They picked their way along the rocks. Joel tried to carry Ernest as they went, but the penguin made an oork of outrage and nipped Joel’s finger. Apparently the chicks preferred to travel on their own two feet now that they were in their sort of environment.
As the Poppers made their way around a final sharp outcropping of rock, the caretaker’s hut came into view.
It was a teetering brown shack, its planks warped and darkened by sea air. A few of its shingles were loose, clapping against the frame.
“It doesn’t seem like anyone is home,” Joel said.
“No, it definitely doesn’t appear that way,” Mrs. Popper said.
“Would you look at that?” Joel said, pointing above the front door as they approached.
“What? I can’t see!” Nina said, jumping up and down.
Mrs. Popper picked Nina up and held her high enough so she could read. Nina took her time, sounding out the words. “Here marks the hut built by Mr. Popper and Admiral Drake, the two gentlemen who brought penguins to the Arctic. Nineteen hundred and thirty-six.”
“Mr. Popper was actually here!” Joel said. “That’s so cool.”
Once they’d made their way inside, they found a cabinet with cans of food, a gas stove, a simple sort of ship’s radio, and a sleeping platform with woolen blankets.
“Those men weren’t into luxuries, were they?” Mrs. Popper said.
“They were explorers,” Nina said indignantly. “Of course they weren’t into luxuries.”
“It does seem like they could at least have put in a reading lamp,” Mrs. Popper said.
“Let’s get this place heated up,” Joel said as he worked on latching the door closed.
“Look, a piece of paper,” Nina said, after rummaging around under the bed. “Something’s written on it!”
“Read it out loud,” Mrs. Popper said as she did an inventory of the canned foods.
“You can do it this time,” Nina said, thrusting the paper at her brother.
Joel cleared his throat. “‘To whomever it may concern: Please forgive my leaving my post. I developed a toothache that’s making it impossible to monitor the Popper Penguins for the time being. I will return as soon as it’s fixed and I’ve had a chance to see my family.’”
“That’s it?” Nina asked.
“Yep,” Joel said, after turning the paper over to check.
“When is it dated?” Mrs. Popper asked.
“Um… a month ago.”
“Is that long enough for…” Mrs. Popper let her words trail off.
“Long enough for what?” Joel asked.
“It’s just that… that there’s no sign of the Popper Penguins. Could something have happened to them after the caretaker left?”
“Oh no!” Nina said, clutching Mae close to her.
“Oh no, indeed.” Mrs. Popper sighed as she looked through the cabinets. “Aside from the state of the Popper Penguins, we have something else to worry about. There’s only about three days’ worth of food here.”
“But Yuka needs more time than that to repair the boat,” Joel said.
“Wait, what does that mean?” Nina asked.
Joel shook his head and buried his face in Ernest’s soft side. “It means we’re in big trouble.”
Which was precisely when they heard a chorus of orks from the beach outside the hut.
THE POPPER PENGUINS
THERE WERE PENGUINS outside the caretaker’s hut. Many, many penguins. They milled about, staring at the hut and swaying back and forth, making a raucous chorus of orks and jooks and gaws. One by one they stepped forward, turned in a circle, then returned to the group. It looked like some kind of welcome dance.
“Are those… the Popper Penguins?” Nina asked.
“I think so,” Joel said. “You remember the penguin statues in Stillwater? These look just like them. They have the same white lines on their cheeks that the Popper Penguins had, too.”
“There’s a lot more than twelve of these, though!” Mrs. Popper exclaimed.
Penguins kept arriving. They emerged from the surf, springing onto land just like Mae and Ernest had. They were confident as they sped through the water but became nervous and hesitant as soon as they were on the shore, scanning around to see what their friends were doing before they committed to walking up onto the beach. There they each did their turnabout dance before huddling into the group, craning around one another to get the best view of the hut and the people emerging from it.
“Hello there,” Mrs. Popper said, raising her hand in greeting.
“Ork! Ork! Ork!” The penguins fell back in fear, one bumping into the next until they all pitched over like a set of bowling pins, rolling and scattering into the ocean.
“We’re sorry!” Nina called, hands cupped around her mouth. “We didn’t mean to scare you. Please come back!”
As if they’d understood her words, the birds reemerged, lining up again along the beach and watching them alertly.
“This is a relief,” Joel said. “I’m glad the penguins are okay.”
Nina kneeled, holding her arms out. “Hi, everyone.”
The birds turned skittish again, pressing into one another, the front row fully turning their backs on the Poppers. All except one, who made a loud jook and toddled forward. Once she had neared the family, she tilted her head to look at them inquiringly.
“What do you think she wants?” Nina asked.
“She wants us to feed her a fish, I’m sure of it!” Mrs. Popper said.
The penguin shook her head sharply, then raced into the surf, getting down onto her belly to slide like a toboggan until she’d disappeared underwater. She was gone under the surface for a minute, then emerged—with a fish in her mouth! She toddled up the beach until she was in front of Mrs. Popper, then dropped the wriggling fish onto the rock.
Mrs. Popper looked down at it.
“I think you’re supposed to eat it,” Joel whispered, nudging her.
“I am?” Mrs. Popper said through gritted teeth.
The penguin toddled forward, gave the wriggling fish a peck, and then looked up at Mrs. Popper expectantly. The penguin had a patch of extra white color on her head. That became her name in Joel’s mind: Patch.
Mrs. Popper leaned down and managed to pick up the fish in her mittens. It stared at her
