And don't you s'pose we could carry Gerry there, just the same as we brought him here? I'm sure we're more obliged to you and Mrs.

Stillwell than I can very well say. You treated us prime--and----"

From the foot of the bed where she sat Mrs. Lucetta answered for her husband. Evidently she did most of his thinking for him.

"I've fixed all that. This sick boy must stay just where he is till he can walk to the Copse on his own feet. That won't be to-morrow nor next day. So one of you other boys had best stay, too. He might be afraid of me----"

"Hear! hear! afraid of Lucetty! He'd be the first livin' creatur' 't ever was, then!" interrupted Corny, with his hearty laugh.

"You can lead them the way better than tell it. On your way back you'd better call on Dr. Jabb and ask him to ride round."

"Lucetty? A doctor? Just because a healthy boy got caught in a 'gust'?

Wh----"

"Yes, Corny, dear, but you see he isn't _our_ boy. It would be better, and of course, if these people can afford a boat of their own, they can pay for a doctor. I'd have to have that understood," she finished with some hesitation and a flush of color rising in her pale cheek.

"Sure. It will be, but I hope, it can't be, 't Gerry's really sick. If he is I'll be the one to stay take care of him. Melvin, you go along with this gentleman an' Cap'n Jack, and take care you don't worry any of them about Gerry. Can't be he's really sick."

"Yes, let's set sail! It's real comf'table here, Ma'am, but I'm anxious to get back to my bridge; an' my clo'es--sea-farin' men is apt to be rheumatic--they're jest a speck damp----"

"Of course. Sorry we couldn't offer you each a change. As it is you'd better go, soon as you can, too. What is in that box you brought along? Something alive, I know, for it keeps up such a queer noise."

"They're terribly alive, indeed, don't you know? And I fancy they're as hungry as I was. But," as his hostess hastily rose, doubtless to seek further refreshments, Melvin added: "I shouldn't know what in the world to give them. They're just a pair of monkeys, Mrs. Stillwell, and I haven't an idea, don't you know, what they would or would not eat."

"Monkeys! How lovely! Oh! please do leave them overnight, so that the children can see them. Why, Corny dear, it would be almost like going to a circus, as we did once before we were married. Down to Annapolis, you know. Do you remember?"

"Shall I ever forget? With you the prettiest show----"

"Corny, dear, there are strangers present. Family speeches don't belong. Now be off."

Yet like a happy girl she submitted to her husband's parting kiss as if it were an ordinary, every-day matter, and as the trio pa.s.sed out of sight she turned to Jim, explaining:

"I'm very glad _you_ stayed and not the other. Gerald's fever is rising fast. He may get restless and Corny--Did he take his gun?"

"I believe so, ma'am. I think he picked it up as he went out the door."

Lucetta sighed.

"Then like as not he'll forget all about the doctor. He wouldn't mean to, not for a minute; only the dear fellow cannot resist the woods. He loves them so. I've known him to get up in the night and wander off, to be gone two or three days. But he always comes home so happy and rested. I'm glad to have him go."

"Do you stay here alone those times, ma'am? It seems a pretty lonesome sort of place. I didn't see any other houses nigh."

"Yes, I stay alone, that is with six of the sweetest children ever lived. So, of course, though there are no houses near, I'm never lonely. I'm busy, too, and to be busy is to be happy."

Jim wondered at the refined and cultured language of this isolated countrywoman, until she explained, after a moment:

"I was a school teacher before we were married and we brought several books with us here. I teach the children now, instead of a larger school, and they're so bright! I'll have them recite to you in the morning."

"What does Mr. Stillwell do, your husband, to tire him, so't he needs the woods to rest him? Does he farm it?"

He had no sooner spoken the words than he was sorry; remembering the description of himself that Corny had given on their way out. And he was the more disturbed because his hostess left the question unanswered. In the silence of the room he began to grow very drowsy.

His still wet clothing was uncomfortable and he would have been glad to replenish the scanty fire. But delicacy prevented this, so he settled back against the bench and was soon asleep. He was a sound sleeper always, but that night his slumber lasted unbroken for many hours.

He awoke at last in affright, throwing off a breadth of rag carpet which, in want of something better, Mrs. Stillwell had folded about him. Dazed by his sudden rousing from such a profound sleep he fancied he was again mixed in a wild battle with somebody.

Shrieks and cries, of laughter and of pain, shrill voices of terrified children, the groans of men, the anxious tones of a woman, all these mingled in one hubbub of sound that was horrible indeed.

Then something leaped to his shoulders and he felt his hair pulled viciously, while an ugly little face, absurdly human, leered into his and sharp little teeth seized upon his ear.

With a yell of distress he put up his hand to choke the creature, and saw on the other side of the room a bald-headed gentleman wrestling with a duplicate of his own enemy.

"Oh! oh! oh!" cried poor Lucetta, and could find nothing else to say; while a laughing face peered in from the field outside, enjoying the pandemonium within.

"Nothing but monkeys, dear! Do 'let's keep them over night just to show the blessed children'!" mocked the incorrigible Corny; while the indignant gentleman struggling in the kitchen with his long-tailed a.s.sailant, glared at him and yelled:

"Laugh, will you, you idle good-for-naught! I'll have you in the lock-up for this! Rousing me out of bed with your tale of a sick boy and luring me into this! Let me tell you, Cornwallis Stillwell, you've played your last practical joke, and into jail you go, soon as I can get a warrant for you! I mean it, this time, you miserable, worthless skunk!"

Corny's mirth died under the harsh words hurled at him and a grim closing of his square jaws showed that submission wasn't in his mind.

But it was a voice from the bed in the corner which silenced both men, as Gerald awoke and regarded the scene.

"The monkeys are mine. I mean they are Melvin's. No, Dorothy's.

Somebody take 'em to Dorothy, quick, quick! Oh! my head, my head!"

Jim's fear of the simians vanished. With a signal to the man beyond the window he clutched the creature from his back and hurled it outward. Then he rushed to the irate doctor, grabbed his tormentor and hurried with it out of doors. A moment later the door of the cage, which the curious children had unfastened, was closed and locked and peace was again restored.

Then said Corny Stillwell: "I'll lug those monkeys to the Lily. That was hot talk Doc gave me! It's one thing to call myself a vagabond and another to have him say so. I'm for the woods, where I belong, with the rest of the brainless creatures!"

"Pshaw! He didn't mean that. You won't be locked up. The monkeys are ours, the blame is ours, don't be afraid!" counselled Jim, with his hand upon his host's shoulder.

But the other shook it off, indignantly. "Afraid? _Afraid!_ _I?_ Why that _is_ a joke, indeed!" and with that, his gun upon his back, the cage in his hand, he marched away.

CHAPTER XII.

UNDER THE PERSIMMON TREE.

Saint Augustine c.o.c.ked his pretty head on one side and looked roguishly up into Jim Barlow's face.

"Be you goin' to stay to my house all your life? 'Cause if you be I know somethin'."

"I hope you do. But, I say, let that celery alone. What's the fun of pulling things up that way?"

"I was just helpin'. I helps Mamma, lots of times."

Saint Augustine was the second son of Lucetta Stillwell and certainly misnamed. There was nothing saintly about him except his wonderful blue eyes and his curly, golden hair. This, blowing in the wind, formed a sort of halo about his head and emphasized the beauty of the thin little face beneath.

Ten days had pa.s.sed since Jim and his mates had come to Corny Stillwell's cabin and Gerald still lay on his bed there. He was almost well now, Dr. Jabb said, and to-morrow might try his strength in a short walk about the yard. His illness had been a severe attack of measles, which he had doubtless contracted before his leaving home, and lest he should carry the contagion to the "Lilies," Jim hadn't been near the house-boat all this time. He had been worried about the children of his hosts but the mother had calmly a.s.sured him: