“MORE FUN THAN A LITTLE”
The girls were tired enough when they got back from the search; and it being an hour before dinner, Mrs. Morse advised them all to retire to the sleeping tent and lie down.
However, it was too sultry for that, and they chose to put on bathing suits and take a second dip to cool off. The boys had their bathing suits, too, and the party had twenty minutes of fun in the lake, with Mrs. Morse sitting on a rock in the shade and enjoying the pranks.
Lil’s bathing suit was very resplendent, and so was Purt’s. They were so much better dressed than anybody else that Bobby declared she was ashamed to be seen in their company—so she dove under the water.
The cut-up had the power of remaining beneath the surface a long time, and she crawled on the bottom to where Lil and Purt stood, waist deep in the water, without being observed.
Suddenly Purt yelled, dropped Lil’s hand, and 129 grabbed at the calf of his right leg. “A crab’s got me!” he bawled.
“A crab in fresh water?” jeered Billy Long. “That’s a new one!”
“It’s one of those horrid snapping turtles!” shrieked Lil, and started for the shore. Not quickly enough, however, to escape Bobby’s thumb and finger.
“It’s that horrid Bobby Hargrew!” gasped Lil, seeing the black-eyed one shoot up from beneath, and take a long breath.
“Aw, Miss Hargrew!” begged Purt. “Don’t bother us so. It’s weally too bad of you.”
“Then act human!” ejaculated Bobby. “Don’t you two stand around as though you were fashion pictures in the magazines. Duck under and get your hair wet! You’ll both get a sunstroke,” and in passing them she managed to tip Lil right over backward—and that beautiful bathing suit never did look as well after it was all wet!
They had dinner before Lance and Reddy returned from their errand. It had already been agreed that the boys should stay all day at Acorn Island and not return to their own camp until after supper.
Occasionally one of them took a squint at the camp across the lake through a pair of glasses. 130 But nothing disturbed that spot. Their tents were erected in a clearing at the edge of the water, and they knew there was not a human habitation on that side of the lake within five miles.
Elberon Crossing was at the head of Rocky River, but a good half mile from the water and landing, where a “tote-road” went through the Big Woods to the lumber camps farther west.
The Duchess was in sight of the girls’ camp all the way from the landing on the south side of the river. On her return the party watched her approach, which was soon after the noonday meal.
“Hello!” ejaculated Chet, suddenly grabbing up the glasses. “They have a passenger.”
“Who have?” queried Billy Long.
“Lance and Reddy. Crickey! who have we here?” and then Chet began to laugh uproariously.
He tossed the glasses to Short and Long. The latter looked at the motorboat for a moment, and then began to laugh, too. Some of the girls became interested, and they ran for their glasses.
There was a third moving figure in the boat. It sat up forward and seemed to be gazing on the island eagerly. The girls began to giggle as well as Short and Long.
“Hush!” begged Laura. “Don’t say a word.”
Purt and Lil were sitting together in the shade, 131 and paid no attention to what was going on. Almost everybody on the island but themselves realized the identity of the third figure in the Duchess before the boat neared the beach.
Suddenly Purt gasped, and sat up straighter. He glanced all about and a sort of hunted expression came into his face.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Sweet?” demanded Lil, in surprise.
“I—I thought I heard—Yes! I knew I could not be mistaken,” said Purt, in horror.
“What is the matter?” demanded his companion, with some tartness. She did not like mysteries.
“I—I heard a dog bark,” stammered Purt.
“Well! what if you did?”
“But on this—this island. Who—who could have brought the howwid cweature here?”
“Not that dog, Purt!” gasped Lil, suddenly remembering.
There was a hail from the crew of the Duchess. Again the sharp bark of a dog sounded.
Purt leaped to his feet. He glared down upon the approaching motorboat. Then he glanced around helplessly, as though tempted to run.
The Barnacle was fixed on his tail in the bow of the approaching boat, barking for all he was worth! 132
“Hi, Purt!” yelled Lance, standing up in the cockpit of the Duchess and bawling the news. “Here’s your canine friend!”
Purt fairly groaned. Then he got mad and forgetting the girls were present, he blackguarded the jokers in the launch wrathfully.
“Oh, hush-aby! hush-aby, sonny!” begged Bobby. “You wouldn’t do all that to Lance and poor little Reddy—would you really?”
“I’ll get square with them!” stammered the dude, “and I’ll kill that dog.”
“Don’t you bite him,” warned Short and Long, “for if you do right now he will sure have the hydrophobia. Take it easy, Purt—cool and easy.”
