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Updated: June 19, 2025
At all events, Dick Lee had managed to say a good word for his benefactor, little as he could guess what might be the consequences. Meantime, Dab Kinzer, when he went out from breakfast, had strolled away to the north fence, for a good look at the house which was thenceforth to be the home of his favorite sister.
A moment or so later, a very pretty young lady was standing beside a trunk on the platform, trying to get some information from the flagman. "Can you tell me where Mr. Foster lives?" "That's the gimlet-eyed lawyer from New Yark?" "Yes, he's from New York," said the young lady, smiling in his face. "Where does he live?" "He's got the sassiest boy, thin. Is it him as took the Kinzer house?"
"Don't be afflicted, my friend. He's as white as anybody, except on Fridays: this is his black day. Hurry up the soup and fish." Joe and Fuz were looking as if they were dreadfully ashamed of something; but poor Dick was sitting up as straight as a ramrod, under the influence of a glance that he had taken at the face of Dab Kinzer. "I isn't goin' back on him and Ford," he said to himself.
Kinzer and the rest came, for they brought with them the officers of the wrecked bark; and neither Joe nor Fuz had an opportunity to so much as "help distribute" that supply of provisions. Ham went over to see that the distribution should be properly made; while Mrs. Kinzer saw her little patient, with his father and mother, safely stowed on board "The Swallow."
Her brother's absence and all their anxiety were positively due to Dab Kinzer, and his wicked, dangerous little yacht; and he must be to blame somehow. She could not help "waiting a while," as her father bade her; but her eyes already told that she had been doing more than wait.
There was no doubt at all that a thorough search would be made of the bay and the island, and so Mr. Foster wisely remained at home to comfort his wife and daughter. "That sort of boy," mourned Annie, "is always getting into some kind of mischief." "Annie!" exclaimed her mother indignantly, "Ford is a good boy, and he does not run into mischief." "I didn't mean Ford: I meant that Dabney Kinzer.
It's a good deal worse at sea. Glad we're not out in it." Ford Foster thought the worst of it was when the afternoon train came in, and he had to show a pair of tired, moist and altogether unpleasant cousins to the room set apart for them. Just after tea a note came over from Mrs. Kinzer, asking the Hart boys to join the yachting party next morning. "The storm may not be over," growled Ford.
He had been an "orphan" for a dozen years, and the wonder was that he should so long have lived alone in the big square-built house his father left him. At all events, Miranda Kinzer was just the wife for him. Miranda's mother had seen that at a glance, the moment her mind was settled about the house.
"Why, the poor fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Kinzer. "It's enough to stop his growth." It was not many days after that, before Dabney received a couple of boxes by express. The "marks" told where they came from; and he and the other boys carried them right up stairs, in the face of a kind suggestion from Mrs. Myers that "they might take them right out into the kitchen, and open them there."
He went no farther than the gate, to be sure, and then he returned for the rest of his rod: but before he got back with it, Keziah Kinzer hurried home from a call on Mrs. Foster, bringing a tremendous account of Dab's heroism; and then his own pride over what he had done was only a mere drop in the bucket, compared to that of his mother.
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