UP THE CREEK.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
They knew, but the very excitement of it kept them silent, and Quill again gave up the oars to the stranger. He made short work of that stretch of smooth, sunny water, and the Ark's original crew were proud of her. It seemed but a few minutes before she ran almost up on shore in a little cove of the thickly wooded islet.
"Magnificent! Ours by right of discovery. Boys, we must have a fire. You go for loose sticks and things, while I kindle one."
What could they do but shout their loudest, and dart away after supplies of fire-wood?
"He's got some matches," said Quill. "He's lighting a piece of paper. He's kindling some brush."
He was certainly a very remarkable man for two boy-boatmen to meet on a cruise like the one in question, for, even while the bright blaze leaped out through the first black smudge of smoke, he burst into another foreign song.
The stranger was standing by his fire, fanning it with his wide-brimmed straw hat, and his closely trimmed curly head was bare. They could guess that he was not more than twenty, and he was a very handsome young fellow, if his clothes had not been so fine.
"This is great," he muttered to himself. "First piece of genuine out-and-out fun I've had since I got here. Hullo, what's this?"
There had been an unnoticed rustle among the trees and bushes to the right of him.
"Please, sir, we—we—we're—are—are—all drownded."
The words came out all broken to pieces by childish sobs, and there stood a pretty little barefooted girl of eight or nine summers looking up at him. Her rosy face was wet with tears, and the larger share of her dress looked as if it were wet with Pawg Lake water.
"Drowned, my dear? Is that so? Were you drowned?"
"N-n-n-o—no, sir."
"Were any of the rest drowned?"
"N-n-n-o, sir, but Aunt Sally can't make the boat swim, 'cause there's come a hole in it."
"That's awful. Tell Aunt Sally to bring it to me, and I'll mend it."
"She—she can't come. She's lost one of her shoes."
"Is that so? We must go and hunt for that shoe."
"We did hunt, and she got her feet wet. It's in the mud. 'Way down."
"Boys, come on. We've got a shipwreck."
"Hear that, Quill?"
"See that girl, Mort? There's something happened. Come on."
They stopped as they went by to throw their armfuls of sticks and bark on the fire, and then they dashed after their dandy fisherman, who was already following the eager leading of the wet little girl. She was in a desperate hurry, and she led the way almost straight across the islet. This did not contain more than a couple of acres of rocks and trees, and was easy to cross; but there on the northern shore was a scene which both Mort Hopkins and Quill Sanders understood at a glance.
A large, square-nosed, rickety-looking old punt of a boat was pulled part way up on a log at the water's edge, and anybody could see that one of her worn-out bottom boards had fallen away bodily from its proper place.
"There's no sort of float in that thing," said Quill to Mort.
"No, sirree; she's done for."
"One, two, three, four, five, besides my little wet messenger," remarked their grown-up friend. And then he added: "I declare! A young lady!"
They saw him color slightly, too, as a tall, well-dressed, and quite pretty girl of seventeen or near it slowly arose from the rock on which she had been sitting. She did not come forward, and she was blushing, and Quill whispered:
"Mort, where's her other shoe?"
"Lost it, I guess. They're awfully shipwrecked. Let's rescue 'em."
"Hush! Hear that fellow talk. She's telling him all about it."
There was very little to tell. She had taken her sister and niece and some little girls who were visiting them out for a boat ride on Pawg Lake. They all lived near the head of it. The girls danced about. The boat began to leak. She rowed to the islet because it was nearest. She tried to fix the loose board, and it came all the way off. They had been there for hours. Nobody on shore knew where they were.
"How many mothers are anxious?" asked the dandy fisherman.
"Three, and quite a number of aunts and uncles and fathers."
"We must put you ashore at once, then. I really can not doctor that boat. Boys, may I land them in the Ark?"
"Why, that's what we came for," said Quill Sanders, a little vaguely.
"What they came for?" said the young lady, with one foot a trifle behind the other.
"Exactly," said the fisherman. "All the way from I don't know where. I'm only a foremast hand. They are the captains and owners. Will you walk over? No, please, I'll bring the Ark around here."
"Thank you, I wish you would."
"Come on, boys. This is better fun than catching trout."
"Well, it is," said Mort.
"Mister," remarked Quill, "if we all crowd into the Ark, we'll sink her."
"We must look out for that. You and Mort stay here, and I'll row the girls ashore, and come back after you."
"Capital idea! We'll take her right around, and rescue 'em all."
