“You were so kind to invite me!” Nellie said to Dorothy, as she took her seat in the cart. “This is such a lovely place!” and she nodded toward the wonderful ocean, without giving a hint that she had never before seen it.
“Yes, you are sure the air is so strong you must swallow strength all the time,” and Nellie knew from the remark that Dorothy was a jolly girl, and would not talk sickness, like the people who visit poor children at hospital tents.
Even Mrs. Manily, who knew Nellie to be a capable girl, was surprised at the way she “fell in” with Nan and Dorothy, and Mrs. Manily was quite charmed with her quiet, reserved manner. The fact was that Nellie had met so many strangers in the big department store, she was entirely at ease and accustomed to the little polite sayings of people in the fashionable world.
When Nellie unpacked her bag she brought out something for Freddie. It was a little milk wagon, with real cans, which Freddie could fill up with “milk” and deliver to customers.
“That is to make you think of Meadow Brook,” said Nellie, when she gave him the little wagon.
“Yes, and when there’s a fire,” answered Freddie, “I can fill the cans with water and dump it on the fire like they do in Meadow Brook, too.” Freddie always insisted on being a fireman and had a great idea of putting fires out and climbing ladders.
There was still an hour to spare before dinner, and Nan proposed that they take a walk down to the beach. Nellie went along, of course, but when they got to the great stretch of white sand, near the waves, the girls noticed Nellie was about to cry.
“Maybe she is too tired,” Nan whispered to Dorothy, as they made some excuse to go back home again. All along the way Nellie was very quiet, almost in tears, and the other girls were disappointed, for they had expected her to enjoy the ocean so much. As soon as they reached home Nellie went to her room, and Nan and Dorothy told Mrs. Minturn about their friend’s sudden sadness. Mrs. Minturn of course, went up to see if she could do anything for Nellie.
There she found the little stranger crying as if her heart would break.
“Oh, I can’t help it, Mrs. Minturn!” she sobbed. “It was the ocean. Father must be somewhere in that big, wild sea!” and again she cried almost hysterically.
“Tell me about it, dear,” said Mrs. Minturn, with her arm around the child. “Was your father drowned at sea?”
“Oh no; that is, we hope he wasn’t.” said Nellie, through her tears, “but sometimes we feel he must be dead or he would write to poor mother.”
“Now dry your tears, dear, or you will have a headache,” said Mrs. Minturn, and Nellie soon recovered her composure.
“You see,” she began, “we had such a nice home and father was always so good. But a man came and asked him to go to sea. The man said they would make lots of money in a short time. This man was a great friend of father and he said he needed someone he could trust on this voyage. First father said no, but when he talked it over with mother, they, thought it would be best to go, if they could get so much money in a short time, so he went.”
Here Nellie stopped again and her dark eyes tried hard to keep back the tears.
“When was that?” Mrs. Minturn asked.
“A year ago,” Nellie replied, “and he was only to be away six months at the most.”
“And that was why you had to leave school, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Minturn questioned further.
“Yes, we had not much money saved, and mother got sick from worrying, so I did not mind going to work. I’m going back to the store again as soon as the doctor says I can,” and the little girl showed how anxious she was to help her mother.
“But your father may come back,” said Mrs. Minturn; “sailors are often out drifting about for months, and come in finally. I would not be discouraged—you cannot tell what day your father may come back with all the money, and even more than he expected.”
“Oh, I know,” said Nellie. “I won’t feel like that again. It was only because it was the first time I saw the ocean. I’m never homesick or blue. I don’t believe in making people pity you all the time.” And the brave little girl jumped up, dried her eyes, and looked as if she would never cry again as long as she lived—like one who had cried it out and done with it.
“Yes, you must have a good time with the girls,” said Mrs. Minturn. “I guess you need fun more than any medicine.”
That evening at dinner Nellie was her bright happy self again, and the three girls chatted merrily about all the good times they would have at the seashore.
There was a ride to the depot after dinner, for Mrs. Manily insisted that she had to leave for the city that evening, and after a game of ball on the lawn, in which everybody, even Flossie and Freddie, had a hand, the children prepared to retire. There was to be a shell hunt very early in the morning (that was a long walk on the beach, looking for choice shells), so the girls wanted to go to bed an hour before the usual time.
“Wait till the clock strikes, Nellie,” sang Dorothy, as they went upstairs, and, of course, no one but Nan knew what she meant.
Two hours after this the house was all quiet, when suddenly, there was the buzz of an alarm clock.
“What was that?” asked Mrs. Minturn, coming out in the hall.
“An alarm clock,” called Nellie, in whose room the disturbance was. “I found it under my pillow,” she added innocently, never suspecting that Dorothy had put it there purposely.
By and by everything was quiet again, when another gong went off.
“Well, I declare!” said Mrs. Minturn. “I do believe Dorothy has been up to some pranks.”
“Ding—a-ling—a-long—a-ling!” went the clock, and Nellie was laughing outright, as she searched about the room for the newest alarm. She had a good hunt, too, for the clock was in the shoe box in the farthest corner of the room.
After that there was quite an intermission, as Dorothy expressed it. Even Nellie had stopped laughing and felt very sleepy, when another clock started.
This was the big gong that belonged in Susan’s room, and at the sound of it Freddie rushed out in the hall, yelling.
“That’s a fire bell! Fire! fire! fire!” he shouted, while everybody else came out this time to investigate the disturbance.
“Now, Dorothy!” said Mrs. Minturn, “I know you have done this. Where did you put those clocks?”
Dorothy only laughed in reply, for the big bell was ringing furiously all the time. Nellie had her dressing robe on, and opened the door to those outside her room.
“I guess it’s ghosts,” she laughed. “They are all over.”
“A serenade,” called Bert, from his door.
“What ails dem der clocks?” shouted Dinah. “’Pears like as if dey had a fit, suah. Nebber heard such clockin’ since we was in de country,” and Susan, who had discovered the loss of her clock, laughed heartily, knowing very well who had taken the alarm away.
When the fifteen minutes were up that clock stopped, and another started. Then there was a regularly cannonading, Bert said, for there was scarcely a moment’s quiet until every one of the six clocks had gone off “bing, bang, biff,” as Freddie said.
There was no use trying to locate them, for they went off so rapidly that Nellie knew they would go until they were “all done,” so she just sat down and waited.
“Think you’ll wake up in time?” asked Dorothy, full of mischief as she came into the clock corner.
“I guess so,” Nellie answered, laughing. “We surely were alarmed tonight.” Then aside to Nan, Nellie whispered: “Wait, we’ll get even with her, won’t we?” And Nan nodded with a sparkle in her eyes.
CHAPTER VIII
Exploring—A Race for Pond Lilies
“Now let’s explore,” Bert said to the girls the next morning. “We haven’t had a chance yet to see the lake, the woods, or the island.”
“Hal Bingham is coming over to see you this morning,” Dorothy told Bert. “He said you must be tired toting girls around, and he knows everything interest
ing around here to show you.”
“Glad of it,” said Bert. “You girls are very nice, of course, but a boy needs another fellow in a place like this,” and he swung himself over the rail of the veranda, instead of walking down the steps.
It was quite early, for there was so much planned, to be accomplished before the sun got too hot, that all the children kept to their promise to get up early, and be ready for the day’s fun by seven o’clock. The girls, with Mrs. Bobbsey, Mrs. Minturn, and Freddie, were to go shell hunting, but as Bert had taken that trip with his father on the first morning after their arrival, he preferred to look over the woods and lake at the back of the Minturn home, where the land slid down from the rough cliff upon which the house stood.
“Here comes Hal now,” called Dorothy, as a boy came whistling up the path. He was taller than Bert, but not much older, and he had a very “jolly squint” in his black eyes; that is, Dorothy called it a “jolly squint,” but other people said it was merely a twinkle. But all agreed that Hal was a real boy, the greatest compliment that could be paid him.
There was not much need of an introduction, although Dorothy did call down from the porch, “Bert that’s Hal; Hal that’s Bert,” to which announcement the boys called back, “All right, Dorothy. We’ll get along.”
“Have you been on the lake yet?” Hal asked, as they started down the green stretch that bounded the pretty lake on one side, while a strip of woodland pressed close to the edge across the sheet of water.
“No,” Bert answered, “we have had so much coming and going to the depot since we came down, I couldn’t get a chance to look around much. It’s an awfully pretty lake, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and it runs in and out for miles,” Hal replied. “I have a canoe down here at our boathouse. Let’s take a sail.”
The Bingham property, like the Minturn, was on a cliff at the front, and ran back to the lake, where the little boathouse was situated. The house was made of cedars, bound together in rustic fashion, and had comfortable seats inside for ladies to keep out of the sun while waiting for a sail.
“Father and I built this house,” Hal told Bert. “We were waiting so long for the carpenters, we finally got a man to bring these cedars in from Oakland. Then we had him cut them, that is, the line of uprights, and we built the boathouse without any trouble at all. It was sport to arrange all the little turns and twists, like building a block house in the nursery.”
“You certainly made a good job of it,” said Bert, looking critically over the boathouse.
“It’s all in the design, of course; the nailing together is the easiest part.”
“You might think so,” said Hal, “but it’s hard to drive a nail in round cedar. But we thought it so interesting, we didn’t mind the trouble,” finished Hal, as he prepared to untie his canoe.
“What a pretty boat!” exclaimed Bert, in real admiration.
The canoe was green and brown, the body being colored like bark, while inside, the lining was of pale green. The name, Dorothy, shone in rustic letters just above the water edge.
“And you called it Dorothy,” Bert remarked.
“Yes, she’s the liveliest girl I know, and a good friend of mine all summer,” said Hal. “There are some boys down the avenue, but they don’t know as much about good times as Dorothy does. Why, she can swim, row, paddle, climb trees, and goes in for almost any sport that’s on. Last week she swam so far in the sun she couldn’t touch an oar or paddle for days, her arms were so blistered. But she didn’t go around with her hands in a muff at that. Dorothy’s all right,” finished Hal.
Bert liked to hear his cousin complimented, especially when he had such admiration himself for the girl who never pouted, and he knew that the tribute did not in any way take from Dorothy’s other good quality, that of being a refined and cultured girl.
“Girls don’t have to be babies to be ladylike,” added Bert. “Nan always plays ball with me, and can skate and all that. She’s not afraid of a snowball, either.”
“Well, I’m all alone,” said Hal. “Haven’t even got a first cousin. We’ve been coming down here since I was a youngster, so that’s why Dorothy seems like my sister. We used to make mud pies together.”
The boys were in the canoe now, and each took a paddle. The water was so smooth that the paddles merely patted it, like “brushing a cat’s back,” Bert said, and soon the little bark was gliding along down the lake, in and out of the turns, until the “narrows” were reached.
“Here’s where we get our pond lilies,” said Hal.
“Oh, let’s get some!” exclaimed Bert. “Mother is so fond of them.”
It was not difficult to gather the beautiful blooms, that nested so cosily on the cool waters, too fond of their cradle to ever want to creep, or walk upon their slender green limbs. They just rocked there, with every tiny ripple of the water, and only woke up to see the warm sunlight bleaching their dainty, yellow heads.
“Aren’t they fragrant?” said Bert, as he put one after the other into the bottom of the canoe.
“There’s nothing like them,” declared Hal. “Some people like roses best, but give me the pretty pond lilies,” he finished.
The morning passed quickly, for there was so much to see around the lake. Wild ducks tried to find out how near they could go to the water without touching it, and occasionally one would splash in, by accident.
“What large birds there are around the sea,” Bert remarked. “I suppose they have to be big and strong to stand long trips without food when the waves are very rough and they can hardly see fish.”
