CHAPTER XIII
THE PARTY
Dinner hour was over in Oakwood and the evening life of the stately old town was beginning to stir when Mr. Wing stepped off the train and walked briskly through the softly falling twilight toward his home. Not far from the station he met the artist, Eugene Prince, strolling about admiring the landscape, and hailed him cordially. "I've just come home on a flying trip over night," he explained. "Have to go to Washington in the morning. I wonder if the folks are at home; I should have telephoned them I was coming, I suppose." Mr. Wing seemed very much elated about something.
"How's the big case coming?" asked the artist. He had always been such a ready listener while Mr. Wing expressed his various theories About the matter and showed such a lively interest that Mr. Wing had gotten into the habit of talking about it to him by the hour and listening to him express his theories.
Now when the artist mentioned the big case Mr. Wing could not conceal his triumph, for his theory had been right after all, and the artist's had been wrong. "It's exactly what I expected," he said jubilantly, and spoke in a low, confidential tone for some minutes.
The artist whistled in blank surprise.
The two men passed up the street, talking in low tones. "Come up to the house with me," said Mr. Wing presently, "and I'll show you—Hello, what's this?"
A creaking rumble behind them made them start and turn around, and a singular sight greeted their eyes. Down the street puffed an immensely fat negro woman clad in a calico wrapper and a bright red turban, pushing a wheelbarrow in which sat a negro baby somewhat larger than its mammy. In the wheelbarrow beside the baby stood a feeding bottle of gigantic proportions, being in very truth a three-gallon flask designed to hold a solution to spray trees with; six feet of garden hose constituted the tube, and a black rubber diving cap at the upper end of it completed the feeding apparatus.
"Pour l'amour de Mique!" laughed Mr. Wing, as the unique outfit rumbled by. "What on earth do you suppose that is?" They followed the progress of the billowing mother and her husky infant with amused eyes, and at the corner of the street she attempted to turn the barrow, ran into a stone, upset the barrow and spilled the infant on the ground. The infant immediately sprang up, clutching the Gargantuan feeding bottle, and berated his mother in emphatic terms, delivered in a deep bass voice, addressing her as "Captain." "Look out, you'll break the bottle, dumping the wheelbarrow over like that," he remarked warningly. The old mammy stooped over to readjust him in the barrow and as she did so several feet of masculine garments became visible under her short skirt.
"Minstrel show in town," remarked Mr. Wing with another laugh of amusement. His amusement turned to surprise when the picturesque pair preceded him up the street and turned in at his own yard. The house was lighted from one end to the other; groups of young people were visible everywhere, on the porches, on the lawn, in the doorways.
"Seems to be a party going on here," remarked Mr. Wing.
"Father!" exclaimed a voice from the crowd, and Agony darted forward to embrace him. "Why didn't you tell us you were coming? You're just in time for the party."
Mr. Wing greeted the guests affably and after a short interval escaped with the artist to his study on the second floor, where they spent an hour in close consultation behind a locked door.
"Now let's go down and look in on the party," said Mr. Wing, locking a package of letters carefully into a small drawer in his desk. Before going down he went to his own room and changed to a suit of white flannels in honor of the occasion.
As he was finally making for the stairway he met Veronica Lehar in the upstairs hall. "May I use the telephone in the study?" she asked.
"Certainly," he replied, and went in and turned the light on for her and then went on downstairs.
Shouts of laughter filled the air; the negro mammy and the gigantic infant, together with the wheelbarrow and the feeding bottle, were holding the stage at the end of the spacious sitting room. Slim was being given his birthday presents and was surrounded with nonsensical articles of every kind—toys, rattles, all-day suckers, and so forth, and was convulsing the crowd with his antics.
The merriment went on until somebody called for Veronica to play on her violin and she came downstairs with her violin in her hands. Then a hush fell on the crowd, and the merrymakers listened, spellbound and dreamy-eyed, to the strains which the passionate-eyed little Hungarian girl drew from the fiddle resting so caressingly in the hollow of her shoulder.
It was a plaintive, melancholy melody she played first, throbbing with unsatisfied longing and quivering with pain and heartbreak. Sahwah shivered and thought of ice cold rain drops falling on long dead leaves, and the restless unhappiness seized upon her again. The melody wandered on, and in its weird minor thirds there seemed to be all the anguish of an oppressed people, hopeless of release from bondage; condemned to toil in darkness forever.
Then a new note crept into the music, a note of protest, of rebellion. Fury took the place of hopelessness; dumb resignation gave way to angry stirrings. Fiercely the storm raged for a moment, and then subsided into feeble murmurs, and flickered out into hopelessness again, blacker and deeper than before. Then came flight, sudden and headlong, hurried and confused; and days of wandering by land and sea, hours of loneliness and homesickness, of mingled hope and fear, of faith and perplexity, ending in a magnificent hymn of thanksgiving and praise for deliverance. It made Sahwah think of the persecuted Jews in Russia, fleeing from a massacre and coming to America for refuge.
