The Castaways of Pete's Patch

by Carroll Watson Rankin

  CHAPTER XIV

  A Missing Messenger

  IT was Thursday when Mabel discovered the boy. Friday morning Dave wasstill missing and the lad was still unconscious.

  "He must have been a pretty tough little chap to start with," declaredMrs. Crane, when all the members of her always-hungry family had beenbountifully served with steaming breakfast food, "or he never wouldhave lasted as long as this with such a fever. I wish Dave was here.He ought to have a doctor; and, if the boy's people live in Lakeville,they'll surely want to know that he's alive."

  "We've been talking about that," said Jean, "and we don't think he _is_a Lakeville boy."

  "You see," explained Marjory, "he must be about twelve or thirteenyears old--somewhere between Mabel's age and Henrietta's. If he'd beenin school one or another of us would have seen him--we're scatteredall over, you know."

  "And I," said Henrietta, "am scattered about in _all_ the grades,because I'm so smart and so stupid in spots."

  "But perhaps," suggested Mr. Black, "this illness has altered hisappearance."

  "It couldn't change his hair," asserted Mabel. "It's a very queercolor."

  "Yes," agreed Mrs. Crane, "it's a most unusual shade--very bright andglistening like ruddy gold. There's a tinge of copper to it and yetit's golden. If only Dave were here----"

  "I could walk to Lakeville myself," began Mr. Black, reflectively,"but----"

  "But you're not going to," protested his sister. "We can't stay herewithout a man. Besides, if anything happened to you on the way down,where should _we_ be?"

  "At Pete's Patch, I suspect," twinkled Mr. Black. "Suppose you givethat boy some hot sponge baths--that may help a little."

  "But, goodness!" objected Mabel, "he must be perfectly soaked withwater--his clothes were drenched."

  "Still," said Mr. Black, "baths are beneficial to fever patients."

  "I've been putting mild mustard plasters on his chest," confessedanxious Mrs. Crane. "I didn't like his breathing--it sounded too muchlike pneumonia yesterday; but it's a bit better to-day. And I'll trythose baths."

  "I haven't much faith in your mustard plasters," asserted Mr. Black,teasingly. "You're too tender-hearted to make one strong enough to doany good."

  "I'm not," retorted Mrs. Crane; "but there's no sense in blisteringfolks."

  "I'm glad there's a really sick person in this camp," said Bettie,"because now, perhaps, I can persuade you to believe that I'm mostas well as ever. I had two long walks yesterday and I feel just fineto-day."

  "Did you sleep well?" queried Mrs. Crane, anxiously. "I declare, withall this excitement, I forgot to ask you."

  "Only five minutes," said Bettie, in a sorrowful tone. "I shut my eyesat eight o'clock last night and when I opened them it was only fiveminutes after eight."

  "Last night?" pursued Mrs. Crane, anxiously.

  "No, this morning," replied Bettie, demurely, "but the clock _said_five minutes, and it didn't _seem_ like any more than that."

  Among the many things that Mrs. Crane had ordered from town was atruly alarming alarm clock. Although it went off faithfully and withastonishing vigor at seven every morning, no one ever heard it afterthe first day except Mrs. Crane. The campers, never very early risers,grew lazier every day--and fatter! Mabel, always exceedingly plump,was now so rotund that Mrs. Crane was obliged to tie loops of twinein all her buttonholes. Bettie's cheeks and the calves of her legswere certainly rounding into new and pleasing curves. Tall Jean wascasting a wider shadow, shapely Henrietta had punched two new holes inher tight leather belt; and it was now possible to pinch the hithertounpinchable Marjory. Their complexions, too, had undergone curiouschanges. Mabel had gained a generous sprinkling of very fine, very darkfreckles. Marjory's blue-white skin was dotted with a limited number ofvery large, pale tan-colored freckles. Henrietta was tinged a rich evenbrown, except where a fine red glowed in her dark cheeks. Most of thetime Jean was a brilliant scarlet; for her tender skin burned easilyand her nose, as Bettie said, was disreputably ragged, for it peeledevery day or two. So did the edges of her ears. As for Bettie, heryellowish pallor was gone and a fine, rose-colored flush now tinged herlips and her cheeks. Her big, dark eyes were brighter and merrier thanthe girls had ever seen them.

  "Another ten days in camp," asserted Mr. Black, pinching Bettie'sfirm cheek, "and you'll all be wearing Mrs. Crane's clothes. Your ownmothers won't know you by the time we're ready to go home."

  "They won't want to," laughed Marjory, "if we all gain as Mabel has.Look at her back!"

  It was really a shockingly untidy back, because bits of Mabel andMabel's underwear stuck out between the loops.

  "She drinks so much water," complained Henrietta, "that my arm justaches from filling her cup."

