“No, Will wasn’t much hurt,” said Mr. Bobbsey, for he did not want his children, or their cousins, to worry too much over what they had seen. Yet Mr. Bobbsey could not help but think that the cruel lash must have hurt Will more than the boy himself showed.
“He—he won’t whip him any more, will he?” asked little Flossie.
“No, not any more,” said Mr. Bobbsey, for he had made up his mind he would, if necessary, take the boy away from the mean farmer before any more whipping could be done.
“Suppah am ready!” called Dinah from the kitchen. “An’ I done wants yo’ all t’ come right away fo’ it gits cold!”
“We’re coming!” cried Mrs. Bobbsey. “And after supper we’ll sit on deck and sing songs.”
She wanted to do something to take out of the minds of the children the memory of the unpleasant scene they had just observed.
“I wish it would hurry up and come morning,” said Bert.
“Why?” asked his father.
“So Harry and I can go fishing. I’m sure we’ll catch some with the grasshoppers for bait.”
“Well, I hope you have good luck,” laughed Mr. Bobbsey.
The supper was much enjoyed. The fish, which Will had given the Bobbseys, made a fine meal, with the corn muffins and other things Dinah cooked. After supper they all sat out on the deck of the houseboat, enjoying the beautiful June evening. From the farm of Mr. Hardee came the sounds of mooing cows, and whinnying horses, with an occasional grunt of the pigs, or the barking of dogs.
Nothing was seen of the farmer himself, or of poor Will.
“Can you do anything for him?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey of her husband, after the children had gone to bed that night.
“I hope so, yes. If, as he says, he has an uncle somewhere in the West, and I can get his address, I’ll write to him, and ask him to look after Will. The boy needs a good home.”
“Indeed he does. Oh, I’m so glad you didn’t let him get that whipping!”
“I’ll help him all I can,” promised Mr. Bobbsey.
The twins’ father rather hoped that the hired boy might slip down to the houseboat that evening, with his uncle’s address, but nothing was seen of him.
In the morning a strange thing happened.
Mr. Bobbsey and Captain White decided that it would be better to take the boat a little farther down Lemby Creek, and tie it fast to the bank in a more shady spot than the one opposite the farm buildings.
“It will be better fishing in the shade, too,” Mr. Bobbsey said to the boys.
So the gasoline engine was started, and the boat started off. It had not gone very far, though, before Mr. Bobbsey, who was steering, called to Captain White to shut off the engine.
“What’s the matter?” asked Captain White. “You’re going farther than this; aren’t you?”
“I wanted to, yes. But we can’t go any farther.”
“Why not?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey. “Nothing has happened to the boat, has there, Richard?”
“No, not to the boat. But look there!” and Mr. Bobbsey pointed ahead. Stretched across a narrow part of Lemby Creek was a strong wire fence, fastened to posts driven into the bottom of the stream. The Bluebird could go no farther on her voyage. The fence stopped her.
As Mr. Bobbsey, the twins and the cousins looked at the strong wire fence, they saw Mr. Hardee come along the shore. He looked at the houseboat, and shook his fist, grinning in no pleasant fashion.
“I guess you won’t go no farther!” he cried. “I’ve put a stop to your fancy trip all right! Huh!”
CHAPTER XIII
The Runaway Boy
“Oh, papa, can’t we go on to Lake Romano?” asked Nan, as she came up on deck with Dorothy, and saw the big wire fence stretched across the creek to stop them.
“It doesn’t look so—unless we can fly over that,” and her brother Bert pointed to the metal strands that went from post to post.
“It does seem to hinder us,” said Mr. Bobbsey. He was trying to think of what would be best to do. He looked at Mr. Hardee, who seemed to think it all a fine joke.
“Papa, I know how we can get through,” eagerly said little Freddie, who was holding Snoop in his arms. The big black cat was almost too much of a load for the little boy, but Freddie wanted her to do some tricks, and he held her so she would not run away.
“I know how to get past that fence,” the little twin went on.
“How?” asked his father, rather absentmindedly. “How?”
