The Rival Campers Ashore; or, The Mystery of the MillSmith, Ruel Perley
Philosophy
The Rival Campers Ashore; or, The Mystery of the Mill
Smith, Ruel Perley
Boats and boating -- Juvenile fiction; Detective and mystery stories
"I want a licking, I guess," she said.
Farmer Ellison's face relaxed into a grim smile.
"A licking," he repeated. "Well, I reckon you deserve it, all right, if
not for one thing, then for something else."
"I guess I do," said Bess Thornton.
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" queried Farmer Ellison,
looking puzzled. "Can't old Mother Thornton give it to you?"
"No," replied the girl. "She's sick. And besides, she didn't know what I
was going to do. I did it all myself, early this morning."
Farmer Ellison looked up quickly. An expression of suspicion stole over
his face. He looked at the girl's bedraggled dress.
"What have you been up to?" he asked, sternly.
"I've been stealing," replied the girl. "'Twas--'twas--"
Farmer Ellison sprang up from his seat.
"'Twas you, then, down by the shore?" he cried. "Confound it! I knew I
didn't need them burdock bitters all the time I was takin' 'em. Stealing
my trout, eh? Don't tell me you caught any?"
"Only three."
The girl half whispered the reply.
Farmer Ellison seized the girl by an arm and shook her roughly.
"Bring them back!" he cried. "Where are they?"
"I can't," stammered the girl; "they're cooked."
He shook her again.
"You ate my trout!" he cried. "Pity they didn't choke you. Didn't you
feel like choking--eating stolen trout, eh?"
"Gran' did," said the girl, ruefully. "But 'twas a bone, sir. She didn't
know they were stolen till I told her."
The sound of Farmer Ellison's wrathful voice had rung through the house,
and at this moment a woman entered the room. At the sight of her, Bess
Thornton suddenly darted away from the man's grasp, ran to Mrs. Ellison,
hid her face in her dress and sobbed.
"I didn't think 'twas so bad," she said. "I--I won't do it again--ever."
Mrs. Ellison, whose face expressed a tenderness in contrast to the
hardness of her husband's, stroked the girl's hair softly, seated
herself in a rocking chair, and drew the girl close to her.
"What made you take the fish?" she inquired softly.
"Well, gran' said we ought to have the whole place by rights--"
Mrs. Ellison directed an inquiring glance at her husband.
"She's been complaining that way ever since I bought it," he said.
"And gran' was sick and I thought she'd like some of the trout,"
continued the girl. "She's got rheumatics and can't work this week, you
know."
"But wouldn't it have been better to ask?" queried Mrs. Ellison, kindly.
"Didn't you feel kind of as though it was wrong, eating something you
had no right to take?"
"I didn't," answered the girl, promptly. "I didn't eat any. I was going
to, though, till gran' said what she did--"
"Then you haven't had anything to eat to-day?" asked Mrs. Ellison,
feeling a sudden moisture in her own eyes.
"No," said the girl.
"And what makes your dress so wet? Did you fall in?"
"No-o-o," exclaimed the girl. "I swam the pool. And I did it all the way
under water. I didn't think I could, and I almost died holding my breath
so long. But I did it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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