Six Little Bunkers at Cousin Tom's Part 25

Now Margy and Mun Bun did not have very strong voices, and, besides, though they were not far from one part of the sh.o.r.e, it was quite a distance to Cousin Tom's house, where their father and mother were at that moment. Also, the wind was blowing their voices away, and over toward the other sh.o.r.e of Clam River, where at this time no one lived.

But the two little Bunkers did not know this, and they kept on calling for their mother or father to come to get them. But neither Daddy nor Mother Bunker answered.

And the water kept on rising, for the tide was coming in fast, and it was going to be high.

Now it happened, just about this time, that Mr. Oscar Burnett, the lobster fisherman, was coming up the inlet in his motor-boat. He had been out to sea to lift his lobster-pots and he had been waiting at the entrance of Clam River for the tide to make the water deep enough for him to come up. On days when the tide was not so low he could come up all right, even at "slack water." But this time the channel was not deep enough for his motor-boat and he had to wait.

And as he puffed up, steering this way and that so as not to run on sand bars, he heard, faintly, the cries of Margy and Mun Bun.

Having good ears, and knowing the cries must be near him, Mr. Burnett looked about.

He saw the place where the island was now almost hidden from sight because of the rising waters, and he saw the two children, Margy and Mun Bun, standing there, their arms around each other, crying for help, and also crying real tears. For they were very much frightened.

"Well, I swan to goodness!" exclaimed the lobster fisherman. "There's those two children again, and this time they're marooned 'stead of being adrift! Yes, sir! They're marooned!"

I used that word once before and I forgot to tell you what it means, so I'll do so now. It means, in sailor talk, being left alone on an island without any way of getting off. Sometimes pirates used to capture s.h.i.+ps, take off the pa.s.sengers and set them on an island without leaving a boat. And the poor pa.s.sengers were marooned. They could no more get off than could Margy and Mun Bun.

"Marooned! That's what they are!" said Mr. Burnett. "I'll have to go over and get 'em, just as I got 'em when they drifted down the inlet in the boat. I never saw such children for getting into trouble!"

Not that Mr. Burnett thought it was too much trouble to go and get Margy and Mun Bun off the island where they were marooned. Instead, he was very glad to do it, for he loved children. So he steered his motor-boat over toward what was left of the island--which was very little now, as the tide was still rising. Then the lobster fisherman called:

"Don't be afraid, Mun Bun and Margy! I'll soon get you! Don't be afraid.

Just stand still and don't wade off into the deep water."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DON'T BE AFRAID! I'LL SOON GET YOU!" SAID MR. BURNETT.

_Six Little Bunkers at Cousin Tom's._--_Page 174_]

The island was shaped like a little hill, high in the middle, and Margy and Mun Bun had kept stepping back until they now stood on the highest part in the middle.

All about them was the water, deeper in some places than in others. And you may be sure that the little boy and his sister did not try to get off the high spot. There the water was only over their feet, but if they stayed there much longer it might cover their heads.

However no such dreadful thing happened, for Mr. Burnett steered his boat up to them until it grounded in the sand of the island that was now under water.

"Now you're all right!" said the kind man. He shut off his motor and jumped over the side of the boat. Right into the water he stepped, but as he had on high rubber boots he did not get his feet wet.

Mr. Burnett picked up Margy and set her down in his boat.

"Oh, look at the big lobsters!" cried the little girl. "Will they pinch me?"

Well might she ask that question, for the bottom of the boat was filled with lobsters with big claws, some of which were moving about, the pinching parts opening and shutting.

"They won't hurt you," said Mr. Burnett with a laugh. "Just keep up on the seat, Margy, and you won't get pinched."

The seats in the lobster boat were broad and high, and on one of them Margy and Mun Bun, who was soon lifted off the island to her side, were safe from the lobsters, which Mr. Burnett had taken from his pots, some miles out at sea.

"How did you come to go on the island when the tide was rising?" asked the fisherman, as he started his boat once more.

"The water was low, and we waded out barefoot," explained Margy.

"We were goin' to dig clams," added Mun Bun.

"But we couldn't find any," continued Margy. "And then when we went to wade back home the water got deep and we were afraid."

"I should think you would be!" replied the lobster fisherman. "Well, I'm glad I heard you call. It wouldn't be very nice on your island now."

The children looked back. Their island was out of sight. It was "submerged," as a sailor would say, meaning that it was under the water.

For the tide had risen and covered it.

"Will you take us home?" asked Margy.

"That's what I will," said the lobster fisherman. "I'll take you right up to Mr. Bunker's pier. I guess your folks don't know where you are, nor what trouble you might have been in if I hadn't come along just when I did."

And this was true, for neither Daddy nor Mother Bunker, nor Cousin Tom nor his wife, nor any of the other little Bunkers had heard the cries of Mun Bun and Margy.

But as the motor-boat went puffing up to the little wharf the noise it made was heard by Mr. and Mrs. Bunker, who ran down from the cottage to see it, as they wanted to buy a fresh lobster and they had been told that Mr. Burnett might soon come back from having gone to lift his pots.

"Well, I had pretty good luck to-day," said the old fisherman, as he stopped his boat at the pier, and pointed to Margy and Mun Bun. "See what I caught!"

"Margy!" cried her mother, in great surprise.

"Mun Bun!" exclaimed the little boy's father.

"Did you go out in a boat again?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, no'm, we didn't do that!" said Mun Bun quickly.

"We just waded over to the little island," said Margy. "But somebody poured water in the river, and it got high and we couldn't wade back again."

"They were marooned in the middle of Clam River for a fact! That's what they were!" said Mr. Burnett. "But I heard 'em yell, and I took 'em off.

Here they are."

"You must never wade out like that again," said the father of Mun Bun and Margy. "This river isn't like ours at home. An island there is always an island, unless floods come, and you know about them. There is a tide here twice a day and what may seem a safe bit of sand on which to play at one time may be covered with water at another. So don't go wading unless you ask your mother or me first."

"We won't," promised Mun Bun and Margy.

Then Mr. Bunker thanked Mr. Burnett and after the lobster had been bought the fisherman puffed away in his boat, waving a good-bye to the children he had saved from being marooned on the island.

Mun Bun and Margy had to tell their story over again several times and they had to answer many questions from their brothers and sisters, about how they felt when they saw the water coming up.

Of course the two smallest of the six little Bunkers had been in some danger, though if Mr. Burnett had not seen them and rescued them, some one else might have done so. But it taught all the little Bunkers a lesson about the dangers of the rising tide, and if any of you ever go to the seash.o.r.e I hope you will be careful. If you live at the sh.o.r.e, of course you know about the tides.

As the August days went on, the children played in the sand and had many good times. Often they would pretend to be digging for gold, as they had heard Sammie Brown tell of his father having done, but they had given up hoping to find any.

"But we might find my locket," said Rose.

"And we might find that queer box the tide washed away before we could see what was in it," said Russ. "I wish we could find that."

Often he would walk along the beach looking at the driftwood and other things cast up by the waves and hope for a sight of the mysterious box.