The first thing that greeted them was the sight of Mr. Bob, the cocker spaniel, rolling on the front lawn in great distress, and giving every sign of being poisoned. They hastily administered an antidote and, after a time of suspense were confident that the effect of the poison had been counteracted. So far they had only been in the kitchen, but when the excitement about the dog was over they moved toward the sitting-room to rest awhile and drink lemonade before going to bed. When the light was lit they all stopped in astonishment. In the sitting-room there was an old-fashioned combination desk and bookcase, the bookcase part set on top of the desk and reaching nearly to the ceiling. It belonged to the house, and the desk was closed and locked. Now, however, it stood open, and all the drawers were pulled out, while the top of the desk and the floor before it were strewn with papers in great disorder.
“Burglars!” cried Migwan. “The house has been robbed!” They immediately looked through the house to see what had been taken. Up-stairs in the room occupied by the two boys there was a desk similar to the one in the sitting-room. This had also been broken open and the drawers searched through, although the disorder of papers was not so great as it was down-stairs. Half afraid of what they should find, the whole family went from room to room, but nothing else seemed to have been disturbed, and as far as they could see nothing had been stolen. The silver in the sideboard drawer was untouched, but then, this was only plate, and worn at that. But in full view on the dining-room table lay Sahwah’s Firemaker Bracelet, which she had laid there a few moments before starting for the picnic, and then, with her customary forgetfulness, neglected to pick up again. This was solid silver and worth stealing. Further than that, she had also forgotten to wear her watch, and it was still safe in her top bureau drawer. It was a riddle, and as they talked it over they could only come to one conclusion, and that was that the burglar had thought there were large sums of money hidden in the two desks and had passed over the small articles in the hope of getting a bigger harvest, or else was leaving those other things to the last. He ransacked the up-stairs desk, having broken the lock, and then went through the one down-stairs. While looking through the papers in the sitting-room he had evidently been frightened away by something, for there was one drawer that had not been disturbed. This also accounted for the fact that nothing else had been taken. What had frightened him was probably the barking of the dog, who, although he was on the outside, had become aware of the presence of someone in the house. He had fed the dog poison, probably poisoned meat, for they had found a small piece of meat on the porch. Evidently the poison had begun to act before Mr. Bob had it all eaten, and he left that piece. But before the dog was dead the burglar had heard the family returning along the road, singing, and made his escape. The whole thing must have happened not long before, for the dog had not had the poison long enough to take deadly effect. It was then that they regretted having lingered so long over the game of charades and delayed their homecoming.
“If we had only been half an hour sooner, we might have found out who it was,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
“Thank Heaven we weren’t half an hour later,” said Hinpoha, “or Mr. Bob would have been dead.” She would have felt worse about losing Mr. Bob than about having all her possessions stolen.
“How about sleeping in the tepee to-night?” asked Gladys. There was not enough room in the house for so many people and the eight Winnebagos had made their beds in the tepee while the three girls from town were there, both to solve the question of sleeping quarters and for the fun of the thing. It was just like camping out to sleep on the ground, all the eight girls in a circle around the little watch fire in the middle of the tepee.
“Oh, I’ll be afraid to,” said Hinpoha.
“I don’t know but what it would be just as safe as sleeping in the house,” said Nyoda. “I doubt if anyone would think of people sleeping out in that thing. It’s a rather novel idea in this neighborhood. And at any rate there’s nothing out there to steal and consequently nothing to tempt a thief.”
So, their fears having vanished, the Winnebagos went to bed in the tepee just as they had planned. Nyoda took the precaution of putting her pistol under her pillow. The girls really enjoyed the air of suppressed excitement. When did youth and high spirits ever fail to respond to the thrill of danger, either real or fancied? This attempted burglary was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to most of the girls and they were getting as much thrill out of it as possible. It amused them to see Tom and Calvin parading the front lawn armed with bird guns, swelled up with importance at having to guard a houseful of women. Instead of hoping that the burglar had been scared away for good they wished fervently that he would return and give them a chance to shoot. They would have stayed there all night if Mrs. Gardiner had not ordered them to bed.
One by one the girls in the tepee dropped off to slumber, worn out with the varied events of the day. But Nyoda could not sleep. She had a throbbing headache from the glare of the sun on the water while she sat fishing. The little fire, in the center of the bare circle of earth which prevented it from spreading, died down and subsided to glowing embers, then one by one these turned black and left the tepee in darkness. There was not a spark left. Nyoda was sure of this, for she sat up several times in an effort to make herself comfortable, and when she took a drink from the pail of well water which stood nearby she emptied the dipper over the spot where the fire had been, to make doubly sure. Still sleep would not come. She stared out of the doorway of the tepee into the darkness. A group of beech trees with their light grey bark loomed up ghostlike before the door. She began to think of the ghost which had appeared to her that other night in that very doorway, and tried to connect the incidents which had taken place afterwards with that. One thing was sure—someone was getting into Onoway House every few days. Why nothing was taken was a mystery to her. It seemed to her now that it was not so much an attempt at burglary as an effort to annoy and frighten the family. Possibly it was someone who had a grudge against them—she could not imagine why—and was indulging in these pranks to satisfy a spite. She thought she saw a glimmer of light on the subject.
Farmer Landsdowne had once told her that when it became known that Mr. Mitchell was going to give up the care of the place, several farmers of the Centerville Road district had applied for the position of caretaker, but wishing to assist Migwan, the Bartletts had refused their offers and given the place over to the Winnebagos. That must be it. Someone wanted that job badly and was wreaking his disappointment on the people who had kept him from getting it. The more she thought of it the more probable it seemed. Possibly more than one were involved in the plot.
Then another thought struck her. Could it be the crazy man who lived alone in the little house among the trees? Calvin had stated that he never left the house, but who could account for the inspirations of an unbalanced mind? That nothing had been taken from the house seemed to indicate a want of fixed purpose in the mind of the housebreaker—to go to all that trouble for nothing. This idea also seemed worth considering.
As she lay turning these things over in her mind she thought she heard a stealthy footstep in the grass outside of the tepee. Thinking that the ghost was coming to pay another visit, she drew the pistol from under her pillow and turning over, face downward, lay with it pointed toward the doorway. There would be no outcry when he appeared in the doorway. The first intimation the ghost would have that he was observed would be a shot in the leg that would prevent him from running away and would solve the mystery. In tense silence she waited, one; two; three minutes, but nothing appeared. Then suddenly she smelled smoke, and turning around swiftly saw that the side of the tepee toward which she had had her back was in flames.
“Fire!” she called at the top of her voice. “Sahwah! Hinpoha! Gladys! Migwan! Wake up!” And seizing the pail of water she dashed it against the side of the tepee. The water sizzled as it fell, but the canvas covering was burning like tinder. Thus rudely awakened the girls sprang up in alarm. The place was filling with dense smoke, and through it they groped their way to the opening, dragging out their blankets. Hardly had the last girl got out when the whole thing was one roaring blaze, which lit up the scenery a long way around.
Nyoda, paying no attention to the flames that were mounting skyward from the burning canvas, looked intently for a lurking figure among the trees, for she thought it hardly possible that whoever had set the tepee afire could have gotten outside of the range of light in that short time. It was possible to see as far as the road on the one side and across the river on the other. But nowhere was there a man or the shadow of a man. The folks came running out of Onoway House half dressed and in terror that the girls had not escaped from the burning tent in time, and the farmers all the way down the road, seeing the glare, rushed to offer their assistance, for a fire in the country is a serious thing where there is no water pressure. Farmer Landsdowne came on a dead run, carrying a water bucket. Even Abner Smalley appeared in the midst of the crowd. He gave a scowling look at Calvin, but said nothing, and soon took his departure when the danger was over, as it was directly, for it did not take long to reduce that canvas covering to a black mass, and buckets of water thrown all around on the ground and the trees kept the fire from spreading.
For the second time that night the family gathered in the sitting-room and faced each other over an exciting happening. “I told you if you built a fire in that tepee you would burn it down,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “I never felt easy when you had one.”
“But it didn’t catch fire from our little fire,” declared Nyoda, and told the events of the night, from the going out of the fire to the footsteps outside the tepee when the canvas had suddenly blazed up when she was lying in wait for the ghost with a pistol. The circle of faces paled with fear as she told her tale. Who could this mysterious visitor be, who seemed determined to do them some harm? The girls finished the night in the house, three in a bed, but none of them closed their eyes to sleep.
CHAPTER XI.—THE WELL DIGGER’S GHOST.
The next morning Mrs. Gardiner sent Mr. Landsdowne to interview the police force of the township in which the Centerville Road belonged, and he brought the whole force back with him. He had to bring the whole force if he brought any for it embraced only one man and he was well along in years, but he had a uniform and a helmet and a club and a gun, and presented an imposing appearance as he strutted up and down the yard, before which an evil doer might be moved to pause. The three girls from town had departed and Nakwisi had left her spy glass behind in the excitement, and this was a source of great entertainment to the rural gendarme. He spent a great deal of time sliding the lens back and forth to fit his eye and peering up the road into the distance, or looking up into the air, as if he expected to see the burglar approaching in an airship. He was very talkative and fond of recounting the captures he had made single handed, and declared solemnly that the man in this case was as good as caught already, for no one had ever escaped yet when Dave Beeman had started out to get him.
Nyoda, who was fond of seeing her theories worked out, still held to the idea that the mysterious visitor was someone who wanted the job of caretaker, and inquired closely of Farmer Landsdowne who the men were who had applied for the position. When it came down to fact there was only one who had really wanted the job very badly, although several others had mentioned the fact that they wouldn’t mind doing it, and that man had found a similar situation immediately afterward and left the neighborhood. So her theory did not seem to be inclined to hold water.
She had another idea, however, and wrote to Mr. Mitchell, asking if he had ever heard strange noises in the attic while he lived there. Mr. Mitchell answered and said that not only had he heard strange noises in the attic, but also in the cellar and in the barn, and that pieces of furniture had apparently moved themselves in the middle of the night; and it was on this account that he had left the place, as it made his wife so nervous she became ill. This fact put a new face on the matter. The hostility, then, was not directed against themselves personally, but against the tenants of the house, no matter who they were. But this idea left them more in the dark than ever, and they lost a good deal of sleep over it without reaching any solution.
After a few days of zealous watching, during which time nothing happened, the police force of Centerville township gave it up as a bad job and relaxed its vigilance, declaring that the firebug must have gotten out of the country, for that was the only way he could hope to escape his eagle eye. “If he was still in the country, I’d a’ had him by this time”, Dave Beeman asserted confidently. “So as long as he’s gone that far you don’t need to worry any more.” And he took himself off, eager to get back to the quiet game of pinochle in Gus Wurlitzer’s grocery store, which Farmer Landsdowne had interrupted several days ago.
It was just about this time that Migwan had her biggest order for canned tomatoes—from a fashionable private sanitarium a few miles distant, and the rush of canning gradually took their minds off the mysterious intruder. Migwan, picking her finest and ripest tomatoes to fill this order, noticed that a number of the vines were drooping and turning yellow. The half ripe tomatoes were falling to the ground and rotting. One whole end of the bed seemed to be affected. She looked carefully for insects and found none. Some of the leaves seemed worse shrivelled than others. In perplexity she called Mr. Landsdowne over to look at them. He looked closely at the plants and also seemed puzzled as to the cause of the mysterious blight. “It isn’t rot,” he said, “because the bed is high and dry and the plants have never stood in water.” Upon looking closely he discovered that the affected plants were covered with a fine white coating. He gave a smothered exclamation. “Do you know what that is?” he asked. “It’s lime! Somebody has sprayed your plants with a solution of lime. Are you sure you didn’t do it yourself?” he asked, quizzically.
Migwan shook her head. “I haven’t sprayed those plants with anything for a month,” she asserted, “and neither has anyone else in the house.”
“Somebody outside of the house has done it, then,” said Mr. Landsdowne.
The work of the mysterious visitor again! It struck dismay into the breasts of the whole household. They never knew when and where that hand was going to strike next. And so silently, so mysteriously, without ever leaving a trace behind!
There was nothing left to do but dig up the dead plants and throw them away. Migwan almost stopped breathing when she thought that the rest of the bed might be treated in the same way, and the source of her revenue cut off. But why was all this happening? What could anyone possibly have against the peaceful dwellers at Onoway House?
A guard was set over the tomato bed both day and night for a week and the big order for the sanitarium was filled as fast as the tomatoes ripened. Nothing at all happened during this time and the vigilance was relaxed. A large dog was turned loose in the garden at night and they felt secure in his protection. This dog belonged to Calvin Smalley. When he had left his uncle’s house he had to leave Pointer behind, as he did not know what else to do with him, but now that the Gardiners were willing to have him he went over and got him when he knew his uncle was away from the house, so he would not have to meet him. Pointer was overjoyed at seeing his young master again and attached himself to the household at once, and never made the slightest effort to go back to his old home. He had a deep, heavy bark which could not fail to rouse the house at once. With the coming of Pointer the girls breathed easily again.
One day when Migwan had gone over to see the Landsdownes, Mr. Landsdowne had given her a treasure for her garden. This was a plant of a rare species called Titania Gloria, which a friend had brought from Bermuda. It was a first year growth and so would not bloom until the following summer. Migwan planted it along the fence beside the mint bed and treasured it like gold, for the blossom of the Titania Gloria was a wonderful shade of blue and was considered a prize by fanciers, who paid high prices for cuttings of the plant. In the excitement over the tepee and the tomato plants, however, she forgot to tell the other girls about it, so she was the only one who knew what a precious thing that little bed of leaves was.
The weather was so fine that week that Migwan decided to have a garden party and invite a number of friends from town. Gladys promised to dance and the boys cleared a circle for her in the grass under the trees, picking up every stick that lay on the ground. Mrs. Landsdowne, hearing about the party, offered to make ice cream for them in her freezer. Just before the guests arrived Migwan and Calvin went over after it. They took the raft, because they thought that would be the easiest way of transporting the heavy tub. Migwan rode on the raft and supported the tub and Calvin walked along the bank and pulled the tow line. His eagerness to help with the festivity was somewhat pathetic. Never, to his knowledge, had there been a party at the Smalley House. The way these girls planned a party out of a clear sky and carried out their plans without delay was nothing short of marvelous to him. They were always at their ease with company, while it was a fearful ordeal for him to meet strangers. He liked to be a part of such doings; but was at a loss how to act. Migwan, with her fine understanding of things beneath the surface, saw that this boy was lonesome in the crowd, not knowing how to mix in and have a glorious time on his own account, and she always saw to it that his part was mapped out for him in all their doings. Therefore she chose him to help her bring the ice cream over.
Calvin, happy at being useful, towed the raft carefully and turned his head whenever Migwan spoke, so as to give strict attention to her words. Doing this, he fell over the branch of a tree in the path and jerked the rope violently. The raft tipped up and both Migwan and the tub of ice cream went into the river. Migwan climbed out on the bank before Calvin was up from the ground. He was aghast at what he had done. He had been so eager to help with the party and now he had spoiled it! That he would be instantly expelled from Onoway House he was sure, and he felt that he deserved it. Migwan, at least, would never speak to him again. Speechless, he turned piteous eyes to where she sat on the bank dripping. To his surprise she was doubled up with laughter. “What are you laughing at?” he asked, startled.
“Because you upset the raft and the ice cream fell into the river!” giggled Migwan. Calvin gasped. The very thing that was nearly killing him with chagrin was the cause of her mirth! It was the first time he had ever seen anyone make light of a calamity. Her mirth was so contagious that he began to laugh himself. Still laughing, he brought the tub out of the river and set it on the bank. The water had washed away the packing of ice, but the lid on the inner can was providentially tight and the ice cream was unharmed. That little incident crystallized the friendship between the two. After that he was Migwan’s slave. A girl who could be thrown into the river without getting vexed was a friend worth having. Dripping, they returned to the house, where the preparations for the party were at their height, to be laughed at immoderately and christened the “Water Babies.”
To Hinpoha the Artistic had been entrusted the setting of the tables. Her decorations were water lilies from the river, and when she had finished it looked as if a feast had been spread for the river nymphs. Around the edges of the platter she put bunches of bright mint leaves. Her artistic efforts called out so much praise from the guests that she was in a continual state of blushing as she waited on the table.
“What’s the matter with your hand?” asked Migwan, noticing that she was passing things around left handedly.
“Nothing,” said Hinpoha, “nothing much. I slipped when I was getting the lilies and fell on my wrist and it feels lame, that’s all.”
“Is it sprained?” asked Migwan.
“Oh, no,” said Hinpoha, “I don’t think so.”
“It’s all swelled up,” said Migwan, holding up the injured wrist. “Let me paint it with iodine and tie it up for you.”
Hinpoha maintained that it was nothing serious, but Migwan insisted. “Where is the iodine, mother?” she asked.
“On the pantry shelf,” answered Mrs. Gardiner. Migwan got the bottle and painted Hinpoha’s wrist before the party could proceed. Hinpoha surveyed the brown stripe around her arm rather disgustedly. It was for this very reason that she had said nothing about the wrist before. She did not want it painted up for the party. It offended her artistic eye and she would rather suffer in silence.
While the guests were sitting at the tables Gladys danced on the lawn for their entertainment. The merry laughter was hushed in surprise and delight at her fairylike movements. In the silence which reigned at this time the thing which happened was distinctly heard by everyone. Apparently from the depths of the earth there came a muffled thud, thud, as of a pick striking against hard ground. It kept up for a few minutes and then ceased, to be renewed again after a short interval. The dwellers at Onoway House looked at each other. Into each mind there sprang the story of the Deacon’s well, and the words of Farmer Landsdowne, “Superstitious folks say you can still hear the buried well digger striking with his pick against the ground that covers him.” It was the most mysterious sound, far away and faint, yet seemingly right under their very feet. Gladys heard it and paused in her dancing. Pointer and Mr. Bob both heard it and began to bark. In a little while the thudding noise ceased and was heard no more, and the company were all left wondering if they could have been the victims of imagination.
“Maybe it’s somebody down cellar,” said Calvin, and taking Pointer with him, went down. Tom followed him. But there was no sign of anyone down there. Pointer ran around with his nose to the ground as if he were smelling for footsteps, but his tail kept wagging all the while. They were all familiar footsteps he scented. Nothing was out of place in the cellar except that a basket of potatoes was thrown over and the potatoes had rolled out on the cement floor. The boys noticed this without thinking anything of it. The mystery of the well digger’s ghost remained unsolved.
In the cool of the early evening after her guests had departed, Migwan wandered down into the garden to look at her various plants and flowers. It occurred to her that she had not paid her Titania Gloria a visit for several days. But what a sight met her eyes when she reached the spot where the precious thing had been planted! Not a single bit was left. The clean cut stalks showed where they had been clipped off close to the ground. Migwan started up with a cry of dismay which brought the other girls running to her side. “My Titania Gloria!” gasped Migwan. “Look! The mysterious visitor has been at work again!” And she told them about the valuable cuttings that had disappeared so uncannily.
“We never hear that ghost but what something happens after it!” said Gladys, in an awestruck tone. The girls peered apprehensively into the shadows of the tall trees surrounding the garden.
“What’s up?” asked Hinpoha, joining the group. Migwan pointed to the devastated bed. “What’s the matter with it?” asked Hinpoha.
“My Titania Gloria!” said Migwan. “It’s been clipped off at the roots.”
“Your what?” asked Hinpoha. Migwan explained about the rare plant Farmer Landsdowne had given her. Hinpoha gave a sudden start and exclamation. “What did you say it was?” she asked.
“A Titania Gloria,” answered Migwan.
“Well, girls, I’m the guilty one, then,” said Hinpoha, “for I cut those plants off thinking they were mint. That was what I decorated the platters with this afternoon. Do anything you like with me, Migwan, beat me, hang me to a tree, put my feet in stocks, or anything, and I’ll make no resistance.” She was absolutely frozen to the spot when she realized what she had done.
Migwan, grieved as she was over the loss of her cherished Titania, yet had to laugh at the depths of Hinpoha’s mortification. “You old goose!” she said, putting her arms around her, “don’t take it so to heart! It’s my fault, not yours at all, because I didn’t tell anyone what that plant was. And the leaves do look just like mint.” Thus she comforted the discomfited Hinpoha.
“Migwan,” said her mother, when they had returned to the house, “where did you get that iodine with which you painted Hinpoha’s wrist this afternoon?”
