HASTE AND WASTE

CHAPTER I


THE SQUALL ON THE LAKE


"Stand by, Captain John!" shouted Lawry Wilford, a stout boy of
fourteen, as he stood at the helm of a sloop, which was going before
the wind up Lake Champlain.

"What's the matter, Lawry?" demanded the captain.

"We're going to have a squall," continued the young pilot, as he
glanced at the tall peaks of the Adirondacks.

There was a squall in those clouds, in the judgment of Lawry
Wilford; but having duly notified the captain of the impending danger
to his craft, he did not assume any further responsibility in the
management of the sloop. It was very quiet on the lake; the water was
smooth, and the tiny waves sparkled in the bright sunshine. There was
no roll of distant thunder to admonish the voyagers, and the youth at
the helm was so much accustomed to squalls and tempests, which are of
frequent occurrence on the lake, that they had no terrors to him. It
was dinner-time, and the young pilot, fearful that the unexpected
guest might reduce the rations to a low ebb for the second table, was
more concerned about this matter than about the squall.

Captain John, as he was familiarly called on board the
_Missisque,_ which was the name of the sloop, was not a man to
be cheated out of any portion of his dinner by the approach of a
squall; and though his jaws may have moved more rapidly after the
announcement of the young pilot, he did not neglect even the green-apple
pies, the first of the season, prepared with care and skill by
Mrs. Captain John, who resided on board, and did "doctor's" duty at
the galley. Captain John did not abate a single mouthful of the meal,
though he knew how rapidly the mountain showers and squalls travel
over the lake. The sloop did not usually make more than four or five
miles an hour, being deeply laden with lumber, which was piled up so
high on the deck that the mainsail had to be reefed, to make room for
it.