"Do you think he was your brother?" pursued Laddie.
"Ah don't know," returned Dave, who evidently was not greatly concerned by the news of a possible relative's death. "Me, Ah'm got eight-nine brodder som' plass. Not moch good hon herself, dose brodder, hey?"
But when Dave learned that the campers were about to depart for Lakeville he was far more distressed.
"Me, Ah'm find eet lonesom' widout dose Jean, dose Margy, dose Mabelle, dose petite Bettee, dose good Mees Crane, dose good Pete Black, dose fine Billee—maybe dose good dinnaire, too."
Even numerous gifts of food, clothing, and cooking utensils; even the bestowal of Terrible Tim and Anthony Fitz-Hubert (the kitten was now so wild that only the half-breed could catch him) did not serve to raise Dave's drooping spirits. Although he assisted in breaking camp, it was easy to see that he hated the task. He sighed heavily as each tent fell.
The campers, already looking far ahead, as happy children always do, toward new scenes and new experiences, trooped merrily aboard the big scow just at sunset that evening, eager for the picnic supper that was to be eaten on the deck of the safe, clumsy craft; eager, too, though they did not realize it, for a sight of home.
The evening was peaceful, the pale lake calm and softly tinted like a big shining opal. The homeward trip, with so much to relate at the end of it to the dear home people, promised so much enjoyment that no actual tears were shed as the tug began slowly to move her heavy burden seaward. Still, the backward glances were sufficiently regretful; for Pete's Patch was not a spot to be lightly deserted, and never had the place seemed more beautiful than it appeared now from the slowly departing boat.
Dave stood alone on the bank, for his sister was already eagerly examining the ample store of provisions left for their use. For as long as they could see him, the girls waved to the solitary watcher. But long after that Dave strained his eyes after the boat that was carrying away the dearest friends that he had ever known.
"Ah'm lak' dose peop'," said Dave, with a catch in his throat, as he turned away at last. "Ver' moch, Ah'm lak' dose good peop'. Me, Ah'm good frien' to hall dose; until Ah'm go for die hon maself."