him well, they humored his harmless pretensions and added to his stories such marvelous details that even he was astonished into believing himself a much greater man than he had pretended.

That was a gala day for the three lads. Somebody proposed lunch and some fishermen prepared it; of the freshly caught fish, cooked over a beach-wood fire, and flanked by the best things the hosts could offer. Over the food and the fire tongues were loosened, and the sailors did “yarn it” to their guests’ content. At last the talk turned upon animals and one sailor, who was no older than these young landsmen, remarked:

“Speakin’ of monkeys, I’ve got a dandy pair right down in the hold now. Want to see ’em?”

Of course they did! They were in a mood to wish to see anything and everything which came from afar. For, during the “yarns,” in imagination they had followed these men of the sea into wonderful lands, through tropical forests, and among strange people, till even Jim’s fancy was kindled. As for Melvin and Gerald, their eyes fairly shone with eagerness, and when the sailor returned to the little camp-fire, bringing a wooden cage containing the monkeys, each was possessed of a desire to own them.

“For sale?” asked Gerald.

“Course. I always bring home a few. Last trip I did a hundred and fifty for a Baltimore department store. Fact! Head of the firm ordered ’em. He sold ’em for two-fifty a-piece, and they went like hot cakes. Women went crazy over ’em, I heard, and, course, it was good business for him. A woman would go in the store, out of curiosity to see the monks. See something else she’d buy, and finally be talked into buying one o’ them. Reckon I’ll lay alongside that same store and try for another consignment.”

“How much?” asked Melvin. He was thinking that if so many “women went crazy” over such animals as pets, it would be a nice thing to buy this pair and present them to Dorothy. She did love animals so!

“Oh! I don’t know, exactly. This is the last pair I’ve got—they are extra clever—could be taught to speak just as well as children, I believe, only, course, a sailor don’t have time to fool with ’em.” He might have added that not only was this his “last pair” but his only one; and that though the transaction he described was a fact, he was not the dealer who had supplied the monkey market. Besides—but there was no need to tell all he knew about monkeys to these two possible purchasers.

“Jim, don’t you want to take a chance? Go thirds with us in ’em?”

“No, Gerald. I don’t. I mean I can’t. I’ve only a little bit left in my purse on the boat, and I’ve got to get back to New York State sometime. Back to the Water Lily mighty sudden, too, seems if. Must ha’ been here a terrible time. Shucks! I clean forgot our folks were waiting for their fish-dinner while we were eatin’ our own. Come on! We must go! and not a single fish to show for our whole morning!”

“Wait a minute. It’s so late now it can’t matter. They’d have had their dinner, anyway. You won’t join?” again asked Gerald.

“Can’t.”

“I will, if he doesn’t ask too much. What’s the price, sailor? We’ll take them if it isn’t too high,” said Melvin.

The man named a sum that was greater than the combined capital of Gerald and Melvin. Then, although he wasn’t a purchaser himself, Jim tried his usual “dickering” and succeeded in lowering the price of the simians, “clever enough to talk English,” to ten dollars for the pair.

“All right! Here’s my fiver!” cried Gerald, reluctantly pulling out a last, dilapidated bill from a very flat pocket-book.

“And mine,” added Melvin, tendering his own part.

“Now, we must go, right away!” declared Jim, hastily rising.

He thought the sailor who had promptly pocketed the ten dollars of his friends was suspiciously kind, insisting upon carrying the cage of monkeys down to the “Stem,” and himself placing it securely in the bottom of the boat. The little animals kept up a chattering and showed their teeth, after a manner that might be as clever as their late owner claimed but certainly showed anger.

Indeed, they tore about their cage in such a fury of speed that it nearly fell overboard and in the haste of embarking everyone forgot the original object of this trip, till Jim exclaimed:

“Went a-fishin’ and caught monkeys! Won’t they laugh at us?”

An hour later they brought up alongside the wharf which they had begun to think was their own, so familiar and homelike it had become. But there was nothing familiar about it now. The water lapped gently against the deserted pier and a forgotten painter dangled limply from the post at its end.

“Gone!” cried one and another of the lads, looking with frightened eyes over the scene.

“Gone! Somebody’s stole—my—ship!” groaned Cap’n Jack, for once in actual terror. For that the Water Lily could “navigate” without his aid under any circumstances was a thing beyond belief.

CHAPTER X.

A MERE ANNE ARUNDEL GUST.

Then they found Dorothy’s note.

“Dear boys and Captain:

“We’ve gone on to Ottawotta Run. Farmer Stillwell’s tug, that he owns half of, is towing us to the Branch. There some more men will be hired to pole us to Deer-Copse. Aunt Betty says you’re to hire a wagon, or horses, or somebody to bring you and the Stem after us. She will pay for it, or I will, that’s just the same. And, oh! I can’t wait to tell you! There’s a buried treasure up there that we must find! A regular ‘Captain Kidd’ sort, you know, so just hurry up—I mean take it easy, as Auntie advises; but come, and do it quick! Don’t forget to bring the fish. Mrs. Bruce says put them in a basket and trail them after you, if you come by boat; or, anyway, try to keep them fresh for breakfast. Dolly.”

