David Came to Her Rescue.
At some distance off there was an unmistakable sound of people coming through the woods. Madge's heart leaped within her. She gave one glad cry, when the gypsy woman clapped both hands over her mouth. Madge fought the woman off. She cried out again. The man crept from his hiding place, half dragging, half pulling Madge behind a thick cluster of trees, keeping his coarse, heavy hand over her mouth.
Madge heard Phyllis Alden's and David Brewster's voices, yet she could not call out to them for aid.
She saw some one pull aside the low branch of a tree, then David's face appeared, discolored with anger as he caught sight of her. Before the man who had seized her could strike at the boy David had grasped him by both shoulders and hurled him to the ground.
Whipping out his knife David cut the cords that bound Madge and raising her to her feet, placed one arm protectingly around her. Her captor had also risen and stood glowering at David without offering to attack him. The boy's rage was so terrifying that even this hardened lawbreaker quailed before it.
"We didn't mean any harm," mumbled the old woman. "You know us, boy. You know we wouldn't hurt the young lady. You won't say you saw us, will you?"
But ignoring her question David turned to help Madge back to her friends.
IT was Miss Betsey Taylor who had first discovered Madge's absence. Just before daylight she awakened with the feeling that some one had stolen into her stateroom, for she was dreaming of her lost money. Miss Betsey sat straight up in bed and looked about her small cabin. There was no one to be seen.
"Miss Betsey," called Miss Jenny Ann from the berth above, "what is the matter?" Nor would Miss Jones go back to sleep until she had explored the houseboat thoroughly.
As she stole into the next cabin where the girls slept she noticed that Madge was not in her bed. She must have heard the same noise that had disturbed Miss Betsey, and gone to investigate the cause. But Miss Jenny Ann could not ascertain the cause of the noise nor did she find Madge on the decks. She aroused Phil and they sought for her together. Then Eleanor and Lillian joined them, and Miss Betsey, a prey to curiosity, came forth to find out what all the commotion was about.
It took a very brief space of time to examine the entire houseboat. The girls held the lanternsand scurried about, calling "Madge!" It seemed incredible that she did not answer.
Tom was the first of the boys on the motor launch to be disturbed by the unusual sounds from the "Merry Maid." His first thought was fire. With a cry to the other boys on the "Sea Gull" he rushed to the houseboat. But the appearance of the five young men, who had come to join in the search for the lost Madge, merely added to the confusion. They tumbled over one another, and as they were half asleep, most of them did not know what or whom they were looking for.
"Come on, Brewster," commanded Tom Curtis, "it is absurd to think that Miss Morton can be anywhere near and not have heard us. It may be she became restless and went for a little walk on the shore; let us look there."
David and Tom crept along the river bank, their eyes turned to the ground. They detected Madge's footprints leading away from the launch and then returning to the houseboat. The revelation only added to the mystery.
There was one thought in the minds of the seekers. Could Madge have walked in her sleep and fallen over into the water? The river was shallow along the bank, but she might have been borne by the current out into the stream. It did not seem a very probable idea. But then,no one had any possible explanation to offer for the little captain's vanishing into the night like this. No one had yet seen that the rowboat, too, was missing.
It was an hour after the first alarm, and daylight was beginning to dawn, when Phyllis Alden heard a noise from Miss Betsey's stateroom. She went in, to find the old lady seated on her trunk wringing her hands. She had been awake so long that she was tired and querulous. Her corkscrew curls were carefully arranged and she was fully dressed. Her head was bobbing with indignation. "I am perfectly willing to confess that I am worried about that child," she announced to Phyllis. "But I knew, as soon as I set my eyes upon her, that wherever Madge Morton went there was sure to be some kind of excitement. It may not be her fault, but——" Miss Betsey paused dramatically. "And your father, Phyllis Alden, was a great goose, and I an even greater one, to trust myself on this ridiculous houseboat excursion. A rest cure! Good for my nerves to be among young people!" Miss Betsey fairly snorted. "I shall be a happy woman when I am safe in my own home again!"
Phyllis hurried into the galley and came back with a glass of milk for the exhausted old lady. "Come, take a walk around the boat with me,Miss Betsey," she invited comfortingly. "We can't do anything more to find Madge until the morning comes."
Phil was always a consolation to persons in trouble, she was so quiet and steadfast. She wrapped Miss Betsey in a light woolen shawl and together they walked up and down the little houseboat deck. Phyllis kept her eyes fixed on the shore. Madge had surely gone out for a walk and something had detained her. Her loyal friend would not confess even to herself the uneasiness she really felt.
Miss Betsey and Phil stood for a quiet minute in the stern of the "Merry Maid," watching the morning break in a splendor of yellow and rose across the eastern sky. Not far away Miss Jenny Ann was talking to several of the boys, with her arms about Eleanor and Lillian.
Miss Betsey Taylor glanced down at the mirroring gold and rose of the water under her feet.
"My gracious, sakes alive, it has gone!" she exclaimed, pointing a trembling finger toward the river.
"What has gone, Miss Betsey?" inquired Phil. "Don't tell us that anything else besides Madge has vanished."
"But it has," Miss Betsey Taylor insisted. "Where is that little rowboat that you girlscall the 'Water Witch,' that is always hitched to the stern of this houseboat? I saw it last night just before I went to bed. Wherever that child has gone the boat has gone with her."
Everyone crowded around Miss Betsey and Phyllis. Tom and David returned from their search on the shore. "I am sure I don't know what it all means," declared Miss Jenny Ann in distracted tones.
"Don't worry so, Miss Jenny Ann," protested Phil. "It only means that runaway Madge went out for a row by herself on the river last night after we went to bed." And Phil's voice was not so assured. "Something must have happened to keep her from getting back home. We shall just have to look along the river until we find her."
Tom was already aboard his motor launch. It took only a few moments to get his engine ready for service. "Come on, Sears and Robinson," he cried, "you can help me by being on the lookout for Miss Morton while I run the boat. I'll go from one end of the Rappahannock to the other unless I find her sooner."
"Let me go with you, Tom, please do," pleaded Eleanor, looking very wan and white in the morning light. "It's too dreadful to wait here on the houseboat with nothing to do."
Tom nodded his consent. He was too busyto waste time in conversation. So Harry Sears helped Lillian and Eleanor to the cabin of the "Sea Gull."
