Caddie Woodlawn (5 page)

could bear to tell him it had not been planned that way.

As they were walking up the path from the dock, Uncle Edmund began to fumble in his pocket. “Wait,” he said, “I've got a present here for Caddie.”

Caddie stopped in her tracks, speechless with joy. The others crowded around them. Out of his pocket Uncle Edmund took a fat little book. Caddie had never felt much need of books, but any sort of present was a rare delight. She took the little book from Uncle Edmund's hand and opened the cover. Whiz! Something long and green flew out at her and fell into the path. Uncle Edmund shouted with laughter, and Caddie laughed, too, a little ruefully. She picked up the long green thing which lay in the path.

“That's no snake,” she said. “It's got a clock spring inside it.”

“Say, Uncle Edmund,” cried Tom, “you'd ought to know you can't fool Caddie on snakes or clock springs. Try that on Hetty.”

The next morning Uncle Edmund got out his gun and oiled and polished it. Then he polished his spectacles, for Uncle Edmund was near-sighted.

“Now,” he said, “I've missed the pigeons, and that's a great pity, for a near-sighted man can always bring down a nice bag of pigeons. But I must do the best I can. Who will go with me to help me sight my game?”

Tom and Warren and Caddie stood beside him in breathless anticipation of this question. Uncle Edmund always asked it, and he always chose one of the three to go with him. More than one of them he would never take, for then, he said, they frightened the game away.

The three children spoke up with one voice: “I'll go, Uncle Edmund!”

Uncle Edmund looked them over critically. “Tom, you went last time I was here. You're pretty good, but you let a nice, fat squirrel get away. You remember?”

“Yah,” said Tom, “but if I'd had the gun he wouldn't have got away.”

“That's the trouble,” said Uncle Edmund regretfully. “And Warren, here, talks too much. I might as well take a fife and drum corps.”

“I wouldn't say a word,” shouted Warren. “I wouldn't talk a bit. Just listen how quiet I could be.”

“No,” said Uncle Edmund, “I always have to fall back on Caddie in the end. I might as well start with her. She's as good as a pointer for showing me the game, and she never tells me how to shoot it nor reproaches me when I miss my aim. Come along, Caddie.”

Caddie opened her mouth to speak. She was going to say: “It's too bad you little children have to stay at home. But, of course, we can't take all of you.” But she closed it again without saying anything. After all, she did hate to see Tom and Warren disappointed, and also she didn't want to find a frog in her bed or a pail of water arranged over her door in such a way as to give her a drenching when she came back.

As she trotted along beside Uncle Edmund, she was
absolutely happy. It was perfect Indian-summer weather. The birch trees were all a-tremble with thinning gold. The oaks and sugar maples were putting on their vivid red and orange hues, and river, lake, and sky were all sublimely blue.

Uncle Edmund and Caddie struck across fields and through the woods to the lake. Nero went with them, for, although he had not been trained as a hunter, he loved to go hunting, and he had a strong affection for Uncle Edmund. Half drawn up on the shore of the lake were the Woodlawn children's two prized possessions—a homemade raft, of small logs or poles fastened together with wooden pins, and the Indian canoe hollowed from a single log. The little Woodlawns could manage almost any craft in any kind of weather, but, although they spent half of their time on either lake or river, they had never learned to swim.

Caddie ran ahead, her golden-red curls flying in the breeze. She threw her weight against the canoe and pushed it into the water. Then, her eyes shining with mischief, she jumped in and caught up the paddle.

“Beat you to the end of the lake, Uncle Edmund,” she called. Uncle Edmund could swim, but he was no hand with a boat. He managed to get the raft afloat, and he and Nero scrambled aboard. Then he began to pole it down the lake. It swung from side to side and seemed to defy all of his attempts at steering.

“Hey, you little whippersnapper, you!” he shouted at Caddie, shaking his fist good-naturedly.

Caddie came back laughing and circled around the raft in her canoe. “Oh, I'm sorry, Uncle Edmund. Honestly I am. But I can't help laughing. You look so funny. You can take the canoe coming back, and I'll take the raft, and I'll beat you that way, too. See if I don't!”

“Oh, you'll beat me that way, too, will you?” said Uncle Edmund, a fine edge sounding in his voice. “How much will you bet?”

“Oh, I haven't any money and Mother doesn't like us to bet, but I'll beat you just the same.”

“All right,” said Uncle Edmund. “You won't bet, but I'll tell you what I'll do. If you can beat me coming back, I'll give you a silver dollar, that's what I'll do. Mind—you take the raft and I take the canoe.”

“Bully for you!” cried Caddie, echoing Tom's favorite expression. She was confident of winning. A silver dollar! The Woodlawn children never had much money to spend, and, in those days of war-time “green-backs,” a silver dollar was worth nearly three times the value of the paper dollar. Caddie was so delighted by Uncle Edmund's generosity that she offered to tow the raft to shore. But Uncle Edmund declined her offer and finally got himself awkwardly to
the end of the lake. They beached their craft and started through the woods. But Uncle Edmund had forgotten something.

“Wait here a moment, Caddie. I left my game bag back on the raft.”

“I'll get it, Uncle Edmund.”

“No, wait here. I'll go myself.”

Uncle Edmund was gone quite a long time, but at last he returned with the bag.

