CHAPTER XVIII
The Boy's Name
AN hour later, with a splendid lot of glistening mushrooms, Mabel andHenrietta returned to camp. As they neared the clearing, Mrs. Cranecould be seen in the doorway of her tent, frantically waving a largetowel.
"Oh," cried Mabel, quickening her pace, "the boy's awake! She wants_me_--I'm to be first--I'm to be----"
"If you plunge in that way," admonished Henrietta, running lightlybeside Mabel, "you'll scare him to death. Do stop long enough to washyour face--he'll think you're a murderous young squaw coming withanother dose of Dave's medicine."
Five minutes later, when Mabel, very red and very shining from a hastyapplication of laundry soap and cold water, looked in at the tent door,a pair of big, bright blue eyes smiled at her from the low, balsam bed.
"Hello!" said the boy, "are you the kid they call Mabel? They tell meyou picked me up on the beach, along with some driftwood, when I wasdrowned."
"Yes," admitted Mabel, bashfully. "And I guess you _were_ drowned,too--almost. I'm glad you've come to, at last. When are you going toget up?"
"I tried to just now, but my head's made of lead--it won't come up."
"I guess your neck's weak--Bettie's was. What's your name?"
The laughter and the light suddenly faded from the boy's eyes.
"I don't know," said the boy, blankly. "I--it's queer, isn't it? Thatlady with the broth asked me once before, I think----"
"I asked you yesterday," corroborated Mrs. Crane. "But don't worry, mydear. You've been very ill and your mind is as weak as your body, nodoubt. They'll both be stronger in a few days. All you need to rememberis that we are your friends."
"And your real name doesn't matter, anyway," added Mabel, noting thetroubled expression that still clouded the boy's countenance. "I'mgoing to call you Billy Blue-eyes--I used to know a goat----"
The boy's expressive face suddenly brightened, the blue eyes actuallytwinkled with fun.
"The very thing," cried Mrs. Crane. "We'll call him Billy Blue-eyes. Itold him this morning that, when he came out of the lake, he must havebrought some of the color with him. His eyes are certainly blue. Shallwe call you Billy?"
"Sounds all right to me," agreed the boy; "but--but I _hope_ I wasn'tthat goat."
"You weren't," assured Mabel, earnestly. "_I_ liked him, but he buttedso many people that Grandma Pike--he belonged to her--had to have himchloroformed and stuffed. The stuffed-animal man wanted him. Theydidn't have any real glass goat eyes to put in him so they used blueglass marbles. But how did you get in the lake--or out of it, Mr.Billy?"
Again the boy looked troubled.
"I don't know," said he, after a long pause.
"Don't ask any more questions," warned Mrs. Crane. "There'll be plentyof time for that later. Mr. Black sent a notice to the Lakeville paper,by Dave, so his folks'll know he's alive--we described him as well aswe could. I even measured him with my tape-measure. He isn't as wide ashe ought to be for his length, poor lamb."
"He'll get fat on camp fare," promised Mabel. "Look at me!"
Billy Blue-eyes looked and the troubled expression gave way to one ofamusement.
"Phew!" said he, "I'd better not be fed so often--I guess I'll waitawhile for that broth--I've only one suit of clothes, the broth ladysays. If I outgrow that----"
"You can borrow mine," laughed Mabel. "My gray sweater would fit yousplendidly."
"He'll need it, too," said Mrs. Crane, "when he sits up to-morrow. Thatis, I _think_ I'll let him sit up to-morrow--he hasn't had a scrap offever for quite awhile."
"Perhaps," suggested Mabel, "Dave's medicine really did cure him. Didyou taste it, Billy?"
"Once," said Billy, "but I don't know when, I drank something likered-hot coals, flavored with tobacco and vinegar and ink--was that it?"
"Yes," laughed Mabel, "that must have been it."
"There's a queer taste in my mouth yet," declared the boy. "It's allpuckered up--like choke-cherries."
"I guess you'd better run along, Mabel," advised Mrs. Crane, notingthat the boy's eyes, in spite of his best efforts, were closingwearily. "He doesn't stay awake very long at a time."
"Good-by," said Mabel, cheerfully.
"Come again," breathed the boy, sleepily.
Of course Mabel felt very important indeed when the other youthfulcastaways, waiting impatiently just outside the tent, seized her andwanted to know all about it.
"He's awfully thin," said Mabel, condescending finally to answer someof the eager little girls' questions. "And his eyes are perfectly hugeand sort of twinkly. And blue; yes, bluer than Marjory's. I think we'regoing to like him; but he can't remember his own name."
"Can't remember his own name!" exclaimed Henrietta. "Perhaps he doesn't_want_ to. Perhaps he's an escaped convict trying to hide from thepolice. Perhaps he's a burglar----"
"He isn't either," snorted Mabel, indignantly. "Do you s'pose I'drescue anybody like that? Besides, you can tell. He _wants_ to rememberand can't."
"But what," demanded sympathetic Bettie, "will that poor child do for aname? Are we to call him 'that boy' forever? And shout 'Say, Boy' whenwe want him?"
"Of course not," said Henrietta, promptly. "We'll name him ourselves.Vincent de Manville Holmes would be nice--or Neptune something, becausehe came out of the sea."
"That was Venus," corrected Jean.
"Oh, well," amended Henrietta, cheerfully, "Ulysses might be better.Still, I always did like Reginald. Or Percival--Percival Orlando deCourcy."
"You go home," blurted indignant Mabel, no longer able to listen intriumphant silence. "His name's Billy. He's my boy and I named him; andthat's enough."
"What?" demanded Marjory. "Just Billy?"
"Billy Blue-eyes."
"My!" teased Marjory. "Just like a paper doll!"
"Never mind," soothed tactful Jean, "I think Billy's a beautiful name."
"For a goat," scoffed Henrietta.
There's no knowing what would have happened if Mr. Black, gentlyshooing a strange object before him, had not appeared just then, fromthe woods back of the clearing.
"Hi there, girls," he shouted, "I'm bringing you a pet!"
At that the girls, all differences forgotten, raced toward Mr. Black.
"Stop! Stop!" he shouted. "You'll scare him away. Stand where you are.That's right. Now, Marjory, you run for the clothesline--we'll try toget a noose about his neck."
"Goodness!" gasped Henrietta, backing away as the pet waddled towardher; "what is it? It looks just like a bad dream."
"I know," laughed Jean. "It's a porcupine. Just see how his quillsstick out--Mercy! Look out, Bettie!"
"Ouch!" squealed short-skirted Bettie, as the clumsy beast hurtled pasther. "My legs!"
"Why!" cried Mabel, "there's quills in your stockings!"
"In _me_, too," giggled Bettie. "I guess nobody'll pet _that_ pet verymuch."
"Perhaps we don't want him," said Mr. Black, rather apologetically;"but I thought you might enjoy studying a porcupine at close quarters."
"Not _too_ close," laughed Bettie, rubbing her shin.
"They're easily tamed," said Mr. Black, "and they'll eat most anything.I found this one on the river bank. He seemed willing enough to run,but it took quite a while to get him going in the right direction."
Mr. Black succeeded presently in getting a noose fastened about theporcupine's neck. Then, because there happened to be a convenient treeat that point, the other end of the rope was made fast to a sturdymaple near the path that led to the beach.
"We'll name _him_ Percival Orlando de Courcy," declared Henrietta.
"No," said Mr. Black, "this is Terrible Tim, the watchdog. Stationed atthis point, he'll keep all intruders at bay."
Terrible Tim, however, looked the mildest of beasts by this time, forwith quills lowered, he was cowering bashfully among the shrubbery.