Part 3 (1/2)
”Your father told you not to go on the lake.”
”He never would have known it.”
”Perhaps not; but you would not have felt any better on that account.”
”For my part, I hate to be tied to my father's coat-tails or mother's ap.r.o.n-string when there is any fun going on. I don't see why we shouldn't have a good time once in a while, as well as the Bunkers, who are no better than we are.”
”I don't know how it is with you, but I can enjoy myself enough and obey my parents at the same time.”
”Right, Frank!” exclaimed Captain Sedley, who at this moment stepped down from the grove adjoining the beach, where he had overheard a part of the conversation. ”So you think, Charles, that the boys who disobey their parents enjoy themselves most.”
”No, sir. I don't exactly mean that; but the Bunkers have some first-rate times with this raft,” replied Charles, very much confused by the sudden appearance of Frank's father.
”But their lives are continually in danger,” added Captain Sedley.
”Oh, sir, they can all swim.”
”All of them?”
”Like ducks, sir.”
”Suppose one of them should fall overboard half a mile from the land, where I saw them yesterday. Do you think he could swim ash.o.r.e?”
”Tim could.”
”There are a great many things to be considered in such a case. His clothes might enc.u.mber him; he might have the cramp; he might get frightened.”
”The others could save him.”
”We do not know what they could do. Boys at play are very different from boys in the hour of peril. When I was a sailor before the mast, one of my s.h.i.+pmates, a very expert swimmer ordinarily, fell from the mainyard arm into the sea. Two of us jumped in to a.s.sist him; but he sank to the bottom like a lump of lead, and we never saw him again.”
”That was strange,” added Charles.
”He was taken unawares; he lost his self-command, and it might be so with the Bunkers. This rafting is dangerous business, and I advise you never to engage in it;” and Captain Sedley walked off towards his house.
”Father, I want to go up to the widow Weston's a little while,” said Frank.
”Very well; but you must be back so as to go to bed and get up in season for your excursion to the city to-morrow.”
”Come, Charley, I guess we won't go up on the raft,” said Frank with a pleasant laugh.
”I guess not;” and the two boys walked towards the rude cottage of the widow Weston.
It was situated near the lake, about half a mile from Captain Sedley's.
Mrs. Weston was the widow of a poor laboring man who had died about a year before our story opens. She was the mother of four children,--three sons and a daughter. Her eldest son, who was now twenty-two years old, had been in California nearly two years, having left his home a year before the death of his father. She had received one letter from him on his arrival at San Francisco, since which she had heard nothing of him, and had given up all hopes of ever seeing him again. She had not a doubt but that he had found a grave in the golden soil of that far-off land. She mourned him as dead, and all the earthly hopes of the poor mother were concentrated in her remaining children.
Anthony, the next son, whom everybody called Tony, was now thirteen years old. He was an active, industrious boy; and all the neighbors were willing to employ him on their farms and about their houses, so that he was able to do a great deal towards supporting the family. He was a good boy, so honest and truthful, so kind-hearted, and so devoted to his poor mother, that he was a great favorite in the vicinity; and some of the richer folks, when they really had no work for him, would find something for him to do, for he was so proud and high-spirited that he would not take money he had not earned.