CHAPTER XI
Dry Clothes for Five
INSPIRED by the prospect of candy, Mabel was eager for the campwardtrail. This trail was wide and clearly marked near Barclay's, so Mabelran gaily ahead; but the others followed closely at her heels--it wastoo windy for much lingering on that exposed shore.
Mabel, with just one thought in her head, started heedlessly to runacross the log that spanned the river. If a squirrel hadn't startedat the same moment from the other end, Mabel might have rushed safelyacross. But, startled by the sudden, affrighted chattering of thesurprised squirrel, Mabel stopped, staggered, swayed, and began toclutch wildly for support. She found it in the scarlet necktie ofHenrietta's blouse.
Henrietta, clutched by the throat, as it were, seized Mabel with onehand and Marjory with the other in order to sustain her own suddenlydisturbed balance. For a moment, all three swayed uncertainly. Then,there was a mighty splash. All three were gone!
The disturbed river bottom sent up bubbles of mud, a hand, a foot,then a bedraggled hair ribbon. Mr. Black, followed by courageousJean, plunged to the rescue. In a moment, they had all three of thestruggling, half-strangled girls on their feet. As the river bottom wasof the softest of mud, no one was hurt; but the rescuers as well as therescued were completely drenched.
"Now, see here, Mabel," said Mr. Black, wiping that subdued youngperson's dripping countenance with his own wet handkerchief, "you'llhave this whole camp drowned if you don't look out. After this, you'reto stick to solid earth. I'm in earnest about this, Mabel. You're notto attempt to cross this log again, unless I'm with you."
"You were here _this_ time," complained the dripping culprit.
"It's a good thing I was. Jean would have had a fine time fishing thethree of you out of that mud. Now, we'll just wade across here whereit isn't so deep--we can't get any wetter than we are--and race homebefore we begin to feel cold."
They raced as well as they could, in clinging garments and water-soakedshoes; but they presented a curious sight as they trailed into theclearing. Mrs. Crane and Bettie advanced eagerly to greet them.
"Company!" warned Bettie, running ahead. "Two young men that drove upin a buckboard to spend the day fishing in our river--Mr. Saunders sentsome letters by them. Thought I'd tell you so you could prink a little,Henrietta--my goodness! What's happened?"
"I've been fishing in the river myself," explained Mr. Black, "and thisis what I caught--three very much speckled trout."
"My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane. "What an awful mess!"
"It's just mud," said Marjory. "A few of us landed head first inseveral inches of it. It was Mabel, of course, that pulled us in--shefell off the big log on the trail to Barclay's."
"Well, you're certainly a sight," laughed Bettie, turning back with herfriends. "I don't know which of you looks worst."
"They _all_ do," groaned Mrs. Crane. "And here was I just telling thosetwo young men that we had with us as pretty a lot of children as they'dfind in the state!"
The young men, seated on one of the benches, looked at the "prettylot of children." Then, throwing back their heads, they laugheduproariously.
"We knew there were fish in the river," said one of the visitors, "butwe hadn't been told about your mermaids."
"I've caught two lots this spring," said Mr. Black, "but this is mylargest--and, I hope, my last--haul. This sort of fishing is hard on mylimited wardrobe."
"Dear me," said Mrs. Crane, "these shivering scarecrows must get outof their wet garments at once. Here, Jean, you and Henrietta may dressin my tent--I'll bring your clothes. And, girls, throw all your wetgarments outside--don't drop them on the blankets."
The visitors declined an invitation to dinner, as they had brought anample lunch; but before departing they helped Mrs. Crane stretch a longclothesline between two trees in the clearing.
"These things _should_ be washed," said Mrs. Crane, fastening thegarments to the line with all the safety pins the camp afforded, "butwe can't use the lake just now and it's a little too far to a placethat is just the right depth in the river."
"Perhaps," suggested Bettie, helpfully, "most of the mud will brush offwhen the things are dry."
"The sand will, anyway. I hope those girls can find enough clothes toput on."
"They have the ones they came in," said Bettie, "and Jean's bundle wasextra large."
The active castaways, clothed in dry garments, spent a busy if notparticularly exciting afternoon exploring the trails that led fromthe clearing. They gathered flowers, mushrooms, firewood, birch bark,moss, ferns, and even a few wild strawberries. Dave, who was mysteriousin his comings and goings, taught them how to make willow whistles andpromised to show them some day how to catch chipmunks.
"I think," said Jean, when the campers had assembled for supper, "thatthis camp should have a name. We might call it 'Camp Comfort.'"
"Everybody that _has_ a camp," objected Mr. Black, "calls it that.Let's have something truly poetic."
"We might," suggested Henrietta, "name it the Black Basin."
"That," demurred Bettie, "seems awfully pirate-y. Bob has a book aboutpirates that used to hide in a cave called the 'Black Basin'--I'd beafraid to go to bed nights in a Black Basin."
"Perhaps," offered Henrietta, "'The Crane's Cove' would sound safer."
"That doesn't work right," protested Marjory, wiggling her small pinktongue comically. "I'd always be saying 'Crane's Crove.'"
"Besides," said Jean, "that isn't romantic enough. We want somethinglike 'Lover's Leap,' or 'Breezy Bluff,' or 'River's Rest.'"
Just then Dave approached with an offering for Jean--he had alreadygiven her his best willow whistle and a partridge wing. This time itwas a fine speckled trout, bigger than any that Mr. Black had been ableto hook.
"Where'd you catch him?" asked Mr. Black.
Dave shrugged his shoulders and replied evasively: "Pretty goo' fishin'groun' here at 'Pete's Patch.'"
"Where's Pete's Patch?" demanded Mr. Black, suspiciously.
"Right here," replied Dave, with a gesture that included Mr. Black'sentire property. "He name after you--Ah name heem maself."
"That's nerve for you," breathed Henrietta.
"Pete's Patch!" murmured Mr. Black, who seemed decidedly taken aback."Pete's Patch!"
Then the surprised gentleman caught Bettie's dancing eye and suddenlychoked.
"What a lovely name," teased impish Henrietta. "So romantic! So poetic!I'm glad I came to Pete's Patch--I think I'll have to write some versesabout it--something like this, for instance:
"If a trout or two you'd catch, Or of mushrooms like a batch-- If a taste of heaven you'd snatch, Hie away unto Pete's Patch."
"That's pretty bad," laughed Bettie, "but it goes pretty well with thename."
Of course the name stuck. Mr. Black tried a number of times to think ofa more suitable or finer sounding name for his beautiful lakeside camp,but Dave's title was there to stay, so the amused castaways had to makethe best of "Pete's Patch."
"Never mind, Peter," Mrs. Crane would say, "it's a nice place, anyway;and the name goes very well with our birch-bark stationery."
The Castaways of Pete's Patch Page 14