  The sun was shining brightly as the boys moved across the island in the direction of the place they were seeking. As they stopped occasionally to look back over the waters of the lake, they saw that the waves still were tipped with white and the waters still were rough. “I wish I knew where the other fellows are,” said Fred, once more stopping to look out over the waters that now were reflecting the light of the afternoon sun. “They are all right,” said John, confidently. “I told you both the Gadabout and the other skiff are around the point.” “I know you told me so, but that doesn’t make it so,” said Fred, still unconvinced by the confident manner of his companion. “Look yonder, will you!” said John abruptly as he pointed toward the house they were seeking. “I’m sure there is somebody in there.” “It doesn’t look as if it would hold together long enough to let any one stay very long inside,” laughed Fred. “We’ll find out anyway pretty quick who it is.” In a brief time the boys arrived at the rear of the little house, which was not much more than a shanty in its appearance. They found that their surmise that smoke was rising from the chimney was correct. There could be no doubt that some one was within the building. Once more the boys turned and looked anxiously toward the lake, eager to discover if any trace of their missing friends could be seen. The waters already were becoming smoother and the rays of the sun were almost blinding as they were reflected by the shining waters. “What shall we do?” said Fred in a low voice. “Shall we rap?” “Of course we’ll rap,” retorted John. “You talk as if you didn’t know what the customs of civilized countries are.” “Is knocking one of them?” inquired Fred demurely. “It certainly is.” “Well, then, I guess I don’t live in the place you are talking about, for nobody has rapped at our door at home for the last ten years. Not since we have put in electric bells.” “It’s hard work to keep up with you,” said John, not strongly impressed by the attempt of his friend to be facetious. “But we’ll knock here anyway.” Advancing to the kitchen door, John rapped loudly to proclaim the presence of visitors. A silence followed the summons and when several seconds had elapsed John repeated his knocking. Still no one came to welcome them, and then, glancing behind him at his friend, John demurely raised the latch and opened the door. Fred at once followed and the two boys found themselves in a low, rude kitchen. The stove was in one corner and it was plain now that the smoke they had discovered was rising from it through the chimney. Upon the stove several cooking utensils were to be seen, but as yet no person had announced his presence in the little building. “There must be somebody here,” whispered Fred. “Of course there is.” “Well, why doesn’t he show up?” “He will be here in a minute.” But when several minutes passed and still no one made known his presence, John decided to announce their arrival in other ways. “Hello!” he called, and then as his hail was not answered he repeated the summons in tones still louder. “Hello! Hello!” he shouted again. While he was speaking both boys were glancing toward the rude stairway that led from the room to the small loft. They had surmised that the occupants of the house might have been caught in the storm as they themselves had been, and were in the upper room changing their clothing. “Who are you?” Startled by the unexpected sound both boys turned quickly about and saw standing in the doorway of the kitchen a man plainly puzzled by their unexpected appearance. Neither of the boys ever had seen him before. He was apparently fifty years of age, strong, and his face bronzed by sun and wind. There was an expression in his face, however, that was puzzling to both boys. He glanced quickly from one to the other and for a moment the boys suspected that he was prepared either to leap upon them or precipitately flee from the spot, they could not decide which. The man was well-dressed and it was plain that he was not an ordinary inhabitant. “We got caught in the storm,” explained John hastily. “We landed down here and then we saw this little house and we thought perhaps we could come up here and dry out.” “Anybody with you?” inquired the other man, still gazing keenly at both his young visitors. “Nobody but the mate.” “Mate of what?” “The Gadabout.” “Did you come over from Mackinac Island?” demanded the man quickly. “Yes, sir,” said Fred. “We started this morning about four o’clock.” “And you came over with Captain Hastings?” “Yes, sir. We got caught in the storm out here around the point and we couldn’t get back to the Gadabout, so the mate just let our skiff drive before the wind and the boat was stove in when we finally landed in that little cove out yonder.” “Where is the mate now?” “We don’t know. He went ahead of us and the first thing we knew he disappeared from sight.” “Was he on shore here?” “Yes, sir, we landed, as I told you, in that little cove and while we were getting ashore we lost the mate. We don’t know where he went.” “And you say there were others with you?” “Yes, sir,” explained Fred, “there were two other boys and they went out with the captain.” “What happened to them in the storm?” “We don’t know. We wish we did,” said John soberly. “Oh, they’re all right,” broke in Fred. “The Gadabout and the skiff were both beyond the point when the storm broke and they had no trouble in keeping to the lee of the point.” “This fire feels good anyway,” said John, whose long, attenuated frame was trembling with cold, in spite of the warmth which had followed the shower. “Sorry, boys, that I cannot give you a change,” said the man, smiling dryly as he spoke. As he was a man who weighed at least 190 pounds, while John’s form towered at least six inches higher and his weight was at least seventy pounds less, the idea of either wearing the clothing of the other was so ludicrous that Fred laughed aloud at the suggestion. “That’s all right,” said John quickly. “All we want is a chance to dry out before the mate gets back.” “How are you going to get back to Mackinac?” “I don’t know,” said John ruefully. “We thought that perhaps the mate could get word to the Gadabout and the motor-boat would stop for us.” “How can he get word to the Gadabout?” “I’m sure I don’t know,” said Fred. “We don’t know anything about this part of the country. It’s the first time we ever were here. We thought perhaps the captain might know some point where he could signal. It isn’t more than two or three miles across, is it?” “Not here,” responded the man. “But you are cold and I shouldn’t be surprised if you were both hungry. I’ve seen fellows at your age who sometimes were afflicted in that manner. I’ll put some more wood on the fire and we’ll dry you out and then we’ll see what we can do.” Placing his hands together in a peculiar manner the man whistled through them and in response, in an incredibly short time, a little Japanese serving man appeared. “Mike,” said the man, “see if you can’t find something for these hungry young fellows to eat. They were caught in the storm and their boat was wrecked down here in the cove.” The Japanese laughed loudly at the explanation and then quickly turning about departed from the house. “What do you say his name is?” inquired Fred. “We call him Mike.” “I never heard of a Japanese with that name.” “Well, I don’t suppose that is his full name. That’s a mouthful and I don’t often speak it. He has been with me for several years and when he first came some one named him Mikado, that was shortened to Mik, and of late that’s been gradually changing to Mike.” “Then he wasn’t born in Ireland?” laughed John. “No, he belongs to the Sunrise Kingdom. He will have something for you to eat very soon. I have been coming here for several years now every summer.” “Where is your home?” inquired John. “That’s hard to say. I was born on the ocean when my father and mother were coming from England. My father was French and my mother was Russian. We lived in the States two years after I was born and then we went to Bermuda a year or two and finally we wound up in Brazil. From Brazil we moved to Sweden and then went to Constantinople. After my father and mother died I came to England and then moved to Montreal. Now, if you can tell me where I belong and what I am you’ll do better than I have been able to do for myself.” “I think you’re a first cousin of the Wandering Jew,” laughed Fred. “Perhaps I am more like the Man Without a Country,” said the man soberly. “I have come up here from Montreal every summer for the last few years.” “Why, how do you get here?” inquired Fred. “I come up the Ottawa River from Montreal and then I leave the river at Mattawa. It is easy going then from Lake Nippising, across the Georgian Bay, and from Georgian Bay into Lake Huron doesn’t take very long. Have you ever been there, boys?” “Where?” inquired Fred. “Georgian Bay.” “No, sir.” “Then you have missed one of the prettiest spots in America. I never tire—” The man stopped abruptly as the mate of the Gadabout suddenly appeared in the doorway. Without waiting for an invitation he at once entered the room and then to the surprise of the two boys extended his hand and received from his host a small package which he quickly thrust into the pocket of his coat. The action although simple in itself nevertheless was surprising to the boys. It was manifest that the mate already was acquainted with the occupant of the house and also that he was having relations with him. Just what these were neither of the boys understood, but before many days elapsed they both were keenly excited by the recollection of the simple exchange which they had just seen in the kitchen of the old house on the shore of Cockburn Island. |
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