Tom put on full speed, heading his launch up the river. He had been the captain of his own boat for several years. To-day he was unusually excited. The speed limit of his boat was eight knots an hour. Tom tested his motor engine to the extent of its power as he dashed up the river, the water churning and foaming under him.
Eleanor, Lillian, Harry and George looked vainly up and down the shore for a sign of Madge. Tom was going so fast they could see nothing.
"Do, please, go a little slower, Tom," begged Eleanor. "We shall never find Madge at the rate you are traveling."
It was morning on the river. The river craft were moving up and down. Steamboats carrying freight and heavy barges loaded with coal made it necessary for Tom to steer carefully.
The "Sea Gull" slowed down. Every now and then Tom would put in alongside another boat to inquire if a girl in a rowboat had been seen. No one gave any news of Madge.
After gliding up the Rappahannock for ten miles, and finding no trace of the lost girl, Tom decided she must have rowed down stream insteadof up. So the "Sea Gull" turned and went down the river.
The launch's engine was not in the best of humors. It may not have liked being roused so early in the morning, and David Brewster was not by to tend it under Tom's careful directions. Every now and then the gasoline engine would emit a strange, whirring noise. Harry Sears, who was watching the engine, heard it lose a beat in its regular rhythmical throb. "See here, Tom," he called suddenly, "something is wrong with this machinery. I can't tell what it is."
Harry had spoken just in time. The motor launch stopped stock still in the middle of the river. Tom flew to his beloved engine. "Don't worry," he urged cheerfully, "I'll have her started again in a few seconds."
Tom kept doing mysterious things to the disgruntled engine. The two boys and Lillian watched him in fascinated silence. Eleanor was not interested. They were only a few miles from the houseboat, and she wondered if Madge could possibly have returned home.
Eleanor stepped out of the little cabin of the launch toward the fore part of the boat. Drifting down toward them, directly ahead and in their straight course, was a line of great coal barges, three or four of them joined together, with a colored man seated on a pile of coal, idlysmoking and paying little heed to where his barges were going. It was the place of the smaller boats to get out of his way. The barges could only float with the current.
But the "Sea Gull" was stock still and there was no way to move her.
"Tom!" Eleanor cried quietly, although her face was as white as her white gown, "if we don't get out of the way those coal barges will sink us in a few minutes. You will have to hurry to save the 'Sea Gull'."
Tom sprang up from his work at the engine. Eleanor was right. Yet his motor engine was hopelessly crippled. He could not make it move.
"Get to work with the paddle, Robinson, and paddle for the shore for dear life," he commanded, seizing the other oar himself. Tom was a magnificently built fellow, with broad shoulders and muscles as hard as iron. He never worked harder in his life than he did for the next few minutes. The girls and Harry Sears watched Tom and George Robinson in anxious silence. The coal barges were creeping so near that the "Sea Gull" was in the shadow they cast.
The two boys had to turn the launch half way around with their paddles before her nose pointed to the land. The man on the coal barge was shouting hoarse commands when the side ofthe first barge passed within six inches of the stern of Tom's launch.
Tom wiped the perspiration from his face. "I think I had better take the girls to land," he decided. "Then we can find out what is best to be done."
"Your automobile boat's busted, ain't it?" inquired a friendly voice as the entire party, except Tom, piled out of the launch to the land.
A colored boy of about eighteen was standing on the river bank grinning at them. He held a piece of juicy watermelon in his hand.
Eleanor and Lillian eyed it hungrily. They suddenly remembered that they had had no breakfast.
"The young ladies had better come up to my ole missus's place?" the boy invited hospitably. "They look kind of petered out. I spect it will take some time to fix up your boat."
The entire company of young people looked up beyond the sloping river bank to the farm country back of it. There, on the crest of a small hill, was a beautiful old Virginia homestead, painted white, with green shutters and a broad, comfortable porch in front of it. It looked like home to Eleanor. "Yes; suppose we go up there to rest, Lillian," pleaded Eleanor. "If Tom can't get his engine mended, we can row back to the houseboat in a little while."
David Brewster and Phyllis Alden had not waited quietly on the "Merry Maid" while Tom and his launch party went out in search of Madge.
Five minutes after the "Sea Gull" moved away David left the houseboat and went on shore.
"Where are you going, David?" called Phyllis after him.
"I am going to look for Miss Morton along the river bank," he answered in a surly fashion. "Anybody ought to know that if an accident happened to her rowboat, the boat would have drifted in to the land."
"I am going along with David Brewster, Miss Jenny Ann," announced Phil. "It's mean to leave you and Miss Betsey alone, but I simply can't stay behind."
David's face grew dark and sullen. "I won't have a girl poking along with me," he muttered.
"You will have me," returned Phyllis cheerfully. "I won't be in your way. I can keep up with you."
At first David did not pay the least attention to Phyllis, who kept steadily at his heels. Phyllis could not but wonder what was the matter with this fellow, who was so strange and taciturn until something stirred him to action.
Only once, when Phil stumbled along a steepincline, David looked back. "You had better go home, Miss Alden," he remarked more gently. "I'll find Miss Morton and bring her to you." And Phil, as Madge had been at another time, was comforted by the boy's assurance.
"I am not tired," she answered, just as gently, "I would rather go on."
At one o'clock David made Phyllis sit down. He disappeared for a few minutes, but came back with his hands full of peaches and grapes. He had some milk in a rusty tin cup that he always carried.
"Did some one give this to you?" asked Phil gratefully.
David shook his head. "Stole it," he answered briefly. Phil, who could see that David was torn with impatience for them to resume their march, ate the fruit and drank the milk without protest.
It was about four o'clock in the afternoon, when David spied the "Water Witch," drawn up on the river bank out of the reach of the water. Some unknown force must have led him to Madge's hiding place in the woods.
Afterward he made no explanation either to Phyllis or Madge of his unexpected acquaintance with the man who had kept Madge a prisoner, and neither girl asked him any questions.
David managed to get the "Water Witch" out into the river with the single oar, and a party of young people in another skiff, seeing their plight, brought them safely home to the houseboat.
I SHOULD dearly love it," declared Eleanor.
"I think it would be a great lark," agreed Lillian.
"Are you sure you would like it, Miss Betsey?" asked Phyllis and Miss Jenny Ann in the same breath.
"I certainly should," Miss Betsey asserted positively.
Madge was unusually silent. She had been in such deep disgrace since her escapade, both with Miss Taylor and Miss Jenny Ann, that she felt she had no right to express her opinion in regard to any possible plan. But her eyes were dancing under her long lashes, which she kept discreetly down.
