The Carter Girls' Week-End Camp Part 24

"I bet it means this," said Lil, studying the page intently. "It means the stranger is old, or he would not have a staff, and it means he is unhappy. Those drops are tear drops. See how sad the eye looks!"

"'Oh, a Daniel come to judgment!' Young lady, you are right. That was a tired, sick traveler that our Tom t.i.t found and brought in and looked after for two weeks last winter. He was trying to cross the mountains and got lost and Tom t.i.t picked him up, almost starved and frozen. In this one, he shows the sick guest is still with him and in bed. He cannot draw faces well and hates to make anything too grotesque, so he usually has a sign or symbol for persons. The staff and hat in bed mean the guest is there. These little saddle-bags and hat mean he had to send for the doctor. Look at the medicine the poor staff and hat must take from the cruel saddle-bags! His own symbol is usually a jew's-harp, although sometimes he makes himself a kind of b.u.t.terfly----"

"Just like Whistler!" cried Lil.

"Yes, and in his way he is as great an artist as Whistler," said the old man sadly. "If he had only had his chance! Well, well! Maybe he is happier as he is. I never saw a happier person, as a rule, than my poor boy. Tom t.i.t could never have written letters that would have been put in a book and called 'The Gentle Art of Making Enemies,' as that other great artist did. He makes friends with every living thing, and inanimate objects are friendly to him, too, I sometimes think. If his wits had been spared him, the world would have called him and the peace of the mountains would no longer have been his."

The old man fingered the packet of letters tenderly while the young guests sat thoughtfully by. They could hear the cheerful Tom t.i.t in the kitchen washing dishes and whistling a strange crooning melody.

"Here it is spring and he has found the first hepatica. See, he sends me a pressed one! And this is my love letter. What do you make of it?"

It was six little stamped envelopes, all with wings, and in the corner was a jew's-harp unmistakably dancing a jig.

"I know! I know!" cried Lucy.

"So do I!" from Lil.

"I can't see any kind of sense in it!" pondered Frank.

"Nor I," grumbled Skeeter. "You girls just make up answers."

"I'm going to whisper my answer to Mr. Spring-keeper," suggested Lil.

The old man smiled as Lil whispered her answer.

"Good! Splendid! And now what do you think?" turning to Lucy.

"I think that he has only six envelopes left, and that means you will be back in six days. He is so happy he is dancing and he is so busy the days are just flying away."

"Well, if you girls aren't clever! No wonder they say women are the most appreciative s.e.x although men are the creative. A few men create while all women appreciate. And now, my dear young people, this is so pleasant for me that I am afraid of being selfish, so I am going to insist on your going to bed. You have had a hard day and must be tired."

"We have had a wonderful day with a wonderful en----" said Lil, a yawn hitting her midway so she could not get out the "ding."

"But I hate to go to bed until you tell us something about yourself,"

blurted out Skeeter.

The story of the half-witted young mountaineer was very interesting, no doubt, but Skeeter wanted to know why this highly educated gentleman was spending so much time in the mountains, cooking for himself and taking care of lost sheep.

"Oh, my story is such an ordinary one I can tell it while I light a candle for these young ladies," laughed their host, not at all angry at Skeeter's curiosity, although Lil and Lucy were half dead of embarra.s.sment when Skeeter came out so flat-footed with the question which was almost bubbling over on their lips, but which they felt they must not put.

"I am a successful manufacturer---- I have made enough money selling clothes pins and ironing boards and b.u.t.ter tubs to stop. In fact, I stopped many years ago and now I do nothing but enjoy myself in my own way."

"And that way is----?"

"Trying to help a little. In the winter I live in New York and teach the boys' clubs on the East Side, and in the summer I am spring-keeper in the mountains."

"But isn't your name Mr. Spring-keeper?" asked Lil.

"No, my dear, spring-keeping is my occupation. My name is Walter McRae.

Here is your candle, and pleasant dreams."

"Won't you tell us some more about yourself?" asked Lucy as she took the candle from him.

"Another time! Anything so dry as my story will keep."

CHAPTER XVII

THE SPRING-KEEPER

"Isn't this grand?" were the last words both of our girls uttered as they rolled into the bunks that had been made up with fresh, lavender-scented linen. The brigands had captured them certainly and their adventure was complete. The boys were sleeping on the porch in hammocks. Mr. McRae always slept on the porch unless weather drove him in, and Tom t.i.t had a little room that he loved, where he kept his treasures, all those he did not put in the hole in the mountain.

Dawn found the babes in the wood much refreshed. The boys were up and out early, helping Tom t.i.t milk the cow and chop wood. Mr. McRae had started the cooking of breakfast when Lucy and Lil appeared.

"We are so ashamed to be late but we almost slept our heads off," they apologized. "Now let us help!"

"All right, set the table and skim the milk and get the b.u.t.ter out of the dairy." The dairy was a cave dug in the side of the mountain where all their food was kept cool in summer and warm in winter. "We shall breakfast on the porch."

The girls made all haste and set the table with great care.

"Let's get him to tell us all about himself this morning," whispered Lucy. "I'm dying to hear about him. Isn't he romantic?"

"I'm crazy about him. Don't you reckon he'll go to the camp with us? Nan would be wild over him."

"Yes, but he's ours. We certainly found him."

"You sound like Tom t.i.t," laughed Lil.

"I hope the people at the camp won't laugh at poor Tom t.i.t," said Lucy.

"If we could only get there a little ahead and prepare them for his pink pants."

She need not have worried, as the wise Mr. McRae knew how to manage Tom t.i.t so that he discarded his pink pants when he was to go among strangers.

"Now, Tom t.i.t, we must hurry with all of our duties so we can make an early start to walk home with our guests; and we must put on our corduroys for such a long tramp, as the brambles might tear your lovely new trousers."

So poor Tom t.i.t did the outside ch.o.r.es with the help of the boys, while the girls a.s.sisted Mr. McRae in the house.

Having breakfasted a little after dawn, by seven o'clock they were ready for their ten mile tramp back to the camp. The boys shouldered their guns and the sacks of fox grapes and squirrels. Mr. McRae took with him a small spade while Tom t.i.t carried a hoe.

"I can't help thinking both of them are a bit loony," Skeeter whispered to Lucy. "Why on earth do they want to carry garden tools on a ten mile tramp?"

"Loony yourself! I reckon they want to dig something."

The old gentleman, as though divining Skeeter's thoughts, remarked: