The Castaways of Pete's Patch

by Carroll Watson Rankin

  CHAPTER XVI

  A Valuable Insect

  MRS. CRANE remained very near her sleeping charge all that day. Shedidn't see, she said, how anybody _could_ survive the dreadful dosethat Dave had poured down the unconscious lad's throat.

  At four that afternoon one of Dave's predictions came true. Greatbeads of perspiration broke out on the boy's forehead; and soon thevoluminous nightgown in which Mrs. Crane had arrayed the patient waswet through, for he was indeed "sweating like a horse."

  Remembering Dave's advice concerning broth, yet decidedly fearful offollowing advice from so doubtful a source, the anxious nurse searchedher cupboard for the little jar of beef extract that had been orderedfor Bettie (by this time Bettie was clamoring for--and getting--moresubstantial food) and made a small bowlful of strong _bouillon_. Butfirst, careful Mrs. Crane wrapped her patient in a warm blanket.

  When she returned with the broth, intending to force it by spoonfulsinto the lad's mouth, she realised that a great change had taken placein her patient. The fever flush was gone from his cheeks, leaving himpale and clammy; but now, for the first time since his arrival inPete's Patch his eyes were open. They were big and very, very blue.

  "Well," greeted Mrs. Crane, "this is something like! Awake, are you?Don't be frightened, poor lamb--you're as safe here as if you were inyour own bed. Open your mouth, there's a good boy. It's some time sinceyou've had a Christian meal."

  After the first few spoonfuls, the boy's eyes closed wearily; but hestill opened his mouth obediently, just like a young robin, his pleasednurse said afterwards.

  "That's all," announced Mrs. Crane, giving him the last spoonful. "Nowgo to sleep if you want to."

  Apparently he did want to, for that is what he did. Mrs. Crane stolesoftly from the tent.

  "Girls," said she, to the little group in the shade of the biggesttree, "I want you to be very quiet whenever you come near thetents--tell the others when they come back. I believe that boy hastaken a change for the better--he's lost his fever and he's sleepinglike a baby."

  "Was it Dave's awful medicine?" queried Bettie.

  "I don't know," returned Mrs. Crane. "Your bottle probably helped. Idon't suppose we'll _ever_ know just what effect Dave's potion had; but_something_ has certainly brought about a change in that poor child.Anyway, remember not to make a noise near my tent."

  "My!" giggled Marjory, when Mrs. Crane had returned to her charge, "shenever even _looked_ toward the beach. I was _so_ afraid she'd noticethe smoke from that fire and ask what Jean and Mabel were doing."

  "So was I," said Henrietta, who was endeavoring to weave a basket fromsome long, fragrant grass that she had discovered in a marsh near theriver, "but she doesn't think of anything but that boy."

  "What's Mr. Black doing all this time?" asked Bettie, who was lying atfull length on the ground with her head in Marjory's lap.

  "Fishing with his two and a half worms," replied Henrietta.

  "There he comes now," said Marjory, "but what in the world ails him?"

  No wonder she asked, for stout Mr. Black, hatless and coatless, histhick, iron-gray hair standing upright, his oft-mended suspendersbroken once more and dangling from his waist, was dashing madly aboutthe further end of the clearing. Now with arms aloft, now with fingersgripping the sod, this usually sedate and dignified gentleman wasbehaving in a most remarkable manner.

  "Goodness!" gasped Henrietta. "He must be doing an Indian war-dance!"

  "He's pounding the ground with his hat," said Marjory.

  "Now he's trying to fly--mercy! He's tripped right over a stump!"exclaimed Henrietta. "Let's go and see what he's doing."

  Just then Jean and Mabel clambered up the bank from the beach. Onseeing the others fleeing hurriedly in Mr. Black's direction, they,too, scurried after.

  "He got away," panted Mr. Black, ruefully, as he picked himself up fromthe grass plot.

  "What?" inquired Marjory, "a squirrel? a rabbit? a beaver?"

  "No," returned Mr. Black, rather sheepishly, wiping his perspiringbrow, "a grasshopper. But I must have that beast. Girls, I'll give youa dollar apiece for every grasshopper you can catch within the nextten minutes. You see, I accidentally caught one--the thing was down myneck--put it on my hook, and in two seconds it was snatched off by thebiggest trout I've seen in six years! Yes, siree! He was a yard long!I'd pay _two_ dollars for another grasshopper this minute; for _I_can't catch the pesky things."