But now the music had taken a gayer, brighter turn. Everywhere there was the hum of industry, a contented sound like the buzzing of bees intent upon gathering honey. Songs of happiness rose on every side, mingled with the sound of joyful feet passing in a gay dance. The music took on an irresistible lilt; the feet of the listeners itched to join in the measure and tapped out the time involuntarily.
Suddenly the dance turned into marching, the earth resounded with the tramp, tramp of advancing feet, the music became a martial strain; it stirred the blood to fever heat and set the pulses leaping madly. Louder and more triumphant swelled the strain, louder came the tramp of the victorious armies following in the wake of trumpets, until the whole earth seemed to mingle its voice in one great shout of victory.
Without knowing it the listeners were on their feet, clutching each other with tense fingers, their eyes blurred with tears, their throats aching with emotion, their hearts burning to perform deeds of valor for their country, to fight to the last ditch, to die as heroes for their native land.
They hardly realized when Veronica had stopped playing and slipped quietly out of the room.
"God, what playing!" breathed Mr. Wing to the artist. "Music like that would turn cowards into heroes and heroes into demi-gods; would inspire a wooden dummy to fight to the last ditch for freedom and native land. Daggers and Dirks! What a red-hot little American she is! Why, if a dead man heard her play the 'Star Spangled Banner' the way she just played it, he'd rise up to protect his country. Yes, and his very monument would shoulder a gun and get into the ranks against the foe!"
Refreshments were brought in and the babel of tongues broke loose again. Everyone asked for Veronica, wanted to sit beside her and tell her what a wonderful genius she was, but she was nowhere to be found. Grandmother Wing came in presently and said that Veronica had slipped out and gone home because she had a sick headache and wanted to be alone.
"She has those headaches so often," said Migwan in a tone of concern. "I wonder if I hadn't better go home after her."
"She said she wanted to be alone," said Nyoda thoughtfully. "She always does, you know, when she has a headache. I don't believe I'd go after her. She'll go right to bed and be all right in the morning."
With many expressions of regret at Veronica's indisposition the boys and girls resumed their frolic.
Slim and the Captain, still in their roles of mammy and pickaninny, walked home with the Winnebagos when the party finally broke up, the pickaninny trundling his own one-wheeled chariot, which was so full of presents there was no room for him.
Nyoda broke the news to them of their appointment as executioners of Kaiser Bill and they accepted the commission gravely. "'Horatius,' quoth the consul, 'as thou sayst, so let it be,'" quoted Slim with a dramatic flourish. "We'll execute your orders and the goat at the same time. But does it take two to speed the fatal ball? Why am I honored thus when here beside me stands the world's champion crack shot, even the great Cicero St. John?"
The Captain suddenly flushed and glared at Slim, but said nothing.
"'Herminius beat his bosom, but never a word he spake,'" quoted Slim, grinning. "You see," he continued, turning to the girls, "the Captain and I were practising shooting at a target once, out in the country, and the Captain came so near the bull's eye that he shot the perch out from under a parrot in a cage fifty feet away. O Mother dear, Jerusalem! You never saw such a surprised bird in all your life!" Slim was overcome by the remembrance, and the Captain grinned feebly at the laughter which the tale invoked.
"Don't you worry, I guess I can shoot a goat all right," said the Captain with some asperity.
"Uttered like a man, Captain," grinned Slim. "'Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the gate—'"
His flow of nonsense was interrupted by an exclamation of surprise from Nyoda as they reached the front gate. A messenger boy was running up the steps of Carver House just ahead of them.
CHAPTER XIV
NEWS FROM THE FRONT
"Does Mrs. Andrew Sheridan live here?" asked the boy, looking from one to the other.
"Here," replied Nyoda, holding out her hand for the envelope.
"Who can be telegraphing at this time of night?" asked Hinpoha, shot through with a sudden fear that something had happened to her aunt and they were telegraphing to Nyoda about it.
Nyoda stepped into the hall, switched on the light and tore open the envelope. Then she gasped suddenly and sat down on the stair steps with a frightened "Oh-h-h!"
"What is it, Nyoda?" asked the girls, crowding around her in alarm.
She held out the telegram and Gladys took it from her hands and held it up where all could see:
The signature was that of some official of the government.
"Oh-h-h!" cried the Winnebagos in horror, staring, fascinated, at the fatal sheet of paper in their hands. Migwan ran to Nyoda and put her arms around her in silent sympathy; the rest stood still, with shocked, frightened faces.
After a moment of stunned surprise Nyoda rallied herself. "Come," she said, in her usual calm, brisk tones, "I have to make haste. I must go on that early morning train. It goes through here about four. Help me pack, girls."
Recalled to themselves by the quietness of Nyoda's manner the Winnebagos set about helping in their usual efficient way. Hinpoha and Gladys sped to the kitchen to make coffee and sandwiches; Sahwah sped downstairs into the laundry to bring up the freshly ironed clothes; Slim and the Captain went up into the attic to bring down the suitcase and make themselves generally useful; Migwan went to Nyoda's room with her to help her make ready for the journey.
Sahwah was coming up the cellar stairs with a basket of clothes in her hand. Just as she passed the side entry door she heard someone fumbling with the knob on the outside. The knob turned and the door began to open softly. "Who's there?" called Sahwah sharply, switching on the light in the entry and throwing wide the door. There stood Veronica, with her violin under her arm and her hat and coat on. She started back when she saw Sahwah and the two stood looking into each other's eyes. "She hasn't been home, she's still got her violin," was the thought that went through Sahwah's mind.
"I thought you went home with a sick headache from the party," she said in astonishment.
"So did the rest of them," replied Veronica imperturbably.
Their eyes met and held for a second, and it seemed to Sahwah that Veronica looked haggard and haunted.
"Is everybody home?" asked Veronica presently.
"Yes," replied Sahwah, "and, O Veronica—" and she told her the news.
"Oh, poor, poor Nyoda!" cried Veronica, and throwing off her hat and coat she thrust them with her violin into the closet under the stairs and then sped upstairs.
"She didn't have a headache at all, she didn't go home, she went somewhere else," throbbed Sahwah's weary brain. "And whatever she's done, she's scared to death about it," it throbbed on. "Why did she come stealing in the back door that way?"
Worried and perplexed, but still loyal to her promise to say nothing to the others about Veronica, Sahwah went on sorting and carrying up the ironed clothes.
Upstairs Migwan was helping Nyoda get dressed for her journey. Nyoda was still in her George Washington suit, which she had concealed under a long cloak on the way home, and Migwan's hands trembled so with excitement she could hardly take out the endless pins that they had put in with so much fun and laughter a few hours before.
"How did Sherry, happen to be on the ocean?" Nyoda asked wonderingly. "He was in France the last time I heard from him. Why would he be coming to America now?"
Migwan could not answer the question, she could only press her beloved Guardian's hand tight in hers by way of sympathy and then fly back at the pins, which all seemed to be allied against them, for they buried their heads out of sight and thrust their points where Migwan's shaking fingers caught and tore themselves upon them. The suit was off at last and Migwan tucked Nyoda into bed for an hour of rest while she pressed her dark blue silk traveling dress and sewed fresh collars and cuffs into her jacket.
In the next room Veronica was swiftly packing the suitcase. The whole house was filled with confusion and haste. The old portraits on the walls looked down in astonishment at this unwonted turning of night into day, at the lights burning all over the house, from attic to basement, and at the girls running up and downstairs, bumping into each other in their haste and getting more flurried all the time. A smell of coffee pervaded the whole place, and this was soon superseded by the odor of burning toast. In the midst of the confusion the telephone rang and everybody thought someone else was answering it, with the result that nobody answered it and it rang a second time, long and insistently. Sahwah rushed up from the basement; Veronica sped swiftly down from upstairs, followed in a moment by Migwan; Hinpoha hastily snatched the coffee pot off the fire and ran in from the kitchen; Gladys hastened from the pantry; the two boys jumped in from the porch, and at the same moment Nyoda called over the banister and asked if someone would answer the telephone.
Sahwah got there first and snatched down the receiver with a trembling hand while the rest stood expectantly around, fearful of what this midnight message might be. And then after all the call was not for the house at all; the operator had made a wrong connection!
Hinpoha flew back to her toast; Sahwah returned to the basement, limping as she went, having struck her shin against the steps in the hurried trip up. Migwan had pricked her finger when the bell rang, it had startled her so, and a great drop of blood fell on the clean collar, so that she had to rip it out and find another one and sew that in. Then she discovered a button missing and hunted endlessly to find another one to match.
Everything was fixed at last and Migwan ran downstairs to see what was to be done there. Everything was being taken care of, and so, turning off the lights which were blazing unnecessarily in the long parlor, she sank down in a chair to rest a moment. Already the party seemed days in the past—could it be that this was still the same night? A shade flapped in the window, irritating her strained nerves, and she rose hastily and pulled it up. Her hand came in contact with something soft and silky. It was the service flag in the window—the flag that stood for Sherry. Reverently she straightened it out and stood stroking it with shaking fingers. The dark blue star stood out dimly in the light that shone through the window from the outside and the thought came into her mind that soon it might be replaced by a gold star. Tears came into her eyes; she forced them resolutely back and hastened upstairs to tell Nyoda that her hour was up and she must get up and begin to dress. Nyoda was already up and dressed when she went into the room; she was standing in front of the mirror combing her hair. Migwan hastened forward to assist her, reproaching herself that she hadn't come up sooner.
The blue dress was soon on and adjusted and Migwan pinned the collar while Veronica adjusted the cuffs.
Nyoda was checking off on her fingers the things she must take. "Handkerchiefs—did you get them in?" Veronica nodded.
"Towels, soap case, hairpins, buttonhook?"
"Everything," replied Veronica.
"Slippers, bathrobe—"
"I forgot the slippers!" exclaimed Veronica, and sped after them.
The hall clock chimed half past three and Nyoda started nervously.
"Plenty of time," said Migwan soothingly. "Come downstairs now and drink your coffee and eat something."
Nyoda went downstairs and drank several cups of coffee and forced herself to eat some of the scorched toast, although she was not in the least hungry.
"You'll stay here in the house until I come back, won't you, girls?" she said between sips of coffee. "Ill leave you in full charge. You'll be careful, won't you?"
"Yes, Nyoda," they all promised. "We'll be good and see that nothing happens. Don't worry."
"I'll send you my address as soon as I get there, so you can write me. Remember about lighting the gas stove in the kitchen, Hinpoha, it puffs. The bed linen is in the closet off the front room upstairs."
"Yes, Nyoda, we'll find everything, don't worry."
The long peal of an auto horn sounded outside.
"There's the car," said Sahwah. "The boys got it out of the garage and around the front of the house."
"What time is it?"
"A quarter to four. We'd better start, you have to buy your ticket first. Here, let me take the suitcase."
"Where are my gloves?"
"Here they are," said Migwan, handing them to her.
They passed quickly down the front walk and into the waiting automobile. A swift ride through the quiet streets in the first pale glimmerings of the dawn, and they were in the little station, the only ones waiting for the train.
The Captain strode over to the blackboard while Nyoda went to buy her ticket. "Train's on time," he announced, coming back to the group.
In another minute they heard the whistle in the distance, and then the long train roared in and came to a panting halt. The Captain seized Nyoda's suitcase and jumped aboard with it. Nyoda followed and stood still on the train steps to say good-bye to the Winnebagos crowding around.
"Be good, girlies," she said, smiling bravely at them.
"Oh, Nyoda, dear Nyoda! We'll think of you every minute. We'll pray for you and Sherry."
The conductor stood on the platform, watch in hand.
"If you need anything, Nyoda, telegraph and we'll send it"
The conductor dropped his right hand in signal to the engineer, and swung aboard, the wheels began to turn, the Captain leaped down from the other end of the car.
"Good-bye, Nyoda!"
A waving of handkerchiefs on the platform, an answering wave from the car window, and Nyoda was gone. No. 46 had puffed in on time, made its usual five-minute stop, and puffed out on time. But what a difference its coming and departure had made to the Winnebagos! It was all over in such quick time that they hardly had time to draw breath.
They stood on the platform and watched the train out of sight and then turned and climbed up the steps to the street, silent for the most part, with only an occasional exclamation of "What will Nyoda do if Sherry dies?"
Then another swift drive through the silent streets, scarcely any lighter than they had been before, and they were back at Carver House, which suddenly seemed empty and dreary with Nyoda gone.
They sat down to the table and ate up the rest of the toast and drank the rest of the coffee; then the boys started back to their tent in the woods, and the Winnebagos, beginning to feel weak and shaky now that the excitement of getting Nyoda ready had passed, went slowly and sadly up the stairs and crept into bed.
Thoroughly worn out with the strenuous evening and the still more strenuous night that followed it, they finally fell asleep, while the sun rose unwelcomed over Carver Hill and the stair clock chimed half past six in vain.
CHAPTER XV
IT NEVER RAINS—
Sahwah wakened with the sound of a bell ringing in her ears. The house was still asleep; the sun was pouring in brightly through the south window of the room. Sahwah wondered idly why the sun was shining in at that window; it always shone in the other window when she wakened in the morning. Then she remembered. It all seemed like a dream; the telegram, the hurried preparations for departure, the swift journey to the station with Nyoda and the return to Carver House without her. Sahwah was still piecing together the events of the night before when the shrill ring sounded through the house again. It was the front doorbell. Sahwah jumped up and threw on her bathrobe and, yawning widely, ran downstairs.
It was Agony; Agony with a face as pale as a ghost. "What's the matter?" asked Sahwah in consternation, forgetting her own great news at the sight of Agony's expression.
"It's Veronica," Agony burst out breathlessly.
"What's the matter with Veronica?" asked Sahwah in alarm.
"She's been arrested!"
Sahwah's heart thumped queerly and then seemed to stand still at this climax of her forebodings. "What for?" she asked faintly.
Agony came in and sat down on the hall seat "There's so much to tell, I think I'll begin at the beginning," she said, and Sahwah stood still with her eyes fastened on Agony's face apprehensively.
"You remember when you were all over at our house for dinner one night, and papa was home, he told us something about the big case he was working on, the Atterbury case, and he said he suspected that German agents were mixed up in it? Well, yesterday he got hold of some letters that proved it. There was one from a German Prince, Prince Karl Augustus of Hohenburg, to some man in this country, written before the war, promising to pay money to have strikes started and machinery damaged if this country went into the war. This very Atterbury was mentioned in the letter, and it made papa's case complete against him. The letter had gotten into the wrong hands and somebody turned it over to papa. It was so important that papa had to take it to Washington. That's why he came home unexpectedly last night; he planned to go this morning. He brought the letter home with him and locked it in his desk upstairs. This morning a Secret Service agent came out from Philadelphia to go along with papa and papa went to get the letter and it was gone."
"But what has Veronica----"
Agony drew another long breath and hastened on. "Why, papa says that Veronica asked to use the telephone in the study last night, and she was in there a long time alone, and soon afterward she disappeared from the party. The letter was in his desk when she went in there; nobody else went in after her. It looks as though she took it, and the Secret Service man arrested her."
"But I thought Veronica was upstairs in bed!" gasped Sahwah.
"She came over to our house about nine o'clock this morning," said Agony, "and told us about Nyoda's husband being injured and her going away in such a hurry. She was downstairs with me when papa discovered that the letter was gone, and the agent arrested her right away."
Sahwah's head was in a whirl, and she sat down weakly on the stairs. Then she raised her head and said with a flash of spirit, "Veronica never took any letter out of your father's desk! I don't believe it! Whatever would she want with such a thing as that?"
"But," continued Agony, "don't you see? This Prince Karl Augustus of Hohenburg is a friend of hers, she played for him and his wife gave her a ring! She's taken that letter away so it can't be used in the trial to prove that he was connected with the business!"
"I don't believe it!" said Sahwah flatly. Her blood rose to fighting pitch even while her heart misgave her. "Agony Wing," she raged, "do you think for a moment that Veronica would have anything to do with enemy agents? What if she did know that old prince. She didn't like him. Do you think she'd steal letters for him?"
"It does seem awfully odd," said Agony, "the fuss she always made about wanting to be an American. Papa could hardly believe it of her, either, but the Secret Service man and Mr. Prince are perfectly sure she did it."
"Mr. Prince!" exclaimed Sahwah in wrath. "What's he got to do with it?"
"Well, it seems that all along he's been suspicious of her; he didn't think she was sincere when she talked about liking America better than her own country," replied Agony. "He says he isn't surprised at all that this happened; he's been expecting something of the kind. It was he that told papa and the Secret Service man about her having known the prince."
"How did he find it out?" demanded Sahwah.
"I don't know, I never told him," declared Agony, bristling as though she thought Sahwah suspected she had told.
"I hate that artist!" Sahwah declared fiercely. "He's a meddlesome old thing!"
"Well, you can't really blame him for suspecting Veronica," said Agony, lightly, "You see, she's an alien enemy, and----"
"Agony!" cried Sahwah savagely, "do you believe Veronica's a traitor?"
"I hate to think----" began Agony.
Sahwah came close to her and faced her with blazing eyes. "Do you believe she is?"
"It's hard to believe----"
"Do you believe she's a traitor?"
Agony shrank back from her fury. "No, I don't," she said meekly. "Don't be so savage, Sahwah."
Sahwah subsided.
"Where is Veronica?" she asked.
"She's still over at our house. The Secret Service man sent me over here to bring all you girls over, he wants to talk to you."
Sahwah roused the girls from bed with her sensational piece of news and they all hastened home with Agony. Mr. Wing took them upstairs to his study and they went in, feeling queer and frightened. Veronica was sitting there, her face as white as a sheet, her great eyes dilated with fear and bewilderment. The artist lounged in the window seat, watching Veronica closely and smiling slightly to himself, and facing Veronica sat a small, keen-looking man with little, steely gray eyes that bored like gimlets.
"These are the girls with whom Miss Lehar is staying," said Mr. Wing. He introduced the little man as Special Agent Sanders.
Sahwah searched Mr. Wing's face pleadingly; he looked greatly puzzled, and very, very much disturbed. Then she looked at the gimlet-eyed man in the chair and saw his eyes rove from one to another of the girls questioningly. He began to speak without preliminary.
"When you girls reached home after this party last night was Miss Lehar there?"
"Yes," answered Migwan and Hinpoha and Gladys together. Sahwah was silent.
Immediately Agent Sanders' eye was upon her. "Was she?" he asked directly of Sahwah.
Sahwah opened her lips and closed them nervously, unable to frame an untruth, and equally unable to tell what she knew. She looked helplessly at Veronica. The room became very still. The others looked at her in astonishment. Agent Sanders bored her with his little, keen eyes. Sahwah felt herself turning red and white and her heartbeats thumped against her eardrums. She sent Veronica another miserable look. Veronica returned the look steadily, and then she spoke.
"Tell him you saw me coming in the back door after you got home," she said calmly.
"Is that true?" Agent Sanders asked of Sahwah.
Sahwah nodded. A gasp of astonishment went up from the other three Winnebagos.
"Tell all the circumstances connected with the incident," Agent Sanders directed Sahwah.
"There weren't any circumstances connected with it," replied Sahwah earnestly. "We had just come home and our friend had had bad news and was going away early in the morning and we were getting her ready and I went out in the back entry way to get something and just then Veronica came in the back door."
"You thought she had gone home with a sick headache and was in bed?"
"Yes," replied Sahwah, "but when she came in I decided she had been out for a walk." This sounded like a perfectly natural explanation to Sahwah.
"Didn't it strike you strange that she should have gone walking at that hour?"
"No, it didn't," replied Sahwah eagerly. "She often does it."
"Ah-h!" Agent Sanders merely breathed the syllable, yet it held a world of meaning. Sahwah felt vaguely apprehensive.
"So she often goes out walking at midnight, does she?" continued the agent. Sahwah felt that she had made a misstep somewhere, and was harming Veronica's cause instead of helping it, but the eyes of the agent seemed to be drawing all her knowledge from her like a magnet picking up needles.
"I meant," said Sahwah, "that she often has those sick headaches, and when she does she generally goes out walking to cure them."
"And these headaches generally occur at night?"
"Yes."
"In other words," said Agent Sanders as confidently as if he could see right inside of her head and knew everything in it, "this is not the first time Miss Lehar has gone on a mysterious errand at night—eh?"
Sahwah started, and then was furious at herself because she knew the agent had noticed it.
He bored his eyes right through her, and remarked sarcastically, "You knew this girl to be an alien, an enemy of your country; you knew she was going off on mysterious errands, and yet you didn't think there was anything strange about it!"
Then to Sahwah's relief Agent Sanders fell to making rapid notes in a memorandum book, and ceased addressing her. He turned abruptly to Veronica.
"Where did you go when you left this house last night?" he asked pointblank.
"Down the street to Carver House, through the yard, down the hill behind it, along the road to the edge of town and back," replied Veronica readily.
The agent looked thoughtful for a moment. The straightforwardness of her reply seemed to perplex him a little.
Then he asked, "Whom did you meet down there at the edge of town?"
Veronica did not answer.
"Whom did you meet?" he repeated triumphantly.
Veronica opened her lips as if to speak and then closed them again and remained silent. The room was so still that the heavy ticking of the clock sounded like hammer blows on an anvil. All eyes were on Veronica; the Winnebagos stared, open-mouthed; Sahwah's blood ran cold in her veins; Agent Sanders leaned forward, the whole force of his personality concentrated in his compelling eyes.
"I didn't meet anybody," said Veronica, returning his gaze steadfastly.
"Where did you go, then?"
Veronica was silent.
"Answer me."
"I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't." There was a ring of finality in Veronica's tone.
Agent Sanders scribbled something more in his little notebook. Then he renewed his questioning. "You took that letter to somebody, didn't you?"
"I did not," replied Veronica emphatically. "I told you before, and I repeat it, I know nothing about any letter. I never saw it, and I never heard of it until you accused me of taking it."
The agent smiled knowingly. "To whom did you telephone from this study last night?"
"To a friend of mine."
"Who?"
Veronica refused to answer that question, calmly defying the agent to make her tell. Again there was a sensation in the room. The Winnebagos were ready to drop with astonishment at the strange behavior of Veronica. Sahwah looked around at the various faces. Mr. Wing still wore his puzzled, pained expression; the artist seemed to be getting bored; he looked out of the window and his left hand was playing with his ear, pulling down the lobe and releasing it with a jerk, a gesture he was continually making when his hands were idle. It irritated Sahwah now and made her nervous; she was filled with a desire to tie his hand down so he couldn't reach his ear.
"That will do," said Agent Sanders to the Winnebagos, indicating by a gesture that they were to go out of the room. Sahwah lingered. She stood up beside Veronica and put her arm around her. "She didn't do it! She didn't do it!" she said fiercely, facing the three men fearlessly. "She's as loyal to this country as you are!"
"Possibly," said Agent Sanders drily. "Well, little lady, your faith in your friend is very beautiful to see, but until we find out that someone else took that letter we can't take much stock in it."
"I'll prove to you that she's all right," Sahwah proclaimed rashly, and then reluctantly went out of the room. Her faith in Veronica's innocence was unshaken. Veronica herself had said that she did not know anything about the letter, that was enough for Sahwah. Her friend had spoken, and she never dreamed of doubting her word.
As she went out she saw Mr. Wing rub his hand thoughtfully over his forehead and heard him say, "But hang it, Sanders, you didn't hear her play last night. She had us all roused to such a pitch of patriotism that we were ready to go to the front on the next ship." The agent said nothing, only went on making notes in his little book. The artist sprang to open the door for Sahwah, but she took the knob out from under his very hand and passed him with hostile eyes.
Soon afterward Agent Sanders and Mr. Wing went to Philadelphia and took Veronica away with them. Before they went the Winnebagos all flung themselves upon Mr. Wing and implored him not to let the agent take her away. "You know she is all right," pleaded Sahwah. "You tell him not to arrest her."
Mr. Wing threw out his hands in a helpless gesture. "You don't understand, my dear," he said patiently. "I can't tell Special Agent Sanders 'not to' do anything. I don't happen to have the authority."
"Oh-h," said the Winnebagos.
"You see," he went on gently, "Agent Sanders is only doing his duty in arresting her. It's his business to run down the enemies of our country and he is working for the good of all of us. The case against her is pretty strong, you'll have to admit. She's an alien enemy, a friend of this Prince Karl Augustus; is wearing a ring which his wife gave her. Then here comes this letter from him which will expose him as the head of a great plot. Veronica is in the house with that letter; she is known to have been alone in the room where it was; soon after that she leaves the house and says she is going home with a sick headache. When you get home you find her trying to steal unobserved into the back entry. She herself admits that she had an appointment with someone during that time. The next morning the letter is found to have disappeared. Naturally all suspicion points to her, and how could Sanders do anything else but put her under arrest? This is a serious matter, much more serious than you can guess, if that letter goes back into the hands of the prince's agents."
"But do you really think she took the letter?" asked Sahwah despairingly.
Mr. Wing shrugged his shoulders and repeated his gesture of helplessness. "It's hard to know what to expect from such a temptestuous nature as that," he said seriously. "A nature which can work up such a passionate loyalty for an adopted country—what must its feelings have been toward its own native land? Suppose when the chance unexpectedly came to aid the cause for which her country is fighting and for which her father died, the old ties were stronger than the new, and she could not resist the temptation? A nature like hers is capable of going to any extreme. Naturally I hate to suspect her of any connection with enemy agents, but as a servant of the government it is my duty to act upon anything that is in the least suspicious. Sanders is absolutely convinced that she's a dangerous spy in the employ of the enemy, for she answers the description of a young girl he has been trying to find for a long time, a girl who belongs to the Hungarian nobility who has helped German agents in this country.
"Sanders is dead sure she took that letter and passed it back to the prince's agents, and you really can't blame him for thinking so. For, hang it all, if she didn't, who under the shining sun did?"
Only Sahwah, with her faith in her friend unshaken, though circumstances pointed accusing fingers from every direction, declared stoutly, "She didn't, I know she didn't. Some day you'll find out I'm right!"
CHAPTER XVI
CLOUDY DAYS
The days dragged themselves along and a week loitered past which seemed an age to the Winnebagos. No word had come from Nyoda since a telegram she had sent upon her arrival, saying that Sherry was very low and not expected to live. They had written her about Veronica's plight, but there was no answer to that.
Neither did they hear anything about Veronica. Mr. Wing had been in Philadelphia ever since the day of Veronica's arrest, but they had not heard from him since.
The Winnebagos wore themselves out talking about Veronica. The subject of her mysterious excursions from the house was always in the air, and it formed a hurdle over which no one could jump. Where had she gone on those excursions? Why didn't she confide in them and satisfy their minds on this point?
It usually happens in such instances, where our friends fail to take us into their confidence on matters which we think we have a right to know, that our pride is hurt at the neglect and pretty soon we begin to have suspicions in regard to the mysterious action. So it was with the Winnebagos. At first they only felt hurt that Veronica should have secrets away from them, but soon they began to say to themselves that there must have been something suspicious somewhere, if she could not confide in them, her best friends.