  "Put the pail beside her," suggested Mr. Black. "Water's the one thingthat can't give out."

  "That reminds me," said Mrs. Crane, "we'll need a lot of things by thetime Dave goes to town again. My list is growing bigger every minute."

  "Like Mabel," breathed Marjory, teasingly.

  "Well," sighed Mabel--and the sigh burst two of her loops--"I shall askfor a very wide sailor-jumper to pull on over my head. The knots inthose loops are pretty bumpy. If I were to sneeze, they'd _all_ go, Iguess."

  Mrs. Crane, of course, appropriated most of the care of the newestcastaway. But the willing girls helped in many ways.

  "They are my feet," said slow-moving, stiff-jointed Mrs. Crane. "Theybring me everything I need and save me hundreds of steps every day.They're all as good as gold, Peter."

  "They're _better_," declared Mr. Black. "I wish they all belonged to_me_--anyway, we'll enjoy 'em while we can."

  Sometimes one or another of the girls was permitted to sit beside thesleeping boy for half an hour, while Mrs. Crane busied herself withthe camp cooking--no one else, the good lady was certain, could planthe meals; but nursing proved rather an uninteresting task, becausethere was really nothing that one could do. The girls found cookingrather more to their taste and were able to relieve Mrs. Crane of manyof her culinary burdens. Jean, however, was the only one who could frythe fine brook trout that Mr. Black sometimes caught in the attractiveriver.

  "They're all right after they're cooked," shuddered Marjory, thatafternoon, when Mr. Black brought in a pretty string of fish, cleanedand ready to fry, "but I _couldn't_ touch a raw one--ugh!"

  "Neither could I," said Henrietta, "but Anthony Fitz-Hubert could--see,he's just crazy for one this minute."

  "Here's one with his name on it," said Mr. Black, presenting the littlecat with a small specimen. "That one is under-sized, so it wouldn'tdo for _us_ to be caught with it; but they couldn't arrest or fineAnthony, because he's too active and too poor. How would you girls liketo try fishing?"

  "We'd like it," responded Henrietta. "Once, when I was very small,I went fishing in Scotland, in a little rushing river; and once, inFrance, a little peasant boy let me hold his rod for a few minutes."

  "Well," promised Mr. Black, "some day I'll take you all fishing. Afteryou've caught a trout or two you won't mind handling them. But just nowI can't afford to be reckless with the bait--we'll get a bigger supplynext time."

  "I've heard it said," laughed Mrs. Crane, "that there's a stingy streakin everybody, if you know just where to look for it; we've found yours,Peter; it's fish-worms."

  "Well, they're mighty scarce in this part of the country. I dug fornearly an hour along the river bank and found only one. I'll send wordto Martin, next time, and have him dig a pailful in our garden."

  "He'll dig up everything else, too," sighed Mrs. Crane, "but nevermind. But that reminds me of Dave. Marjory, I wish you and Henriettawould see if that rascal has slipped in by some back way to his wigwam.I declare I never thought that I'd _want_ to set eyes on that homelyhalf-breed, but I'd give a dollar, this very minute, to see him."

  Mrs. Crane, however, was not called on to part with her dollar. Themessengers returned without Dave.

  "Not a single sign of him," said Henrietta, "an
d we called until allthe little squirrels sat up and scolded us for making such a noise."

  "He's out for venison, I fear," said Mr. Black, who was counting hisseven precious fish-worms. "He has no regard whatever for the gamelaws. I shall give him a good talking to when he returns."

  "You'd better wait," suggested Mrs. Crane, "until after he's been toLakeville."

  "You'd better wait," laughed saucy Henrietta, "until you see him."

  "Anyway," said Mr. Black, "we must all remember to stand between Daveand the game warden, if that officer ever visits Pete's Patch."

  "No really respectable game warden," laughed Henrietta, "would evervisit a camp with a name like that."

  "That's a nice name," championed Mabel. "It's plain and sensible likeMr. Black. I _like_ things that are plain and sort of--homely."

  At this, everybody (including Mr. Black, who might easily have beenmuch homelier than he was) laughed merrily; for Mabel, cheerful littleblunderer, usually managed to give a queer twist to her compliments.

  "Anyhow," said Mabel, rather huffily, "I _meant_ to be polite."

  "You _were_," assured Mr. Black, patting the hunched shoulder, "becauseit's our meaning that counts; and we all know that you meant well."

  "I wonder," queried Jean, "if Dave does?"

  "I fear," returned Mr. Black, "that the workings of that rascal's mindwould be pretty hard to follow--let's see if his boat is in sight."

  But it wasn't, so Mr. Black got the wood and the water that he waspaying Dave to bring and arranged the evening bonfire.

  And the sick boy, in spite of the young campers' impatience to learnhis story, still slept. Mrs. Crane, by this time, was almost sure thathe would never waken.