“You shouldn’t have come here, Aggie!” he cried, above the noise of the storm.
“Oh, yes! But you shouldn’t have come up here, Aggie!” he cried, above the noise of the storm. “You’ll be drenched!”
“No, I have on Mr. Howbridge’s raincoat. I made him and Ruthie let me come up here to help you. You certainly need help in this emergency.”
“It’s an emergency all right!” declared Neale. “But we may come out of it safely.”
“Can’t I help you steer?” asked Agnes. “I know how.”
“Yes, you may help. I’m trying to make—”
Neale never finished that sentence. A moment later there was a jar that made him and Agnes stagger, and then the Bluebird ceased to progress under the power of her motor and was again being blown before the fury of the storm.
“What’s the matter? What has happened?” cried Agnes, clinging partly to Neale and partly to the wheel to preserve her balance. “Are we sinking?”
“Oh, no,” he answered. “We either struck something, or the motor has gone bad and stopped. I think it’s the last. I’d better go and see.”
“I’ll take the wheel,” Agnes offered.
“You don’t need to,” said her companion. “She had no steerageway on her; and you might as well keep out of the storm. The rain is fierce!”
Agnes decided to take this advice, since staying on deck now would do no good and Neale was going below.
Neale raced to the motor room, where he found Hank ruefully contemplating the silent engine.
“What’s the matter?” asked Neale. “Is she broken?”
“Busted, or something,” was the answer. “If this was a mule, now, I could argue with it. But I don’t know enough about motors to take any chances. All I know is she was going all right, and then she suddenly laid down on me—stopped dead.”
“Yes, I felt it,” returned Neale. “Well, we’ll have to see what the trouble is.”
Agnes had gone into the main cabin where she found her sisters and Mr. Howbridge. Mrs. MacCall, in a nightcap she had forgotten to remove, was sitting in one corner.
“Oh, the perils o’ the deep! The perils o’ the deep!” she murmured. “The salty seas will snatch us fra the land o’ the livin’!”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Howbridge, for he saw that Dot and Tess were getting frightened by the fear of the Scotch housekeeper’s words. “Lake Macopic isn’t salty, and it isn’t deep. We’ll be all right in a little while. Here’s Agnes back to tell us so,” he added with a smile at his ward. “What of the night, Watchman?” he asked in a bantering tone.
“Well, it isn’t a very pleasant night,” Agnes was forced to admit.
“Why aren’t we moving?” asked Tess. “We were moving and now we have stopped.”
“Neale has gone to see, Tess. He will have things in shape before long,” was Agnes’ not very confident reply.
“Well, we’re nice and snug here,” said Ruth, guessing that something was wrong, and joining forces with Agnes in keeping it from Mrs. MacCall and the younger children. “We are snug and dry here.”
“I think I’ll go and give the sailors a hand,” Mr. Howbridge said. “Ruth, you tell these little teases a story,” he said as he shifted Dot out of his lap and to a couch where he covered her with a blanket.
“I’ll get this wet coat off,” remarked Agnes. “My, but it does rain!” She passed Mr. Howbridge his coat.
Ruth took her place as mistress of the little household of Corner House girls—mother to the three parentless sisters who depended so much on her.
“And now, children, for the story!” she said. “What shall it be about?”
This took the attention of Tess and Dot off their worries, and though the wind still howled and the rain dashed against the windows of the Bluebird, they heeded it not.
Meanwhile Mr. Howbridge had made his way to the motor room where a sound of hammering on iron told him that efforts to make repairs were under way.
“What is it, boys?” he asked as he saw Neale and Hank busy over the motor.
“A wrench was jarred loose and fell into the flywheel pit,” explained Neale. “It stopped the motor suddenly, and until we get it loose we can’t move the machinery. We’re trying to knock it out.”
“Need any help?” asked the lawyer, who had donned an old suit of clothing.
“I think we can manage,” said Neale. “But you might take a look outside and see what’s happening. That is, besides the storm. We can hear that.”
“Yes, it seems to insist on being heard,” agreed the guardian of the girls. “You say the anchor is dragging, Neale?”
“No, it’s gone completely. At the bottom of the lake somewhere. I didn’t have a chance to examine the end of the cable to see if it was cut or not.”
“Cut!” exclaimed the lawyer in surprise.
“Well, it may have been cut by—accident,” went on Neale, with a meaning look which Mr. Howbridge understood.
“I’ll find out,” was the comment, and then the lawyer went out into the rain while Neale and the mule driver resumed their labors to loosen the monkey wrench which was jammed under the flywheel, thus effectually preventing the motor from operating.
Mr. Howbridge made his way along the lower deck until he came to where the anchor cable was made fast to the holding cleat. He pulled up the dripping rope, hand over hand, until he had the end on deck.
A lightning flash served to show him that the end was partly cut and partly frayed through.
“It may have chafed on a sunken rock or been partly cut on the edge of something under water,” thought the lawyer. “At any rate the anchor is gone, and unless I can bend on a spare one we’ve got to drift until they can get the motor going. I wonder if I can find a spare anchor. Captain Leed said nothing about one when he turned the boat over to me.”
Stumbling about the deck in the rain, storm and darkness, the lawyer sought for a possible spare anchor. Meanwhile Ruth kept up the spirits of her two smallest sisters and Mrs. MacCall by gayly telling stories. She was a true “little mother,” and in this instance she well deserved the appellations of both “Martha” and “Minerva.”
Fortunate it was for the Corner House girls that the Bluebird was a staunch craft, broad of beam and stout in her bottom planks. Otherwise she never would have weathered the storm that had her in its grip.
Lake Macopic was subject to these sudden outbursts of the furious elements. It was surrounded by hills, and through the intervening valleys currents of air swept down, lashing the waters into big waves. Sailing craft are more at the mercy of the wind and water than are power boats, but when these last have lost their ability to progress they are in worse plight than the other craft, being less substantial in build.
But the Bluebird was not exactly of either of these types. In fact the craft on which the Corner House girls were voyaging was merely a big scow with a broad, flat bottom and a superstructure made into the semblance of a house on shore—with limitations, of course. It would be practically impossible to tip over the craft. The worst that could happen, and it would be a sufficient disaster, would be that a hole might be stove in the barge-like hull which would fill, and thus sink the boat. And the lake was deep enough in many places to engulf the Bluebird.
Mr. Howbridge realized this as he stumbled about the lower deck, looking for something that would serve as an anchor. He soon came to the conclusion that there was not a spare one on board, for had there been it naturally would have been in plain view to be ready for use in emergencies.
Having made a circuit of the deck, not finding anything that could be used, Mr. Howbridge debated with himself what he had better do next. He stepped into a small storeroom in the stern of the craft above the motor compartment where Neale and Hank were working, and there the lawyer flashed the pocket electric torch he carried. It gave him a view of a heterogeneous collection of articles, and when he saw a heavy piece of iron his eyes lightened.
