The Campfire Girls on Ellen's Isle Part 3

"So you could, my dear," admitted Uncle Teddy cheerfully, and returned unruffled to his contemplation of the tossing lake. By and by he took his binoculars and looked intently at a white spot against the dark waters.

"What is it, Uncle Teddy," asked Sahwah, straining her eyes to follow his glance.

"Appears to be a sailboat," said Uncle Teddy, without removing the gla.s.s from his eyes. "They've taken the sail down, but they're having a grand time of it out in those waves. They are being driven toward us. Now I can make out a man and a girl and a boy in the boat. Whew-w! What a blast that was!" A dry branch came hurtling down from some tree on the bluff, landing at their feet.

The next moment Uncle Teddy gave an exclamation. "They're flying distress signals," he said.

At that the girls and boys all sprang to their feet and crowded around Uncle Teddy excitedly. "What shall we do?" they asked.

"We'll take the big launch and go out and bring them in," he answered calmly. "Are you ready, Mr. Evans?"

"Quite so," said Mr. Evans quietly, b.u.t.toning up his coat.

"Oh, let me go along," begged the Captain.

"Let me go, too," cried Sahwah, dancing up and down. "May I, Uncle Teddy? You said I might go out with you some time when the lake was rough."

"Let us all go," cried the Sandwiches.

Uncle Teddy waved them away. "No, no, what are you thinking of?" he said. "I can't have the launch full. Besides, it's too dangerous to go out now. We wouldn't think of going if it were not for those people out there." And as he was Chief there was no murmur at his decision.

As quickly as they could, Uncle Teddy and Mr. Evans got the launch under way, and the watchers on the sh.o.r.e held their breaths as the light boat was dashed about on the waves, now climbing to a dizzy height, now sinking out of sight altogether. The sailing boat was in a sad plight when they reached her, for, in addition to being nearly capsized by every wave, she had sprung a leak and was filling gradually in spite of frantic bailing. The launch arrived just in time and took off the three sailors, landing them safely on sh.o.r.e some fifteen minutes later.

The man was dressed in white outing flannels and looked very distinguished in spite of his windblown appearance. The girl and boy were about thirteen years old and looked just alike. Both were pale and thin and had light hair and light blue eyes.

"This is Judge Dalrymple," said Mr. Evans to the group eagerly waiting on the beach. (They would have guessed that he was at least a judge, anyway; he looked so dignified.) "And these are the twin Dalrymples, Antha and Anthony. Judge, this is my wife and that is Mrs. St. John, and the rest of the folks are the Tribe."

"We are greatly indebted to your husbands for rescuing us," said the judge with a courtly bow to the ladies.

"We are very glad they were able to do it," said Mrs. Evans, "and we welcome you to Ellen's Isle."

The Winnebagos and Sandwiches looked with interest at the twins, Antha and Anthony. Antha was paler and thinner than her brother and her mouth had a peevish droop to it. Both looked chilly and scared out of their wits.

"Weren't you horribly frightened when the boat sprang a leak?" asked Hinpoha.

Anthony immediately swelled out his chest. "No, I wasn't a bit afraid,"

he said grandly. "I'm not a fraidy cat. But _she_ was," he said, pointing to his sister, "she yelled b.l.o.o.d.y murder."

"I didn't either," contradicted Antha. "It was you that yelled the loudest and you know it was. Papa told you to keep still."

"Didn't either," declared Anthony.

"Did, too!" said Antha, stamping her foot. "Didn't he, Papa?" And she interrupted her father right in the midst of his conversation with Mr.

Evans.

"Yes, yes, dear," answered the judge absently, and went on talking.

"There now!" said Antha triumphantly.

"Well, anyway," went on Anthony, "you yelled as loud as you _could_ yell, and I didn't."

Antha promptly burst into tears.

"Cry baby, cry baby," mocked her brother.

Gladys and Hinpoha bore the weeping Antha away to one of the tents and the Sandwich boys took Anthony under their wing. The storm was still increasing and it was plain that the Dalrymples would have to remain for the night.

"And no eggs or milk or bread for supper," wailed Aunt Clara. "And we can't bake anything because the oven won't heat in this wind."

"There's loads of canned spaghetti," said Gladys, investigating the supplies.

It was rather a hop-scotch meal that was served that night in the billowing supper tent, for, besides the bread and milk and eggs, the men had forgotten the canned beans which Aunt Clara had ordered for future use, but which would have helped admirably in this emergency. Then at the last moment they discovered that the sugar was out. But the hearty appet.i.tes of the Tribe were never dismayed at anything, and the spaghetti and unsweetened, black coffee disappeared as if it had been nectar and ambrosia. Judge Dalrymple waved aside Aunt Clara's profuse apologies for the gaps in the menu and ate spaghetti heartily, but Antha picked at hers with a dissatisfied expression and hardly ate a mouthful.

The Winnebagos saw it and were greatly pained because they had nothing better to offer.

"Ho-ho-ho!" scoffed Anthony. "Antha has to eat spaghetti because there isn't anything else. That's a good one on her. She never will eat it at home. Ho-ho-ho!" And he grimaced derisively at her across the table.

Antha laid down her fork and dissolved in tears again.

The judge, interrupted in his tale of the afternoon's experience by the tempest at the other end of the table, turned toward the twins impatiently. "Stop your eternal bickering, you two!" he ordered sharply.

"Then make Anthony stop teasing me!" sniffled Antha.

Just at that moment Gladys, who had been foraging desperately in the "pantry," came forth with a box of crackers and a small jar of jam, which Antha consented to eat in place of the spaghetti.

They retired soon after supper because it was too windy to light a camp fire and it was no fun sitting around in the dark. Antha fell in the path to the tents, b.u.mping her head and skinning her arm, and cried all the while she was being fixed up. Then she was afraid to go into the tent because it might blow down; she was afraid of the dark, of spiders, of everything. The girls were worn out by the time they had her in bed.

"Isn't she a prune?" whispered Sahwah to Hinpoha. "I didn't know a girl could be such a fraidy cat."

"If she cries any more the tent will be flooded," whispered Hinpoha in answer. "I never saw anybody cry so much."

"I don't want to seem inhospitable," breathed Gladys behind her hand, "but I hope they won't have to stay long."

But morning brought no letting up of the wind. The dawn showed the waves rolling as high as on the previous night. Breakfast was the same as supper, spaghetti and black coffee, which Antha again refused to touch, finis.h.i.+ng the crackers and the jam.

Breakfast over they all raced down to see how the beloved war canoe was faring. She was still safe and sound and looked as wonderful as she did the day before. With pride the boys and girls displayed her to the twins.

"Huh," said Anthony disdainfully, "that isn't much of a war canoe. Some boys I know have one twice as big. And theirs has lockers in the ends.

Yours hasn't any lockers, has it?"

They were obliged to admit that the cherished _Nyoda_ carried no lockers.

"You didn't get much of a war canoe, did you?" said Anthony patronizingly.

"We got the best papa could afford," replied Gladys mildly.

"Then I guess you're not very rich, are you?" said Anthony pityingly.

"My papa, he's twice as rich as all of you put together. He's a judge, and my mother has money in her own right and so have I and so has Antha.

And we'll get more yet when my grandfather dies. I could buy a dozen war canoes if I wanted them, but I don't want them. I'm going to have a yacht, a steam yacht, so all I have to do is sit on the deck and tell the captain to hustle and put on more speed. That's the life!"

"It may be the life for you, but not for me," replied the Captain, throwing stones into the water to relieve his feelings.