But the dude could not. The very sight of that laughing, ragged-coated dog made his blood boil. He hunted a club with which to meet the brute when he landed.
But Lance explained about the Barnacle before the Duchess came close enough for them to land.
“Why, there he was ready to meet us at the Elberon store,” laughed Lance. “I found out that everybody along the Big Woods trails knows the mongrel. He had come up yesterday with a tote-team which was going into the woods.
“He welcomed Reddy and me as if we were his long-lost brothers. But it’s Purt he wants to see—believe me!” 133
“I’ll fix him!” threatened the dude, from the shore, and waving a club.
“Hold on!” begged Lance. “I have a better idea than that. I didn’t bring the Barnacle along to be slaughtered to make a Sweet holiday—no, sir! What do you think about leaving him at the island here with the girls, Chet?”
“Great! he’ll guard the camp,” declared Laura’s brother. “Nobody else will come around to steal grub.”
“That’s a good idee, Mister,” said Liz, from the cook-tent. “The dog is wuth more than any boy to watch for us.”
“Hear that, will you?” demanded Chet. “You girls have one fine suffragette in this Lonesome Liz, as Billy calls her.”
“She’s ripe for battle, when it comes to pitting the ladies against the mere male,” laughed Laura. “We have found that out.”
Against Purt’s objections the Barnacle was allowed to come ashore. And the poor beast did seem so delighted to be among them again that they had not the heart to treat him badly. At least, nobody hated him save Lily and Purt.
Barnacle was fed hugely by Liz Bean, and had to lie down after it and sleep. So he did not disturb Purt during the afternoon.
The girls had agreed to get supper all by themselves. 134 Liz and Mrs. Morse were to have nothing to do with it.
Bobby and Laura made cake. There were chickens to roast—two pairs of them—that Lance had thoughtfully bought of a woman at the Crossing. These were handed over to the tender mercies of Jess and Nell.
Now, Jess was a good cook; she did most of the housework at the Morse cottage. But when they had had chicken, the butcher always cleaned the creature before sending it home.
“My goodness!” sniffed Nell. “What do you know about taking a chicken apart?”
“Not—not much, I am afraid,” admitted Jess, “And here are four of them! Well, we ought to learn a good deal about it by the time we have butchered all four.”
“Ugh! I don’t want to cut into them. And some of their insides are the delicacies of the chicken, while other parts are no good. Do you know one from the other, Jess?”
“I reckon I know the giblets—if I can once get at them,” said Jess.
“Mother and I took our sewing machine to pieces once, and fixed it,” Nellie said, “and that was pretty complicated. But we had a book of instructions––”
“They don’t issue a book of instructions with 135 a roasting chicken,” Jess chuckled. “It’s up to us, I expect––”
Then she called Lance. They had to admit a boy was good for something once in a while. Lance knew all about cleaning and drawing chickens, and he did that part of the work very neatly and with dispatch.
It being such warm weather the girls made dressing enough to stuff only two of the chickens. They got on bravely with their share of the work and were ready to put the chickens in the oven in the big dripping-pan when Laura’s and Bobby’s cakes were done.
Meanwhile Reddy and Short and Long had been very busy with the ice-cream freezer. The boys had brought over a can of milk and a big block of ice from the landing and Mrs. Morse had made the ice-cream. The boys froze it and packed it down in the shade.
Everybody began to get hungry early, for the odors from the cook-tent had been most delicious. As soon as the chickens and the baked potatoes were done, supper was served. Liz, in a clean dress and a clean apron served it.
Everything was fine except the chicken stuffing. There was something just a little queer about that; but what it was nobody seemed able to tell. 136
“I know I seasoned it with that same prepared seasoning of herbs that we use at home,” wailed Jess.
“You must have left something out,” said Nellie, despairingly.
Chet was tasting the dressing critically. “No,” he said, without a smile. “I don’t think you could have done that.”
Jess brightened visibly. “Then it doesn’t taste so bad?” she said, hopefully.
“There’s nothing you could have left out, Jess, that would make it taste like this. It’s something you’ve put in––”
Liz suddenly presented herself at the table shaking a box in her hand. “Was this what you took for seasonin’ for that stuffin’?” she demanded, solemnly.
“Why—yes,” admitted Jess. “That’s the very box I always buy it in at our grocer’s.”
“Yep,” said Liz. “It comes in that. But that’s an old box I’ve had a long time, and there was lic’rish powder in it. I guess ’twon’t hurt none o’ yer; but I wouldn’t eat much o’ that stuffin’.”
“Goodness!” murmured Jess, as the laughter broke out. “I thought that stuff smelt kind of funny when I shook it out of the can.”