by Quincy Allen
CHAPTER XXX.
BEN'S DISCOVERY.
It is doubtful whether Pine Tree Island, since the days when the redmen had dwelt upon its shores, had heard such a shout as went up fromour boys when they discovered that the visitor was Jock's father. Whenthe lad learned that his mother was at Alexandria Bay, and that sheand his father had come from New York that very day, nothing wouldsatisfy him but to return to the hotel.
Before they departed, Jock's father explained that he had come over tothe camp in the early evening with a boatman, but when he discoveredthat no one was there, he had decided to remain until they returned.As it was now after ten o'clock, he had begun to feel somewhat uneasy;but the fact that all were gone, and that everything about the campseemed to be in good order, had led him to believe that they could bein no danger, at all events, and so he had waited until the time whenhis patience had been amply rewarded.
After the messages from the other homes had been delivered, and Mr.Cope had satisfied himself that all were well, he said, "I think we'dbetter go back to the hotel now, my boy. Your mother will be uneasyabout me, to say nothing of you."
"Do you think it will be safe for Jock to go?" inquired Bob, soberly.
"Safe? Why, yes. Why shouldn't it be safe?"
"Oh, I don't know. We've been living here in primitive style, youknow, and whether Jock will remember how to behave is a question."
"It's time he reviewed his lessons, then," was the reply. "Good night,boys," he added, as he started toward the dock.
The campers followed Jock and his father to the dock, and as they wereabout to put off, Bob called out, "I say, Jock, don't forget to useyour fork when you go into the dining room to-morrow."
"I'll try not to," promised Jock.
"And if I'm not mistaken they have napkins there, too."
"Good night, fellows. I'll see you in the morning," called Jock; andthe skiff soon disappeared in the darkness.
Few words were spoken by the remaining campers that night as theyprepared for bed. Perhaps the presence of Jock's father, and theeagerness of their friend to see his mother, may have produced similarlongings in their own hearts; but if it was so, no one referred tothem, and soon the great pile of logs was sending its ruddy glow overthe shadows of the silent river, and the sounds which came from thetent indicated that any possible feeling of homesickness had atleast been forgotten for the time.
When Bert awoke early in the following morning, he speedily discoveredthat he was alone in the tent. As he dressed himself hastily, and ranforth toward the bank of the river, he discovered the long form of Benpaddling in his canoe not far away, but Bob was nowhere to be seen.
It was such an unusual occurrence for Bob to be awake so early in themorning that the sturdy Bert was at a loss to account for his absence.As a rule, Bob was the last to appear for breakfast, and notinfrequently a dash of cold water had been required to make him fullyaware of the hour; and now to find him gone was, to say the least,surprising.
Ethan and Tom arrived, but still Bob did not appear. Ben came in fromhis daily task, but he, too, had not seen the missing Bob, anddeclared that he had left him sleeping in the tent when he himself haddeparted. The absence certainly was strange, and the boys were justbeginning to feel uneasy as to the missing boy's whereabouts, when thelad in question was seen approaching the camp. But he was coming fromamong the trees, and his eager friends hailed him with the question,--
"Where have you been, Bob?"
"Out taking a peep at the rising sun."
"You've been taking more than that," exclaimed Ben, quickly, as heperceived that Bob's garments were all dripping wet. "You've been inthe water."
"The early dew is heavy here," replied Bob, evasively, as he turned tothe tent to change his clothing.
It was evident that Bob did not intend to disclose the purpose of hisearly rising, and Ben's suspicions were at once aroused. He concludedthat his friend was practising for the race in which he himself was toenter. He did not refer to his surmise, however, and in a few minutesBob came forth and took his seat at the table with his friends.
Soon after breakfast, Jock, accompanied by his father and mother,returned to the camp, and the greeting which Mr. Cope gave his oldschoolfellow, Ethan, was one which warmed the heart of that worthyboatman.
"I thought mebbe ye'd forgotten yer old friends since ye've got sorich," said Ethan, soberly.
"Forgotten them? Why, man, they're the best part of my life. I've apainting of the old red schoolhouse hanging in my dining room, and Inever see it without thinking of the boys and girls who were thereyears ago, and the good times we used to have."
"Got a pictur of it? Ye don't say so!" exclaimed Ethan, in surprise."Well, I never thought nobody'd want a pictur o' that place. It's mostgone to rack an' ruin now. I'm afeard we'll have to fix it up purtyquick or it'll fall down o' itself."
"That's too bad; I should think the district would keep it in repair."
"The deestrict hain't got no money. The only folks hereabouts what hasany money are mostly those who've gone off deown to New York. Seems asif 'most any fool could make money deown there. The' say as how HomerPerkins's boy has gone deown there, an' is a-gettin' a dollar an' ahalf a day the whole year through, an' all he has to do is to drive ahoss car."
Mr. Cope laughed as he replied, "I'm telling you the truth, Ethan,when I say I never worked so hard in my life as I do now. I used topick up stones on the old farm, and haul and chop wood, and get up atfour o'clock in the morning and milk eight or ten cows beforebreakfast, and then carry the milk to the factory, and that was beforethe day's work was supposed to have begun; but all that's as nothingcompared with the way I have to work now."
Ethan was evidently incredulous, and said, "What time do ye get up inthe mornin' now?"
"About eight o'clock."
"And I s'pose ye don't get down to yer store till abeout nine?"
"I usually go down to the office about that time."
"An' when do ye shut up?"
"Anywhere from half-past four to six."
"An' ye call _that_ workin' harder 'n ye did on the old stone hillfarm, do ye?"
"Yes, a good deal harder. It's true I used to get tired and go to bedsome nights feeling as if every bone in my body ached, but I would goto sleep right away and forget it all, and next morning I'd be allready for another day. Now I have to carry my load day and night, andthere is no escape. I have hundreds, yes, thousands, of men dependenton me. When hard times come, and it sometimes seems to me that theycome pretty often, I carry a good many of these men through just forthe sake of their families, and when good times come they seem toforget all about it, and some of them are always ready to maketrouble. There are times, Ethan, when it seems to me my load isheavier than I can bear. I almost never have a day off, and sometimesI long to return to the old farm, and am hungry for its peace andquiet."
"I guess there ain't nuthin' to hinder ye from comin' back if ye wantto," grunted Ethan. "The old place is for sale, an 'twon't cost overtwenty-five or thirty dollars an acre. Ye can stand that much, can'tye? Yer boy here says he guesses ye're worth more 'n five thousanddollars."
Mr. Cope's cheeks flushed slightly, and he glanced reprovingly atJock; but evidently wishing to change the subject, he said, "I fancy,Ethan, that most of the boys and girls who used to go to school withus are gone now."
"Pretty much."
"What's ever become of Hiram Munsell? Hi Munsell we called him."
"Oh, he went out to the state o' Milwaukee. He's got rich too, theysay."
"Went where?"
"The state o' Milwaukee. He's a policeman an' gets a thousan' dollarsa year, or leastwise that's what the report is. You know as much as Ido about whether it's true or not. I hev my doubts, myself. Hi alwayswas one to stretch it pooty good, as you may recommember yerself."
Mr. Cope glanced again reprovingly at the boys, who for some strangereason appeared to be highly delighted at the reference to the"state" to which the wealthy Hi had gone, and said
quickly,--
"Well, Ethan, I want to talk over old times with you some more, and Iwant to go over to the old schoolhouse, too; but I'm to have only aday or two here, and I fancy the boys are more interested in myputting that to good use than they are in our reminiscences, so ifyou're agreed, we'll try the sport for a time. Can you take us fishingnow?"
Ethan responded that he could, and when the two skiffs were made readyit was discovered that Bob was not to go with them. Ben said nothing,though his suspicions were at once aroused, and at first he, too, wasinclined to remain in camp; but Jock's evident disappointment was somarked that he hastily recalled his words, and said that he would go,making one proviso, that he should be permitted to take his canoe withhim.
Mrs. Cope was to remain in the camp, declaring that she wished to lookafter some of the belongings of the boys, which she said were in a"sad state," though just what she meant by the expression she did notexplain, and that she was not in the least afraid of being lonesome.The party soon set forth in the skiffs, from one of which Ben's everpresent canoe was towed, and Ethan directed the way to a spot wherenone of them had as yet been. Mr. Cope apparently was mostenthusiastic of all. Whatever may have been his inability to castaside his pressing problems when he was at home, here certainly theywere not to be found, and he entered into the sport with all the zestof the boys themselves.
Their former successes in no way seemed to interfere with theeagerness of the campers in the present experience, and when at lastEthan and Tom rowed ashore to prepare dinner, they had all had adegree of success which corresponded with their most ardent desires.
After dinner the sport was resumed, but about the middle of theafternoon Ethan rowed his skiff close in to the other, and Mr. Copecalled out: "Boys, we've decided to land over here and go up to theold schoolhouse, which isn't more than a mile and a half from theshore. Jock wants to go; and if you would like to go too, we should beglad to have you. What do you say?"
Ben looked at Bert a moment, and then said, "Thank you, Mr. Cope, Bertwould like to go and so should I, but I ought to go back to the camp."
"Why? What's wrong?" inquired Mr. Cope, quickly.
"There isn't anything wrong, only I've something I ought to do. I wasjust thinking that I would take my canoe and go back, and leave youall here anyway. I didn't want to break up your sport."
"He wants to write a letter, I guess," said Jock. "Well, Bert, youcome along, and let Ben go back if he wants to."
The proposal was agreed to, and Tom was to wait on the shore and guardthe skiff while his companions were gone to visit the scene of Mr.Cope's and Ethan's earlier days. Ben did not wait, but hoisting hislittle sail began to speed over the river in the direction of PineTree Island.
What the urgent duty was which had induced him to depart from hiscompanions became apparent when he approached within a half mile ofthe camp. He then lowered his sail and carefully scanned the riverbefore him.
Apparently satisfied with the inspection, he took his paddle andbegan to send the light canoe swiftly over the water, but instead ofmaking his way to the dock he paddled around to the opposite side ofthe island.
There he landed, and lifting his canoe, bore it up the shore andcarefully concealed it among the bushes. Satisfied that he had notbeen seen, he cautiously made his way toward the shore of a shelteredbay not far away. As soon as he had arrived at a place from which thewaters of the bay could be seen, he halted for a moment and peeredcautiously about him.
Evidently not satisfied with what he saw, he began to advance again,stepping carefully from tree to tree, and at last arrived at asheltered spot from which he could see both the shore and bay.Instantly he was deeply interested in something he there discovered,for he peered farther out from behind the tree, and watched Bob, whonow could be seen near the shore.
"The rascal! He thought he'd fool us all," muttered Ben, as he watchedhis friend, who plainly was unaware that his actions were observed.
"What's that he's doing?" he suddenly added. "If that doesn't beatanything I ever saw before!"
So interested was Ben that he remained in the secluded spot for morethan an hour, watching the movements of Bob, who was in sight all thetime. Occasionally the watching Ben almost laughed aloud, andfrequently uttered exclamations expressive of his astonishment orpleasure,--any one who might have heard him could hardly have toldwhich,--but at last he retraced his way through the woods to the spotwhere he had left his canoe.
Speedily embarking, he paddled back around the island, and soonafterward approached the dock; and the first person he discerned therewas Bob himself, seated on the edge and lazily swinging his feet outover the water.