“On the pantry shelf, just where you told me,” answered Migwan.
“Well,” said her mother, “I told you wrong. The iodine is up on my wash-stand.”
“Then what was in the brown bottle on the pantry shelf?” asked Migwan. The bottle was produced.
“Why,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “that’s walnut stain, guaranteed not to wear off!”
Then there was a laugh at Migwan’s expense!
“Old Migwan Hubbard
She went to the cupboard,
To get iodine in a phial,
But she couldn’t read plain,
And brought walnut stain,
And now her poor patient looks vile!”
“You’re even now,” said Gladys, “you’ve each scored a trick.”
“‘We do this to each other!’” said Migwan and Hinpoha in the same breath, and locked fingers and made a wish according to the time-honored custom.
CHAPTER XII.—OPHELIA FINDS A FAIRY GODMOTHER.
As the summer progressed, the girls had more than one conference as to what was to become of Ophelia when they left Onoway House. To let her go back to her life in the slums was unthinkable. So far, Old Grady had made no effort to get her back, possibly for the simple reason that she did not know where the child was. They did not even know whether or not she had a legal claim on Ophelia. All Ophelia knew about the business was that Old Grady had taken her from the orphan asylum when she was seven years old. Where she had lived before she went to the orphan asylum she could not remember, so she must have been very young when she came there. They were equally unwilling that she should return to the asylum.
“If we could only find someone to adopt her,” said Hinpoha. That would be the best thing, they all agreed, although there was a lingering doubt in the mind of each one as to whether anyone would want to adopt Ophelia. Grammar was to her a totally unnecessary accomplishment, and the amount of slang she knew was unending. By dint of hard labor they had succeeded in making her say “you” instead of “yer,” and “to” instead of “ter,” and discard some of her more violent slang phrases, but she was still obviously a child of the streets and the tenement, and that life had left its brand upon her. It showed itself constantly in her speech. They had better success in teaching her table manners, for with a child’s gift of imitation she soon fell into the ways of those around her.
But having had so much excitement in her short life she still pined for it. While the life in the country was pleasant in the extreme it was far too quiet to suit her and she longed to be back in the crowded tenement where there was something happening every hour out of the twenty-four; where people woke to life instead of going to bed when darkness fell and the lamps were lighted; where street cars clanged and wagons rattled and fire engines rumbled by; where the harsh voices of newsboys rang out above the loud conversation of the women on the doorsteps and the wailing of the babies. The zigging of the grasshoppers and the swishing of the wind in the Balm of Gilead tree and the murmur of the river had for her a mournful and desolate sound, and she often covered up her ears so as not to hear it. When she first came to Onoway House she was so interested in the new life that it kept her busy all day long finding out new things; but gradually the novelty wore off. At first she had been as mischievous as a monkey; always up to some prank or other. She teased Tom and was teased by him in return; she put burrs in Mr. Bob’s long ears; she climbed trees and threw things down on the heads of unsuspecting persons underneath; she startled the girls out of their wits by lying unseen under the couch in the sitting-room and grabbing their ankles unexpectedly. Always she was doing something, and always merry and full of life; so that she made the girls feel that they had done a fine thing by bringing her to Onoway House.
But of late a change had come over her. She began to droop, and to sit silent by herself at times. The girls did their best to keep her amused, but they were very busy with the continual canning, and Betty, who had more time than the others, did not like her and would not play with her. So she grew more and more homesick for the big, noisy city and the playmates of other days. Then had come the time when she was so sunburned and she had developed the fondness for Sahwah. After that she was less lonesome, for Sahwah was such a lively person to be attached to that one had always to be on the lookout for surprises. Sahwah taught her to swim and dive and ride a bicycle; she had the boys make a swing for her under the big tree, and Ophelia blossomed once more into happiness. At Sahwah’s instigation she played more tricks on the other girls than before.
But Ophelia was a shrewd little person, and she knew that the summer would come to a close and the girls would not live together any more. She often heard them discussing their plans. What was to become of her then? The happy family life at Onoway House stirred in her a desire to have a home too, and a mother of her own. She began to grow wistful again and at times her eyes would have a strange far-away look. The scandals of the streets which were once the breath of life to her and which she repeated with such relish, began to lose their charm, and she developed a taste for fairy tales. “Tell me the story about the fairy godmother,” she would say to Sahwah, and would listen attentively to the end. “Are you sure I’ve got one somewhere?” she would ask eagerly.
“You surely have,” Sahwah would answer, to satisfy her.
And then, “What are we going to do with Ophelia when the summer is over?” Sahwah would ask the girls after Ophelia was in bed. And Hinpoha would think of Aunt Phœbe and knew she would never adopt such a child as Ophelia was; and Migwan knew that it would be out of the question in her family; and Sahwah knew that her mother would not let her come and live with them; and Gladys thought of her delicate mother and sighed. Nyoda could not make a home for her, because she had none of her own and a boarding house was no place for a child.
“It’s a shame,” Sahwah would declare vehemently, “that there aren’t fathers and mothers enough in this world to go round. Here’s Ophelia will have to go into an institution more than likely, and grow up without any especial interest being taken in her, while we have had so much done for us. It isn’t fair.”
“There’s something curious about Ophelia,” said Gladys, musingly. “While she came from the tenements and is as wild and untrained as any little street gamin, she has the appearance of a child of a much higher class. Have you ever noticed how small and perfect her hands and feet are? And what beautiful almond shaped fingernails she has? And what delicate features? Have you seen how erectly she carries herself, and how graceful she is when she dances? In spite of her name, I don’t believe she is Irish; and I don’t think her people could have been low class. There’s an indefinable something about her which spells quality.”
“Probably a princess in disguise,” said Sahwah, in a tone of amusement. “Leave it to Gladys to scent ‘quality.’”
But the others had noticed the same characteristics in Ophelia and were inclined to agree with Gladys on the subject.
“But what about the strange spot of light hair on her head?” asked Sahwah. “Would you call that a mark of quality?” But to this there was no answer. They had never seen or heard of anything like it before. Thus the summer days slipped by and Onoway House continued to shelter two homeless orphans, neither of whom knew what the future held in store for them.
One afternoon when the girls had planned to go for a long walk to the woods Gladys read in the paper that a balloonist was to make an ascension over the lake. For some unaccountable reason she took a fancy that she would like to see the performance. “Oh, Gladys,” said Sahwah, impatiently, “you’ve seen balloonists before and you’ll see plenty yet; come with us this afternoon.” But Gladys held out, even while she wondered to herself why she was so eager to see this not uncommon sight. Half offended at her, the other girls departed in the direction of the woods. Gladys climbed high up in the Balm of Gilead tree, from which she could look over the country for miles around and easily see the lake and the distant amusement park from which the balloonist was to ascend.
The newspaper said three o’clock, but evidently the performance was delayed, for although Gladys was on the lookout since before that time nothing seemed to be happening. To aid her in seeing she took Nakwisi’s spy glass up into the tree with her, and while she was waiting for the parachute spectacle she amused herself by focusing the glass on far away objects on the land and bringing them right before her eyes, as it seemed. She could look right into the back door of a distant farm house and see children playing in the doorway and chickens walking up and down the steps; she could see the men working in the fields; she could see the yachts out on the lake and the smoky trail of a freight steamer. Somewhere in the middle of her range of vision were the gleaming rails of the car tracks. She looked at them idly; they were like long streaks of light in the sun. She saw two men, evidently tramps, come out of the bushes along the road and bend over the rails. Somewhere along that stretch of track there was a derailing switch and it seemed to Gladys that it was at this point where the men were. Gladys looked at the pair, suspiciously, for a second and then decided they were track testers. One had an iron bar in his hand and he seemed to be turning the switch. Suddenly the other man pointed up the road and then the two jumped quickly backward into the bushes. Gladys looked in the direction the man had pointed. Far off down the track she could see the red body of the “Limited” approaching at a tremendous rate. The stretch of country past the Centerville Road was flat and even; the track was perfect and there was no traffic to block the way, and the cars made great speed along here. Something told Gladys that the men had had no business at the switch; that they meant to derail and wreck the Limited. Gladys had learned to think and act quickly since she had become a Camp Fire Girl, and scarcely had the idea entered her head that the Limited was in danger, than she conceived the plan of heading it off. Before the car reached the switch it must pass the Centerville Road. Being the Limited, it did not stop there. So Gladys planned to run the automobile down the Centerville Road and flag the car. She flung herself from the tree in haste, got the machine out of the barn and started down the road with wide-open throttle.
Trees and fences whirled dizzily by, obscured in the cloud of dust she was raising. Across the stillness of the fields she could hear the Limited pounding down the track. A hundred yards from the end of the road the automobile engine snorted, choked and went dead. Without waiting to investigate the trouble, Gladys jumped out and proceeded on foot. Could she make it? She could see the red monster through the trees, rushing along to certain destruction. With an inward prayer for the speed of Antelope Boy, the Indian runner, she darted forward like an arrow from the bow. Breathless and spent she came out on the car track just a moment ahead of the thundering car, and waved the scarlet Winnebago banner, which she had snatched from the wall on the way out. With a quick jamming of the emergency brakes that shook the car from end to end it came to a standstill just beyond the Centerville Road, and only fifty feet from the switch.
“What’s the matter?” asked the motorman, coming out.
“Look at the switch!” panted Gladys, sinking down beside the road, unable to say more.
The motorman looked at the switch. “My God,” he said, mopping his forehead, “if we’d ever run into that thing going at such a rate there wouldn’t have been anyone left to tell the tale.”
The passengers were pouring from the car, eager to find out the reason for the sudden stoppage. “What’s the matter?” was heard on every side.
“You’ve got that girl to thank,” said the motorman, moving back toward his vestibule, “that you’re not lying in a heap of kindling wood.” Gladys, much abashed and still hardly able to breathe, laid her head on her knee and sobbed from sheer nervousness and relief.
“Gladys!” suddenly said a voice above the murmurings of the throng of passengers.
Gladys raised her head. “Papa!” she cried, staggering to her feet. “Were you on that car?”
Another figure detached itself from the crowd and hastened forward. “Mother!” cried Gladys. “Oh, if I hadn’t been able to stop it—” and at the horror of the idea her strength deserted her and she slipped quietly to the ground at her parents’ feet.
When she came to the car had gone on and she was lying in the grass by the roadside with her head in her mother’s lap. “Cheer up, you’re all right,” said her mother a little unsteadily, smiling down at her. Gladys now became aware of two other figures that were standing in the road.
“Aunt Beatrice!” she cried. “And Uncle Lynn! What are you doing here?”
“We all came out to surprise you,” said her father. “We got back from the West last night; sooner than we expected, and decided we would run out without any warning and see what kind of farmers you were. The automobile is being overhauled so we came on the interurban. We didn’t know it didn’t stop at your road.”
Then, Gladys suddenly remembered her own disabled car standing in the road, and they all moved toward it. With a little tinkering it condescended to run and they were soon at Onoway House, telling the exciting tale to Mrs. Gardiner, who held up her hands in horror at the thought of the fate which the newcomers had so narrowly escaped. Aunt Beatrice, not being strong, was much agitated, and developed a palpitation of the heart, and had to lie in the hammock on the porch and be doctored, so Gladys had her hands full until the girls came back. They were much surprised at the houseful of company and very glad to see Mr. and Mrs. Evans, who were very good friends of the Winnebagos indeed. They looked with interest when Aunt Beatrice was introduced, for they all remembered the tragic story Gladys had told them about the loss of her baby in the hotel fire. Aunt Beatrice felt well enough to get up then and acknowledge the introductions with a sweet but infinitely sad smile that went straight to their hearts, and brought tears to the eyes of the soft-hearted Hinpoha.
Ophelia came in last, having loitered on the lawn to play with Pointer and Mr. Bob. She had taken off her hat and was swinging it around in her hand when she came up on the porch. “And this is the little sister of the Winnebagos,” said Nyoda, drawing her forward. Aunt Beatrice looked down at the dust-streaked little face, with her sad smile, but her eyes rested there only an instant. She was gazing as if fascinated at the strange ring of light hair on her head. She became very pale and her eyes widened until they seemed to be the biggest part of her face.
“Lynn!” she gasped in a choking voice, “Lynn! Look!” and she sank on the floor unconscious. “It can’t be! It can’t be!” she kept saying faintly when they revived her. “Beatrice died in the fire. But Beatrice had that ring of light hair on her head! It can’t be! But there never were two such birthmarks!”
What a hubbub arose when this startling possibility was uttered! Ophelia, the lost Beatrice? Could it possibly be true? Uncle Lynn lost no time in finding out. Taking Ophelia with him he hunted up Old Grady. She knew nothing more save that she had gotten her from an orphan asylum, which she named. At the asylum he learned what he wanted to know. The superintendent remembered about Ophelia on account of the strange ring of light hair. The child had been brought to the institution when she was about a year old. There was a babies’ dispensary in connection with the place, and into this a weak, haggard girl of about eighteen had staggered one day carrying a baby. The baby was sick and she begged them to make it well. While she sat waiting for the nurse to look at the baby the girl collapsed. She died in a charity hospital a few days later. On her death-bed she confessed that she had run away from a large hotel with the baby which had been left in her care, intending to hide it and get money from the parents for its recovery. But she feared this would lead her into trouble and left town with the child and never troubled the parents as she had intended, and kept the baby with her until it fell sick, when she had become frightened and sought the dispensary. She apparently never knew that the hotel had burned and covered up the traces of her flight. The baby was kept at the orphan asylum and named Ophelia. Her last name had never been known. Thence Old Grady had adopted her, but her right could be taken away from her as it was clear that she was no fit person to have the child.
