“Don’t you remember the time I thought I heard someone up here in the night and you said it was the noise made by rats or mice?” asked Migwan. “It was probably that same thing again.”
“It must have been,” said Hinpoha.
“Maybe it was the ghost of that Mrs. Waterhouse, who died before she had her attic cleaned, and comes back to move the furniture,” said Gladys. In spite of its being daylight an unearthly thrill went through the veins of the girls. The whole thing was so mysterious and uncanny.
Migwan was looking around the attic. “Who broke that window?” she asked, suddenly. The side window, the one near the Balm of Gilead tree, was shattered and lay in pieces on the floor.
“It wasn’t broken the day we brought Miss Mortimer up,” said Gladys. “It must have happened since then.”
“There must have been someone up here to-day,” said Migwan. “Do you suppose—” here she stopped.
“Suppose what?” asked Hinpoha.
“Do you suppose,” continued Migwan, “that Sahwah was up here and broke it accidentally and is afraid to show herself on account of it?”
“Maybe,” said Hinpoha, “but Sahwah’s not the one to try to cover up anything like that. She’d offer to pay for the damage and it wouldn’t worry her five minutes.”
“It may have been broken the night of the storm,” said Nyoda, who had arrived on the scene. “If I remember rightly, we opened it when Miss Mortimer was up here, and as it is only held up by a nail and a rope hanging down from the ceiling, it could easily have been torn loose in such a wind as that and slammed down against the casement and broken. We were so excited trying to cover up the plants that we did not hear the crash, if indeed, we could have heard it in that thunder at all.”
This seemed such a plausible explanation that the girls accepted it without question and dismissed the matter from their minds. Descending from the hot attic they went out on the river on the raft. As it drew near supper time they feared that Sahwah would stay away and miss her supper, and they knew that she would have to show herself sometime, so they determined to have it over with so Sahwah could eat her supper in peace. On the path along the river they found her handkerchief and knew that she was somewhere near the water. They called and called, but she did not answer. “I know what will bring her from her hiding-place,” said Nyoda. She unfolded her plan and the girls agreed. They poled the raft back to the landing-place and got on shore. Then they set Ophelia on the raft all alone and sent it down-stream, telling her to scream at the top of her voice as if she were frightened. Ophelia obeyed and set up such a series of ear-splitting shrieks as she floated down the river that it was hard to believe that she was not in mortal terror. The scheme worked admirably. Sahwah heard the screams and peered through the bushes to see what was happening. She saw Ophelia alone on the raft and no one else in sight, and thought, of course, that she was afraid and ran out to reassure her. She took hold of the tow line and pulled the raft back to the landing-place.
“Whatever made you so scared?” she asked, as Ophelia stepped on terra firma.
“Pooh, I wasn’t scared at all,” said Ophelia, grandly. “They told me to scream so you’d come out.” So Sahwah knew the trick that had been practised on her, but instead of being pleased to think that the girls wanted her with them so badly she was more irritated than before. There was no further use of hiding; she had to go into the house now and eat her supper with the rest. The meal was not such a trial for her as she had anticipated, because no one mentioned the subject of moving pictures, or acted as if anything had happened at all. After supper Nyoda brought out a magazine showing pictures of the Rocky Mountains and the girls gave this their strict attention. Nyoda read aloud the descriptions that went with the pictures. In one place she read: “The barren aspect of the hillside is due to a landslide which swept everything before it.”
At this Migwan’s thoughts went back to the scene on the hillside that day, when the human landslide was in progress. Now Migwan, in spite of her serious appearance, had a sense of humor which at times got the upper hand of her altogether. The memory of those figures rolling down the hill was too much for her and she dissolved abruptly into hysterical laughter. She vainly tried to control it and buried her face in her handkerchief, but it was no use. The harder she tried to stop laughing the harder she laughed. “Oh,” she gasped, “I never saw anything so funny as when you rolled against Miss Mortimer and Mr. Chambers and knocked them off their feet.”
After Migwan’s hysterical outburst the rest could not restrain their laughter either, and Sahwah became the butt of all the humorous remarks that had been accumulating in the minds of the rest. If it had been anyone else but Migwan who had started them off, Sahwah would possibly have forgiven that one, but since selling her two plots to Mr. Larue Migwan had been holding her head pretty high. That Migwan had succeeded in her end of the motion picture business when she had failed in hers galled Sahwah to death and she fancied that Migwan was trying to “rub it in.”
“I hope everything I do will cause you as much pleasure,” she said stiffly. “I suppose nothing could make you happier than to see me do something ridiculous every day.” Sahwah had slipped off her balance wheel altogether.
Migwan sobered up when she heard Sahwah’s injured tone. She never dreamed Sahwah had taken the occurrence so much to heart. It was not her usual way. “Please don’t be angry, Sahwah,” she said, contritely. “I just couldn’t help laughing. You know how light headed I am.”
But Sahwah would have none of her apology. “I’ll leave you folks to have as much fun over it as you please,” she said coldly, rising and going up-stairs.
Migwan was near to tears and would have gone after her, but Nyoda restrained her. “Let her alone,” she advised, “and she’ll come out of it all the sooner.”
Sahwah was herself again in the morning as far as the others were concerned, but she still treated Migwan somewhat coldly and it was evident that she had not forgiven her.
CHAPTER VIII.—A CANNING EPISODE.
Three times every week Migwan had been making the trip to town with a machine-load of vegetables, which was disposed of to an ever growing list of customers. Thanks to the early start the garden had been given by Mr. Mitchell, and the constant care it received at the hands of Migwan and her willing helpers, Migwan always managed to bring out her produce a day or so in advance of most of the other growers in the neighborhood and so could command a better price at first than she could have if she had arrived on the scene at flood tide. After every trip there was a neat little sum to put in the old cocoa can which Migwan used as a bank until there was enough accumulated to make a real bank deposit. The asparagus had passed beyond its vegetable days and had grown up in tall feathery shoots that made a pretty sight as they stood in a long row against the fence. The new strawberry plants had taken root and were growing vigorously; the cucumbers were thriving like fat babies. The squashes and melons were running a race, as Sahwah said, to see which could hold up the most fruit on their vines; the corn-stalks stood straight and tall, holding in their arms their firstborn, silky tassel-capped children, like proud young fathers.
But it was the tomato bed in which Migwan’s dearest hopes were bound up. The frames sagged with exhaustion at the task of holding up the weight of crimsoning globes that hung on the vines. Migwan tended this bed as a mother broods over a favorite child, fingering over the leaves for loathsome tomato worms, spraying the plants to keep away diseases, and cultivating the ground around the roots. All suckers were ruthlessly snipped off as soon as they grew, so that the entire strength of the plants could go into the ripening of tomatoes. For it was on that tomato bed that Migwan’s fortune depended. While the proceeds from the remainder of the garden were gratifying, they were not great enough to make up the sum which Migwan needed to go to college, as the vegetables were not raised in large enough quantities. Migwan carefully estimated the amount she would realize from the sale of the tomatoes and found that it would not be large enough, and decided she could make more out of them by canning them. At Nyoda’s advice the Winnebagos formed themselves into a Canning Club, which would give them the right to use the 4H label, which stood for Head, Hand, Health and Heart, and was recognized by dealers in various places. According to the methods of the Canning Club they canned the tomatoes in tin cans, with tops neatly soldered on. After an interview with various hotels and restaurants in the city Nyoda succeeded in establishing a market for Migwan’s goods, and the canning went on in earnest. The whole family were pressed into service, and for days they did nothing but peel from morning until night.
