AT TURTLE COVE

Busy days followed. There was so much to do before Gloria should leave home and before her father should go on his extended trip, that it took the combined energies of Jane and Gloria, to say nothing of help offered by Millie, to get things into order for the important events.

But all preparations were halted when her dad came home, for he at once planned a picnic and ordered his daughter to gather her friends for the festivity.

As a father Edward Doane was disappointing to strangers. He was in no way old, did not have a visible gray hair, he was not fat, nor funny, did not wear glasses, and as a widower he failed utterly to mope and lament. Instead, he was an attractive young man who had more than once been taken for Gloria’s big brother. But in spite of their close companionship, Gloria was the most devoted daughter and the best little business partner one would hope to find in all Barbend. Their companionship was doubly dear, as the loss of her mother left Gloria so much to the care of her young father, and perhaps it was the similarity of dispositions that gave each so complete an understanding of the other.

When he was at home Gloria could do nothing but enjoy his company, and now even the temporary breaking up of her home did not debar her from this coveted pleasure.

Millie and Tom helped distribute the picnic invitations, Mr. Doane insisted that every one who could be piled into the Finnan-Laddie be asked, and when Saturday afternoon came it brought with it exquisite sunshine from a sapphire sky that belongs distinctly to the early autumn.

Jane-the-wonderful did up the lunch. She insisted it be carried in her second sized bread box, as that would surely be impervious to sunshine, engine heat and dampness. The lemon juice was stored in patent topped soda bottles, and because Tom insisted the boys should fetch something, he carried to the launch the most precious prize of all: a packed container of real store ice cream, and Jerry Mack carried the dozen cones to dish it into. Only Mr. Doane knew of this treat, as Tom and Jerry “made it up” and the other four boys chipped in.

When Millie checked up her list of guests it included besides herself and Gloria, Margie Trebold, Grace Ayres, Nettie Leonard and Blanche Richmond. On Tom’s list were besides Jerry and himself, Arthur Williams, George Alton, Ranny Blake, Ralph Dana and little Neddie Mack, Jerry’s irrepressible brother, who had to go or Terry would have had to stay away “to mind him.”

Mr. Doane ran the launch, of course, and on the way over to the cove the children sang, shouted, yelled and did everything that youngsters usually do when turned loose for a good time. Neddie required considerable cautioning about leaning over to trail his very small fingers through the waves left in the boat’s track, but Gloria loved him, she “adored his kinky curls,” and she didn’t mind in the least his irresponsible lolly-pop that now and then would brush her sleeve.

Tom crouched up front with the skipper, and not a turn of the engine but he checked up with a smile, if not with an outright grin. He loved this boat—it was the pride of the lake, and not often did the little ones get a chance to enjoy it. Mr. Doane was plainly very fond of the boys who paid him homage outright—no king on his throne could have received more flagrant tribute.

The girls naturally gave color to the party. They wore their brightest if not their newest, sweaters, and the prospect of romping in the woods suggested skirts not easily affected by brush or briar.

It was a wonderful sail. The lake was lined with jagged trees, and the deep green of cedars and hemlock sent the softest shadows along the water’s edge.

Tom had told Mr. Doane privately that the ice cream cones would have to be served at once or drank from cups, so that the usual planting of a stake to make their landing, was delayed until after the treat had been administered.

“Tom Whitely!” exclaimed Gloria when she beheld with surprise, Tom and his box of cream, and Jerry with the row of cones all set up in the long cover of a paste-board box so that the “dishing” might be exactly even. “However did you manage—”

“Eat, lady, eat,” cautioned Tom. “This isn’t any pie imitation, it’s the real thing. Hey, there, Ranny! hand these out. Jerry’s rack is a bit wobbly.”

“The best I ever tasted!” declared Millie, who ate cream in spite of her fear of fat. “You boys are just—just fine!” she insisted.

Gloria was seeing to it that Neddie got his cone. Her solicitude was really not necessary, Neddie being more apt to get more than his share than to be neglected, but her devotion to the small boy helped her to cover other emotions, and her companions, noticing her strange manner, naturally ascribed it to threatening homesickness.

“Mr. Doane,” called Grace Ayres, she with the lovely, long brown braids and two active dimples, “I think you should have two cones. You are the guest of honor.”

“Count ’em out first,” called back the man who was still doing something to the engine. “I like cones but I could get along with the regular allowance.”

Tom took personal care of this serving, stepping gingerly over the boat’s edge and offering the rather liquid little portion to Mr. Doane.

“Well, I’ll say this is a treat,” declared the boat’s captain, dropping the screw driver and taking his place on Gloria’s cushion—the one she always insisted he make himself comfortable on. Tom had his own cone in the other hand, and with a show of importance rather unlike Tom, he squatted down beside the captain.

