The Slipper Point Mystery

"I have it! At least, I think I'm on the right track. Just examine this code a moment, Miss Camilla. If you notice, leaving out the line of figures at the top and right of the whole square, the rest is just the letters of the alphabet and the figures one to nine and another '0' that probably stands for 'naught.' There are six squares across and six squares down, and those numbers on the outside are just one to six, only all mixed up. Don't you see how it could be worked? Suppose one wanted to write the letter 't.' It could be indicated by the number '5' (meaning the square it comes under according to the top line of figures) and '1' (the number according to the side line). Then '51' would stand for letter 'T,' wouldn't it?"

"Great!" interrupted Sally, enthusiastically, who had seen the method even quicker than Miss Camilla. "But suppose it worked the other way, reading the side line first? Then 'T' would be '15.'"

"Of course, that's true," admitted Doris. "I suppose there must have been some understanding between those who invented this code about which line to read first. The only way we can discover it is to puzzle it out both ways, and see which makes sense. One will and the other won't."

It all seemed as simple as rolling off a log, now that Doris had discovered the explanation. Even Miss Camilla was impressed with the value of the discovery.

"But what is the meaning of these plus and minus signs?" she queried. "I suppose they stand for something."

"I think that's easy," answered Doris. "In looking over it, I see there are a great many more plus than minus signs. Now, I think the plus signs must be intended to divide the numbers in groups of two, so that each group stands for a letter. Otherwise they'd be all hopelessly mixed up. And the minus signs divide the words. And every once in a while, if you notice, there's a multiplication sign. I imagine those as the periods at the end of sentences."

They all sat silent a moment after this, marveling at the simplicity of it. But at length Doris suggested:

"Suppose we try to puzzle out a little of it and see if we are really on the right track? Have you a piece of paper and a pencil, Miss Camilla?" Miss Camilla went indoors and brought them out, quivering with the excitement of the new discovery.

"Now, let's see," began Doris. "Suppose we try reading the top line first. '56' would be '1' and '14' would be '2.' Now '12' may mean a word or it may not. It hardly seems as if a note would begin with that. Let's try it the other way. Side line first. Then '56' is 'm,' and '14' is 'y.' 'My' is a word, anyway, so perhaps we're on the right track. Let's go on."

From the next series of letters she spelled the word "beloved" and after that "sister." It was plain beyond all doubting that at last they had stumbled on a wonderful discovery.

But she got no further than the words, "my beloved sister," for, no sooner had Miss Camilla taken in their meaning than she huddled back in her chair and, very quietly, fainted away.

CHAPTER XIII

WORD FROM THE PAST

None of the three had ever seen any one unconscious before. Sally stood back, aghast and helpless. Genevieve expressed herself as she usually did in emergencies, with a loud and resounding howl. But Doris rushed into the house, fetched a dipper of cold water and dashed it into Miss Camilla's face. Then she began to rub her hands and ordered Sally to fan her as hard as she could. The simple expedients worked in a short time, and Miss Camilla came to herself.

"I—I never did such a foolish thing before!" she gasped, when she realized what had happened. "But this is all so—so amazing and startling! It almost seemed like my brother's own voice, speaking to me from the past." Again she sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, but this time only to regain her poise. And then Doris did a very tactful thing.

"Miss Camilla," she began, "we've discovered how to read the notebook, and I'm sure you won't have any trouble with it. I think we had better be getting home now, for it is nearly five o'clock. So we'll say good-bye for today, and hope you won't feel faint any more."

Miss Camilla gave her a grateful glance. Greatly as she wished to be alone with this message left her by a brother whose fate she did not dare to guess, yet she was too courteous to dismiss these two girls who had done so much toward helping her solve the problem. And she was more appreciative of Doris's thoughtful suggestion of departure than she could have put into words.

"Thank you, dear," she replied, "and come again tomorrow, all of you. Perhaps I shall have—something to tell you then!"

And with many a backward glance and much waving of hands, they took their departure across the fields.

It was with the wildest impatience that they waited for the following afternoon to obey Miss Camilla's behest and "come again." But promptly at two o'clock they were trailing through the pine woods and the meadow that separated it from the Roundtree farmhouse.

"Do you know," whispered Sally, "crazy as I am to hear all about it, I almost dread it, too. I'm so afraid it may have been bad news for her."

"I feel just the same," confided Doris, "and yet I'm bursting with impatience, too. Well, let's go on and hear the worst. If it's very bad, she probably won't want to say much about it."

