The Project Gutenberg eBook, Bob the Castaway, by Frank V. Webster

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Title: Bob the Castaway

Author: Frank V. Webster

Release Date: April 5, 2004 [eBook #11909] [Last updated: September 29, 2011]

Language: English

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB THE CASTAWAY***

E-text prepared by Al Haines

BOB THE CASTAWAY

Or, The Wreck of the Eagle

By

FRANK V. WEBSTER

AUTHOR OF "ONLY A FARM BOY," "THE BOY FROM THE RANCH," "THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS," "THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

1909

Books for Boys by FRANK V. WEBSTER

12mo. Illustrated. Bound in cloth.

ONLY A FARM BOY, Or Dan Hardy's Rise in Life
TOM THE TELEPHONE BOY, Or The Mystery of a Message
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH, Or Roy Bradner's City Experiences
THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER, Or Fred Stanley's Trip to Alaska
BOB THE CASTAWAY, Or The Wreck of the Eagle
THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE, Or Herbert Dare's Pluck
THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS, Or Who Was Dick Box?
THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES, Or Nat Morton's Perils
TWO BOY GOLD MINERS, Or Lost in the Mountains
JACK THE RUNAWAY, Or On the Road with a Circus

Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I BOB MAKES TROUBLE II ANOTHER PRANK III A STRANGE PROPOSITION IV TALKING IT OVER V A JOKE THAT WENT WRONG VI MRS. HENDERSON'S DECISION VII BOB IS DELIGHTED VIII GETTING READY IX BOB'S LAST LAND JOKE X OFF ON THE TRIP XI THE "EAGLE" SAILS XII SOME JOKES ON BOB XIII BOB TRIES A PRANK XIV MR. TARBILL GETS A SHOCK XV THE STORM XVI WRECK OF THE SHIP XVII ADRIFT IN SMALL BOATS XVIII BOB ON AN ISLAND XIX FINDING MR. TARBILL XX MAKING THE BEST OF IT XXI MORE ARRIVALS XXII AFLOAT ONCE MORE XXIII A SERIOUS LOSS XXIV DAYS OF HOPELESSNESS XXV HOMEWARD BOUND—CONCLUSION

CHAPTER I

BOB MAKES TROUBLE

"Bob! Bob!" called a woman in loud tones, as she came to the kitchen door, her arms, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, covered with flour. "Bob, I want you to go to the store for me. I need some more lard for this pie-crust."

There was no answer, and the woman looked across the big yard at one side of the cottage.

"Where can that boy be?" Mrs. Henderson murmured. "I saw him here a little while ago. He's never around when I want him. I shouldn't be surprised but what he was planning some joke. Oh, dear! I wish he was more steady, and wasn't always up to some mischief. Still, he's a good boy at heart, and perhaps he'll grow better when he gets older."

She rubbed her left cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a big patch of flour under one eye. Then she called once more.

"Bob! Bob Henderson! Where are you? I want you to go to the store."

"Here I am, mother. Were you calling me?" asked a boy, emerging from behind a big apple tree.

He was not a bad-looking lad, even if his nose did turn up a bit, though his hair was tinged with red, and his face covered with freckles. His blue eyes, however, seemed to sparkle with mischief.

"Did I call you?" repeated Mrs. Henderson. "I'm hoarse after the way I had to shout—and you within hearing distance all the while! Why didn't you answer me?"

"I guess I was so busy thinking, mom, that I didn't hear you."

"Thinking? More likely thinking of some trick! What's that you've got?"

"Nothing," and Bob tried to stuff pieces of paper into a basket that was already filled to overflowing.

"Yes, 'tis too something. You're making some more of those paper snappers that the teacher kept you in after school for the other night. Bob, can't you settle down and not be always up to some trick?"

"I wasn't making these for myself, mom, honest I wasn't," expostulated Bob, with an innocent look that did not seem in accord with the mischief in his blue eyes. "I was making 'em for Jimmy Smith."

"Yes, and Jimmy Smith would pop 'em off in school, and when he got caught he'd say you gave 'em to him, and you'd both be kept in. Oh, Bob, I don't know what will happen to you next!"

"Why, I wasn't doing anything, honest I wasn't, mom. Oh, how funny you look with that patch of flour on your cheek! Just like a clown in a circus, only he has white stuff all over his face."

"Well, I must say, Bob Henderson, you're not very complimentary to your mother, telling her she looks like a circus clown."

"I didn't say you did, mom. You only look like half a clown."

"That's just as bad."

Bob took advantage of this little diversion to hide the paper snappers behind the tree while his mother was wiping the flour off her face. The snappers were oblong pieces of stout wrapping paper, folded in such a way that when swung through the air they went off like a bag blown up and crushed between the hands. Bob was an expert in their manufacture.

"Come," went on Mrs. Henderson, when she was satisfied that her face was no longer adorned with flour, "I want you to go to the store for some lard. Tell Mr. Hodge you want the best. Here's the money."

"All right, mom, I'll go right away. Do you want anything else?"

Now Bob usually made more of a protest than this when asked to go to the store, which was at the other end of the village of Moreville, where he lived. He generally wanted to stay at his play, or was on the point of going off with some boy of his acquaintance.

But this time he prepared to go without making any complaint, and had his mother not been so preoccupied thinking of her housework, she might have suspected that the lad had some mischief afoot—some scheme that he wanted to carry out, and which going to the store would further.

"No, I guess the lard is all I need now," she said. "Now do hurry, Bob. Don't stop on the way, for I want to get these pies baked before supper."

"I'll hurry, mom."

There was a curious smile on Bob's face, and as he got his hat from the ground before setting off on the errand he looked in his pocket to see if he had a certain long, stout piece of cord.

"I guess that will do the trick," murmured the boy to himself. "Oh, yes, I'll hurry back all right! Guess I'll have to if I don't want Bill Hodge to catch me."

There was a cunning look on Bob's face, and the twinkle in his eyes increased as he set off down the village street.

"I hope he doesn't get into mischief," murmured Mrs. Henderson, as she went back to her work in the kitchen. "If he wasn't such an honest boy, I would be more worried than I am about him. But I guess he will outgrow it," she added hopefully.

Bob Henderson, who is to be the hero of our Story, was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Enos Henderson. They