"Boy, are you always so cross before breakfast?" asked a girl's voice over his shoulder, and he turned to see Dorothy smiling upon him.

"No. Except when I'm sent for cream and hear fool talk from a measly old farmer in a blue smock," he answered, laughing rather foolishly.

"Was it the color of his smock made him measly? And what was that I heard about quitting?"

"Oh! nothing. I was just fooling. But, I say, Dorothy, don't you let any old woman coax you into a dead-and-alive hole in the woods. Mark what I say. They'll be trying it, but the Water Lily's your boat now, isn't it?"

"So I understood. But from the amount of advice I receive as to managing it, I think, maybe, it isn't. Well, I've heard you--now listen to me. 'The one who eats the most bread-and-b.u.t.ter can have the most cake'--or chicken. They look terrible little, don't they, now they're cooked? And I warn you, I never saw anybody look so hungry in all my life--no, not even you three boys!--as that poor, unhappy Colonel of T, in there with Aunt Betty. Yes, Mrs. Bruce, we're ready for breakfast at last. But mind what I say--_all we youngsters like oatmeal_! We _must_ like it this time for politeness sake. Fourteen eaters and twelve halves of broiled chicken--Problem, who goes without?"

But n.o.body really did that. Mrs. Bruce was mistress of the art of carving and managed that each should have at least a small portion of the delicacies provided, though she had to tax her ingenuity to accomplish this.

At the head of her table Mrs. Calvert motioned Chloe to serve her guest again and again; and each time that Ephraim jealously s.n.a.t.c.hed a dainty portion for her own plate she as promptly and quietly restored it to the platter.

Also, the "Skipper" at his own board played such a lively knife and fork that dishes were emptied almost before filled and Gerald viciously remarked:

"Aren't as fond of ship's biscuit as you were, are you, Cap'n Jack?"

The Captain helped himself afresh and answered with good nature:

"Oh! yes. Jes' as fond. But I likes a change. Yes, I c'n make out to relish 'most anything. I ain't a mite partic'lar."

This was too much for the lads and a laugh arose; but the old man merely peered over his specs at them and mildly asked:

"What you-all laughin' at? Tell me an' lemme laugh, too. Laughin' does old folks good. Eh, Cunnel? Don't you think so?" he asked, wheeling around to address the guest of honor.

But that gentleman was too engaged at that moment to reply, even if he would have condescended so to do. Just now, in the presence of Mrs.

Calvert, whose mere name was a certificate of "quality," he felt himself an aristocrat, quite too exalted in life to notice a poor captain of a house-boat.

Breakfast over, Aunt Betty excused herself and withdrew to the shelter of her little stateroom. Shelter it really was, now, against her uninvited guest. She had done her best to make his early call agreeable and to satisfy him with more substantial things than old memories. They had discussed all the prominent Maryland families, from the first Proprietor down to that present day; had discovered a possible relationship, exceedingly distant, he being the discoverer; and had talked of their beloved state in its past and present glories till she was utterly worn out.

He had again "given" her his most cherished possession, Billy the mule; and she had again declined to receive it. Buy him, of course, Dorothy would and should, if it proved that a mule was really needed.

But not without fair payment for the animal would she permit "him" to become a member of her family. The Colonel so persistently spoke of the creature as a human being that she began to think of Billy as a monstrosity.

The morning pa.s.sed. Aunt Betty had deserted, and Dorothy had to take her place as hostess. All her heart was longing for the green sh.o.r.e beyond that little wharf, where now all the other young folks were having a lively frolic. It was such a pity to waste that glorious sunshine just sitting in that little cabin talking to a dull old man.

He did little talking himself. Indeed, warmed by the sunshine on the deck where he sat, and comfortably satisfied with a more generous meal than he had enjoyed for many months, the Colonel settled back on the steamer chair which was Aunt Betty's own favorite and went to sleep.

He slept so long and quietly that she was upon the point of leaving him, reflecting:

"Even a Calvert ought not to have to stay here now, and watch an old man--snore. It's dreadful, sometimes, to have a 'family name.' Living up to it is such a tax. I wish--I almost wish--I was just a Smith, Jones, Brown, or anybody! I will run away, just for a minute, sure!

and see what happens!"

But, despite the snores, the visitor was a light sleeper. At her first movement from her own chair, he awoke and actually smiled upon her.

"Beg pardon, little lady. I forgot where I was and just lost myself.

Before I dropped off I was goin' to tell you--Pshaw! I cayn't talk. I enjoy quiet. D'ye happen to see Billy, anywhere?"

"Certainly. He's right over on that bank yonder and the boys are trying to fix a rope to his harness, so he can begin to draw the boats up stream. They want to try and see if it will work. Funny! To turn this lovely Water Lily into a mere ca.n.a.l-boat. But I suppose we can still have some good times even that way."

The Colonel shook his head.

"No, you cayn't. n.o.body can. They ain't any good times for anybody any more."

"What a lot of 'anys'! Seems as if out of so many there might be one good time for somebody. I was in hopes you were having such just now.

What can I do to make it pleasanter for you?"

"Sit right down and let me speak. Your name's Calvert, ain't it?"

"Why, of course. I thought you knew;" answered the girl, reluctantly resuming her seat.

"Never take anything for granted. I cayn't do it, you cayn't do it.

Something'll always go wrong. It did with your great-grandfather's brother that time when he hid--Ah! hum! It ought to be yours, but it won't be. There couldn't be any such luck in this world. Is Billy lookin' comf'table?"

Billy answered for himself by a most doleful bray. Indeed, he was resenting the lads' endeavors to remove his harness. Jim fancied he could fix it better for the purpose of hauling the Water Lily, but the animal objected, because that harness had never been taken from his back since it was put on early in the spring. Then the more ambitious of the negroes who managed the Colonel's truck-farm had equipped Billy for ploughing the melon-patch. After each day's work the beast had seemed tired and the gentleman-farmer had suggested:

"Don't fret him takin' it off. You'll only have to put it on again, to-morrow."

This saved labor and suited all around; and Billy was trying to explain to these tormenting lads how ill-at-ease and undressed he would feel, if he were stripped of his regalia.

"Sounds like he was in trouble, poor Billy. But, of course, he is.

Everybody is. You are. If you had that buried--Pshaw! What's the use!

You ain't, you cayn't, n.o.body could find it, else things wouldn't have happened the way they did; and your great-grandfather wouldn't have forgot where he buried it; and it wouldn't have gone out the family; and since your great-grandfather's brother married my great-grandmother's sister we'd all have shared and shared alike. It's sad to think any man would be so careless for his descendants as to go and do what your great-grandfather's brother did and then forget it.

But--it's the way things always go in this lop-sided world. Ah! um."

The Colonel's breakfast had made him more talkative than had seemed possible and because she could do no better for her own amus.e.m.e.nt, Dorothy inquired:

"Tell me the story of our great-grand-folks and what they buried.

Please. It would be interesting, I think."

"Very well, child, I'll try. But just keep an eye on Billy. Is he comf'table? I don't ask if he's happy. He isn't. n.o.body is."

"Beg pardon, but you are mistaken about that mule. No matter what the boys and Captain Hurry try to do with him, he manages to get his nose back to the ground again and eat--Why, he hasn't really stopped eating one full minute since he came. That makes me think. Will the man who owns that gra.s.s like to have him graze it that way? Isn't gra.s.s really hay? Don't they sell hay up home at Baltimore? Won't it cost a great deal to let Billy do that, if hay is worth much?"

"You ask as many questions as--as I've heard your folks always do. But it's no use worryin' over a little hay. It ain't wuth much. Nothing's wuth anything in Annyrunnell. The only thing in the whole county wuth a continental is what your great-grandfather's brother buried in the woods on Ottawotta Run. Deer-Copse was the spot. Buried it in a bra.s.s-bound chest, kept the key, and then forgot. Ah! hum."

"Ottawotta Run? Deer-Copse! Why, that's the very place the boys said the man said that you say--Oh! Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty! There's a buried fortune belonging to our family out in the woods! We'll find it, we _must_ find it, and that will save all your Old Folks their Home and you won't have to sell Bellvieu!" almost shrieked Dolly, running to her aunt's stateroom and flinging wide the little door, regardless of knocking for admittance. But disappointment awaited her--the stateroom was empty.

CHAPTER IX.

FISH AND MONKEYS.

Farmer Wickliffe Stillwell proved a friend in need.

About the middle of that eventful morning he appeared with a big basket on either arm, his blue-checked smock swaying in the breeze that had arisen, his iron-gray, luxuriant whiskers doing the same, and his head bare.

He had started with his Sunday hat perched on his "bald-spot," which was oddly in contrast with the hirsute growth below. Lizzie, his wife, had affirmed such headgear was "more politer" than the old straw hat he commonly wore and that had the virtue of staying where it was put, as the stiff Derby did not.