Frank V Webster

Bob the Castaway; Or, the Wreck of the Eagle Frank V Webster

Publisher Marketing: "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.