SHOUTS from the lake now claimed the campers' attention. Captain Berry's obstinate engine had suddenly decided to work and was now making up for lost time by refusing to stop. The captain, as near shore as he dared approach, was spinning round and round in circles. Each time he neared the land he shouted lustily.
"He wants something," interpreted Mr. Black, rising from the table. "Marjory—where is Marjory with her sharp ears?"
"Crying in our tent," replied Mabel, with a vindictive glance toward Aunty Jane. "If she wasn't a good child, she'd climb a tree and stay there until some folks——"
"There, there," squelched Doctor Bennett, "we mustn't criticise our elders. Let's see what that crazy boat is doing."
"She's stopped," said Mr. Black, "and Dave's swimming ashore—after the boats, I guess. Let's help him."
Presently all sorts of boxes, bundles, and baskets were safely landed; all the campers and most of the visitors helping the good work along. Even Marjory, her face swollen and disfigured from much weeping, assisted a little.
"Hullo!" cried Dave, catching sight of the sorrowful countenance. "W'at you ees cry for, li'le gal?"
Tactful Jean, seeing that Marjory was unable to speak, replied for her.
"Her aunt—she hasn't any mother, you know—is going to take her home. She doesn't want to go; but she can't help herself."
"Dat's too bad," sympathized Dave. "W'ich of dose ees hees aunt?"
Jean pointed out Aunty Jane—a middle-aged, unattractive lady, who sat bolt upright when everybody else loafed in comfortable, camp-y attitudes.
"Yas, Ah'm see dose old gal biffore," admitted disrespectful Dave, eying Aunty Jane's stiff, unconscious back reflectively. "Ah'm not lak' dose kind of lady ver' moch—she ees tole me for take som' bat'."
Even Marjory smiled forlornly at the idea of Dave's taking a bath. But smiles did not last long that day. In spite of all the good things that came in baskets and bundles, in spite of a big box of candy that Saunders had included for Mabel and Henrietta, and inscribed "With the Game Warden's Compliments," the sympathetic little girls were very unhappy at the thought of losing Marjory. They had always played together; and now they were absolutely certain that they couldn't have good times during the rest of their stay with no Marjory to help enjoy them. As for Marjory, that small maiden was shedding so many tears that Mabel feared there would soon be nothing left of her unhappy little friend. And by afternoon even the grown-ups were thoroughly vexed by Aunty Jane's obstinacy.
"Oh, we all know," said Mrs. Bennett to Mrs. Tucker, who sat under a tree, letting down a skirt for Bettie, "that Aunty Jane means well; she'd work her fingers to the bone for Marjory; but a real mother wouldn't be a—a——"
"Vinegar cruet," supplied Doctor Bennett.
"She has completely spoiled the day," declared Mrs. Tucker, "for all those children; and we meant to give them a pleasant surprise."
"Poor Aunty Jane couldn't be a pleasant surprise," protested Mrs. Bennett, "but we mustn't blame her—she didn't pick out her unfortunate disposition. We'll just have to be extra cheerful ourselves this afternoon to make up for her unpleasantness."
But no one succeeded in being "extra cheerful," when there was so much gloom to dispel; to the children, especially, the day seemed absolutely spoiled in spite of much unexpected and rather amusing sympathy from Dave, who plainly considered going home with Aunty Jane an unmixed calamity.
"I guess," said Jean, shrewdly, "that Dave likes to have us here."
"And why not?" demanded Henrietta. "We give him all sorts of good things to eat and Mr. Black pays him besides, for all the work he doesn't do. He's just bought himself a nice new blanket and a fine big quilt—I noticed them on the beach. Why! Something's happening. Let's see what it is."
Dave, with a large bundle on his shoulder, was crossing the clearing, in the direction of his wigwam. Aunty Jane, pointing at the bundle and scolding loudly, was scurrying after him. Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Mapes were scurrying after her. Mrs. Slater, under a tree with Mrs. Tucker, seemed greatly amused; for this bright old lady possessed a strong sense of humor.
"What is it, Granny?" demanded Henrietta, pausing at sight of the dainty little grandmother's smiling countenance. "Is she trying again to make Dave take a bath?"
"No, Honey," laughed Mrs. Slater. "She thinks she recognizes that quilt—she missed one off her clothesline several nights ago."
Dave, seeing that Aunty Jane was not to be shaken off, stopped, untied his bundle, separated the quilt from the other articles, and offered it to the pursuing lady.
"Yas," grinned Dave, "Ah'm t'ink dose queelt she ees yours, maybe. She's grow on som' clothesline jus' biffore de back part of dose house of madame hon Lakeveele. Me, Ah'm need som' more queelt—som' tam' Ah'm got company. Mus' feex noddaire bed, Ah'm t'ink."
"Well," replied Aunty Jane, tartly, as she reached for the guilt, "you'd better think again. Give it to me this instant."
Then, catching a whiff of the aroma that was ever a part of Dave, Aunty Jane fairly hurled the restored comforter at the grinning thief.
"For goodness' sake!" she gasped. "Take it, you filthy Indian. There isn't water enough in Lake Superior to get the smell out of anything you've touched."
"Yas," returned Dave, blandly accepting the quilt, "Ah'm sleep hon dose queelt hall de way from Lakeveele. Night biffore, halso. Ah'm moch obliged for dose present, madame. Dose ver' good queelt, Ah'm t'ink."
"A great deal too good for you, you filthy beast."
Dave's ill-kept teeth still gleamed in his wide, amiable smile; but his narrowed black eyes suddenly glittered in a cold, snaky way that started an unpleasant chill down Aunty Jane's spine.
"That wicked Indian," she said afterwards, "thanked me and looked as if he'd like to murder me, all in the same breath."
"Indians," mused Doctor Tucker, "are said to be revengeful."
Perhaps, with so many little girls sorrowful on Marjory's account, the sky hadn't the heart to keep on smiling. At any rate, a full hour earlier than the visitors had expected to leave, their launch-man was pointing pessimistically toward gathering clouds—no one else had noticed them.
"If you folks want to get home before it rains," said he, "you'd better be climbing aboard—less'n you want to stay here all night."
"Mercy!" cried Aunty Jane, springing to her feet, "I wouldn't stay for a million dollars."
Mrs. Slater was too polite to say that she wouldn't either; but she, too, rose rather hastily to look about for scattered belongings.
Dave assisted everybody with wonderful alacrity. He was here, there, and everywhere. The girls assisted, too—perhaps that was why it took so long to find all Marjory's widely dispersed garments. They were still at this task after most of the mothers had climbed aboard the launch. Marjory, by this time fairly helpless with grief, sat on a log and wept; while Aunty Jane, on her knees under a nearby tree, attempted to roll the accumulated garments into a neat bundle.
Somehow—nobody knew exactly how—Terrible Tim, the porcupine, made his presence felt just at this busy moment. One instant the object in Aunty Jane's grasp was an innocent bundle of clothing. The next, the horrified lady was clutching an astonished and most dreadfully prickly porcupine; for Timothy, propelled by some mysterious force, had landed squarely in her arms.
Instantly the air was rent with shrieks. No one noticed the extra shriek or two that Marjory added to the chorus as a dark, sinewy arm shot forth and suddenly grasped her. No one saw lithe Dave draw the frightened, dazed little girl into the thicket, toss her across his shoulder, and flee, by a roundabout trail that no civilized foot could have found, toward his own wigwam.
"Be still," commanded Dave, clapping his hand gently but effectually over Marjory's mouth. "Don't be scare—Ah'm good frien' to you, li'le gal. Now ron, ron fast hon your own leg."
Astonishment prevented further desire to shriek, for, near the doorway of Dave's wigwam and washing a grimy pan with a grimier rag, stood a dark but decidedly attractive young woman. And down in the dirt at her feet, as Marjory had seen her many times previously, groveled the Dandelion Cottage baby, the unforgettable Rosa Marie.
Marjory, at sight of the funny little Indian baby that Mabel had once adopted, almost forgot her own troubles.
"Ma sistaire," explained Dave, pointing toward the woman. "Hees name ees Mahjigeezigoqua. Can you say dose name?"
"Mar-gee-gee-ze-go-qua," repeated Marjory, correctly making the first g soft, the second hard. "But how did you get them here? We didn't see them leave the boat."
"Ah'm pack dem wit' dose proveesion," laughed Dave. "Ah'm poot dose two hon shore behin' som' point, w'ile all dose peop' ees too busy for look at Dave. Ma sistaire ees come for pick som' berry. Hey, you know dose kid? W'y you no talk, Rosa Marie? Here ees som' frien' for you."
Then Dave spoke rapidly in some strange tongue to his sister, concluding in his broken English, as he turned to go:
"Now Ah'm go for help dose ol' Aunt hon top dose boat. You stay here."
Nevertheless, conscientious Marjory started to follow him; but Rosa Marie's mother, stepping quickly into the narrow pathway, gently but unmistakably detained her.
"You talk som' leetle t'ing to Rosa Marie—she ees remembaire you, ees eet not, Rosa? See, how he ees grow som' hon herself, dose so fat Rosa."
So Marjory, seeing no way of immediate escape with the attractive young Indian woman firmly blocking the pathway, renewed her acquaintance with Rosa Marie, who apparently was as stolid and as unemotional as ever.
"Hees fadaire lak' dat," explained Mahjigeezigoqua. "He t'ink hon hees inside honly. No talk, no mak' som' smile hon her face, dose man."
If Rosa Marie did any thinking, it is certain that the process went on "inside only," for if ever there was a wooden little Indian it was Rosa Marie. But by dint of hard work, Marjory finally extracted a smile. Then Rosa Marie, groping under her brief skirts, produced the very dirtiest and most disreputable doll that Marjory had ever beheld.
"Ma-bel," said Rosa Marie. "Ma-bel."
"She ees name for Mees Mabel," explained the Indian baby's mother.
"Mabel ought to feel flattered," giggled Marjory. "I'll tell her about her namesake. But mercy! I must go back——"
"Wait," said Dave's sister, lightly clasping her slender brown fingers about Marjory's wrist. "Ah show you how to catch som' chipmunk."
And Marjory, realizing that she was a prisoner, stayed where she was.