“This may do for an anchor,” he said. “I’ll fasten it on the rope and heave it overboard.”
But when he tried to move it alone he found it was beyond his strength. He could almost manage it, but a little more strength was needed.
“I’ll have to get Neale or Hank,” mused Mr. Howbridge. “But I hate to ask them to stop. The safety of the Bluebird may depend on how quickly they get the motor started. And yet—”
He heard some one approaching along the lower deck and a moment later a flash of lightning revealed to him Ruth.
“I heard some one in here,” said the Corner House girl, “and I came to see who it was. I thought maybe the door had blown open and was banging.”
“I was looking for an anchor, and I have found one, though I can’t move it alone,” the lawyer said. “But why have you left your sisters?”
“Because Mrs. Mac is telling them a Scotch story. She has managed to interest them, and, at the same time, she is forgetting her own troubles. So I came out. Let me help move the anchor, or whatever it is.”
“Spoken like Martha!” said Mr. Howbridge. “Well, perhaps your added strength will be just what is needed. But you must be careful not to strain yourself,” he added, anxiously.
“I am no baby!” exclaimed Ruth. “I want to help! Where is it?”
Flashing his light again, her guardian showed her, and then, while the wind seemed to howl in fiercer fury, if that were possible, and while the rain beat down like hail-pellets, they managed to drag out on deck the heavy piece of iron, which seemed to be some part of a machine.
The storeroom opened on that side of the deck where the superstructure of the houseboat gave some shelter, and, working in this, Ruth and Mr. Howbridge managed to get the frayed end of the anchor rope attached to the heavy iron.
“Now if we can heave this overboard it may save us from drifting on the rocks until Neale and Hank can get the engine to working again,” said the lawyer.
“We’ll try!” exclaimed Ruth. Her guardian caught a glimpse of her face as the skies flashed forth into flame again. Her lips were parted from her rapid breathing, revealing her white teeth, and even in the stress and fury of the storm Mr. Howbridge could not but admire her. Though no one ever called Ruth Kenway pretty, there was an undeniable charm about her, and that had been greater, her guardian thought, ever since the day of Luke Shepard’s entrance into her life.
“It’s our last hope, and a forlorn one,” Mr. Howbridge said dubiously, looking at their anchor.
Together they managed to drag the heavy piece of iron to the edge of the deck. Then, making sure the rope was fast about the cleat, they heaved the improvised anchor over the side. It fell into Lake Macopic with a great splash.
“What was that?” cried Neale, coming out on deck, followed by Agnes, who had been down watching him work at the engine.
“Our new anchor,” replied the lawyer. “It may serve to hold us if you can’t get the engine to working,” and he explained what he and Ruth had done.
“Good!” exclaimed Neale. “I hope it does hold, for it doesn’t seem as if we were going to get that monkey wrench out in a hurry. I’m looking for a long bar of iron to see if we can use it as a lever.”
“There may be one in the storeroom where we found the anchor,” remarked Ruth.
“I’ll have a look.”
The Bluebird was not living up to her name. Instead of skimming more or less lightly over the surface of the lake she was rolling to and fro in the trough of the waves, which were really high. Now and then the crest of some comber broke over the snub bow of the craft, sending back the spray in a shower that rattled on the front windows of the cabin.
Anxiously the four on deck waited to see the effect of the anchor. If it held, catching on the bottom of the lake, it would mean a partial solution of their troubles. If it dragged—
Neale hastened to the side and looked down at the anchor cable. It was taut, showing that the weight had not slipped off. But the drift of the boat was not checked.
“Why doesn’t it hold?” asked Ruth.
“Is it dragging?” came from the lawyer.
“I don’t believe it is touching bottom,” replied Neale. “I’m afraid the rope is too short. We are moving faster than before.”
Just as he spoke there came a vivid flash of lightning. Involuntarily they all shrank. It seemed as though they were about to be blasted where they stood. And then, as a great crash followed, they trembled with the vibration of its rumble.
The next instant Ruth and Agnes cried simultaneously:
“Look! We’re being blown ashore!”
Neale and Mr. Howbridge peered through the darkness. Another lightning flash showed their peril.
“We’re going to hit the island!” shouted Neale.
A few seconds later the wind blew the Bluebird, beams-on, upon a rocky shore.
The shock of the sudden stop, the tilting of the craft, which was sharply careened to one side, the howl of the wind, the rumble of the thunder, the flash of the lightning, and the dash of the rain—all these combined to make the position of those aboard the Bluebird anything but enviable.
“Are we lost! Oh, are we lost?” cried Mrs. MacCall, rushing out of the cabin. “Ha the seas engulfed us?”
“No, nothing of the sort!” answered Mr. Howbridge. “Please don’t get excited, and go back to the children. We are all right!”
“Yes, I believe we are,” added Neale, as another flash showed what had happened. “At least we are in no danger of sinking now.”
For they had been sent before the fury of the storm straight upon the rocky shore of one of the large islands of Lake Macopic. And there the houseboat came to rest.
As Neale had said, all danger of foundering was passed, and in case of need they could easily escape to substantial land, though it was but an island. But tilted as the Bluebird was, forming a less comfortable abode than formerly, she offered a better place to stay than did the woods of the island, bending as they were now to the fierce wind, and drenched as they were in the pelting rain.
“We’re here for the night, at least,” said Neale, as the continued lightning revealed more fully what had happened. “We shall not drift any more, and though there’s a lot of excitement going on, I guess we can keep dry.”
He and Mr. Howbridge, with Ruth and Agnes, stood out on the open, lower deck, but there was a shelter over their heads and the sides of the house part of the boat kept the rain from them. The storm was coming from the west, and they had been blown on the weather side of the island. The lee shore was on the other side. There they would have been sheltered, but they could not choose their situation.
“We’d better take a turn with a rope around a tree or two,” suggested Hank, as he came up to join the little party. “No use drifting off again.”
“You’re right,” agreed Neale. “And then we can turn in and wait for morning. I only hope—”
“What?” asked Agnes, as he hesitated.
“I hope it clears,” Neale finished. But what he had been going to say was that he hoped no holes would be stove in the hull of the boat.
It was no easy task for him and Hank to get two lines ashore—from bow and stern—and fasten them to trees. But eventually it was accomplished. Then, as if it had worked its worst, the storm appeared to decrease in violence and it was possible to get a little rest.
However, before turning in again, Mrs. MacCall insisted on making a pot of tea for the older folk, while the small children were given some bread and milk. As the berths where Dot and Tess had been sleeping were uncomfortably tilted by the listing of the boat, the little girls were given the places occupied by Ruth and Agnes, who managed to make shift to get some rest in the slanting beds.
