POOR David Brewster was facing a more difficult problem than he ever had had to conquer in his life. He must manage to get over to the old coal mine, bring back the Preston silver and as much of Miss Betsey's money as he could force the thief to leave behind him, without being noticed or suspected of any unusual design. The jewels that David had already returned to Miss Betsey had been in charge of the old gypsy woman; David had found them on his first visit to her. But to carry back a quantity of old family silver, some of it in fairly large pieces, was not so simple a task. Yet David had one thing in his favor: Harry Sears and Jack Bolling had both left the Preston farm. After Harry's encounter with David, and the latter's frank account of his own part in the fight, Harry had not cared to linger at the farm. He knew that some day Madge and Phyllis Alden would find out why David had been tempted to fight. Harry Sears had no desire to recount his own unsuccessful attempt to act the part of "Paul Pry," so Harry and Jack had gone on to join Tom Curtis and GeorgeRobinson, and the four boys were to come on to the houseboat party in a few days.
David Brewster knew that whatever he had to do must be done quickly. So he borrowed a horse and cart from Mr. Preston a day or so after Miss Betsey's midnight talk with Madge and Phyllis. He did not explain what he wished with the horse. However, his host asked no questions, for Mr. Preston had entire faith in the boy.
Madge happened to be in the yard as David drove out from the stable. She waved her hand to David in a friendly fashion, feeling secretly ashamed of having even discussed the question of his possible guilt.
David was too worried and unhappy to respond to Madge's greeting pleasantly, but he acknowledged her salutation with a curt nod of his head. He had lately been more silent and reserved than ever in his manner, because, in his heart, he longed so deeply to know some one in whom he could confide. Yet he was afraid to trust even Madge.
"Going driving all alone, David?" questioned Madge.
"Yes," answered David harshly. Yet he was thinking at the same moment that if he only could confide in her, Madge was just the kind of a girl to help a fellow out of a scrape and tostand shoulder to shoulder with him if he got into a difficulty.
Madge hesitated. She wanted so much to be friendly with David. She thought that perhaps if he talked with her alone, he might explain a number of things about himself that she wanted to understand, not from curiosity but in a real spirit of friendliness. Yet she could not make up her mind to make this request of David. If he had been like Tom, or any one of the other motor launch boys, she would not have hesitated for an instant.
"Stop a minute, please, David," she said, looking earnestly at the boy, "I have a favor to ask of you." She knew that David had some mysterious occupation that took him away from the farm every afternoon, and that he would brook no interference. "If you are going to drive alone and I won't be in the way, won't you take me with you?"
David Brewster colored to the roots of his dark hair. Never in his whole life had a nice girl approached him in the friendly way that Madge had just done. Yet he knew he must refuse her request, though David would have dearly loved to have Madge drive with him. He simply must return the stolen goods to Mr. Preston's house to-day, or else run the risk of never restoring them to their rightful owners.He would not dare to ask Mr. Preston to lend him a horse again soon, and Tom might return any day with his launch.
Madge realized before David answered her that he meant to refuse to take her with him. She felt furiously angry, more with herself than with the boy.
"I am sorry," muttered David, when he at last found his voice. "I've got to attend to some business this afternoon and I've got to attend to it alone, or I would like very much to have you come along with me."
"Oh, never mind, then," answered Madge coldly, turning away from David, who took a step toward her retreating figure, then, with a muttered exclamation, sprang into the cart and drove off.
As for Madge, she decided never to speak to David again; he was insufferable.
About five o'clock on the same afternoon Madge, Phyllis, Lillian and Miss Betsey were out on the lawn eating watermelon. Eleanor stood at her front window gazing down wistfully at her friends. Miss Jenny Ann was reading to amuse her, but it was really more fun to look down at the girls. Nellie was getting dreadfully tired of being confined to one room, and yet she did not feel well enough to go downstairs.
David Brewster drove back into the yard.Inside his cart Madge noticed a square, wooden box, which she had not seen when David left the farm. Without saying a word to any one, the boy lifted the box and carried it into the house. A little later he came out on the lawn to where Miss Betsey and the girls were sitting and approached Madge rather diffidently.
"Miss Morton," David's voice was unusually gentle, "don't you think I might carry your cousin, Miss Butler, downstairs? I saw her at the window as I drove into the yard. She looks lonely. Perhaps she would like to be down here."
Madge blew a kiss up to Eleanor. She, too, had caught her cousin's wistful expression. The little captain's heart melted toward David. "I don't know," she answered doubtfully. "I'll go upstairs and ask Miss Jenny Ann what she thinks."
"I'd be awfully careful," urged David. "I know I could carry Miss Butler without hurting her shoulder. We could bring a steamer chair out here on the lawn for her when I get her down."
