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were to be prizes, of course, for the best costumes and prettiest boats, and the judges’ stand was a very showy affair, built at the bridge end of the lake.

      There was plenty of excitement getting ready, but finally all hands were dressed, and the music from the lake told our friends the procession was already lining up.

      Mrs. Minturn’s launch was given second place, just back of the Mayor’s, and Mrs. Bingham’s launch, fixed up to represent an automobile, came next. Then, there were all kinds of boats, some made to represent impossible things, like big swans, eagles, and one even had a lot of colored ropes flying about it, while an automobile lamp, fixed up in a great paper head, was intended to look like a monster sea-serpent, the ropes being its fangs. By cutting out a strange face in the paper over the lighted lamp the eyes blazed, of course, while the mouth was red, and wide open, and there were horns, too, made of twisted pieces of tin, so that altogether the sea-serpent looked very fierce, indeed.

      The larger boats were expected to be very fine, so that as the procession passed along the little lake the steam launches did not bring out much cheering from the crowd. But now the single boats were coming.

      “Father Marquette!” cried the people, instantly recognizing the historic figure Harry represented.

      So slowly his boat came along, and so solemn he looked!

      Then, as he reached the judges’ stand, he stood up, put his hand over his eyes, looking off in the distance, exactly like the picture of the famous French explorer.

      This brought out long and loud cheering, and really Harry deserved it, for he not only looked like, but really acted, the character.

      There were a few more small boats next. In one the summer girl was all lace and parasol, in another there was a rude fisherman, then; some boys were dressed to look like dandies, and they seemed to enjoy themselves more than did the people looking at them. There was also a craft fixed up to look like a small gunboat.

      Hal and Bert then paddled along.

      They were perfect Indians, even having their faces browned with dark powder. Susan’s feather duster had been dissected to make up the boys’ headgear, and two overall suits, with jumpers, had been slashed to pieces to make the Indian suits. The canoe, of course, made a great stir.

      “Who are they?” everybody wanted to know. But no one could guess.

      “Oh, look at this!” called the people, as an old boat with two little girls drifted along.

      The Fisherman’s Daughters!

      Perhaps it was because there was so much gayety around that these little girls looked so real. From the side of their weather-beaten boat dragged an old fishnet. Each girl had on her head a odd half-hood, black, and from under this Nellie’s brown hair fell in tangles on her bare shoulders, and Dorothy’s beautiful yellow ringlets framed in her own pretty face. The children wore olf-fashioned bodices, like those seen in pictures of Dutch girls, and full skirts of dark stuff finished out their costumes.

      As they sat in the boat and looked out to sea, “watching for the fisherman’s return,” their attitude and pose were perfect.

      The people did not even cheer. They seemed spellbound.

      “That child is an actress,” they said, noting the “real” look on Nellie’s face. But Nellie was not acting. She was waiting for the lost father at sea.

      When would he come back to her?

      CHAPTER XIV

      The First Prize

      When the last craft in the procession had passed the judges’ stand, and the little lake was alive with decorations and nautical novelties, everybody, of course, in the boats and on land, was anxious to know who would get the prizes.

      There were four to be given, and the fortunate ones could have gifts in silver articles or the value in money, just as they chose.

      Everybody waited anxiously, when the man at the judges’ stand stood up and called through the big megaphone:

      “Let the Fisherman’s Daughters pass down to the stand!”

      “Oh, we are going to get a prize,” Dorothy said to Nellie. “I’ll just cut the line to Harry’s boat and row back to the stand.”

      Then, when the two little girls sailed out all by themselves, Dorothy rowing gracefully, while Nellie helped some, although not accustomed to the oars, the people fairly shouted.

      For a minute the girls waited in front of the stand. But the more people inspected them the better they appeared. Finally, the head judge stood up.

      “First prize is awarded to the Fisherman’s Daughters,” he announced.

      The cheering that followed his words showed the approval of the crowd. Nellie and Dorothy were almost frightened at the noise. Then they rowed their boat to the edge, and as the crowd gathered around them to offer congratulations, the other prizes were awarded.

      The second prize went to the Indians!

      “Lucky they don’t know us,” said Hal to Bert, “for they would never let the two best prizes get in one set.” The Indians were certainly well made-up, and their canoe a perfect redman’s bark.

      The third prize went to the “Sea-serpent,” for being the funniest boat in the procession; and the fourth to the gunboat. Then came a great shouting!

      A perfect day had added to the success of the carnival, and now many people adjourned to the pavilion, where a reception was held, and good things to eat were bountifully served.

      “But who was the little girl with Dorothy Minturn?” asked the mayor’s wife. Of course everybody knew Dorothy, but Nellie was a stranger.

      Mrs. Minturn, Mrs. Bobbsey, Aunt Sarah, Mrs. Bingham, and Mrs. Blake, the latter being the mayor’s wife, had a little corner in the pavilion to themselves. Here Nellie’s story was quietly told.

      “How nice it was she got the prize,” said Mrs. Blake, after hearing about Nellie’s hardships. “I think we had better have it in money—and we might add something to it,” she suggested. “I am sure Mr. Blake would be glad to. He often gives a prize himself. I’ll just speak to him.”

      Of course Dorothy was to share the prize, and she accepted a pretty silver loving cup. But what do you suppose they gave Nellie?

      Fifty dollars!

      Was not that perfectly splendid?

      The prize for Nellie was twenty-five dollars, but urged by Mrs. Blake, the mayor added to it his own check for the balance.

      Naturally Nellie wanted to go right home to her mother with it, and nothing about the reception had any interest for her after she received the big check. However, Mrs. Bobbsey insisted that Mr. Minturn would take the money to Nellie’s mother the next day, so the little girl had to be content.

      Then, when all the festivities were over, and the children’s excitement had brought them to bed very tired that night, Nellie sat by her window and looked out at the sea!

      Always the same prayer, but tonight, somehow, it seemed answered!

      Was it the money for mother that made the father seem so near?

      The roaring waves seemed to call out:

      “Nellie—Nellie dear! I’m coming—coming home to you!”

      And while the little girl was thus dreaming upstairs, Mr. Minturn down in the library was telling about his visit to Nellie’s mother.

      “There is no doubt about it,” he told Mrs. Bobbsey. “It was Nellie’s father who went away with George Bingham, and it was certainly that schooner that was sighted some days ago.”

      The ladies, of course, were overjoyed at the prospect of the best of luck for Nellie—her father’s possible return,—and then it was decided that Uncle William should again go to Mrs. McLaughlin, this time to

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