“We’re awfully sorry Gloria’s going away,” he said quietly. “She and I’ve been chums ever since we lived in the quarry house.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Doane, “you have, Tom, and I know you will miss Gloria.” He paused with his cone half way to his lips. For a few moments neither spoke, then the father continued: “I hate to think of letting her go, but it was her mother’s wish that she be educated at that seminary. She just couldn’t go—before.”

“Oh, I know,” replied Tom. “It’s the best thing, of course, and it’ll do her a lot of good.” Tom’s words were meaningless to him but he felt he had to say something. As a matter of fact he had not the slightest idea what a boarding school was intended to do for its pupils. He had not even read a story with a boarding school girl mentioned in it. His stories were built upon sterner lines.

Clamoring for their leader, the children upon the shore would have presently re-embarked if Tom and Mr. Doane had not met their demands to “Come ashore.” Every one seemed to have a separate and individual plan for the afternoon’s enjoyment, but that which included a preliminary hike to the top of the hill was decided upon by a majority vote.

“Who’s going to watch the grub can?” asked Jerry Mack. He felt himself to be provision custodian. Didn’t Jane tell him not to let any one take the lid off that box until Gloria said so?

“That’ll be all right,” answered Ranny Blake, quite out of order.

“Nobody’s around here,” chimed in Neddie Mack, sending a searching eye up and down the beach.

“We’ll just cover things up and forget them,” suggested Mr. Doane. “When we come back we’ll be hungry enough to eat the screw driver.”

This brought forth a shout from the boys, but the girls were already starting up the hill in that precise, deliberate way girls have of doing things when boys are in the party.

But there was nothing self conscious about the followers of Mr. Doane. The boys looked up to him as if he were a veritable miracle man; they repeated his words, they openly jostled each other for the coveted place nearest him, and Jerry, being really quite a talker, received a jab from Tom’s bare elbow, at regular intervals.

“When I was a boy I lived in the city,” Mr. Doane would say. Whereat his listeners would know of so many others who “lived in the city” that the proposed story would flutter away on the wings of a hearty laugh.

“But there’s nothing like the great outdoors to give fellows muscle—”

“I’m goin’ to take boxin’ lessons,” put in Jerry eagerly, but the jeers and groans from his companions offered very slight encouragement for such an undertaking.

“I’ve got the gloves,” he declared. “An’ can’t a feller put on weight boxin’, Mr. Doane?”

“Skin—nay!” retorted Ranny Blake.

“You ought to get enough exercise around here without putting on the gloves, Jerry,” said Mr. Doane kindly. As a matter of fact any one would have suggested the rest cure to put flesh on the thinnest boy in the crowd.

But the mention of athletics uncorked the most popular topic for male consideration, and in spite of the great outdoors all around them—the greatest kind of a day and the most perfect piece of rural scenery all the way up the hill, even over the county landmark, a huge boulder that was painted white and shone for miles around—every step and mis-step of the way the boys talked of sports. Boxing, baseball, skating, football and every other line of amateur and professional activity was discussed fully and enthusiastically, Mr. Doane acting as referee and umpiring the “meet” and its distant prospects.

The girls were gathering wild asters, golden rod and sweet fern. They romped about now with little Neddie as an excuse, hiding from him, teasing him with Indian calls and animal imitations, although Neddie was only tolerating their excessive attention.

“Come on and be Peter Pan,” suggested Gloria while she and Millie “boosted” the small boy into a dogwood tree.

This gave the embarrassed youngster his chance. The tree was heavy enough to climb and climb it he did, never pausing until he reached a perfectly safe perch far from the reach of mere girls.

“You’ll fall!” shouted Gloria.

“That limb is bending!” warned Grace.

“Come down, Neddie, the boys are going snake hunting,” tempted Millie.

But Neddie hugged a branch and swung on his limb in such a reckless fashion that Margie suggested making a life net.

How could they know how much a boy hates to be fussed over? Gloria was enough fusser, but when the others all piled in he felt like the prize baby at the Cattle Show—the one that was weighed right before everybody.

Jerry was so glad to be free of the small brother he would not have cared if the climb went still higher, but when Mr. Doane held out his strong arms, down came the little Peter Pan ker-plunk! He had no intention of missing the snake hunt.

“Come along, girls,” called out Mr. Doane when the petulant Peter Pan had been once more disposed of. “If you don’t want to hunt snakes make it b’ars! Big black woolly ones, that old Sam Sykes is always insisting he used to chum with up in this baby mountain. Gloria, you know the worn trail, but don’t get out of speaking distance. We boys will head for the first slant, over toward the big tree, and if we don’t find snakes, or bears—”

“We’ll find deers,” shouted Jerry, ignoring the regular way of making the plural. “Nort Sloane saw a deer up here last week!”

“All right,” laughed Mr. Doane. “Snakes, b’ars or deer, all the same to the hunters. But don’t use sling-shots, now, boys,” as Ralph and George examined a suspicious bit of string. “Sling-shots are not safe in mixed company.”

So the hunt for wild animals began.