“Whew!” exclaimed Neale as he went to his room when all that was possible had been done, “this has been some night!”
As might have been expected, the morning broke clear, warm and sunny, and the only trace of the storm was in the rather high waves of the lake. Before Mrs. MacCall served breakfast Neale, Mr. Howbridge, Agnes and Ruth went ashore, an easy matter, since the Bluebird was stranded, and made an examination. They found their craft so firmly fixed on the rocky shore that help would be needed before she could be floated.
“But how are we going to get help?” asked Ruth.
“Oh, there may be fishermen living on this island,” said Mr. Howbridge. “We’ll make a tour and see.”
“And if there is none,” added Neale, “Hank or I can row over to the next nearest island or to the mainland and bring back some men.”
The Bluebird carried on her afterdeck a small skiff to be used in making trips to and from the craft when she was at anchor out in some stream or lake. This boat would be available for the journey to the mainland or to another island.
An examination showed that the houseboat was not damaged more than superficially, and after a hearty breakfast, Neale and Mr. Howbridge held a consultation with Ruth and Agnes.
“What we had better do is this,” said the lawyer. “We had better turn our energies in two ways. One toward getting the disabled motor in shape, and the other toward seeking help to put us afloat once more.”
“Hank can work on the motor,” decided Neale. “All it needs is to have the monkey wrench taken out of the pit. In fact the space is so cramped that only one can work to advantage at a time. That will leave me free to go ashore in the boat.”
“Why not try this island first?” asked Ruth. “If there are any fishermen here they could help us get afloat, and it would save time. It is quite a distance to the main shore or even to the next island.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed Neale. “But I don’t mind the row.”
“It is still rough,” put in Agnes, looking over the heaving lake.
“Then I think the best thing to do,” said Mr. Howbridge, “is for some of us to go ashore and see if we can find any men to help us. Three or four of them, with long poles, could pry the Bluebird off the rocks and into the water again.”
“Oh, do let’s go ashore!” cried Agnes, and Tess and Dot, coming up just then, echoed this.
Mrs. MacCall did not care to go, saying she would prepare dinner for them. Hank took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and started to work on the motor, while the others began their island explorations.
The houseboat had been blown on one of the largest bits of wooded land that studded Lake Macopic. In fact it was so large and wild that after half an hour’s walk no sign of habitation or inhabitants had been seen.
“Looks to be deserted,” said Neale. “I guess I’ll have to make the trip to the mainland after all.”
“Perhaps,” agreed the lawyer, while Ruth called to Tess and Dot not to stray too far off in their eagerness to see all there was to be seen in the strange woods. “Well, we are in no special rush, and while our position is not altogether comfortable on board the Bluebird, the relief from the storm is grateful. I wonder—”
“Hark!” suddenly whispered Ruth, holding up a hand to enjoin silence. “I hear voices!”
They all heard them a moment later.
“I guess some one lives here after all,” remarked Mr. Howbridge. “The talk seems to come from just beyond us.”
“Let’s follow this path,” suggested Neale, pointing to a fairly well defined one amid the trees. It skirted the shore, swung down into a little hollow, and then emerged on the bank of a small cove which formed a natural harbor for a small motor boat.
And a motor boat was at that moment in the sheltered cove. All in the party saw it, and they also saw something else. This was a view of two roughly dressed men, who, at the sound of crackling branches and rustling leaves beneath the feet of the explorers, looked up quickly.
“It’s them again! Come on!” quickly cried one of the men, and in an instant they had jumped into the motor boat which was tied to a tree near shore.
It was the work of but a moment for one of them to turn over the flywheel and start the motor. The other cast off, and in less than a minute from the time the Corner House girls and their friends had glimpsed them the two ragged men were on their way in their boat out of the cove.
“Look! Look!” cried Ruth, pointing at them. “They’re the same ones!”
“The men we saw at the lock?” asked Neale.
“Yes, and the men who robbed us—I am almost positive of that!” cried the oldest Corner House girl.
“The rascals!” exclaimed the lawyer. “They’re going to escape us again! Fate seems to be with them! Every time we come upon them they manage to distance us!”
This was what was happening now. The tramps—such they seemed to be, though the possession of a motor boat took them out of the ordinary class—with never a look behind, speeded away.
“How provoking!” cried Agnes. “To think they have our jewelry and we can’t make them give it up.”
“You are not sure they have it,” said Mr. Howbridge, as the motor craft passed out of sight beyond a tree-fringed point.
“I think I am,” said Ruth. “If they are not guilty why do they always hurry away when they see us?”
“Well, Minerva, that is a question I can not answer,” said her guardian, with a smile. “You are a better lawyer than I when it comes to that. Certainly it does look suspicious.”
“Oh, for a motor boat!” sighed Neale. “I’d like to chase those rascals!”
“Yes, it would be interesting to find out why they seem to fear us,” agreed Mr. Howbridge. “But it’s too late, now.”
“I wonder why they came to this island,” mused Ruth. “Do you think they were fishermen?”
“They didn’t have any implements of the trade,” said Mr. Howbridge. “But their presence proves that the island is not altogether uninhabited. Let’s go along, and we may find some one to help get the boat back into the water.”
They resumed their journey, new beauties of nature being revealed at every step. The trees and grass were particularly green after the effective washing of the night before, and there were many wild flowers which the two little girls gathered, with many exclamations of delight.
Turning with the path, the trampers suddenly came to a small clearing amid the trees. It was a little grassy glade, through which flowed a stream of water, doubtless from some hidden spring higher up among the rocks. But what most interested Neale, Agnes, Ruth and the lawyer was a small cabin that stood in the middle of the beautiful green grass.
“There’s a house!” cried Dot. “Look!”
“It’s the start of one, anyhow,” agreed Mr. Howbridge.
“And somebody lives in it,” went on Ruth, as the door of the cabin opened and a heavily bearded man came out, followed by a dog. The dog ran, barking, toward the explorers, but a command from the man brought him back.
“I hope we aren’t trespassing,” said Mr. Howbridge. “We were blown on the island last night, and we’re looking for help to get our houseboat back into the lake.”
“Oh, no, you aren’t trespassing,” the man replied with a smile, showing two rows of white teeth that contrasted strangely with his black beard. “I own part of the island, but not all of it. What sort of boat did you say?”
“Houseboat,” and the lawyer explained the trouble. “Are there men here we can get to help us pole her off the shore?” he asked.
“Well, I guess I and my two boys could give you a hand,” was the slow answer. “They’ve gone over to the mainland with some fish to sell, but they’ll be back around noon.”
“We’ll be glad of their help,” went on the lawyer. “Do you live here all the while?”
“Mostly. I and my boys fish and guide. Lots of men come here in the summer that don’t know where to fish, and we take ’em out.”
“Were those your two sons we saw in a motor boat back there in the cove?” asked Neale, indicating the place where the tramps had been observed. Rather anxiously the bearded man’s answer was awaited.
“What sort of boat was it?” he countered.
Neale described it sufficiently well.
“No, those weren’t my boys,” returned the man, while the dog made friends with the visitors, much to the delight of Dot and Tess. “We haven’t any such boat as that. I don’t know who those fellows could be, though of course many people come to this island.”
“I wish we could find out who those men are,” said Mr. Howbridge. “I have peculiar reasons for wanting to know,” he went on.
“I think they call themselves Klondikers, because they have been, or claim to have been, to the Alaskan Klondike,” said Neale. “Do you happen to know any Klondikers around here?”
Somewhat to the surprise of the boy the answer came promptly:
“Yes, I do. A man named O’Neil.”
“What!” exclaimed Neale, starting forward. “Do you know my father? Where is he? Tell me about him!”
“Well, I don’t know that he’s your father,” went on the black-bearded man. “Though, now I recollect, he did say he had a son and he hoped to see him soon. But this O’Neil lives on one of the islands here in the lake. Or at least he’s been staying there the last week. He bought some fish of me, and he said then he’d been to the Klondike after gold.”
“Did he say he got any?” asked Neale.
The man of the cabin shook his head.
“I wouldn’t say so,” he remarked. “Mr. O’Neil had to borrow money of one of my boys to hire a boat. I guess he’s poorer than the general run. He couldn’t have got any gold in the Klondike.”
At this answer Neale’s heart sank, and a worried suspicion crept into his mind. If his father were poor it might explain something that had been troubling the boy of late. Somehow, all the brightness seemed to go out of the day. Neale’s happy prospects appeared very dim now.
“Poor father!” he murmured to himself.
Suddenly, from the lake behind them came some loud shouts, at which the dog began to bark. Then followed a shot, and the animal raced down the slope toward the water.
“Perhaps these are the men!” exclaimed Ruth to the lawyer.
“What men?” he asked.
“Those tramps—the ones who robbed us in the rain storm that day. If they come here—”
“What’s the matter?” asked the man of the cabin—Aleck Martin he had said his name was. “What seems to be the trouble with the young lady?” And, as he spoke, gazing at Ruth, the barking of the dog and the shouting grew apace.
“She is excited, thinking the rascals about whom we have been inquiring might now make their appearance,” Mr. Howbridge answered.
“Mr. Martin laughed so heartily that his black beard waved up and down like a bush in the wind, and Dot and Tess watched it in fascination.
“Excuse me, friend,” the dweller in the cabin went on, “but I couldn’t help it. Those are my two boys coming back. They always cut up like that. Seems like the quietness of the lake and this island gets on their nerves sometimes, and they have to raise a ruction. No harm in it, not a bit. Jack, the dog, enjoys it as much as they do.”
This was evident a few moments later, for up the slope came two sturdy young men, one carrying a gun, and the dog was frisking about between the two, having the jolliest time imaginable.
“There are my boys!” said Mr. Martin, and he spoke with pride.
“Oh, will you excuse me?” asked Ruth, in some confusion.
“That’s all right—they do look like tramps,” said their father. “But you can’t wear your best clothes fussing around boats and fish and taking parties out. Well, Tom and Henry, any luck?” he asked the newcomers.
“Extra fine, Dad,” answered one, while both of them stared curiously at the visitors.
“That’s good,” went on Mr. Martin. “These folks,” he added, “were blown ashore last night in their houseboat. They want help to get it off.”
“Will you go and look at her, and then we can make a bargain?” interposed Mr. Howbridge.
“Oh, shucks now, friend, we aren’t always out for money, though we make a living by working for summer folks like you,” said Mr. Martin, smiling.
“Is that your boat over there?” asked one of the young men whose name, they learned later, was Tom.
“Yes,” assented Neale, for the fisherman pointed in the direction of the stranded Bluebird, which, however, could not be seen from the cabin.
“We saw her as we came around,” went on Henry. “I wondered what she was doing up on shore, and we intended to have a look after we tied up our craft.”
“Will you be able to help us get her afloat?” asked Ruth, for she rather liked the healthful, manly appearance of the two young men.
“Sure!” assented their father. “This is that O’Neil man’s son,” he went on, speaking to his boys.
“What, O’Neil; the Klondiker?” asked Tom quickly.
“Yes,” assented Neale. “Can you tell me about him? Where is he? How did he make out in Alaska?”
“Well, he’s on an island about ten miles from here,” was the answer of Henry. “As for making out, I don’t believe he did very well in the gold business, to tell you the truth. He doesn’t say much about it, but I guess the other men got most of it.”
“What other men?” asked Neale, and again his heart sank and that terrible suspicion came back to him.
“Oh, a bunch he is in with,” answered Henry Martin. “They all live together in a shack on Cedar Island. Your father hired a boat of us. I trusted him for it, as he said he had no ready cash. But I reckon it’s all right.”
This only served to make Neale more uneasy. He had been hoping against hope that his father would have found at least a competence in the Klondike.
Now it seemed he had not, and, driven by poverty, he might have adopted desperate measures. Nor did Neale like the remarks about his father being in with a “bunch” of men. True, Mr. O’Neil had been in the circus at one time, and they, of necessity, are a class of rough and ready men. But they are honest, Neale reflected. These other men—if the two who had escaped in the motor boat were any samples—were not to be trusted.
So it was with falling spirits that the boy waited for what was to happen next.
Agnes’ quick mind and ready sympathy guessed Neale’s thoughts.
“It will be all right, Neale O’Neil. You know it will. Your father couldn’t go wrong.”
“You’re a pal worth having, Aggie,” he whispered to the girl.
“I would like to see my father,” he said to the lawyer. “Do you think we could go to Cedar Island in the houseboat?”
“Of course we can!” exclaimed Mr. Howbridge. “We’ll go as soon as we can get her afloat.”
“And that won’t take long; she didn’t seem to be in a bad position,” said Tom. “Come on, we’ll go over now,” he went on, nodding to his father and his brother.
“I have an Alice-doll on the boat,” said Dot, taking a sudden liking to Henry.
“You have?” he exclaimed, taking hold of her hand which she thrust confidingly into his. “Well, that’s fine! I wish I had a doll!”
“Do you?” asked Dot, all smiles now. “Well, I have a lot of ’em at home. There’s Muriel and Bonnie Betty and a sailor boy doll, and Nosmo King Kenway, and then I have twins—Ann Eliza and Eliza Ann, and—”
“Eliza Ann isn’t a twin any more—anyway not a good twin,” put in Tess. “Both her legs are off!”