“I’m getting to be such an expert peeler,” said Hinpoha, “that I automatically reach out in my sleep and start to peel Migwan.”
Nyoda made up a gay little song about the peeling. To the tune of “Comrades, comrades, ever since we were boys,” she sang, “Peeling, peeling, ever since 6 A.M.”
Several places had asked for homemade ketchup and Migwan prepared to supply the demand. Never did a prize housekeeper, making ketchup for a county fair, take such pains as Migwan did with hers. She took care to use only the best spices and the best vinegar; she put in a few peach leaves from the tree to give it a finer flavor; she stood beside the big iron preserving kettle and stirred the mixture all the while it was boiling to be sure that it would not settle and burn. Everyone in the house had to taste it to be sure it found favor with a number of critical palates. “Wouldn’t you like to put a few bay leaves into it?” asked her mother. “There are some in the glass jar in the pantry. They are all crumbled and broken up fine, but they are still good.” Migwan put a spoonful of the broken leaves into the ketchup; then she put another.
“Oh, I never was so tired,” she sighed, when at last it had boiled long enough and she shoved it back.
“Let’s all go out on the river,” proposed Nyoda, “and forget our toil for awhile.” Sahwah was the last out of the kitchen, having stopped to drink a glass of water, and while she was drinking her eye roved over the table and caught sight of half a dozen cloves that had spilled out of a box. Gathering them up in her hand she dropped them into the ketchup. Just then Migwan came back for something and the two went out together.
“And now for the bottling,” said Migwan, when the supper dishes were put away, and she set several dozen shining glass bottles on the table. After she had been dipping up the ketchup for awhile she paused in her work to sit down for a few moments and count up her expected profits. “Let’s see,” she said, “forty bottles at fifteen cents a bottle is six dollars. That isn’t so bad for one day’s work. But I hope I don’t have many days of such work,” she added. “My back is about broken with stirring.” About thirty of the bottles were filled and sealed when she took this little breathing spell.
“Let me have a taste,” said Hinpoha, eyeing the brown mixture longingly.
“Help yourself,” said Migwan. Hinpoha took a spoonful. Her face drew up into the most frightful puckers. Running to the sink she took a hasty drink of water. “What’s the matter?” said Migwan, viewing her in alarm. “Did you choke on it?”
“Taste it!” cried Hinpoha. “It’s as bitter as gall.”
Migwan took a taste of the ketchup and looked fit to drop. “Whatever is the matter with it?” she gasped. One after another the girls tasted it and voiced their mystification. “It couldn’t have spoiled in that short time,” said Migwan.
Then she suddenly remembered having seen Sahwah drop something into the kettle as it stood on the back of the stove. Could it be possible that Sahwah was seeking revenge for having been made fun of? “Sahwah,” she gasped, unbelievingly, “did you put anything into the ketchup that made it bitter?”
“I did not,” said Sahwah, the indignant color flaming into her face. She had already forgotten the incident of the cloves. She saw Nyoda and the other girls look at her in surprise at Migwan’s words. Her temper rose to the boiling point. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, fiercely. “You think I did something to the ketchup to get even with Migwan, but I didn’t, so there. I don’t know any more about it than you do.”
“I take it all back,” said Migwan, alarmed at the tempest she had set astir, and bursting into tears buried her head on her arms on the kitchen table. All that work gone for nothing!
Sahwah ran from the room in a fearful passion. Nyoda tried to comfort Migwan. “It’s a lucky thing we found it before the stuff was sold,” she said, “or your trade would have been ruined.” She and the other girls threw the ketchup out and washed the bottles.
“Whatever could have happened to it?” said Gladys, wonderingly.
Migwan lifted her face. “I want to tell you something, Nyoda,” she said. “I suppose you wonder why I asked Sahwah if she had put anything in. Well, when I went back into the kitchen after my hat when we were going out on the river, Sahwah was there, and she was dropping something into the kettle.”
“You don’t mean it?” said Nyoda, incredulously. Nyoda understood Sahwah’s blind impulses of passion, and she could not help noticing for the last few days that Sahwah was still nursing her wrath at Migwan for laughing at her, and she wondered if she could have lost control of herself for an instant and spoiled the ketchup.
Meanwhile Sahwah, up-stairs, had cooled down almost as rapidly as she had flared up, and began to think that she had been a little hasty in her outburst. She, therefore, descended the back stairs with the idea of making peace with the family and helping to wash the bottles. But halfway down the stairs she happened to hear Migwan’s remark and Nyoda’s answer, and the long silence which followed it. Immediately her fury mounted again to think that they suspected her of doing such an underhand trick. “They don’t trust me!” she cried, over and over again to herself. “They don’t believe what I said; they think I did it and told a lie about it.” All night she tossed and nursed her sense of injury and by morning her mind was made up. She would leave this place where everyone was against her, and where even Nyoda mistrusted her. That was the most unkind cut of all.
When she did not appear at the breakfast table the rest began to wonder. Betty reported that Sahwah had not been in bed when she woke up, which was late, and she thought she had risen and dressed and gone down-stairs without disturbing her. There was no sign of her in the garden or on the river. Both the rowboat and the raft were at the landing-place. There was an uncomfortable restraint at the breakfast table. Each one was thinking of something and did not want the others to see it. That thing was that Sahwah had a guilty conscience and was afraid to face the girls. Migwan’s eyes filled with tears when she thought how her dear friend had injured her. A blow delivered by the hand of a friend is so much worse than one from an enemy. The table was always set the night before and the plates turned down.
“What’s this sticking out under Sahwah’s plate?” asked Gladys. It was a note which she opened and read and then sat down heavily in her chair. The rest crowded around to see. This was what they read: “As long as you don’t trust me and think I do underhand things you will probably be glad to get rid of me altogether. Don’t look for me, for I will never come back. You may give my place in the Winnebagos to someone else.” It was signed “Sarah Ann Brewster,” and not the familiar “Sahwah.”
“Sahwah’s run away!” gasped Migwan in distress, and the girls all ran up to her room. Her clothes were gone from their hooks and her suit-case was gone from under the bed. The girls faced each other in consternation.
“Do you think she had anything to do with the ketchup, after all?” asked Gladys, thoughtfully. “It was so unlike her to do anything of that kind.”
“Then why did she run away?” asked Migwan, perplexed.
