The Forged Check
Kenneth and Beth refrained from telling the other girls or Uncle John of old Will Rogers's visit, but they got Mr. Watson in the library and questioned him closely about the penalty for forging a check.
It was a serious crime indeed, Mr. Watson told them, and Tom Gates bade fair to serve a lengthy term in state's prison as a consequence of his rash act.
"But it was a generous act, too," said Beth.
"I can't see it in that light," said the old lawyer. "It was a deliberate theft from his employers to protect a girl he loved. I do not doubt the girl was unjustly accused. The Squierses are a selfish, hard-fisted lot, and the old lady, especially, is a well known virago. But they could not have proven a case against Lucy, if she was innocent, and all their threats of arresting her were probably mere bluff. So this boy was doubly foolish in ruining himself to get sixty dollars to pay an unjust demand."
"He was soft-hearted and impetuous," said Beth; "and, being in love, he didn't stop to count the cost."
"That is no excuse, my dear," declared Mr. Watson. "Indeed there is never an excuse for crime. The young man is guilty, and he must suffer the penalty."
"Is there no way to save him?" asked Kenneth.
"If the prosecution were withdrawn and the case settled with the victim of the forged check, then the young man would be allowed his freedom. But under the circumstances I doubt if such an arrangement could be made."
"We're going to try it, anyhow," was the prompt decision.
So as soon as breakfast was over the next morning Beth and Kenneth took one of the automobiles, the boy consenting unwillingly to this sort of locomotion because it would save much time. Fairview was twelve miles away, but by ten o'clock they drew up at the county jail.
They were received in the little office by a man named Markham, who was the jailer. He was a round-faced, respectable appearing fellow, but his mood was distinctly unsociable.
"Want to see Tom Gates, eh? Well! what for?" he demanded.
"We wish to talk with him," answered Kenneth.
"Talk! what's the good? You're no friend of Tom Gates. I can't be bothered this way, anyhow."
"I am Kenneth Forbes, of Elmhurst. I'm running for Representative on the Republican ticket," said Kenneth, quietly.
"Oh, say! that's different," observed Markham, altering his demeanor. "You mustn't mind my being gruff and grumpy, Mr. Forbes. I've just stopped smoking a few days ago, and it's got on my nerves something awful!"
"May we see Gates at once?" asked Kenneth.
"Sure-ly! I'll take you to his cell, myself. It's just shocking how such a little thing as stoppin' smoking will rile up a fellow. Come this way, please."
They followed the jailer along a succession of passages.
"Smoked ever sence I was a boy, you know, an' had to stop last week because Doc said it would kill me if I didn't," remarked the jailer, leading the way. "Sometimes I'm that yearning for a smoke I'm nearly crazy, an' I dunno which is worst, dyin' one way or another. This is Gates' cell—the best in the shop."
He unlocked the door, and called:
"Here's visitors, Tom."
"Thank you, Mr. Markham," replied a quiet voice, as a young man came forward from the dim interior of the cell. "How are you feeling, today?"
"Worse, Tom; worse 'n ever," replied the jailer, gloomily.
"Well, stick it out, old man; don't give in."
"I won't, Tom. Smokin' 'll kill me sure, an' there's a faint hope o' livin' through this struggle to give it up. This visitor is Mr. Forbes of Elmhurst, an' the young lady is—"
"Miss DeGraf," said Kenneth, noticing the boy's face critically, as he stood where the light from the passage fell upon it. "Will you leave us alone, please, Mr. Markham?"
"Sure-ly, Mr. Forbes. You've got twenty minutes according to regulations. I'll come and get you then. Sorry we haven't any reception room in the jail. All visits has to be made in the cells."
Then he deliberately locked Kenneth and Beth in with the forger, and retreated along the passage.
"Sit down, please," said Gates, in a cheerful and pleasant voice. "There's a bench here."
"We've come to inquire about your case, Gates," said Kenneth. "It seems you have forged a check."
"Yes, sir, I plead guilty, although I've been told I ought not to confess. But the fact is that I forged the check and got the money, and I'm willing to stand the consequences."
"Why did you do it?" asked Beth.
He was silent and turned his face away.
A fresh, wholesome looking boy, was Tom Gates, with steady gray eyes, an intelligent forehead, but a sensitive, rather weak mouth. He was of sturdy, athletic build and dressed neatly in a suit that was of coarse material but well brushed and cared for.
Beth thought his appearance pleasing and manly. Kenneth decided that he was ill at ease and in a state of dogged self-repression.
"We have heard something of your story," said Kenneth, "and are interested in it. But there is no doubt you have acted very foolishly."
"Do you know Lucy, sir?" asked the young man.
"No."
"Lucy is very proud. The thing was killing her, and I couldn't bear it. I didn't stop to think whether it was foolish or not. I did it; and I'm glad I did."
"You have made her still more unhappy," said Beth, gently.
"Yes; she'll worry about me, I know. I'm disgraced for life; but I've saved Lucy from any disgrace, and she's young. She'll forget me before I've served my term, and—and take up with some other young fellow."
"Would you like that?" asked Beth.
"No, indeed," he replied, frankly. "But it will be best that way. I had to stand by Lucy—she's so sweet and gentle, and so sensitive. I don't say I did right. I only say I'd do the same thing again."
"Couldn't her parents have helped her?" inquired Kenneth.
"No. Old Will is a fine fellow, but poor and helpless since Mrs. Rogers had her accident."
"Oh, did she have an accident?" asked Beth.
"Yes. Didn't you know? She's blind."
"Her husband didn't tell us that," said the girl.
"He was fairly prosperous before that, for Mrs. Rogers was an energetic and sensible woman, and kept old Will hard at work. One morning she tried to light the fire with kerosene, and lost her sight. Then Rogers wouldn't do anything but lead her around, and wait upon her, and the place went to rack and ruin."
"I understand now," said Beth.
"Lucy could have looked after her mother," said young Bates, "but old Will was stubborn and wouldn't let her. So the girl saw something must be done and went to work. That's how all the trouble came about."
He spoke simply, but paced up and down the narrow cell in front of them. It was evident that his feelings were deeper than he cared to make evident.
"Whose name did you sign to the check?" asked Kenneth.
"That of John E. Marshall, the manager of the mill. He is supposed to sign all the checks of the concern. It's a stock company, and rich. I was bookkeeper, so it was easy to get a blank check and forge the signature. As regards my robbing the company, I'll say that I saved them a heavy loss one day. I discovered and put out a fire that would have destroyed the whole plant. But Marshall never even thanked me. He only discharged the man who was responsible for the fire."
"How long ago were you arrested?" asked Beth.
"It's nearly two weeks now. But I'll have a trial in a few days, they say. My crime is so serious that the circuit judge has to sit on the case."
"Do you know where Lucy is?"
"She's at home, I suppose. I haven't heard from her since the day she came here to see me—right after my arrest."
They did not think best to enlighten him at that time. It was better for him to think the girl unfeeling than to know the truth.
"I'm going to see Mr. Marshall," said Kenneth, "and discover what I can do to assist you."
"Thank you, sir. It won't be much, but I'm grateful to find a friend. I'm guilty, you know, and there's no one to blame but myself."
They left him then, for the jailer arrived to unlock the door, and escort them to the office.
"Tom's a very decent lad," remarked the jailer, on the way. "He ain't a natural criminal, you know; just one o' them that gives in to temptation and is foolish enough to get caught. I've seen lots of that kind in my day. You don't smoke, do you, Mr. Forbes?"
"No, Mr. Markham."
"Then don't begin it; or, if you do, never try to quit. It's—it'sawful, it is. And it ruins a man's disposition."
The mill was at the outskirts of the town. It was a busy place, perhaps the busiest in the whole of the Eighth District, and in it were employed a large number of men. The office was a small brick edifice, separated from the main buildings, in which the noise of machinery was so great that one speaking could scarcely be heard. The manager was in, Kenneth and Beth learned, but could not see them until he had signed the letters he had dictated for the noon mail.
So they sat on a bench until a summons came to admit them to Mr. Marshall's private office.
He looked up rather ungraciously, but motioned them to be seated.
"Mr. Forbes, of Elmhurst?" he asked, glancing at the card Kenneth had sent in.
"Yes, sir."
"I've been bothered already over your election campaign," resumed the manager, arranging his papers in a bored manner. "Some girl has been here twice to interview my men and I have refused to admit her. You may as well understand, sir, that I stand for the Democratic candidate, and have no sympathy with your side."
"That doesn't interest me, especially, sir," answered Kenneth, smiling. "I'm not electioneering just now. I've come to talk with you about young Gates."
"Oh. Well, sir, what about him?"
"I'm interested in the boy, and want to save him from prosecution."
"He's a forger, Mr. Forbes; a deliberate criminal."
"I admit that. But he's very young, and his youth is largely responsible for his folly."
"He stole my money."
"It is true, Mr. Marshall."
"And he deserves a term in state's prison."
"I agree to all that. Nevertheless, I should like to save him," said Kenneth. "His trial has not yet taken place, and instead of your devoting considerable of your valuable time appearing against him it would be much simpler to settle the matter right here and now."
"In what way, Mr. Forbes?"
"I'll make your money loss good."
"It has cost me twice sixty dollars in annoyance."
"I can well believe it, sir. I'll pay twice sixty dollars for the delivery to me of the forged check, and the withdrawal of the prosecution."
"And the costs?"
"I'll pay all the costs besides."
"You're foolish. Why should you do all this?"
"I have my own reasons, Mr. Marshall. Please look at the matter from a business standpoint. If you send the boy to prison you will still suffer the loss of the money. By compromising with me you can recover your loss and are paid for your annoyance."
"You're right. Give me a check for a hundred and fifty, and I'll turn over to you the forged check and quash further proceedings."
Kenneth hesitated a moment. He detested the grasping disposition that would endeavor to take advantage of his evident desire to help young Gates. He had hoped to find Mr. Marshall a man of sympathy; but the manager was as cold as an icicle.
Beth, uneasy at his silence, nudged him.
"Pay it, Ken," she whispered.
"Very well, Mr. Marshall," said he, "I accept your terms."
The check was written and handed over, and Marshall took the forged check from his safe and delivered it, with the other papers in the case, to Mr. Forbes. He also wrote a note to his lawyer directing him to withdraw the prosecution.
Kenneth and Beth went away quite happy with their success, and the manager stood in his little window and watched them depart. There was a grim smile of amusement on his shrewd face.
"Of all the easy marks I ever encountered," muttered Mr. Marshall, "this young Forbes is the easiest. Why, he's a fool, that's what he is. He might have had that forged check for the face of it, if he'd been sharp. You wouldn't catch 'Rast Hopkins doing such a fool stunt. Not in a thousand years!"
Meantime Beth was pressing Kenneth's arm as she sat beside him and saying happily:
"I'm so glad, Ken—so glad! And to think we can save all that misery and despair by the payment of a hundred and fifty dollars! And now we must find the girl."
"Yes," replied the boy, cheerfully, "we must find Lucy."
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
A woman was sitting in a low room, engaged in knitting. Her feet were stretched out toward a small fire that smouldered in an open hearth. She wore a simple calico gown, neat and well-fitting, and her face bore traces of much beauty that time and care had been unable wholly to efface.
Suddenly she paused in her work, her head turned slightly to one side to listen.
"Come in, sir," she called in a soft but distinct voice; "come in, miss."
So Kenneth and Beth entered at the half-open porch door and advanced into the room.
"Is this Mrs. Rogers?" asked Beth, looking at the woman curiously. The woman's eyes were closed, but the lashes fell in graceful dark curves over her withered cheeks. The girl wondered how she had been able to know her visitors' sex so accurately.
"Yes, I am Mrs. Rogers," said the sweet, sad voice. "And I think you are one of the young ladies from Elmhurst—perhaps the one Will talked to."
"You are right, Mrs. Rogers. I am Elizabeth DeGraf."
"And your companion—is it Mr. Forbes?" the woman asked.
"Yes, madam," replied Kenneth, astonished to find Will's wife speaking with so much refinement and gracious ease.
"You are very welcome. Will you please find seats? My affliction renders me helpless, as you may see."
"We are very comfortable, I assure you, Mrs. Rogers," said Beth. "We have come to ask if you have heard anything of your daughter."
"Not a word as yet, Miss DeGraf, Will is out with the horse and buggy doing his best to get information. But Lucy has been gone so long now that I realize it will be difficult to find her, if, indeed, the poor girl has not—is not—"
Her voice broke.
"Oh, you don't fearthat, do you, Mrs. Rogers?" asked Beth, quickly.
"I fear anything—everything!" wailed the poor creature, the tears streaming from between her closed lids. "My darling was frantic with grief, and she couldn't bear the humiliation and disgrace of her position. Will told you, didn't he?"
"Yes, of course. But it wasn't so bad, Mrs. Rogers; it wasn't a desperate condition, by any means."
"With poor Tom in prison for years—and just for trying to help her."
"Tom isn't in prison, you know, any more," said Beth quietly. "He has been released."
"Released! When?"
"Last evening. His fault has been forgiven, and he is now free."
The woman sat silent for a time. Then she asked:
"You have done this, Mr. Forbes?"
"Why, Miss DeGraf and I assisted, perhaps. The young man is not really bad, and—"
"Tom's a fine boy!" she cried, with eagerness. "He's honest and true, Mr. Forbes—he is, indeed!"
"I think so," said Kenneth.
"If he wasn't my Lucy would never have loved him. He had a bright future before him, sir, and that's why my child went mad when he ruined his life for her sake."
"Was she mad, do you think?" asked Beth, softly.
"She must have been," said the mother, sadly. "Lucy was a sensible girl, and until this thing happened she was as bright and cheerful as the day is long. But she is very sensitive—she inherited that from me, I think—and Tom's action drove her distracted. At first she raved and rambled incoherently, and Will and I feared brain fever would set in. Then she disappeared in the night, without leaving a word or message for us, which was unlike her—and we've never heard a word of her since. The—the river has a strange fascination for people in that condition. At times in my life it has almost drawnmeinto its depths—and I am not mad. I have never been mad."
"Let us hope for the best, Mrs. Rogers," said Beth. "Somehow, I have an idea this trouble will all turn out well in the end."
"Have you?" asked the woman, earnestly.
"Yes. It all came about through such a little thing—merely an unjust accusation."
"The little things are the ones that ruin lives," she said. "Will you let me tell you something of myself? You have been so kind to us, my dear, that I feel you ought to know."