“Oh, that’s too bad!” exclaimed Henry sympathetically.
“And if you want a doll, I can give you one of mine,” proceeded Dot. “Only I don’t want to give you Alice-doll ’cause she’s all I have with me. But if you want Muriel—”
“Muriel has only one eye,” said Tess quickly.
“I think I should love a one-eyed doll!” said the young man, who seemed to know just how to talk to children.
“Then I’ll send her to you!” delightedly offered Dot.
“And I’ll send you one of Almira’s kittens!” said Tess, who did not seem to want her sister to do all the giving.
“Hold on there! Don’t I get anything?” asked Tom, in mock distress.
“Almira’s got a lot of kittens,” said Dot. “Would you like one of them?”
“Well I should say so! If Henry’s going to have a kitten and a doll, I think I ought at least to have a kitten,” he said.
“Well, I’ll send you one,” promised Tess.
And then, with the two children, one in charge of Henry and the other holding Tom’s hand, the trip was made back to where the Bluebird was stranded.
“It won’t be much of a job to get her off,” declared Mr. Martin, when he and his sons had made an expert examination. “Get some long poles, boys, and some blocks, and I think half an hour’s work will do the trick.”
“Oh, shall we be able to move soon?” asked Mrs. MacCall, coming out on deck.
“We hope so,” answered Ruth, as she went on board and told of the visit to the cabin, while Neale hurried to the engine room to see what success Hank had met with. The mule driver had succeeded in getting the monkey wrench out from under the flywheel, and the craft could move under her own power once she was afloat.
“What’s the matter with Neale?” asked Mrs. MacCall, while the men were in the woods getting the poles. “He looks as if all the joy had departed from life.”
“I’m afraid it has, for him,” said Ruth soberly. “It seems that his father is located near here—on Cedar Island—and is poor.”
“Nothing in that to take the joy out of life!” And Mrs. MacCall strode away.
“Well, being poor isn’t anything,” declared Agnes. “Lots of people are poor. We were, before Uncle Peter Stower left us the Corner House.”
“I think Neale fears his father may have had something to do with— Oh, Agnes, I hate to say it, but I think Neale believes his father either robbed us, or knows something about the men who took the jewelry box!”
“But we know it isn’t true!” exclaimed Agnes.
“Anyway, the Klondike trip was a failure.”
“Yes, and I’m so sorry!” exclaimed Agnes. “Couldn’t we help—”
“I think we shall just have to wait,” advised her sister. “We can talk to Mr. Howbridge about it after we find out more. I think they are going to move the boat now.”
This task was undertaken, and to such good advantage did Mr. Martin and his sons work, aided, of course, by Neale, Mr. Howbridge and Hank, that the Bluebird was soon afloat again.
“Now we can go on, and when I get back home I’ll send you a doll and a pussy cat!” offered Dot to Henry.
“And I’ll send you two pussy cats!” Tess said to Tom.
The young men laughed, their father joining in.
“How much do I owe you?” asked the lawyer, when it was certain that the houseboat was afloat, undamaged, and could proceed on her way.
“Not a cent!” was the hearty answer of Mr. Martin. “We always help our neighbors up here, and you were neighbors for a while,” he added with a laugh.
“Well, I’m a thousand times obliged to you,” said the guardian of the Corner House girls. “Our trip might have been spoiled if we couldn’t have gone on, though I must say you have a delightful resting spot in this island.”
“We like it here,” admitted the fisherman, while his sons were looking over the houseboat, which they pronounced “slick.”
Neale seemed to have lost heart and spirit. Dot and Tess, of course, did not notice it so much, as there was plenty to occupy them. But to Ruth and Agnes, as well as to Mr. Howbridge, Neale’s dejection was very evident.
“Is the motor all right?” asked the lawyer of Neale, when the Martins had departed with their dog.
“Yes, she runs all right now.”
“Then we might as well head for Cedar Island,” suggested the lawyer. “The sooner you find your father the better.”
“Yes—I suppose so,” and Neale turned away to hide his sudden emotion.
Once more the Bluebird was under way, moving slowly over the sparkling waters of Lake Macopic. All traces of the storm had vanished.
“Mrs. Mac wants to know if we are going to pass any stores,” said Agnes, coming up on deck when the island on which they had been stranded had been left behind.
“We can run over to the mainland if she wants us to,” the lawyer said. “Is it anything important, Agnes?”
“Only some things to eat.”
“Well, that’s important enough!” he laughed. “We’ll stop at that point over there,” and he indicated one. “From there we can make a straight run to Cedar Island. You won’t mind the delay, will you?” he asked Neale, who was steering.
“Oh, no,” was the indifferent answer. “I guess there’s no hurry.”
They all felt sorry for the lad, but decided nothing could be done. Mr. Howbridge admitted, after Ruth had spoken to him, that matters looked black for Mr. O’Neil, but with his legal wisdom the lawyer said:
“Don’t bring in a verdict of guilty until you have heard all the evidence. It is only fair to suspend judgment. It would be cruel to raise Neale’s hopes, only to dash them again, but I am hoping for the best.”
This comforted Ruth and Agnes a little; though of course Agnes, in her loyalty to Neale, did not allow doubt to enter her mind.
The point for which the boat was headed was a little settlement on the lake shore. It was also the center of a summer colony, and was a lively place just at present, this being the height of the season.
At the point were a number of stores, and it was there the supplies for the Scotch housekeeper could be purchased. Ruth and Agnes had made their selections and the things were being put on board when a number of men were observed coming down the long dock.
One of them wore a nickel badge on the outside of his coat, and seemed to have an air of authority. Neale, who had been below helping Hank store away some supplies of oil and gasoline that had been purchased, came out on deck, and, with the girls and Mr. Howbridge, watched the approach of the men.
“Looks like a constable or sheriff’s officer with a posse,” commented Ruth. “It reminds me of a scene I saw in the movies.”
“It is an officer—I know him,” said Mr. Howbridge in a low voice. “He once worked on a case for me several years ago. That’s Bob Newcomb—quite a character in his way. I wonder if he remembers me.”
This point was settled a moment later, for the officer—he with the nickel badge of authority—looked up and his face lightened when he saw the lawyer.
“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Howbridge!” exclaimed Mr. Newcomb. “Well now, sufferin’ caterpillers, this is providential! Is that your boat?” he asked, halting his force by a wave of his hand.
“I may say I control it,” was the answer. “Why do you ask?”