“I reckon they’ll keep, seeing they aren’t caught yet. What fools we were to go off just then! How do you suppose, in this mortal world, those women and girls had gumption enough to run away with that house-boat? I’ll bet they did it just to get ahead of me, ’cause I’d said plain enough I wouldn’t go to any old hole-in-the-woods. I simply wouldn’t. And I shan’t. I’ll get passage on one these fruit-scows going back to Baltimore and quit the whole thing. I will so;” declared Gerald, fuming about the wharf in a fine rage.

“Got money left for your ‘passage?’” asked Jim. He was pondering how best and soonest to “follow” the Water Lily, as he had been bid. They were all too tired with their rowing to do any more of it that day, and his pride shrank from hiring a wagon, for his own convenience, that he wasn’t able to pay for.

“What about your monkey, Gerry?” queried Melvin.

“Oh! I’ll—I mean—you take it off my hands till—later.”

“No, thank you. I’ve invested all I can afford in monkeys just now, don’t you know? But I’d sell out, only I do want to give them to her. She’s such a darling of a girl, to entertain us like this. She might have been born in our Province, I fancy, she’s so like a Canadian in kindness and generosity.”

It was a long speech for modest Melvin and an enthusiastic one. He blushed a little as he felt his comrades’ eyes turned teasingly upon him, but he did not retract his words. He added to them:

“Dorothy Calvert makes me think of my mother, don’t you know? And a girl that does that is an all right sort I fancy. Anyway, I’ve thought lots of times, since I found out it was she and not the rich aunt who was paying the expenses of our jaunt, that it was mighty unselfish of her to do it. Jim’s let that ‘cat out the bag.’ He was too top-lofty to take a cent of profit from that mine he discovered last summer for Mr. Ford, but all the girls were made small shareholders and got three hundred dollars a-piece for a send-off. Miss Molly, whose father I work for, put hers right into gew-gaws or nonsense, but I think Dolly’s done better. The least I can do to show her my appreciation is to give her the monkeys.”

“Speak for yourself, sir, please. Half that monkey transaction is mine, and I don’t intend to impoverish myself for any girl. I mean to train them till they’re worth a lot of money, then sell them.”

“Oh! no you won’t. You’re not half bad, don’t you know? You like to talk something fierce but it’s talk. If it isn’t, pick out your own monk and be off with it. You’ll have to leave me the cage for Dorothy because she’ll have to keep my monk, her monk, the monk in it sometimes.”

“Most of the times I guess. I don’t like the looks of the creatures anyway. They’re ugly. I wish you fellows had left them on that sailor’s hands. He just befooled us with his big talk. Why, sir, I got so interested myself I’d have hired out to any ship would have me if it had come along just then. Queer, ain’t it? The way just talk can change a fellow’s mind,” said Jim. “Hello, Cap’n! What you found now?”

The old man had been limping about on the bank where Billy had enjoyed himself, and which his teeth had shorn smooth as a mowing machine might have done. It was a field rarely used, which explains why Billy and Methuselah had been left to do as they pleased there. So Metty had carried thither all the trifling toys and playthings he had picked up during his trip. Shells, curious stones, old nails, a battered jew’s-harp, and a string of buttons, had been stored in an old basket which the pickaninny called his playhouse.

The playhouse caught the old man’s eye and the end of his crutch as well, and he glared angrily upon the “trash” which had come in his way. Also, he lifted the crutch and flung Metty’s treasures broadcast. Among them was an old wallet, still securely strapped with a bit of leather. Captain Jack had a notion he’d seen that wallet before, but couldn’t recall where. Opening it he drew out a yellowed bit of old-fashioned letter-paper on which a rude picture was sketched. There were a few written words at the bottom of the sketch, but “readin’ handwrite” was one of the accomplishments the good captain disdained.

But his curiosity was aroused and he whistled to the lads to join him, holding up the paper as an inducement. They did so, promptly, and Jim took the extended paper, thinking it was another note from the absent “Lilies,” as the house-boat company had named itself.

Then he, too, whistled, and cried:

“Hello! Here’s a find! Has something to do with that fool talk o’ Dolly’s about ‘buried treasure.’ Somebody’s been bamboozlin’ her and this is part of it.”

The four heads bent together above the odd little document, which had been folded and unfolded so often it was quite frayed in places with even some of the writing gone.

The drawing represented a bit of woodland, with a stream flowing past, and a ford indicated at one point, with animals drinking. It was marked by the initials of direction, N, S, E, W; and toward the latter point a zig-zag line suggested a path. The path ended at the root of a tree whose branches grew into something like the semblance of a cross. Unfortunately, the writing was in French, a language not one understood. But, found as it was, evidently lost by somebody who had valued it, and taken in conjunction with Dorothy’s words—“buried treasure”—it was enough to set all those young heads afire with excitement. Even the Captain took the paper and again critically studied it; remarking as he replaced it in the wallet:

“Dretful sorry I didn’t fetch my readin’-specs when I come away from town. Likely, if I had I could ha’ explained its hull meanin’.”

“Dreadful sorry it wasn’t Greek, or even Latin! I could have ciphered the meaning then, if it has a meaning. But every-day French, shucks!”

“How do you know it’s French if you don’t know French?” demanded Gerry.

“Oh! I’ve seen it in Dr. Sterling’s library. I know a word or two an’ I plan to know more. Don’t it beat all? That just a little bit of ignorance can hide important things from a fellow, that way? I tell you there never was a truer word spoke than that ‘knowledge is power’.”

Melvin cried:

“Come off! That’ll do. Once you get talking about learning and you’re no good. Cap’n, you best stow that in your pocket and help us settle how to ‘follow our leaders’. For my part, I’ve no notion of sleeping out doors, now that it looks so likely to storm. What’ll we do?”

“Hoof it to the Landin’ and hire a conveyance. One that’ll carry us an’ the boat, too. That’s what she says, and if there’s a girl in the hull state o’ Maryland, or Annyrunnell, either, that’s got more sense in her little head nor my ‘fust mate’, Dorothy, you show me the man ’at says so, an’ I’ll call him a liar to his face.”

“That’s all right, Cap’n, only don’t get so excited about it. Nobody’s trying to take the wind out of Dorothy’s sails. So let’s get on. I reckon I can punt along as far as that Landing, even with a cargo of monkeys. Then Gerry can take his and skip, and we’ll take the other to our folks.”

Melvin was laughing as he talked. Gerald’s angry, disgusted face had changed its expression entirely, since that finding of the curious map which made the possibility of the “buried treasure” seem so real.

“Oh! I won’t bother now. I reckon I’d ought to go on and ask Aurora if she wants to go home with me, or not. Popper and Mommer’d be sure to ask me why I didn’t bring her. We can settle about the monkeys later.”

“Huh! I tell you what I believe! ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag’ you back to town till you’ve found out all about what that Frenchy letter means and have had a dig for the ‘treasure’. I know it couldn’t me. There isn’t a word of sense in the whole business, course. Likely these whole States have been dug over, foot by foot, same’s our Province has, don’t you know? But my mother says there always have been just such foolish bodies and there always will be. Silly, I fancy; all the same, if Dorothy or anybody else starts on this business of digging, I’ll ply the liveliest shovel of the lot.”

Melvin but expressed the sentiments of all three lads. Even the old captain was recalling wonder-tales, such as this might be, and feeling thrills of excitement in his old veins. Suddenly, he burst out:

“Well, I’d be some hendered by my crutches but when you get to diggin’ just lemme know an’ I’ll be thar!”

They waited no longer then, but stepped back into the “Stem,” the caged monkeys viciously scolding and sometimes yelling, till the Captain fairly choked with fear and indignation. However, nothing serious happened. They reached Jimpson’s in a little while, and were fortunate in finding a teamster about to start home along the river road. His wagon was empty, the row-boat could be slung across it, there would be abundant room for passengers—including monkeys—a new sort of “fare” to him.

But they had scarcely got started on this part of their journey before the threatening storm was upon them. This “gust” was a fearful one, and they were exposed to its full fury. The driver shielded himself as best he could under his blankets but offered none to his passengers. The sky grew dark as night, relieved only by the lightning, and rivalled, in fact, that tempest which had visited them on the first day of their trip.

Fortunately, horses know the homeward way—though to be literal these horses were mules—and they travelled doggedly along, unguided save by their own instinct. Also, when they had ridden so far that it seemed to the drenched travellers that they had always been so riding and always should be, there came a sudden slackening in the storm and an outburst of moonlight from behind the scattering clouds that was fairly startling.

After a moment of surprise Melvin broke the silence, asking:

“Do you have this kind of thing often in Maryland?”

“Sure. Down in Annyrunnell we do. ’S nothin’ but a ‘gust’. Most gen’ally has ’em if the day opens up hot, like this one did. But it’s purty when it’s over, and yender’s the turn to the Copse. My road lies t’other way. It’s a quarter a-piece for you white folks an’ fifty a-head fer the monks. I ’low ’twas them hoodooed the trip. Hey? What? Can’t pay? What in reason ’d ye hire me for, then? I ain’t workin’ for fun, I’d let you know. We’re honest folks in Annyrunnell an’ we don’t run up no expenses ’t we can’t meet. No, siree. You asked me to bring you an’ I’ve brung. Now you don’t leave this here wagon till I’ve got my money for my job.”

“Look here, farmer! What sort of a man are you, anyway? We went off fishing not expecting our house-boat would go on without us. We had no mon——” began Jim, about as angry as he had ever been in his self-controlled life.