"I shall be glad to know whatever you care to tell me," said Beth, simply.
"I am the wife of a poor farmer," began the woman, speaking softly and with some hesitation, but gaining strength as she proceeded. "As a girl I was considered attractive, and my father was a man of great wealth and social standing. We lived in Baltimore. Then I fell in love with a young man who, after obtaining my promise to marry him, found some one he loved better and carelessly discarded me. As I have said, I have a sensitive nature. In my girlhood I was especially susceptible to any slight, and this young man's heartless action made it impossible for me to remain at home and face the humiliation he had thrust upon me. My father was a hard man, and demanded that I marry the man he had himself chosen; but I resented this command and ran away. My mother had passed on long before, and there was nothing to keep me at home. I came west and secured a position to teach school in this county, and for a time I was quite contented and succeeded in living down my disappointment. I heard but once from my father. He had married again and disinherited me. He forbade me to ever communicate with him again.
"At that time Will Rogers was one of the most promising and manly of the country lads around here. He was desperately in love with me, and at this period, when I seemed completely cut off from my old life and the future contained no promise, I thought it best to wear out the remainder of my existence in the seclusion of a farm-house. I put all the past behind me, and told Will Rogers I would marry him and be a faithful wife; but that my heart was dead. He accepted me on that condition, and it was not until after we were married some time that my husband realized how impossible it would ever be to arouse my affection. Then he lost courage, and became careless and reckless. When our child came—our Lucy—Will was devoted to her, and the baby wakened in me all the old passionate capacity to love. Lucy drew Will and me a little closer together, but he never recovered his youthful ambition. He was a disappointed man, and went from bad to worse. I don't say Will hasn't always been tender and true to me, and absolutely devoted to Lucy. But he lost all hope of being loved as he loved me, and the disappointment broke him down. He became an old man early in life, and his lack of energy kept us very poor. I used to take in sewing before the accident to my eyes, and that helped a good deal to pay expenses. But now I am helpless, and my husband devotes all his time to me, although I beg him to work the farm and try to earn some money.
"I wouldn't have minded the poverty; I wouldn't mind being blind, even, if Lucy had been spared to me. I have had to bear so much in my life that I could even bear my child's death. But to have her disappear and not know what has become of her—whether she is living miserably or lying at the bottom of the river—it is this that is driving me distracted."
Kenneth and Beth remained silent for a time after Mrs. Rogers had finished her tragic story, for their hearts were full of sympathy for the poor woman. It was hard to realize that a refined, beautiful and educated girl had made so sad a mistake of her life and suffered so many afflictions as a consequence. That old Will had never been a fitting mate for his wife could readily be understood, and yet the man was still devoted to his helpless, unresponsive spouse. The fault was not his.
The boy and the girl both perceived that there was but one way they could assist Mrs. Rogers, and that was to discover what had become of her child.
"Was Lucy like you, or did she resemble her father?" asked Beth.
"She is—she was very like me when I was young," replied the woman. "There is a photograph of her on the wall there between the windows; but it was taken five years ago, when she was a child. Now she is—she was eighteen, and a well-developed young woman."
"I've been looking at the picture," said Kenneth.
"And you mustn't think of her as dead, Mrs. Rogers," said Beth, pleadingly. "I'm sure she is alive, and that we shall find her. We're going right to work, and everything possible shall be done to trace your daughter. Don't worry, please. Be as cheerful as you can, and leave the search to us."
The woman sighed.
"Will believes she is alive, too," she said. "He can't sleep or rest till he finds her, for my husband loves her as well as I do. But sometimes I feel it's wicked to hope she is alive. I know what she suffers, for I suffered, myself; and life isn't worth living when despair and disappointment fills it."
"I cannot see why Lucy shouldn't yet be happy," protested Beth. "Tom Gates is now free, and can begin life anew."
"His trouble will follow him everywhere," said Mrs. Rogers, with conviction. "Who will employ a bookkeeper, or even a clerk who has been guilty of forgery?"
"I think I shall give him employment," replied Kenneth.
"You, Mr. Forbes!"
"Yes. I'm not afraid of a boy who became a criminal to save the girl he loved."
"But all the world knows of his crime!" she exclaimed.
"The world forgets these things sooner than you suppose," he answered. "I need a secretary, and in that position Tom Gates will quickly be able to live down this unfortunate affair. And if he turns out as well as I expect, he will soon be able to marry Lucy and give her a comfortable home. So now nothing remains but to find your girl, and we'll try to do that, I assure you."
Mrs. Rogers was crying softly by this time, but it was from joy and relief. When they left her she promised to be as cheerful as possible and to look on the bright side of life.
"I can't thank you," she said, "so I won't try. You must know how grateful we are to you."
As Beth and Kenneth drove back to Elmhurst they were both rather silent, for they had been strongly affected by the scene at the farm-house.
"It's so good of you, Ken, to take Tom Gates into your employ," said the girl, pressing her cousin's arm. "And I'm sure he'll be true and grateful."