They did so; but just as they were pulling to the beach where the old punt lay, Mort came out of a sort of thoughtful fit, and said, suddenly:
"Guess it won't do, Quill. You and I'll stay and take care of the island, while he puts the girls ashore."
"I don't care. Let him."
The pretty young lady was the first to remark upon the small size of the Ark, and received for reply:
"She's withered a good deal since Noah's time. If you'll take the stern seat, I'll try and stow the rest in. The boys have volunteered to wait here for me."
"We shall crowd your boat."
"Not at all; but there will be no room for them to dance out any of the bottom boards. The passengers must keep still. Is it of any use to fish around for your shoe?"
"No, sir. It's in the mud. I stepped out in a hurry. It came off."
THE SHIPWRECKED PARTY RESCUED BY THE "ARK."
"I see. Yes. Glad you took better care of the other. I'm sorry for that shoe. Now, children—young ladies, I mean—if you don't want another shipwreck, and all to be drowned again, you'll keep still till we get ashore. If any of you wish to speak to me, call me Ham. All the rest of the Ark's original crew have gone somewhere."
Away he pulled, and Quill Sanders and Mort Hopkins sat on the shore and watched him, until the former exclaimed:
"Mort, we might as well save the time. Let's go and eat something."
"It's a big thing, Quill. We'll have an awful time getting home."
The fire was blazing finely, and the two young discoverers found their appetites all they could ask for. They even discussed the propriety of cooking a trout or so, but decided that it would be better to catch some fish for themselves. There were plenty of promising places along shore, but the results astonished them.
"Mort," said Quill, at the end of ten minutes, "did you ever know fish to bite this way?"
"Never. Got another. Here he comes—perch. What's yours?"
"Hurrah! it's a pickerel."
Not a very heavy one, but in he came, and the excitement of that next hour of Pawg Lake fishing made it seem a wonderfully short one.
"Quill," said Mort, "there he comes."
"I knew he'd bring the boat back."
"Of course he would."
There he was in a few minutes more, smiling as ever, and remarking, "Come along, boys; you are both wanted at Ararat."
"Where?" said Quill.
"Where the Ark landed her passengers. Come along. I'm a dove, with no end of olive branch in my mouth."
They gathered their fish, and hurried into the boat, while he explained that the long absence of that shipwrecked young lady and her younger companions had stirred up a tremendous excitement along the shores of Pawg Lake, and that their rescue was no small affair.
"I have been kissed by any number of mothers and aunts, and have had to shake hands with quite a large body of men. You boys must come and take your share."
"Don't you do it, Quill," said Mort. "Let's go right home."
"Yes, mister. I say, give me the oars, and I'll start for the creek."
"Couldn't think of it, my young friends. I gave my word I would bring you ashore."
There was no help for it, and in what seemed to them a terribly short time Quill and Mort were the centre of a crowd of people in a big farm-house. They were compelled to eat again until they could not eat any more; but Quill remarked, in a whisper:
"Glad none of 'em hugged me, Mort. That woman looked like it."
The whole subject of the voyage of discovery came out, and when dinner was over—it was supper too, and almost anything else—and the boys declared they must set out for home, a big man, who owned the farm-house, and was father of the young lady and her sister, and uncle of the wet little girl, got up and said:
"Home? Of course. Come on, boys. I've fixed all that."
So he had; for there was the largest kind of a lumber wagon, with the Ark already in it, and a man holding the horses, ready to start.
"That's our boat," said Quill.
"So it is," said the dandy fisherman. "I'm going with you. It's the first voyage of discovery that ever went home overland, ship and all."
"Quill," whispered Mort just then, "either she's found her shoe, or she had another pair."
The young lady was blushing remarkably all the while they were getting into the wagon, and the fisherman said "good-by" for the crew of the Ark.
When they reached Corry Centre, the driver pulled up in front of the village tavern.
"Here's your trout," said Quill, as their strange friend sprang lightly out.
"Keep 'em—keep 'em. Best day's fun I ever had. I'm coming down to hunt you boys up to-morrow. Good-by. Take care of the Ark."
"Good-by!" they both shouted as they were hurried away. But they had to turn at once and answer the driver's question about where he was to go next.
They were glad enough to get home safe and sound; but even when the Ark was once more floating in Taponican Creek, near the bridge, Quill and Mort had to look hard at her and at each other, and then at the trout and their own strings of Pawg Lake fish, before they could quite make up their minds that they had not been dreaming a good deal that splendid Saturday.