Miss Taylor had just suggested that, in view of the fact that Tom Curtis was obliged to take his motor launch to the nearest large town to have it repaired, and their excursion up the river must cease for a time, the houseboat party desert the river bank and spend ten days or more farther inland.
George Robinson had offered to go back withTom. David Brewster expected to do as he was ordered, but Harry Sears and Jack Bolling positively refused to give up their holiday. And there was no room for them on the houseboat.
Eleanor and Lillian had come back from the old farmhouse, where they had spent the day before, filled with enthusiasm. Mr. and Mrs. Preston were the most delightful people they had ever met. Their house was filled with the loveliest old mahogany and silver, and they had no visitors and no family. Eleanor was sure that, if she begged her prettiest, Mrs. Preston could be persuaded to take them all in her home until Tom came back with his motor launch.
"You see, Jenny Ann," entreated Eleanor, with her hands clasped together, "every year Mr. Preston has the most wonderful entertainment. He told us all about it. In August he gives what he calls 'The Feast of the Corn.' All the country people for miles around come to it. He asked me to bring every member of our party over for it at the end of the week. It's just like Hiawatha's feast. Do let's ask them to take us in, if only for a little while."
Miss Betsey Taylor's New England imagination was fired. The house that Eleanor described was just such a Virginia home as she had dreamed of in her earlier days. She must see it. Also, Lillian had related the story of a wonderfulsulphur well not many miles from the Preston estate. Miss Betsey was sure that sulphur water would be good for her nerves.
Two days later the entire party stood out on the deck of the "Merry Maid" to see Tom and George Robinson start off with their broken-down motor launch before the rest of the party moved over to wait for them at the Preston farm.
"I am so sorry, Tom," apologized Madge, with her eyes full of remorse. "It is really my fault that you will have to miss this part of our holiday. I wish I could go back with the boat instead of you. Can't you send David and stay here with us?"
Tom shook his head. He was ashamed of his previous grumbling. "Of course not. It wasn't your fault. The engine would have broken down just the same if I hadn't been searching the river for you. But I must see to its being mended myself, and Robinson is a brick to go along with me. I shall have no use for Brewster. Perhaps, after all, we may be able to get back in time for the Indian feast. Good-bye, Madge."
A few minutes after the launch was seen moving back down the river, being ignominiously towed by an old horse, the same gay craft that had proudly advanced up the stream only a fewdays before with the "Merry Maid" in her wake.
The houseboat party waved Tom and George a sad farewell, and then promptly forgot almost all about them in the excitement of moving their clothes and a few other possessions up to the farm, Eleanor having persuaded the Prestons to take them for a few days as boarders.
Mrs. Preston drove down in her own phaeton to take Miss Betsey and Miss Jenny Ann home with her. A farm hand came with a wagon for the trunks. But the young people decided to walk. The Preston house was only two miles away from the houseboat landing. Sam, the colored boy, who had been Lillian's and Eleanor's original guide to the farm, had been engaged to show them the way.
The houseboat party formed a gay procession. None of the four girls wore hats. Lillian and Eleanor, who took some care of their complexions, carried pink and blue parasols to match their linen gowns, but Madge and Phil bared their heads to the sun, as did Harry Sears, Jack Bolling and David.
Sam lugged a lunch basket, which Mrs. Preston had sent down to the party; and David, who kept in the rear, carried a dress suit case that had accidentally been left behind.
Most of the road ran past meadows andorchards, with few houses in sight. The ripening fruits made the air heavy with their summer sweetness. David was shy and silent, as usual, but the others were in gay humor.
Beyond a broken-down rail fence Phil espied a tree laden with luscious peaches. Farther on, past the orchard, she could just catch the outline of a house.
"Let's get some fruit, Jack?" Phil suggested to Bolling, who was walking with her. They both climbed over the fence.
"Wait a minute, everybody," Phil called. "Wouldn't you like to go up to the old house back there to ask for some water. I am nearly dead, I am so thirsty."
"Don't go in that thar place," Sam entreated, turning around suddenly, his brown face ashen, "and don't eat them peaches. The house is a ha'nt and them peaches is hoodooed."
Eleanor and Madge burst into peals of laughter. The other young people, who were not Southerners, smiled and stared.
"What is a hoodoo, Sam?" Harry Sears, whose home was in Boston, inquired teasingly.
Sam scratched his head. "I can't splain it," he announced. "But you'll know a hoodoo all right if it gets hold of you. That young lady and man'll sure have bad luck if they eat them peaches. Nobody'll touch 'em around here."
"A hoodoo is a kind of wicked charm, like the evil eye, Harry," Madge explained, her eyes twinkling. "All we Southerners believe in it, don't we, Sam? Go and warn Miss Alden and Mr. Bolling, David. They must not bring bad luck on themselves without knowing it." Madge had not meant to order David Brewster to do what she wished; she merely requested him to take her message, as she would any one of the other boys.
David looked stolidly ahead and made Madge no answer. He was in a black humor. He had reasons of his own for not wishing to stay near the place where he had discovered Madge. He had hoped that Tom would take him down the river in the motor launch, but Tom had believed that he was doing David a favor by allowing him to remain with the others to enjoy the holiday on the farm.
"Don't you hear Miss Morton, Brewster?" shouted Harry Sears angrily. "She told you to tell Miss Alden something." Harry Sears was always particularly disagreeable with David. To-day his anger seemed justified.
A wave of crimson swept over David's brown face. He looked as though he would have liked to leap on Harry Sears and throw him into the dust. Only the presence of the girls and Madge's quick action deterred him.
"Never mind anybody telling Phil and Jack," she added quietly. "It's too late to save them now. Besides, I want a peep at Sam's 'ha'nted house' and a drink of water from the ghost's well. So follow me, good people, if you are not afraid."
Phyllis and Jack Bolling led the way to the haunted house, as the place had been their discovery. The old house had been a beautiful one in its day. It was built of shingles that had mellowed to the beautiful shade of gray that only time can give. The front door hung loosely on its hinges. Spider-webs obscured the windows, with their narrow diamond panes of broken glass. Rank weeds grew everywhere and poison ivy hung in long branches from the ancient trees. To the left, where the old garden had once been, there was a glory of scarlet poppies and cornflowers growing amid the weeds. Their triumphant beauty had repeated itself year after year here in this neglected spot with no one to marvel at it. Madge, Eleanor and Lillian gathered great bunches of the red and blue flowers. Phyllis and Jack discovered the well, with its crystal cold water. Harry Sears prowled about near the old house, with Sam at his heels. The boy was frightened, but too faithful to desert his party. David kept at some distance from the others.
"Don't you think this a good place to eat the luncheon Mrs. Preston has given us?" Harry called out, poised on the broken steps that led up to the tumbled-down front porch. "The well is here to supply us with water and I'm jolly hungry."
The houseboat travelers formed a circle on the grass just in front of the old house. Sam spread out the luncheon. It was a warm day, the clouds hung low in the sky and the garden was humming with honey-full bees.
There was nothing mysterious about the place that Sam described as "ha'nted," except that it was entirely deserted.
Harry Sears reached out for a sandwich. "Tell us why this old house is supposed to be inhabited by ghosts, Sam," he ordered.
IT all happened such a long time ago I can't zactly call to mind the whole story," confessed Sam. "But they was two brothers that owned this here old place. They was in the war and fought side by side. Then they lived here together, peaceful, for a long time. One of them was married and the other wasn't, but it didn't seem to make no difference. All of a sudden they fell out, and after a while one of the brothers died, mysterious like. The live man went away from here and he hasn't been heard of since. But they do say," Sam shivered and looked fearfully at the dilapidated mansion, "that the murdered man still walks around this here place at night. People even claim to see him in the daytime. Sometimes he is by himself, and then again he brings a lady-ghost with him, but there ain't nobody ever lived in this here house since them two brothers fell out," Sam concluded, mightily pleased with the gruesome impression that his tale had made on his hearers.
"I should think not," agreed Lillian Seldon hastily. "I don't like ghost stories."
"I am sorry, Lillian, because I know a perfectly stunning one that is as true as history," declared Harry Sears. "If we had time, and Lillian didn't mind, I was going to tell it to you while we rested."
Madge put her arm around Lillian. "Do tell it, Harry," she begged. "I'll protect Lillian from the 'ghosties.'"
The other young people clamored for the ghost story.
Harry looked serious. "My story isn't a joke," he announced. "It hasn't a beginning or much of an end, like ordinary ghost stories, but it is true. The people to whom the ghost appeared are great friends of my mother and father. Somehow this deserted place here makes me think of the one down on Cape Cod. That house was also uninhabited for years and years, and no one knew exactly why, except that there were rumors that the place was haunted. One day a Mr. Peabody, of Boston, an old friend of ours, went down to Cape Cod to look for a home for the summer. The ghost house was what he wanted, so he rented it and left orders for it to be fixed up. He didn't know about the ghosts, though, and he wondered why the real estate agent let him have the place so cheaply. Mr. Peabody was a bachelor, so he asked two friends, Captain Smith and his wife,to occupy the house with him for the summer."
"Oh, trot out your ghosts, Harry. We are getting impatient," interposed Jack Bolling.
"The first day that Mrs. Smith was alone in the house," continued Harry, "she was in the sitting room with the door open when a fragile old lady passed right through the hall. She disappeared into space. That very same night, just at midnight, when Mr. Peabody, Captain Smith and his wife were in the library, they heard the fall of a heavy body upstairs on the second floor. Captain Smith and Mr. Peabody rushed up the steps just in time to see an old man, leading a young girl by the hand, enter a room where the door was locked. When they got the door unfastened there was no one in the room."
"Harry, don't go on with that horrible tale," entreated Lillian, looking timidly up at the dusty windows of the old house, under whose shadow they had taken refuge. The sun was no longer shining brightly, but the shade was grateful to the little circle of listeners on the grass.
"Don't be such a goose, Lillian," protested Phil. "What have Harry's Massachusetts ghosts to do with us way down here in 'ole Virginny'?"
Lillian gave a shriek. The entire company sprang to their feet, scattering sandwiches,cakes and pickles on the grass. Inside the empty house there had been a distinct noise. Something had fallen heavily to the floor.
At the same instant David, who had been apart from the others, appeared around the corner of the house.
"Whew, I am glad it was you who made that racket, Brewster!" declared Jack Bolling, grinning rather foolishly.
The young people looked at one another with relieved expressions.
"I'm so grateful it isn't night time," sighed Eleanor.
"I didn't make any noise," declared David, seeming rather confused. No one paid any attention to his reply. They were again clustered about Harry Sears, begging him to go on with his ghost story.
"Things went from bad to worse in the house I was telling you about," continued Harry. "Every night, at the same hour, the same noise was heard and the old man and the girl reappeared. Why, once Mr. Peabody was sitting in his garden, just as we are doing here"—Harry glanced across the old garden. Was it a branch that stirred behind the tangle of evergreen bushes? The day was very still—"and he saw the same old man walk by him and enter his house through a closed side door. After awhileMrs. Smith became ill from the strain and she sent for a physician who had been living in the neighborhood a long time. The doctor did not wish to come to see Mrs. Smith just at first. When he did he related his own experience in the same house years before. He had just moved into the neighborhood, as a young physician, when one night, at about midnight, he was aroused by some one ringing his bell. An old man asked the doctor to come with him at once, as a young girl, his grand-daughter, was dangerously ill. Dr. Block went with the old gentleman. He found the young girl, dying with consumption, in a room on the second floor of a house. An old lady was with her, but the doctor saw no one else. He wrote a prescription, put it on the mantel-piece and said he would come back in the morning."
Harry stopped talking. A distant roll of thunder interrupted him.
"Do hurry, Harry; we must be off!" exclaimed Jack Bolling.
"The next morning the doctor went back to the same house. It was closed and boarded up, and the caretaker told the physician that no one had lived in the house for many years. The doctor was indignant, so the caretaker opened the door and let Dr. Block into the house, so he could see for himself that it was empty. Thehall was covered with dust, but a single pair of footprints could be seen going from the hall door to the bedroom on the second floor. The old man had left no tracks. The physician entered the room, which was empty. There was no old man, no old woman, no sick girl, not even a bed, but"—Harry made a dramatic pause—"the doctor walked over to the mantel-piece and there lay the prescription that he had written the night before!"
"Oh, my! Oh, my!" exclaimed Lillian. She was on her feet, pointing with trembling fingers toward a window of the old house which was back of the rest of the party. "I am sure I saw a face at that window," she cried. "No one will believe me, but I did, I did! It was a girl's face, too, very white and thin. Please take me away from here."