Now they went slowly and quietly, Uncle Edmund peering through his thick glasses at the nearby trees, Caddie's bright eyes searching the more distant places. Nero walked beside them, deeply excited. His business was sheep and cows, not game, but, as Edmund often said, a little training would have made him an admirable hunter. Suddenly Caddie stopped, her body stiffened, she put a tense hand on Uncle Edmund's arm.

“There!” she whispered, pointing to the branch of a tree some yards ahead. A squirrel sat there motionless, trying to look like a part of the tree. Uncle Edmund followed the direction of her finger with his nearsighted eyes. He raised his gun to his shoulder. Bang! The report reverberated through the woods, shattering the silence into a hundred echoes.

“I got him!” shouted Uncle Edmund exultantly.
“By golly, Caddie, I got him!” Caddie was as delighted as Uncle Edmund. She and Nero raced to retrieve the squirrel for Uncle Edmund's game bag.

It was well along in the afternoon when they started back toward the lake. Uncle Edmund was treading on air, for he had three squirrels and a brace of partridges, and, for a near-sighted man, that was a good bag. Caddie's mind returned to the silver dollar she was going to win.

“Remember, I'm going to beat you across the lake, Uncle Edmund,” she chirped.

“So you said. So you said,” agreed Uncle Edmund jovially, chuckling to himself. He sprang into the canoe, and pushed off. Caddie thrust the raft into the water and jumped on. Nero sprang on behind her, and Caddie began to pole the raft. She and Tom had handled the raft so often that she knew just how to manage it to the best advantage. A few deft strokes brought her alongside Uncle Edmund, who was hopelessly inefficient, even with such a delicate craft as a canoe. But something curious was beginning to happen to the raft. One by one the small logs of which it was built were beginning to float away. Caddie could not believe her eyes. She poled for dear life, but the faster she poled, the more quickly the logs fell away from the raft. The space on which she stood grew smaller and smaller. Someone had loosened all the
pins which held the raft together! Bit by bit it was coming apart.

“Uncle Edmund!” shouted Caddie, red with surprise and rage. Uncle Edmund lay back in the canoe and laughed. In a flash Caddie knew why Uncle Edmund had taken so long to fetch his game bag. The logs on which Nero stood came loose, and the old sheepdog plunged into the water and began to swim for shore. There were only three or four logs left together now and it took only an instant for them to drift apart. Caddie went down with a great splash, and her shining head disappeared beneath the water like a quenched flame. Presently she came up again, sputtering and blowing, and caught desperately at the nearest log. When she felt its rough surface under her fingers, she stopped struggling and clasped her arms about it. She was used to the feel of water up to her neck, if only she had something to hold onto. But she was angry. It took a good deal to arouse Caddie from her good nature, but every red-head's temper has its limitations, and Caddie's had been reached.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” she sputtered, too angry to find any words.

Now that Uncle Edmund had had his little joke, he began to be worried. He brought the canoe around and helped Caddie into it. “Say, Caddie,” he said, “I never thought that raft would come apart so quickly. Honestly, I just wanted to scare you a little.

You don't mind getting a little wet, do you? Just for fun?”

Caddie sat in the bottom of the canoe straight and stiff. Streams of water ran down all over her and made a puddle around her. Her face was pale and her hazel eyes flashed cold fire, but still she couldn't find a word to say to relieve her bottled indignation.

“Oh, say, Caddie, don't take it so hard,” coaxed Uncle Edmund. “It was just a joke. Listen now, I'll give you that silver dollar I promised; but say, don't tell your mother, Caddie.”

At last Caddie exploded.

“Are you trying to bribe a Woodlawn, Uncle Edmund?” she shouted. After everything else, to attempt to bribe a Woodlawn was heaping infamy upon infamy.

“Oh, no! no!” protested Uncle Edmund anxiously. “It's just a gift, Caddie.”

“I wouldn't take it,” cried Caddie. “I wouldn't take it if it was the last silver dollar in the world! I wouldn't——”

“Now, now, Caddie,” urged Uncle Edmund. “Here we are almost to shore. Now, listen, you just take off your dress and dry it in the sun, and I'll go back and collect the pieces of the raft. That's a good, sensible little girl.”

Caddie stepped out of the canoe with the haughty air of a scornful but dripping princess.

“You do as I say, Caddie,” urged Uncle Edmund anxiously, “and I'll be back in half an hour with the raft.” Caddie shook herself like a wet dog. Angry as she was, she realized that it was better to dry herself in the sheltered, sunny curve of the beach than to walk home through fields and woods in her dripping clothes. She wrung out her dress and petticoat and hung them on the bushes. Then she lay down in the warm sand. Presently Nero, who had made his way along the shore, came and sat beside her, drying his own coat in the sun.

Uncle Edmund was gone a long, long time. When he returned at last, Caddie was sitting in the sun in a dress that was wrinkled but dry. She had had time to think over her adventure, and her usual good humor had got the better of her anger. She burst out laughing when she saw Uncle Edmund's red, perspiring face. Poor Uncle Edmund had paid for his misdeeds.

“By golly, Caddie, that was a hard job. I've had my comeuppance-with, for once, my dear. But they're all here. I got every one.” Behind the canoe he was towing the pieces of the raft, bound together with a rope which the children always kept in the bottom of the canoe. Caddie helped him pull the poles in to shore. He had managed to salvage most of the pins,
too, and the two of them put the raft together once again.

“Well, I guess we're even, Uncle Edmund,” said Caddie, gravely smiling. She held out her small, brown hand.

Uncle Edmund shook it heartily, but he said: “No, Caddie, we're not even yet. I promised you a silver dollar.”