The morning passed miserably. They missed Sahwah at every turn. Several times the girls forgot themselves and sang out “O Sahwah!” Nyoda did not doubt for a moment that Sahwah had gone to her own home, but she thought it best not to go after her immediately. Sahwah’s hot temper must cool before she would come to herself. Nyoda was puzzled at her conduct. If she had nothing to be ashamed of why had she run away? That was the question which kept coming up in her mind. Nothing went right in the house or the garden that day. Everyone was out of sorts. Migwan absent-mindedly pulled up a whole row of choice plants instead of weeds; Gladys ran the automobile into a tree and bent up the fender; Hinpoha slammed the door on her finger nail; Nyoda burnt her hand. Ophelia was just dressed for the afternoon in a clean, starched white dress when she fell into the river and had to be dressed over again from head to foot. The whole household was too cross for words. The departure of Sahwah was the first rupture that had ever occurred in the closely linked ranks of the Winnebagos and they were all broken up over it.
When Mrs. Gardiner was cooking beef for supper she told Migwan to get her some bay leaf to flavor it with. Migwan brought out the glass jar of crushed leaves. “That’s not the bay leaf,” said her mother, and went to look for it herself. “Here it is,” she said, bringing another glass jar down from a higher shelf.
“Then what’s this?” asked Migwan, indicating the first jar.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “It was in the pantry when we came.”
“But this was what I put into the ketchup,” said Migwan. Hastily unscrewing the top she shook out some of the contents and tasted them. Her mouth contracted into a fearful pucker. Never in her life had she tasted anything so bitter.
“I did it myself,” she said, in a dazed tone. “I spoiled the ketchup myself.” At her shout the girls came together in the kitchen to hear the story of the mistaken ingredient.
“What can that be?” they all asked. Nobody knew. It was some dried herb that had been left by the former mistress of the house, and a powerful one. The girls looked at each other blankly.
“And I accused Sahwah of doing it,” said Migwan, remorsefully. “No wonder she flared up and left us, I don’t blame her a bit. I wouldn’t thank anyone for accusing me wrongfully of anything like that.”
“We’ll have to go after her this very evening,” said Gladys, “and bring her back.”
“If she’ll come,” said Hinpoha, knowing Sahwah’s proud spirit.
“Oh, I’m quite willing to grovel in the dust at her feet,” said Migwan.
Gladys drove them all into town with her and they sped to the Brewster house. It was all dark and silent. Sahwah was evidently not there. They tried the neighbors. They all denied that she had been near the house. They finally came to this conclusion themselves, for in the light of the street lamp just in front of the house they could see that the porch was covered with a month’s accumulation of yellow dust which bore no footmarks but their own.
Here was a new problem. They had come expecting to offer profuse apologies to Sahwah and carry her back with them to Onoway House rejoicing, and it was a shock to find her gone. The thought of letting her go on believing that they mistrusted her was intolerable, but how were they going to clear matters up? Sahwah had no relatives in town, and, of course, they did not know all her friends, so it would be hard to find her. That is, if she had ever reached town at all. Something might have happened to her on the way—Nyoda and Gladys sought each other’s eyes and each thought of what had happened to them on the way to Bates Villa.
With heavy hearts they rode back to Onoway House. The days went by cheerlessly. A week passed since Sahwah had run away, but no word came from her. Nyoda interviewed the conductors on the interurban car line to find out if Sahwah had taken the car into the city. No one remembered a girl of that description on the day mentioned. Sahwah had only one hat—a conspicuous red one—and she would not fail to attract attention. Thoroughly alarmed, Nyoda decided on a course of action. She called up the various newspapers in town and asked them to print a notice to the effect that Sahwah had disappeared. If Sahwah were in town she would see it and knowing that they were worried about her would let them know where she was. The notice came out in the papers, and a day or two passed, but there was no word from Sahwah. Nyoda and Gladys made a hurried trip to town to put the police on the track. Just before they got to the city limits they had a blowout and were delayed some time before they could go on. As they waited in the road another machine came along and the driver stopped and offered assistance. Nyoda recognized a friend of hers in the machine, a Miss Barnes, teacher in a local gymnasium.
“Hello, Miss Kent,” she called, cheerfully, “I haven’t seen you for an age. Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“Where have you been keeping yourself?” returned Nyoda.
“I, Oh, I’m working this summer,” replied Miss Barnes. “I’m just in town on business. I’m helping to conduct a girls’ summer camp on the lake shore. I thought possibly you would bring your Camp Fire group out there this summer. One of your girls is out there now.”
“Which one?” asked Nyoda, thinking of Chapa and Nakwisi, whom she had heard talking about going.
“One by the name of Brewster,” said Miss Barnes, “a regular mermaid in the water. She has the girls out there standing open-mouthed at her swimming and diving. Why, what’s the matter?” she asked, as Nyoda gave a sigh of relief that seemed to come from her boots.
“Nothing,” replied Nyoda, “only we’ve been scouring the town for that very girl.”
“You have?” asked Miss Barnes, with interest. “Would you like to come out and visit her?”
“Could I?” asked Nyoda.
“Certainly,” said Miss Barnes, “come right out with me now. I’m going back.”
And so Sahwah’s mysterious disappearance was cleared up. When the Winnebagos, lined up in the road, saw the automobile approaching, and that Sahwah was in it, they welcomed her back into their midst with a rousing Winnebago cheer that warmed her to the heart. All the clouds had been rolled away by Nyoda’s explanations and this was a triumphant homecoming. A regular feast was spread for her, and as she ate she related her adventures since leaving the house early that other morning. Without forming any plan of where she was going she had walked up the road in the opposite direction of the car line and then a farmer had come along on a wagon and given her a lift. He had taken her all the way to the other car line, three miles below Onoway House. She had come into the city by this route. She did not want to go home for fear they would come after her, so she went to the Young Women’s Christian Association. As she sat in the rest room wondering what she should do next she heard two girls talking about registering for camp. This seemed to her a timely suggestion, and she followed them to the registration desk and registered for two weeks. She went out that same day. When she arrived there she did such feats in the water that they asked her if she would not stay all summer and help teach the girls to swim. She said she would, and so saw a very easy way out of her difficulty. The reason they had not heard from her when they put the notice in the papers was because they did not get the city papers in camp.
Sahwah surveyed the faces around the table with a beaming countenance. After all, she could only be entirely happy with the Winnebagos. Migwan and she were once more on the best of terms.
“But tell us,” said Hinpoha, now that this was safe ground to tread upon, “what it was you put into the ketchup.”
“Oh,” said Sahwah, who now remembered all about it, “those were a couple of cloves that were lying on the table.”
And so the last bit of mystery was cleared up.
CHAPTER IX.—OPHELIA DANCES THE SUN DANCE.