“Yes, and they have such fine plumage,” said Hal. “I’ve seen birds around here just like those in museums, all colors, and with all kinds of feathers—Birds of Paradise, I guess they call them.”
“Do you ever go shooting?”
“No, not in summer time,” replied Hal. “But sometimes father and I take a run down here about Thanksgiving. That’s the time for seaside sport. Why, last year we fished with rakes; just raked the fish up in piles—‘frosties,’ they call them.”
“That must be fun,” reflected Bert.
“Maybe you could come this year,” continued Hal. “We might make up a party, if you have school vacation for a week. We could camp out in our house, and get our meals at the hotel.”
“That would be fine!” exclaimed Bert. “Maybe Uncle William would come, and perhaps my Cousin Harry, from Meadow Brook. He loves that sort of sport. By the way, we expect him down for a few days; perhaps next week.”
“Good!” cried Hal. “The boat carnival is on next week. I’m sure he would enjoy that.”
The boys were back at the boathouse now, and Bert gathered up his pond lilies.
“There’ll be a scramble for them when the girls see them,” he said. “Nellie McLaughlin, next to Dorothy, is out for fun. She is not a bit like a sick girl.”
“Perhaps she isn’t sick now,” said Hal, “but has to be careful. She seems quite thin.”
“Mother says she wants fun, more than medicine,” went on Bert. “I guess she had to go to work because her father is away at sea. He’s been gone a year and he only expected to be away six months.”
“So is my Uncle George,” remarked Hal. “He went to the West Indies to bring back a valuable cargo of wood. He had only a small vessel, and a few men. Say, did you say her name was McLaughlin?” exclaimed Hal, suddenly.
“Yes; they call him Mack for short, but his name is McLaughlin.”
“Why, that was the name of the man who went with Uncle George!” declared Hal. “Maybe it was her father.”
“Sounds like it,” Bert said. “Tell Uncle William about it sometime. I wouldn’t mention it to Nellie, she cut up so, they said, the first time she saw the ocean. Poor thing! I suppose she just imagined her father was tossing about in the waves.”
The boys had tied the canoe to its post, and now made their way up over the hill toward the house.
“Here they come,” said Bert, as Nan, Nel
lie, and Dorothy came racing down the hill.
“Oh!” cried Dorothy, “give me some!”
“Oh, you know me, Bert?” pleaded Nellie.
“Hal, I wound up your kite string, didn’t I?” insisted Nan, by way of showing that she surely deserved some of Hal’s pond lilies.
“And I found your ball in the bushes, Bert,” urged Dorothy.
“They’re not for little girls,” Hal said, waving his hand comically, like a duke in a comic opera. “Run along, little girls, run along,” he said, rolling his r’s in real stage fashion, and holding the pond lilies against his heart.
“But if we get them, may we have them sir knight?” asked Dorothy, keeping up the joke.
“You surely can!” replied Hal, running short on his stage words.
At this Nellie dashed into the path ahead of Hal, and Dorothy turned toward Bert. Nan crowded in close to Dorothy, and the boys had some dodging to get a start. Finally Hal shot out back of the big bush, and Nellie darted after him. Of course, the boys were better runners than the girls, but somehow, girls always expect something wonderful to happen, when they start on a race like that. Hal had tennis slippers on, and he went like a deer. But just as he was about to call “home free” and as he reached the donkey barn, he turned on his ankle.
Nellie had her hands on the pond lilies instantly, for Hal was obliged to stop and nurse his ankle.
“They’re yours,” he gave in, handing her the beautiful bunch of blooms.
“Oh, aren’t they lovely!” exclaimed the little cash girl, but no one knew that was the first time she ever, in all her life, held a pond lily in her hand.
“I’m going to give them to Mrs. Bobbsey,” she decided, starting at once to the house with the fragrant prize in her arms. Neither Dorothy nor Nan had caught Bert, but he handed his flowers to his cousin.
The Bobbsey Twins Megapack Page 28