CHAPTER XII.

THE MISSING CAMPER.

Ethan beckoned to Tom, and together they at once began to prepare dinner. The boys noticed their proceedings, but in spite of the fact that they had had no breakfast, none of them took any interest in the boatman's task. They did not leave their position on the bank, and still stood looking out over the river, vainly watching for the coming of a canoe which as yet had not appeared.

Dinner was soon ready, and Ethan at once summoned the young campers. His own distress was evident, and did not tend to allay the anxiety of the boys; but in response to their protest that they were not hungry, he said:--

"That doesn't make a bit o' difference. Ye've got to eat whether ye want to or not. It may be we'll have a lot o' work yet to do, and if ye don't eat ye can't work."

"Ethan," said Jock, "don't you think we'd better telegraph to my father or to Ben's?" The boys had obeyed the summons, and were now seated at the table, but the eyes of all were upon the boatman.

"Telegraph?" replied Ethan. "It'll cost ye four shillin' to do that."

"I don't care what it costs," said Jock, recklessly; for even Ethan's fear of a telegram and its probable expense did not interest him now.

"Wall, mebbe, mebbe," said Ethan, slowly. "Ye'd better eat yer dinner first, and then we'll see what can be done."

No one spoke during the early part of the dinner, and although the boys managed to eat some of the food which had been provided for them, it was evident that they were not hungry, and their thoughts were all upon their missing comrade. The hopes which they had had at the coming of the day had disappeared now, and with the passing of the hours the conviction deepened that Ben was lost. How could they ever send word to his home? When Jock thought of the enthusiasm with which they had come, and then realized that he was the one who had proposed the camp, he was ready to blame himself as the cause of all the sorrow and trouble. Already in his mind he could see Ben's father and mother, when the word should be received in their home. How could he bear it? But Ben was gone; there could be no question about that, and it was quite probable that they never would learn how or where he had disappeared. The hungry current of the river bore swiftly onward in its course all that it seized, and traces of missing boat or boy would be difficult, if not impossible, to find. His eyes filled with tears, and he started abruptly from the table.

No one spoke to recall him, for they all understood his feelings, and indeed their own sympathies were now increasing; but as Jock ran toward the shore, he perceived that Tom was standing on the bank and gazing earnestly out upon the river.

Jock looked up to see what had interested Tom, and perceived a small steam-yacht coming close in-shore. Even while he was watching it, the beautiful little craft stopped, and a moment later he saw a canoe lowered from the stern and some one step into it.

The whistle of the yacht sounded shrilly, and in a moment all the campers were running swiftly toward the dock. No one spoke, but the canoe was now being paddled toward them, and in a brief time such a shout rang out from the watchers as was seldom heard on the great river.

"It's Ben, it's Ben!" cried Jock; and instantly his companions joined in the word.

There could be no doubt about it now, for even Ben's face could be seen as he occasionally turned and glanced at them. The yacht whistled again, as if the people on board shared in the manifest excitement of the camp, and then turned and steamed up the river, leaving a long trail of dark smoke behind it. None of the boys marked her departure, however, interested as they would ordinarily have been in the approach of such a beautiful visitor, for they were all intent upon the canoe and its occupant now.

Nearer and nearer came the canoe, and soon it was close to the shore. In their eagerness, the boys ran into the water, and to save himself Ben was compelled to relinquish his paddle, and suffer himself to be drawn up on the beach. As soon as he was safely landed, there was a scene enacted which none of them ever forgot. Jock was laughing and crying at the same time, and even the phlegmatic Bob was not unmoved.

"You rascal!" he said at last, when a momentary lull came, "what do you mean? Give an account of yourself, sir!"

"Here I am," replied Ben, evidently not unmoved by his reception. "Proceed, my lord, and do as it seemeth good in thy sight."

"Where have you been, Ben?" said Jock, eagerly. "Tell us about it."

"Mebbe he wants some dinner, first," suggested Ethan, who was not the least unmoved of the party. "He can tell us while he's eatin'."

"We're all hungry, now," said Bert; "we've been fasting while you've been gone, Ben. Don't we look so?"

"Fasting, fasting?" exclaimed Ben; "then you must have suffered keenly. I'm as hungry as a bear, myself. Come on, and I'll tell you all about it, while I'm sampling Ethan's wares."

The boys were soon all seated at the table again, and now that their lost comrade was found it seemed as if the lost appetites had also been restored. They fell upon the food before them in a manner which highly delighted Ethan, and compelled him and Tom to busy themselves in preparing more.

The dual occupation seemed in no way to interfere with Ben's ability or disposition to talk, and he at once began his story.

"Well, fellows, it was like this. When I started out last night I intended to go only a little way. I was going up just around the first island and then come straight back to camp; but when I rounded the island, I found the passage so narrow and dangerous I thought I'd go on around the next one. When I got to the end of that I found I was a good way out of my course; for the island was a pretty long one, you see, and when I cleared it, and I came out into the open river again, I must have made a mistake in my bearings. I didn't realize I'd lost my way till about a half an hour later, but then I knew it. There were islands all around me, and the wind had died away, or at least had died down a good deal.

"I kept on, thinking I'd strike a familiar spot, but the current is much stronger over there than it is here, and I found I was going down the stream all the time. I ran the canoe in-shore and took in my sail and thought I'd paddle, for the wind was mostly gone, as I said. I got along all right till I was out in the open water again, and had gone a good distance, but I couldn't find the island I was looking for.

"I began to look about me then, for the sun was almost out of sight by that time, and the first thing I knew it was dark, and the rain was on me. I'd been so busy I hadn't fairly realized there was a storm coming, but I knew it pretty quick then, I can tell you. I kept on and did my best, but that wasn't much, as you can imagine, and all the time it kept getting darker and darker. I was wet to the skin in no time, and the way the waves began to toss my frail bark about was a caution. Paddling wasn't of much use, and I began to look about me for some place to run into. Everything was pretty dark, and getting darker all the time, and I couldn't make out any island anywhere near me. But I wasn't staying in one place all the time, let me tell you, for the river was busy if I wasn't, and I went down the stream very swiftly, for the wind was at my back.

"I don't just know how long the thing kept up, or how far I'd gone, but I pretty soon saw a light ahead of me which I decided in very short metre must be a cottage or a house on some island. The paddle was still in my hands, for I'd been lucky enough to hold on to that, and then I did my best to steer for the light I'd seen.

"It kept coming nearer to me all the time, or so it seemed to me, though I suppose I was the one that was doing the travelling, and after a while I found I was correct, and that it must be 'a light in the window for thee, poor sailor, a light in the window for me.' I pulled for the shore, or rather ran for it, and I thought I was just going to run into shelter, when plump! my canoe struck a rock, and I was in the water before you could say Jack Robinson. The water didn't come much above my knees, and then, when I discovered that I wasn't dead, I swallowed my despair, also a few gallons, more or less, of this noble river, made a grab for my canoe, and somehow managed to get to the bank.

"The storm was getting in its fine work then, but it didn't make much difference to me, for I was wet and couldn't be any wetter. I'd reached the superlative degree, you see, by that time. I looked up, and there on the bluff was the light which I'd seen when I was out on the river; so, when I'd carried the canoe up on the bank, I decided to try my luck in the house, for I knew I couldn't get back to camp that night, so I marched up to the door and rapped as bold as you please.

"I almost fell over backward when the door was opened by one of the prettiest girls you ever saw. She looked at me a minute as if she didn't know what to make of it, and to tell the truth, fellows, I couldn't think of anything to say. But her father came to the door just then, and in a few minutes they knew all about my story, though I don't remember a word I said.

"At any rate, if I was a stranger they took me in, and the goodman of the house dressed me out in some of his clothes. He was 'a trifle too short, and a shaving too lean' for me, so that when I was finally dressed I didn't hardly dare to go downstairs again, for I could hear their voices through the floor, you see, and I knew there was more than one girl there then.

"Finally, I plucked up courage and went down, but do you know what those girls did when I came into the room? Well, they tried to be polite and all that, but they were mightily tickled about something, and pretty quick one of them got up and made a rush for the window and made out that she was looking out into the storm; but I could see her put her handkerchief to her face as if she was crying, and then the other three girls went to join her and see the dark, and then one of them said, 'Tee-hee,' and before you could say Jack Robinson they were laughing with 'inextinguishable laughter,' as our Homer has it.

"At last one of them turned to me, and I was glad to see her blush, for she ought to have been ashamed of herself, and I think she was, and she said, 'You must excuse us, Mr. Dallett. We are ashamed of ourselves, but really we couldn't help it. If you will come over here with me you'll see for yourself what it is that troubles us.' Well, I went over and she stood me up in front of a mirror and what do you suppose I saw, fellows? There was a chap looking at me from that mirror, and he was a little pee-culiar I must admit. The coat he had on was about three sizes too small for him. His trousers were about four inches above the tops of his shoes, and he looked as if he was mostly hands and feet.

"Well, I laughed. I couldn't help it, and we had a good time, after all. You see, Miss Bessie had three of her classmates with her spending the vacation, and they're a lively lot, I can tell you. I had a good time, and this morning, clothed in my right mind and also in my proper garb, they brought me back to camp in their steam-yacht."

It was the middle of the afternoon before Ben's story was ended, and after they had given vent to their delight over the safe return of their friend, Ethan said, "Ye don't want me to stay any longer to-day, do ye?"

"No, Ethan. You can go home. Come over early to-morrow morning."

"To-morrow's Sunday," said Ethan, soberly.

"You don't mean it?" exclaimed Jock. "I'm ashamed to say I'd actually forgotten even the days of the week."

"I'll come over and take ye all to church," suggested Ethan.

"We'll go to church, but you needn't come for us," said Ben, quickly.

"Ye can't go then, for I thought I'd take yer canoes back with me. I don't want to leave ye in any more danger."

"No, no. You're not going to take the canoes," protested Ben. "We're going to master them, now. I'll never give up in the world."

Ethan hesitated, and then under protest finally yielded. He explained that they could attend service at the Corners, at Alexandria Bay, or the "Park," as they preferred.

"We'll go to the Bay," said Ben, quickly, so quickly that the boys all laughed, thinking that they understood his motive.

"'Twill be better for ye to go there," said Ethan, soberly; but he had no idea of the trouble which his suggestion brought on the young campers on the following day.