“Just cut the wires!” said Freddie, as though no one but himself had thought of that. “If I had one of those cutter-things the telephone man had, when he climbed the pole in front of our house, I could cut the wires and we could go right on up the creek.”
“Yes, I suppose so, my little fat fireman,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “But I don’t believe the man who put that fence up there would let us cut the wires.”
“It’s odd,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “That fence wasn’t across the creek before, was it?”
“I don’t know,” answered her husband. “It looks as though it had been put up lately—even last night, perhaps. But I haven’t been along the creek in some time, so I can’t be sure.”
“It wasn’t here last week, that’s certain,” Captain White spoke. “For I was up here then fishing, and I didn’t see it. I fancy that Mr. Hardee knows something about it.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Mr. Bobbsey. “Now the question is: What are we to do? We can’t go on through the fence, and we can’t very well go around it, for the Bluebird won’t float on dry ground. And I don’t want to go back. This is the only way to get to Lake Romano.”
“I know what to do, papa,” spoke Flossie. “We can ask that man to take down the wires, if Freddie can’t cut them with the cutter-thing.”
“Yes, I suppose we could do that,” Mr. Bobbsey said, slowly.
By this time Mr. Hardee had come closer to the houseboat, which had drifted near to the shore.
“Will you take that fence down, and let us go past?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, as politely as he could.
“No, I won’t!” snapped Mr. Hardee in reply. “No!”
“But we want to go on down the creek,” explained the twins’ father, “and we can’t get past the fence.”
“I know you can’t!” said Mr. Hardee with a chuckle. “That’s what I put it up there for. I strung it last night—me and my hired men. I didn’t think you’d hear, and you didn’t. Give you a sort of surprise, didn’t it?”
“It certainly did,” and Mr. Bobbsey’s voice was stern. “And I want to say that you had no right to stretch that fence across the creek to stop my boat. You had no right!”
“Oh, yes, I had!” said Mr. Hardee with a sneer.
“This is a public creek,” went on Mr. Bobbsey.
“Maybe it is, in certain places,” said the mean farmer, “but here the creek runs through my land. I own on both sides of it, and I own the creek itself. If I don’t want to let anybody go through in a boat, I don’t have to.”
“Oh, so you own the creek here, do you?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, rather surprised.
“Yes, I do.”
“And you aren’t going to let us pass?”
“Nope! That’s why I strung that fence last night. It’s a good, strong fence, and if you run into it, and try to bust it I’ll have th’ law on ye!”
“Oh, you needn’t worry that I’ll do anything like that,” spoke Mr. Bobbsey. “But why won’t you let us pass?”
“Because of what you did last night—interferin’ between me and my help. You wouldn’t let me give Will Watson the threshin’ he deserved, an’ I won’t let you pass through my creek. I want you to back up your boat, too, and go back where you come from. I own that part of the creek where you are now.”
“Come now, be reasonable,” suggested Mr. Bobbsey. “I stopped you from beating that boy only because you were in the wrong. If you’ll just think it over, you’ll say so yourself. And, just for that, you shouldn’t stop my
boat from going up the creek.”
“Well, I have stopped you, and I’m going to keep on stoppin’ you!” cried Mr. Hardee, again shaking his fist. “You can’t get past my fence. It’s a good strong fence.”
“I—I could cut it, if I had one of those cutter-things, the telephone man had,” said Freddie, in his clear, high voice.
“Hush, Freddie dear,” said his mother. “Leave it to papa.”
Mr. Bobbsey was silent a moment, and then he went on:
“And so you strung that fence in the night, and won’t let my houseboat pass, just because I stopped you from beating that boy?”
“That’s it,” the mean farmer said. “And for more than that, too.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Bobbsey quickly.
“I mean that you made that boy, Will Watson, run away.”
“Run away!” exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, in surprise.
“Yes, run away,” repeated the farmer. “He didn’t come down to breakfast this mornin’, and when I went to call him to do the chores, he was gone. And, what’s more, I think you had somethin’ to do with him runnin’ away,” went on the angry farmer. “You put a lot o’ notions in his head. You’re to blame!”