Madge slipped her arms about the frightened Lillian. For an instant she almost believed that she, too, had seen the specter that must have been born of Lillian's overwrought imagination as a result of the ghost stories she had just heard.
Madge and Lillian led the way down the tangled path from the haunted house. They were some distance from the others when the little captain discovered that David was following them. She had not looked at him, not spokento him since he had so rudely refused her simple request.
Now she walked on, with her head in the air. Lillian did not like David, but now she was almost sorry for the boy: she knew the weight of Madge's displeasure. "David Brewster wants to speak to you, Madge, dear," she whispered in her friend's ear.
Madge made no answer, nor glanced behind her.
"Miss Morton!"—David's face was very white; he was bitterly ashamed—"I am sorry, beastly sorry, I was so rude to you this morning. I was angry, not with you, but about something else. I don't seem to know how to control my temper. Perhaps it is because I am not a gentleman. I would do anything I knew how to serve you." David was not looking at Madge, but on the ground in front of him.
Madge's expression cleared as though by magic. "Never mind, David," she said impulsively. "Let's not think anything more about it. I lose my temper quite as often as any one else. And don't say it is because you are not a gentleman; youarea gentleman, if you wish to be."
The other young people came hurrying on. The clouds were now heavy overhead and the thunder seemed ominously near. The lightningbegan to streak in forked flames across the summer sky.
"I think everybody had better run for the farm," suggested Phyllis. "Sam says it is only a short distance away."
No one cared to linger any longer in the deserted grounds. The story of the tragic old house, oddly mixed as it was with Harry Sears's ghostly tale and Lillian's fancied apparition of a girl's white face at the window, did not leave a pleasant recollection of the morning spent near Sam's "ha'nted house."
MINNEHAHA, Laughing Water, otherwise known as Madge Morton, you are the loveliest person I ever saw," announced Phyllis Alden, while Eleanor and Lillian gazed at Madge in her Indian costume with equally admiring eyes.
"See, here is the description of Minnehaha. Doesn't it sound like Madge?" Phil went on, reading from a volume of Longfellow:
"'Wayward as the Minnehaha,With her moods of shade and sunshine,Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate,Feet as rapid as the river,Tresses flowing like the water,And as musical a laughter.'"
"'Wayward as the Minnehaha,With her moods of shade and sunshine,Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate,Feet as rapid as the river,Tresses flowing like the water,And as musical a laughter.'"
"'Wayward as the Minnehaha,With her moods of shade and sunshine,Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate,Feet as rapid as the river,Tresses flowing like the water,And as musical a laughter.'"
Phyllis paused and Madge swept her a low curtsey. "Thank you, Phil," she said, her blue eyes suddenly misty at her chum's compliment.
It was the day of the great corn feast on the Preston estate, and Madge had been selectedto appear in the costume of Minnehaha and to read to the guests certain parts of Hiawatha that referred to the Indian legend of the corn.
All the young people were to appear in the guise of Indians. Phyllis, with her olive skin, black eyes and hair, made a striking Pocahontas.
Phil looked more like an Indian maiden than Madge, but Madge had more dramatic skill. Lillian, with her hair as yellow as the corn, was the paleface princess stolen by the Indians in her babyhood. Eleanor wore an Indian costume, also, but she represented no especial character.
Much against his will David Brewster impersonated Hiawatha. He hated it. He did not wish to come to the entertainment at all, much less in the conspicuous position of the hero of the evening. But Mr. Preston had taken a deep fancy to David. He seemed not to mind the boy's queer, moody ways, and he had a great respect for his practical judgment. Mr. Preston had asked David to remain in his service when the houseboat party disbanded, but David, for reasons that he would not tell, had refused. The boy did not think he could decline to impersonate Hiawatha when Mr. Preston considered that he had paid him a compliment in asking him. In spite of his embarrassment David Brewster was a good representation of a youngIndian brave, with his swarthy skin, his dark eyes that flashed fire when his anger was aroused, and his vigorous, muscular body, made lean and hard by his work in the open fields.
In the middle of the Preston estate, between the orchards and the cornfields, a huge platform had been erected with a small stage at one end. The place was decorated with sheaves of wheat, oats and barley, with great stacks of green and yellowing corn standing in the four corners. The platform was filled with chairs and hung with lanterns, some of them made from hollowed-out gourds and pumpkins, to carry out the harvest idea. After the reading of Hiawatha the platform was to be cleared and the young people were to have a dance.
The invitations to the feast read for six o'clock. At seven a dozen open wood fires were roasting the green ears of corn for more than a hundred guests. The long tables under the trees in the yard were laden with every kind of delicious food.
But Madge wished the feast was over and her poem read. Her knees were knocking together when she rose to read before so many people.
The August moon was in the full. It was a golden night. In a semi-circle behind her crowded her friends from the houseboat party. They formed an Indian tableau in the background,and David stood near her at the front of the stage.
"And in rapture HiawathaCried aloud, 'It is Mondamin!'"
"And in rapture HiawathaCried aloud, 'It is Mondamin!'"
"And in rapture HiawathaCried aloud, 'It is Mondamin!'"
read Madge, with a shy glance at the young Hiawatha standing beside her.
At this moment there crept up on the platform an old woman, so old that the audience stared at one another in amazement. They believed that the strange visitor was a part of the performance. David and Madge knew better. David's face turned white as chalk, but Madge's voice never faltered as she went on with the reading:
"'Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!Then he called to old Nokomis'."
"'Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!Then he called to old Nokomis'."
"'Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!Then he called to old Nokomis'."
The old woman's presence was explained to at least those of the audience who were familiar with the story of Hiawatha. The ancient gypsy woman who had appeared on the stage among the young people so unexpectedly was "old Nokomis," Hiawatha's grandmother, one of the principal characters in Longfellow's poem.
The moment that Madge finished her recitation David Brewster disappeared. But the oldgypsy went about among the Prestons' guests, keeping their attention engaged by telling their fortunes.
The gypsy woman was not the only mysterious visitor at the famous corn feast. Madge and Lillian were dancing with two young country boys when two Indian braves unexpectedly appeared in the midst of the guests. They had on extremely handsome Indian costumes and their faces were completely covered with Indian masks. They spoke in strange, guttural voices, so that no one could guess who they were.