“It’s just like a fairy tale!” said Hinpoha, when it was established beyond a doubt that the abused street waif Gladys had brought home in the goodness of her heart was her own cousin.
“Didn’t I tell you you’d find your fairy godmother if you only waited long enough?” said Sahwah. And Ophelia, from the depths of her mother’s arms, nodded rapturously.
CHAPTER XIII.—A GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK.
“Oh, Gladys, do you have to go home, now that your mother and father are back?” asked Migwan, anxiously.
“Not unless you want to, Gladys,” said Mrs. Evans. “If you would rather stay out here until school opens, you may. Father and I are going to Boston in a few days, you know.”
So there was no breaking up of the group before they all went home, with the exception of Ophelia, or rather Beatrice, as we will have to call her from now on, for, of course, she was to go with her mother.
“What must it be like, anyway,” said Hinpoha, “not to have any last name until you’re nine years old and then be introduced to yourself? To answer to the name of Ophelia one and ‘Miss Beatrice Palmer’ the next? It must be rather confusing.”
Little Beatrice went to Boston with her mother and father and uncle and aunt and Onoway House missed her rather sorely. Calvin Smalley also got a measure of happiness out of the restoration of the lost child, for Uncle Lynn was so beside himself with joy over the event that he was ready to bestow favors on anyone connected with Onoway House, and promised to see that Calvin got through school and college. He would give him a place to work in his office Saturdays and vacations.
For several days now there had been no sign of the mysterious visitor, and the well digger’s ghost had also apparently been laid to rest. Then one morning they woke to the realization that the unseen agency had been at work again. Pinned on the front door was a piece of paper on which was scrawled,
“If you folks know what’s good for you you’ll get out of that house.”
“We’ll do no such thing!” said Migwan, with unexpected spirit “I’ve started out to earn money to go to college by canning tomatoes, and I’m going to stay here until they’re canned; I don’t care who likes it or doesn’t.”
“That’s it, stand up for your rights,” applauded Sahwah.
“But what possible motive could anyone have for wanting us to get out of the house?” asked Migwan. Of course, there was no answer to this.
“Do you suppose the house will be burned down as the tepee was?” asked Gladys, in rather a scared voice. This suggestion sent a shiver through them all.
“We must get the policeman back again to watch,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
Accordingly, the redoubtable constable was brought on the scene again.
“Well, well, well,” he said, fingering the mysterious note. “Thought he’d come back again now that the coast was clear, did he? You notice, though, that he didn’t make no effort while I was here. You can bet your life he won’t get busy again while I’m here now. You ladies just rest easy and go on with your peeling.”
Scarcely had he finished speaking, when from the bowels of the earth and apparently under his very feet, there came the strange sound as of blows being struck on hard earth or stone. The expression on Dave Beeman’s face was such a mixture of surprise and alarm that the girls could not keep from laughing, disturbed as they were at the return of the sounds. “By gum,” said the constable, looking furtively around, “this is certainly a queer business.” He had heard the story of the well digger’s ghost and it was very strong in his mind just now. “Maybe it’s just as well not to meddle,” he said under his breath.
Off and on through the day they heard the same sounds issuing from the ground, and at dusk the weird moaning began again. The constable showed strong signs of wishing himself elsewhere. When darkness fell the noises ceased and were heard no more that night. But another sort of moaning had taken its place. This was the wind, which had been blowing strongly all day, and early in the evening increased to the proportions of a hurricane. With wise forethought Sahwah and Nyoda brought the raft and the rowboat up on land. Leaves, small twigs and thick dust filled the air. Windows rattled ominously; doors slammed with jarring crashes. Migwan, foreseeing a devastating storm, set all the girls to picking tomatoes as fast as they could, whether they were ripe or not, to save them from being dashed to the ground. They could ripen off the vines later.
At last the sandstorm drove them into the house, blinded. Then there came such a wind as none of them had ever experienced. Trees in the yard broke like matches; the Balm of Gilead roared like an ocean in a tempest. There was a constant rattle of pebbles and small objects against the window panes; then one of the windows in the dining-room was broken by a branch being hurled against it, and let in a miniature tempest. Papers blew around the room in great confusion. Migwan rolled the high topped sideboard in front of the broken pane to keep the wind out of the room. At times it seemed as if the very house must be coming down on top of their heads, and they stood with frightened faces in the front hall ready to dash out at a moment’s notice. A crash sounded on the roof and they thought the time had come, but in a moment they realized that it was only the chimney falling over. The bricks went sliding and bumping down the slope of the roof and fell to the ground over the edge.
“I pity anybody who’s caught in this out in the open,” said Migwan. “I believe the wind is strong enough to blow a horse over. I wonder where Calvin is now.” Calvin had gone to the city with Farmer Landsdowne on business and intended to remain all night.
“He’s probably all right if he has reached those friends of the Landsdownes’,” said Hinpoha.
“The Smalleys are out, too,” said Sahwah. “I saw them drive past after dark, going toward town, just before it began to blow so terribly. Oh, listen! What do you suppose that was?” A crash in the yard told them that something had happened to the barn. Gladys was in great distress about the car, and had to be restrained forcibly from running out to see if it was all right. The wind continued the greater part of the night and nobody thought of going to bed. By morning it had spent its force.
Then they looked out on a scene of destruction. The garden was piled with branches and trunks of trees, and strewn with clothes that had been hanging on wash-lines somewhere along the road. Up against the porch lay a wicker chair which they recognized as belonging to a house some distance away. Everywhere around they could see the corn and wheat lying flat on the ground, as if trodden by some giant foot. The roof of the barn had been torn off on one side and reposed on the ground, more or less shattered. The car was uninjured except that it was covered with a thick coating of yellow dust. It was well that they had thought to pick the tomatoes, for the vines and the frames which supported them were demolished. All the telephone wires were down as far as they could see.
Calvin was not to return until night, and they felt no great anxiety about him, but often during the day a disquieting thought came to Migwan. This was about Uncle Peter, the man who lived in the cottage among the trees. Suppose something had happened to him? From Sahwah’s report, the house was very old and frail. She watched the Red House closely for signs of life, but apparently the Smalleys had not returned. The doors were shut and there was no smoke coming out of the kitchen chimney.
“Nyoda,” said Migwan, finally, “I’m going over and see if that old man is all right. I can’t rest until I know.”
“All right,” said Nyoda, “I’m going with you.” Sahwah was over at Mrs. Landsdowne’s, but they remembered her description of the approach to the cottage, and made the detour around the field where the bull was and the marsh beyond it, coming up to the cottage from the other side. It was still standing, although the big tree beside it had been blown over and lay across the roof.
“Would you ever think,” said Migwan, “that there was anyone living in there? I could pass it a dozen times and swear it was empty, if I didn’t know about it.”
“Well,” said Nyoda, the house is still standing, “so I suppose the old man is all right.”
“I wonder,” said Migwan. “He may have been frightened sick, and he may have nothing to eat or drink, now that the Smalleys are kept away. We’d better have a look. He can’t hurt us. If Sahwah spent the whole afternoon with him we needn’t be afraid.”
