BY this time, of course, the mothers, Aunty Jane, the solitary grandmother, and even the fathers, were decidedly alarmed; for morning disclosed the disquieting fact that the Whale was still missing.
Mrs. Slater thought that somebody ought to call up the police; Mrs. Tucker suggested sending the militia forth on horseback to scour the surrounding country. Aunty Jane advised ringing the fire bell.
"All nonsense," blustered Doctor Bennett, more worried than he was willing to admit; but, since all the alarmed ladies, singly and collectively, had appealed to him for advice, it was necessary of course to appear as unconcerned as possible. "All nonsense, I say. If Mr. Black has had an accident with his car he probably doesn't care to have the fact advertised. Nor do we want the whole town worrying about our children. Be reasonable. There isn't a road in the country that crosses a railroad track; there isn't an inch of road anywhere about that skirts any dangerous declivity. The Whale might get stuck in some swamp or stalled in the sand or lose a tire or run short of gasoline. In any of those cases, they'd take refuge somewhere, while waiting for repairs. Folks with automobiles often get held up for a night. There's just one thing for us to do. That is, to wait. Go home, everybody, and wait."
So, only partly relieved of their fears, though frequently upheld by encouraging Doctor Bennett, these good people waited throughout the long, dreary day.
To return to the castaways, it required nearly every minute of the two hours that Dave spent in slumber to prepare those lists and various letters, for they all needed a great deal of revising.
Henrietta's was the last note to be finished, because that ingenious maid added a miraculous number of postscripts. All the other missives were tied together with a stout string; when Henrietta, who had seized hers at the last moment to add a request for marshmallows, discovered that Dave, with the large packet inside his shirt, was already making for the path out of the clearing.
Henrietta flew after him with the note, which was addressed very clearly to Mrs. Slater. Dave laughed, thrust the note lightly into the pocket of his shirt, and vanished—Dave had a curious way of melting, with surprising suddenness, from one's sight.
"He'll lose that," declared Henrietta, returning to the group sheltered under a big pine tree—the June sun was bright in the clearing. "I wish it were tied up with the others."
It was fortunate, however, that it was not; for the Indian proved an erratic postman.
It took Dave less time than Mr. Black had supposed it would to reach Lakeville—and a Lakeville friend, dwelling on the outskirts of the town. This hospitable friend considered it necessary to refresh his visitor with the contents of a large, flat bottle.
Now, Dave was very easily affected by strong drink. After he had parted from his generous host, he remembered hazily that he had something to deliver to somebody—he cherished a dim recollection of a flying, girlish figure, a bright, youthful countenance, and a letter. That was it, a letter. He groped in his trousers pockets. Nothing there. In his loose belt. Nothing there. In the pocket of his dingy shirt. Yes, there it was.
Clutching it firmly, the staggering Indian searched the sky above him with bleared but inquiring eyes.
"What ye lookin' for?" asked Pat Mulligan, the policeman.
"Pos'—pos' office," replied Dave, with a wide, friendly smile. "Let—letters s'mail."
"Give it here," said Pat, "I'm goin' right there myself."
With that, he escorted trusting Dave to the village lockup. This safely accomplished, he studied the address on the birch-bark note.
"Sure," observed Pat, "there's no stamp on this. 'Twas plainly meant to be delivered by hand. On the Avenoo, is it? I'm knowin' the house—I'll take it there."
Which the good-natured officer did, to the great relief of Mrs. Slater, who, in spite of Doctor Bennett's assurances, was almost wild, by this time, with anxiety.
"Dear Granny," extravagant Henrietta had written. "I'm a wild Indian in the loveliest woods in the world. We're all safe and comfortable and we're going to stay forever, so send me a nightie and a toothbrush, some stockings, my tennis shoes, my oldest dress, some underwear; and, if you love me, a clean towel—a fuzzy one. Affectionately, Henrietta.
"P.S.—I'd like a pillow-case, if you please. And a sheet.
"P.S.—Oh, yes—I need my hairbrush and my bathing suit.
"P.S.—And a lot of things to eat; bread, pie, cake, cookies, fruit, and fish-hooks.
"P.S.—Please can I have a red bandanna handkerchief and a button to sew on my petticoat. Also, a pair of shoe strings.
"P.S.—Peanuts and everything else you can thing of to eat and wear.
"P.S.—Please send the bundle to Mr. Black's office to Mr. Saunders.
"P.S.—A can of condensed milk for Anthony Fitz-Hubert, if they do call the poor dear 'Ambrosial Delight.'
"P.S.—A whole bushel of marshmallows for me. I love you."
Mrs. Slater, a bright old lady with sparkling black eyes, not unlike Henrietta's own, read this letter with very evident enjoyment. Then she went to the telephone.
"Is this Doctor Tucker?" she asked. "Have you heard from Bettie? Oh, haven't you? Well, I have—that is, from Henrietta. They are safe and comfortable; and, I should judge from Henrietta's note, uproariously happy. If you'll call up the Bennetts and Marjory's Aunt Jane, I'll tell Mrs. Mapes. Then I'll drive round, presently, and let you see the note—no, she didn't mention the Whale—I fancy your girls will want as many things as Henrietta does. Don't forget to tell the others—good-by."
This, of course, relieved the anxious minds of the parents; and Doctor Bennett was thoughtful enough to inform Martin that the party was safe.
At ten o'clock the next morning, Dave was given an opportunity to appear before Judge Wilson and tell his story. The delayed notes came to light, and by noon were properly distributed, whereupon there was a grand scurrying in several households; and in Mr. Black's office as well.
"What," asked puzzled Mrs. Bennett, running into Mrs. Tucker's conveniently near house, "did Bettie ask for? This is every word Mabel wrote."
Mrs. Bennett drew a scrap of bark from her blouse. Mrs. Tucker laughed when she read it.
"Dear Mother:" wrote Mabel. "Please send about a thousand bananas. We are going to stay here."
All around this was an elaborate border of drawings—attempts at squirrels. Mabel had left no room for further writing.
"I hope," Mrs. Tucker said, eying the drawings, apprehensively, "that that place isn't infested with rats."
"They're rabbits," explained Mrs. Bennett, with conviction. "Mabel has quite a talent for drawing. But I wish she'd written a little more."
"She probably needs all the articles that Bettie asks for," said Mrs. Tucker. "Bettie says she's feeling fine. I suppose they found an empty farmhouse and took possession of it."
"Yes," agreed Mrs. Bennett, "I can just see them moving into those empty rooms and making them as homelike as possible."
It was a good thing, perhaps, that Mrs. Bennett couldn't see the house that her daughter was living in; for it certainly wasn't much of a house, even with the extra touches that Mr. Black was adding at that very moment. But of course it was better than none. The good lady, re-enforced by Bettie's really useful list, went home to hunt up as many as she could locate of Mabel's scattered belongings; for Mabel, ever the untidiest of mortals, kept her wardrobe in the unlikeliest of places.
Poor Mr. Saunders certainly had his hands full collecting all the things for which Mr. Black and his good sister had asked—these hospitable souls were bent on providing their guests with every possible comfort. It was not easy, either, to find a boatman willing or able to go so far—the distance was greater by water than by land.
When all else was packed in Captain Berry's gasoline launch, Mr. Saunders paid Dave's fine and secured his release from the jail, for Mr. Black had written that Dave was to ride with the motley cargo. This cargo was all aboard, even to Mabel's bananas, but it was the morning of the following day before the boat was able to start, because Captain Berry, the launch-man, had discovered at dusk that his gasoline barrel was empty. By that time Dave was missing. But dauntless Mr. Saunders employed Mulligan, the policeman, to find him; and Dave, very much the worse for the liquid portion of his breakfast, was finally loaded, with his snarling dog, aboard the launch. Dave, it was only too plainly evident, was unable to resist the temptations of town life.
At last, however, to the great relief of Mr. Saunders, the launch was started on its way. "I feel," said the weary bachelor, turning away from the wharf, "just like the father of a whole orphan asylum."