At this moment, Dave—the only person who knew exactly how Terrible Tim happened to land where he did—joined in the search for Marjory.
"Ah'm smell pooty good," asserted crafty Dave, crawling about on all-fours and making an elaborate pretense of sniffing at the sand, "and Ah'm sure dose gal ees mak' som' track for dose boat."
"Hi there!" shouted Mr. Black, from the beach. "Captain says he can't wait a moment longer—other boat's halfway home by now. Or are you going to stay with us, Miss Higgins? There's plenty of room."
"No, I'm not," snapped Aunty Jane, fleeing down the bank. "With your dirty Indians and your flying beasts this is no place for a decent woman."
It is said that one disagreeable person in camp can spoil the very pleasantest party, and the saying must be true, for with Aunty Jane at Pete's Patch nothing had seemed quite right—the luster was gone from everything—even the sky. But, as Captain Berry's delayed launch began the determined chug-chugging that soon carried the little boat into deeper water, everybody on shore breathed a sigh of relief; and overhead, as Henrietta pointed out, laughingly, a tiny patch of gold glimmered among the clouds.
"They say," mused Mr. Black, "that living close to Nature brings out all your traits more strongly."
"Yes, Peter," laughed Mrs. Crane, "I've noticed that you're lazier here than you were in town."
"I was thinking," returned Mr. Black, with dignity, "that folks with sharp tongues and twisted tempers ought never to venture into the woods."
Aunty Jane was a good mile from shore before Dave turned, with his wickedest grin, toward the castaways.
"Come wit' me," he invited. "Ah'm fool dose aunt lady, Ah'm t'ink."