WHY CHARLIE DIDN’T WANT TO SELL THE WINGS OF THE MORNING.

The next morning, Charlie, arrayed in his best, went over to see Uncle Isaac, landing first at the wharf, and having a little conference with Fred, looking over his fish flakes, into the fish-house and store, after which he made sail, and soon ran over to Uncle Isaac’s Point. He found his canoe at the shore, aground forward, but her stern afloat. He did not want to let his boat ground, and had just put his hand on the canoe to shove her into the water, that he might put his boat off at anchor, when he espied the birch, bottom up, under a tree, and carefully covered with spruce boughs to protect her from the sun. An irresistible desire instantly seized upon him to get into the birch. Indeed, he wanted, and had determined to, the first time he ever saw her, which was when Uncle Isaac came on to Elm Island to announce the arrival of the Ark in Havana, but the good news had driven it all out of his head till too late.

This was an opportunity too good to lose. He drew her carefully into the water, and fastening her to his boat, rowed both off, till a sufficient distance from the shore, when, after anchoring the boat and furling the sails, he prepared to get into the birch. He had heard that it was a very difficult matter to go in one; but he was exceedingly lithe of limb, a proficient in wrestling, accustomed to put himself in all manner of shapes, and used to going in ticklish gunning floats, and considered the notion that he couldn’t manage a birch as simply ridiculous.

He got in, and disdaining the dictates of prudence, which prompted to a sitting posture, began to paddle towards the shore. He was more than three times the length of the canoe from the boat, when, he knew not how or wherefore, the birch in a moment slid from under him, and instantly righting, went gayly off before the wind towards Elm Island.

With a wild, astonished look, he swam to the boat, and, pulling up the anchor, caught the canoe, expecting to find her half full of water; but there was not a drop in her. “That is curious enough,” said Charlie. He was now in a fine plight to go visiting! His new beaver (three-cornered), his ruffled-bosomed shirt (the first he had ever owned), and his new waistcoat and breeches, and steel shoe-buckles—for with some of his venture-money he had treated himself to a go-to-meeting suit—were all soaked in salt water.

He debated the matter some time in his mind, whether he should go home or go on, but at length concluded to go on.

“I can’t be any worse off,” said he. “I’ll master that birch.”

He stripped, and got into her, but sat down, when he found he could keep her on her bottom. After paddling a while in this way, he got upon his knees, and could paddle much better. He then stood up once more, and went on very well for a while. At length she began to wiggle, at first slowly, then faster and faster, till out she went from under him, as though she had been made of quicksilver! Charlie swam up to her, and pushed her before him to the shore, got in, and went out again, till he finally succeeded.

Resuming his wet clothes, he set out for Uncle Isaac’s, and found him at work in his shop.

“You are all wet, Charlie!” said he, after the first greetings had passed. “Where have you been?”

“Overboard;” and he told him the story. “Are you busy, Uncle Isaac?”

“Busy? No; you know I can’t keep still. I happened to have some walnut, and was turning out some ox-bows, just to keep myself from idleness.”

“I have finished Captain Rhines’s boat, and came over to see if you wouldn’t like to take a sail with me in my boat.”

“Shouldn’t like anything better. But come, go into the house. It’s past the middle of the forenoon. We’ll have an early dinner, rig you out with some dry clothes, and start right off. We can take a bite with us, and come back when we like. There’s no moon, but it will be bright starlight.”

Charlie was a great favorite with Hannah Murch. No sooner was she made aware of his misfortune than she exerted herself to put matters to rights.

There happened to be in the house a shirt and waistcoat that his nephew, Isaac Murch, had left there. She cut off a part of Uncle Isaac’s breeches, and hunted up a fisherman’s knit frock.

“It’s no matter how you look,” said she; “there’s nobody to look at you in the woods and on the water. Salt water won’t hurt your hat or clothes one mite. I’ll press them with a hot iron while they are damp, and iron the hat. That ain’t wet inside, and there’s no nap on it. I’ll oil the shoes before they are quite dry, and rub the buckles with vinegar and ashes, wash your shirt, and do up the bosom, and nobody will know that anything has happened.”

“I make you a great deal of trouble, Mrs. Murch.”

“Not a bit of it! I love boys, and often wish I had one to make me trouble. I’ve brought up a whole family of them, but they are all gone to shift for themselves, and sometimes Isaac and I are real lonesome.”

They took Uncle Isaac’s stuffed seal with them, and their guns, and set out.

“I’ll haul up the anchor and make sail, Uncle Isaac. You take the tiller. I want you to see how well she steers.”

“She works like a pilot-boat!” said he, after he had put her about; “and carries a little weather helm, which she ought to. A boat with a lee helm isn’t safe. She won’t luff quick enough to shake out a flaw. You have to let the sheet fly, and then she ain’t safe, because she loses her headway.”

They shot some birds, as the people there called sea-fowl, and, as the young flood began to make, towards night went on to a ledge Charlie had never seen before. There was a part of this ledge that was never covered with water. On it was a great quantity of dry eel-grass and logs, that had come out of the river, and been flung up by high tides.

They hauled the boat out, took down her masts, and covered her up in eel-grass. Uncle Isaac then wet the seal, so that it would present that shiny appearance seals have when they come out of the water. Then they piled eel-grass on slabs laid over a log, crawled under it, and ate their supper. Towards sunset, Uncle Isaac began to make a noise like a seal, and Charlie was astonished at the accuracy of the imitation, and actually shrank, as though a real animal was beside him. He would cry first like an old seal, then like a young one. By and by one seal after another showed their heads above water, and some of them replied. After a while, they swam up to the rock, and began to crawl towards the decoy; but before they reached it, Uncle Isaac gave the signal to fire, and three of them lay dead on the rock.

“They will come here no more to-night, nor for many a month,” said Uncle Isaac, rising up, and flinging off the sea-weed. “It was a long shot, but we’ve done well.”

Charlie had been all day on the eve of making a communication to Uncle Isaac, but somehow or other could not muster courage. He thought he should do it while they were coming along, but didn’t. Then he was quite sure he should while they were under the eel-grass; but that excellent opportunity passed away unimproved. It was now or never. Charlie was glad there was no moon. He almost wished there were no stars. He managed to get Uncle Isaac to steer, while he sat on the after thwart, back towards him.

“Uncle Isaac—” A long pause.

“Well, what is it, Charlie?”

“Have you seen Fred lately?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ask you anything?”

“Yes, he asked me if I had any corn to spare, and I told him I would let him have five bushels.”

“Was that all?”

“Yes; I was in a hurry; went down to get some tobacco; didn’t get off the horse; he brought it out.” A longer pause.

“Fred was over to the island. He wanted me to ask you something.”

“Did he? What was it?”

“Whether—He wanted me to ask if you thought Captain Rhines and his wife would let the girls go to sail in this boat with him—Henry Griffin and Fred’s sister.”

“But ain’t you going?”

“Yes, sir; they wanted me to go with them.”

Charlie’s face, as he got off all this, was much the hue of a blood beet; but Uncle Isaac didn’t notice it, as there was no moon, and Charlie sitting back towards him.

“You know,” continued he, gathering courage now the ice was broken, “that Captain Rhines’s folks have been very kind to me. John and I are just like brothers. When we made the garden, she gave me some beautiful flower roots and bushes, and I want to let them know that I’m sensible of it. Fred feels just so. He says that when he was bitten so terribly, and almost at death’s door, Elizabeth and her mother took care of him in the daytime, and John nights; that Elizabeth kept the flies from him, bathed his head, gave him drink, and fanned him, for it was right in the heat of summer.”

“To be sure they’ll let them go. Why shouldn’t they?”

“We didn’t know.”

“But I know.”

“How shall we ask them?”

“Go right to the house, and ask them.”

“Fred says he don’t like to, because, though Captain Rhines has been real kind to him, yet he was such a bad boy, and went there in such shape after the dog bit him; and you know I came here in bad company, and, though they may like us and wish us well, perhaps they might not like for us to go with the girls in that way.”

“Benjamin Rhines was a poor boy, as myself, and we have got what we have by hard knocks. He is the last person, or his wife, either, to pay the least regard to all these things that you and Fred have conjured up. I’ll fix it for you.”

“O, if you would! That was what I wanted to ask you all the time, but didn’t know how to.”

“There’s nothing Captain Rhines likes so well as a coot stew. It’s their turn to come to our house, for we were there last. Sam Hadlock is coming here to-morrow morning, little after sunrise, to get Fred’s corn. I’ll send over by him, and invite all Captain Rhines’s folks, and tell them to be sure and come, Tige and all. The captain and his wife will come on the horse, and the girls will walk. I’ll tell Sam to invite Fred. You can all go out berrying in our pasture, and then ask them. They will ask their mother. You can go home with them in the evening, and make all your plans.”

“But do you think Mrs. Rhines will say yes?”

“I know she will.”

“Where is a good place to get berries, when we go to sail?”

“Smutty Nose—that’s burnt ground. There’s lots of them there.”

“Where’s a good place to get some fish for a chowder? You know we don’t want to go outside, because ’twould take too much time out of the day.”

“And you had rather be ashore picking berries, and sitting under the trees talking?”

“That’s it.”

“I’ll tell you: a haddock is a good fish for a chowder. Do you know where Pettigrew’s house is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know where Ransom’s Ledge is?”

“Yes, sir. That great dry ledge, with a big, round rock right on the highest part of it.”

“Run off south from Smutty Nose till you bring Pettigrew’s chimbly to bear over that rock. Now for an up-and-down mark. Did you ever notice a very high bluff, two mile or more up the bay, bare of trees, all the clear spot for miles around, with a house right in the middle of it?”

“O, yes, sir! That’s one of the marks for Atherton’s Shoal.”

“Right! Bring that house right over the lone spruce on Kidder’s P’int. You’ll drop your anchor in about twenty fathoms of water, and find plenty of haddock, and once in a while pick up a small cod. If you catch a cusk, tell Fred to corn him for me; and shoot me a coon on Smutty Nose, if you can.”

“We will, Uncle Isaac, if there’s any on the island.”

“Let me tell you where to look: round the banks of Horse Shoe Cove, where the great basswood trees are.”

“I know, Uncle Isaac. They have holes under their roots.”

Under the direction of Uncle Isaac and Hannah Murch everything went on like clock-work. Captain Rhines and his wife came early in the afternoon, as was the custom of that day, both on one horse; the girls an hour and a half later, protected by Tige, and accompanied by Fred, who, by pure accident, taking a short cut through the woods, had overtaken them. After supper they went blueberrying.

“Why, girls,” said Mrs. Rhines, “the blueberries are not very thick.”

“Yes, they are,” said Hannah Murch; “the ground is blue with them.”

“Then I guess they didn’t find the right place, for they have hardly covered the bottoms of their pails.”

Mrs. Rhines made not the least objection to the girls going, provided the boys would promise to carry but one sail.

“We shan’t want to carry the mainsail, Mrs. Rhines,” said Charlie; “for the boom will be right in the way, and she works well under a foresail.”

They had a splendid time, a pleasant day; found the fishing ground by the marks, and girls and boys caught haddock and cod, but no cusk; found plenty of berries; and while the girls were making the chowder, the boys got a coon for Uncle Isaac, and shot some coots; they didn’t have to row home. Tige contributed his full share to the interest of the occasion, for he dug out and killed the coon, brought ashore the birds that were shot, appeared exceedingly happy, and moreover could tell no tales out of school.

“Have you had a good time, Charlie?” asked his mother, at his return.

“A glorious time, mother; never had such a good time in my life.”

“Is Uncle Isaac well?”

“Yes, mother; they are all first rate.”

“How did the girls enjoy their sail?”

“Enjoy their sail!”

“Yes, their sail; and Fred, and Henry, and Nancy Williams; you didn’t know we had a spyglass on Elm Island. I have found out what I never knew before.”

“What is that, mother?”

“That you can be as sly as other folks. I suppose you are all right now, and can finish the shop, and Uncle Isaac’s boat.”

“Yes, mother, all right now; some time I’ll tell you all about it.”

“No matter; I know why you wouldn’t sell the boat.”

Charlie now went to work with his father clearing more land, and working upon the shop in the intervals of other work, and on rainy days. They also rafted boat timber to the mill, and had it sawed to proper dimensions; dug out roots, procured crooked timber, and stuck up the boards in the shop chamber to season. Charlie also set up Uncle Isaac’s boat, in order that he might work on it in moments of broken time.

Boat-building was fast becoming something more than an amusement for Charlie: he had already received thirty-six dollars, and was disposed to devote to the business all the time he could spare from necessary farm work.