The Girl Scouts at Sea Crest Part 4

"I think I'll go in and make the starch," Margaret proposed, as she missed a wire. "Those clothes will be done presently, and we mustn't wait too long between the acts. You know how tiresome that always is."

"Well, if you insist," replied Cleo. "You will find the starch where I got the powder. Just help yourself," and off went the practical Margaret, quite determined to earn her t.i.tle of "boss."

But there were no directions on the starch box. That was queer thought the little scout, every box should carry its own directions. But of course, it must be very simple to make starch.

One pours water on it surely, she did that. Then one cooks it--Margaret proceeded to do that, and before she could reach a spoon to stir the ma.s.s, the lovely white starch had congealed into a big bubbly pan cake, that wouldn't stir, wouldn't turn and wouldn't--do anything, but burn--and my, how it did burn!

"Looks like a real pudding," she told herself in desperation, trying frantically to move the ma.s.s from the bottom of the white enameled pan.

The odor of the burning starch brought her companions in on a run.

"What's the matter? Don't burn down the house," implored Grace. "My, that's worse than the fish cake Cleo burned in the mud hole in the woods. You don't make starch solid, Margy, you have to make it runny, all gooy like, don't you know?"

"Of course, I know," retorted Margaret, "but I didn't do this, it did itself. I had it all nice and gooy for about half a second, then it cemented into adamant. There! I hate starch!" she admitted, ending up in a gale of laughter that advertised defeat.

"Oh, run out and stop that motor Louise," called Cleo. "It has been running half an hour."

As the starch making process was being operated in the kitchen, and the machine was out in the laundry, Louise left the former conference to attend to the latter requirement.

"Oh my!" shouted Louise, "Come here, it's shooting sparks all over!"

And just as she said, the motor was emitting a series of flashes that flew around with absolute disregard of aim or purpose.

It took sometime for Cleo to get up courage enough to touch the black b.u.t.ton, and when finally the machine stopped the little group looked about at the ruin of their hopes.

Then they laughed, and laughed, and roared and laughed, until Julia ran over to her cottage, fairly kidnapped her own faithful maid, who, to save further disaster, came to the log cabin and reluctantly finished the unfortunate wash.

As the girls hung the pretty white garments on the line, they each decided to make a note of the fact that handkerchiefs and napkins are never starched, and that starch must first be thoroughly dissolved in cold water before boiling water is added. Also, that it is very important to have a spoon in one's hand and begin stirring as the pouring is begun.

But Margaret-by-the-day proved an interesting game, if it did slip a cog or two in its development.

CHAPTER V

CAPTAIN DAVE

"I WOULD never have believed that real scouts could have failed so miserably in a mere washing," complained Grace; "in fact, I am almost wondering if we should not go into ashes and broadcloth, and ask to be trained laundresses. It seems to me rather humiliating."

"Ashes and broadcloth," repeated Cleo thoughtfully. "Oh, you mean sackcloth and ashes. That's in a different department--Con Grazia, also a different priced goods. But I don't believe we need worry about the laundry work. Mother thought we were perfectly heroic to undertake the task, and she was pleased to death to see the lines of sparkling linens waving welcome to her as she hailed in from the train. Also, she admitted the same starch mistake we made, that of stiffening handkerchiefs when she first tried out the process. So perhaps that's a regular human weakness and not peculiar to raw scouts, rookies, I suppose I should say."

"I am so glad your mother approved, Cleo. I feel better now. I must confess I was rather crestfallen after all our n.o.ble, heroic, spectacular stunts. But sufficient unto the day is the trouble thereof, as some one has remarked. Now Cleo, I want to tell you something," and she settled down deeper in the porch cushions at "Rosabell." Also she kicked off a new pair of pumps to remove pedal distractions. "You know Cleo, I have heard that a lot of small fires do start up mysteriously around here. And no one has been able to run down the fire bug. I heard some men down at the Post Office talking about a run the fire department had last night. Away out some place just for a chicken coop. They seemed peeved, as Louise would say. Now I feel we have a clue in that bottle note, but after all our other experiences perhaps it would be better for just you and me to go at the mystery first. More hands always seem to me like more mixups."

"Really, Grazia, you alarm me with your wisdom," replied Cleo, affixing a very foolish giggle to the alarm signal. "I just wonder what will happen if you go getting so mighty wise all of a sudden. But I do think you are right just the same. Many hands mean mighty mixups. That's alliteration. You see I'm sticking to lit."

"I wish you would stick to common sense, Cleo. I am not wishing any hard work on the scouts for this glorious summer, but I feel, I instinctively feel, as Julia says, there is something queer to curiosity in the fire-bug business. Also, I have found my old Jack Tar friend, that I promised myself when we came down. And he is captain of the Life Saving Station just as I planned. Only--well--it really isn't essential, but his whiskers are not quite as long as I planned them to be. But Cleo, I want you to meet old Neptune. His name is Dave Dunham, and he seems to love me already. Come on down and have a talk with him. He has a place like a scene in an old fashioned drama."