  "Easy money," laughed Henrietta. "Come on, girls. Let's see who'll getthe two dollars."

  In another moment all five were hurling themselves recklessly aboutthe sunny clearing, wherever a grasshopper jumped. To an unenlightenedobserver, it must have seemed as if they, too, were doing an Indianwar-dance; certainly they alarmed the grasshoppers.

  "Oh," gasped Bettie, after five minutes of this strenuous exercise, "Ican't try any longer--my poor old legs are all gone."

  So tired Bettie nestled comfortably against Mr. Black, who, with hisbroad back against a stump, was resting as peacefully as the thought ofthat big, uncaught trout would permit. But the other four still chasedgrasshoppers.

  Suddenly, a big, bewildered insect hopped right into Bettie's lap; and,in a moment, Bettie's quick, slender fingers had closed over as fine agrasshopper as fisherman would wish to see.

  "I've got him--I've got him!" she shrieked. "He's right in my hand."

  Mr. Black placed the captive in his pocket match-safe. Then gravelyextracting a two-dollar bill from his trousers pocket, he dropped itin Bettie's lap.

  "Oh, _no_," breathed Bettie. "Not when you're so good to me--I'd catcha million grasshoppers for you for nothing, if I only could."

  "If you don't keep it," declared Mr. Black, closing her fingers overthe bill, "I'll let that precious insect fly away."

  "Well," sighed Bettie, stuffing the money down her neck, "I'll sit herewith my mouth open and let grasshoppers fly in until I catch a _truly_two dollars' worth."

  "Well," laughed Mr. Black, rising with difficulty, "bring all you catchdown that left-hand trail to the second bend in the river--that's whereI saw that whale."

  But there was no need of a second grasshopper; for before another wascaptured, Mr. Black, beaming with pleasure, rushed to the clearing todisplay his trout. Although the big fish lacked almost two feet ofbeing a yard long, he was a fine specimen.

  "And Bettie's grasshopper," said Mr. Black, readjusting it onhis hook, "is still as good as new, so I'm going back for anotherfish--with one more, plus the three I caught this morning, we'll haveenough for supper."

  "My goodness!" gasped Jean. "Our surprise--nobody's watching the fire!"

  With one accord, the five cooks rushed to the beach.

  "The fire's out," said Jean. "We'll have to build it again."

  When all the rest of the supper was on the table, including Mr. Black'ssatisfactory catch of trout, nicely fried by Jean, Marjory slippedquietly away to extract the surprise from the oven. She was notentirely satisfied with its appearance; but, at any rate, the dish wasgood and hot. She succeeded in getting it safely up the sand bank andinto the octagonal tent, where she placed it triumphantly beside thetrout.

  "Why!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane, whose patient was still sleeping, "whathave we here?"

  "A surprise," beamed Mabel.

  "Boston baked beans," explained Bettie.

  "Now, that," said Mr. Black, "is a real treat. There's nothing betterthan beans for camp fare."

  But when the beans were served they rattled, as they touched theplates, like rain on a tin roof. Instead of being smooth and nicelyfilled out, each bean was shriveled and as hard as a pebble.

  "Dear me," mourned Bettie, who had taken the first mouthful, "those aredreadful beans--I can't bite them."

  "But," said puzzled Jean, "they cooked for hours."

  "Did you soak them first?" asked Mrs. Crane.

  "No," replied Jean.

  "Didn't you boil them?"

  "No, we didn't do that, either. Just baked 'em."

  "
Dear, dear," laughed Mrs. Crane. "No wonder they're hard. You shouldhave soaked them all night, boiled them for an hour, and _then_ bakedthem. And I think, my dears, that you forgot the pork, the molasses,and the salt--beans need a great deal of salt. But it was nice andthoughtful of you good little girls to go to all that trouble."

  "We wanted it to be a lovely surprise," mourned Mabel.

  "Well," teased Mr. Black, "it's certainly more of a surprise than youmeant it to be, therefore more of a success, because we are _all_surprised."

  "Cheer up," said Mrs. Crane, touched by the downcast countenances ofthe disappointed cooks. "We'll feed the surprise to the squirrels.After supper--you see there's plenty this time _without_ thesurprise--we'll put some more beans to soak; and to-morrow we'll cookthem the other way. Anyway, I'm very glad you thought of cooking thosebeans--I'd forgotten that we had them."

  At this the seven gloomy faces brightened. And the beans were notwasted; for the kind squirrels carried away every one.