Among the other books at Onoway House there was a Manual of the Woodcraft Indians which belonged to Sahwah, and which she was very fond of quoting and reading to the other girls when they were inclined to hang back at some of the expeditions she proposed. One night she read aloud the chapter about “dancing the sun dance,” that is, becoming sunburned from head to foot without blistering. On a day not long after this Ophelia might have been seen standing beside the river clad only in a thin, white slip. Stepping from the bank, she immersed herself in the water, then stood in the sun, holding out her arms and turning up her face to its glare. When the blazing August sunlight began to feel uncomfortably warm on her body she plunged into the cooling flood and then came up to stand on the bank again. She did this straight through for two hours, and then began to investigate the result. Her arms were a beautiful brilliant red, and the length of leg that extended out from the slip was the same shade. She felt wonderfully pleased, and dipped in the water again and again to cool off and then returned to the burning process. When the dinner bell rang she returned to the house, eager to show her achievement. But she did not feel so enthusiastic now as when she first beheld her scarlet appearance. Something was wrong. It seemed as if she were on fire from head to foot. She looked at her arms. They were no longer such a pretty red; they had swelled up in large, white blisters. So had her legs. She could hardly see out of her eyes.
“Ophelia!” gasped the girls, when she came into the house. “What has happened? Have you been scalded?”
“I’ve been doing your old Sun Dance,” said Ophelia, painfully.
Never in all their lives had they seen such a case of sunburn. Every inch of her body was covered with blisters as big as a hand. The sun had burned right through the flimsy garment she wore. There was a pattern around her neck where the embroidery had left its trace. She screamed every time they tried to touch her. Nyoda worked quickly and deftly and the luckless sun dancer was wrapped from head to foot in soft linen bandages until she looked like a mummy.
Sahwah sought Nyoda in tribulation. “Was it my fault,” she asked, “for reading her that book? She never would have thought of it if I hadn’t given her the idea.”
“No,” answered Nyoda, “it wasn’t your fault. It said emphatically in the book that the coat of tan should be acquired gradually. You couldn’t foresee that she would stand in the sun that way. So don’t worry about it any longer.”
“Still, I feel in a measure responsible,” said Sahwah, “and I ought to be the one to take care of her. Let me sleep in the room with her to-night and get up if she wants anything.” Sahwah’s desire to help was so sincere that she insisted upon being allowed to do it, and took upon herself all the care of the sunburned Ophelia, which was no small job, for the pain from the blisters made her frightfully cross.
Nyoda was surprised to see Sahwah keeping at it with such persistent good nature and apparent success, for as a rule she was not a good one to take care of the sick; she was in too much of a hurry. She would generally spill the water when she was trying to give a drink to her patient, or fall over the rug, or drop dishes; and the effect she produced was irritating rather than soothing. But in this case she seemed to be making a desperate effort to do things correctly so she would be allowed to continue, and fetched and carried all the afternoon in obedience to Ophelia’s whims. She read her stories to while away the painful hours and when supper time came made her a wonderful egg salad in the form of a water lily, and cut sandwiches into odd shapes to beguile her into eating them. When evening came and Ophelia was restless and could not go to sleep she sang to her in her clear, high voice, songs of camp and firelight. One by one the Winnebagos drifted in and joined their voices to hers in a beautifully blended chorus.
“Gee, that’s what it must be like in heaven,” sighed the child of the streets, as she listened to them. The Winnebagos smiled tenderly and sang on until she dropped off to sleep.
Sahwah slept with one eye open listening for a call from Ophelia. She heard her stirring restlessly in the night and went over and sat beside her. “Can’t you sleep?” she asked.
“No,” complained Ophelia. “Say, will you tell me that story again?”
Sahwah began, “Once upon a time there was a little girl and she had a fairy godmother——”
“What’s a fairy godmother?” interrupted Ophelia.
“Oh,” said Sahwah, “it’s somebody who looks after you especially and is very good to you and grants all your wishes, and always comes when you’re in trouble——”
“Who’s my fairy godmother?” demanded Ophelia.
“I don’t know,” said Sahwah.
“I bet I haven’t got any!” said Ophelia, suspiciously. “I didn’t have a father and mother like the rest of the kids and I bet I haven’t got any fairy godmother either.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” said Sahwah to soothe her, “you have one only you haven’t seen her yet. Wait and she’ll appear.” But Ophelia lay with her face to the wall and said no more. “Would you like me to bring you a drink?” asked Sahwah, a few minutes later. Ophelia replied with a nod and Sahwah went down to the kitchen. There was no drinking water in sight and Sahwah hesitated about going out to the well at that time of the night. Then she remembered that a pail of well water had been taken down cellar that evening to keep cool. Taking a light she descended the cellar stairs. When she was nearly to the bottom she heard a subdued crash, like a basket of something being thrown over, followed by a series of small bumping sounds. She stood stock still, afraid to move off the step.
Then, summoning her voice, she cried, “Who is down there?” No answer came from the darkness below. After that first crash there was not another sound. Sahwah was not naturally timid, and her one explanation for all night noises in a house was rats. Besides, she had started after water for Ophelia, and she meant to get it. She went down stairs and looked all around with her light. She soon found the thing which had made the noise. It was a basket of potatoes which had fallen over and as the potatoes rolled out on the cement floor they had made those odd little after noises which had puzzled her. Satisfied that nobody was in the house she took her pail of water and went up-stairs, glad that she had not roused the house and brought out a laugh against herself.
She gave Ophelia the drink, and being feverish she drank it eagerly and murmured gratefully, “I guess you’re my fairy godmother.” As Sahwah turned to go to bed Ophelia thrust out a bandaged hand and caught hold of her gown. “Stay with me,” she said, and Sahwah sat down again beside the bed until Ophelia fell asleep. Sahwah felt pleased and elated at being chosen by Ophelia as the one she wanted near her. It was not often that a child singled Sahwah out from the group as an object of affection; they usually went to Gladys or Hinpoha. So she responded quickly to the advances made by Ophelia and thenceforth made a special pet of her, taking her part on all occasions.
Soon after Ophelia’s experience with sunburn a rainy spell set in which lasted a week. Every day they were greeted by grey skies and a steady downpour, fine for the parched garden, but hard on amusements. They played card games until they were weary of the sight of a card; they played every other game they knew until it palled on them, and on the fifth day of rain they surrounded Nyoda and clamored for something new to do. Nyoda scratched her head thoughtfully and asked if they would like to play Thieves’ Market.
“Play what?” asked Gladys.
“Thieves’ Market,” said Nyoda. “You know in Mexico there is an institution known as the Thieves’ Market, where stolen goods are sold to the public. We will not discuss the moral aspect of the business, but I thought we could make a game out of it. Let’s each get a hold of some possession of each one of the others’ without being seen and put a price on it. The price will not be a money value, of course, but a stunt. The owner of the article will have first chance at the stunt and if she fails the thing will go to whoever can buy it. If anyone fails to get a possession from each one of the rest to add to the collection she can’t play, and if she is seen by the owner while ‘stealing’ it she will have to put it back. We’ll hold the Thieves’ Market to-night after supper in the parlor and I’ll be storekeeper.”
The Winnebagos, always on the lookout for something novel and entertaining, seized on the idea with rapture. The rain was forgotten that afternoon as they scurried around the house trying to seize upon articles belonging to the others, and at the same time trying valiantly to guard their own possessions. It was not hard to get Sahwah’s things, for she had a habit of leaving them lying all over the house. Her red hat had fallen a victim the first thing; likewise her shoes and tennis racket. It was harder to get anything away from Nyoda, for she seemed to be Argus eyed; but providentially she was called to the telephone, and while she was talking they made their raid.
When opened, the Thieves’ Market presented such a conglomeration of articles that at first the girls could only stand and wonder how those things had ever been taken away from them without their knowing it, for many of them were possessions which were usually hidden from sight while the owners fondly believed that their existence was unknown. Migwan gave a cry of dismay when she beheld her “Autobiography,” which she was carefully keeping a secret from the rest, out in full view on the table. “How did you ever find it?” she gasped. “It was folded up in my clothes.”
But Migwan’s embarrassment was nothing compared to Nyoda’s when she caught sight of a certain photograph. She blushed scarlet while the girls teased her unmercifully. It was a picture of Sherry, the serenader of the camp the summer before. Until they found the photograph the girls did not know that Nyoda was corresponding with him. And the prices on the various things were the funniest of all. The girls had come down that evening dressed in their middies and bloomers for they had a suspicion that there would be some acrobatic stunts taking place, and it was well that they did. To redeem her hat Sahwah had to stand on her head and to get her bedroom slippers Gladys had to jump through a hoop from a chair. Hinpoha had to wrestle with Nyoda for the possession of her paint box, and the price of Betty’s shoes was to throw them over her shoulder into a basket. At the first throw she knocked a vase off the table, but luckily it did not break, and she was warned that another accident would result in her going shoeless. Migwan tremblingly approached the Autobiography to find out the price. It was “Read one chapter aloud.” “I won’t do it,” said Migwan, flatly.
“Next customer,” cried Nyoda, pounding with her hammer. “For the simple price of reading aloud one chapter I will sell this complete autobiography of a pious life, profusely illustrated by the author.” Sahwah hastened up to “buy” the book, but Migwan headed her off in a hurry and read the first chapter with as good grace as she could, amid the cheers and applause of the other customers. Sahwah made a grimace when she had to polish the shoes of everyone present to get her shoe brush back.
Thus the various articles in the Thieves’ Market were disposed of amid much laughter and merry-making, until there remained but one article, a cold chisel. Nyoda went through the usual formula, offering it for sale, but no one came to claim it. She redoubled her pleas, but with the same result. “For the third and last time I offer this great bargain in a cold chisel for the simple price of jumping over three chairs in succession,” she said, with a flourish. Nobody appeared to be anxious to redeem their property. “Whose is it?” she asked, mystified.
It apparently belonged to no one. “It’s yours, Gladys,” said Sahwah, “I stole it from you.”
“Mine?” asked Gladys, in surprise. “I don’t own any chisel. Where did you get it from?”
“Out of the automobile,” answered Sahwah.
“But it doesn’t belong there,” said Gladys. “There’s no chisel among the tools. You’re joking, you found it somewhere else.”
“No, really,” said Sahwah, “I found it in the car this afternoon.”
“Mother,” called Migwan, “were there any tools left in the barn by Mr. Mitchell?”
“Nothing but the garden tools,” answered her mother. Tom also denied any knowledge of the chisel.
“Girls,” said Nyoda, seriously, “there is something going on here that I do not understand. First Migwan thought she heard footsteps in the attic; then a ghost appeared to me in the tepee; one night we saw a man running out of the barn, and later on that night Migwan claims to have run into a man in the garden. Soon afterward Hinpoha was sure she heard footsteps in the attic, and when we went up we found the window broken. Just a few nights ago a basket of potatoes was mysteriously knocked over in the cellar in the middle of the night, and now we find a chisel in the automobile which does not belong to us. It looks for all the world as if somebody were trying to break into this house, in fact, has broken in on a number of occasions.”
Migwan shrieked and covered up her ears. “A mystery!” said Sahwah, theatrically. “How thrilling!” The interest in the Thieves’ Market died out before this new and alarming idea.
“It may be only a remarkable series of co-incidences,” said Nyoda, seeing the fright of the girls, “but it certainly looks suspicious. That window may possibly have been broken by the wind during the storm, and the footsteps may have been rats or Mrs. Waterhouse’s ghost, and the ghost in the tepee may have been a practical joker, but baskets of potatoes do not fall over of their own accord in the middle of the night and cold chisels don’t grow in automobiles. There’s something wrong and we ought to find out what it is.”
“Oh, I’ll never go up-stairs alone again,” shuddered Migwan. “Sahwah, how did you ever dare go down cellar in the dark after you heard that noise?” And she shivered violently at the very thought.
“Tom, can you handle a gun?” asked Nyoda.
“Yes,” answered Tom.
“I’m going to buy a little automatic pistol to-morrow,” said Nyoda, “and teach everyone of you girls how to shoot it.”
“I wonder if we hadn’t better try to get Calvin Smalley to sleep in the house,” said Migwan.
“I can take care of you,” said Tom, proudly. Nothing else was talked of for the remainder of the evening and when bed time came there was a general reluctance to become separated from the rest of the household. But, although they listened for footsteps in the attic they heard nothing, and the night passed away peacefully.
The next night the ghost became active again. Whether it was the same one or a different one they did not find out, however, for they did not see it this time, only heard it. Just about bed time it was, a strange, weird moaning sound that filled the house and echoed through the big halls. Whether it proceeded from the basement or the attic they were unable to make out; it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Migwan clung close to her mother and trembled. The sound rang out again, more weird than before. It was bloodcurdling. Nyoda opened the window and fired several shots into the air. The moaning sound stopped abruptly and was heard no more that night, but sleep was out of the question. The girls were too excited and fearful. The next day Mrs. Gardiner advised everybody to hide their valuables away. The peaceful life at Onoway House was broken up. The household lived in momentary expectation of something happening. “And this is the quiet of the country,” sighed Migwan, “where I was to grow fat and strong. I’m worn to a frazzle worrying about this mystery.”
“So’m I,” said Gladys.
“And I’m getting thin,” said Hinpoha, which brought out a general laugh.
“Not so you could notice it,” said Sahwah. Whereupon Hinpoha tried to smother her with a pillow and the two rolled over on the bed, struggling.
As if worrying about a burglar were not enough, Sahwah and Gladys had another exciting experience one day that week. If we were to stretch a point and trace things back to their beginnings it was the fault of the Winnebagos themselves, for if they hadn’t gone horseback riding that day—— Well, Farmer Landsdowne came over in the morning and said he had a pair of horses which were not working and if they wanted to go horseback riding now was their chance. The girls were delighted with the idea and flew to don bloomers. None of them had ever ridden before and excitement ran high. Naturally there were no saddles, for Farmer Landsdowne’s horses were not ridden as a general rule, and the girls had to ride bareback.
“It feels like trying to straddle a table,” said Migwan, marveling at the width of the horse she was on. “My legs aren’t half long enough.” She clung desperately to his mane as he began to trot and she began to slide all over him. “He’s so slippery I can’t stick on,” she gasped. The horse stopped abruptly as she jerked on the reins and she slid off as if he had been greased, and landed in the soft grass beside the road.
“Here, let me try,” said Sahwah, impatient for her turn. “He isn’t either slippery,” she said, when she got on, “he’s bony, horribly bony. He’s just like knives.” She jolted up and down a few times on his hip bones and an idea jolted into her head. Getting off she ran into the house and came out again with a sofa pillow, which she proceeded to tie on his back. Then she rode in comparative comfort, amid the laughter of the girls.
Calvin Smalley, who happened to be working out in front and saw her ride past, doubled up with laughter over his vegetable bed. “What next?” he chuckled. “What next?” He was still thinking about this and laughing over it when he went through the empty field which Sahwah had crossed the time she had discovered the house among the trees, and where Abner Smalley now pastured his bull. So absorbed was he in the memory of that ridiculous pillow tied on the horse that he was not careful in putting up the bars behind him when he left the field, and later in the afternoon the bull wandered over in that direction and came through into the next field. He found the river road and followed it and began to graze in one of the unploughed fields belonging to Onoway House.
Sahwah, wearing her big, red hat, was bending low over the ground, digging up some ferns which grew there, when all of a sudden she heard a loud snort and looked up to see the bull charging down upon her. She looked wildly around for a place of safety. Nothing was nearer than the far-off hedge that surrounded the cultivated garden patch. Not a tree, not a fence, in sight. Quick as light she bounded off toward the hedge, although she knew it would be impossible for her to reach it before the bull would be upon her.
Gladys, coming along the road in the automobile, heard a shriek and looked up to see Sahwah tearing across the open field with the bull hard after her. Without a moment’s hesitation Gladys turned the car into the field and started after the bull at full speed. She let the car out every notch and it whizzed dizzily over the hard turf. She sounded the horn again and again with the hope of attracting the attention of the bull, but he did not pause. Like lightning she bore down upon him, passed to one side and slowed down for a second beside Sahwah, who jumped on the running-board and was borne away to safety.
“This hum-drum, uneventful life,” said Sahwah, as she sat on the porch half an hour afterward and tried to catch her breath, while the rest fanned her with palm leaf fans, “is getting a little too much for me!”
CHAPTER X.—A BIRTHDAY PARTY
After Nyoda had fired the shots out of the window, nothing was heard or seen of the ghost and the footsteps in the attic ceased. “It’s just as I thought,” said Nyoda, “someone has been trying to frighten us with a possible view of robbing the house at some time, thinking that a houseful of women would be terror-stricken at the ghostly noises, but when he found we had a gun and could shoot he thought better of the plan.” Gradually the girls lost their fright, and the odd corners of Onoway House regained their old charm. They were far too busy with the canning to think of much else, for the tomatoes were ripening in such large quantities that it was all they could do to dispose of them. The 4H brand found favor and the market gradually increased, and every week Migwan had a goodly sum to deposit in the bank after the cost of the tin cans had been deducted.
“I have to laugh when I think of that honor in the book,” said Migwan, “can at least three cans of fruit,” and she pointed to the cans stacked on the back porch ready to be packed into the automobile and taken to town. “Why, hello, Calvin,” she said, as Calvin Smalley appeared at the back door. “Come in.” Calvin came in and sat down. “What’s the matter?” asked Migwan, for his face had a frightened and distressed look.
“Uncle Abner has turned me out!” said Calvin.
“Turned you out!” echoed the girls. “Why?”
“He showed me a will last night,” said Calvin, “a later one than that which was found when my grandfather died, which left the farm to him instead of to my father. He just found it last night when he was rummaging among grandfather’s old papers. According to that I have been living on his charity all these years instead of on my own property as I supposed and now he says he can’t afford to keep me any longer. He wanted me to sign a paper saying that I would work for him without pay until I was thirty years old to make up for what I have had all these years, and when I wouldn’t do it he told me to get out.”
“How can any man be so mean and stingy!” said Migwan, indignantly.
“And what do you intend to do now?” asked Mrs. Gardiner.
“I don’t know,” said Calvin, looking utterly downcast and discouraged. “I had expected to go through school and then to agricultural college and be a scientific farmer, but that’s out of the question now. I haven’t a cent in the world. I could hire out to some of the farmers around here, I suppose, but you know what that means—they wouldn’t pay me much because I’m a boy, but they would get a man’s work out of me and it’s precious little time I’d have for school. I’ve always saved Uncle Abner the cost of one hired man in return for what he gave me, so I don’t feel under any obligations to him. I think I’ll give up farming for a while and go to the city and work. The trouble is I have no friends there and it might be hard for me to get into a good place.” His honest eyes were clouded over with perplexity and trouble.
“My father could probably get you a job in the city,” said Gladys, “if you can wait until he gets back. He’s out west now.”
“I tell you what to do,” said kind-hearted Mrs. Gardiner to Calvin, “you stay here with us until Mr. Evans comes back. You can help the girls in the garden, and we were wishing not long ago that we had another man in the house.”
“You are very kind,” said Calvin, gratefully, “but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Mrs. Gardiner assured him, “you can sleep with Tom.” The girls all expressed pleasure at the prospect of having Calvin stay at Onoway House and under the spell of their kindly hospitality his drooping spirits revived. He shook the dust of his uncle’s house from his feet, feeling no longer an outcast, since he had suddenly found such kind friends on the other side of the hedge.
Calvin lived in a perpetual state of wonder at the girls at Onoway House. They made a frolic out of everything they did and were continually thinking up new and amazing games to play. Calvin had never done anything at home all his life but work, and work was a serious business to him. He never knew before that work was fun. The long, weary hours of peeling were enlivened with songs made up on the spur of the moment. Sahwah would look up from the pan over which she was bending, and sing to the tune of “The Pope”:
“Our Migwan leads a jolly life, jolly life,
She peels tomatoes with her knife, with her knife,
And puts the pieces in the can,
And leaves the peelings in the pan, (Oh, tra la la).”
And then they would all start to sing at once,
“The tomatoes went in one by one,
(There’s one more bushel to peel),
Hinpoha she did cut her thumb,
(There’s one more bushel to peel).”
“The tomatoes went in two by two,
And Gladys and Sahwah fell into the stew.
The tomatoes went in three by three,
And Migwan got drowned a-trying to see.”
etc., etc., thus they made merry over the work until it was done.
“Do you know,” said Migwan, looking up from her peeling, “that it’s Gladys’s birthday next Friday? We ought to have a celebration.”
“How about a picnic?” asked Nyoda. “We haven’t had a real one yet. Have the rest of the Winnebagos come out from town and all of us sleep in the tepee as we had planned on the Fourth of July. Then we’ll get a horse and wagon and drive along the roads until we come to a place beside the river where we want to stop and cook our dinner and just spend the day like gypsies.” The girls entered into the plan with enthusiasm, both for the sake of celebrating Gladys’s birthday and cheering up Calvin, who had been rather quiet and pensive of late. It was a great disappointment to him to have to give up his plans for going to college, and his uncle’s unfriendly treatment of him had cut him to the heart.
