Carol and Jean almost forgot their drenched plight in the interest of seeing Camp Hurricane, as the boy who had rescued them headed the canoe for the Hamiltons’ landing. Kneeling on the dock was a lad, whom they guessed to be Jack Hamilton, busy giving an overturned skiff a fresh coat of blue paint. Jack’s father, they knew, was a clergyman; and high up the slope, above a dot of a bungalow, they saw the tiny chapel where Cecily had told them that her uncle held service during the summer. In contrast to the chapel the white tent near by, with “Old Glory” flying over it, lent a military air to the place, and it looked as if a cavalry manoeuver were going on in the clearing fenced off from the rest of the grounds. Trotting briskly down the enclosure came a fine black horse, a tall young fellow holding his halter and running beside the spirited creature.
“Oh, what a beauty!” exclaimed Jean. Then she gave a cry of delight, for, grasping the horse’s mane, the athletic six-footer had vaulted lightly onto his back.
“He must belong to a cavalry troop—or a circus!” cried Carol.
“You’d think so, to see him!” said their new friend. “There isn’t anything he can’t do with horses! He broke Cyclone, himself. That’s Court,” he added. “He’s the older son. He’s a senior at Yale.” Then he called to the boat-painter, “Hello, Jack!”
The boy turned, saw the canoe-load, and sprang to his feet. “Hello, Douglas!” he called back.
“Say, Jack, these young ladies have been capsized, and they’ve got to get some dry things. Can your mother help them out?”
“Surely! Come right up,” said Jack cordially. He was a sturdy fellow about fifteen, with a pleasant, sunburned face.
“We’re from Mrs. Brook’s camp, and we’ve had the most ridiculous upset,” laughed Carol, as the canoe touched the dock. “But we hate to trouble Mrs. Hamilton. If she could let us have some wraps—we’re slightly cool!”
“Oh, Mother’ll fix you up—she loves to take care of people!” Jack hauled in the canoe. “Say, Court!” he shouted, “here’s a ducking accident!”
His brother, now riding Black Cyclone bareback, had caught a glimpse of the visitors, and had already slackened his pace. At Jack’s call he dismounted, knotted the halter-rope around the horse’s neck, turned him loose, and jumped the fence. Without stopping, he snatched up his coat which lay on the grass, and came down to the dock at a double quick, slipping on the coat as he ran, preceded by a rough Irish terrier and an extremely loose-jointed and clumsy St. Bernard puppy, both dogs barking a turbulent welcome. He collared the obstreperous puppy, as he joined the girls, while Jack arrested the terrier.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Have you had a spill?”
“I should think we had!” said Carol. “But we’ve been heroically rescued and our rescuer insisted on bringing us in here.”
“He brought you to the right port,” said Court heartily. “I’m sorry you’ve had an upset, but I’m glad you came straight to us. Come up to the bungalow. Are you staying with the Brooks?”
“Yes, we are,” answered Carol, “and so, as we’ve succeeded in almost drowning ourselves by way of celebrating our first day here, we thought the Hamiltons might take pity on us.”
“The Hamiltons are delighted to. We’re a regular Red Cross hospital. Go ahead, Jack, and tell Mother to get ready for us.” Jack ran on and his brother escorted the girls up the long steep slope.
“That darling horse,—just see him!” cried Jean. “He looks as if he wanted to jump the fence and come to us.”
“He tries to squeeze into the bungalow sometimes. He follows me around like a dog,” said Court. “I must apologize for the hurricane-like way I came down to you just now,” he added with a laugh. “I’m afraid you thought there was a Wild West show going on up there.”
“Oh, we enjoyed it immensely,” said Carol. “I never saw any one but a cavalryman mount the way you did!”
“I was just having a little fun with Cyclone,” said the young man modestly. “I broke him last summer, and he’s having a post-graduate course this year.”
“Is he named Cyclone because he lives at Hurricane?” asked Jean.
“Yes. We’ve had him since he was a colt,—he’s a three-year-old. He came from a stock farm up here—the owner’s a grouchy old chap, but Father won his heart going to see him when he had a close call from pneumonia once, and he gave us one of his colts in return.”
“He’s perfectly magnificent!” exclaimed Carol enthusiastically. “You’ll have to introduce him to us before we go home. We love horses, don’t we, Jean?”
“Yes, indeed,—and dogs, too,” said Jean, who was petting the puppy and the terrier by turns. “What are the dogs named?”
“This one’s Blarney,” said Court. “He’s a paddy, and he knows how to blarney, too, when he has a point to gain. And we call that fellow Blunder, because he’s constantly mistaking our best shoes for dog-biscuit.”
They had nearly reached the bungalow; beyond it was the chapel, and they saw a sunny-haired young girl mounted on a ladder, training honeysuckle vines to clamber around its one stained-glass window.
“There’s my sister Rose,” said Court. “Rose, come here!”
Rose turned her head, and seeing visitors, descended nimbly and hurried to meet them. “Why, what has happened? You’ve been upset!” was her greeting. “Come right indoors and get warm. I’m so glad we have a fire going!”
Just then a motherly-looking lady stepped out of the bungalow. “You poor drowned children!” she exclaimed. “Come in and let me take care of you.” She gave a hand to each bedraggled guest, and Carol and Jean found themselves whisked into her bedroom.
“It’s ever so good of you to take us in,” said Carol. “It’s perfectly disgraceful,—two saturated solutions of us coming down on you like this! Please don’t think it’s a sample of the way we’re going to behave this summer!”
“Oh, I know what girls are; they’re as hard to take care of as boys,” said Mrs. Hamilton, laughing.
Before long Rose had fitted both girls out with dresses of her own, and the shipwrecked maidens were sipping hot lemonade and toasting themselves before the blazing pine knots in the bungalow.
When they came out again they found Court waiting to introduce them to Cyclone. The black horse was really a splendid creature. He was full of spirit and fire, but he condescended to show himself as gentle as a zephyr to the two girls who stroked his velvet nose, and held his right fore-hoof when at his master’s word he offered to “shake hands.”
Next Dr. Hamilton came out of his chapel to greet the visitors.
“I’m glad to welcome some of my sister’s guests so early,” said he. “You had a narrow escape, didn’t you? but I’m glad to see you don’t look any the worse for it. Come in and see my little church.”
He led them into the tiny building, which might have been the chapel of the hunter-hermit, Saint Hubert, himself. But in striking contrast to the bare boards of the walls and floor was its beautiful stained-glass window. It showed a young crusader with the red cross on his shield and his sword unsheathed in his hand. He was gazing upward at a beam of pearly light breaking through the clouds, and his face was bright with a look of victory. The morning sun poured through the window, the pearly beam was dazzling, the cross shone ruby red, and the sword gleamed with an almost blinding light.
“He’s finished his fighting, and has conquered, and now he’s going to get his crown—I think he sees it in the heavenly light up there,” thought Jean, and Dr. Hamilton noticed her earnest face.
“That’s a memorial to Cecily’s father,” he said. “Cecily puts fresh flowers in front of it every Sunday.” He told her a little about the noble life of the man in whose memory the crusader shone there, and he glanced from the sword in the window to the silver one on Jean’s badge. “You and Cecily each wear a sword, too, don’t you?” said he. “The sword Caritas on the shield Veritas. I’m sure you’re each going to fight a good fight with that sword and shield, too, and win the victory just as that young crusader has won.”
Jean was too shy to do more than murmur a bashful, “I hope so,” but the crusader with his shining sword had spoken his message, “Go forward,” and the young queen turned away, carrying his memory in her heart.
It was now high time for the runaways to go home, and they went down to the dock where Douglas and Jack were waiting. Court claimed the privilege of paddling both girls back to the camp, but he was obliged to share the honor.
“Douglas,” said Dr. Hamilton, “we’ll postpone your lessons and let you take Miss Lennox home in your canoe.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Douglas.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll upset you?” asked Jean.
“No, because I sha’n’t scare you any more,” replied the boy. “I’m going to leave my rifle here.”
“Douglas wants me to keep it for him,” said Jack. “He says Tony Harrel hooks it when he’s out of the way.”
“Tony’s breaking the game laws, is he?” said his father. “He’ll get himself into trouble. See that the law doesn’t get interested in you, Jack!”
“Your name’s Douglas, isn’t it? What’s your last name?” asked Jean shyly as, the good-byes over, they glided away from the landing.
“Douglas Gordon! My, but that sounds Scotchy! Are you Scotch?”
“Father was.”
“My father’s Scotch too, and my name’s very Scotch—Jean Lennox.”
“That’s pretty,” said Douglas. “You’re from New York, aren’t you?”
“No. Guess where my home is.”
“Scotland?” Douglas suggested.
“No.”
“England? or Ireland?”
“No, indeed! I’m American.”
“Dawson City, Alaska?”
“I should think not! You didn’t ask which America I live in.”
“Why, you don’t mean you’re from South America?”
“Yes, I do,” laughed Jean. “My home’s in Rio Janeiro, just now.”
“Great Cæsar! Brazil!” Douglas looked at her with reverence.
“But I had to come back to the United States to boarding-school,” Jean explained. “Where do you live?”
“Over here, this summer. I used to live at Algonquin, about twenty miles from here. I’ve lived up in the Adirondacks since I was a little chap.”
“How old are you now?”
“Fourteen. I’ll be fifteen next October. Father’ll be home in time for my birthday. He’s coming to New York on business.”
“I’ll be sixteen next Christmas,” said Douglas.
“Does your birthday come on Christmas?” cried Jean. “What fun! You ought to get double presents.”
“My father died last Christmas,” said Douglas quietly.
“Died on Christmas! Your father—and it was your birthday!” Jean’s great blue eyes grew dark with distress, and the sympathy in her face stirred the boy to confidence.
“It was pneumonia,” he said. “He was taken sick while I was away at boarding-school, and I couldn’t get home till just two days before he died. And he didn’t know me—he was out of his head all the time. Only Christmas Day he knew me just a few minutes, and then—he died. He bought that rifle for me for Christmas,” he added. “He talked about it while he was out of his head. Dad and I were great old chums!”
Douglas plunged his paddle into the water and worked with all his strength. Jean watched him sorrowfully, wishing she knew what to say to comfort him, and wondered if he were an only child like herself.
“Have you any brothers and sisters?” she asked anxiously.
“No—haven’t anybody.”
“Oh, dear! You don’t mean your mother’s dead too?”
“Yes, I can hardly remember her. She died before we left the city. Father was a doctor and we used to live in New York, but he came down with lung trouble and had to give up his practice there and come up to the mountains.”
“But you’re not all alone, are you?” asked Jean. “Haven’t you a grandfather or an uncle—or anybody?”
“No, I’m all alone in the world. I’m striking out for myself now. I had to go to work after Father died—that’s why I’m over here. I thought I could get some work at one of the camps. I did, too. I’ve been working for the Clintons at Big Pine Camp, while their man was laid up. I want to earn enough in the summers to pay my board through the winters, and then I can go to High School in Albany.”
“Oh, Douglas, I think that’s perfectly fine of you, to go to work like that! You’re really seeking your fortune, aren’t you?” said Jean.
“That’s about the size of it,” Douglas agreed. “After I’ve been through High School, if I can scrape up the tin, I want to study engineering and go out West as a mining engineer.”
“Isn’t Dr. Hamilton giving you lessons?” asked Jean. “I heard him saying something about it.”
“Yes, I lost the whole of last term at school, and he’s coaching me so I can make up what I’ve missed. Tell you what, he’s been good to me!”
“And you’re working at a camp too,” said Jean. “My, but you must be busy!”
“Oh, I’ve lost my place at the Clintons’. Their man came back yesterday.”
“How mean of him! What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know yet. Dr. Hamilton spoke for me up at the Inn, but they told me to-day they didn’t want me.”
A bright, eager look come into Jean’s face. “Here’s a chance to use my Silver Sword!” thought she. “I know!” she said. “Mrs. Brook says we have to have a boatman for our camp. The man she engaged disappointed. I’m going to ask her to engage you!”
“Oh, thank you!” Douglas stopped paddling in his surprise. “That would be fine! But I don’t believe she’ll take me. She’ll want a man.”
“Oh, no, she won’t!” said Jean confidently. “It’s only to take us out on the lake and look after the boats.”
“Well, I ought to know something about boats,” said Douglas. “I was brought up on a lake.”
“Is that your canoe?” asked Jean.
“It was till a few minutes ago. I brought it over from Algonquin to sell, and I’ve just sold it to Court Hamilton. I’ll never sell my rifle though!”
“Douglas, who’s Tony Harrel, that Jack said kept hooking your rifle?”
“He’s old George Harrel’s son. I’m boarding with them. Poor old Tony, he’ll be quite cut up when he finds my rifle’s gone for keeps!”
“I think it was horrid of him to take it,” said Jean. “Dr. Hamilton said he was breaking the game laws. What did he mean?”
“Killing game out of season. But please don’t say anything about it, will you? I don’t want to get him into trouble.”
“All right, I won’t,” Jean promised, and she had forgotten Tony Harrel long before they reached the Huairarwee dock.
The canoes having put into port, Douglas took his leave and paddled back to his lessons. The girls and Court went up the bank together, and the runaways found that the moment of confession could no longer be delayed, for there were Mrs. Brook and Fräulein Bunsen on the tent veranda.
“Here we are, Auntie! I’ve brought them back safe!” called out Court.
“Why, girls! What does this mean? What have you got on? And how in the world have you and my nephew become acquainted already?” exclaimed Mrs. Brook.
“Meine kinder, at last you come back!” cried Fräulein. “I look for you all over! De girls haff gone to valk, dey could not vait for you. Where haff you been?”
“We’ve been to the bottom of the lake,” said Carol. “Bunnie, dearest, don’t scold us! Cherish us. We might have been swept away from you forever under those seething billows! Mrs. Brook, will you forgive us for playing hooky, and not send us back to-morrow? It was all my fault—I led Jean into the scrape. I ought to have known better.”
“No, it wasn’t her fault one bit,—it was mine! I upset the canoe,” Jean interrupted, and together the delinquents recounted their adventures.
The camp-mother laughed merrily, but she threatened to lay down stringent rules on the subject of canoeing.
“Oh, come now, Auntie!” Court put in coaxingly, “don’t make your camp unpopular. Miss Armstrong’s equal to shooting rapids,—I know she is! If you won’t enact any painful laws, I’ll lend you the canoe I’ve just bought.”
“Court Hamilton! what are you buying another canoe for?” cried Mrs. Brook.
“Oh, well, Douglas Gordon wanted to sell his, and I thought I’d like to help him out.”
“Court! Court!” said his aunt, laughing, “You’ll be bankrupt as usual before the end of the summer.”
“Don’t worry about me, Auntie,—the legacy’s sure,” said Court.
“Whenever Court’s been seized with a fit of charitable mania and given away everything he possesses, it always turns out that his great-aunt, Miss Van Courtlandt, is about to make him her heir,” explained Mrs. Brook. “She’s a very convenient excuse, Court, but you’d better be careful how you talk about her. She’s a very old lady and she may die suddenly and really leave you a legacy, and then think how conscience-stricken you’ll feel!”
“I’ll feel worse if she doesn’t leave me one,” replied Miss Van Courtlandt’s saucy young namesake.
Jean looked up at the frank, manly face and the merry blue eyes, and felt that here was a kindred spirit. Now was a propitious time to plead for her new friend.
“Mrs. Brook, can’t you take Douglas Gordon for your boatman?” she suddenly demanded. “He’s an orphan and his father died last Christmas, and he hasn’t any home, and he has to earn money so he can go to school and be an engineer and go out West, and he’s lost his place, and he knows all about boats,—and won’t you please take him?”
“Poor boy!” said Mrs. Brook, “my brother has told me about him.”
“Oh, Mrs. Brook, couldn’t you take him?” pleaded Carol. “Mr. Hamilton says he’s such a nice boy!”
“I wish you would take him, Auntie,” said Court. “I’m sure he’s all right.”
“My heart does go out to the poor boy,” said Mrs. Brook. “And I don’t know of any one else to hire. But I should have to have a talk with your father first.”
It began to look as if Caritas would win. The walking-party soon returned, and the other battle maids ardently took up the cause of Douglas Gordon; and when Jack came in bringing the mail, he gave his friend an enthusiastic recommendation.
“Now, boys and girls,” said Mrs. Brook, before the brothers went home, “I wish one thing to be understood. We are all one big family party here. Girls, you are my summer daughters, and my nephews are running in and out all the time on some errand or other, so you’ll see plenty of them. I propose that you drop titles; I don’t wish to hear a ‘Mr.’ or a ‘Miss’ all summer. I hope you will take Cecily’s cousins for your cousins, as you have taken me for a ‘mother’.”