But their first sight of Miss Camilla convinced them that the news was not, at least, "very bad." She sat on the porch as usual, knitting serenely, but there was a new light in her face, a sweet, satisfied tranquillity that had never been there before.

"I'm glad you've come!" she greeted them. "I have much to tell you."

"Was it—was it all right?" faltered Doris.

"It was more than 'all right,'" she replied. "It was wonderful. But I am going to read the whole thing to you. I spent nearly all last night deciphering the letter,—for a letter it was,—and I think it is only right you should hear it, after what you have done for me." She went inside the house and brought out several large sheets of paper on which she had transcribed the meaning of the mysterious message.

"Listen," she said. "It is as wonderful as a fairy-tale. And how I have misjudged him!"

"'My beloved sister,'" she read, "'in the event of any disaster befalling us, I want you to know the danger and the difficulties of what we have undertaken. It is only right that you should, and I know of no other way to communicate it to you, than by the roundabout means of this military cipher which I am using. You are away in Europe now, and safe, and Father intentionally keeps you there because of the very dangerous enterprise in which we are involved. Lest any untoward thing should befall before your return, we leave this as an explanation.

"'Contrary to any appearances, or anything you may hear said in the future, I am a loyal and devoted soldier of the Union. But I am serving it in the most dangerous capacity imaginable,—as a scout or spy in the Confederate Army, wearing its uniform, serving in its ranks, but in reality spying on every move and action and communicating all its secrets that I am capable of obtaining to the Government and our own commanders. I stand in hourly danger of being discovered—and for that there is but one end. You know what it is. Of course, I am not serving under my own name, so that if you never hear word of my fate, you may know it is the only one possible for those who are serving as I serve.

"'Father is also carrying on the work, but in a slightly different capacity. There are a set of Confederate workers up here secretly engaged in raising funds and planning new campaigns for the South. Father has identified himself with them, and they hold many meetings at our house to discuss plans and information. Apparently he is hand in glove with them, but in reality is all the while disclosing their plans to the Government. They could doubtless kill him without scruple, if they suspected it, and get away to the safety of their own lines unscathed, before anything was discovered. So you see, he also stands hourly on the brink of death.

"'For two years we have carried on this work unharmed, but I suppose it cannot go on forever. Some day my disguise will be penetrated, and all will be over with me. Some day Father will meet with some violent end when he is alone and unprotected, and no one will be found to answer for the deed. But it will all be for the glory of the Union we delight to serve. Now do you understand the situation?

"'I do not get home here often, and never except for the purpose of conveying some message that will best be sent to headquarters through this channel. My field of service is with the armies south of the Potomac. But while I am here now, Father and I have consulted as to the best way of communicating this news to you and have decided on this means. We cannot tell how soon our end may come. Father tells me there are rumors about here that we are serving the Confederate side. Should you return unexpectedly and find us gone, and perhaps hear those rumors, you would certainly be justified in putting the worst construction on our actions.

"'So we have decided to write and leave you this message. It will be left carelessly among Father's papers, and without the cipher will, of course, be unreadable by any one. But we have not yet decided in what place to conceal the cipher where there is no danger of its being discovered. That is a military secret and, if it were disclosed, would be fatal and far-reaching in its consequences.'"

Miss Camilla stopped there, and her spellbound listeners drew a long breath.

"Isn't it wonderful!" breathed Doris. "And they were loyal and devoted to the Union all the time. How happy you must be, Miss Camilla."

"I am happy,—beyond words!" she replied. "But that is not quite all of it. So far, it was evidently written at one sitting, calmly and coherently. There is a little more, but it is hasty and confused, and somewhat puzzling. It must have been added at another time, and I suspect now, probably just at the time of my return. There is a blank half-page, and then it goes on:

"'In a great hurry. Most vital and urgent business has brought me back to see Father. Just learned you were here. There is grave, terrible danger. The rebels are invading. I am with them, of course. Not far away. Must return tonight, at once, to lines, if I ever get there alive. Have a task before me that will undoubtedly see the end of me. In this rig and in this place am open to danger from friend and foe alike. But there is no time to change. Hope for best. Forgive haste but there is not a moment to lose. Father seems ill and unlike himself. He saw two or three Confederate spies at the house today. Always suspect something is wrong after such a meeting. Don't be surprised at state of the house. Unavoidable but all right. Father will explain where I have hidden this cipher code. Always your loving brother,

"'Roland.'

"And there is one more strange line," ended Miss Camilla. "It is this:

"'In case you should forget, or Father doesn't tell you, right hand side from house, behind 27."

"That is all!" She folded up the paper and sat looking away over the meadow, as did the others, in the awed silence that followed naturally the receipt of this message of one whose fate could be only too well guessed.

"And he never came back?" half-whispered Doris, at last.

"No, he never came back," answered Miss Camilla softly. "I haven't a doubt but that he met the fate he so surely predicted. I have been thinking back and reading back over the events of that period, and I can pretty well reconstruct what must have happened. It was in the month of June of 1863, when Lee suddenly invaded Pennsylvania. From that time until his defeat at Gettysburg, there was the greatest panic all through this region, and every one was certain that it spelt ruin for the entire North, especially Pennsylvania and New Jersey. I suppose my brother was with his army and had made his way over home here to get or communicate news. How he came or went, I cannot imagine, and never shall know. But I can easily see how his fate would be certain were he seen by any of the Federal authorities in a Confederate uniform. Probably no explanation would save him, with many of them. For that was the risk run by every scout, to be the prey of friend and foe alike, unless he could get hold of the highest authority in time. He doubtless lies in an unknown grave, either in this state or in Pennsylvania."

"But—your father?" hesitated Sally. "Do you—do you think anything queer—happened to him?"

"That I shall never know either," answered Miss Camilla. "His symptoms looked to me like apoplexy, at the time. Now that I think it over, they might possibly have been caused by some slow and subtle poison having a gradually paralyzing effect. You see, my brother says he had seen some of the Confederate spies that day. Perhaps they had begun to suspect him, and had taken this means to get him out of the way. I cannot tell. As I could not get a doctor at the time, the village doctor, who had known us all our lives, took my word for it next day that it was apoplexy. But, whatever it may have been, I know that they both died in the service of the country they loved, and that is enough for me. It has removed the burden of many years of grief and shame from my shoulders. I can once more lift up my head among my fellow-countrymen!"

And Miss Camilla did actually radiate happiness with her whole attractive personality.

"But I cannot make any meaning out of that queer last line," mused Sally after a time. "Will you read it to us again, Miss Camilla, please?"

And Miss Camilla repeated the odd message,—"'In case you should forget, or Father does not tell you, right hand side from house, behind twenty-seven.'"

"Now what in the world can that all mean?" she demanded. "At first I thought perhaps it might mean where they had hidden the code, but that couldn't be because we found that under the old mattress in the cave. Your brother probably went out that way that night and left it there on the way."

"Wait a minute," suddenly interrupted Doris. "Do you remember just before the end he says, 'do not be surprised at the state of the house. Unavoidable but all right.' Now what could he mean by that? Do you know what I think? I believe he was apologizing because things seemed so upset and—and many of the valuable things were missing, as Miss Camilla said. If there was such excitement about, and fear of Lee's invasion, why isn't it possible that they hid those valuable things somewhere, so they would be safe, whatever happened, and this was to tell her, without speaking too plainly, that it was all right? The brother thought his father would explain, but in case he didn't, or it was forgotten, he gave the clue where to find them."

Miss Camilla sat forward in renewed excitement, her eye-glasses brushed awry. "Why, of course! Of course! I've never thought of it. Not once since I read this letter. The other was so much more important. But naturally that is what they must have done,—hidden them to keep them safe. They never, never would have disposed of them in any other way or for any other reason. But where in the world can that place be? 'Right hand side from the house behind 27' means nothing at all—to me!"

"Well, it does to me!" suddenly exclaimed Sally, the natural-born treasure-hunter of them all. "Where else could they hide anything so safely as in that cave or tunnel? Nobody would ever suspect in the world. And I somehow don't think it meant the cave. I believe it means somewhere in the tunnel, on the right hand side as you enter from the cellar."

"But what about 27?" demanded Miss Camilla. "That doesn't seem to mean anything, does it?"

"No, of course it doesn't mean anything to you, because you haven't been through the tunnel, and wouldn't know. But every once in a while, along the sides, are planks from that old vessel, put there to keep the sides more firm, I guess. There must be seventy-five or a hundred on each side. Now I believe it means that if we look behind the twenty-seventh one from the cellar entrance, on the right hand side, we'll find the—the things hidden there."

Then Miss Camilla rose, the light of younger days shining adventurously in her eyes.

"If that's the case, we'll go and dig them out tomorrow!" she announced gaily.

CHAPTER XIV

THE REAL BURIED TREASURE

It had been a very dull day indeed for Genevieve. Had she been able to communicate her feelings adequately, she would have said she was heartily sick and tired of the program she had been obliged to follow. As she sat solitary on the porch of Miss Camilla's tiny abode, thumb in mouth and tugging at the lock of hair with her other hand, she thought it all over resentfully.

Why should she be commanded to sit here all by herself, in a spot that offered no attractions whatever, told, nay, commanded not to move from the location, when she was bored beyond expression by the entire proceeding? True, they had left her eatables in generous quantities, but she had already disposed of these, and as for the picture-books of many attractive descriptions, given her to while away the weary hours, they were an old story now, and the afternoon was growing late. She longed to go down to the shore and play in the rowboat, and dabble her bare toes in the water, and indulge in the eternally fascinating experiment of catching crabs with a piece of meat tied to a string and her father's old crab-net. What was the use of living when one was doomed to drag out a wonderful afternoon on a tiny, hopelessly uninteresting porch out in the backwoods? Existence was nothing but a burden.

True, the morning had not been without its pleasant moments. They had rowed up the river to their usual landing-place, a trip she always enjoyed, though it had been somewhat marred by the fear that she might be again compelled to burrow into the earth like a mole, forsaking the glory of sunshine and sparkling water for the dismal dampness of that unspeakable hole in the ground. But, to her immense relief, this sacrifice was not required of her. Instead, they had made at once through the woods and across the fields to Miss Camilla's, albeit burdened with many strange and, to her mind, useless tools and other impedimenta.

Miss Camilla's house offered attractions not a few, chiefly in the way of unlimited cookies and other eatables. But her enjoyment of the cookies was tempered by the fact that the whole party suddenly took it into their heads to proceed to the cellar and, what was even worse, to attempt again the loathsome undertaking of scrambling through the narrow place in the wall and the journey beyond. She herself accompanied them as far as the cellar, but further than that she refused to budge. So they left her in the cellar with a candle and a seat conveniently near a barrel of apples.

It amazed her, moreover, that a person of Miss Camilla's years and sense should engage in this foolish escapade. She had learned to expect nothing better of Sally and "Dowis," but that Miss Camilla herself should descend enthusiastically to so senseless a performance, caused her somewhat of a shock. She had not expected it of Miss Camilla.

It transpired, however, that they did not proceed far into the tunnel. She could hear them talking and exclaiming excitedly, and discussing whether "this was really twenty-seven," and "hadn't we better count again," and "shall we saw it out," and other equally pointless remarks of a similar nature. Wearying of listening to such idle chatter, and replete with cookies and russet apples, she had finally put her head down on the edge of the barrel and had fallen fast asleep.

When she had awakened, it was to find them all back in the cellar, and Miss Camilla making the pleasant announcement that "they would have luncheon now and get to work in earnest afterward." A soul-satisfying interval followed, the only really bright spot in the day for Genevieve. But gloom had settled down upon her once more when they had risen from the table. Solemnly they had taken her on their laps (at least Miss Camilla had!) and ominously Sally had warned her:

"Now, Genevieve, we've got something awfully important to do this afternoon. You don't like to go down in that dark place, so we've decided not to take you with us. You'd rather stay up here in the sunshine, wouldn't you?" And she had nodded vigorously an unqualified assent to that proposition. "Well, then," Sally had continued, "you stay right on this porch or in the sitting-room, and don't you dare venture a foot away from it. Will you promise?" Again Genevieve had nodded. "Nothing will hurt you if you mind what we say, and by and by we'll come back and show you something awfully nice." Genevieve had seriously doubted the possibility of this latter statement, but she was helpless in their hands.

"And here's plenty of cookies and a glass of jam," Miss Camilla had supplemented, "and we'll come back to you soon, you blessed baby!" Then they had all hugged and kissed her and departed.

Well, they had not kept their word. She had heard the little clock in the room within, strike and strike and strike, sometimes just one bell-like tone, sometimes two and three and four. She could not yet "tell the time" but she knew enough about a clock to realize that this indicated the passing of the moments. And still there had been no sign of return on the part of the exploring three.

Genevieve whimpered a little and wiped her eyes, sad to say, on her sleeve. Then she thrust her hand, for the fortieth time into the cooky-jar. But it was empty. And then, in sheer boredom and despair, she put her head down on the arm of her chair, tucked her thumb into her mouth and closed her eyes to shut out the tiresome scene before her. In this position she had remained what seemed a long, long time, and the clock had sounded another bell-like stroke, when she was suddenly aroused by a sound quite different.

At first she did not give it much thought, but it came again louder this time, and she sat up with a jerk. Was some one calling her? It was a strange, muffled sound, and it seemed as if it were like a voice trying to pronounce her name.

"Genev—! Genev—!" That was all she could distinguish. Did they want her, possibly to go down into the horrible cellar and hole? She went to the door giving on the cellar steps and listened. But, though she stood there fully five minutes, she heard not so much as a breath. No, it could not be that. She would go out doors again.

But, no sooner had she stepped onto the porch than she heard it again, fainter this time, but undeniable. Where could it come from? They had commanded her not to venture a step from the porch but surely, if they were calling her she ought to try and find them. So she stepped down from the veranda and ran around to the back of the house. This time she was rewarded. The sound came clearer and more forcefully:

"Genevieve!—Genev—ieve!" But where, still, could it come from? There was not a soul in sight. The garden (for it was Miss Camilla's vegetable garden) was absolutely deserted of human occupation. But Genevieve wisely decided to follow the sound, so she began to pick her way gingerly between the rows of beans, climbing on quite a forest of tall poles. It was when she had passed these that she came upon something that caused her a veritable shock.

The ground in Miss Camilla's cucumber patch, for the space of ten or twelve feet square, had sunk down into a strange hole, as if in a sudden earthquake. What did it all mean? And, as Genevieve hesitated on its brink, she was startled almost out of her little shoes to hear her name called faintly and in a muffled voice from its depths.

"Genev—ieve!" It was the voice of Doris, though she could see not the slightest vestige of her.

"Here I am!" answered Genevieve quaveringly. "What do you want, Dowis?"

"Oh, thank God!" came the reply. "Go get—some one. Quick. We're—buried alive! It—caved in. Hurry—baby!"

"Who s'all I get?" demanded Genevieve. And well she might ask, for as far as any one knew, there was not a soul within a mile of them.

"Oh—I don't—know!" came the answering voice. "Go find—someone. Anyone. We'll die—here—if you—don't!" Genevieve was not sure she knew just what that last remark meant, but it evidently indicated something serious.

"All right!" she responded. "I will twy!" And she trotted off to the front of the house.

Here, however, she stopped to consider. Where was she to go to find any one? She could not go back home,—she did not know the way. She could not go back to the river,—the way was full of pitfalls in the shape of thorny vines that scratched her face and tripped her feet, and besides, Sally had particularly warned her not to venture in that direction—ever. After all, the most likely place to find any one was surely along the road, for she had, very rarely when sitting on Miss Camilla's porch, observed a wagon driven past. She would walk along the road and see if she could find anybody.

Had Genevieve been older and with a little more understanding, she would have comprehended the desperate plight that had befallen her sister and Doris and Miss Camilla. And she would have lent wings to her feet and scurried to the nearest dwelling as fast as those feet would carry her. But she was scarcely more than a baby. The situation, though peculiar, did not strike her as so much a matter for haste as for patient waiting till the person required should happen along. As she didn't see any one approaching in either direction, she decided to return to the house and keep a strict eye on the road.

And so she returned, seated herself on the porch steps, tucked her thumb in her mouth—and waited. There was no further calling from the curious hole in the back garden and nothing happened for a long, long time. Genevieve had just about decided to go back and inquire of Doris what else to do, when suddenly the afternoon stillness was broken by the "chug-chug" of a motor car and the honking of its horn. And before Genevieve could jump to her feet, a big automobile had come plowing down the sandy road and stopped right in front of the gate.

"Here's the place!" called out the chauffeur, and jumping down, walked around to open the door at the side for its occupants to get out. A pleasant-looking man descended and gave his hand to the lady beside him. And, to Genevieve's great astonishment, the lady proved to be none other than the mother of "Dowis."

"Well, where's every one?" inquired the gentleman. "I don't see a soul but this wee tot sitting on the steps."

"Why, there's Genevieve!" cried Mrs. Craig, who had seen the baby many times before. "How are you, dear? Where are the others? Inside?"

"No," answered Genevieve. "In de garden. Dowis she said come. Find some one."

"Oh, they're in the garden, are they? Well, we'll go around there and give them a surprise, Henry. Doris will simply be bowled over to see her 'daddy' here so unexpectedly! And I'm very anxious to meet this Miss Camilla she has talked so much about. Come and show us the way, Genevieve."

The baby obediently took her hand and led her around to the back of the house, the gentleman following.

"But I don't see any one here!" he exclaimed when they had reached the back. "Aren't you mistaken, honey?" This to Genevieve.

"No, they in big hole," she announced gravely. The remark aroused considerable surprise and amused curiosity.

"Well, lead us to the 'big hole,'" commanded Mrs. Craig laughingly. "Big hole, indeed! I've been wondering what in the world Doris was up to lately, but I never dreamed she was excavating!"

Genevieve still gravely led the way through the forest of bean-poles to the edge of the newly sunk depression.

"What's all this?" suddenly demanded Mr. Craig. "It looks as if there had been a landslide here. Where are the others, little girl? They've probably forsaken this and gone elsewhere."

But Genevieve was not to be moved from her original statement. "They in dere!" she insisted, pointing downward. "Dowis called. She say 'Go find some one.'" The baby's persistence was not to be questioned.

Mr. Craig looked grave and his wife grew pale and frightened. "Oh, Henry, what do you suppose can be the matter?" she quavered. "I do believe Genevieve is telling the truth."

"There's something mighty queer about it," he answered hastily. "I can't understand how in the world it has come about, but if that child is right, there's been a landslide or a cave-in of some sort here and Doris and the rest are caught in it. Good heavens! If that's so, we can't act too quickly!" and he ran round to the front of the house shouting to the chauffeur, who had remained in the car:

"There's been an accident. Drive like mad to the nearest house and get men and ropes and spades,—anything to help dig out some people from a cave-in!" The car had shot down the road almost before he had ceased speaking, and he hurried back to the garden.

The next hour was a period of indescribable suspense and terror to all concerned,—all, at least, save Genevieve, who sat placidly on Mrs. Craig's lap (Mr. Craig had brought out a chair from Miss Camilla's kitchen) and, thumb in mouth, watched the men furiously hurling the soil in great shovelfuls from the curious "hole." She could not understand why Mrs. Craig should sob softly, at intervals, under her breath, nor why the strange gentleman should pace back and forth so restlessly and give such sharp, hurried orders. And when he jumped into the hole, with a startled exclamation, and seized the end of a heavy plank, she wondered at the unnecessary excitement.

It took the united efforts of every man present to move that plank, and when they had forced it aside, Mr. Craig stooped down with a smothered cry.

And the next thing Genevieve knew, they had lifted out some one and laid her on the ground, inert, lifeless and so covered with dirt and sand as to be scarcely recognizable. But from the light, golden hair, Genevieve knew it to be Doris. Before she knew where she was, Genevieve found herself cascaded from Mrs. Craig's lap, and that lady bending distractedly over the prostrate form.

Again the men emerged from the pit, carrying between them another form which they laid beside Doris. And, with a howl of anguish, Genevieve recognized the red-bronze pig-tail of her sister, Sally.

By the time Miss Camilla had been extricated from the débris as lifeless and inert as the other two, the chauffeur had returned at mad speed from the village, bringing with him a doctor and many strange appliances for resuscitation. A pulmotor was put into immediate action, and another period of heartbreaking suspense ensued.

It was Doris who first moaned her way back to life and at the physician's orders was carried back into the house for further ministrations. Sally was the next to show signs of recovery, but over poor Miss Camilla they had to work hard and long, for, in addition to having been almost smothered, her foot had been caught by the falling plank and badly injured. But she came back to consciousness at last, and her first words on opening her eyes were:

"Do you think we can get that Spode dinner-set out all right?" A remark which greatly bewildered Mr. Craig, who happened to be the only one to hear it!

"But how on earth did you and Mother happen to be there, Father, just in the nick of time?" marveled Doris from the depths of several pillows with which she was propped up in bed.

She had been detailing to her parents, at great length, the whole story of Sally and the cave and the tunnel and Miss Camilla and the hazardous treasure-hunt that had ended her adventure. And now it was her turn to be enlightened.

"Well," returned her father, smiling whimsically, "it was a good deal like what they call 'the long arm of coincidence' in story-books, and yet it was very simple, after all! I'd been disappointed so many times in my plans to get down here to see you and your mother, and at last the chance came, the other day, when I could make at least a flying trip, but I hadn't even time to let you know I was coming. I arrived at the hotel about lunch-time and gave your mother the surprise of her life by walking in on her unexpectedly. But I was quite disgusted not to find you anywhere about. Your mother told me how you had gone off for the day with your bosom pal, Sally, to visit a mysterious Miss Camilla, and I suggested that we take the car and go to hunt you up. As she was agreeable to the excursion we started forth, inquiring our way as we went. It was a merciful providence that got us there not a moment too soon, and if it hadn't been for that little cherubic Genevieve we would have been many minutes too late. If it hadn't been that two or three old planks had been bent over you and protected you from the worst of the earth and débris on top, and also gave you a slight space for air, I don't believe any of you would have been alive now to tell the tale! So the next time you go treasure-hunting, young lady, kindly allow your useless and insignificant dad to accompany you!" And he gave her ear a playful tweak.

"Daddy, it was awful,—simply awful when that old plank gave way and the earth came sliding down on us!" she confided to him, snuggling down in the arm he had placed around her. "At first we didn't think it would amount to much. But more and more earth came pouring down and then another plank loosened and Miss Camilla lost her footing and fell, and we couldn't make our way out past it, either direction, and still the dirt poured in all around us, and Sally and I tried to struggle up through the top, but we couldn't make any progress. And at last that third plank bent over and shut us in so we couldn't budge, and Sally and Miss Camilla didn't answer when I spoke to them, and I knew they'd fainted, and I felt as if I was going to faint too. But I called and called Genevieve and at last she answered me. And after that I didn't remember anything more!" She shuddered and hid her face in her father's sleeve. It had been a very horrible experience.

"Don't think of it any more, honey. It turned out all right, in the end. Do you know that Sally is around as well as ever, now, and came up to the hotel to inquire for you this morning? She's as strong as a little ox, that child!"

"But where is Miss Camilla?" suddenly inquired Doris. "She hurt her foot, didn't she?"

"She certainly did, but she insisted on remaining in her own home, and Sally begged her mother to be allowed to stay also with the un-detachable Genevieve, of course, and take care of her and wait on her. So there they are, and there you will proceed in the automobile, this afternoon, if you feel well enough to make the visit."

"But what about the treasure?" demanded Doris, her eyes beginning to sparkle.

"If you refer to the trunks and chests full of articles that Miss Camilla insisted that we continue to excavate from that interesting hole in her garden, you do well to speak of it as 'treasure'!" answered her father laughingly. "For beside some valuable old family silver and quite rare articles of antique jewelry, she had there a collection of china and porcelain that would send a specialist on that subject into an absolute spasm of joy. I really would not care to predict what it would be worth to any one interested in the subject.

"And you can tell your friend, Sally, of the adventurous spirit, that she's got 'Treasure Island' licked a mile (to use a very inelegant expression) and right here on her own native territory, too. I take off my hat to you both. You've done better than a couple of boys who have been playing at and hunting for pirates all their youthful days. Henceforth, when I yearn for blood-curdling adventures and hair-breadth escapes, I'll come to you two to lead the way!"

But, under all his banter, Doris knew that her father was serious in the deep interest he entertained in her strange adventure and all that it had led to.

CHAPTER XV

THE SUMMER'S END

She was indeed a different girl, as Doris had to admit. To begin with, she looked different. The clothes she wore were neat, dainty and appropriate, indicating taste and care both in choosing and wearing them. Her parents were comparatively well-to-do people in the village and could afford to dress her well and give her all that was necessary, within reason. It had been mainly lack of proper care, and the absence of any incentive to seem her best, that was to blame for the original careless Sally. And not only her looks, but her manners and English were now as irreproachable as they had once been provincial and faulty.

"Why, even my thoughts are different!" she suddenly exclaimed, following aloud the line of thought they had both been unconsciously pursuing. "You've given me more that's worth while to think about, Doris, in these three months, than I ever had before in all my life."

"I'm sure it wasn't I that did it," modestly disclaimed Doris, "but the books I happened to bring along and that you wanted to read. If you hadn't wanted different things yourself, Sally, I don't believe you would have changed any, so the credit is all yours."

"Do you remember the day you first quoted 'The Ancient Mariner' to me?" laughed Doris. "I was so astonished I nearly tumbled out of the boat. It was the lines, 'We were the first that ever burst into that silent sea,' wasn't it?"

"Yes, they are my favorite lines in it," replied Sally. "And with all the poems I've read and learned since, I love that best, after all."

"My favorite is that part, 'The moving moon went up the sky and nowhere did abide,'" said Doris, "and I guess I love the thing as much as you do."

"And Miss Camilla," added Sally, "says her favorite in it is,

"'The selfsame moment I could pray,
And from my neck so free,
The Albatross fell off and sank
Like lead into the sea.'

"She says that's just the way she felt when we girls made that discovery about her brother's letter. Her 'Albatross' had been the supposed weight of disgrace she had been carrying about all these fifty years."

"Oh, Miss Camilla!" sighed Doris ecstatically. "What a darling she is! And what a wonderful, simply wonderful adventure we've had, Sally. Sometimes, when I think of it, it seems too incredible to believe. It's like something you'd read of in a book and say it was probably exaggerated. Did I tell you that my grandfather has decided to purchase her whole collection of porcelains, and the antique jewelry, too?"

"No," answered Sally, "but Miss Camilla told me. And I know how she hates to part with them. Even I will feel a little sorry when they're gone. I've washed them and dusted them so often and Miss Camilla has told me so much about them. I've even learned how to know them by the strange little marks on the back of them. And I can tell English Spode from Old Worcester, and French Faience from Vincennes Sèvres,—and a lot beside. And what's more, I've really come to admire and appreciate them. I never supposed I would.

"Miss Camilla will miss them a lot, for she's been so happy with them since they were restored to her. But she says they're as useless in her life now as a museum of mummies, and she needs the money for other things."

"I suppose she will restore the main part of her house and live in it and be very happy and comfortable," remarked Doris.

"That's just where you are entirely mistaken," answered Sally, with unexpected animation. "Don't you know what she is going to do with it?"

"Why, no!" said Doris in surprise, "I hadn't heard."

"Well, she only told me today," replied Sally, "but it nearly bowled me over. She's going to put the whole thing into Liberty Bonds, and go on living precisely as she has before. She says she has gotten along that way for nearly fifty years and she guesses she can go on to the end. She says that if her father and brother could sacrifice their safety and their money and their very lives, gladly, as they did when their country was in need, she guesses she oughtn't to do very much less. If she were younger, she'd go to France right now, and give her life in some capacity, to help out in this horrible struggle. But as she can't do that, she is willing and delighted to make every other sacrifice within her power. And she's taken out the bonds in my name and Genevieve's, because she says she'll never live to see them mature, and we're the only chick or child she cares enough about to leave them to. She wanted to leave some to you, too, but your father told her, no. He has already taken out several in your name."

Doris was quite overcome by this flood of unexpected information and by the wonderful attitude and generosity of Miss Camilla.

"I never dreamed of such a thing!" she murmured. "She insisted on giving me the little Sèvres vase, when I bade her good-bye today. I hardly liked to take it, but she said I must, and that it could form the nucleus of a collection of my own, some day when I was older and times were less strenuous. I hardly realized what she meant then, but I do now, after what you've told me."

"But that isn't all," said Sally. "I've managed to persuade my father that I'm not learning enough at the village school and probably never will. He was going to take me out of it this year anyway, and when summer came again, have me wait on the ice-cream parlor and candy counter in the pavilion. I just hated the thought. Now I've made him promise to send Genevieve and me every day to Miss Camilla to study with her, and he's going to pay for it just the same as if I were going to a private school. I'm so happy over it, and so is Miss Camilla, only we had hard work persuading her that she must accept any money for it. And even Genevieve is delighted. She has promised to stop sucking her thumb if she can go to Miss Camilla and 'learn to yead 'bout picters,' as she says."

"It's all turned out as wonderfully as a fairy-tale," mused Doris as they floated on. "I couldn't wish a single thing any different. And I think what Miss Camilla has done is—well, it just makes a lump come in my throat even to speak of it. I feel like a selfish wretch beside her. I'm just going to save every penny I have this winter and give it to the Red Cross and work like mad at the knitting and bandage-making. But even that is no real sacrifice. I wish I could do something like she has done. That's the kind of thing that counts!"

"We can only do the thing that lies within our power," said Sally, grasping the true philosophy of the situation, "and if we do all of that, we're giving the best we can."

They drifted on a little further in silence, and then Doris glanced at her wrist-watch by the light of the moon. "We've got to go in," she mourned. "It's after nine o'clock, and Mother warned me not to stay out later than that. Besides I've got to finish packing."

They dragged the canoe up onto the shore, and turned it over in the grass. Then they wandered, for a moment, down to the edge of the water.

"Remember, it isn't so awfully bad as it seems," Doris tried to hearten Sally by reminding her. "Father and I are coming down again to stay over Columbus Day, and you and Genevieve are coming to New York to spend the Christmas holidays with us. We'll be seeing each other right along, at intervals."

Sally looked off up the river to where the pointed pines on Slipper Point could be dimly discerned above the wagon bridge. Suddenly her thoughts took a curious twist.

"How funny,—how awfully funny it seems now," she laughed, "to think we once were planning to dig for pirate treasure—up there!" she nodded toward Slipper Point.

"Well, we may not have found any pirate loot," Doris replied, "but you'll have to admit we discovered treasure of a very different nature—and a good deal more valuable. And, when you come to think of it, we did discover buried treasure, at least Miss Camilla did, and we were nearly buried alive trying to unearth it, and what more of a thrilling adventure could you ask for than that?" But she ended seriously:

"Slipper Point will always mean to me the spot where I spent some of the happiest moments of my life!"

"And I say—the same!" echoed Sally.

THE END