Madge and Lillian tried in vain to escape them. Wherever the girls went the Indian chiefs followed them.
As the evening progressed Madge grew very tired. The apparition of the old woman, whom she had seen before on the day when she was held a prisoner in the woods, had made her nervous. She longed to ask Phil if she also recalled the face of the old woman.
"Miss Jenny Ann," Madge kept a tight hold on Phil's hand, "Phyllis and I are a little tired. We are going away by ourselves to rest. You and Miss Betsey won't be frightened about us?" Madge gave her chaperon a repentant hug and Miss Jenny Ann smiled at her. The little captain had promised never to wander off again without saying where she was going.
The fires where the corn had been roasted were still burning dimly. The girls made a circuit of the fires and went over into another nearby field, where a haystack formed a good hiding place. There they dropped down on the ground and Madge, who was more easily tired than Phil, laid her head in her chum's lap.
No matter how much Phyllis and Madge enjoyed parties and people, they were never happier than when they could stroll off to have a quiet talk with each other. The two girls were splendid associates. Phil had the calm sweetness, poise and good sense that impetuous Madge often lacked, while Madge had the fire and ardor that Phyllis needed to give her enthusiasm.
"I wish Tom and George Robinson were here at the farm to-night, Phil!" exclaimed Madge, after a short pause, giving a little sigh.
Phyllis looked at her chum closely. The moonlight shone full in Madge's wistful blue eyes. Phil patted her hand by way of sympathy.
"You see, Phil, it is like this," went on Madge. "I feel sorry about Tom, because I was really responsible for making him break his engine and spoiling a part of his holiday. If I had not run away by myself in the moonlight, Tom might have been here with us. It seems to me that Iam having a perfectly lovely time, while poor Tom is being punished for my fault. It isn't fair."
"Sh-sh!" Phyllis put her fingers gently over her friend's lips. Some one was stealing quietly past them on the other side of the haystack. He disappeared in the darkness, a little way off, and the girls supposed that he was one of the Prestons' guests escaping from the crowd.
A few minutes later Phil exclaimed: "Madge, is that one of the fires from the corn roast over there? I did not think that there was any corn roasted so near to Mr. Preston's barn."
Madge glanced idly across the field. The girls were at one side of the group of buildings where Mr. Preston kept his live stock. She saw a tiny jet of flame, apparently running along near the ground. Both watchers stared at it silently. A larger flame crawled up the outside wall of the barn, then smoke began to pour out through the cracks.
The two girls sprang to their feet. "One of the barns has caught fire!" cried Phil. "I'll find Mr. Preston. You give the alarm to the men about the place." Phil ran toward the festival grounds.
As Madge turned she heard a slight sound behind her. Some one was coming toward her, moving cautiously over the grass. She slippedto one side of the haystack so that she could see who it was. "Why, David Brewster!" she cried, "what are you doing way off here? Quick! hurry! Phil and I think Mr. Preston's barn is afire!"
David set his teeth in rage as he sped across the field with Madge close at his heels. He had taken off his Indian costume, but his face was still stained and painted in Indian fashion, so that it gave him a wild, unnatural appearance. Instead of stopping at the barn David, without a word of explanation, ran on to the Preston house.
Madge found a crowd of men already gathered about the burning barn. Mr. Preston had formed a bucket brigade and a dozen men were passing buckets from the well to the fire. Half a dozen of the more valorous men, three of them farm-hands, were fighting their way into the barn, leading, driving, or coaxing out the terrified horses and cattle.
Mr. Preston stood at the barn door, giving commands to the workers.
By this time the hay in the loft had caught and the whole barn was a seething mass of fire. Mrs. Preston stood near the scene, with Madge and Phil on either side of her. David Brewster suddenly joined them. No one noticed his peculiar expression.
"Let the barn go, men!" shouted Mr. Preston. "Quick, out of it! It will fall in a minute. We have saved the other buildings, and we must let this go."
"Oh, my poor Fanny!" wailed Mrs. Preston, as though she were talking of a human being. Fanny was a beloved old horse that had belonged to Mrs. Preston for twelve years. She had driven her in her phaeton nearly every day in all this time and loved the old horse almost as a member of the family.
Madge felt sure that Mr. Preston could not know that Fanny was still in the burning barn. The little captain broke away from her friends and made a rush toward the smoke and flames. Mr. Preston was within a few feet of the partially consumed building. From the inside of the barn came a groan of anguish and terror that was human in its appeal. Mr. Preston covered his face with his hands. "Don't try it, men," he commanded authoritatively; "the old mare can't be saved. It is useless to try to go into the barn now."
Madge could no longer endure the piteous sounds. She made a headlong plunge toward the barn door. She could not see her way inside, but the noise that the horse was making would guide her, she thought.
Just at the threshold of the barn she felt herselfshoved aside and hurled several feet out of harm's way. She fell backward on the ground and lay still. It was David who had flung her from the reach of the fire's scorching heat and plunged into the barn in her stead.
The crowd watched the brave young man in horrified silence. Seconds that seemed ages passed. The front of the barn collapsed. Madge felt Mr. Preston seize her and drag her away with him, but not before she and all the watchers had caught sight of David. He stood in the far corner of the barn with his coat thrown over the terrified horse's head. His face was almost unrecognizable through the smoke, but the ringing tones of his voice urging the old horse forward could be heard above the crackling wood.
"Hurrah!" shouted Mr. Preston hoarsely. He almost trampled over Madge, who was sitting on the ground staring wildly at David. Then she saw Mr. Preston and a half dozen other men pick David up on their shoulders and bear him away from the crowd, while two of the farm-hands took charge of old Fanny.
David's burns, though not serious, were painful. His hands and arms were severely blistered. But the excitement occasioned by the fire had hardly passed when it was discovered that during the fire some one had entered thePreston house and had stolen a quantity of old family silver. Miss Betsey Taylor's money bag, which she had carefully concealed under the day pillow on her four-post mahogany bed, had also disappeared.
There would probably never be any way to discover how or when the thief entered the house. There had been more than a hundred visitors about the place, and the house had been open for hours. During the fire every one of the servants had rushed into the yard.
There was also another disturbing fact to be considered. Either before or after the fire the old gypsy woman, who had unexpectedly appeared to take the character part of old Nokomis in the Hiawatha recitation, had completely vanished; also, the two men disguised as Indian braves had gone.
