Chapter XIII: A Long Way From the Corner House

An hour after sunrise the keel of the _Isobel_ scraped upon the sands of the shallow cove which indented the western shore of this unknown island that was to be the refuge of the Corner House girls and their friends.

There was still a wide stretch of calm water between the prow of the motor-boat and the low-water mark. The boys could force the craft no nearer land with their oars.

“How do we land?” Agnes demanded. “We can’t fly. And this water looks as though it were waist deep.”

“Oh, for a bathing suit!” murmured Ruth.

Neale had quickly retired to the cabin while the other members of the party were discussing the difficulty that confronted them. Luke had sat down to pull off his shoes and stockings and prepare to wade ashore, when the younger youth reappeared.

“I declare!” exclaimed Agnes. “He has got his bathing suit. How did you ever think to bring it, Neale O’Neil?”

“Never know when it may rain,” chuckled her friend. “Now I’m going to drop over the bow, and I’ll take you ashore first, Aggie, if you want me to.”

“I don’t know about that,” objected Agnes. “We don’t know what may be lurking in that jungle. The hill around the foot of that big palm is clear, I know. But that thicket between us and the hill——”

“What do you think will hurt you?” Luke demanded. “There are no wild animals in these islands. Not even snakes, I am told.”

“Just the same, I’ll wait till you are ready to carry Ruth, Luke,” said Agnes decidedly. “We can wait together on the shore while you bring over the children and Mr. Howbridge.”

“This is another case like the man who had to cross the river with the goose, the fox, and the bag of corn,” chuckled Neale. “But I guess we’ll make it somehow. Come on, girls.”

“Here comes the goose!” cried Agnes, stepping off the bow of the launch into Neale’s arms. “Hurry up, Ruth. If there are savages in that jungle I want you to be present at the first introduction. Your manners are so much better than mine.”

The transportation of the four girls did not take long. Meanwhile Mr. Howbridge removed his shoes and socks and came ashore carrying some wraps and a few cooking utensils.

“We want breakfast first of all. I do not believe we shall find here any natives, savage or otherwise, who will offer us a meal,” the lawyer said.

Neale had carried ashore the end of the painter and they moored the motor-boat safely to a stub driven into the sand above high-water mark. The young fellows went about making a camp at the edge of the jungle in a matter-of-fact way.

“Doesn’t your chart tell what island this is?” Ruth asked Neale O’Neil. “Surely it can’t be an unknown island.”

“Probably not,” Mr. Howbridge said, smiling, and before Neale could reply. “But it is safe enough to say that it is unoccupied save by ourselves.”

“And—and have we got to stay here?” gasped Agnes.

“Until we can repair the motor-boat engine, or some one appears to take us off,” said the lawyer soberly. “But we have some provisions and I can see that there is fruit growing in plenty yonder, and this cove probably offers many shellfish, and finny denizens of the sea as well.“

“That’s all right,” said Agnes, briskly recovering from her momentary alarm. “But I never care for fish for breakfast. What are you going to cook over that fire, Neale O’Neil?”

“Give your order, lady. The chef will try to fill it,” declared Neale, quite unshaken by the prospect.

“Two eggs. I always have two eggs for breakfast,” declared Agnes. “You can have all the fruit you want to; but I demand the pair of hen-fruit, too.”

“Very well, my lady,” Neale said, bowing. “Keep your eye on this fire, Luke, while I go egging.”

“Egging!” exclaimed Luke, quite as mystified as the others.

“Sure. I’ve got to go to market for the eggs, haven’t I?” said Neale.

“Can’t we go to the store with you, Neale?” Tess asked eagerly. “Dot and I. We can help you bring home the things.”

“You certainly can. Come on,” said Neale cheerfully, and started off as confidently as though he expected to find a butter and egg store around the first corner. Ruth made no objection to the little girls going, for she was assured by their guardian that there was nothing on these little islands that could possibly hurt them. The three were soon out of sight, for the fringe of low palms and shrubs edged the sands in both directions, and probably continued right around the circumference of the island.

“This is certainly a lonely island,” Ruth said reflectively. “Don’t you suppose it has even a name?”

