CHAPTER XIII
Breaking the News
"I WONDER," said Marjory, who, perched on the edge of the bank, wasshaking the sand from a dried bathing suit, "what's happened to Mabel.She's running down the beach like mad. And calling! I guess she wantssomebody."
"If _you'd_ keep quiet," suggested Henrietta, "perhaps you could hearwhat she says."
"It's 'Mr. Bla-a-a-a-a-ack!'" mimicked Marjory.
Mabel was breathless by the time she reached the foot of the steep sandbank, just below the camp.
"Oh," she panted. "Mr. Black--get him, quick. And, Jean, _you_ come.And, Mrs. Crane--scissors! I _must_ have scissors. Phew!"
"Be quiet a moment," advised motherly Mrs. Crane, from the bank. "Sitright down where you are and rest till you get your breath. Marjory,you're the quickest--you run for Mr. Black; he's just started for thewigwam to see if he can find Dave. Jean, I'll trust _you_ with myscissors; but I'm going to tie them to you with a piece of string.There! Now we'll go down to Mabel.
"Now," said Mrs. Crane, when that stout lady had made a careful descentof the sandy bank, "tell us exactly what's happened, Mabel."
"It's a boy!" panted Mabel, "and he isn't dead."
"Most boys aren't," encouraged Bettie, who had a large number of livelybrothers. "Go on, Mabel."
"I found him on the beach."
"Well," scoffed Henrietta, "I guess a boy on a beach isn't anything sowonderful."
"How did he get there?" queried Mrs. Crane.
"Washed up, I guess. I thought he was drowned. He's _most_ dead."
"Where? Where?" shrieked Henrietta, with sudden interest.
"Where? Where?" echoed Bettie.
Just then Marjory flung herself breathlessly over the edge of the bankwith Mr. Black, also short of breath, close at her heels.
"What's it all about?" demanded Mr. Black. "Has Mabel fallen in again?"
"Get the bread-knife, somebody," ordered Mabel, now sufficientlyrecovered to scramble to her feet, "and follow me."
"I have a knife," said Mr. Black, displaying as bloodthirsty a bit ofcutlery as one would want to see. "Saunders thought I might need ahunting knife. If you've caught a deer I'll skin him for you."
"I guess," laughed Bettie, "she doesn't want her game _skinned_. She'sfound a boy."
Presently the procession, headed proudly by Mabel, who now felt veryimportant indeed and would allow none of her impatient followers topass her, was marching up the beach. She was, however, too breathlessfor speed.
"Couldn't you go a _little_ faster?" pleaded Marjory.
"No, I couldn't," panted Mabel. "And, if you run ahead of me, youwon't know where to turn off--so there."
"Tell us more about it," begged Henrietta. "I've always been crazy torescue a shipwrecked crew!"
"No," said Mabel, "I want my breath to walk with."
Fortunately, the beach was smooth and hard; the excited campers soonreached the cove. Mabel, thoughtfully pausing long enough for Mrs.Crane and Bettie to catch up, led them to the big, half-buried log.
"There!" said she, pointing to what was behind it. "That's the boy."
Bettie, Marjory, and Henrietta peered eagerly over the log. Jean, Mrs.Crane, and Mr. Black hurried behind it. Mr. Black whipped out hisknife, dropped to his knees, and began to cut at the mesh of the stoutnet. After a moment Jean assisted with the scissors.
Mrs. Crane patted the boy's hand and laid her own motherly palm againsthis cheek.
"Poor lamb! Poor lamb!" she murmured.
Presently the lad was freed from the net and the life-preserver andgently lifted from the wet wreckage to the warm, dry sand. His eyeswere closed, his breathing jerky and strange, his whole countenancedeeply flushed. Big tears rolled down Mabel's cheeks as she looked atthe limp, pathetic figure.
"That boy," said Mrs. Crane, "is terribly ill with a fever. Goodnessonly knows how long he's been imprisoned here, chilled and shivering,before this fever came on."