"I really need him, Beth," said the boy. "There is getting to be too much correspondence for Mr. Watson to attend to, and I ought to relieve him of many other details. It's a good arrangement, and I'm glad I thought of it."
They had almost reached Elmhurst when they met the Honorable Erastus Hopkins driving along the road. On the seat beside him was a young girl, and as the vehicles passed each other Beth gave a start and clung to the boy's arm.
"Oh, Ken!" she cried, "did you see? Did you see that?"
"Yes; it's my respected adversary."
"But the girl! It's Lucy—I'm sure it's Lucy! She's the living image of Mrs. Rogers! Stop—stop—and let's go back!"
"Nonsense, Beth," said the boy. "It can't be."
"But it is. I'm sure it is!"
"I saw the girl," he said. "She was laughing gaily and talking with the Honorable Erastus. Is that your idea of the mad, broken-hearted Lucy Rogers?"
"N-no. Shewaslaughing, Ken, I noticed it."
"And she wasn't unhappy a bit. You mustn't think that every pretty girl with dark eyes you meet is Lucy Rogers, you know. And there's another thing."
"What, Ken?"
"Any companion of Mr. Hopkins can be easily traced."
"That's true," answered the girl, thoughtfully. "I must have been mistaken," she added, with a sigh.
BETH MEETS A REBUFF
BETH MEETS A REBUFF
The campaign was now growing warm. Mr. Hopkins had come to realize that he had "the fight of his life" on his hands, and that defeat meant his political ruin. Close-fisted and miserly as he was, no one knew so well as the Honorable Erastus how valuable this position of Representative was to him in a financial way, and that by winning re-election he could find means to reimburse himself for all he had expended in the fight. So, to the surprise of the Democratic Committee and all his friends, Mr. Hopkins announced that he would oppose Forbes's aggressive campaign with an equal aggressiveness, and spend as many dollars in doing so as might be necessary.
He did not laugh at his opponents any longer. To himself he admitted their shrewdness and activity and acknowledged that an experienced head was managing their affairs.
One of Mr. Hopkins's first tasks after calling his faithful henchmen around him was to make a careful canvass of the voters of his district, to see what was still to be accomplished.
This canvass was quite satisfactory, for final report showed only about a hundred majority for Forbes. The district was naturally Republican by six hundred majority, and Hopkins had previously been elected by a plurality of eighty-three; so that all the electioneering of the girl politicians, and the expenditure of vast sums of money in painting fences and barns, buying newspapers and flaunting Forbes banners in the breezes, had not cut into the Hopkins following to any serious extent.
But, to offset this cheering condition, the Democratic agents who made the canvass reported that there was an air of uncertainty throughout the district, and that many of those who declared for Hopkins were lukewarm and faint-hearted, and might easily be induced to change their votes. This was what must be prevented. The "weak-kneed" contingency must be strengthened and fortified, and a couple of hundred votes in one way or another secured from the opposition.
The Democratic Committee figured out a way to do this. Monroe County, where both Forbes and Hopkins resided, was one of the Democratic strongholds of the State. The portions of Washington and Jefferson Counties included in the Eighth District were as strongly Republican, and being more populous gave to the district its natural Republican majority. On the same ticket that was to elect a Representative to the State Legislature was the candidate for Sheriff of Monroe County. A man named Cummings was the Republican and Seth Reynolds, the liveryman, the Democratic nominee. Under ordinary conditions Reynolds was sure to be elected, but the Committee proposed to sacrifice him in order to elect Hopkins. The Democrats would bargain with the Republicans to vote for the Republican Sheriff if the Republicans would vote for the Democratic Representative. This "trading votes," which was often done, was considered by the politicians quite legitimate. The only thing necessary was to "fix" Seth Reynolds, and this Hopkins arranged personally. The office of Sheriff would pay about two thousand a year, and this sum Hopkins agreed to pay the liveryman and so relieve him of all the annoyance of earning it.
Reynolds saw the political necessity of this sacrifice, and consented readily to the arrangement. Mr. Cummings, who was to profit by the deal, was called to a private consultation and agreed to slaughter Kenneth Forbes to secure votes for himself. It was thought that this clever arrangement would easily win the fight for Hopkins.
But the Honorable Erastus had no intention of "taking chances," or "monkeying with fate," as he tersely expressed it. Every scheme known to politicians must be worked, and none knew the intricate game better than Hopkins. This was why he held several long conferences with his friend Marshall, the manager at the mill. And this was why Kenneth and Beth discovered him conversing with the young woman in the buggy. Mr. Hopkins had picked her up from the path leading from the rear gate of the Elmhurst grounds, and she had given him accurate information concerning the movements of the girl campaigners. The description she gave of the coming reception to the Woman's Political League was so humorous and diverting that they were both laughing heartily over the thing when the young people passed them, and thus Mr. Hopkins failed to notice who the occupants of the other vehicle were.
