Part 19 (1/2)
Suddenly the lighter-minded Helen leaped to her feet from the bank on which she was sitting, and exclaimed:
”My goodness, Ruth! do you realize that we are marooned?”
”Marooned?” was the wondering rejoiner.
”Yes. Just as though we had been put ash.o.r.e here by a crew of mutineers and deserted--a pair of Robinson Crusoesses!”
”Your English--”
”Bother my Englis.h.!.+”
”It would surely bother Mrs. Tellingham--if she could hear it, poor dear.”
”Now, don't sidetrack me,” remarked Helen. ”Don't you see we are cast away on this desert isle with no means of getting back to the camp unless we swim?”
”Willie will be after us.”
”But, will 'e?” asked the roguish Helen, punning on the boatman's name.
”Do be sensible--”
”Even good sense will not rescue us,” interrupted Helen. ”I'd like to get back to camp and hear all the exciting details. Totantora certainly can say less in a few moments than any person I ever saw. And Wonota is not much better.”
”It does not matter how much they said or how little. The fat is all in the fire, I guess,” groaned Ruth.
”Chirk up! Something is sure to turn up, I suppose. We won't be left here to starve,” and Helen's eyes flashed her fun.
”Oh, _you_!” began Ruth, half laughing too. Then she stopped and held up her hand. ”What's that?” she whispered.
The sound was repeated. A long-drawn ”co-ee! co-ee!” which drained away into the depths of the forest-covered islands all about them. They were not where they could see a single isle known to be inhabited.
”Who is calling us?” demanded Helen.
”Hus.h.!.+” commanded Ruth. ”That is not for us. I have heard it before. It comes from the King of the Pipes' island--to be sure it does.”
”He's calling for help!” gasped Helen.
”He is doing nothing of the kind. It is a signal.” Ruth told Helen swiftly more of that early morning incident she and Chess Copley had observed when they saw the boxes carried ash.o.r.e from the motor-boat.
”Seems to me,” grumbled Helen, ”you have a lot of adventures with 'La.s.ses Copley, Ruth.”
”Your own fault that you don't,” returned her chum promptly. ”You could have been along. But you don't like Mr. Copley.”
”What has that to do with it?” rejoined Helen smartly. ”I would go adventuring with any boy--even 'La.s.ses.”
”Don't call him that,” commanded Ruth.
”Pooh! He likes it. Or he used to.”