The Castaways of Pete's Patch

by Carroll Watson Rankin

  CHAPTER XXVII

  A Visitor for Laddie

  THE campers had barely finished breakfast when Captain Berry's launchchug-chugged into the little harbor; and the girls, still at the table,were laughing so heartily over one of Mr. Saunders' amusing tales thatthey had no suspicion of the launch's presence, at that unusual hour,until Mr. Black's hearty "Hi there, folks! Isn't anybody up?" made themall jump.

  "Oh," breathed Mabel, evidently much relieved. "They didn't put him inprison, after all."

  "I guess I'd better be getting into my own clothes," said Saunders."I'll be going back with Captain Berry, I suppose. I'd _much_ ratherstay."

  "There's no need for you to hurry," returned Mrs. Crane. "Captain Berryalways stops for quite awhile; so finish your breakfast in peace."

  Mr. Black, now plainly visible from the open door of the dining tent,was coming up the path from the beach. Behind him walked anotherperson--a small woman in widow's garb. Her thin, white face worean anxious, strained expression; her blue eyes beamed with eagerexpectancy, her hands twitched.

  As the pair approached all the campers regarded them wonderingly.Suddenly Billy's cup dropped with a crash. In another moment he hadleaped over the bench and was racing down the pathway.

  "Mother!" he cried. "Mother! It's my mother!"

  The little woman, laughing and crying together, was seized by this bigwhirlwind of a boy and hugged until she gasped for mercy.

  "Oh, Laddie Lombard!" she cried. "I--I'm so glad--Oh, do let me cryjust a minute! I thought--oh, _Laddie_!"

  Saunders, with a delicacy that still further endeared him to theadoring girls, silently reached forth a long arm and dropped the tentflap. Mr. Black, his kindly face beaming with sympathy, pushed his wayin; Laddie, rather close to tears himself, led his weeping mother to abench under the trees.

  "Her name," explained Mr. Black, seating himself at the breakfasttable between Bettie and Jean, "is Mrs. Tracy Lombard. She wasn'tin Pittsburg; but a friend of hers saw the notice in the paper andtelegraphed her, and she came as fast as she could."

  "MOTHER!" HE CRIED. "MOTHER! IT'S MY MOTHER!"]

  "Of _course_ she did," breathed Mrs. Crane. "But how did the boy----"

  "Billy--Laddie, I mean--wasn't well this spring. It happened that hewas coming down with typhoid; but his mother didn't know that--thoughtit was overwork in school. Hoping to benefit him by a change ofclimate, Mrs. Lombard, always rather fussy, I imagine, over this oneprecious infant, started West with him, over the Canadian Pacificroute. She had relatives in Seattle or Portland--I've forgotten which.But that part of it doesn't matter.

  "The second day after leaving Pittsburg, Laddie became so alarminglyill that Mrs. Lombard was glad to accept the invitation of afellow-traveler, a motherly, middle-aged woman, who lived in a smallvillage on the north shore of Lake Superior."

  "In Canada?" queried Marjory.

  "Yes," returned Mr. Black. "In, as nearly as I could make out fromMrs. Lombard's description, a very quiet little place across the lakefrom Pete's Patch, if not exactly opposite. But so far away that onewouldn't expect small boats to make the journey. In that village,however, Laddie was seriously ill; because, by this time, he hadpneumonia in addition to typhoid. For weeks he was a very sick boy.Then, when he began to mend, his mother found it difficult to hold himdown, headstrong little rascal that he was, with no father to controlhim--his father died when Laddie was two years old, and I guess the boyhas had his own way most of the time."

  "He isn't a bit spoiled," defended Mrs. Crane. "But go on with yourstory."

  "Long before he was well enough to walk he was begging to be takenon the water--he was always crazy about the water, his mother says;perhaps because most of his ancestors were sailors. On pleasantdays--our spring was unusually mild, you remember--they allowed himto sit on the sunny veranda of Mrs. Brown's cottage, from which thelake, only two hundred feet distant, was plainly visible. At first theymerely rolled him up in a blanket; but for the last three days of hissojourn in that place he had worn his clothes, shoes and all, since itgalled his proud young spirit to be considered an invalid in the sightof the villagers.

  "One day, during the half-hour or so that Mrs. Lombard was busychanging her dress, straightening her son's room, and so forth, Laddiedisappeared."

  "Before he could walk?" demanded Mrs. Crane.

  "No, he was able to go from room to room by that time. You've noticed,haven't you, how quickly he recovers, once he is started? Well, as soonas he was better he disappeared."

  "Where did he go?" asked Bettie. The girls, of course, were all nearlybreathless with interest--no tale told by Saunders had held them soclosely.

  "Nobody knows," returned Mr. Black. "Probably nobody ever _will_ knowprecisely what happened. However, there was a sociable half-breedfisherman, sort of a half-witted chap, who had leaned over the fencealmost daily to talk to the boy. The theory is that he asked Laddieto go out in his boat. The landing was only a short distance away andalmost directly in front of Mrs. Brown's house; but, owing to juttingrocks at the east side of the little bay, one could easily embark andvery speedily get entirely out of sight of any of the houses. Now, thechances are that Laddie, or any other boy, invited by Indian Charlieto go out for a brief sail, would have considered it rather smart toaccept the invitation. Would have thought it a good joke on his mother,perhaps--the best of boys make such mistakes, sometimes.

  "Anyway, Laddie disappeared, and several days later Indian Charliewas found drowned near a rocky point several miles from the village;pieces of timber that _might_ have been part of his boat were picked upafter the storm--that same storm that brought Laddie to us. Moreover,another fisherman remembered noticing a boy with very bright hair inCharlie's boat, which he happened to pass that afternoon a mile or twodown the shore. The wind was pretty fresh that day, and by night it wasblowing a gale.

  "Mrs. Lombard was forced to conclude, when no further word was heard ofLaddie, that her boy had shared poor Charlie's fate--several far moreseaworthy boats were wrecked that night and more than one unfortunatesailor lost his life. But Mrs. Lombard is now blaming herself forgiving up hope so easily, though she did offer a reward, through theCanadian papers, for the finding of Laddie's body; and afterwardsthe Canadian shore was searched quite thoroughly. It didn't occur toanybody that Laddie, probably lashed to the mast by Indian Charlie,probably ill again and possibly delirious, as a result of exposure towind and waves, could have been carried across Lake Superior in sofrail a craft as that poor half-breed's boat. But the wind was in theright direction. How long the boat held together we shall never know.

  "Mrs. Lombard learned afterwards that Indian Charlie was consideredfar too reckless in his handling of sailboats, and that he hadn't anybetter judgment than to take a sick boy out to sea if the boy showedthe faintest inclination to go--and you know how wild that Billy-boy isabout the water. Bless me, Sarah! That poor woman wouldn't wait for anybreakfast----"

  "I'll make some fresh coffee this minute," said Mrs. Crane, "but dosave the rest of the story until I get back."

  "There isn't any more," returned Mr. Black, taking a drink of water,"except that Mrs. Lombard reached town at four o'clock this morning,routed me out at half-past--the advertisement read 'apply to PeterBlack'--and we came here as fast as gasoline could bring us."

  "Then _you_ didn't have any breakfast, either," guessed Mrs. Crane,shrewdly.

  "I suspect I didn't," admitted Mr. Black.

  And then Laddie Billy Blue-eyes, otherwise William Tracy Lombard,introduced his pretty little blond mother to all the campers.

  "I'm remembering things so fast," said he, "that it makes me dizzy.Mother seems to be the missing link that connects me with Pittsburgand everything else. You know I always said that Dave reminded meof somebody? Well, when mother spoke of Indian Charlie, I _knew_.For a moment I could feel a boat heave up and down; and in a flashI saw a dark face something like Dave's, and some rather long, veryblack hair, also like Dave's. I could see the face _two_ ways.
Onceit was laughing, over a fence top. Then it was all twisted up withfright--bending over me and scared blue. And while the face looked likethat, there were hands fumbling about my waist----"

  "As if," queried Bettie, "somebody were tying a life-preserver----"

  "Yes, yes," declared Laddie. "And that dreadful face said things ina dreadful voice; but I couldn't hear--everything whirled and roared.Sometimes there was a horrible going-down feeling. Perhaps, after all,I just dreamed all that, but--but I _think_ it happened."

  "And you don't remember getting into any boat?" asked Mrs. Lombard.

  "No, I don't," replied Laddie, whose always responsive eyes twinkledsuddenly. "But if it were poor Charlie's fault, it wouldn't be politeto remember; if it were mine, I'd rather forget it; but I really don'tremember one thing about those days in Canada, except that face likeDave's."

  "No wonder," said Mrs. Lombard. "You were delirious when we took youoff the train and so hazy when you were sitting up that you didn't knowwhether you were in Oregon or Pittsburg. You'd been _terribly_ sick.The doctor said that your splendid constitution was all that saved you.And to think that you survived that storm----"

  "Pooh!" scoffed Billy, "that boat probably lasted till I was tossedup on this shore. And anyhow, a bath does a fellow good. See how huskyMabel is--she's forever taking 'em. Say! That girl would fall into anink bottle, if you left it uncorked--she just naturally tumbles intothings."

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  Breaking Camp

  "GIRLS," said Mr. Black, when he had finished his delayed breakfast, "Ihave a very sorrowful confession to make. I've got to lose you."

  "Oh, _no_," protested Mrs. Crane, "not so soon."

  "I don't like it myself, Sarah, but all those mothers, grandmothers,and Aunty Janes came and sat around my office and reminded me thattheir precious girls were all going away to school, told me that theschool was _almost_ picked out--they've narrowed down to four--anddragged from me a promise that I just hated to make. As far as I candiscover, they've bought all the cloth in Lakeville, engaged all thedressmakers, and are in a fever to try things on. And I promised----"

  "To send us all home?" guessed Bettie.

