UNFORTUNATELY, the three mothers, Henrietta's grandmother, and Aunty Jane could not look into that queer chicken-coop of a house to see their precious chickens sleeping the sound, sweet sleep that life in the open induces.
Still, the evening was so very fine that no one was surprised because of the prolonged outing—that is, at first. But when nine o'clock came and the Whale failed to appear, Mrs. Slater, Henrietta's grandmother, telephoned to Mr. Black's unresponsive house, and then to Jean's mother, Mrs. Mapes. Mrs. Mapes obligingly ran in to ask Marjory's Aunty Jane if anything had been seen of the delayed Whale; and then both ladies scurried to the rectory to ask Doctor Tucker if he knew the whereabouts of the Whale—or the Whale's passengers. Of course he didn't; so he and Mrs. Tucker went with the inquiring pair to Doctor Bennett's to ask if Mabel had returned. Naturally, she hadn't, so, joined by Mabel's now mildly anxious parents, they all went—just like persons in a moving-picture show, Doctor Bennett said afterwards—to Mrs. Slater's house to ask what she thought about it. They found her anxiously watching the clock.
Mrs. Slater promptly sent Simmons, the butler, to order her carriage, in which the entire party, somewhat crowded it is true, was speedily transported to Mr. Black's home, where they found Martin waiting in the lighted garage.
"Where," asked Doctor Bennett, "is your master?"
"Sure," returned Martin, pulling politely at a long lock of sandy hair, "that's what I'd like to know. 'Tis a lonely evenin' I'm spendin' without even a horse for company."
"Does his automobile ever break down?" queried Aunty Jane, a thin woman with very sharp eyes and other features to match.
"It never has, mum; but most of 'em does, sooner or later. Still, Mr. Black is always careful—he'd be likely to choose a safe spot to break down in."
"He said," offered Doctor Tucker, "that he was going to look at some land of his—where is his land?"
"Sure," returned Martin, with a gesture that included the entire horizon, "he has land anywhere you'd want to look—he owns a pile of rale estate, they say. When annybody wants a little money, he just sells his land, back taxes and all, to that aisy-going man. He don't know where his land is; it's iv'rywhere. But wheriver he's gone he can't starve, for Mrs. Crane and Bridget cooked all day yesterday; and he can't freeze because there's three big robes and a fur coat."
"But what can be keeping him?" asked Mrs. Tucker. "He knows that Bettie ought to be in bed by nine."
"Most like it's a busted tire—'tis time wan was givin' out. If he wasn't smart enough to put the new one on—and belike he isn't, him not bein' used to the job—why, there he is, laid out in the road."
"But all our girls are with him," protested Mrs. Bennett. "There's seven in the party. Our five children——"
"The more the merrier," consoled Martin, comfortably. "Even if two or three was spilled overboard, there'd be four left to spread the tale. Depind on it, ladies—and your Riverince—they're safe somewhere, or we'd hear the bad news. That's the kind that travels fastest."
"I think Martin is right," agreed Doctor Tucker, mildly. "I'm quite sure that they're all safe, somewhere; at some farm, perhaps, where there's no telephone. Even if those girls were alone they'd manage to make themselves comfortable somehow—just remember what they did to Dandelion Cottage."
"They're smart enough," agreed Mrs. Mapes, "and they are all resourceful. And Mrs. Crane is with them. If they haven't all plunged over some embankment——"
"Not Mr. Black, mum," assured Martin. "He's that careful and slow that I'm ashamed to be seen ridin' with him. Why, mum, whin I'm in the Whale I feel just like a baby in a go-cart."
Their fears somewhat allayed by optimistic Martin, the parents and guardians of the castaways, after waiting hopefully until midnight, finally dispersed and went to bed, for there was really nothing else to do; but the passengers of the missing Whale spent a far happier and more peaceful night than did their anxious relatives; for the castaways, at least, knew that they were alive and unharmed.
The morning sun was shining brightly when Ambrosial Delight, who had escaped at dawn, chased a frightened chipmunk into Mr. Black's triangular den and roused that recumbent gentleman from the soundest sleep he had had in years.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed the surprised man, sitting up under his bias roof, "the stars were shining when I looked out last! It must be seven or eight o'clock. Hi there, Sarah! Jean! Girls! Has that fish-boat gone up the lake?"
"Yes, yes, Bridget," murmured Mrs. Crane, sleepily. "We'll have creamed shrimps and——"
"Sarah!" shouted Mr. Black, "wake up! You've made me miss that boat again."
So Mrs. Crane woke up, and presently the girls, with sleepy eyes and tousled heads, crawled out, one by one, to blink in the dazzling sunshine.
"Run down to the lake," advised Mr. Black, "and wash your faces—that'll wake you up."
So the girls waded out and washed in the finest basin in the world, made friends with a courageous squirrel who was also bathing his face, and combed their tangled locks with Henrietta's side-combs.
"If you hadn't brought these," observed Jean, "we'd have been in a fine fix."
"Anyhow," giggled Marjory, wiggling her pink toes, delightedly, "there's water enough."
"Bettie," cried Mrs. Crane, from the bank, "come out of that lake! You're a sick girl——"
"I'm not, either," contradicted Bettie, indignantly. "I feel just fine."
"I'm glad to hear it," returned motherly Mrs. Crane, "but I don't want you to take any risks. You've been in long enough."
"All right," agreed Bettie, regretfully. "I'll come out, just to be good, but I don't want to one bit."
"Isn't this just heaven!" breathed Jean, ecstatically, extending her arms as if she would embrace the whole beautiful universe. "Look at that water—pearl-gray, with pink and gold sparkles all spangled over the top! It's a different color every time you look at it. I love it."
"So do I," said Bettie, from the beach. "I wish I were a fish and could live in it."
"But then," objected Henrietta, "you couldn't see it—I'd rather be a sea-gull."
"She's making puns," groaned Marjory. "Hurry up with that comb, Mabel; it's my turn next."
"Hi there!" called Mr. Black; "who's setting the table for breakfast?"
As the tablecloth was still serving as a roof, Mr. Black found a couple of clean boards that served very nicely in its stead. This was not difficult, since all the driftwood was most beautifully clean. So, too, was the sand. Even the soil under the trees, being free from clay, was clean, dry, and pleasant. One could sit on the ground without fear of dampness, dirt, or snakes. It was pleasant ground.
"This place," said Mrs. Crane, who was boiling the coffee water, "is absolutely dust-proof, I believe. I'd like to live here all the time, if only to breathe this air."
"Let's stay," pleaded Bettie. "I don't want to go home."
"Neither do I," said Mabel.
"Nor I," said Henrietta.
"Nor I," echoed Marjory, who had finally succeeded in braiding her long, fair hair.
"I guess," said Mr. Black, "we'll have to stay for awhile, whether we want to or not. But, if we don't turn up to-day, they'll begin to hunt for us."
"Oh," groaned Henrietta, "I hope not."
"Peter," said Mrs. Crane, "we didn't meet a single soul on that road after we took the turn-off just out of Lakeville."
"I don't wonder," returned Mr. Black. "Nobody that could possibly travel by any other road would ever think of taking that one. I suspect that it hasn't been used very much since Randall stopped lumbering at Barclay's Point, six years ago. But, never fear, they'll find us all right—we're only seventeen miles from Lakeville."
"But such miles," breathed Mrs. Crane. "Nobody 'd think of trying that road—they'd think we had more sense."
"Perhaps we should have had—perhaps I ought to have doubted Timothy. Anyway, we left tracks. If they look for us at all thoroughly, they'll surely find those."
"That Timothy man," suggested Jean. "Wouldn't he know?"
"Ye—es," admitted Mr. Black, "but when I asked him about that road he was just boarding a train for Boston. But don't worry. We're not half as lost as we might be. In fact, we know exactly where we are."
The castaways had barely finished breakfast when sharp-eyed Marjory spied a small, dark object on the water, not far from Barclay's Point.
"That wasn't there yesterday," said she, pointing it out to the others.
"It's moving!" cried Jean.
"Perhaps it's more driftwood for our house," suggested Bettie.
"Or a bear coming to eat us," offered Mabel.
"It's long and slim with a bump at one end," explained Marjory. "Something like a dead tree with one branch sticking up. Just a log, perhaps, but——"
"Anyway," interrupted Jean, "it's coming this way and coming fast."