The Prestons and their guests discussed all these pertinent features of the affair until long after midnight. Miss Betsey wept and mourned over the loss of her money bag, and dolefully repeated that she wished she had never, never heard of a houseboat. The four girls and Miss Jenny Ann became thoroughly disgusted with the disgruntled spinster's selfish bewailing of her own loss, when the Prestons, who had met with a much heavier loss, were heroically making light of their misfortune.
Madge also had a private grievance, one that was quite her own. David had behaved roughly, almost brutally, toward her when she had tried to dash into the burning barn. She decided that she did not in the least like David, and that she was not at all grateful to him for literally hurling her out of harm's way.
As for David himself, he had slipped away from the men who had borne him in triumph on their shoulders and, in spite of the pain of his burns, was striding across the fields in the direction of the woods with angry eyes and sternly set mouth.
IN the days that followed David kept more than ever to himself. He occupied a small room alone, and for hours at a time he would stay inside it, with his door locked against intruders. Few sounds ever came forth to show what the lad was doing. His hands and arms were bandaged almost to the elbows, but he had use of his fingers and his face was uninjured.
Madge had forced herself to thank David, both for his rescue of her and of the old horse, which she had intended to save. But David had not had the courtesy to apologize to her for having thrown her aside so roughly. He wished to, but the poor fellow did not know what to say to her, nor how to say it.
The girls had all offered to read to David, or to entertain him in any way he desired, while he was suffering from his burns. But the boy had refused their offers so flatly that no one of them felt any wish to be agreeable to him again.
The young people spent a great part of their holiday on the Preston farm in riding horseback by daylight and by moonlight, and in exploringthe old salt and sulphur springs and mines in the neighborhood. Word had come from Tom Curtis and George Robinson that the accident to the engine of the motor launch had been more serious than they had at first supposed. The boys would be compelled to remain away some time longer. Mrs. Curtis wished to see Tom on business, so he had gone on to New York for a few days.
Since the corn roast, the burning of his barn and the burglarizing of his house Mr. Preston had been quietly endeavoring to discover the evil-doers. He had notified the county sheriff and the latter had set his men to work on the case, but so far there were no clues. Mr. Preston believed that the same person who had set fire to the barn had committed the robbery. The barn, must have been burned in order to keep the attention of the family and guests centered on the outside disaster while the thief was exploring the house.
Madge did not like to mention to Mr. Preston that David Brewster might be able to give him some information about the burglary; for Madge remembered having seen David run toward the house at about the time the fire was started. He did not come back for some minutes afterward. Yet, as David did not speak of his presence in the house to Mr. Preston orto any one else, she did not feel that it was her place to speak of it. David might have some reason for his silence which he would explain later on.
Miss Betsey Taylor was now more than ever convinced that the same thief who had robbed her of various small sums on the houseboat had but completed his work. How the robber had pursued her to Mr. Preston's home she did not explain. But she certainly cast aside with scorn Madge's suggestion that no one had stolen from her while she was aboard the "Merry Maid." She had only miscounted her money, as many a woman has done before, Madge had contended. Miss Betsey had been fearful that the little captain might be right before the final disappearance of her money bag. But now she regretted, far more than her money, the loss of the few family jewels that she had inherited from her thrifty New England grandmothers.
David Brewster stood at his little back window, watching Madge, Phyllis, Lillian, Eleanor, Harry Sears and Jack Bolling mount their horses for a long afternoon's ride over to some old sulphur springs a few miles from the Preston estate. The party was to eat supper at the springs and to ride home before bed time. Mrs. Preston, Miss Jenny Ann and Miss Betsey Taylor were already driving out of the yard inMrs. Preston's old phaeton. They were to be the advance guard of the riding party, as no one except their hostess knew the route they should take.
Mrs. Preston had invited David to drive with her, as he was not able to use his injured hands sufficiently to guide a riding horse, but David had refused. The party were to be away for some time. Mr. Preston would be out on the farm, looking after his harvesting. David Brewster had other plans for the afternoon.
Once the others were fairly out of the yard the boy found an old slouch hat in his shabby suit case. He pulled it well down over his face. Then he got into an old coat that he had been ashamed to wear before the new friends, but it served his present purpose. Inside his coat pocket David thrust a small, flat object that, in some form, always accompanied him whenever there was a possible chance of his being alone for any length of time.
Then David left the farm. He said good-bye to no one. To one of the maids who saw him leaving he merely explained that he was going for a walk. He did not ask for food to take with him. His one idea was to be off as soon as possible.
The boy was not entirely certain of the route that he must travel. He knew of but one way togo, and it stretched over many miles. It might mean delay and difficulty. David was not as strong as he had been before the shock and injury of the fire. Still, the thing must be done. It was not the physical effort that worried David.
The trip seemed interminable. The lad had to travel along the road that led back to the houseboat, and from there to follow the line of the river bank to a well-remembered spot. David swung along as rapidly as possible. His greatest desire was to make his journey and to return to the farm before the riding party got home. He might then have an explanation to make. What could he say if anybody demanded to know where he had been? His silence would create suspicion. But then, David had kept his own counsel before to-day.
It was well into the afternoon before the boy reached his destination. Slowly and cautiously, making as little noise as possible, he climbed a hill that rose before him. The crest of the hill was heavily wooded and a high pile of sticks and branches formed a clever hiding place. But there was no human being in sight, no old woman, no man, no sign of a fire except a few ashes that had been carefully scattered over the ground.
When the youth reached the top he stood stilland looked cautiously about him. He could hear the rush of the river below the hill and the rustle of the wind in the trees. He crouched low and put his ear to the ground, like an Indian, then rose and, with a frown, went to the brush heap and crawled under it. Presently he came out, holding in his hand a small red handkerchief which was knotted and tied together. David's face was very stern. It seemed that something which he had feared had come true; yet the lad turned and went down the hill again, whistling and kicking at the underbrush and shrubbery as he walked, as though he were trying to make as much noise as possible. Ten minutes later David came back up the hill by another route as quietly as some creature of the woods in hiding from a foe. Behind a tree the boy lay down flat. He took out of his pocket the small package that he had brought with him from the farm and, holding it before him, seemed to lose himself completely in earnest contemplation of it.
After a while some one else drew near the same place, walking even more stealthily than had the boy. David did not stir nor turn his head. He was hidden by the trees. An old woman crept to the pile of underbrush. She crawled under it and stayed for some time. When she came out she had forgotten to be silent;she was mumbling and muttering to herself.