He talked for an hour with the girl, gave her explicit instructions, thrust some money into her hand, and then drove her back to the bend in the path whence she quickly made her way up to the great house.
Louise was making great preparations to entertain the Woman's Political League, an organization she had herself founded, the members of which were wives of farmers in the district. These women were flattered by the attention of the young lady and had promised to assist in electing Mr. Forbes. Louise hoped for excellent results from this organization and wished the entertainment to be so effective in winning their good-will that they would work earnestly for the cause in which they were enlisted.
Patsy and Beth supported their cousin loyally and assisted in the preparations. The Fairview band was engaged to discourse as much harmony as it could produce, and the resources of the great house were taxed to entertain the guests. Tables were spread on the lawn and a dainty but substantial repast was to be served.
The day of the entertainment was as sunny and mild as heart could desire.
By ten o'clock the farm wagons began to drive up, loaded with women and children, for all were invited except the grown men. This was the first occasion within a generation when such an entertainment had been given at Elmhurst, and the only one within the memory of man where the neighbors and country people had been invited guests. So all were eager to attend and enjoy the novel event.
The gardens and grounds were gaily decorated with Chinese and Japanese lanterns, streamers and Forbes banners. There were great tanks of lemonade, and tables covered with candies and fruits for the children, and maids and other servants distributed the things and looked after the comfort of the guests. The band played briskly, and before noon the scene was one of great animation. A speakers' stand, profusely decorated, had been erected on the lawn, and hundreds of folding chairs provided for seats. The attendance was unexpectedly large, and the girls were delighted, foreseeing great success for their fjte.
"We ought to have more attendants, Beth," said Louise, approaching her cousin. "Won't you run into the house and see if Martha can't spare one or two more maids?"
Beth went at once, and found the housekeeper in her little room. Martha was old and somewhat feeble in body, but her mind was still active and her long years of experience in directing the household at Elmhurst made her a very useful and important personage. She was very fond of the young ladies, whom she had known when Aunt Jane was the mistress here, and Beth was her especial favorite.
So she greeted the girl cordially, and said:
"Maids? My dear, I haven't another one to give you, and my legs are too tottering to be of any use. I counted on Eliza Parsons, the new girl I hired for the linen room and to do mending; but Eliza said she had a headache this morning and couldn't stand the sun, So I let her off. But she didn't seem very sick to me."
"Perhaps she is better and will help us until after the luncheon is served," said Beth. "Where is she, Martha? I'll go and ask her."
"I'd better show you the way, miss. She's in her own room."
The housekeeper led the way and Beth followed. When she rapped upon the door, a sweet, quiet voice said:
"Come in."
The girl entered, and gave an involuntary cry of surprise. Standing before her was the young girl she had seen riding with Mr. Hopkins—the girl she had declared to be the missing daughter of Mrs. Rogers.
For a moment Beth stood staring, while the new maid regarded her with composure and a slight smile upon her beautiful face. She was dressed in the regulation costume of the maids at Elmhurst, a plain black gown with white apron and cap.
"I—I beg your pardon," said Beth, with a slight gasp; for the likeness to Mrs. Rogers was something amazing. "Aren't you Lucy Rogers?"
The maid raised her eyebrows with a gesture of genuine surprise. Then she gave a little laugh, and replied:
"No, Miss Beth. I'm Elizabeth Parsons."
"But it can't be," protested the girl. "How do you know my name, and why haven't I seen you here before?"
"I'm not a very important person at Elmhurst," replied Eliza, in a pleasant, even tone. "I obtained the situation only a few days ago. I attend to the household mending, you know, and care for the linen. But one can't be here without knowing the names of the young ladies, so I recognize you as Miss Beth, one of Mr. Forbes's cousins."
"You speak like an educated person," said Beth, wonderingly. "Where is your home?"
For the first time the maid seemed a little confused, and her gaze wandered from the face of her visitor.
"Will you excuse my answering that question?" she asked.
"It is very simple and natural," persisted Beth. "Why cannot you answer it?"
"Excuse me, please. I—I am not well today. I have a headache."
She sat down in a rocking chair, and clasping her hands in her lap, rocked slowly back and forth.
"I'm sorry," said Beth. "I hoped you would be able to assist me on the lawn. There are so many people that we can't give them proper attention."
Eliza Parsons shook her head.
"I am not able," she declared. "I abhor crowds. They—they excite me, in some way, and I—I can't bear them. You must excuse me."
Beth looked at the strange girl without taking the hint to retire. Somehow, she could not rid herself of the impression that whether or not she was mistaken in supposing Eliza to be the missing Lucy, she had stumbled upon a sphinx whose riddle was well worth solving.
But Eliza bore the scrutiny with quiet unconcern. She even seemed mildly amused at the attention she attracted. Beth was a beautiful girl—the handsomest of the three cousins, by far; yet Eliza surpassed her in natural charm, and seemed well aware of the fact. Her manner was neither independent nor assertive, but rather one of well-bred composure and calm reliance. Beth felt that she was intruding and knew that she ought to go; yet some fascination held her to the spot. Her eyes wandered to the maid's hands. However her features and form might repress any evidence of nervousness, these hands told a different story. The thin fingers clasped and unclasped in little spasmodic jerks and belied the quiet smile upon the face above them.
"I wish," said Beth, slowly, "I knew you."
A sudden wave of scarlet swept over Eliza's face. She rose quickly to her feet, with an impetuous gesture that made her visitor catch her breath.
"I wish I knew myself," she cried, fiercely. "Why do you annoy me in this manner? What am I to you? Will you leave me alone in my own room, or must I go away to escape you?"
"I will go," said Beth, a little frightened at the passionate appeal.
Eliza closed the door behind her with a decided slam, and a key clicked in the lock. The sound made Beth indignant, and she hurried back to where her cousins were busy with the laughing, chattering throng of visitors.
THE BOOMERANG
THE BOOMERANG
The lawn fjte was a tremendous success, and every farmer's wife was proud of her satin badge bearing the monogram: "W. P. L.," and the words: "FORBES FOR REPRESENTATIVE."
Certain edibles, such as charlotte-russe, Spanish cream, wine jellies and mousses, to say nothing of the caviars and anchovies, were wholly unknown to them; but they ate the dainties with a wise disregard of their inexperience and enjoyed them immensely.
The old butler was a general in his way, and in view of the fact that the staff of servants at Elmhurst was insufficient to cope with such a throng, he allowed Louise to impress several farmers' daughters into service, and was able to feed everyone without delay and in an abundant and satisfactory manner.
After luncheon began the speech-making, interspersed with music by the band.
Louise made the preliminary address, and, although her voice was not very strong, the silent attention of her hearers permitted her to be generally understood.
She called attention to the fact that this campaign was important because it promised more beautiful and attractive houses for the farmers and townsmen alike.
"We had all grown so accustomed to advertising signs," she said, "that we failed to notice how thick they were becoming or how bold and overpowering. From a few scattered announcements on fence boards, they had crowded themselves into more prominent places until the barns and sheds and the very rocks were daubed with glaring letters asking us to buy the medicines, soaps, tobaccos, and other wares the manufacturers were anxious to sell. Every country road became an advertising avenue. Scarcely a country house was free from signs of some sort. Yet the people tamely submitted to this imposition because they knew no way to avoid it. When Mr. Forbes began his campaign to restore the homesteads to their former beauty and dignity, a cry was raised against him. But this was because the farmers did not understand how much this reform meant to them. So we gave them an object lesson. We painted out all the signs in this section at our own expense, that you might see how much more beautiful your homes are without them. We believe that none of you will ever care to allow advertising signs on your property again, and that the quiet refinement of this part of the country will induce many other places to follow our example, until advertisers are forced to confine themselves to newspapers, magazines and circulars, their only legitimate channels. This much Mr. Forbes has already done for you, and he will now tell you what else, if he is elected, he proposes to do."
Kenneth then took the platform and was welcomed with a hearty cheer. He modestly assured them that a Representative in the State Legislature could accomplish much good for his district if he honestly desired to do so. That was what a Representative was for—to represent his people. It was folly to elect any man who would forget that duty and promote only his own interests through the position of power to which the people had appointed him. Mr. Forbes admitted that he had undertaken this campaign because he was opposed to offensive advertising signs; but now he had become interested in other issues, and was anxious to be elected so that he could carry on the work of reform. They needed more school-houses for their children, and many other things which he hoped to provide as their Representative.
During this oration Beth happened to glance up at the house, and her sharp eyes detected the maid, Eliza, standing shielded behind the half-closed blind of an upper window and listening to, as well as watching, the proceedings below. Then she remembered how the girl had been laughing and talking with Mr. Hopkins, when she first saw her, and with sudden dismay realized that Eliza was a spy in the service of the enemy.
Her first impulse was to denounce the maid at once, and have her discharged; but the time was not opportune, so she waited until the festivities were ended.
It had been a great day for the families of the neighboring farmers, and they drove homeward in the late afternoon full of enthusiasm over the royal manner in which they had been entertained and admiration for the girls who had provided the fun and feasting. Indeed, there were more kindly thoughts expressed for the inhabitants of Elmhurst than had ever before been heard in a single day in the history of the county, and the great and the humble seemed more closely drawn together.
When the last guest had departed Beth got her cousins and Kenneth together and told them of her discovery of the spy.
Kenneth was at first greatly annoyed, and proposed to call Martha and have the false maid ejected from the premises; but Patsy's wise little head counselled caution in handling the matter.
"Now that we know her secret," she said, "the girl cannot cause us more real harm, and there may be a way to circumvent this unscrupulous Hopkins and turn the incident to our own advantage. Let's think it over carefully before we act."
"There's another thing," said Beth, supporting her cousin. "I'm interested in the mystery surrounding the girl. I now think I was wrong in suspecting her to be the lost Lucy Rogers; but there is surely some romance connected with her, and she is not what she seems to be. I'd like to study her a little."
"It was absurd to connect her with Lucy Rogers," observed Kenneth, "for there is nothing in her character to remind one of the unhappy girl."
"Except her looks," added Beth. "She's the living image of Mrs. Rogers."
"That isn't important," replied Louise. "It is probably a mere coincidence. None of us have ever seen the real Lucy, and she may not resemble her mother at all."
"Mrs. Rogers claims she does," said Beth. "But anyhow, I have a wish to keep this girl at the house, where I can study her character."
"Then keep her, my dear," decided Kenneth. "I'll set a couple of men to watch the gates, and if she goes out we'll know whom she meets. The most she can do is to report our movements to Mr. Hopkins, and there's no great harm in that."
So the matter was left, for the time; and as if to verify Beth's suspicions Eliza was seen to leave the grounds after dusk and meet Mr. Hopkins in the lane. They conversed together a few moments, and then the maid calmly returned and went to her room.
The next day Mr. Hopkins scattered flaring hand-bills over the district which were worded in a way designed to offset any advantage his opponent had gained from the lawn fjte of the previous day. They read: "Hopkins, the Man of the Times, is the Champion of the Signs of the Times. Forbes, who never earned a dollar in his life, but inherited his money, is trying to take the dollars out of the pockets of the farmers by depriving them of the income derived by selling spaces for advertising signs. He is robbing the farmers while claiming he wants to beautify their homes. The farmers can't eat beauty; they want money. Therefore they are going to vote for the Honorable Erastus Hopkins for Representative." Then followed an estimate of the money paid the farmers of the district by the advertisers during the past five years, amounting to several thousands of dollars in the aggregate. The circular ended in this way: "Hopkins challenges Forbes to deny these facts. Hopkins is willing to meet Forbes before the public at any time and place he may select, to settle this argument in joint debate."
The girls accepted the challenge at once. Within two days every farmer had received a notice that Mr. Forbes would meet Mr. Hopkins at the Fairview Opera House on Saturday afternoon to debate the question as to whether advertising signs brought good or evil to the community.
The campaign was now getting hot. Because of the activity of the opposing candidates every voter in the district had become more or less interested in the fight, and people were taking one side or the other with unusual earnestness.
Mr. Hopkins was not greatly pleased that his challenge had been accepted. He had imagined that the Forbes party would ignore it and leave him the prestige of crowing over his opponent's timidity. But he remembered how easily he had subdued Kenneth at the school-house meeting before the nominations, and had no doubt of his ability to repeat the operation.
He was much incensed against the girls who were working for Kenneth Forbes, for he realized that they were proving an important factor in the campaign. He even attributed to them more than they deserved, for Uncle John's telling activities were so quietly conducted that he was personally lost sight of entirely by Mr. Hopkins.
Mr. Hopkins had therefore become so enraged that, against the advice of his friends, he issued a circular sneering at "Women in Politics." The newspapers having been subsidized by the opposition so early in the game, Mr. Hopkins had driven to employ the circular method of communicating with the voters. Scarcely a day passed now that his corps of distributors did not leave some of his literature at every dwelling in the district.
His tirade against the girls was neither convincing nor in good taste. He asked the voters if they were willing to submit to "petticoat government," and permit a "lot of boarding-school girls, with more boldness than modesty" to dictate the policies of the community. "These frizzle-headed females," continued the circular, "are trying to make your wives and daughters as rebellious and unreasonable as they are themselves; but no man of sense will permit a woman to influence his vote. It is a disgrace to this district that Mr. Forbes allows his girlish campaign to be run by a lot of misses who should be at home darning stockings; or, if they were not able to do that, practicing their music-lessons."
"Good!" exclaimed shrewd Miss Patsy, when she read this circular. "If I'm not much mistaken, Mr. Hopkins has thrown a boomerang. Every woman who attended the fjte is now linked with us as an ally, and every one of them will resent this foolish circular."
"I'm sorry," said Kenneth, "that you girls should be forced to endure this. I feared something like it when you insisted on taking a hand in the game."
But they laughed at him and at Mr. Hopkins, and declared they were not at all offended.
"One cannot touch pitch without being defiled," said Mr. Watson, gravely, "and politics, as Mr. Hopkins knows it, is little more than pitch."
"I cannot see that there is anything my girls have done to forfeit respect and admiration," asserted Uncle John, stoutly. "To accuse them of boldness or immodesty is absurd. They have merely gone to work in a business-like manner and used their wits and common-sense in educating the voters. Really, my dears, I'm more proud of you today than I've ever been before," he concluded.
And Uncle John was right. There had been no loss of dignity by any one of the three, and their evident refinement, as well as their gentleness and good humor, had until now protected them from any reproach. It had remained for Mr. Hopkins to accuse them, and his circular had a wide influence in determining the issue of the campaign.