They tried the door, but, of course, found it locked, and were obliged to resort to the same means of entrance as Sahwah had employed. They saw the key in the other door just as Sahwah had and turned it and opened the door. The old man was sitting by the table in just the position Sahwah had described. Apparently he was neither frightened nor hurt. He looked up when he saw them in the doorway and motioned them to come in. There was nothing extraordinary in his appearance; he was simply an old man with mild blue eyes. Obeying the same impulse of adventure which had led Sahwah across the threshold, they stepped in and sat down. The room was just as Sahwah had told them. The table was littered with wheels and rods which the old man was fitting together. As they expected, he worked away without taking any notice of them.
“Did you mind the storm?” asked Nyoda.
“Storm?” said the old man. “What storm?”
“He never noticed it!” said Migwan, in an aside to Nyoda.
“What are you making?” asked Migwan, wishing to hear from his own lips the explanation he had given Sahwah.
After his customary interval he spoke. “It’s a machine that reclaims wasted moments,” he explained. “Every moment that isn’t made good use of goes down through this little trap door, and when there are enough to make an hour they join hands and climb up on the face of the clock again.”
Migwan and Nyoda exchanged glances. The ingenious imagination of the old man surpassed anything they had ever heard. They stayed awhile, amusing themselves by looking at the books and clocks in the cabinets, and then rose, intending to slip away quietly when he was absorbed in his work, as Sahwah had done. A dish of apples standing on one of the cabinets indicated that he was not without food and their minds were now at rest about his welfare. But when they moved toward the door he turned and looked at them.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
By “it” they figured that he meant the machine he was working on. “It’s a very good one indeed,” said Nyoda, “very interesting.”
“Do you want to buy the rights?” asked the old man, taking off his hat and putting it on again.
“He thinks he’s talking to some capitalist!” whispered Migwan.
“We’ll talk over the plans first among ourselves and let you know our decision,” said Nyoda, not knowing what to say and wishing to appear politely interested. This speech would give them an opportunity to get away. But to her surprise Uncle Peter drew a sheet of paper from among those on the table and gravely handed it to her.
“Here are the plans,” he said. “Take them and look them over and let me know in a week.” Then he fell to work and forgot their presence. Holding the paper in her hands Nyoda walked out of the room, followed by Migwan. They left the house as they had entered it and returned by a roundabout way to Onoway House. Nyoda put the plans of the remarkable machine away in her room, intending to keep it as a curiosity. Soon afterward they saw the Smalleys driving into the yard of the Red House.
It took the girls most of the day to clear the garden of the rubbish which had been blown into it and tie up the prostrate plants on sticks. Calvin came back at night safe and relieved the slight anxiety they had felt about him. As they sat on the porch after supper comparing notes about the storm they heard the muffled sounds which told that the well digger’s ghost was at work again. It continued throughout the evening.
“I’ll be a wreck if this keeps up much longer,” said Migwan. A perpetual air of uneasiness had fallen on Onoway House and it was impossible to get anything accomplished. How could they settle down to work or play with that dreadful thud, thud pounding in their ears every little while? Dave Beeman had taken himself home after the storm to see what damage had been done and they were again without the protection of the law.
“Maybe it’s some animal under the ground,” suggested Calvin. “It certainly couldn’t be a person down there.” This seemed such an amazingly sensible solution of the mystery that the girls were inclined to accept it.
“I suppose imagination does help a lot,” said Migwan, “and if we hadn’t heard that story about the well digger we would never have thought of a man with a pickaxe. It’s undoubtedly the movements of an animal we hear.”
“But what animal lives underground without any air?” asked Sahwah.
“There’s probably a hole somewhere, only we haven’t found it,” said Migwan, who seemed determined to believe the animal theory.
“But what about the note on the door and the lime on the tomatoes and the burning of the tepee?” asked Sahwah. “You can’t blame that onto an animal, can you?”
“That’s very true,” said Migwan, “but it is likely there is no connection between the two mysteries. It’s just a coincidence. I for one am going to be sensible and stop worrying about that noise in the ground.” And most of them followed Migwan’s example.
The next morning was such a beautiful one that they could not resist getting up early and running out of doors before breakfast. “Let’s play a game of hide-and-seek,” proposed Sahwah. The others agreed readily; Hinpoha was counted out and had to be “it,” and the others scattered to hide themselves. One by one Hinpoha discovered and “caught” the players, or they got “in free.” Calvin startled her nearly out of her wits by suddenly dropping out of a tree almost on top of her.
“Are we all in?” asked Migwan, fanning herself with her handkerchief. She was out of breath from her strenuous run for the goal.
“All but Sahwah,” said Hinpoha. She started out again to look for her, turning around every little while to keep a wary eye on the goal lest Sahwah should spring out from somewhere nearby and reach it before she did. But Sahwah was evidently hidden at some distance from the goal, and Hinpoha walked in an ever increasing circle without tempting her out. The others, tired of waiting for her to be caught, joined in the search and beat the bushes and hunted through the barn and looked up in the trees. But no Sahwah did they find.
Breakfast time neared and Hinpoha called loudly, “In free, Sahwah, game’s over.” But Sahwah did not emerge from some cleverly concealed nook as they expected.
“Maybe she didn’t hear you,” said Migwan. “Let’s all call.” And they all called, shouting together in perfect unison as they had done on so many other occasions, making the combined voice carry a great distance. An echo answered them but that was all. The girls looked at each other blankly.
“Do you suppose she’s staying hidden on purpose?” asked Calvin.
“No,” said Nyoda, emphatically, “I don’t. Sahwah’s had enough experience with causing us worry by disappearing never to do it on purpose again. She’s probably stuck somewhere and can’t get out. Do you remember the time she was shut up in the statue and couldn’t talk? Something of the kind has occurred again, I don’t doubt. We’ll simply have to search until we find and release her.”
They began a systematized search and minutely examined every foot of ground. Thinking that the barn was the most likely place to get into something and not get out again, they opened every old chest there and pried into every corner, and moved every article. They went up-stairs and looked through the lofts and corners. The roof being partly off, it was as light as day, and if she had been there anywhere they would surely have seen her. But there was no sign of her. They looked under the roof of the barn that lay on the ground, thinking that she might have crawled under that and become pinned down, but she was not there.
“Could she have fallen into the river?” asked Calvin.
“It wouldn’t have done her any harm if she had,” said Hinpoha. “Sahwah’s more at home in the water than she is on land. It wouldn’t have been unlike her to jump in and swim around and duck her head under every time I came near, but then she would have heard us calling for her and come out.”
They parted every bush and shrub, and looked closely at the branches of every tree, half fearing to find her hanging by the hair somewhere.
“Do you suppose she went up the Balm of Gilead tree and into the attic window?” asked Migwan. They searched through the attic, and a laborious search it was, on account of the quantities of furniture and chests to be moved. They pulled out every drawer and burst open every trunk and chest, thinking she might have crawled into one and then the lid had closed with a spring lock. It was fully noon before they were satisfied that she was not up there.
“Could she be in the cellar?” asked Hinpoha. Down they went, carrying lights to look into all the dark corners. But the search was vain. The girls became extremely frightened. Something told them that Sahwah’s disappearance was not voluntary. They looked at each other with growing fear. What had the message on the door said?
“If you folks know what’s good for you you’ll get out of that house.”
Was that a warning of what had happened now? Was it a friendly or a sinister warning? Migwan was almost beside herself to think that anything had happened to Sahwah while she was staying with her. The day dragged along like a nightmare. In the afternoon Calvin had an inspiration. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” he almost shouted. “Here’s Pointer; he’s a hunting dog and can follow a trail. We’ll set him to find Sahwah’s trail.”
“That’s right,” said Migwan, in relief, “we’ll surely find her now.”
They gave Pointer a shoe of Sahwah’s and in a moment he had started off with his nose to the ground. But if they had expected him to lead them to her hiding-place they were disappointed, for all he did was follow the trail around the garden between the house and the river. Once he went down cellar, straining hard at the chain which held him, and they were sure he would find something they had overlooked in their search, but the trail ended in front of the fruit cellar.
“Sahwah came down here early this morning to bring up those melons, don’t you remember?” said Migwan. “That’s all Pointer has found out.” They kept Pointer at it for some time, but he never offered to leave the garden.
“Are you sure he’s on the trail?” asked Hinpoha, doubtfully.
“Yes,” said Calvin, “he never whines that way unless he is. That long howl is the hunting dog’s signal that he’s on the job. When he loses the trail he runs back and forth uncertainly.”
“According to that, Sahwah must be very near,” said Gladys. “Are you sure there isn’t any other place in the house, cellar or barn that she could have gotten into, Migwan?”
“Quite sure,” said Migwan, disheartened. “You know yourself the way we finecombed every foot of space.”
“There’s another thing that might have made Pointer lose the trail,” said Nyoda. “Do you remember that he stopped short at the river once? Well, it is my belief that Sahwah ran down to the river and either fell or jumped in and swam away. That would destroy the trail, and Sahwah might be miles away for all we know.” She carefully refrained from suggesting that anything had happened to Sahwah and she might have gone under the water and not come up again, but there was a fear tugging at her heart that Sahwah had dived in and struck her head on something and gone down.
But several of the others must have had much the same thought, for Gladys remarked, without any apparent connection, “You can see the bottom almost all the way down the river.”
And Hinpoha said, “Those tangled roots of trees in the river are nasty things to get into.”
And Calvin set the dog free immediately and untied the rowboat. He and Nyoda rowed down the river while the rest followed along the banks. The stream was clear most of the distance and they could see to the bottom. Here and there were sharp rocks jutting up and casting shadows on the sunlit bottom, and in places the water had washed the dirt away from the roots of trees so that they extended out into the river like many-fingered creatures waiting to seize their prey. But nowhere did they see what they feared. In the lower part of the river, toward the mouth, the water was deeper and had been dredged free of all obstructions, so while it was muddy and they could not see into its depths they knew that nothing was to be found here.
Vaguely relieved and yet dreadfully anxious and mystified they returned to Onoway House. “Do you suppose she was carried away by an automobile or wagon?” asked Migwan. “Does anyone recall seeing anything of the kind going by when we started to play?” Nobody did. While they were discussing this new theory, Pointer, who had been left to run loose while they were searching the river, came running up to them. With much wagging of his tail he went to Calvin and laid something at his feet For a moment they could not make out what it was. Migwan recognized it first.
It was Sahwah’s shoe, completely covered and dripping with black mud.
“Where did you find it, Pointer?” asked Calvin. Pointer wagged his tail in evident satisfaction, but, of course, he could not answer his master’s question.
“Is that the shoe Sahwah had on this morning?” asked Nyoda.
“Yes,” said Hinpoha. “I remember asking her why she wore those shoes with the red buttons to run around in and she said they were getting tight and she wanted to wear them out.”
“Where does that black mud come from around here?” asked Gladys.
It was Nyoda who guessed the dreadful fact first. All of a sudden she remembered cleaning her shoes after she had come home from her visit to Uncle Peter.
“The marsh!” she gasped. “Sahwah’s caught in the marsh! It’s the same mud. I went to the edge of the marsh the other day to see it and got some on my shoe.”
Without stopping to hear more, Calvin dashed off in the direction of his father’s farm, with Pointer at his heels and Gladys and Nyoda and Hinpoha and Migwan and Tom and Betty trailing after him as fast as they could go. Mrs. Gardiner followed a little distance behind. She could not keep up with them. Calvin tore a flat board from one of the fences as he ran along and called on the others to do the same thing. A little farther on he found a rope and took that along. They reached the edge of the marsh and looked eagerly for the figure of Sahwah imprisoned in the treacherous ooze. But the green surface smiled up innocently at them. Not a sign of a struggle, no indentation in the level, no break. To the unknowing it looked like the smoothest lawn lying like a sheet of emerald in the sun. But on second glance you saw the water bubbling up through the grass and then you knew the secret of the greenness. Nowhere could they see Sahwah.
Migwan had to force herself to ask the question that was in everybody’s mind. “Has she gone under?”
“No,” said Calvin, positively. “It can’t be possible in so short a time. They say that a horse went down here once long ago, and it took him more than two days to be covered entirely.”
After being wrought up to such a pitch of expectancy it was a shock to find that Sahwah was not in the marsh. But how had her shoe come to be covered with marsh mud, and what was it doing off her foot? Where had Pointer found it?
“Oh, if only dogs could speak!” said Hinpoha. “Pointer, Pointer, where did you find it?” But Pointer could only wag his tail and bark.
From where they stood at the edge of the marsh they could see the cottage among the trees. A look of inquiry passed between Nyoda and Migwan. Calvin saw the look and understood it.
“Would you like to look in Uncle Peter’s house?” he asked. His face was very pale, and Nyoda, watching him keenly, thought she detected a sudden suspicion and fear in his eyes. He looked apprehensively over his shoulder at the Red House as they started to skirt the bog. Nyoda understood that movement. Abner Smalley did not know that they knew about Uncle Peter, and Calvin had said he would be very angry if he found it out. Now he would be sure to see them going toward the house. But this thought did not make Nyoda waver in her determination to search the cottage. The urgency of the occasion released them from their promise of secrecy. As Calvin had no key they were obliged to enter by the window as on former occasions. But the front room was absolutely blank and bare and they saw the impossibility of anyone’s being hidden there. It was a tense moment when they opened the door of the inner room and the girls who had never been there stepped behind the others and held their breath. Uncle Peter sat at the table just as Nyoda and Migwan had seen him a day or two before, playing with his rods and wheels. His mild blue eyes rested in astonishment on the number of people who thronged the doorway.