“’Cause then there won’t be no unfriendly feelin’ if I act in the performance of my duty,” went on the constable, for such he was. “I’ll have to take possession of your craft in the name of the law.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Howbridge, rather sharply. “Is this craft libeled? All bills are paid, and I am in legal possession. I have a bill of sale and this boat is to be delivered to a client of mine—”
“There you go! There you go! Ready to fight at the drop of the hat!” chuckled the constable. “Just like you did before when I worked on that timber land case with you. But there’s no occasion to get roiled up, Mr. Howbridge. I only want to take temporary possession of your boat in the name of the law. All I want to have is a ride for me and my posse. We’re on the business of the law, and you, being a lawyer, know what that means. I call on you, as a good citizen, to aid, as I’ve got a right to do.”
“I recognize that,” said the lawyer, now smiling, and glancing at Ruth and the others to show everything was all right. “But what’s the game?”
“Robbery’s the game!” came the stern answer. “We’re going to round up and close in on a band of tramps, robbers and other criminals! They have a camp on an island, and they’ve been robbin’ hen roosts and doin’ other things in this community until this community has got good and sick of it. Then they called in the law—that’s me and my posse,” he added, waving his hand toward the men back of him. “The citizens called in the law, represented by me, and I am going to chase the rascals out!”
“Very good,” assented Mr. Howbridge. “I’m willing to help, as all good citizens should. But what am I to do? Where do I come in?”
“You’re going to lend us that boat,” said Constable Newcomb. “It’s the only large one handy just now, and we don’t want to lose any time. As soon as I saw you put into the dock I made up my mind I’d commandeer the craft. That’s the proper term, ain’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” assented the lawyer, smiling, “I believe it is. So you want to commandeer the Bluebird.”
“To take me and my posse over to Cedar Island, and there to close in on a bunch of Klondikers!” went on the constable, and Neale, hearing it, gave a startled cry.
“Anybody on board that’s afraid to come may stay at home,” said the constable quickly. “I mean they can get off the boat. But we’ve got to have the craft to get to the island. Now then, Mr. Howbridge, will you help?”
“Certainly. As a matter of law I have to,” answered the lawyer slowly.
“And will you help, and you?” went on the constable, looking in turn at Neale and Hank, who were on deck. “I call upon you in the name of the law.”
“Yes, they’ll help,” said Mr. Howbridge quickly. “Don’t object or say anything,” he added to Neale in a low voice. “Leave everything to me!”
“Fall in! Get on board! We’ll close in on the rascals!” cried the constable, very well pleased that he could issue orders.
Neale’s heart was torn with doubts.
Constable Newcomb and his posse disposed themselves comfortably aboard the Bluebird, and, at a nod from Mr. Howbridge, Neale rang the bell to tell Hank to throw in the gear clutch and start the boat.
The girls, much to Agnes’ dissatisfaction, had been left ashore, since there was likely to be rough work arresting the “Klondikers,” as the constable called the tramps on Cedar Island. Mrs. MacCall stayed with them.
They had disembarked at the point dock and when the boat pulled off went to the hotel there to await the return of their friends.
“Now, Mr. Newcomb, perhaps you can explain what it’s all about,” suggested the lawyer to the constable, when they sat on deck together, near Neale at the steering wheel. The lawyer made the boy a signal to say nothing, but to listen.
“Well, this is what it’s about,” was the answer. “As I told you, a parcel of tramps—Klondikers they call themselves because, I understand, some of ’em have been in Alaska. Anyhow a parcel of tramps are living on Cedar Island. They’ve been robbing right and left, and the folks around here are tired of it. So a complaint was made and I’ve got a lot of warrants to arrest the men.”
“Do you know any of their names?” asked the lawyer.
“No, all the warrants are made out in the name of John Doe. That’s legal, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” assented Mr. Howbridge. “And how many do you expect to arrest?”
“Oh, about half a dozen. Two of ’em have a motor boat, I understand, but they had an accident in the storm last night and can’t navigate. That’s the reason we’re going over there now—they can’t get away!”
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Howbridge. “I fancy, Mr. Newcomb, I may be able to add another complaint to the ones you already have, if two of the men turn out to be the characters we suspect.”
“Why, have they been robbing your hen roost, too?” asked the constable.
“No, but two of my wards, Ruth and Agnes Kenway, were robbed of a box of jewelry just before we started on this trip,” said the lawyer. “Two rough men held them up in a hallway on a rainy morning and snatched a jewel box. The men were tramps—and the day before that two men who called themselves Klondikers had looked at vacant rooms in the house where the robbery occurred. Since then the girls think they have seen the same tramps several times. I hope you can round them up.”
“We’ll get ’em if they’re on Cedar Island!” the constable declared. “Got your guns, boys?” he asked the members of his posse.
Each one had, it seemed, and the nervous tension grew as the island was neared. Hank drove the Bluebird at her best speed, which, of course, was not saying much, for she was not a fast craft. But gradually the objective point came into view.
“It’s just as well not to have too fast a boat,” the constable said. “If the Klondikers saw it coming they might jump in the lake and swim away. They won’t be so suspicious of this.”
“Perhaps not,” the lawyer assented. But he could not help thinking how tragic it would be if it should happen that Neale’s father was among those captured. Neale himself guided the houseboat on her way.
“Put her around into that cove,” Constable Newcomb directed the youth at the wheel, when the island was reached.
Silently the Bluebird floated into a little natural harbor and was made fast to the bank.
“All ashore now, and don’t make any noise,” ordered the officer. “They haven’t spotted us yet, I guess. We may surround ’em and capture ’em without any trouble.”
“Let us hope so,” said Mr. Howbridge. “Have they some sort of house or headquarters?”
“They live in a shack or two,” the constable replied. “It’s in the middle of the island. I’d better lead the way,” he went on, and he placed himself at the head of his men.
“Don’t make any outcry or any explanation if your father is among these men,” said Mr. Howbridge to Neale, as the two walked on behind the posse. This was the first direct reference to the matter the lawyer had made.
“I’ll do whatever you say,” assented Neale listlessly.
“It may all be a mistake,” went on the lawyer sympathetically. “We will not jump at conclusions.”
Hank had been sworn in as a special deputy, and was with the other men who pressed on through the woods after Constable Newcomb.
Suddenly the leader halted, and his men did likewise.
“Something’s up!” called Mr. Howbridge to Neale. They went on a little farther and saw, in a clearing, a small cabin. There was no sign of life about it.
“I guess they’re in there,” said the constable in a low tone to his men. “The motor boat’s at the dock, and so is the rowboat, so they’re on the island. Close in, men!” he suddenly cried.
There was a rush toward the cabin, and Mr. Howbridge and Neale followed. The door was burst in and the constable and his posse entered.
Three men were asleep in rude bunks, and they sat up bleary-eyed and bewildered at the unexpected rush.
“Wot’s matter?” asked one, thickly.
“You’re under arrest!” exclaimed the constable. “In the name of the law I arrest you! I’m the law!” he went on, tapping his nickel shield.