“Now look here!” exclaimed Mr. Bobbsey. “We don’t know any more about that boy running away than you do, Mr. Hardee. If he has gone, I’m sorry for him, for he may have a hard time. I’m not sorry I stopped you from beating him, though. Perhaps he is around the farm somewhere.”
“No, he isn’t!” insisted the farmer. “He’s gone. What clothes he had he took with him. He’s run away, and it’s your fault, too. I put up that fence last night to pay you back for interferin’, an’ now I’m glad I did, for you’re to blame for Will runnin’ off.”
“I tell you that you are mistaken,” went on Mr. Bobbsey. “But if you feel that way about it, there is no use talking to you. Then you won’t take down that wire fence and let us pass?”
“No, I won’t, and I order you, and your boat, out of my part of the creek. Go back where you come from. You can’t go through to Lake Romano this way!”
Mr. Bobbsey turned and looked at the wire fence. It certainly was a strong one, and the farmer and his hired men had worked well during the night. It was far enough off from where the Bluebird then was so that the pounding on the posts, to drive them into the mud of the creek bottom, was not heard.
“Well, I guess there’s nothing for us to do but to go back,” said Mr. Bobbsey. He felt very sorry, when he saw the looks of disappointment on the faces of the twins and their cousins.
“Papa,” said Freddie again, “if I had one of those wire-cutter things, I could snip that wire like the telephone men did.”
“Yes, but we haven’t one, little fat fireman, and we would have no right to use it if we had,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “No, I must think of some other way.”
“It’s too bad,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “I wonder what has become of that poor runaway boy?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” answered Mr. Bobbsey. But, had he only known it, Will Watson was nearer than any one suspected.
CHAPTER XIV
Off Again
“What are we going to do?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, as she stood at the side of her husband on the deck of the houseboat. Mr. Bobbsey was looking at the wire fence, as though trying to find a way to get past it—either under it, or over it, or to one side or the other of it. Of course he did not think it wise to try little Freddie’s plan of breaking the wire with a “cutter thing” such as the telephone men carried.
“Well,” said Mr. Bobbsey, after a bit, “I guess the only thing for us to do is to go back, until we are anchored in some part of Lemby Creek that doesn’t belong to Mr. Hardee.”
“Does he really own this water?” asked Bert.
“Well, he says so, and I have no doubt but what he does,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “If he owns land on both sides of the creek, naturally he owns the creek, too.”
“And we can’t go up or down it?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey.
“Not unless he lets us.”
“What about the fishes?” asked Bert “He can’t stop them from swimming up and down.”
“No, he can’t do that,” agreed his father, with a smile.
“Then can he stop Harry and me from catching fish?” Bert wanted next to know.
“Not if you fish somewhere else than in his waters,” spoke the twins’ father. “The best thing for us to do is to go back where we were at first, near where the creek runs into Lake Metoka. There we can anchor for a time.”
“But how are we going to get to Lake Romano?” asked Nan. “I want to show Dorothy the big waterfall.”
“Well, perhaps we can get there a little later,” her father said. “Just now Mr. Hardee has the best of us, and we’ll have to do as he says. So, Captain White, I guess we’ll have to back up the boat, as we can’t go past the fence.”
“If I had one of those wire-cutter things,” began Freddie, “I could snip that wire as easy as anything.” He seemed to think of nothing else.
“Oh, you and Flossie had better go play with Snap, or Snoop,” suggested Bert with a laugh. “Or you can come and watch Harry and me fish. We’re going to as soon as we get back aways.”
“I’m going to fish, too,” declared Freddie, eagerly.
The creek, near Mr. Hardee’s farm, was so narrow that the houseboat could not be turned around in it, and it had to go backward. This was easy, since the Bluebird was something like a ferry boat, built to go backward or forward.
The twins were a little sad as they saw their boat backing up, but it could not be helped.
“We’ll have a good time fishing, anyhow,” said Harry.
“That’s right,” agreed Bert. “I wonder if that boy Will took his fishing rod with him? He’d probably need it, if he has run away, and is going out west to find his uncle.”
