The Merryweathers Part 19

"Broke our rudder!" was the reply, from a pleasant-looking lad; "must have been cracked before we started. If you could lend us a pair of oars--I was very stupid to come out without a pair--"

At this moment a clear, shrill voice was heard above the noise of wind and water, crying aloud, "My Veezy Vee! my Veezy Vee! It _is_ my Veezy Vee! Don't tell me it isn't, for it simply _is_!"

"_Viola!_" cried Peggy. "Vanity! can it be you?"

"Oh, my dear! I was once, perhaps, but with all my crimps out, how can you have the heart? If ever I get ash.o.r.e alive,--"

"Don't be ridiculous, Viola!" said the lad, in a tone of brotherly tolerance. "You are in no more danger--now--then if you were in bed.

Though I admit it might have been rather fussy if we hadn't met you!" he added, with a meaning look at Phil.

"How far have you to go?" asked Phil. "Buffum's Point? Well, now, look here! that will be a long, hard pull against this wind. You'd much better let us tow you down to our camp, and then you can s.h.i.+p a new rudder, and go home any old time when the wind sets right."

The young man hesitated. "Why--you're awfully good," he said, "but I think we'd better get home--"

"Oh, do, _do_ let us go, Tom!" cried the pretty girl who had waved the handkerchief, and who seemed still, somehow, to be waving everything about her. "No, I won't be quiet! It's my Veezy Vee, I tell you; it's Peggy Montfort, and I am simply expiring to talk to her. Besides, if I am going to be drowned, I want to be drowned with another girl. Oh, Peggy, isn't it dreadful? Do you think we shall ever get home alive?"

Here the wind caught her hat, and in a frantic effort to retain it, she very nearly fell overboard. "There!" she cried. "I told you so, Tommy; I knew I should be drowned."

"I never said you wouldn't," replied her brother, with some heat, "if you play such pranks as that. You simply _must_ sit still, Vi!"

"Oh, it's all very well to say I must sit still, Tommy Vincent. If _you_ had a hat that was the pride of your life, instead of a felt saucepan, perhaps you wouldn't want to have it carried off and drowned before your eyes. My precious hatty!"

"Why, we are all right, Viola," said Peggy. "It is perfectly splendid, I think. Besides, the worst of it is past. Look! the sky is lightening already; the whole thing will be over soon."

"But I am drenched to the skin!" cried poor Viola. "The rain has gone through and wet my poor bones, I know it has; I shall _never_ be dry again, I am convinced, never: there isn't a school-book in the world dry enough to dry me, Peggy, not even Hallam's 'Middle Ages.'"

"Pooh! who cares for a wetting?" said Peggy, shaking herself like a Newfoundland dog. "It only adds to the fun."

"Oh! that's all very well for you, Veezy Vee!" cried poor Viola. "But if _you_ had on a silk waist, you would feel differently, I know you would. And my hat simply _was_ the sweetest thing you ever saw; wasn't it, Tom? Sugar was salt beside it; wasn't it, Tom?"

Tom, who had been holding a consultation with Phil over the broken rudder, answered by a brief, though not unfriendly growl, and paid no further attention to her. The painter of his boat was made fast to the _Petrel's_ stern, and the latter was soon winging her way toward the Camp, towing the disabled boat behind her.

"Aren't you Vincent of 1903?" asked Phil, leaning over the stern, his hand on the tiller and one eye on the clouds. "Thought so! Used to see you about the yard. My name is Merryweather; 1902."

"Glad to know you!" said Tom Vincent. "I thought it must be you; I used to see you rowing, of course. Your brother--"

He was interrupted by excited squeaks from his sister, who was gazing at Phil with sparkling eyes.

"No!" she cried. "It _can't_ be! It would be _too_ delicious! _not_ Merryweather! Don't ask me to believe it, Peggy, for it simply is beyond my powers. _Not_ the Snowy's brother!"

"Yes, indeed!" said Peggy, laughing as she, too, leaned back over the stern. "Let me introduce you; Mr. Philip Merryweather, Miss Viola Vincent."

"Awfully glad!" said Phil, making a motion toward where his hat should have been. "I've often heard my sister speak of you, Miss Vincent."

"Oh! Mr. Merryweather, I _adore_ the Snowy!" cried Viola. "She is simply the dearest creature on the face of the earth. I would give the wide world--I would give my very best frill to see her. Don't tell me she is near here, for I should expire with joy; simply expire!"

"I certainly will not," said Phil, smiling, "if the consequences would really be so terrible, Miss Vincent. Otherwise, I might venture to predict that you would see her in about ten minutes. If you feel any untoward symptoms developing, please consider it unsaid!"

"Oh! Tom, isn't it _too_ thrilling?" cried Viola. "Oh! Tom, aren't you perfectly _rigid_ with excitement? It makes Tom rigid, Mr. Merryweather, and it makes me flutter; we are so different. _Aren't_ you rigid, Tommy?"

"Viola, don't be a goose!" said her brother, good-naturedly. "I am not in the least rigid, though I shall be delighted to see Miss Merryweather, of course."

"You can see the camp now, through the trees," said Phil. "There is the flag, just over that tall pine. Flag by day; lantern by night. That is 'Merryweather.' Ready about, Peggy, for the last tack!"

The squall had pa.s.sed, and though the water was still rough, the waves were tossing merrily in blue and white under a brilliant sun. The _Petrel_ sped along, the silver foam bubbling up before her prow, and the _Seamew_, as the other boat was named, followed as swiftly.

Peggy leaned back over the stern once more, and holding out her hand to her old schoolmate, gave her slender fingers a squeeze that made her cry out.

"Dear old Vanity," said Peggy; "I forgot how soft your hands always were. But I am so glad to see you, even if I am not going to expire about it. Do tell me how you came here, and where you are staying, and all about it, now that we can hear ourselves speak."

"How did I come here, my dear?" repeated Viola Vincent. "Witchcraft!"

"What do you mean, you foolish thing?"

"My dear, what I say; simply that and nothing more, just like the Raven.

Witchcraft! The very minute I get home, I am going to get a pointed black hat and a red cloak, and a crutch-stick. I think they will be quite sweet, don't you? Don't you think pointed hats are quite sweet, Mr. Merryweather?"

"Pointed hats," replied Phil, gravely, "have always seemed to me the acme of sweetness; that is why they call them sugar-loaf hats, I suppose."

"Oh! Mr. Merryweather, you _are_ funny! Oh, I _hoped_ you were going to be funny," cried Viola; "you _look_ funny, and--"

"Thank you!" said Phil; and "Viola, don't be a goose!" said her brother again.

"I mean it as a compliment!" cried Viola. "Mr. Merryweather, I mean it as the very highest compliment I can pay, I truly do. With such a simply entrancing name as Merryweather, it would be such a dreadful pity to be sober as a judge, you know; though the only judge I know is too frisky for anything. Kittens, my dear, I--I mean, Mr. Merryweather--I _beg_ your pardon! are actually _grim_ beside Judge Gay; aren't they, Tommy?

Did you ever see a grim kitten, Mr. Merryweather? Wouldn't it be too horrid for anything? Well, but what I meant to say is, the only weeniest speck of a fault I ever had to find with the Snowy--darling thing!--was that she was a little bit--just the tiniest winiest sc.r.a.p--too serious.

If your name were Tombs, you know, or Graves, or Scull,--I knew a girl named Scull,--of course you would have to _be_ serious to live up to it; but when your name is Merryweather, you ought to live up to _that_, and so I always told the Snowy."

"I am sure the Snowy was always jolly enough," said Peggy, bluntly, "except when you wanted to get into mischief, Vanity!"

"Yes, but I _always_ wanted to get into mischief," replied Viola; "so that made it a little hard for me, Peggy, you must admit it did, especially when I adored the Snowy, and couldn't bear to have her look grave at me. Mr. Merryweather, when the Snowy looked _really_ grave at me, it froze my young blood, just like Hamlet's; didn't it, Peggy? I used to go and sit on the radiator to get thawed out, didn't I, Peggy?"

"Oh, of course," said Peggy, laughing. "But all this time, Vanity, we have not heard about the witchcraft that brought you to this part of the world."

"Oh! so you haven't. Well, now you shall. You see I am eighteen this summer, so Puppa said I should choose where we should go, whether to the mountains, or to Newport, or to this lake, where he knew of a camp he could have. So I thought I would say Newport, on account of my new frills; I had some perfectly heavenly new frills, and of course Newport is the best place to show them. But just as I was going to _say_ 'Newport,' _something_ made me turn right round and say to come here. I supposed it was partly because of course I knew Puppa hated Newport, and he is such a perfect duck about going there; but now I know that it was witchcraft, and something inside me, black cats or something, made me know, without knowing anything about it, that you and the Snowy were going to be here, Peggy. So now I am perfectly happy! Oh! Oh! Why, there _is_ the Snowy! Oh, Snowy, you darling! It's me! It's Vanity! How _do_ you do? Isn't this _too_ perfectly entrancing for anything!"

With a graceful turn, Phil brought his boat alongside the wharf, where a group of campers, Gertrude among them, were gathered to receive them.

Gertrude had Viola in her arms in a moment, and was welcoming her with a warmth that made the emotional little creature sob with real pleasure and affection.

"Oh, Snowy!" she cried, "I always liked you better than any one else, Snowy. I never thought I was going to see you again."

"My dear, dear little Viola!" cried Gertrude. "Have you dropped from the clouds? Why, this is too good to be true. But you are wet through! Come in this moment with me, and get on dry things!"

She hurried Viola away to the tents, and Mr. Merryweather took possession of her brother with the same hospitable intent, though Tom Vincent protested that he was "no wetter than was entirely comfortable."

Phil, taking in his sail, turned an expressive eye on his twin, who had come aboard to help him.

"Gee!" he said, thoughtfully. "A new variety, Obadiah! Pollybirdia singularis, as Edward Lear hath it."