The Bobbsey Twins Megapack

by Laura Lee Hope

  The milk pails, too, bore out the boys’ story, had there been any doubt about it, but beyond a word of caution about dangerous places in deep woodlands there was not a harsh word spoken.

  A little farther on the road home, Dorothy, Nan, and Nellie met the wanderers, and then the woodland escapade seemed a wild tale about bears, Indians, and even witches, for each girl added, to the boys’ story, so much of her own imagination that the dark night and the roaring of the ocean, finished up a very wild picture, indeed.

  “Now, you are real heroes,” answered Dorothy, “and you are the bravest boys I know. I wish I had been along. Just think of sitting by a campfire in a dark woods, and having no one to bring you home but a poor little cow!” and Dorothy insisted on carrying Bert’s milk pail to show her respect for a real hero.

  Even Dinah and Susan did not complain about serving a late dinner to the boys, and both maids said they had never before seen such perfectly splendid milk as came from the farmhouse.

  “We really might take some extra milk from that farm,” said Aunt Emily, “for what we get is nothing like as rich in cream as this is.”

  So, as Harry said, the sample brought good results, for on the following morning, when the man called for the empty pail, Susan ordered two quarts a day, besides some fresh eggs and new butter to be delivered twice a week.

  “Do you know,” said Uncle William to Mrs. Bobbsey next morning at breakfast, when the children had left the table, “Mr. Bingham was telling me last night that his brother is at sea, on just such a voyage as little Nellie’s father went on. And a man named McLaughlin went with him, too. Now, that’s Nellie’s name, and I believe George Bingham is the very man he went with.”

  “You don’t tell me!” exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey. “And have they heard any news from Mr. Bingham’s brother?”

  “Nothing very definite, but a vessel sighted the schooner ten days ago. Mr. Bingham has no idea his brother is lost, as he is an experienced seaman, and the Binghams are positive it is only a matter of the schooner being disabled, and the crew having a hard time to reach port,” replied Mr. Minturn.

  “If Nellie’s mother only knew that,” said Mrs. Bobbsey.

  “Tell you what I’ll do,” said the brother-in-law; “just give me Mrs. McLaughlin’s address, and I’ll go to see her today while I’m in town. Then I can find out whether we have the right man in mind or not.”

  Of course, nothing was said to Nellie about the clew to her father’s whereabouts, but Mrs. Bobbsey and Aunt Emily were quite excited over it, for they were very fond of Nellie, and besides, had visited her mother and knew of the poor woman’s distress.

  “If it only could be true that the vessel is trying to get into port,” reflected Mrs. Bobbsey. “Surely, there would be enough help along the coast to save the crew.”

  While this very serious matter was occupying the attention of the grown-up folks, the children were all enthusiasm over the water carnival, coming off that afternoon.

  Hal and Bert were dressed like real Indians, and were to paddle in Hal’s canoe, while Harry was fixed up like a student, a French explorer, and he was to row alone in Hal’s father’s boat, to represent Father Marquette, the discoverer of the upper Mississippi River.

  It was quite simple to make Harry look like the famous discoverer, for he was tall and dark, and the robes were easily arranged with Susan’s black shawl, a rough cord binding it about his waist. Uncle William’s traveling cap answered perfectly for the French skullcap.

  “Then I’m going to be Pocahontas,” insisted Dorothy, as the boys’ costumes brought her mind back to Colonial days.

  “Oh, no,” objected Hal, “you girls better take another period of history. We can’t all be Indians.”

  “Well, I’ll never be a Puritan, not even for fun,” declared Dorothy, whose spirit of frolic was certainly quite opposite that of a Priscilla.

  “Who was some famous girl or woman in American history?” asked Harry, glad to get a chance to “stick” Dorothy.

  “Oh, there are lots of them,” answered the girl, promptly. “Don’t think that men were the only people in America who did anything worth while.”

  “Then be one that you particularly admire,” teased Harry, knowing very well Dorothy could not, at that minute, name a single character she would care to impersonate.

