The Slipper Point Mystery

CHAPTER X

BEHIND THE CEDAR PLANK

They set out on the following morning. Elaborate preparations had been made for the undertaking and, so that they might have ample time undisturbed, Doris had begged her mother to allow her to picnic for the day with Sally, and not come back to the hotel for luncheon. As Mrs. Craig had come to have quite a high opinion of Sally, her judgment and knowledge of the river and vicinity, she felt no hesitation in trusting Doris to be safe with her.

Sally had provided the sandwiches and Doris was armed with fruit and candy and books to amuse Genevieve. In the bow of the boat Sally had stowed away a number of tools borrowed from her father's boathouse. Altogether, the two girls felt as excited and mysterious and adventurous as could well be imagined.

"I wish we could have left Genevieve at home," whispered Sally as they were embarking. "But there's no one to take care of her for all day, so of course it was impossible. But I'm afraid she's going to get awfully tired and restless while we're working."

"Oh, never you fear!" Doris encouraged her. "I've brought a few new picture-books and we'll manage to keep her amused somehow."

Once established in the cave, having settled Genevieve with a book, the girls set to work in earnest.

"I'm glad I thought to bring a dozen more candles," said Sally. "We were down to the end of the last one. Now shall we begin on that corner at the extreme right-hand away from the door? That's the likeliest place. I'll measure a space around it twenty-one inches square."

She measured off the space on the floor carefully with a folding ruler, while Doris stood over her watching with critical eyes. Then, having drawn the lines with a piece of chalk, Sally proceeded to begin on the sawing operation with one of her father's old and somewhat rusty saws.

It was a heartbreakingly slow operation. Turn and turn about they worked away, encouraging each other with cheering remarks. The planks of the old Anne Arundel were very thick and astonishingly tough. At the end of an hour they had but one side of the square sawed through, and Genevieve was beginning to grow fractious. Then they planned it that while one worked, the other should amuse the youngest member of the party by talking, singing, and showing pictures to her.

This worked well for a time, and a second side at last was completed. By the time they reached the third, however, Genevieve flatly refused to remain in the cave another moment, so it was agreed that one of them should take her outside while the other remained within and sawed. This proved by far the best solution yet, as Genevieve very shortly fell asleep on the warm pine needles. They covered her with a shawl they had brought, and then both went back to the undertaking, of which they were now, unconfessedly, very weary.

It was shortly after the noon hour when the saw made its way through the fourth side of the square. In a hush of breathless expectation, they lifted the piece of timber, prepared for—who could tell what wondrous secret beneath it?

The space it left was absolutely empty of the slightest suggestion of anything remarkable. It revealed the sandy soil of the embankment into which the cave was dug, and nothing else whatever. The disgusted silence that followed Doris was the first to break.

"Of course, something may be buried down here, but I doubt it awfully. I'm sure we would have seen some sign of it, if this had been the right corner. However, give me that trowel, Sally, and we'll dig down a way." She dug for almost a foot into the damp sand, and finally gave it up.

"How could any one go on digging down in the space of only twenty-one inches?" she exclaimed in despair. "If one were to dig at all, the space ought to be much larger. No, this very plainly isn't the right corner. Let's go outside and eat our lunch, and then, if we have any courage left, we can come back and begin on another corner. Personally, I feel as if I should scream, if I had to put my hand to that old saw again!"

But a hearty luncheon and a half hour of idling in the sunlight above ground after it, served to restore their courage and determination. Sally was positive that the corner diagonally opposite was the one most likely to yield results, and Doris was inclined to agree with her. Genevieve, however, flatly refused to re-enter the cave so they were forced to adopt the scheme of the morning, one remaining always outdoors with her, as they did not dare let her roam around by herself. Sally volunteered to take the first shift at the sawing, and after they had measured off the twenty-one inch square in the opposite corner she set to work, while Doris stayed outside with Genevieve.

Seated with a picture-book open on her lap, and with Genevieve cuddled close by her side, she was suddenly startled by a muffled, excited cry from within the cave. Obviously, something had happened. Springing up, she hurried inside, Genevieve trailing after her. She beheld Sally standing in the middle of the cave, candle in hand, dishevelled and excited, pointing to the side of the cave near which she had been working.

"Look, look!" she cried. "What did I tell you?" Doris looked, expecting to see something about the floor in the corner to verify their surmises. The sight that met her eyes was as different as possible from that.

A part of the wall of the cave, three feet in width and reaching from top to bottom had opened and swung inward like a door on its hinges.

"What is it?" she breathed in a tone of real awe.

"It's a door, just as it looks," explained Sally, "and we never even guessed it was there. I happened to be leaning against that part of the wall as I sawed, balancing myself against it, and sometimes pushing pretty hard. All of a sudden it gave way, and swung out like that, and I almost tumbled in. I was so astonished I hardly knew what had happened!"

"But what's behind it?" cried Doris, snatching the candle and hurrying forward to investigate. They peered together into the blackness back of the newly revealed door, the candle held high above their heads.

"Why, it's a tunnel!" exclaimed Sally. "A great, long tunnel, winding away. I can't even see how far it goes. Did you ever?"

The two girls stood looking at each other and at the opening in a maze of incredulous speculation. Suddenly Sally uttered a satisfied cry.

"I know! I know, now! We never could think where all the rest of the wood from the Anne Arundel went. It's right here!" It was evidently true. The tunnel had been lined, top and bottom and often at the sides, with the same planking that had lined the cave, and at intervals there were stout posts supporting the roof of it. Well and solidly had it been constructed in that long ago period, else it would never have remained intact so many years.

"Doris," said Sally presently, "where do you suppose this leads to?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," replied her friend, "except that it probably leads to the treasure or the secret, or whatever it is. That much I'm certain of now."

"So am I," agreed Sally, "but, here's the important thing. Are we to go in there and find it?"

Doris shrank back an instant. "Oh, I don't know!" she faltered. "I'm not sure whether I dare to—or whether Mother would allow me to—if she knew. It—it might be dangerous. Something might give way and bury us alive."

"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," announced Sally courageously. "I'll take a candle and go in a way by myself and see what it's like. You stay here with Genevieve, and I'll keep calling back to you, so you needn't worry about me." Before Doris could argue the question with her, she had lighted another candle and stepped bravely into the gloom.

Doris, at the opening, watched her progress nervously, till a turn in the tunnel hid her from sight.

"Oh, Sally, do come back!" she called. "I can't stand this suspense!"

"I'm all right!" Sally shouted back. "After that turn it goes on straight for the longest way. I can't see the end. But it's perfectly safe. The planks are as strong as iron yet. There isn't a sign of a cave-in. I'm coming back a moment." She presently reappeared.

"Look here!" she demanded, facing her companion. "Are you game to come with me? We can bring Genevieve along. It's perfectly safe. If you're not, you can stay here with her and I'll go by myself. I'm determined to see the end of this." Her resolution fired Doris. After all, it could not be so very dangerous, since the tunnel seemed in such good repair. Forgetting all else in her enthusiasm, she hastily consented.

"We must take plenty of candles and matches," declared Sally. "We wouldn't want to be left in the dark in there. It's lucky I brought a lot today. Now, Genevieve, you behave yourself and come along like a good girl, and we'll buy you some lolly-pops when we get back home!" Genevieve was plainly reluctant to add her presence to the undertaking, but, neither, on the other hand, did she wish to be left behind, so she followed disapprovingly.

Each with a candle lit, they stepped down from the floor of the cave and gingerly progressed along the narrow way. Doris determinedly turned her eyes from the slugs and snails and strange insects that could be seen on the ancient planking, and kept them fastened on Sally's back as she led the way. On and on they went, silent, awe-stricken, and wondering. Genevieve whimpered and clung to Doris's skirts, but no one paid any attention to her, so she was forced to follow on, willy-nilly.

So far did this strange, underground passage proceed that Doris half-whispered: "Is it never going to end, Sally? Ought we to venture any further?"

"I'm going to the end!" announced Sally stubbornly. "You can go back if you like." And they all went on again in silence.

At length it was evident that the end was in sight, for the way was suddenly blocked by a stone wall, apparently, directly across the passage. They all drew a long breath and approached to examine it more closely. It was unmistakably a wall of stones, cemented like the foundation of a house, and beyond it they could not proceed.

"What are we going to do now?" demanded Doris.

"The treasure must be here," said Sally, "and I've found one thing that opened when you pushed against it. Maybe this is another. Let's try. Perhaps it's behind one of these stones. Look! The plaster seems to be loose around these in the middle." She thrust the weight of her strong young arm against it, directing it at the middle stone of three large ones, but without avail. They never moved the fraction of an inch. Then she began to push all along the sides where the plaster seemed loose. At last she threw her whole weight against it—and was rewarded!

The three stones swung round, as on a pivot, revealing a space only large enough to crawl through with considerable squeezing.

"Hurrah! hurrah!" she shouted. "What did I tell you, Doris? There's something else behind here,—another cave, I guess. I'm going through. Are you going to follow?" Handing her candle to Doris, she scrambled through the narrow opening. And Doris, now determined to stick at nothing, set both candles on the ground, and pushed the struggling and resisting Genevieve in next. After that, she passed in the candles to Sally, who held them while she clambered in herself.

And, once safely within, they stood and stared about them.

"Why, Sally," suddenly breathed Doris, "this isn't a cave. It's a cellar! Don't you see all the household things lying around? Garden tools, and vegetables and—and all that? Where in the world can we be?" A great light suddenly dawned on her.

"Sally Carter, what did I tell you? This cellar is Miss Camilla's. I know it. I'm certain of it. There's no other house anywhere near Slipper Point. I told you she knew about that cave!"

Sally listened, open-mouthed. "It can't be," she faltered. "I'm sure we didn't come in that direction at all."

"You can't tell how you're going—underground," retorted Doris. "Remember, the tunnel made a turn, too. Oh, Sally! Let's go back at once, before anything is discovered, and never, never let Miss Camilla or any one know what we've discovered. It's none of our business."

Sally, now convinced, was about to assent, when Genevieve suddenly broke into a loud howl.

"Oh, stop her!" whispered Doris. "Do stop her, or Miss Camilla may hear!" Sally stifled her resisting sister by the simple process of placing her hand forcibly over her mouth,—but it was too late. A door opened at the top of a flight of steps, and Miss Camilla's astounded face appeared in the opening.

"What is it? Who is it?" she called, obviously frightened to death herself at this unprecedented intrusion. Huddled in a corner, they all shrank back for a moment, then Doris stepped boldly forward.

"It's only ourselves, Miss Camilla," she announced. "We have done a very dreadful thing, and we hadn't any right to do it. But, if you'll let us come upstairs, we'll explain it all, and beg your pardon, and promise never to speak of it or even think of it again." She led the others up the cellar steps, and into Miss Camilla's tiny, tidy kitchen. Here, still standing, she explained the whole situation to that lady, who was still too overcome with astonishment to utter a word. And she ended her explanation thus:

"So you see, we didn't have the slightest idea we were going to end at this house. But, all the same, we sort of felt that this cave was a secret of yours and that we really hadn't any right to be interfering with it. But won't you please forgive us, this time, Miss Camilla? And we'll really try to forget that it ever existed."

And then Miss Camilla suddenly found words. "My dear children," she stuttered, "I—I really don't know what you're talking about. I haven't the faintest idea what this all means. I never knew till this minute that there was anything like a cave or a tunnel connected with this house!"

And in the astounded silence that followed, the three stood gaping, open-mouthed, at each other.

CHAPTER XI

SOME BITS OF ROUNDTREE HISTORY

"But come into the sitting-room," at length commanded Miss Camilla, "and let us talk this strange thing over. You must be tired and hungry, too, after this awful adventure of coming through that dreadful tunnel. You must have some of this hot gingerbread and a glass of lemonade." And while she bustled about, on hospitable thoughts intent, they heard her muttering to herself:

"A cave—and a tunnel—and connected with this house!—What can it all mean?"

They sat in restful silence for a time, munching the delicious hot gingerbread and sipping cool lemonade. Never did a repast taste more welcome, coming as it did after the adventures and uncertainties of that eventful day. And while they ate, Miss Camilla sat wiping her glasses and putting them on and taking them off again and shaking her head over the perplexing news that had been so unexpectedly thrust upon her.

"I simply cannot understand it all," she began at last. "As I told you, I've never had the slightest idea of such a strange affair, nor can I imagine how it came there. When did you say that Anne Arundel vessel was wrecked?"

"Grandfather said in 1850," answered Sally.

"Eighteen hundred and fifty," mused Miss Camilla. "Well, I couldn't have been more than four or five years old, so of course I would scarcely remember it. Besides, I was not at home here a great deal. I used to spend most of my time with my aunt who lived in New York. She used to take me there for long visits, months on a stretch. If this cave and tunnel were made at that time, it was probably done while I was away, or else I would have known of it. My father and brother and one or two colored servants were the only ones in the house, most of the time. I had a nurse, an old Southern colored 'mammy' who always went about with me. She died about the time the Civil War broke out."

There was no light on the matter here. Miss Camilla relapsed again into puzzled silence, which the girls hesitated to intrude upon by so much as a single word, lest Miss Camilla should consider that they were prying into her past history.

"Wait a moment!" she suddenly exclaimed, sitting up very straight and wiping her glasses again in great excitement. "I believe I have the explanation." She looked about at her audience a minute, hesitantly. "I shall have to ask you girls please to keep what I am going to tell you entirely to yourselves. Few if any have ever known of it, and, though it would do no harm now, I have other reasons for not wishing it discussed publicly. Since you have discovered what you have, however, I feel it only right that you should know."

"You may rely on us, Miss Camilla," said Doris, speaking for them both, "to keep anything you may tell us a strict secret."

"Thank you," replied their hostess. "I feel sure of it. Well, I learned the fact, very early in my girlhood, that my father and also my brother, who was several years older than I, were both very strict and enthusiastic abolitionists. While slavery was still a national institution in this country, they were firm advocates of the freedom of the colored people. And, so earnest were they in the cause, that they became members of the great 'Underground Railway' system."

"What was that?" interrupted both girls at a breath.

"Did you never hear of it?" exclaimed Miss Camilla in surprise. "Why, it was a great secret system of assisting runaway slaves from the Southern States to escape from their bondage and get to Canada where they could no longer be considered any one's property. There were many people in all the Northern States, who, believing in freedom for the slaves, joined this secret league, and in their houses runaways would be sheltered, hidden and quietly passed on to the next house of refuge, or 'station,' as they were called, till at length the fugitives had passed the boundary of the country. It was, however, a severe legal offense to be caught assisting these fugitives, and the penalty was heavy fines and often imprisonment. But that did not daunt those whose hearts were in the cause. And so very secret was the whole organization that few were ever detected in it.

"It was in a rather singular way that I discovered my father to be concerned in this matter. I happened to be at home here, and came downstairs one morning, rather earlier than usual, to find our kitchen filled with a number of strange colored folk, in various stages of rags and hunger and evident excitement. I was a girl of ten or eleven at the time. Rushing to my father's study, I demanded an explanation of the strange spectacle. He took me aside and explained the situation to me, acknowledging that he was concerned in the 'Underground Railway' and warning me to maintain the utmost secrecy in the matter or it would imperil his safety.

"When I returned to the kitchen, to my astonishment, the whole crowd had mysteriously disappeared, though I had not been gone fifteen minutes. And I could not learn from any one a satisfactory explanation of their lightning disappearance. I should certainly have seen them, had they gone away above ground. I believe now that the cave and tunnel must have been the means of secreting them, and I haven't a doubt that my father and brother had had it constructed for that very purpose. A runaway, or even a number of them, could evidently be kept in the cave several days and then spirited away at night, probably by way of the river and some vessel out at sea that could take them straight to New York or even to Canada itself. Yes, it is all as clear as daylight to me now."

"But how do you suppose they were able to build the cave and tunnel and bring all the wood from the wreck on the beach without being discovered?" questioned Sally.

"That probably was not so difficult then as it would seem now," answered Miss Camilla. "To begin with, there were not so many people living about here then, and so there was less danger of being discovered. If my father and brother could manage to get men enough to help and a number of teams of oxen or horses such as he had, they could have brought the wreckage from the beach here, over what must then have been a very lonely and deserted road, without much danger of discovery. If it happened that at the time they were sheltering a number of escaped slaves, it would have been no difficult matter to press them into assisting on dark nights when they could be so well concealed. Yes, I think that was undoubtedly the situation."

They all sat quietly for a moment, thinking it over. Miss Camilla's solution of the cave and tunnel mystery was clear beyond all doubting, and it seemed as if there was nothing further for them to wonder about. Suddenly, however, Sally leaned forward eagerly.

"But did we tell you about the strange piece of paper we found under the old mattress, Miss Camilla? I've really forgotten what we did say."

Miss Camilla looked perplexed. "Why, no. I don't remember your mentioning it. Everything was so confused, at first, that I've forgotten it if you did. What about a piece of paper?"

"Here is a copy of what was on it," said Sally. "We never take the real piece away from where we first found it, but we made this copy. Perhaps you can tell what it all means." She handed the paper to Miss Camilla, who stared at it for several moments in blank bewilderment. Then she shook her head.

"I can't make anything of it at all," she acknowledged. "It must have been something left there by one of the fugitives. I don't believe it concerns me at all." She handed the paper back, but as she did so, a sudden idea occurred to Doris.

"Mightn't it have been some secret directions to the slaves left there for them by your father or brother?" she suggested. "Maybe it was to tell them where to go next, or something like that."

"I think it very unlikely," said Miss Camilla.

"Most of them could neither read nor write, and they would hardly have understood an explanation so complex. No, it must be something else. I wonder—" She stopped short and stood thinking intently a moment while her visitors watched her anxiously. A pained and troubled expression had crept into her usually peaceful face, and she seemed to be reviewing memories that caused her sorrow.

"Can you get the original paper for me?" she suddenly exclaimed in great excitement. "Now—at once? I have just thought of something."

"I'll get it!" cried Sally, and she was out of the house in an instant, flying swift-footed over the ground that separated them from the entrance of the cave by the river. While she was gone Miss Camilla sat silent, inwardly reviewing her painful memories.

In ten minutes Sally was back, breathless, with the precious, rusty tin box clasped in her hand. Opening it, she gave the contents to Miss Camilla, who stared at it for three long minutes in silence.

When she looked up her eyes were tragic. But she only said very quietly:

"It is my brother's writing!"

CHAPTER XII

LIGHT DAWNS ON MISS CAMILLA

"What do you make of it all, Sally?"

The two girls were sitting in the pine grove on the heights of Slipper Point. They sat each with her back against a tree and with the enchanting view of the upper river spread out panoramically before them. Each of them was knitting,—an accomplishment they had both recently acquired.

"I can't make anything of it at all, and I've thought of it day and night ever since," was Sally's reply. "It's three weeks now since the day we came through that tunnel and discovered where it ended. And except what Miss Camilla told us that day, she's never mentioned a thing about it since."

"It's strange, how she stopped short, just after she'd said the writing was her brother's," mused Doris. "And then asked us in the next breath not to question her about it any more, and to forgive her silence in the matter because it probably concerned something that was painful to her."

"Yes, and kept the paper we found in the cave," went on Sally. "I believe she wanted to study it out and see what she could make of it. If she's sure it was written by her brother, she will probably be able to puzzle it out better than we would. One thing, I guess, is certain, though. It isn't any secret directions where to find treasure. All our little hopes about that turned out very differently, didn't they?"

"Sally, are you glad or sorry we've discovered what we did about that cave?" demanded Doris suddenly.

"Oh, glad, of course," was Sally's reply. "At first, I was awfully disgusted to think all my plans and hopes about it and finding buried treasure and all that had come to nothing. But, do you know what has made me feel differently about it?" She looked up quickly at Doris.

"No, what?" asked her companion curiously.

"It's Miss Camilla herself," answered Sally. "I used to think you were rather silly to be so crazy about her and admire her so much. I'd never thought anything about her and I'd known her most all my life. But since she asked us that day to come and see her as often as we liked and stop at her house whenever we were up this way, and consider her as our friend, I've somehow come to feel differently. I'm glad we took her at her word and did it. I don't think I would have, if it hadn't been for you. But you've insisted on our stopping at her house so frequently, and we've become so well acquainted with her that I really think I—I almost—love her."

It pleased Doris beyond words to hear Sally make this admission. She wanted Sally to appreciate all that was fine and admirable and lovely in Miss Camilla, even if she were poor and lonely and deaf. She felt that the friendship would be good for Sally, and she knew that she herself was profiting by the increased acquaintance with this friend they had so strangely made.

"Wasn't it nice of her to teach us to knit?" went on Sally. "She said we all ought to be doing it now to help out our soldiers, since the country is at war."

"She's taught me lots beside that," said Doris. "I just love to hear her talk about old potteries and porcelains and that sort of thing. I do believe she knows more about them than even grandfather does. She's making me crazy to begin a collection myself some day when I'm old enough. She must have had a fine collection once. I do wonder what became of it."

"Well, I don't understand much about all that talk," admitted Sally. "I never saw any porcelains worth while in all my life, except that little thing she has on her mantel. And I don't see anything to get so crazy about in that. It's kind of pretty, of course, but why get excited about it? What puzzles me more is why she never has said what became of all her other things."

"That's a part of the mystery," said Doris. "And her brother's mixed up in it somehow, and perhaps her father. That much I'm sure of. She talks freely enough about everything else except those things, so that must be it. Do you know what I'm almost tempted to think? That her brother did commit some crime, and her father hid him away in the cave to escape from justice, but she couldn't have known about it, that's plain. Because she did not know about the cave and tunnel at all till just lately. Perhaps she wondered what became of him. And maybe they sold all her lovely porcelains to make up for what he'd done somehow."

"Yes," cried Sally in sudden excitement. "And another idea has just come to me. Maybe that queer paper was a note her brother left for her and she can't make out how to read it. Did you ever think of that?"

"Why, no!" exclaimed Doris, struck with the new idea. "I never thought of it as anything he might have left for her. Do you remember, she said once they were awfully fond of each other, more even than most brothers and sisters? It would be perfectly natural if he did want to leave her a note, if he had to go away and perhaps never come back. And of course he wouldn't want any one else to understand what it said. Oh, wait!—I have an idea we've never thought of before. Why on earth have we been so stupid!—"

She sprang up and began to walk about excitedly, while Sally watched her, consumed with curiosity. At length she could bear the suspense no longer.

"Well, for pity's sake tell me what you've thought of!" she demanded. "I'll go wild if you keep it to yourself much longer."

"Where's that copy?" was all Doris would reply. "I want to study it a moment." Sally drew it from her pocket and handed it to her, and Doris spent another five minutes regarding it absorbedly.

"It is. It surely is!" she muttered, half to herself. "But how are we ever going to think out how to work it?" At last she turned to the impatient Sally.

"I'm a fool not to have thought of this before, Sally. I read a book once,—I can't think what it was now, but it was some detective story,—where there was something just a little like this. Not that it looked like this, but the idea was the same. If it is what I think, it isn't the note itself at all. The note, if there is one, must be somewhere else. This is only a secret code, or arrangement of the letters, so that one can read the note by it. Probably the real note is written in such a way that it could never be understood at all without this. Do you understand?"

Sally had indeed grasped the idea and was wildly excited by it.

"Oh, Doris," she cried admiringly. "You certainly are a wonder to have thought all this out! It's ten times as interesting as what we first thought it was. But how do you work this code? I can't make anything out of it at all."

"Well, neither can I, I'll have to admit. But here's what I think. If we could see what that note itself looks like, we could perhaps manage to puzzle out just how this code works."

"But how are we going to do that?" demanded Doris. "Only Miss Camilla has the note, if there is a note, and certainly we couldn't very well ask her to let us see it, especially after what she said to us that day."

"No, we couldn't, I suppose," said Doris, thoughtfully. "And yet—" she hesitated. "I somehow feel perfectly certain that Miss Camilla doesn't know the meaning of all this yet, hasn't even guessed what we have, about this paper. She doesn't act so. Maybe she doesn't even know there is a note,—you can't tell. If she hasn't guessed, it would be a mercy to tell her, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose so," admitted Sally dubiously. "But I wouldn't know how to go about it. Would you?"

"I could only try and do my best, and beg her to forgive me if I were intruding," said Doris. "Yes, I believe she ought to be told. You can't tell how she may be worrying about all this. She acts awfully worried, seems to me. Not at all like she did when we first knew her. I believe we ought to tell her right now. Call Genevieve and we'll go over."

Sally called to Genevieve, who was playing in the boat on the beach below, and that young lady soon came scrambling up the bank. Hand in hand, all three started to the home of Miss Camilla and when they had reached it, found her sitting on her tiny porch knitting in apparently placid content. But, true to Doris's observation, there were anxious lines in her face that had not been seen a month ago. She greeted them, however, with real pleasure, and with her usual hospitality proffered refreshments, this time in the shape of some early peaches she had gathered only that morning.

But Doris who, with Sally's consent, had constituted herself spokesman, before accepting the refreshment, began:

"Miss Camilla, I wonder if you'll forgive us for speaking of something to you? It may seem as if we were intruding, but we really don't intend to."

"Why, speak right on," exclaimed that lady in surprise. "You are too well-bred to be intrusive, that I know. If you feel you must speak of something to me, I know it is because you think it wise or necessary."

Much relieved by this assurance, Doris went on, explaining how she had suddenly had a new idea concerning the mysterious paper and detailing what she thought it might be. As she proceeded, a new light of comprehension seemed to creep into the face of Miss Camilla, who had been listening intently.

"So we think it must be a code,—a secret code,—Miss Camilla. And if you happen to have any queer sort of note or communication that you've never been able to make out, why this may explain it," she added.

When she had finished, Miss Camilla sat perfectly still—thinking. She thought so long and so intently that it seemed as if she must have forgotten completely the presence of the three on the porch with her. And after what seemed an interminable period, she did a strange thing. Instead of replying with so much as a word, she got up and went into the house, leaving them open-mouthed and wondering.

"Do you suppose she's angry with us?" whispered Sally. "Do you think we ought to stay?"

"No, I don't think she's angry," replied Doris in a low voice. "I think she's so—so absorbed that she hardly realizes what she's doing or that we are here. We'd better stay."

They stayed. But so long was Miss Camilla gone that even Doris began to doubt the wisdom of remaining any longer.

But presently she came back. Her recently neat dress was grimy and dishevelled. There was a streak of dust across her face and a cobweb lay on her hair. Doris guessed at once that she had been in the old, unused portion of her house. But in her hand she carried something, and resuming her seat, she laid it carefully on her knee. It was a little book about four inches wide and six or seven long, with an old-fashioned brown cover, and it was coated with what seemed to be the dust of years. The two girls gazed at it curiously, and when Miss Camilla had got her breath, she explained:

"I can never thank you enough for what you have told me today. It throws light on something that has never been clear to me,—something that I have even forgotten for long years. If what you surmise is true, then a mystery that has surrounded my life for more than fifty years will be at last explained. It is strange that the idea did not occur to me when first you girls discovered the cave and the tunnel, but even then it remained unconnected in my mind with—this." She pointed to the little book in her lap. Then she went on:

"But, now, under the circumstances, I feel that I must explain it all to you, relying still on your discretion and secrecy. For I have come to know that you are both unusually trustworthy young folks. There has been a dark shadow over my life,—a darker shadow than you can perhaps imagine. I told you before of my father's opinions and leanings during the years preceding the Civil War. When that terrible conflict broke out, he insisted that I go away to Europe with my aunt and stay there as long as it lasted, providing me with ample funds to do so. I think that he did not believe at first that the struggle would be so long.

"I went with considerable reluctance, but I was accustomed to obeying his wishes implicitly. I was gone two years, and in all that time I received the most loving and affectionate letters constantly, both from him and also my brother. They assured me that everything was well with them. My brother had enlisted at once in the Union Army and had fought through a number of campaigns. My father remained here, but was doing his utmost, so he said, in a private capacity, to further the interests of the country. Altogether, their reports were glowing. And though I was often worried as to the outcome, and apprehensive for my brother's safety, I spent the two years abroad very happily.

"Then, in May of 1863, my first calamity happened. My aunt died very suddenly and unexpectedly, while we were in Switzerland, and, as we had been alone, it was my sad duty to bring her back to New York. After her funeral, I hurried home here, wondering very much that my father had not come on to be with me, for I had sent him word immediately upon my arrival. My brother, I suspected, was away with the army.

"I was completely astounded and dismayed, on arriving home, at the condition of affairs I found here. To begin with, there were no servants about. Where they had gone, or why they had been dismissed, I could not discover. My father was alone in his study when I arrived, which was rather late in the evening. He was reserved and rather taciturn in his greeting to me, and did not act very much pleased to welcome me back. This grieved me greatly, after my long absence. But I could see that he was worried and preoccupied and in trouble of some kind. I thought that perhaps he had had bad news about my brother Roland, but he assured me that Roland was all right.

"Then I asked him why the house was in such disorder and where the servants were, but he only begged me not to make inquiries about that matter at present, but to go to my room and make myself as comfortable as I could, and he would explain it all later. I did as he asked me and went to my room. I had been there about an hour, busying myself with unpacking my bag, when there was a hurried knock at my door. I went to open it, and gave a cry of joy, for there stood my brother Roland.

"Instead of greeting me, however, he seized my hand and cried: 'Father is very ill. He has had some sort of a stroke. Hurry downstairs to him at once. I must leave immediately. I can't even wait to see how he is. It is imperative!'

"'But, Roland,' I cried, 'surely you won't go leaving Father like this!' But he only answered, 'I must. I must! It's my duty!' He seized me in his arms and kissed me, and was gone without another word. But before he went, I had seen—a dreadful thing! He was enveloped from head to foot in a long, dark military cape of some kind, reaching almost to his feet. But as he embraced me under the light of the hall lamp, the cloak was thrown aside for an instant and I had that terrible glimpse. Under the concealing cloak my brother was wearing a uniform of Confederate gray.

"I almost fainted at the sight, but he was gone before I could utter a word, without probably even knowing that I had seen. This, then, was the explanation of the mysterious way they had treated me. They had gone over to the enemy. They were traitors to their country and their faith, and they did not want me to know. For this they had even sent me away out of the country!...

"But I had no time to think about that then. I hurried to my father and found him on the couch in his study, inert in the grip of a paralytic stroke that had deprived him of the use of his limbs and also of coherent speech. I spent the rest of the night trying to make him easier, but the task was difficult. I had no one to send for a doctor and could not leave him to go myself, and of course the nearest doctor was several miles away. There was not even a neighbor who could be called upon for assistance.

"All that night, however, my father tried to tell me something. His speech was almost absolutely incoherent, but several times I caught the sound of words like 'notebook' and explain.' But I could make nothing of it. In the early morning another stroke took him, and he passed away very quietly in my arms.

"I can scarcely bear, even now, to recall the days that followed. After the funeral, I retired very much into myself and saw almost no one. I felt cut off and abandoned by all humanity. I did not know where my brother was, could not even communicate with him about the death of our father. Had he been in the Union Army I would have inquired. But the glimpse I had had that night of his rebel uniform was sufficient to seal my lips forever. There was no one in the village whom I knew well enough to discuss any such matters with, nor any remaining relative with whom I was in sympathy. I could only wait for my brother's return to solve the mystery.

"But my brother never returned. In all these years I have neither seen him nor heard of him, and I know beyond doubt that he is long since dead. And I have remained here by myself like a hermit, because I feel that the shame of it all has hung about me and enveloped me, and I cannot get away from it. Once, a number of years ago, an old village gossip here, now long since gone, said to me, 'There was something queer about your father and brother, now wasn't there, Miss Camilla? I've heard tell as how they were "Rebs" on the quiet, during the big war awhile back. Is that so?' Of course, the chance remark only served to confirm the suspicions in my mind, though I denied it firmly to her when she said it.

"I also found to my amazement, when I went over the house after all was over, that many things I had loved and valued had strangely disappeared. All the family silver, of which we had had a valuable set inherited from Revolutionary forefathers, was gone. Some antique jewelry that I had picked up abroad and prized highly was also missing. But chief of all, my whole collection of precious porcelains and pottery was nowhere to be found. I searched in every conceivable nook and cranny in vain. And at last the disagreeable truth was forced on me that my father and brother had sold or disposed of them, for what ends I could not guess. But it only added to my bitterness to think they could do such a despicable thing without so much as consulting me.

"But now, at last, I come to the notebook. I found it among some papers in my father's study desk, a while after his death, and I frankly confess I could make nothing of it whatever. It seemed to be filled with figures, added and subtracted, and, as my father had always been rather fond of dabbling with figures and mathematics, I put it down as being some quiet calculations of his own that had no bearing on anything concerning me. I laid it carefully away with his other papers, however, and there it has been, in an old trunk in the attic of the unused part all these years. When you spoke of a 'secret code,' however, it suddenly occurred to me that the notebook might be concerned in the matter. Here it is."

She held it out to them and they crowded about her eagerly. But as she laid it open and they examined its pages, a disappointed look crept into Sally's eyes.