Could he catch them? Why! it seemed as though the dog must have been trained for just that trick. He never missed a bite!

When his appet.i.te was satisfied the mongrel began to try to attract Purt's attention. Every time Purt reached for anything, the Barnacle's cold, wet nose was right there! It was a plain case of "love at first sight," as Bobby remarked. Nothing could convince that dog that Purt was not his loving friend.

But finally the dude's serious air and his efforts to reach the dog with a particularly well-shod foot, made an impression on the Barnacle. He squatted down before Purt and lifting up his head, uttered a howl that would have brought tears to the eyes of a graven image.

"You'll break the poor dog's heart, Purt," said Jess, gravely. "Give him a kind word."

"He has the most sorrowful face on him of any dog I ever saw,"

declared Dora Lockwood. "Look at him kindly, even if you can't speak."

"Yes," whispered Dorothy, her twin. "He has almost as sorrowful a face as Lizzie's."

"Gee! there's a pair of them," sighed Bobby, ecstatically. "Let's take the dog with us to be a comrade for Liz."

Indeed, Lizzie Bean petted the mongrel, which hung around the camp until the picnickers started up the river again.

There was another disturbance when Purt tried to slip aboard the _d.u.c.h.ess_ without the dog. The Barnacle whined, and howled, and jumped aboard, and was finally driven ash.o.r.e with an oar.

The motorboats and their tows got off into the stream. There sat the deserted dog on his tail, howling most dismally as the boats drew up stream and left him behind.

Laura called to Purt in the other boat: "Never mind, Mr. Sweet, I don't think you'll be troubled with that dog any more. It's twenty miles to Lake Dunkirk. He will never follow you that far."

"I bet the Barnacle haunts Purt in his dreams," exclaimed Bobby.

"Oh! say not so!" begged Billy Long. "If Purt has the nightmare and draws that 'family friend,' the faithful revolver, on the ghost of the dog--Good-_night_! Like enough he'll blow us all out of the tent."

"I bet that Barnacle dogs his 'feetsteps' for the rest of Purt's mortal existence," declared Chet, prophetically.

"One thing," said Lil Pendleton, "the nasty beast can't follow us to Acorn Island."

"And we won't get there ourselves to-day, if we don't hurry," Chet said. "Come on, Pretty! let's see what your little _d.u.c.h.ess_ can do,"

and he speeded up the engine of the _Bonnie La.s.s_.

"We have some distance to go, that's a fact," said Nellie. "The island is two miles beyond the end of Rocky River."

The bigger powerboat pulled away from the _d.u.c.h.ess_ and the two parties ceased shouting back and forth. Mrs. Morse was trying to get a nap, so the girls did not sing. But they told jokes and stories, and of course Bobby gave one of her jingles:

"'There was an old man of Nantasket Who went to sea in a basket: When up came a shark, Swallowed him and his bark---- Now, wasn't that a fine funeral casket?'"

"Oh! I can beat that one," cried Jess.

"Let's hear you," responded the black-eyed miss.

"Listen, then," returned her schoolmate:

"'A canny young canner of Cannee, One morning observed to his Granny, "A canner can can A lot of things, Gran, But a canner can't can a can, can 'e?"'"

Now, how is that for a match for _your_ limerick?"

This started the ball a-rolling. Dora Lockwood raised her hand, crying,

"Please, teacher! I have one," and immediately produced this:

"'There was a small boy who lived in Jamaica, Who bought a lobster wrapped in a brown paper; The paper was thin And the lobster grabbed him---- What an awful condition that small boy was in!'"

This woke up Dorothy Lockwood, who would not be outdone by her twin.

She recited:

"'In Huron, a hewer, Hugh Hughes, Hued yew-trees of unusual hues.

Hugh Hughes used blue yews To build sheds for his ewes; So his ewes a blue-hued yew shed use.'"

"Great Scott, girl!" gasped Chet. "That almost twisted your tongue out of kilter."

"Any more?" queried Lance, who likewise had wonderingly listened to this display of talent. "Ah-ha! I see Nellie just bursting with one."

"Yes. I have a good one," admitted the doctor's daughter. "Hear it:

"'A right-handed writer named Wright In writing "write" always wrote "rite."

Where he meant to write "write,"

If he'd written "write" right, Wright would not have wrought rot writing "rite.'"

Now! let's hear you say _that_ fast?"

This certainly was a teaser and the boys admitted it. Finally somebody shouted for Mother Wit. "Come on, Laura! where are you?" demanded Bobby. "Are you going to let us mere 'amachoors' beat you? Give us a limerick."

Mother Wit was expected to keep up with the other wits, that was sure.

So she obliged with:

"'A smart young fisher named Fischer, Fished for fish from the edge of a fissure.

A fish, with a grin, Pulled the fisherman in.

Now they're fishing the fissure for Fischer.'

"And now, boys, while we have been entertaining you," concluded Laura, "you have gotten behind the _d.u.c.h.ess_ again."

"That's right, Lance," said Chet. "Give her some more power."

"Electricity is a wonderful thing," said Jess, seriously. "Just think how fast it travels."

"How fast?" demanded Bobby.

"Something like 250,000 miles a second, I read somewhere."

"And so," remarked Bobby, grinning, "if it hits anybody, it tells the judge it was going about ten miles an hour."

They were out for a good time and could laugh at almost anything that was said, or was done. Freed from what Bobby called "the scholastic yoke," the whole world seemed a big joke to them.

"I know we're going to have the finest kind of a time at Acorn Island!" the cut-up exclaimed.