disconsolately, “because all the people at the house will think we’re down at the fair grounds, and all the people there will think we’re up at the house.”
“That’s so,” Patty admitted, for she well knew how everybody was concerned with his or her own work for the fair, and how little thought they would be giving to one another at this particular time.
And yet, though Patty would not mention it, and would scarcely admit the thought to herself, she couldn’t help feeling sure that Mr. Hepworth would be wondering where she was.
“The only hope is,” she said to Bertha, “if somebody should want to see me especially, about some of the work, and should try to hunt me up.”
“Well,” said Bertha, “even if they did, it never would occur to them that we are over here.”
“No, they’d never think of that; even if they do miss us, and try to hunt for us. They’ll only telephone to different houses, or something like that. It will never occur to them that we’re over here, and why should it?”
“I’m glad I came with you,” said Bertha, affectionately. “I should hate to think of you over here all alone.”
“If I were here alone,” said Patty, laughing, “you wouldn’t be thinking of me as here alone. You’d just be wondering where I was.”
“So I would,” said Bertha, laughing, too; “but oh, Patty, do let’s do something! It’s fearful to sit here helpless like this.”
“I know it,” said Patty, “but what can we do? We’re just like Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, except that we haven’t any goat.”
“No, and we haven’t any raft, from which to select that array of useful articles that he had at his disposal. Do you remember the little bag, that always held everything that could possibly be required?”
“Oh, that was in ‘Swiss Family Robinson,’” said Patty; “your early education is getting mixed up. I hope being cast on a desert island hasn’t affected your brain. I don’t want to be over here with a lunatic.”
“You will be, if this keeps up much longer,” said poor Bertha, who was of an emotional nature, and was bravely trying hard not to cry.
“We might make a fire,” said Patty, “if we only had some paper and matches.”
“I don’t know what good a fire would do. Nobody would think that meant anything especial. I wish we could put up a bigger signal of some sort.”
“We haven’t any bigger signal, and if we had, we haven’t any way of raising it any higher than these silly low bushes. I never saw an island so poorly furnished for the accommodation of two young lady Crusoes.”
“I never did, either. I’m going to shout again.”
“Do, if it amuses you, but truly they can’t hear you. It’s too far.”
“What do you think will happen, Patty? Do you suppose we’ll have to stay here all night?”
“I don’t know,” said Patty, slowly. “Of course when it’s time for the fair to open, and we’re not there, they’ll miss us; and of course papa will begin a search at once. But the trouble is, Bertha, they’ll never think of searching over here. They’ll look in every other direction, but they’ll never dream that we came out in the boat.”
So the girls sat and waited, growing more and more down-hearted, with that peculiar despondency which accompanies enforced idleness in a desperate situation.
“Look!” cried Patty, suddenly, and startled, Bertha looked where Patty pointed.
Yes, surely, a boat had put out from the shore, and was coming toward them. At least it was headed for the island, though not directly toward where they sat.
“They’re going to land farther down,” cried Patty, excitedly, “come on, Bertha.”
The two girls rushed along the narrow rough beach, wildly waving their handkerchiefs at the occupants of the boat.
“It’s Mr. Hepworth,” cried Patty, though the knowledge seemed to come to her intuitively, even before she recognised the man who held the stroke oar.
“And Winthrop is rowing, too,” said Bertha, recognising her brother, “and I think that’s Kenneth Harper, steering.”
By this time the boat was near enough to prove that these surmises were correct.
Relieved of her anxiety, mischievous Patty, in the reaction of the moment, assumed a saucy and indifferent air, and as the boat crunched its keel along the pebbly beach she called out, gaily, “How do you do, are you coming to call on us? We’re camping here for the summer.”
“You little rascals!” cried Winthrop Warner. “What do you mean by running away in this fashion, and upsetting the whole bazaar, and driving all your friends crazy with anxiety about you?”
“Our boat drifted away,” said Bertha, “and we couldn’t catch it, and we thought we’d have to stay here all night.”
“I didn’t think we would,” said Patty. “I felt sure somebody would come after us.”
“I don’t know why you thought so,” said Winthrop, “for nobody knew where you were.”
“I know that,” said Patty, smiling, “and yet I can’t tell you why, but I just felt sure that somebody would come in a boat, and carry us safely home.”
“Whom did you expect?” asked Kenneth, “me?”
Patty looked at Kenneth, and then at Mr. Hepworth, and then dropping her eyes demurely, she said:
“I didn’t know who would come, only I just knew somebody would.”
“Well, somebody did,” said Kenneth, as he stowed the great bunches of goldenrod in the bow of the boat.
“Yes, somebody did,” said Patty, softly, flashing a tiny smile at Mr. Hepworth, who said nothing, but he smiled a little, too, as he bent to his oars.
Chapter XXII.
The Bazaar of All Nations
“How did you know where we were?” said Bertha to her brother.
“We didn’t know,” said Winthrop, “but after we had hunted everywhere, and put a squad of policemen on your track, and got out the fire department, and sent for an ambulance, Hepworth, here, did a little detective work on his own account.”
“What did you do?” asked Patty.
“Why, nothing much,” said Mr. Hepworth, “I just tried to account for the various boats, and when I found one was missing, I thought you must have gone on the water somewhere. And so I got a field glass and looked all around, and though