It was Agony who voiced this sentiment the oftenest, and kept the mystery constantly stirred up. She never let them forget it for a moment. She seemed inclined to argue as her father had done, that Veronica's ties of blood and birth had been too strong for her and in an unguarded moment she had yielded to the impulse to assist the cause of her native land. The constant repetition of this belief began to influence the others. Much as they were loath to believe that Veronica would assist the enemies of their country, they were always conscious of the fact that they had never really known Veronica; that they could not understand her strange, passionate nature; that never in their acquaintance with her had they ever been able to guess what she would do next. There had always been a gulf between themselves and her which they had never been able to cross entirely, much as they had come to love her; there was always a line drawn around her over which they had never been able to pass. They loved her dearly; they admired her wildly; but they no more understood the soul that was locked up in her uncommunicative nature than they understood the riddle of the Sphinx. They all realized this, and were filled with sorrowful forebodings. The fact that she had known Prince Karl Augustus loomed larger and larger in their minds as the days wore on, and it seemed not at all improbable that she had seized the opportunity to aid him in his activities, without ever stopping to think of the consequences of her act. They were broken-hearted over it, but gradually came to believe the possibility of the charge against her.
Only Sahwah stood out stanchly for her right along, refusing to doubt her for a moment.
"I don't care if she is an alien enemy!" she declared vehemently. "She's my Veronica, and I know she never had anything to do with it, so there!"
She wouldn't listen to Agony and her wise-sounding talk, withdrew to herself a great part of the time, and for lack of other supporters spoke out her mind to the portrait of Elizabeth Carver, hanging serenely over the harp in the long parlor.
"You would have stood up for your friend, no matter what the others said, wouldn't you?" she demanded beseechingly, and it seemed to her that Elizabeth nodded her head in confirmation.
Then one day came news which filled them all with consternation. Veronica was to be interned! Mr. Wing came home and told them about it briefly. The weight of suspicion had been so strong against Veronica that nothing could stand against it; her internment had been ordered by the agents of the government. They were now awaiting the arrival of the internment papers from Washington; when these came she would be taken away.
Mr. Wing wearily waved aside the hosts of questions poured out by the dismayed Winnebagos. He had suffered great chagrin over the loss of the letter which was to have played such an important part in the coming trial; sober afterthoughts had convinced him of the possibility of Veronica's connection with enemy agents; he had come to believe it implicitly now. Of course, she had taken in these simple girls with her spectacular protestations of loyalty to this country; that was part of the game. His anxiety was all for his girls, for fear they had already compromised themselves in some way.
The Winnebagos saw him in a new mood to-day, stern, inflexible, obdurate. He curtly advised them to speedily forget their friend and to say nothing to outsiders about the occurrence. He refused to tell them where she was at present, and would not hear of their having any intercourse with her.
"The first thing you know you'll be suspected of connivance yourselves," he warned. "And I also advise you not to express too much sympathy for your friend," he continued. "It's a sure way to make yourselves unpopular these days."
Stricken, Sahwah sped home, and fleeing from the others, went into the woods by herself. That was always her place of refuge in trouble. When others would have sought human comfort and advice, Sahwah fled straight to the woods. There she could think clearly and gather together her stunned faculties.
She wandered on blindly until she came to the brook, the little laughing stream she loved so well, and sat there for hours trying to think of some plan by which she could save Veronica. For the conviction was strong within her that Veronica was innocent and it would not budge for all the suspicions in the world. She thought of one wild extravagant scheme after the other, and abandoned them all, and at last, utterly crushed and low-spirited, she took her way back to Carver House.
CHAPTER XVII
THE DRILL CONTEST
While the Winnebagos were gasping under the cold shower of upsetting events, time marched steadily onward toward the day set for the military drill contest between Oakwood and Hillsdale. In these last days the Winnebagos realized what it meant to have the honor of a town on their shoulders. Although they had little heart for drilling they must turn out every day with their company of Oakwood girls just as if nothing had happened, must be the life and brains of the company and never appear to let their enthusiasm flag. Everyone in town depended upon them to win the contest for Oakwood; everywhere they went they were greeted with pleasant smiles and complimentary remarks; they were touched and flattered by the confidence that was reposed in them—they simply had to win that contest for Oakwood. No one else knew anything about Veronica; that was kept a state secret. The Winnebagos simply told Miss Raper that she had been called out of town and would not be in the contest, and Miss Raper chose another girl to put in her place.
Migwan and Gladys and Hinpoha were sitting together getting the suits ready which they were to wear in the drill—white skirts and middies, white shoes and stockings, red, white and blue arm band—when Sahwah came in waving an envelope over her head. "Letter from Nyoda!" she called. The three dropped their sewing and fell upon her in a body.
"Open it quick!"
"Here, take the scissors."
"Oh, read it out loud, Migwan, I can't wait until it's passed around."
Migwan promptly complied while the rest listened eagerly as she read: