The Corner House Girls Under Canvas

“For the good land of liberty’s sake!” ejaculated Mrs. Bobster, throwing wide the door. “Come in! Come in!”

The girl whom Ruth had seized hesitated for a moment. Ruth whispered in her ear:

“Rosa is wearing her heart out for you, June Wildwood. And your father isn’t drinking any more. He has a steady job. You come back to them and you needn’t be afraid of those Gypsies.”

“They’ll try to get me back. Doc. Raynes’ wife was one of them. The old doctor died a year ago, and since then I’ve been with that gang,” said June Wildwood.

“Were the doctor and his wife the folks you ran away with?”

“Yes. I danced and sang and dressed up in character to help entertain their audiences when he sold bitters and salve,” the girl explained. “The old doctor treated me all right. But these thieving Gypsies are different. Mrs. Doc. Raynes is Big Jim’s sister.”

“Don’t you be afraid of them any more. We’ll set the police after them,” Ruth declared. “Where have you been since the day my sisters were with you?”

“I’ve been washing dishes at a hotel here in Pleasant Cove. But I kept under cover. I was afraid of them,” said the girl.

They reached the door then, and went into the cottage. Mrs. Bobster ushered them right into the sitting-room and at once all the girls halted in amazement. There was an armchair standing between the window and the center table, where the lamp sat. Leaning against the chair was the broom, and on the business end of that very useful household implement was a hat that had probably once belonged to the husband of the little old woman who lived in a shoe.

“My goodness sake!” ejaculated Agnes, the first to get her breath. “Then it was not company you had at all, Mrs. Bobster?”

“No,” said the widow, in a business-like way, removing the hat from the broom and standing the latter in the corner. “But I didn’t want folks to know it. There’s some stragglers around here after dark, and I wanted ’em to think there was a man in the house.”

At that moment Rosa Wildwood came running downstairs in wrapper and slippers. “I heard her! I heard her!” she shrieked, and the next moment the two sisters were hugging each other frantically.

Explanations were in order; and it took some time for the little old lady who lived in a shoe to understand the reunion of her boarder and the girl who had lived with the Gypsies.

The boys and Tom Jonah came back, having chased the lurking Big Jim for quite a mile through the woods. “And Tom Jonah brought back a piece of his coat-tail,” chuckled Neale O’Neil. “He can consider himself lucky that the dog didn’t bite deeper!”

“I guess that dog doesn’t like Gypsies,” said June Wildwood, patting Tom Jonah’s head.

The boys were just as much interested as their girl friends in the reunion of Rosa and her sister. Meanwhile Mrs. Bobster bustled about and found the usual pitcher of cool milk and a great platter of cookies. The young folk feasted beyond reason while they all talked.

Ruth arranged with the little old woman who lived in a shoe to let June stay with her sister, and she promised June, as well, that if she would return to Milton with Rosa, employment would be found for her so that she could be self-supporting, yet live at home with Rosa and Bob Wildwood.

The Corner House girls offered to leave Tom Jonah to guard the premises for that night. But Mrs. Bobster said:

“I reckon I won’t be scaret none with two great girls in the house with me. Besides, when I am asleep, being lonesome don’t bother me none – no, ma’am!”

“Well, we don’t know how long we’re going to have old Tom Jonah ourselves,” sighed Agnes, as the party bound for the tent colony started on again.

“How’s that!” demanded Neale, quickly.

They told him about the man named Reynolds, from Shawmit, and the claim he had made to the big dog. Neale was equally troubled with the Corner House girls over this, and he advised Ruth and Agnes to take the dog wherever they went.

“Don’t give the fellow a chance to find Tom Jonah alone, or with the little girls,” said Neale. “I don’t believe he can get the dog legally without considerable trouble. And Tom Jonah has shown whom he likes best.”

This uncertainty about Tom Jonah, however, did not keep the Corner House girls from continuing their good times at Pleasant Cove. With one of the ladies of the tent colony for chaperon the girls and their boy friends had many a “junket” – up the river, down the bay, and even outside upon the open sea.

It was on one of these latter occasions that Ruth and Agnes joined Neale and his friends on the “double-ender,” Hattie G., and with her crew spent a night and a day chasing the elusive swordfish.

That was an adventure; and one not soon to be forgotten by the older Corner House girls. Of course Tess and Dot were too small to go on this trip and they were fast asleep in one of the neighboring tents when Neale O’Neil came and scratched on the canvas of that in which Ruth and Agnes slept.

“Oh!” gasped Agnes. “What’s that!”

“Is that you, Neale?” demanded Ruth, calmly.

“Of course. Get a bustle on,” advised the boy. “The motorboat will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Mercy!” ejaculated Agnes, giggling. “You know we don’t wear bustles, Neale. They are too old-fashioned for anything.”

She and Ruth quickly dressed. There wasn’t much “prinking and preening” before the mirror on this morning, that was sure. In ten minutes the two Corner House girls were running down the beach, with their bags (packed over-night) and their rain-coats over their arms. Tom Jonah raced after them.

Everywhere save on the beach itself the shadows lay deep. There was no moon and the stars twinkled high overhead – spangles sewed on the black-velvet robe of Night.

Out upon the quietly heaving waters sounded voices – then the pop of a launch engine.

“Come on!” urged Neale’s voice. “They’re getting the boat ready, girls.”

“But we’re not going out to the banks in the Nimble Shanks– surely!” cried Agnes.

“No. But we’re going down the cove in her to catch the Hattie G. Skipper Joline sent up a rocket for us half an hour ago. The tide’s going out. He won’t wait long, I assure you.”

“It would be lots more comfortable to go all the way in the motorboat – wouldn’t it?” asked Ruth, stepping into the skiff after Agnes and the dog.

“Skipper Joline would have a fit,” laughed Joe Eldred. “A motorboat engine would scare every swordfish within a league of the Banks – so he says. He declares that is what makes them so hard to catch the last few seasons. These motorboats running about the sea are a greater nuisance than the motor cars ashore – so he declares.”

“I suppose the swordfish shy at the motorboats just like the horses shy at automobiles!” giggled Agnes, as Neale and Joe pushed off and seized the oars.

“Yep,” grunted Neale O’Neil. “And the motorboats have frightened all the horse-mackerel away. That’s a joke. I’ll tell the Skipper that.”

Several shadowy figures – being those of the other boys and Mr. and Mrs. Stryver, who were members of the swordfishing party, too – were spied about the deck and cockpit of the Nimble Shanks. The boys shot the skiff in beside the motorboat and helped the girls aboard. Then they moored the skiff to the motorboat’s buoy and soon the Nimble Shanks was away, down the cove.

It was past two o’clock – the darkest minutes of a summer’s morning. Seaward, a light haze hung over the water – seemingly a veil of mist let down from the sky to shut out the view of all distant objects from the out-sailing mariners.

As the party neared the fishing fleet, voices carried flatly across the water, and now and then a dog barked. Tom Jonah answered these canines ashore with explosive growls. He stood forward, his paws planted firmly on the deck, and snuffing the sea air. Tom Jonah was a good sailor.

“Got your scare?” a voice came out of the darkness, quavering across the cove. “Going to be thick outside.”

Neale grabbed the fish-horn and blew a mighty blast on it. Similar horns answered from all about the fleet.

A towering mast, with its big sail bending to the breeze, shot past them – the big cat-boat, Susie, bound for her lines of lobster-pots just off the mouth of the cove. Her crew hailed the launch and her party – four sturdy young fellows in jerseys and high sea-boots.

“Whew!” said Joe. “Smell that lobster bait! I’d hate to go for a pleasure trip on the Susie.”

The Hattie G. was just ahead and Mr. Stryver shut off the engine. The drab, dirty looking old craft tugged sharply at her taut mooring cable. She had two short masts, and on these heavy canvas was being spread by the crew, which consisted of five men and a boy.

One of the men was the skipper, another the mate, a third the cook; but all hands had to turn to to make sail. There were several sweeps (heavy oars) held in bights of rope along the rail. Both ends of the Hattie G. were sharp; in other words she had two bows. Thus the name, “double-ender” – a build of craft now almost extinct save in a few New England ports out of which ply the swordfishermen.

Skipper Joline came to the rail. He was a hoarse, red-faced man with a white beard, cut like a paintbrush, on his chin.