Chapter VIII

MINCHIN'S ISLAND.

"I thought I told you to go below," said an angry voice, and, looking up, Tim saw it was the Captain who was detaining him. "If you so much as make a motion to go on shore, I'll whip you within an inch of your life."

Then, without giving him an opportunity to disobey, the same heavy hand pushed him back on the deck, and Mr. Rankin led him forcibly below.

"I won't stay here. I won't go down stairs an' leave Tip there to drown," cried Tim, passionately. "It's awful wicked, an' I won't do it."

"Listen to me, Tim," said Mr. Rankin, kindly but firmly. "There is no possible chance that your dog will drown, and you must come below, for it is the Captain's orders."

"But I must go an' get him," wailed Tim.

"Suppose you could get him before we leave the dock, which you can't, and suppose you should get him aboard without the Captain's seeing you, which is an impossibility, what would be the result? Captain Pratt would throw him overboard after we got out to sea again, and then he would be sure to drown."

Tim knew the steward's reasoning was correct, and yet he refused to be comforted. He was led below despite his struggles, but when he reached the main-deck he ran to the rail, from where he could see all that was going on in the water.

"Do you s'pose he will get ashore all right?" Tim asked of Mr. Rankin, as he watched Tip's exertions to save himself.

"Of course he will; he's almost there now, and in five minutes more he'll be just as safe as ever, and a good deal cleaner."

By this time the freight for the island had been landed, and the steamer was already leaving the wharf. Tim was in an agony of fear lest he should be obliged to depart without assuring himself that Tip was a saved dog.

But in order that the steamer should be put on her course again it was necessary to back her for some distance, and that was a bit of good luck for Tim, since they moved in the direction taken by Tip. Tim could see Bobby at the extreme point of land that jutted out into the sea, urging the dog to increased exertion, and aided by all the boys who were on the wharf at the time Tip was thrown overboard, as well as by a number of others who had learned of the excitement by seeing Bobby as he ran around the shore.

Just as the steamer's paddle-wheels ceased to force her back, and began to urge her in the opposite direction, Tip's short legs touched the bottom, and in another instant Bobby was holding him, all wet and dripping, high up in the air, while he executed a sort of triumphant war-dance before Tim's delighted gaze.

Tim stood looking with his very heart in his eyes as the Pride of the Wave carried him farther and farther from the only friend he had, and when he saw Tip run along the beach and shake himself, he laughed from very joy.

But in another instant he understood that if the dog was safe, he was being separated from him very rapidly.

"I sha'n't see him ever again in the world," he wailed, "an' he is the only feller that cares anything about me."

Then he ran to the little hole which had served Tip as a state-room, and there gave vent to his sorrow in passionate weeping.

When Tim had so far recovered from his grief as to present himself for work again, Minchin's Island was far astern, and the voyage drawing rapidly to an end.

Those who were friendly to the boy thought the wisest and kindest course to pursue was to say nothing about poor Tip, and as those who were not friendly did not speak of him, Tim got on without giving way to his grief in public. Captain Pratt seemed to have forgotten his threat of punishing Tim for venturing on the upper deck, or he may have thought best to wait until the end of the trip, for he said nothing to the boy, which was far more kind than he had any idea of being.

At the different landings Tim did not have curiosity enough to look at the towns, but worked as hard as he could, in order to prevent thinking about poor Tip. Captain Pratt summoned him to the wheel-house several times, and whenever he went there he felt certain he was to receive the promised whipping; but he was mistaken, for after ordering him to do some trifling work, the Captain paid no attention to him.

At about six o'clock on the afternoon of that day the steamer was made fast to the wharf at Bedlow, and the trip was ended.

After the work of cleaning the cabin was done, Mr. Rankin said, "You can go ashore and see the town if you want to; but be back by nine o'clock."

Tim shook his head; he had no desire to see anything new, since Tip was not there to enjoy the sights with him, and he crept off to his dirty berth in the forecastle, where he cried himself to sleep.

On the next morning he succeeded in supplying the Captain's wants at the table as quickly as that gentleman thought proper, and yet no mention was made of the events of the previous day.

The steamer was to leave Bedlow on her return trip at noon, and Tim took no interest in the bustle and excitement on the wharf, save that each succeeding moment was one less in the time that must elapse before he saw Tip again.

As the steamer started, his spirits rose, and he watched her course carefully, fretting at the time spent at each landing, content only when she was going at regular speed toward Minchin's Island and Tip.

He had formed no plan as to what he should do when he got there. He knew that Mr. Rankin's advice that Tip be left there was good, and should be followed, but he could not make up his mind to do so. Parting with Tip seemed like parting with a portion of his very life, and he could not bring himself to say that he would leave this his only friend, no matter how short the time.

It was nearly night-fall when the steamer neared Minchin's Island, and Tim was as far in the bow as he could get on the main-deck, in order that he might catch the first glimpse of Tip, for he felt sure Bobby would bring him to the wharf.

At last he could distinctly see the different objects on the wharf, and his heart sank when he failed to see any one who at all resembled Bobby. He looked eagerly among the crowd assembled, and could not even see one boy, when on the day before there had been at least twenty there. He was at a loss to account for this cruelty on Bobby's part. He knew the dog had been saved, for he had surely seen him held aloft in Bob's arms, and a cruel suspicion came into his mind that perhaps the boy was keeping out of sight with the intention of claiming Tip as his own.

The boat arrived at the wharf, and was made fast. Not a single boy or dog could be seen.

Tim's heart was full to bursting, and as he leaned against the rail he thought it was not possible for greater trouble to come to him, since he was denied even a sight of Tip.

Now he would willingly have promised that the dog should remain with Bobby if by making such promise he could see and hug him each time the boat arrived at that place.

So absorbed was he with his grief, caused by what looked very like an act of unkindness on Bobby's part, that he failed to notice what several of the employés on the steamer saw and wondered at. A man had called Captain Pratt on shore, and was talking to him in such a manner as to make him angry. So excited was he that he paid no attention to the fact that the steamer was ready to continue the trip, and that every one waited for him.

Tim saw nothing of all this; but when the Captain called loudly to him he started as if he had been caught in wrong-doing.

"Come ashore here," cried the Captain, much as if he was angry with himself for giving such an order.

Tim walked on to the wharf in a perfect maze of surprise, and when he went near his employer his wonder was increased by hearing that gentleman say to the one he had been talking with, "Here's the boy, and I wish you joy of him." And then to see him go quickly on board the steamer.

Before Tim had time to recover from his surprise the steamer had started, and as she was leaving the wharf he was almost knocked down by some soft substance that hit him on the legs.

TIM RECOVERS HIS LOST PET.

It did not take him many seconds to discover that this substance which had struck him so suddenly was his own little bob-tailed Tip, and then he sat right down on the wharf, and hugged him desperately, giving no heed to anything save the happy fact that he had his pet to himself once more.

Some time before he had finished hugging and kissing Tip a noisy crowd of boys appeared from behind one of the freight sheds, where they had evidently been in hiding, and gave him such a welcome to Minchin's Island as he never expected to receive anywhere.

Bobby was among the number, of course, and it was so long before he could calm himself down sufficiently to explain the meaning of all the strange occurrences, that Tim was left some time in doubt as to whether he had really escaped from the savage Captain Pratt, or if it was all a pleasant dream, from which he would awake to receive the promised flogging.

When Bobby did sober down sufficiently to talk understandingly, Tim learned that owing to his friend's pleading, and tales of how he had been abused, Mr. Tucker had promised that he would oblige Captain Pratt to let the boy come ashore at Minchin's Island, where he should have a home for a time at least.

Relying on that promise, Bobby had gathered all the boys of the town together to give Tim a proper welcome, and all had been hidden behind the shed when the steamer came in, so that the surprise should be as great as possible. By what means Mr. Tucker had induced Captain Pratt to part with the cabin-boy he was "breaking in" no one knew, and no one seemed to care, since it had been so successfully accomplished.

When Bobby looked around for his father, to introduce to him the boy for whom he had done so much, he was nowhere to be seen, and Bobby said in apology: "I s'pose he thought we would want to talk a good deal, and so he went off; but we'll see him when we get home."

"But am I really going to live with you?" asked Tim, hardly able to believe the good fortune that had come to him so suddenly.

"You're goin' to live with me a good while anyhow, an' I guess for all the time; but father didn't say." Then, as the boys started up the wharf, he added, eagerly: "We're goin' over to Bill Thompson's father's schooner now. We've got some chowder, an' Bill's father said we could go over there an' have supper, so we're goin' to show you one of the best times you ever had."

The countenances of all the boys told that some big time was near, and more especially was that the case with Bill Thompson. By his very manner he showed that he considered himself of the greatest importance in that party, and walked on in advance, almost unable to contain himself because of his excessive dignity. Instead of going up into the little town, Bill led the way around the shore, and as the boys reached the headland where Tip had first touched the land of Minchin's Island, Bobby pointed to a small fishing-schooner that lay at anchor a short distance from the shore.

Then the other boys began to tell about the supper and the good time generally, until it was impossible to distinguish one word; but Bill Thompson walked on in silence, looking neither to the right nor the left. It was enough for him that he was the one on whom the pleasure depended, since it was to take place on his father's vessel, and he could not lower his dignity by talking.

A dory hauled up on the beach served to convey the party to the schooner, and once there, Bill Thompson led the way to the cabin, where every preparation had been made for the feast of welcome.

The table, formed by letting down a shelf from the side of the cabin, was large enough to accommodate half the party, and was laid with every variety of crockery and cutlery such as would be likely to be found on board a fishing vessel. The only food on the table was crackers, but a huge pot, which was bubbling and steaming in a contented sort of way on the stove, told that there was enough to satisfy the wants of the hungriest boy there.

"Set right down to the table, Tim," said Bill, unbending from his dignity a little, "an' the rest of us will do the work; you're the company, you know."

Tim took the place of honor, the only arm-chair in the cabin, and was more than gratified to find that a seat had been placed close beside him for Tip, who had already jumped on it, sitting there looking as wise and hungry as a dog could look.

The entire boy portion of the population of Minchin's Island had worked hard and earnestly to prepare this feast of welcome, and the result of their labors was the chowder, which was being served by means of a cocoanut-shell dipper, with a large hole in the side that somewhat delayed the progress.

At last all were served, and those who could not find places at the table were seated on the sides of the berths, on trunks, fishing-tackle, or any available space, and the feast was begun.

Tip had his share in a saucer, and he ate it in as dignified a manner as the best-behaved dog could have done.

For several moments all gave their undivided attention to the chowder, which was not exactly as good as they were accustomed to at home, but which, being the product of their own labor, tasted better than anything they had ever eaten before.

Especially to Tim was it good, because of the spirit which prompted its manufacture, and because it was an evidence of their good-will to him. Tip rather turned his nose up at it, however. Since his arrival at Minchin's Island he had been petted and fed by every boy in town, thanks to Bobby's stories of his ability as a bear dog, until now it required something more than ordinary food to tempt his appetite.

But the feast was not the only way by which the boy who had come among them was to be honored, as Tim soon found out. A very elaborate programme had been arranged, and not one single detail was to be omitted.

Bill Thompson, with his mouth uncomfortably full, arose to his feet in such a clumsy manner that he upset what remained of Bobby's chowder, very much to the disadvantage of the table-cloth and his trousers, and said, with some hesitation:

"Mr. Babbige, we fellers heard all about you last night from our esteemed feller-citizen Mr. Bob Tucker, an' we wanted to do something to show you what we thought of you."

Here Bill stopped to swallow a portion of the cracker that impeded his speech, and Tim looked around him in blank amazement, not understanding this portion of the proceedings. Bill continued in the most serious manner:

"We knowed what a hard time you was havin' on the Pride, an' we wanted to have you come an' live here, 'cause we thought we should like you, an' 'cause you had such a fine dog. This little chowder welcome ain't all we've got for yer. To-morrer we're goin' to take Tip an' you out in the woods, an' we've decided that the first bear he kills shall be skinned, an' the skin nailed up on Bobby Tucker's father's barn, where everybody can see what your Tip has done."

At this point Bobby Tucker slyly pinched Tip's stub tail, and he uttered such a yelp that the remainder of the company applauded loudly, thinking he must have understood what was said.

When the noise ceased, Bill bowed gracefully to Tip as an acknowledgment of his appreciation, and having swallowed that which had been in his mouth, was able to speak more plainly.

"Mr. Babbige, we fellers want to 'gratulate you on gettin' off the Pride, an' more 'specially on comin' to this town, where the fellers will treat you an' Tip as you ought to be treated. We hope you'll stay forever with us, an' never want to go away. Now, fellers, I say three cheers for Tip and Tim Babbige."

The cheers were given with a will, causing Tim's face to turn as red as a boiled beet, while his confusion was as great as his face was red.

As soon as the noise had died away, Bobby was on his feet ready to express his opinion on the subject.

"Mr. Tim—I mean Tim—no, Mr. Timothy Babbige," he began, very earnestly; but his difficulty in getting the name right so confused him that he forgot what he was to say next. He cleared his throat until his voice was as hoarse as an aged frog's, and yet no words came. Then he seized a glass of water, drinking it so fast that he gasped and choked until the tears came into his eyes, and his face was as red as Tim's.

"Mr. Babbige," he began, and Tim's big eyes were fixed on him so pityingly that he was all at sea again so far as words were concerned, and making one desperate effort, he said, "Well, we're glad to see you here, Tim, an' we mean to make it jest as lively for you as we know how."

Then Bobby sat down very much ashamed that he had made such a failure; but when the boys cheered him as loudly as they had Bill, he began to think it was quite a speech after all.

Now every one looked expectantly at Tim, and he knew he was obliged to make some reply. He gazed at Tip, and Tip gazed at him; but no inspiration came from that source, and he stood up in a desperate way, feeling that as a rule he had rather go hungry than pay such a price for a supper.

"Fellers," he said, loudly, believing, if the thing must be done, the more noise the better, "I want to thank you all for what you did for Tip when you pulled him out of the water, an' for what you've done for me. The chowder was splendid—"

Here he was interrupted by loud and continued applause as he paid this delicate compliment to their skill as cooks, and it was some moments before he could continue.

"Tip an' me have had a nice time eatin' it, an' we're a good deal more glad to be here than you are to have us."

He could think of nothing more to say, and was about to sit down when Bobby asked, "What about killin' the bears?"

"I'd 'most forgotten about them," he said, as he straightened himself up and looked down at Tip with pride. "If you've got any bears 'round here that wants to be killed, Tip will fix 'em for you; but if you want to save the skins to nail up on the barn, you must rush in an' catch Tip before he chews 'em all up. Why, I saw Tip catch a woodchuck once, an' before you could say 'scat' he'd chewed him awfully. So you'll have to be kinder careful of your bears when Tip once gets his eye on 'em."

That was the end of Tim's speech, for the applause was so great that for the next five minutes it would have been useless for any one to try to make himself heard.

It was very near nine o'clock by the time the formal welcome to Tim was concluded, and after the cabin had been cleaned, Bill Thompson said, as he wiped the dishwater from his hands, smoothed down his hair, and made himself presentable for an appearance at home, "I guess we'd better go now, an' to-morrow mornin' we'll go 'round back of Bobby Tucker's father's wood-shed an' fix up about the bear-hunt."

The idea that they were to start the ferocious bear from his lair so soon caused a fresh burst of enthusiasm, and each one made another and a personal examination of Tip, until the much-inspected dog came very near being cross.

It was rather a sleepy party that clambered over the side of the schooner that night, but it was a party that had the most absolute faith in Tip Babbige's ability to kill all the bears on the island.

[to be continued.]

A VISIT TO THE OLD FARM-HOUSE.—Drawn by Henry Bacon.