With the assistance of the rope and the strong arms at the boat end of it, the visitor was soon on deck, sitting flat and leaning against the railing, as if every ounce of strength had been used in the swim from the shore. Clay’s light showed the stranger to be a boy of not more than fourteen years—a ragged, hungry-looking boy!
“Gee!” the boy panted, after a time, “I reckon I’m all in!”
“What did you do it for?” asked Clay, wondering if the boy really was as hungry as he looked and wondering, too, if he could feed him without waking the sleepers in the cabin.
The boy did not answer the question, but sat looking over the boat, as if trying to search out some familiar feature or face.
“You might be a fish,” Clay said, “the way you come up out of the river at the end of a rope. What do you want?”
The visitor leaned weakly back against the railing and shut his eyes as if too tired to keep them open. Clay watched him curiously for a moment and started for the provision box at the back of the cabin.
“I know what you want, first of all,” he declared, turning and speaking in a low tone. “You want a square meal? What?”
“That’s the answer!” said the other, opening his eyes. “That’s it.”
“Why didn’t you say so, then?” grumbled Clay, hustling to the provision box and bringing out cold baked beans, bread, fried fish, and a huge piece of pie. “Get busy, now!”
The boy needed no second bidding. He stowed away the victuals in a way highly satisfactory to his host, and looked up with a grin on his thin face.