Gertie mutely shook her head.

"Neither should Christian nations allow weaker peoples nor any part of their own people to be unjustly treated, when it is in their power to prevent it. 'Am I my brother's keeper?' will some day be a question every nation must answer as well as every individual."

"But most of the world's wars have been to take other nations' rights away from them, not to protect them," objected Ernest.

"Yes, on one side, but in every war there has always been the side that fought to protect its loved ones and its homes from the brutality of conquerors. There is hideous wrong in every war, but the wrong is in the hearts of those who would rob and oppress those weaker than themselves, not in the patriots and heroes who resist. But I didn't mean to deliver a lecture. I'd rather tell you about the brave boy who wielded this cutla.s.s."

Chicken Little drew her chair closer.

"It was in '65--soon after I was mustered out of service at the close of the war, I was offered the command of a freighter going round The Horn to the Orient. I hated to leave my wife and little boy for a year's voyage, especially after being away so long during the war, but it was the only opening worth while I could find. I guess I had the get-rich-quick idea, too, but never mind, that has nothing to do with the story. We had a terrible voyage. Storms and bad luck of every kind.

The rigging was shrouded with ice for weeks--two men were frozen to death on watch. I don't know that I blame the men as I look back. I had been so hardened myself by the terrible discipline and sights of war, I guess I didn't take much trouble to make my crew see the necessity of some of our hardships. At any rate, they mutinied and would have killed me while I slept, but for my cabin boy. He was only sixteen, but he discovered the conspiracy and roused me. With the help of the other officers and a few loyal sailors we stood them off. Hot work it was."

The Captain stopped an instant, musing.

The young people waited, expectant. Captain Clarke held up the cutla.s.s reverently. "Charlie used this to good purpose after he had fired his last round of ammunition. I was wounded--had propped myself against the rail and was aiming my last precious bits of lead at the ring-leader, when some one jabbed a bayonet at me from the side. Charlie knocked it up, cutting the dastard down with a second blow that was a marvel. Those two strokes saved my life and saved the ship. Do you wonder this ugly thing looks beautiful to me?"

"And the boy?" Katy asked softly.

"Commands a vessel of his own in the Pacific trade. I had a letter and a Satsuma jar from him a few weeks ago. But we are neglecting the _Chicken Little_! That will never do."

A crescent moon was visible in the sky as they came back to the place where the boat was moored.

"I fear I detained you longer than I intended with my yarn," said the Captain. "It will soon be dark and that moon is too young to be very useful."

"Oh, it will give a good deal of light for two or three hours. I know every inch of the road, and even if I didn't, the horses do," Ernest replied.

"Will you boys take the oars together or one at a time? Chicken Little, you girls may take turns in the bow and the rest of us will make a nice tight fit here in the stern."

The boys preferred to try their luck singly. Ernest picked up the oars awkwardly. He had had little experience in rowing and he felt self-conscious under the Captain's eye. His first stroke sent a shower of drops flying over them.

"Here," called Sherm, "that isn't a hose you're handling!"

"Anyhow, the drops feel lovely and cool." Katy was inclined to defend Ernest.

"A longer, slower stroke will do the work better and not blister your hands so quickly," admonished Captain Clarke. "Our future admiral must learn to row a boat skillfully. You boys are welcome to use it whenever you see fit."

Ernest set his lips together firmly and soon had the boat skimming along rapidly, though still rather jerkily, his strokes being more energetic than regular. The woods were already echoing with soft night noises, frogs croaked; the clicking notes of the katydids mingled with the whining of the wind through the boughs overhead. Part of the pool disappeared in the shadows; the rest broke into shimmering ripples with every stroke of the oars.

"Oh, I love the night time!" exclaimed Chicken Little. "Seems as if everything in the world had done its day's work and was sitting down to talk it over--even the frogs. Don't you s'pose they're glad or sorry about things when night comes, just as we are?"

Sherm looked at Chicken Little, who was leaning over the side of the boat, trailing her hand in the water.

"Chicken Little, you work your imagination overtime--it will wear out if you aren't careful."

She rewarded him with a grimace.

"You are getting a much evener stroke, Ernest," observed the Captain.

"I bet he's getting a blister on his hand, too," said Katy.

"Yes, Ernest, you'd better let me have a turn." Sherm slid over to the rower's seat and reached his hand for the oars, which Ernest yielded reluctantly.

Sherm had spent one summer near Lake Michigan and was a better oarsman than Ernest. The boat skimmed along smoothly. "Good for you, Sherm, you have a strong, even stroke," the Captain praised.

Presently the girls began to sing, Ernest and Sherm joining in. Captain Clarke listened happily to the young voices until they struck up "Soft and Low over the Western Sea." They all loved it and were crooning it sweetly, but the Captain's face went white as they sang: "Father will come to his babe in the nest." "Don't!" he exclaimed involuntarily.

They all looked at him in surprise. He regained his self-possession instantly, saying with a smile: "Go on--don't mind my twinge of rheumatism--I slept in a draught last night. That is one of the loveliest things Tennyson has ever written."

The young people finished the song and began another, but they wondered.

The spell of the evening was broken. Soon after, they started home.

CHAPTER XI

CALICO AND COMPANY

Mrs. Morton pa.s.sed the m.u.f.fins for the fifth time to Ernest. Ernest's appet.i.te for m.u.f.fins was prodigious. Sherm was also ready for another.

Chicken Little hadn't quite finished hers, but at the rate they were disappearing--she thought she'd better. Katy said: "Yes, thank you," and Gertie, who ate more slowly than the others, had only had one. Dr.

Morton was merely waiting to be urged. Mrs. Morton rang the bell doubtfully. Annie had filled the plate three times already. Annie appeared with a questioning grin.

"Shall I bring some bread, Ma'am? They ain't no more m.u.f.fins."

Dr. Morton laughed. "Our appet.i.tes do credit to your cooking, Annie."

Mrs. Morton sighed, then smiled as she surveyed the rosy, tanned faces.

"There is certainly nothing like country air to make people eat. I wonder when Alice and d.i.c.k will be getting back. d.i.c.k said the first week in August probably."

"Oh, dear," said Chicken Little, "I want to see Alice and d.i.c.k again, but I don't want Katy and Gertie and Sherm to go home. They can only stay a few days this time, Alice said so."

"I don't want to go home a bit," replied Katy.

"There's nothing to do at home till school begins."

"I'd like to go home and see Mother, and then come back." Gertie looked a little wistful. She did want Mother within reach.

"I wish we could keep you all till September." Dr. Morton liked to have the clatter of the young people about. "If we only knew some one going back to Illinois at that time to look after you. I don't suppose Mrs.

Halford would like to have you girls travel so far without some grown person along. But I don't see why Sherm can't just as well stay till time to get ready for college."

"I'd like nothing better, and I'm not dead sure I'm going to college this fall. Father seemed a little doubtful when I left, and the folks haven't said anything about it in their letters. If I can't, I guess I'll try for a clerkship in the post-office when I go back."

Dr. Morton studied a moment. "How would you like to work here on the ranch if you don't go to college, Sherm?"

"Do you mean it, Dr. Morton?"

"I surely do. Of course, Ernest's going is not quite settled yet, but I have practically made up my mind that he must go off to school somewhere. We shall need some one to take his place and it would be very pleasant to have you. Chicken Little here wouldn't be quite so homesick for Ernest, perhaps, if you would let her adopt you in his place."