"Granny," David touched the gypsy woman on the shoulder.
"Is it you, boy?" she asked, riveting her small black eyes on him. "How came you to Virginia? We thought that you were many hundreds of miles away. It's a pity!" She shook her head. "Fate is too strong for us all," she muttered to herself.
"I am sure I am as sorry as you are that I am here," David interrupted her passionately. "But perhaps you are right, and it is fate. I came to Virginia because I had work to do here. Where ishe?"
"I don't know. I ain't seen him but once since," answered the woman.
David laughed rather drearily. "Don't try to fool me. You've got to tell me the truth before I go away from here. You might as well do it first as last."
The old woman looked furtively and anxiously at the heap of dead branches. "Iamtelling you the truth," she asserted.
"Where is he, Granny?" continued David. "I've got to find him."
"Youain'tgot to find him," protested the old woman. "You can't give him away, and it won't do no good. Ain't you his——" Shestopped short. "You can't make him change now; it is too late."
"I don't want to talk; I've got to get back," returned David quietly. "If you don't tell me where he is, I'll give the alarm and have the country scoured for him."
The old woman whispered something in David's ear. "I am not sure he is there, but I think that's the place. I know we can trust you, boy, for all your high and mighty ways."
"You had better get away from here, Granny," answered David. "You are too old for this sort of life, and some day you will get into trouble."
The gypsy's hand moved patiently. "It's the only kind of life I have been used to for many, many years. I don't mind, so long as he keeps on getting off."
David strode down the hill. It was just before sunset. He was beginning to doubt his being able to make his way back to the Preston place before the picnic party came home. He could not walk so fast as he had come, for he was tired and disheartened.
After a few miles' journey along the river bank he came to a bend where he could see, farther ahead, the "Merry Maid," the poor little houseboat, looking as deserted and lonely as David felt. Her decks were cleared and hercabins locked until the return of the houseboat party. She was being taken care of by a colored boy who lived not far away.
David felt a sudden rush of longing. The houseboat was filled with happy memories of the girls. He was tired out and exhausted. He must rest somewhere. The boy climbed aboard the houseboat. But he did not rest. He walked feverishly up and down the deck.
An overwhelming impulse never to return to the Preston farm swept over David. The love of wandering was in his blood. To-day he did not feel fit to associate with the girls and boys who made up the two boat parties. He ought never to have come with them. His lowly birth and lack of training were against him. David knew that trouble, and perhaps disgrace, might be in store for him if he went back to Mr. Preston's and faced what was probably going to happen.
The poor boy wrestled with temptation. Mr. and Mrs. Preston had been good to him. Miss Betsey meant to be kind, in spite of her fussiness, and she had evidently told his new acquaintances nothing to his discredit. Tom Curtis and Madge Morton trusted him. Yet could he face the suspicion which he felt sure would fall upon him?
The sun was going down and the river was aflaming pathway of gold when David turned his back on the houseboat and started for Mr. Preston's home. His steps grew heavier and heavier as he walked. He was stiff, sore and weary. The bandages were nearly off his hands and the flesh smarted and burned from the exposure to the air. David was also ravenously hungry. Against his heart the things wrapped in the old red handkerchief cut like sharp tools.
Night and the stars came. David was still far from home. He decided that it might be best for him to struggle on no farther. It would be easier to explain in the morning that he had gone out for a walk and lost his way; than to face his friends to-night with any explanation of his trip.
David remembered that the house that the colored boy, Sam, had described as "ha'nted" lay midway between the houseboat and the farm. He could sleep out on its old porch.
David filled his hat with Sam's "hoodoo" peaches. He sat on the veranda steps as he ate them, thinking idly of Sam's story of the old place and getting it oddly mixed with what he had heard of Harry Sears's ghost story. David was not superstitious. He did not believe that he could be afraid of ghosts. He had other live troubles to worry him, which seemed far worse. Still, he hoped that if ghosts did walk atmidnight about this forlorn old spot that they would choose any other night than this.
It was a soft, warm summer evening with a waning moon. David rolled his coat up under his head for a pillow and lay down in one corner of the porch.
He did not go to sleep at once; he was too tired and his bed was too hard. How long he slept he did not know. He was awakened by a sound so indescribably soft and vague that it might have been only a breath of wind stirring. But David felt his hands grow icy cold and his breath come in gasps. He was conscious of something uncanny near him. Something warm touched him. He could have screamed with terror. But it was only a thin, black cat, the color of the night shadows.
The boy sat up. He was wide awake. He was not dreaming. Stealing up the path to the house was a wraith; tall, thin, emaciated, with hair absolutely white and thin, and skeleton-like hands; it was the semblance of an old man. He was not human; he made no noise, he did not seem to walk, he floated along. There was something dreadfully sad in the ghost's appearance. Yet he was not alone. He led some one by the hand, a young girl, who was more ghost-like than he was. Her hair was floating out from her tiny, gnome-like face. She was thinner and more patheticthan the old man. She had no expression in her face and she, too, made no sound.
The awestruck boy did not stir. The midnight visitants to the empty house did not notice him. They came up to the porch. They mounted the steps and, without touching the fallen front door, passed silently into the deserted mansion.
David did not know how long he waited, spellbound, after this apparition. But no sound came forth from the house; no one reappeared. The black cat rubbed against him the second time. Even the cat must have been dumb, for she made no noise, did not even purr.
David Brewster was not a coward. If you had asked him in the broad daylight if he were afraid of ghosts he would have been too disgusted at the idea even to answer you. But to-night he could not reason, could not think. As soon as he could get his breath he ran with all his speed down through the yard of the "ha'nted house," over the fence and into the road, and then for the rest of the distance to the Preston house. He forgot his fatigue, forgot that he might have to answer difficult questions once he got home. David wanted to be with real, live people after his night of fears.
The boy found no lights in the Preston house. The front door was closed and the back onebarred for the night. Evidently the excursionists had come back late and, believing him to be in bed, had not wished to disturb him.
David prowled around the house. He hated to wake anybody up to let him in. He knew that Miss Betsey would be frightened into hysterics by the sudden ringing of a bell. The boy found a pantry window unlocked. Opening it, he crawled into the house. He got up to his bedroom without anybody coming out to see who it was that had entered the house at such a mysterious hour. It was not until early the next morning that David learned that he need not have been so careful, as there was no one in the Preston house except himself and some of the servants.