Medmangi and Chapa and Nakwisi arrived the day before the picnic and the house echoed with the sound of voices and laughter, as the Winnebagos bubbled over with joy at being all together. The morning of the picnic was as fine as they could wish, and it was not long before they were bumping over the road in one of Farmer Landsdowne’s wagons, behind the very two horses which the girls had ridden the week before. It was a wagon full. Sahwah sat up in front and drove like a veritable daughter of Jehu, with Farmer Landsdowne up beside her to come to the rescue in case the horses should run away, which was not at all likely, as it took constant persuasion to keep them going even at an easy jog trot. Mrs. Landsdowne, who, with her husband, had been invited to the picnic, sat beside Mrs. Gardiner, in the back of the wagon, while Calvin Smalley stayed next to Migwan, as he usually did. She was so quiet and gentle and kind that he felt more at ease with her than with the rest of the Winnebagos, who were such jokers. Ophelia, who was beginning to be inseparable from Sahwah, squeezed herself in between her and Mr. Landsdowne, and refused to move. Sahwah, of course, took her part and let her stay, although she was a bit crowded for space. Hinpoha and Gladys sat at the back of the wagon dangling their feet over the end, where they could watch the yellow road unwinding like a ribbon beneath them, while Nyoda sat between Betty and Tom to keep the peace.
“Where are we going?” asked Mrs. Gardiner, as they swung along the road.
“Oh,” replied Sahwah, “somewhere, anywhere, everywhere, nowhere. It’s lots more romantic to start out without any idea where you’re going and stop wherever it suits you than to start out for a certain place and think you have to go there even if you pass nicer places on the road. Maybe, like Mrs. Wiggs, we’ll end up at a first-class fire.”
“We undoubtedly will,” said Nyoda, “if we expect to cook any dinner. Do my eyes deceive me?” she continued, “or is this a fishing-rod under the straw? It is, it is,” she cried, drawing it out. “Now I know what has been the matter with me for the past few months, this feeling of sadness and longing that was not akin to rheumatism. I have been pining, languishing, wasting away with a desire to go fishing. My early life ran quiet beside a babbling brook, and there I sat and fished trout and fried them over an outdoor fire. This spirit will never know repose until it has gone fishing once more.”
“Take the rod and welcome, it’s mine,” said Calvin, glad that something of his should give pleasure to one of his cherished friends.
In a shady grove of sycamores beside the river they dismounted from the wagon and scattered in search of firewood, for the fire must be started the first thing, as there were potatoes to roast. Nyoda took the fishing-rod and started for the river. “We’ll never get anything to eat if we wait until you catch enough fish for dinner,” said Sahwah.
“Who said I was going to catch enough for dinner?” said Nyoda. “I wouldn’t be cruel enough to keep you waiting all that time. But I do want to catch just one for old times’ sake.” She strolled down to the water’s edge and after a few minutes Mr. Landsdowne joined her. He liked Nyoda and enjoyed a talk with her.
“Are you going to play all alone at the picnic?” he asked, as he dropped down beside her.
“Alone, but with unbaited zeal,” she quoted, digging around in the ground with her stick. “Come and help me find a worm.”
“I’m afraid the Early Bird got them all,” she said plaintively, after a few moment’s fruitless search. By dint of much digging they finally unearthed one and baited the hook. Nyoda cast her line and then settled down to a spell of silent waiting. “I don’t believe there’s a fish in this old river,” she said impatiently, after fifteen minutes of angling which brought no results. “Not here, anyway. Let’s go down beyond the bend where the river widens out into that broad pool. The water is deeper and quieter there.” They moved on to the new location and Nyoda tried her luck again. This time success crowned her efforts and she landed a small fish almost immediately. “What did I tell you?” she exclaimed, triumphantly. “There’s luck in changing places. Now for another one.” In a few moments she felt a tug at the line. “It must be a whale,” she cried, enthusiastically, “it pulls so hard.”
“It may be caught on a snag,” said Farmer Landsdowne. “Here, let me get it loose for you, I’m afraid you’ll break that rod,” he said, as the pole bent ominously in her hands.
“Spare the rod and spoil the fish,” said Nyoda.
“What are you doing on my property?” said a harsh voice behind them, “don’t you see that sign?”
Nyoda and Farmer Landsdowne sprang to their feet in surprise and faced an irate farmer in blue shirt sleeves. Sure enough, on a tree not very far from them there was a sign reading,
NO FISHING IN THIS POND.
“We didn’t see the sign,” said Nyoda, stammering in her embarrassment, and crimson to the roots of her hair.
“We really didn’t,” confirmed Farmer Landsdowne.
“Well, ye see it now, don’t ye?” pursued the proprietor of the fish-pond. “Kindly move along.”
“We have one fish,” said Nyoda, feeling unutterably foolish, “but we’ll pay you for that. I must have one to take back to the picnic or I don’t dare show my face.”
“Ye say ye caught a fish?” shouted the farmer, excitedly. “Holy mackerel! That was the only one in the pond—I put it in there this morning—and I’ve rented the fishing of it to a young feller from Cleveland at twenty-five cents an hour.”
“But it didn’t take me an hour to catch him,” said Nyoda. “It only took five minutes. That’ll be about two cents.” But the farmer held out for his twenty-five cents and Nyoda paid it, laughing to herself at the way the “feller from Cleveland” had been cheated out of his sport.
“Don’t ever tell the girls about this,” pleaded Nyoda, as they moved shamefacedly away. “I’m supposed to be a pattern of conduct, and I’m always scolding the girls because they don’t use their eyes enough. They’ll never get over laughing at me if they find it out.” Farmer Landsdowne promised solemnly that he would not divulge the secret.
“Did you catch anything?” called Sahwah, as Nyoda returned to the group under the trees.
“We certainly did,” replied Nyoda, with a sidelong glance at Farmer Landsdowne.
“Listen to this part of father’s last letter,” said Gladys, as they sat around on the grass eating their dinner. “Juneau, Alaska.
“We recently saw a group of Camp Fire girls holding a Ceremonial Meeting on a mountain near Juneau. It fairly made us homesick; it reminded us so much of the group we used to see in our house. We went up and spoke to them and they send you this three-petaled flower as a greeting.”
“To think we have friends all over the country, just because we know the meaning of the word Wohelo!” said Migwan in an awed tone, as the Winnebagos crowded around Gladys to see the flower which had come from far off Alaska, a silent All Hail from kindred spirits.
Just at this point Ophelia, who was coming a long way with the coffee-pot in her hand, tripped over a root and sprawled on her face on the ground, showering everybody near her with coffee. “We have your title now,” said Nyoda, “it’s Ophelia-Face-in-the-Mud. You’re always falling that way.”