  “Oh, let us be real,” suggested Nellie. “Everybody will be all make-believe. I saw lots of people getting ready, and I’m sure they will all look like Christmas-tree things, tinsel and paper and colored stuffs.”

  “What would be real?’, questioned Dorothy.

  “Well, the Fisherman’s Daughters,” Nellie said, very slowly. “We have a picture at home of two little girls waiting—for their—father.”

  The boys noticed Nellie’s manner, and knew why she hesitated. Surely it would be real for her to be a fisherman’s daughter, waiting for her father!

  “Oh, good!” said Dorothy. “I’ve got that picture in a book, and we can copy it exactly. You and I can be in a boat alone. I can row.”

  “You had better have a line to my boat,” suggested Harry. “It would be safer in the crowd.”

  It had already been decided that Flossie, Freddie, and Nan should go in the Minturn launch, that was made up to look like a Venetian gondola. Mrs. Bobbsey and Aunt Emily and Aunt Sarah were to be Italian ladies, not that they cared to be in the boat parade, but because Aunt Emily, being one of the cottagers, felt obliged to encourage the social features of the little colony.

  It was quite extraordinary how quickly and how well Dorothy managed to get up her costume and Nellie’s. Of course, the boys were wonderful Indians, and Harry a splendid Frenchman; Mrs. Bobbsey, Aunt Sarah, and Aunt Emily only had to add lace headpieces to their brightest dinner gowns to be like the showy Italians, while Freddie looked like a little prince in his black velvet suit, with Flossie’s red sash tied from shoulder to waist, in gay court fashion. Flossie wore the pink slip that belonged under her lace dress, and on her head was a silk handkerchief pinned up at the ends, in that square quaint fashion of little ladies of Venice.

  There were to be prizes, of course, for the best costumes and prettiest boats, and the judges’ stand was a very showy affair, built at the bridge end of the lake.

  There was plenty of excitement getting ready, but finally all hands were dressed, and the music from the lake told our friends the procession was already lining up.

  Mrs. Minturn’s launch was given second place, just back of the Mayor’s, and Mrs. Bingham’s launch, fixed up to represent an automobile, came next. Then, there were all kinds of boats, some made to represent impossible things, like big swans, eagles, and one even had a lot of colored ropes flying about it, while an automobile lamp, fixed up in a great paper head, was intended to look like a monster sea-serpent, the ropes being its fangs. By cutting out a strange face in the paper over the lighted lamp the eyes blazed, of course, while the mouth was red, and wide open, and there were horns, too, made of twisted pieces of tin, so that altogether the sea-serpent looked very fierce, indeed.

  The larger boats were expected to be very fine, so that as the procession passed along the little lake the steam launches did not bring out much cheering from the crowd. But now the single boats were coming.

  “Father Marquette!” cried the people, instantly recognizing the historic figure Harry represented.

  So slowly his boat came along, and so solemn he looked!

  Then, as he reached the judges’ stand, he stood up, put his hand over his eyes, looking off in the distance, exactly like the picture of the famous French explorer.

  This brought out long and loud cheering, and really Harry deserved it, for he not only looked like, but really acted, the character.

  There were a few more small boats next. In one the summer girl was all lace and parasol, in another there was a rude fisherman, then; some boys were dressed to look like dandies, and they seemed to enjoy themselves more than did the people looking at them. There was also a
craft fixed up to look like a small gunboat.

  Hal and Bert then paddled along.

  They were perfect Indians, even having their faces browned with dark powder. Susan’s feather duster had been dissected to make up the boys’ headgear, and two overall suits, with jumpers, had been slashed to pieces to make the Indian suits. The canoe, of course, made a great stir.

  “Who are they?” everybody wanted to know. But no one could guess.

  “Oh, look at this!” called the people, as an old boat with two little girls drifted along.

  The Fisherman’s Daughters!

  Perhaps it was because there was so much gayety around that these little girls looked so real. From the side of their weather-beaten boat dragged an old fishnet. Each girl had on her head a odd half-hood, black, and from under this Nellie’s brown hair fell in tangles on her bare shoulders, and Dorothy’s beautiful yellow ringlets framed in her own pretty face. The children wore olf-fashioned bodices, like those seen in pictures of Dutch girls, and full skirts of dark stuff finished out their costumes.

  As they sat in the boat and looked out to sea, “watching for the fisherman’s return,” their attitude and pose were perfect.

  The people did not even cheer. They seemed spellbound.

  “That child is an actress,” they said, noting the “real” look on Nellie’s face. But Nellie was not acting. She was waiting for the lost father at sea.

  When would he come back to her?

  CHAPTER XIV

  The First Prize

  When the last craft in the procession had passed the judges’ stand, and the little lake was alive with decorations and nautical novelties, everybody, of course, in the boats and on land, was anxious to know who would get the prizes.

  There were four to be given, and the fortunate ones could have gifts in silver articles or the value in money, just as they chose.

  Everybody waited anxiously, when the man at the judges’ stand stood up and called through the big megaphone:

  “Let the Fisherman’s Daughters pass down to the stand!”

  “Oh, we are going to get a prize,” Dorothy said to Nellie. “I’ll just cut the line to Harry’s boat and row back to the stand.”

  Then, when the two little girls sailed out all by themselves, Dorothy rowing gracefully, while Nellie helped some, although not accustomed to the oars, the people fairly shouted.

  For a minute the girls waited in front of the stand. But the more people inspected them the better they appeared. Finally, the head judge stood up.

  “First prize is awarded to the Fisherman’s Daughters,” he announced.

  The cheering that followed his words showed the approval of the crowd. Nellie and Dorothy were almost frightened at the noise. Then they rowed their boat to the edge, and as the crowd gathered around them to offer congratulations, the other prizes were awarded.

  The second prize went to the Indians!

  “Lucky they don’t know us,” said Hal to Bert, “for they would never let the two best prizes get in one set.” The Indians were certainly well made-up, and their canoe a perfect redman’s bark.

  The third prize went to the “Sea-serpent,” for being the funniest boat in the procession; and the fourth to the gunboat. Then came a great shouting!

  A perfect day had added to the success of the carnival, and now many people adjourned to the pavilion, where a reception was held, and good things to eat were bountifully served.

  “But who was the little girl with Dorothy Minturn?” asked the mayor’s wife. Of course everybody knew Dorothy, but Nellie was a stranger.

  Mrs. Minturn, Mrs. Bobbsey, Aunt Sarah, Mrs. Bingham, and Mrs. Blake, the latter being the mayor’s wife, had a little corner in the pavilion to themselves. Here Nellie’s story was quietly told.

  “How nice it was she got the prize,” said Mrs. Blake, after hearing about Nellie’s hardships. “I think we had better have it in money—and we might add something to it,” she suggested. “I am sure Mr. Blake would be glad to. He often gives a prize himself. I’ll just speak to him.”

  Of course Dorothy was to share the prize, and she accepted a pretty silver loving cup. But what do you suppose they gave Nellie?

  Fifty dollars!

  Was not that perfectly splendid?

  The prize for Nellie was twenty-five dollars, but urged by Mrs. Blake, the mayor added to it his own check for the balance.

  Naturally Nellie wanted to go right home to her mother with it, and nothing about the reception had any interest for her after she received the big check. However, Mrs. Bobbsey insisted that Mr. Minturn would take the money to Nellie’s mother the next day, so the little girl had to be content.

  Then, when all the festivities were over, and the children’s excitement had brought them to bed very tired that night, Nellie sat by her window and looked out at the sea!

  Always the same prayer, but tonight, somehow, it seemed answered!

  Was it the money for mother that made the father seem so near?

  The roaring waves seemed to call out:

  “Nellie—Nellie dear! I’m coming—coming home to you!”

  And while the little girl was thus dreaming upstairs, Mr. Minturn down in the library was telling about his visit to Nellie’s mother.