“Let’s give it one,” announced Agnes, when Luke had shaken a negative head to Ruth’s question. “Why not? We’ll take possession of it in the name of the U. S. A. Spain, or Holland, or France, or England must have overlooked it, or they would have named it.”

“And tacked up a shingle here with the name on it—and a traffic arrow?” chuckled Luke. “‘This is a one-way street’!”

“Smarty!” exclaimed Agnes, making him a little face. “Can’t we name it, Guardy Howbridge?”

“With my full permission,” rejoined the lawyer.

“I wouldn’t know what to call it,” said Ruth reflectively. “That big mound in the middle—with the tree on it. A palm, isn’t it?”

“We saw that palm just as soon as we saw anything when the light broke this morning,” said Luke.

“It is a landmark,” Mr. Howbridge added.

“That is just the thing!” exclaimed Agnes briskly. “The big palm is the most prominent thing about here. Call it Palm Island.”

“Why not?” cried Ruth.

“I subscribe to that name,” said Luke.

So the refuge of the Corner House girls and their friends came to be called Palm Island. That Dot insisted upon calling it “plam” instead of “palm” made little difference. She was always mispronouncing new words.

Just at present, however, Dot and Tess and Neale O’Neil did not know that the island had been christened. They came back briskly from around the point at about the time Luke got a good fire to burning on the beach. The coffee was on and Mr. Howbridge was boiling cereal which had been aboard the motor-boat.

“Where are my eggs?” demanded Agnes, shouting to the exploring trio just as soon as she caught sight of them.

Neale O’Neil raised a bundle he held in his hand. It was a big bandana handkerchief, knotted together at the corners, and evidently containing something heavy. The little girls were both smiling.

“Eggs for every one,” said Neale cheerfully. “Our hens laid very well this time. Here are eighteen, and that should be enough for seven people, don’t you think?”

“You never found eggs, Neale O’Neil!” cried Agnes.

“Yes, he did! Yes, he did!” cried Dot, jumping up and down with delight.

“And out of the funniest nest,” said Tess, quite as excited.

Agnes and Ruth looked into the handkerchief with some disbelief. They saw a dozen and a half rather dirty looking eggs; at least, they were of a brownish-gray color. The shells looked leathery and not like the shells of hens’ eggs.

“Goodness!” murmured Ruth.

“You call those eggs?” demanded Agnes doubtfully.

“And all out of one nest,” cried Tess delightedly.

“Fancy!” said Ruth, much puzzled.

“I hope you know what you are doing, Neale O’Neil,” said Agnes. “Don’t poison us with some strange fruit.”

“So they look like fruit to you, do they?” snorted Neale.

“I’ll take a chance,” said Luke, grinning, “if there is a yolk and a white to them.”

“Put on the fry-pan with some oil in it. Get me the pepper and salt. The chef proposes to turn out some fried eggs to beat the band! How do you like ’em—sunny-side up, or turned over? State your preference, ladies and gentlemen.”

He used his knife to cut the “shells” of the eggs; but the yolk of each was of a deep color and it was quite evident that, no matter what kind of eggs they were, they were fresh.

“Ought to be,” said Neale with confidence. “If they were not laid last night during the storm, they certainly were the night before.”

“I do not understand it,” said Agnes, as the first relay of eggs began to sputter in the pan. “Are there really poultry on this desert island? What kind of hen lays such eggs?”

“A four-legged one,” declared Neil promptly.

“Oh!”

Luke was chuckling again, for he had already guessed the nature of the eggs. “And a hen with no feathers, Neale?” he suggested.

“You’ve said it,” rejoined the younger fellow.

“Oh! Oh!” cried Ruth, suddenly laughing. “And it has a shell.”

“Mercy! Four-legged—and featherless—and a shell,” murmured the puzzled Agnes. “There is one thing sure, we have no poultry to answer to that description at the old Corner House.”

“Ah, but we are a long way from the old Corner House,” said Mr. Howbridge, likewise smiling. “You must expect different fauna—as well as different flora—in this part of the world.”

“And of course, we are bound to find many wonderful things on Palm Island,” Ruth declared soberly.