“Why would he need a fish-rod?” asked Nan.
“To catch fish to eat,” her brother said. “He’ll have to have something, and fish are the easiest to get. I almost wish I had gone with him. It will be lots of fun.”
“Oh, but it will be very hard, too,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “Think of the lonely nights he’ll have to spend, and perhaps with no place to sleep, but on the hard ground. And when it rains—”
“I guess I’ll stay home!” laughed Bert, as though he had ever had an idea of running away from home.
Slowly the Bluebird made her way backward until she had passed some posts near the edge of the water. These posts marked the boundary line of Mr. Hardee’s farm. He did not own beyond them, and Captain White said the creek was public property there.
“Then we’ll anchor here,” decided Mr. Bobbsey, as he steered the houseboat toward shore. “Then I think I’ll take a little trip back to Lakeport.”
“And leave us alone?” cried Mrs. Bobbsey.
“Only for a short while. I want to see some friends of mine, and find out if Mr. Hardee really has the right to fence off Lemby Creek. I don’t believe he has.”
“Will you be back tonight?”
“Oh, yes. It isn’t far to Lakeport. I can walk across the fields and go by trolley.”
“I do hope you can find some way of getting past the fence,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “It would be too bad to have our trip spoiled.”
As Mr. Bobbsey was getting ready to go back to town, Dinah came out of the dining-room, looking rather puzzled.
“What is the matter?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey. “Are you worried because we can’t get those eggs from Mr. Hardee?”
“Well, yessum, dat’s partly it,” said the fat cook. “We’s got t’ hab eggs, an’ other things too.”
“Bert and Harry can walk to the village,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “It isn’t far from here. I’ll go part way with them. So don’t worry, Dinah.”
“Oh, dat isn’t all dat’s worryin’ me, Massa Bobbsey. But did yo’ say de chillums could hab dem corn muffins whut was left over?” and she looked at Mrs. Bobbsey.
&
nbsp; “The corn muffins that were left over?” repeated the twins’ mother. “No, I said nothing about them. And they know they should not eat between meals without asking me. Why, are the muffins gone, Dinah?”
“Yessum; fo’ ob ’em. I put ’em on a plate on de dinin’ room table, but now dey’s gone.”
“Maybe Snap took them,” suggested Mr. Bobbsey. “Snoop wouldn’t, for she doesn’t like such things. But Snap is very fond of them.”
Freddie, who heard the talk, hurried over to where the dog was lying asleep in a patch of sunlight, and opened his mouth.
“No, Snap didn’t take ’em,” said Freddie. “There aren’t any crumbs in his teeth.”
“Well, maybe you can tell that way, but I doubt it,” laughed Mr. Bobbsey. “Perhaps you forgot where you put the muffins, Dinah, or maybe there were none left.”
“Oh, I’se shuah I done put ’em on de table,” said the fat cook, “an’ I’se shuah dey was some left. I’ll go look some mo’, though.”
As there were a few other things besides eggs that were needed for the kitchen of the houseboat, Bert and Harry planned to take a basket, and go to the nearest village store for them. They would walk across the fields with Mr. Bobbsey.
“We’ll fish when we come back,” said Bert.
“And get enough for dinner and supper,” added Harry.
“Better get enough for one meal first,” suggested Nan, with a laugh.
The houseboat was now made fast to the bank of the creek some distance away from the wire fence Mr. Hardee had stretched across the stream. It was not to be seen, nor were the farm buildings. The last the Bobbseys had observed of the farmer was as he stood near his wire fence, shaking his fist at the houseboat.
Mr. Bobbsey did not just know how he was going to get past the fence with the Bluebird, or how he could get Mr. Hardee to cut the wire. The twins’ father decided to ask the advice of some friends.
Meanwhile Bert and Harry had reached the store, and had brought the eggs, and other groceries, back to Dinah.
“Did you find those corn muffins?” asked Bert. “Because, if you did, Harry and I would like some. May we have one, mother?”
The Bobbsey Twins Megapack Page 64