  “There is no doubt about it,” he told Mrs. Bobbsey. “It was Nellie’s father who went away with George Bingham, and it was certainly that schooner that was sighted some days ago.”

  The ladies, of course, were overjoyed at the prospect of the best of luck for Nellie—her father’s possible return,—and then it was decided that Uncle William should again go to Mrs. McLaughlin, this time to take her the prize money, and that Mrs. Bobbsey should go along with him, as it was such an important errand.

  “And you remember that little pearl that Nellie found on the beach? Well, I’m having it set in a ring for her. It is a real pearl, but not very valuable, yet I thought it would be a souvenir of her visit at the Cliffs,” said Mr. Minturn.

  “That will be very nice,” declared Mrs. Bobbsey. “I am sure no one deserves to be made happy more than that child does, for just fancy, how she worked in that store as cash girl until her health gave way. And now she is anxious to go back to the store again. Of course she is worried about her mother, but the prize money ought to help Mrs. McLaughlin so that Nellie would not need to cut her vacation short.”

  “What kind of treasure was it that these men went to sea after?” Aunt Emily asked Uncle William.

  “A cargo of mahogany,” Mr. Minturn replied. “You see, that wood is scarce now, a cargo is worth a fortune, and a shipload was being brought from the West Indies to New York when a storm blew the vessel out to a very dangerous point. Of course, the vessel was wrecked, and so were two others that later attempted to reach the valuable cargo. You see the wind always blows the one way there, and it is impossible to get the mahogany out of its trap. Now, George Bingham was offered fifty thousand dollars to bring that wood to port, and he decided that he could do it by towing each log around the reef by canoes. The logs are very heavy, each one is worth between eighty and one hundred dollars, but the risk meant such a reward, in case of success, that they went at it. Of course the real danger is around the wreck. Once free from that point and the remainder of the voyage would be only subject to the usual ocean storms.”

  “And those men were to go through the dangerous waters in little canoes!” exclaimed Aunt Emily.

  “But the danger was mostly from winds to the sails of vessels,” explained Uncle William. “Small craft are safest in such waters.”

  “And if they succeeded in bringing the mahogany in?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

  “Nellie would be comparatively rich, for her father went as George Bingham’s partner,” finished Mr. Minturn.

  So, the evening went into night, and Nellie, the Fisherman’s Daughter, slept on, to dream that the song of the waves came true.

  CHAPTER XV

  Lost on an Island

  The calm that always follows a
storm settled down upon the Cliffs the day after the carnival. The talk of the entire summer settlement was Nellie and her prize, and naturally, the little girl herself thought of home and the lonely mother, who was going to receive such a surprise—fifty dollars!

  It was a pleasant morning, and Freddie and Flossie were out watching Downy trying to get through the fence that the boys had built to keep him out of the ocean. Freddie had a pretty little boat Uncle William had brought down from the city. It had sails, that really caught the wind, and carried the boat along.

  Of course Freddie had a long cord tied to it, so it could not get out of his reach, and while Flossie tried to steer the vessel with a long whip, Freddie made believe he was a canal man, and walked along the tow path with the cord in hand.

  “I think I would have got a prize in the boat parade if I had this steamer,” said Freddie, feeling his craft was really as fine as any that had taken part in the carnival.

  “Maybe you would,” agreed Flossie. “Now let me sail it a little.”

  “All right,” said Freddie, and he offered the cord to his twin sister.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, “I dropped it!”

  The next minute the little boat made a turn with the breeze, and before Flossie could get hold of the string it was all in the water!

  “Oh, my boat!” cried Freddie. “Get it quick!”

  “I can’t!” declared Flossie. “It is out too far! Oh, what shall we do!”

  “Now you just get it! You let it go,” went on the brother, without realizing that his sister could not reach the boat, nor the string either, for that matter.

  “Oh, it’s going far away!” cried Flossie; almost in tears.

  The little boat was certainly making its way out into the lake, and it sailed along so proudly, it must have been very glad to be free.

  “There’s Hal Bingham’s boat,” ventured Flossie. “Maybe I could go out a little ways in that.”