  "Yes. A lot of men are coming this afternoon with a tug and a bigflat scow to take the Whale home--I suspect she'll have to go to thefactory for repairs. There'll be room on the scow for us and all ourbelongings besides. But cheer up. We won't need to start until alongtoward night."

  "So this is our last day," mourned Jean.

  "Dear me," sighed Bettie, "we'll _never_ have so splendid a time again."

  "We'll come again next summer," promised Mr. Black, "unless you get soyoung-ladyfied at your boarding school that you won't _want_ to camp."

  "You just wait and see," said Marjory.

  "No danger," declared Henrietta.

  "But," mourned Mabel, "we won't have any Billy Blue-eyes."

  "Perhaps I'll get wrecked again," consoled Laddie, "and you can pick meup some more. But you'll forget all about me before next summer."

  "I will not," contradicted Mabel. "I'm going to write to you."

  "That's good," declared Laddie; "let's _all_ write to each other."

  "Mrs. Lombard," offered Bettie, rather shyly, "we've always wonderedwho Laddie would turn out to be. When he asked for a toothbrush we werequite sure that he was a young duke, or a prince, or--or----"

  "No," laughed Mrs. Lombard, "he isn't even a youthful millionaire. He'sjust a plain boy. We have enough to live on, to be sure; but afterawhile Billy will have to work like any other man for his living. Ihope you're not disappointed."

  "No," said Mabel, magnanimously, "we'd like him, just the same, even ifhe were just a coal-heaver."

  That last day was spent in visiting all the spots that were dear to theyoung campers and in showing many of them to Mrs. Lombard, who proveda very pleasant little woman, even if she did cling rather tightly toLaddie when he suggested going out in the boat for a pail of water.

  "Well," laughed Billy, "I can just as easily _walk_ out, if youconsider that safer; but it's rather drier to go by boat."

  Dave, of course, had to hear all about Billy Blue-eyes' experience.

  "Ah'm have som' brudder Charlie wan tam'," remarked Dave, thoughtfully."Ah'm scare for go out on som' boat wit' dose fellow maself, w'en Ah'mleeve hon Canadaw."

  "Do you think he _was_ your brother?" pursued Laddie.

  "Ah don't know," returned Dave, who evidently was not greatly concernedby the news of a possible relative's death. "Me, Ah'm got eight-ninebrodder som' plass. Not moch good hon herself, dose brodder, hey?"

  But when Dave learned that the campers were about to depart forLakeville he was far more distressed.

  "Me, Ah'm find eet lonesom' widout dose Jean, dose Margy, dose Mabelle,dose petite Bet_tee_, dose good Mees Crane, dose good Pete Black, dosefine Bil_lee_--maybe dose good dinnaire, too."

  Even numerous gifts of food, clothing, and cooking utensils; even thebestowal of Terrible Tim and Anthony Fitz-Hubert (the kitten was nowso wild that only the half-breed could catch him) did not serve toraise Dave's drooping spirits. Although he assisted in breaking camp,it was easy to see that he hated the task. He sighed heavily as eachtent fell.

  The campers, already looking far ahead, as happy children always do,toward new scenes and new experiences, trooped merrily aboard the bigscow just at sunset that evening, eager for the picnic supper that wasto be eaten on the deck of the safe, clumsy craft; eager, too, thoughthey did not realize it, for a sight of home.

  The evening was peaceful, the pale lake calm and softly tinted likea big shining opal. The homeward trip, with so much to relate at theend of it to the dear home people, promised so much enjoyment that noactual tears were shed as the tug began slowly to move her heavy burdenseaward. Still, the backward glances were sufficiently regretful; forPete's Patch was not a spot to be lightly deserted, and never hadthe place seemed more beautiful than it appeared now from the slowlydeparting boat.

  Dave stood alone on the bank, for his sister was already eagerlyexamining the ample store of provisions left for their use. For as longas they could see him, the girls waved to the solitary watcher. Butlong after that Dave strained his eyes after the boat that was carryingaway the dearest friends that he had ever known.

  "Ah'm lak' dose peop'," said Dave, with a catch in his throat, as heturned away at last. "Ver' moch, Ah'm lak' dose good peop'. Me, Ah'mgood frien' to hall dose; until Ah'm go for die hon maself."

  At nine o'clock that night the castaways landed safely in Lakeville,and the picnic that had lasted for weeks instead of hours and proved somuch more than a mere picnic was at an end.

  THE END

  * * * * *

  Transcriber's Notes:

  Page 140, "sprinling" changed to "sprinkling" (a generous sprinkling)

  Page 141, "beween" changed "between" (stuck out between the loops)

  Page 171, "half-breeed" changed to "half-breed" (The half-breed had)

  Page 199, "is" changed to "it" (But it _is_)

  Page 238, "Ofter" changed "Often" (Often, when glancing)

  Page 241, "namd" changed to "named" (young woman named Miss)