"I'd love to go, Grace, and I am just keen on an ocean breeze this A. M.

So gather up your pumps, also your feet, and let us away," decided Cleo.

The weather was still cool, and true to their promise the girls were wearing their scout uniform, all khaki, with the thin blouse, so that running along to the life saving station they seemed quite a part of the picture. The real marine sky--that green blue with white clouds as soft as the very foam they roll over, gave the day a finish fit for the true artist's eye, but Cleo and Grace did not stop to admire the tints and tones, whether marine or general seascape.

"How cozy," whispered Cleo as they stepped into the front room of the station, which was fitted up with such comforts as might be essential to the life of the Coast Guard. The big round pot stove was obviously the most conspicuous thing in the room, and beside it such furniture as the long table with its faded red cover, the big wooden chairs, with bindings of wires and telegraph gla.s.ses for castors (rheumatic cures, we recall), all these articles fell into the shadows of that big round stove, with its new coat of shiny black iron paint.

"Captain Dave!" called Grace, after looking about for the host. "Are you in?"

"Sure thing, I'm in, right here, comin'," returned a voice which preceded the figure of Captain Dave.

"Good morning, Captain," Grace greeted him. "This is my chum, Cleo Harris, you remember I spoke of her. We are all Girl Scouts, you know,"

as he eyed the uniform and both girls raised their hand in salute.

"Maybe you can give us something to do with all of your life lines, and buoys and such things. We don't know much about life saving on the deep, although we have tried it on dry land," said Grace.

"Welcome," said the old sailor simply. "We don't have hard work this time of the year, but we need the rest after winter. This was a heavy one. More storms than in thirty years," he declared, pulling out two of the heavy wooden chairs, running his hand over them to make sure they were free from dust, then indicating the girls should make themselves comfortable, while he proceeded to occupy a still larger chair that commanded a view of the sea from the broad window.

"Captain, what do you think of all those small fires we hear folks talking about?" asked Grace in her direct way. "Do you suppose some mischievous boys are starting them?"

The captain turned his head to the direction in which he was emitting his clouds of smoke, paused for a minute, then shook his head.

"I dunno," he replied. "I know most of the youngsters around here, and I've never known them to do a thing like that. There was seven good hens burned in that little fire last night, and old d.i.c.k Malloney has to depend on selling eggs to get his coffee. It's a shame!" and he allowed his heavy chair to spring forward with a p.r.o.nounced thud.

"We have only been down a week," remarked Cleo, "but I have noticed smoke almost every morning out in those woods over the river. I suppose some one lives that way, do they?"

"You mean on the island," he explained. "That's Weasle Point, sticks out into the bay and just west is the island; not more than a clump of trees on a few rocks, but big enough to stand the wear, so it is called Luna Land, but children make it Looney Land," he explained. "A couple of huts in there, but no place for you girls to go visitin'," he finished, as if divining the plan already shaping itself in the minds of Grace and Cleo--a trip to Looney Land.

"Why Looney Land?" asked Cleo. "Queer folks out there?"

"Dunno as any folks is out there, but places get named somehow, just like they get trees, no plantin' just come that way. Looney Land doesn't mean anything that I know of except the moon seems to set over there.

But one thing I do know," and he made this very plain, "it's a good place for girls to keep away from."

Grace and Cleo exchanged glances. It occurred to each that the forbidden land was very apt to become attractive, but neither said so, nor asked how Looney Land was to be reached.

"You have awful storms in winter, don't you?" asked Cleo, fingering an oil skin coat, and noticing the big shiny hat that hung with it on a wooden peg. "And I suppose you have wrecks occasionally."

"Yes, more than we enjoy," replied Captain Dave. "Had a bad one two years ago. See that little pole stickin' up out there beyond the pier?

That's all that's left of the Alameda, and a fine vessel she was, too."

"Lives lost?" asked Grace mechanically.

"Oh, yes indeed, yes indeed," replied the captain. "Some folks around here yet that was thrown ash.o.r.e from that wreck. I mind one light haired woman, and a youngster--little girl. We took them in here from the line, you know how we swing the rings out on the line, and draw the poor things in? Well this woman was so frozen we could hardly get the child from her arms. She died next day, just as we got her to the hospital."

"What was her name--the girl's name, I mean?" asked Grace, interested now that "life" had been discovered in the specter of the wreck.

"Oh, some simple name--don't know as I recall it rightly. They usually tag on another. We have quite a few folks pa.s.s in and out of this station in thirty years--I've been here more than that, and I don't keep no record of my visitors. They are mostly glad to come and glad to go,"

and the captain lighted a fresh pipe, by way of turning over a new leaf in his story.

"I suppose there were the usual papers for the little girl from the wreck," prompted Cleo. "They always turn out to be somebody of account, lost at sea and found years later on land. You know how stories have a way of shaping themselves, Captain," she apologized, "and I am sort of interested in stories."