One of the men made a dart for a window, as though to get out, but he was knocked back by a deputy, and in a few seconds all three men were secured.
Neale, who had pressed into the cabin as soon as possible, looked with fast-beating heart into the faces of the three tramps. To his great relief none was his father.
“Now, what’s all this about?” growled one of the men. “What’s the game?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” declared the constable. “Are either of these the men you spoke of?” he asked the lawyer.
“Yes, those two are the ones that several times went off in a hurry in the motor boat,” said Mr. Howbridge. “But I can not identify them as the ones who took the jewelry. Ruth and Agnes Kenway will have to do that.”
As he spoke the two men looked at him. One shook his head and the other exclaimed:
“It’s all up. They got us right!”
“Come on now lively, men!” cried Constable Newcomb. “Search this place, gather up what evidence you can, and we’ll take ’em to jail.”
“Are there any others?” asked Neale, hoping against hope as the men were taken outside the shack and the search was begun.
“I guess we have the main ones, anyhow,” answered Mr. Newcomb. “Oh, look at this bunch of stuff!” he cried, as he threw back the dirty blankets of one of the bunks. “They’ve been robbing right and left.”
It was a heterogeneous collection of articles, and at the sight of one box Mr. Howbridge exclaimed:
“There it is! The jewelry case I gave Miss Ruth! These men were either the thieves or they know something about the robbery. See if anything is left in the box.”
It was quickly opened, and seen to contain a number of rings, pins, and trinkets.
“Well, there’s a good part of it,” the lawyer remarked. “It will need Ruth and Agnes to tell just what is missing.”
Mr. Howbridge and Neale were watching the constable and his men finish the search of the cabin, while others of the posse had taken the prisoners to the boat, when suddenly into the shack came another man, whose well-worn clothing would seem to proclaim him as one of the “Klondikers.”
But at the sight of this man Neale sprang forward, and held out his hands.
“Father!” cried the boy. “Don’t you know me?”
“It’s Neale—my son!” was the gasping exclamation. “How in the world did you get here? I was just about to start for Milton to look you up.”
“Well, I guess, before you do, we’ll look you up a bit, and maybe lock you up, also,” said the constable dryly. “Do you belong to the Klondike bunch?” he asked.
“Well, yes, I might say that I do; or rather that I did.” said Neale’s father, and though the boy gasped in dismay, Mr. O’Neil smiled. “I understand the crowd has been captured,” he added.
“Yes. And you may consider yourself captured also!” snapped out the officer. “Jim, a pair of handcuffs here!”
“One moment!” interposed Mr. Howbridge, with a glance at Neale. “I represent this man, officer. I’ll supply bail for him—”
Mr. O’Neil laughed.
“Thank you,” he said. “Your offer is kind, and I appreciate it. But I shan’t need bail. I believe you received a letter telling you to make this raid, did you not?” he asked the constable.
“I did,” was the answer. “It was that letter which gave us the clue to the robbers. I’d like to meet the man who wrote it. He said he would give evidence against the rascals.”
“Who signed that letter?” asked Neale’s father.
“I have it here. I can show you,” offered Mr. Newcomb. “It was signed by a man named O’Neil,” he added as he produced the document. “He said he’d meet us here, but—”
“Well, he has met you. I’m O’Neil,” broke in the other. “And it was I who gave you the information.”
“Oh, Father!” cried Neale, “then you’re not one of the—”
“I’m not one of the thieves; though I admit my living here among them made it look so,” said Mr. O’Neil. “It is easily explained. One of the men made a fraudulent claim to part of a mine I own in Alaska, and I had to remain in his company until I could disprove his statements. This I have done. The matter is all cleared up, and I concluded it was time to hand the rascals over to the law. So I sent the letter to the authorities, and I’m glad it is all ended.”
“So am I!” cried Neale. “Then you did strike it rich after all?”
“No, not exactly rich, Son. I was pretty lucky, though, and I struck pay dirt in the Klondike. I wrote your Uncle Bill about it, but probably the letters miscarried. I never was much of a letter writer, anyhow. And I never knew until the other day that you were so anxious to find me. I couldn’t have left here anyhow, though, for I had to straighten out my affairs. Now everything is all right. Do you still want to arrest me?” he asked the constable.
“No,” replied Mr. Newcomb. “I reckon you’re a friend of the law and, in consequence, you’re my friend. Now come on, boys, we’ll lock up the other birds.”
Neale walked by the side of his father and it was difficult to say who talked the most. Mr. Howbridge accompanied the constable and from him learned how the raid had been planned through information sent by Mr. O’Neil.
When the party reached the houseboat, whither some of the deputies had preceded with the prisoners, the sight of a figure on the upper deck attracted the attention of Neale and the lawyer.
“Agnes!” gasped her guardian. “How did you get here?”
“On the Bluebird. I just couldn’t bear to be left behind, and so I slipped on board again after you said good-by on the dock. There wasn’t any shooting after all,” she added, as if disappointed.
“No, it was easier than I expected,” admitted the lawyer. “And, while you should not have come, this may interest you!”
“Our jewelry!” cried Agnes as she took the extended box. Quickly she looked over the contents.
“Only two little pins are missing!” she reported. “We shan’t mind the loss of them. Oh, how glad I am to get my things! And mother’s wedding ring, too! How did it happen?”
“I think you have Neale’s father to thank,” answered Mr. Howbridge.
“Oh, I am so glad!” cried Agnes, and she was happy in more ways than one. “What did I tell you, Neale O’Neil?”
The Bluebird made a quick trip back to the point and the rascals were locked up. Two of them proved to be the thieves who had robbed Ruth and Agnes, though their ill-gotten gains did them little good, as they dared not dispose of them. The third prisoner was not involved in that robbery, though he was implicated in others around the lake. Eventually, all three went to prison for long terms.
Neale’s father, of course, was not involved. As he explained, he had located a mine in Alaska and it made him moderately well off. But he had a rascally partner, and it was necessary for Mr. O’Neil to stay with this man until a settlement was made. It was this partner who had dealings with the thieves; and that had made it look bad for Neale’s father. This man was arrested later.
As soon as he saw how matters were on Cedar Island Mr. O’Neil decided to give the evil men over to the law, and he carried out his plan as quickly as possible. The two “Klondikers” who had inquired about rooms from the Stetson family were part of the thieving gang, and they were also later arrested. They were planning a bank robbery in town, and the two men who took the jewelry from Ruth and Agnes were part of the same crowd. The robbery of the girls, of course, was done on the spur of the moment. The two ragged men had merely taken shelter in the doorway, after having called at the Stetson house to get the “lay of the land.” And as such characters are always on the watch to commit some crime they hope may profit them, these two acted on the impulse.
For some reason the bank robbery plans miscarried, and the two jewelry robbers started back for Lake Macopic, where they had left some confederates, including Mr. O’Neil’s partner. The rascals imagined the Corner House girls were following them, hence the several quick departures in the motor boat. Whether one of these men looked in the window of Tess was never learned.
“I’m so glad our suspicions of Hank were unfounded,” said Ruth, when later the events of the day were being talked over in the Bluebird cabin.
“Yes, that ring was his mother’s,” said Neale. “He told me about it after I had hinted that we had been watching him. And, oh, Father, I’m so glad I found you!” he added. “You’re through with the Klondike; aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m going to sell out my mine and go into some other business.”
“Do you mean back to the circus?” asked Mr. Howbridge.
“No. Though I want to see Bill and the others.”
“Why don’t you stay with us and finish the trip on the houseboat, Mr. O’Neil?” Ruth asked.
“Thank you, I will,” he answered, after the others had added their urgings to Ruth’s invitation.
And so, after the somewhat exciting adventures the trip was resumed, and eventually the craft was delivered to her owner.
Before this, however, happy days were spent cruising about Lake Macopic, the children and Mrs. MacCall enjoying life to the utmost. There were days of fishing and days of bathing and splashing in the limpid waters near sandy beaches. Tess and Dot were taught to swim by Neale, and his father made the children laugh by imitating seals he had seen in Alaska.
Hank, too, seemed to enjoy the vacation days, and he proved a valuable helper, forming a great friendship with Mr. O’Neil. During those days Ruth received two more letters from Luke and one from his sister. Luke was still working hard at the summer hotel, and Cecile reported that the sick aunt was now much better. Luke congratulated Neale on finding his father. And then, as was usual, he added a page or two intended only for Ruth’s eyes,—words that made her eyes shine with rare happiness.
“Oh, we had a lovely time!” said Agnes when they disembarked for the last time. “The nicest summer vacation we ever spent.”
“Indeed it was,” agreed Ruth.
“And when I get home I’m going to send Mr. Henry my doll and a kitten so he won’t be lonesome on that island in winter,” observed Dot.
“And I’m going to send Mr. Tom something,” declared Tess. “He likes me, and maybe when I grow up I’ll marry him!”
“Oh, what a child!” laughed Ruth.
“I’m glad you liked the trip,” said the lawyer. “And I think we can agree that it accomplished something,” he added as he looked at Neale and his father.
“It made my Alice-doll a lot better!” piped up Dot, and they all laughed.
And so, in this jolly mood, we will take leave of the Corner House Girls.
THE END
CHARMING STORIES FOR GIRLS
(From eight to twelve years old)
THE CORNER HOUSE GIRLS SERIES
BY GRACE BROOKS HILL
Four girls from eight to fourteen years of age receive word that a rich bachelor uncle has died, leaving them the old Corner House he occupied. They move into it and then the fun begins. What they find and do will provoke many a hearty laugh. Later, they enter school and make many friends. One of these invites the girls to spend a few weeks at a bungalow owned by her parents; and the adventures they meet with make very interesting reading. Clean, wholesome stories of humor and adventure, sure to appeal to all young girls.
1 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS.
2 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS AT SCHOOL.
3 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS UNDER CANVAS.
4 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS IN A PLAY.
5 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS’ ODD FIND.
6 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS ON A TOUR.
7 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS GROWING UP.
8 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS SNOWBOUND.
9 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS ON A HOUSEBOAT.
10 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS AMONG THE GYPSIES.
11 CORNER HOUSE GIRLS ON PALM ISLAND.
BARSE & HOPKINS, PUBLISHERS
Newark N.J.—New York, N.Y.
THE POLLY PENDLETON SERIES
BY DOROTHY WHITEHILL
Polly Pendleton is a resourceful, wide-awake American girl who goes to a boarding school on the Hudson River some miles above New York. By her pluck and resourcefulness, she soon makes a place for herself and this she holds right through the course. The account of boarding school life is faithful and pleasing and will attract every girl in her teens.
1 POLLY’S FIRST YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL
2 POLLY’S SUMMER VACATION
3 POLLY’S SENIOR YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL
4 POLLY SEES THE WORLD AT WAR
5 POLLY AND LOIS
6 POLLY AND BOB
Cloth, Large 12mo., Illustrated.
BARSE & HOPKINS, PUBLISHERS
Newark N.J.—New York, N.Y.
CHICKEN LITTLE JANE SERIES
By LILY MUNSELL RITCHIE
Chicken Little Jane is a Western prairie girl who lives a happy, outdoor life in a country where there is plenty of room to turn around. She is a wide-awake, resourceful girl who will instantly win her way into the hearts of other girls. And what good times she has!—with her pets, her friends, and her many interests. “Chicken Little” is the affectionate nickname given to her when she is very, very good, but when she misbehaves it is “Jane”—just Jane!
Adventures of Chicken Little Jane
Chicken Little Jane on the “Big John”
Chicken Little Jane Comes to Town
With numerous illustrations in pen and ink
By CHARLES D. HUBBARD
BARSE & HOPKINS, PUBLISHERS
NEWARK, N. J.—NEW YORK, N. Y.
Dorothy Whitehill Series For Girls
Here is a sparkling new series of stories for girls—just what they will like, and ask for more of the same kind. It is all about twin sisters, who for the first few years in their lives grow up in ignorance of each other’s existence. Then they are at last brought together and things begin to happen. Janet is an independent go-ahead sort of girl; while her sister Phyllis is—but meet the twins for yourself and be entertained.
6 Titles, Cloth, large 12mo., Covers in color.
1. JANET, A TWIN
2. PHYLLIS, A TWIN
3. THE TWINS IN THE WEST
4. THE TWINS IN THE SOUTH
5. THE TWINS’ SUMMER VACATION
6. THE TWINS AND TOMMY JR.
BARSE & HOPKINS, PUBLISHERS
NEWARK, N. J.—NEW YORK, N. Y.
THE MARY JANE SERIES
BY CLARA INGRAM JUDSON
Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated.
With picture inlay and wrapper.
Mary Jane is the typical American little girl who bubbles over with fun and the good things in life. We meet her here on a visit to her grandfather’s farm where she becomes acquainted with farm life and farm animals and thoroughly enjoys the experience. We next see her going to kindergarten and then on a visit to Florida, and then—but read the stories for yourselves.
Exquisitely and charmingly written are these books which every little girl from five to nine years old will want from the first book to the last.
1 MARY JANE—HER BOOK
2 MARY JANE—HER VISIT
3 MARY JANE’S KINDERGARTEN
4 MARY JANE DOWN SOUTH
5 MARY JANE’S CITY HOME
6 MARY JANE IN NEW ENGLAND
7 MARY JANE’S COUNTY HOME