“Awful!” exclaimed Douglas. “If we can only get them settled in the cabin before the hullabaloo begins, maybe it won’t seem so bad to them. I just can’t stand it if the camp is going to be too much for father.”
“I’m most sure he will like it, but it’s mother who will be the one to kick,” said Nan. Kicking was not a very elegant way to express what no doubt would be the state of Mrs. Carter’s mind over the rough camp life.
“She’s a-comin’ now!” shouted Bobby. “I kin hear her a-chuggin’ up grade! Listen! This is what she says: ‘Catch a nigger! Catch a nigger! I’m a-comin’! I’m a-comin’!’” and the scion of the Carter family whistled shrilly through his sparse teeth, an accomplishment that had but recently come to him by reason of his loss.
It was the train and on time, which would give the youthful proprietors of the week-end boarding camp time to get their invalid father and dainty mother safely stowed away in the cabin before the onrush of harum-scarum guests should begin.
“Thank heaven!” was the pious ejaculation of the older girls.
Douglas and Helen felt all the qualms and responsibilities that had been theirs on the opening of the camp at the beginning of the summer. It had proved such a success that confidence had come to them, but now that their parents were to join them, although they were very happy at the thought of seeing them, they had grave doubts about the way in which their mother would look upon their venture and about the ability of their father to endure the noise and confusion.
Dr. Wright, who had gone to New York to meet the steamer, got off first, laden with parcels. Then came Mrs. Carter, looking so young and pretty that her daughters felt suddenly very mature. Mr. Carter followed his wife. He also was laden with bandboxes and bundles, while the grinning porter emerged with some difficulty from under a mass of suitcases, steamer rugs and dress boxes. Lewis Somerville extricated him in time for him to jump on the departing train as it made its laborious way up the steep grade, still singing the song that Bobby had declared it sang: “Catch a nigger! Catch a nigger! I’m a-comin’! I’m a-comin’!”
“My girls! My girls!” Mrs. Carter flew from one to the other like a butterfly who cannot tell which flower to light on, but Robert Carter dropped his parcels and enfolded all of them in a mighty embrace. How lean and brown he was! On sight he seemed like his old self to Helen, who was the first to find her way to his eager arms and the last to leave their encircling shelter. A closer scrutiny of his face, however, told her there was still something wrong. His snap and vim were gone. Intelligence shone from his kind blue eyes and his countenance bespoke contentment and happiness, but his old sparkle and alertness were missing. The overworked nerves had lost their elasticity and a certain power that had been a part of Robert Carter was gone forever. It was the power of leading and directing, taking the initiative. There was something very pathetic about it all, just as though a great general had been reduced to the ranks and must ever after serve as a private. What made it sadder was that he seemed content to follow. Someone else must work out the problem of how to keep his expensive family in all the luxuries they had demanded. It was no longer up to him! That was the way his expression impressed Helen. She escaped from the others and ran behind the little station.
“Father! Father!” she sobbed in an agony of love and misery. “He is not well yet! He never will be!”