What happened to Tad

by Mary E. Ropes

Tad sprang to his feet alarmed. The sun was high in the heavens; the hour could not be far from noon. He had almost slept the clock round. Only half awake still, he stared about him with frightened eyes. Where there was a dog there might also be people—people who might have heard his story, and would perhaps recognise him for the hunted young scapegrace who was supposed to have done away with his little half-brother.

Hither and thither, with panic-stricken gaze, peered poor Tad, but no human form was in sight. He walked a few steps further to get a wider view of the shore. Rounding a corner of rock, he spied, in the cleft of a boulder, a gleam of colour. As he came nearer, he saw that the gleam of colour was the corner of a red bandanna kerchief tied round something, in the form of a bundle. But as the boy—cramped and stiff with lying for twelve hours in damp things—stooped painfully to examine the bundle, the dog leaped past him, and lay down by the rock with his forepaws on the knot of the kerchief. Made bold by hunger, and feeling sure the bundle contained food, Tad laid his hand upon it and tried to lift it, but as he did so, the dog growled and showed his teeth. Evidently the animal had been sent to guard the bundle, and the owner of both would be back presently.

By this time the boy was perfectly ravenous with hunger, and ready to do anything for a meal. He did not, however, wish to run the risk of being bitten, and so he at first tried to divert the dog's attention by throwing a stick towards the water for him to fetch. But the sharp little cur saw through his design, and would not budge an inch.

Then Tad took up an ocean cat-o'-nine-tails of tough, leathery seaweed, and tried to frighten the poor little beast away, but it only whined, and crouched still closer to the rock.

Made quite desperate by the little animal's faithful resistance, Tad at last dragged an old shirt out of his satchel, threw the clinging folds over the dog's head and body, tied the sleeves together round the little creature, and rolled it, struggling and snapping vainly, into a long, bolster-like bundle. This he laid down on the sand, with two large stones on the outer folds to keep the dog from extricating itself. Then he snatched up the red kerchief and unknotted it. Oh joy! What a delightful dinner met the glad eyes of the famished lad. Several thick slices of bread and butter, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, part of the heel of a Dutch cheese, and a solid-looking, brown-crusted, seed loaf, together with a tin flask of cold coffee.

Tad's first impulse was to sit right down, then and there, and gorge himself with the food. But fear for his safety mastered even the impulse of his hunger, and he remembered that the owner of the dog and the red bundle would certainly be returning soon.

Looking about him, uncertain what to do for the best, the lad espied a little boat, moored to a rock in shallow water, not very far from the place where he was standing. And the idea occurred to him that he might get to the boat by wading, row off to a little rocky islet about half a mile out to sea, and—

"Then," said he to himself, "I shall be safe, and I'll have time to think what to do next."

Another swift look round to see that no one was coming yet—then the boy ran down the beach, waded into the water, scrambled into a boat, and at once cast off the loop of string which held her to a jutting point of the rock.

The tide had turned, and away slipped the boat on a receding wave, into deeper water. For a few minutes Tad, in his great hunger, was so busy discussing the contents of the red bundle, that he was conscious of nothing else. But, as the first sharp pangs of famine were assuaged, he glanced about him, and seeing that the tide and current were carrying him away from the island, he threw down the remnants of his stolen meal, so as to take up the oars, which he had not thought of before.