"Or just when the waves flung him behind that log," said Mr. Black. "Itmight have been early last night, any time yesterday, or even duringthe previous night. He was lashed to something with that net--yes, hereit is; a piece of rotten pole as thick as my arm--possibly a mast orpart of a raft. But what concerns us just now is what we're to do forhim."
"He's certainly a sick boy," agreed Mrs. Crane, "and there's nobody butus to help him."
"Mabel," said Mr. Black, "you'd better take off his shoes--he'll belighter without them. Sarah, you'd better hurry back to camp and fixa bed for him in your tent. Jean, you go with her, build a fire, andput some water on to boil--a little hot broth might help. If you othergirls will boost him a little, when I say the word, I think I can carryhim."
The girls boosted. Mr. Black, with the long, thin boy hanging limplyover his shoulder, started toward camp. Mabel, a wet shoe dangling fromeach hand, plodded after.
"Isn't it exciting?" breathed bright-eyed Henrietta, falling into line."A boy right out of the skies."
"I guess you mean right out of the lake," corrected Marjory. "I hopehe'll wake up pretty soon--I'm dying to know how he got behind thatlog."
"Perhaps it was a good thing," said Bettie, "that the log was there.The end of that pole swung under the log and held him right there, orthe waves might have carried him out again or hurled him against therocks--ugh!"
"His father," declared Henrietta, dreamily, "was the captain of agallant ship. When the vessel was about to sink he said: 'Men! Saveyourselves. As for me, I perish with her.' Then he lashed his only sonto the mast of the sinking ship----"
"What for?" demanded practical Marjory.
"I guess maybe he didn't," amended Henrietta, reflectively. "He made araft out of one of the hatches and tied him to that with the only thinghe had at hand--a fish-net."
"But first," added Marjory, "he fastened a life-preserver about him."
"If I could run the way I used to," said thoughtful little Betty(this was the longest walk she had taken since her arrival at Pete'sPatch), "I'd rush ahead and help Mrs. Crane with that bed. As it is,I'm willing to help with one of the baskets we're coming to--I guessMabel's forgotten all about them."
"I'll help Mrs. Crane," promised nimble-footed Marjory, "if you andHenrietta will bring the wood--they may need it for the fire that Jeanis to build."
Mr. Black undressed the thin, still-unconscious lad, wrapped him in awarm blanket (his feet, Mrs. Crane said, were like lumps of ice), andtucked him into bed.
"If we were in town," declared Mrs. Crane, "I'd send for the doctor."
"Just what I'm going to do, as soon as Dave turns up. I'll go to hiswigwam now--perhaps he's back. Too bad there isn't any medicine----"
"But there is," said Mrs. Crane. "Mrs. Tucker sent a bottle to Bettieto be used in case her fever should return. She sent a tonic, too, butneither bottle has been opened. If you think it's safe----"
"Good for Mrs. Tucker! Give that boy a dose of the fever medicine--hecertainly needs that. Now for Dave--I'd like to get him started forLakeville at once."
Dave, however, was not to be found. His ways were strange andmysterious; he had an inconvenient habit of disappearing withoutwarning for hours at a stretch. No one would see him go. He would setout, ostensibly for his wigwam; but if Mr. Black followed him to thathabitation, as he sometimes did, no sign would he find of Dave. Thistime, the canoe was gone, also, and, of course, Dave's dog.
"He hasn't shown up," said Mr. Black, returning from the wigwam. "Isuppose he rose at daybreak and took to the lake; for his canoe isn'tin the river. And here I am _paying_ him to bring water and wood for usand help with the boats."
"Paying him!" gasped Mrs. Crane, "when he lived on your land for fouryears without paying rent? _Peter!_"
"Well," returned Mr. Black, "it's only a dollar a day. Perhaps thatisn't enough--I'll raise his wages!"
"But that poor boy----"
"We'll just have to wait until Dave gets back, I suppose. But you candose the boy with Bettie's fever medicine--not the tonic--and
perhapswe can pull him through."
"Anyway, we'll try," assured Mrs. Crane.
The Castaways of Pete's Patch Page 16