But the splendid noon dinner that hungry Aunty Jane had expected to devour was still nearly a mile from shore in Captain Berry's launch, and the other launch-man couldn't go after it; because, having incautiously ventured too near shore, he was now engaged in half-hearted attempts to dislodge his stranded craft from a troublesome sand bar. He declined all offers of assistance, saying that Captain Berry, whose engine would surely work sometime, could easily tow him into deeper water—he wasn't goin' to work hisself to death for nobody, no, not he.
As nobody wanted to row a mile or more and then back again with a load of heavy baskets, nobody did; so Mrs. Crane did the best she could with what she had; but the camp-cooked dinner did not appeal to Aunty Jane, who refused to eat venison that Dave had touched and had no appetite for plain beans, boiled potatoes, and cindery johnny-cake. Altogether, poor Aunty Jane, who was never very pleasant, was in her unhappiest mood.
"You see," apologized Mrs. Crane, "our provisions are pretty low; we haven't a very large supply of cups and plates, and of course you haven't been here long enough to acquire an appetite for camp fare. Let me give you a piece of this trout, Miss Higgins."
"No, thank you," was Aunty Jane's frigid reply. "I never eat fish."
"These beans," assured Mrs. Slater, politely, "are very nice indeed."
"And I'm sure," said Doctor Bennett, "this is excellent coffee, even if I do have to drink from a cocoa can."
But Aunty Jane scorned them both.
"Tell us," urged Mr. Black, "about that boy of ours. What do you think of him?"
"Why," replied the merry doctor, "the lad's all right, considering what he's been through. But, judging from his extreme thinness, being shipwrecked is only a small part of his unhappy experience."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Mapes, uneasily.