“And I know what your name is,” replied Ophelia.
“What is it?” asked Nyoda, guilelessly.
“It’s Nyoda-Chased-by-a-Farmer,” said Ophelia.
Nyoda started and looked guilty. “How did you know that?” she asked, giving herself away completely.
“Followed you,” said Ophelia. “I saw you fishin’ where the sign said to keep out and the man in the blue shirt sleeves chased you out.”
“Tell us about it,” demanded all the girls, and Nyoda had to tell the whole story that she wanted to keep a secret.
“Fishy, fishy in the brook,
But the fishers ‘got the hook,’”
chanted Sahwah, teasingly. Nyoda and Farmer Landsdowne looked sheepish at the jokes that were thrown at them thick and fast, but they stood it good-naturedly.
“A truce!” cried Gladys, coming to the rescue of Nyoda. “Let’s play charades.”
“Good!” said Migwan. “You be leader of one side and let Nyoda take the other. Whichever side gives up first will have to get supper for the rest.”
Gladys chose Sahwah, Mrs. Gardiner, Betty, Ophelia, Tom and Calvin. Nyoda chose Mr. and Mrs. Landsdowne, Hinpoha, Migwan, Chapa, Medmangi and Nakwisi. Gladys’s side went out first and came in without her.
“Word of three syllables, first syllable,” said Sahwah, who acted as spokesman. The whole company sat down in a row, striking the most doleful attitude and groaning as if in pain, and shedding tears into their handkerchiefs.
“Most woeful looking crowd I ever saw,” remarked Mr. Landsdowne.
“Woe!” shouted Nyoda, triumphantly, and the guess was correct.
The weepers continued their weeping in the second syllable, and then Gladys appeared, felt of all their pulses and gave each a dose out of a bottle, whereupon they all straightened up, lost their symptoms of distress, and capered for joy.
“Cure,” said Migwan. The players shook their heads.
“Heal,” shouted Hinpoha, and Gladys acknowledged it.
In the last syllable Gladys went around and demanded payment for her services, but in each case was met with a promise to pay at some future time.
“Owe,” said Chapa, which was pronounced right. “O heal woe, what’s that?” she asked.
“You’re twisted,” said Nyoda, “it’s ‘Wohelo.’ That really was too easy. Let’s not divide them into syllables after this,” she suggested, “it’s no contest of wits that way. Let’s act out the word all at once.” The alteration was accepted with enthusiasm.
Hinpoha came out alone for her side. “Word of two syllables,” she said. Taking a blanket she spread it over a bushy weed and tucked the corners under until it looked not unlike a large stone. Then she retired from the scene. Soon Nyoda came along and paused in front of the blanket, which looked like an inviting seat.
“What a lovely rock to rest on!” she exclaimed, and seated herself upon it. Of course, it flattened down under her weight and she was borne down to the ground.
A moment of silence followed this performance as the guessers racked their brains for the meaning. “Is it ‘Landsdowne?’” asked Gladys.
“It might be, but it isn’t,” said Nyoda, laughing.
“I know,” said Sahwah, starting up, “it’s ‘shamrock.’”
“You are sharper than I thought,” said Nyoda, rising from her seat. “Nobody down yet. Now, fire your broadside at us. No word under three syllables. Anything less would be unworthy of our giant intellects.”
“Third round!” cried Calvin.
Sahwah walked down to the water’s edge, holding in her hand a large key. Leaning over, she moved the key as if it were walking in the water. This proved a puzzler, and cries of ‘Milwaukee,’ ‘Nebrasky,’ and ‘turnkey’ were all met with a triumphant shake of the head.
“It looks as if we would have to give up,” said Hinpoha.
Just then Nyoda sprang up with a shout. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” she cried. “It’s ‘Keewaydin,’ key-wade-in. What else could you expect from Sahwah?”
“That’s it,” said Sahwah. “You must be a mind reader.”
“Here’s where we finish you off,” said Nyoda, as her side came out again. “We’ve taken a word of four syllables this time.” The whole team advanced in single file, Indian fashion, keeping closely in step. Round and round they marched, back and forth, never slackening their speed, until one by one they tumbled to the ground from sheer exhaustion and stiffened out lifelessly. The guessers looked at each other, puzzled.
“Do it again,” said Sahwah. The strenuous march was repeated, and the marchers succumbed as before. Still no light came to the onlookers. Sahwah whispered something to Gladys.
“Would you just as soon do it again?” asked Gladys. Again the file wound round the trees and tumbled to the turf. Nyoda made a triumphant grimace as no guess was forthcoming. Sahwah’s eyes began to sparkle.
“Would you please do it once more?” she pleaded.
“Have mercy on the performers,” groaned Nyoda, but they went through it again, and this time they were too spent to rise from the ground when the acting was done. “Do you give up?” called Nyoda.
“No,” answered Gladys.
“You have five seconds to produce the answer, then,” said Nyoda.
“It’s diapason,” said Gladys, “die-a-pacin.”
“Really!” said Nyoda, falling back in astonishment.
“We knew it all the while!” cried Sahwah and Gladys. “We just kept you doing it over and over again because we liked to see you work.”
The laugh was on Nyoda and her team all the way around. “We do this to each other!” called Sahwah, using the Indian form of taunt when one has played a successful trick on another.
“Tie the villains to a tree, and let them perish of mosquito bites,” Nyoda commanded in an awful tone. “I’ll get even with you for that, Miss Sahwah,” she said, darkly, as the other side trooped off to cook up a new poser.
“Hadn’t you better stop playing now?” inquired Mrs. Gardiner. “You know we wanted to get home before dark.”
“Oh, let’s do one more,” pleaded Migwan. If they had only stopped playing when Mrs. Gardiner suggested it and gone home early they might have been in time to prevent the thing which occurred, but they were bent on seeing one side or the other go down, and Gladys’s side prepared another charade.
“We’ve played up to your own game,” said Gladys, who was introducing the new charade, “and have increased the number to five syllables.” The actors were Mrs. Gardiner, Betty and Tom Gardiner. Mrs. Gardiner was scolding the children and emphasized her remarks by a sharp pinch on Tom’s arm. Betty, seeing the maternal hand also extended in her direction, promptly climbed a tree and sat in safety, while her mother shook her finger at her and cried warningly, “I’ll attend to you after awhile.”
“What on earth?” said Nyoda, scratching her head in perplexity. But scratch as she might, no answer came, and the rest of her team had nothing to offer either. After holding out for fully fifteen minutes they were compelled to give it up.
“It’s ‘manipulator,’” cried the winning side, in chorus. “‘Ma-nip-you-later!’” And they stood around to condole while Nyoda’s side prepared supper. Then it was that Calvin, basely deserting the team he had helped so far, went over to the side of the enemy and helped Migwan fetch wood for the fire. Both sides stopped often to jeer at each other, so it took them twice as long to get the meal ready as it would have ordinarily. They loitered and sang along the way home, letting the horses take their time, and it was quite late when they reached Onoway House.