Free Baby Island by Carol Ryrie Brink, Helen Sewell

pirate or a savitch than that old crosspatch.”
    “Oh, no , Jean,” said Mary. “I feel so sorry for him. Not to like babies! Think what he’s missing! Besides, if he had been a savage he might have eaten us, and a pirate might have made us walk the plank. Mr. Peterkin just wants usto go away. And then he owns goats! Somehow, Jean, we’ve got to persuade him to let us have milk!”
    “But how?” asked Jean. “He’s about as sociable as a sour oyster.”
    “We’ll have to work on his better feelings, of course.”
    “Do you think he has any?”
    “Oh, Jean, everybody has better feelings if you can just get at them.”
    “I think Mr. Peterkin’s are pretty far under,” said Jean gloomily.
    “You leave him to me,” said Mary.
    They were awakened in the morning by a hoarse voice singing:
    “Oh, Bedelia ,
    I’d like to steal yuh!”
    Halfred, the parrot, had come over to inspect camp. He walked around and around them while Jean held the chattering Charley safely in her arms.
    “Good morning, Halfred,” said Mary politely. “I hope that you had a good night.”
    “Oh, you would, would you? Oh, you would, would you?” said Halfred sarcastically.
    Mary held out a small piece of hardtack. Halfred took it in one claw and, standing one-legged, nibbled it daintily, cocking his yellow eye at them the while.
    “Well, bless my soul!” he remarked. “Well, bless my soul and body!”
    Mary held out another bit of hardtack.
    “Oh, you would, would you?” said Halfred, but this time his tone had lost its sarcasm and was quite ingratiating. Presently he was like one of the family, letting the twins pet him and call him “Birdie,” and Mary scratch his head and smooth his tail feathers. For Mary knew the right place to scratch parrots’ heads, too.
    In the midst of this pleasant domestic scene, Mr. Peterkin arrived like a thundercloud.
    “Halfred, come out o’ that!” he commanded sternly.
    Halfred flew obediently to his master’s shoulder, tweaking his ear and remarking hoarsely, “Man the pumps, Captain, man the pumps!”
    “Look ’ere,” said Mr. Peterkin, addressing Mary, “that kid’s sick again. ’E won’t eat no’ow. I gives ’im the bottle just like you did, an’ bly’me if ’e don’t shun me cold.”
    “Well,” said Mary, “of course he won’t take the bottle if you’re cross with him. You have to make yourself look and sound like his mother.”
    “Me?” roared Mr. Peterkin. “Me look an’ sound like a nanny goat?”
    “That’s what I said.”
    “Look ’ere, Miss. You come give ’im the bottle. I’ll giveye milk for yer young ’uns’ breakfast, if ye’ll get the little beggar to take ’is.”
    Mary wanted nothing better. “Here, you hold these babies for me,” she said, putting Jonah and Ann Elizabeth into the astonished seaman’s arms, and she ran off to the goat pen.
    Jean followed her, holding the twins by the hand, with Halfred and Charley hopping along on each side. Last of all came the dazed Mr. Peterkin, carrying the two babies as gingerly as if they had smallpox. Ann Elizabeth gave Mr. Peterkin a long look, and then her face dimpled into a lovely baby smile.
    “Pitty,” said Ann Elizabeth, touching his fierce black whiskers. “Pitty-pitty.”
    Mr. Peterkin was embarrassed, but he was also just a little flattered. Nobody had ever before called his beard pretty.
    It took Mary only a moment to persuade the baby goat to take his breakfast. All he wanted was a kind hand and a gentle voice to administer it. When he had finished it, Mary turned to Mr. Peterkin.
    “Now, I’ll show you how to get his confidence,” she said, and in a moment the haughty Mr. Peterkin was taking lessons in the art of looking and sounding like a mama nanny goat.
    “Well, blow me down!” he remarked hoarsely, when Mary told him that he had done well at his lesson.
    Meanwhile inquisitive Jean and the twins were exploring Mr. Peterkin’s shanty.
    “Oh, Mary,” cried Jean, from the