Madge hurried away. A few seconds later David saw her at the open window waving her hand and nodding her head energetically. "Yes; do come up," she called. "Eleanor issoanxious to have you carry her down into the yard,and Miss Jenny Ann is willing that you should try."
The girls busied themselves with arranging Nellie's chair in the shadiest spot on the lawn, under a great horse-chestnut tree, and piling the chair with sofa cushions and a pale pink shawl, and in cutting the "heart" out of the choicest watermelon to bestow on the invalid and her cavalier.
David bore Nellie as comfortably as though she were a baby. She had her well arm about his neck and the other, the bandaged one, rested comfortably in her lap. David's face had completely lost its sullen look. He was actually smiling at Eleanor as she apologized for being "so heavy."
Then he sat down on the ground in the midst of the bevy of laughing girls. Lillian passed him his piece of watermelon in her prettiest fashion. David accepted it as gracefully as Tom Curtis might have done. When the watermelon feast was over David helped the three girls to clear away the dishes. When he came back he dropped down at Miss Betsey's side and began to wind her ball of yarn.
"I wish you would knit me some gloves this winter, Cousin Betsey," he begged boyishly.
The old lady patted him affectionately. When, before, had the boy ever called her "CousinBetsey"? He had seemed always to try to ignore their relationship. "The lad isn't so bad-looking after all," Miss Taylor thought to herself. "He is handsome when he is happy." David had on a soft, faded, blue shirt, with a turned-down collar that showed the fine, muscular lines of his throat. He had a strong, clear-cut face, and his brown eyes were large and expressive. When he laughed his whole face changed. He looked actually happy.
Then Miss Betsey realized all of a sudden how seldom she had ever seen the boy even smile before. Perhaps, after all, Dr. Alden's prescription for Miss Betsey Taylor was precisely what she needed. Sunshine and the company of young people had really given her something to think about besides her own nerves.
"Mr. Brewster," Eleanor's voice was still a little weak from her illness, "where were you the night I was lost? Madge said you did not join the searching party until early next morning. I believe if you had been with the others, you might have found me sooner, you were so clever about finding Madge."
David's face changed suddenly. The old, sullen look crept over it. Then, as he glanced straight into Eleanor's clear eyes, his expression softened.
"I was sorry I wasn't along with the others,"he answered kindly. "But I forgot to tell you something. I had an experience of my own that night. I went for a long walk. On my way back I decided to take a nap on the porch of the 'ha'nted house.' What do you think happened?" David lowered his voice to a whisper.
"You saw the ghosts?" shivered Lillian.
David nodded his head solemnly. "I suppose you'll think I am quite mad," he insisted. "I think I am myself when I recall the story in broad daylight. But, as sure as I am sitting here, I saw two ghosts walk up the path and pass into the empty house. They were those of an old man and a young girl. They flitted along like shadows."
"You were dreaming, boy," insisted Miss Betsey.
David shook his head. "I don't think so," he argued. "I was as wide awake as I am now. I got up and made a blind rush for home as soon as the spooks went by me."
"Girls! Miss Betsey!" called Mrs. Preston from the veranda, "it is time to come into the house to get ready for tea."
As the watermelon party scrambled to their feet Madge waved one hand dramatically. "Pause, kind friends," she commanded. "Who among us has the courage to find out whether David Brewster's 'spooks' are real? I have alwayslonged to spend a night in a haunted house. Now, here's our chance!"
"I'm with you," answered David. "I'll go."
"So will I," announced Phil.
Miss Jenny Ann, who was in for most larks, hesitated. "Of course, I don't believe in ghosts, children; there are no such things," she declared. "Still, I shouldn't like to meet them at night."
Before the laughter at Miss Jenny Ann had ceased reinforcement for Madge's ghost party arrived from an unexpected quarter. Miss Betsey Taylor offered her services as chaperon, and suggested that the "spook investigation" take place the very next night.
IT was nearly ten o'clock the following evening when four excited adventurers set out from the Preston house. They carried dark lanterns, while practical Phil had a package of lunch stored away out of sight. She had an idea that sitting up all night in a forlorn, dirty old house was not going to be half as much sport as enthusiastic Madge anticipated.
The little captain was not the only enthusiast in the ghost party, which was composed of herself, Phil, David and Miss Betsey. Miss Betsey Taylor had cast from her the sobriety of years. She was as eager and as interested in their midnight excursion as any young girl could have been. Not that the pursuit of ghosts had been a secret passion of Miss Betsey's. It was only that, at the age of sixty, she was at last beginning to understand how it felt to be young, and she was as ready for adventure as any other one of the party of young folks.
Indeed, she was far more eager than Lillian Seldon, who could not be persuaded even to contemplate the thought of approaching the "ha'nted house." Lillian insisted that it washer duty to stay at home with Eleanor and Miss Jenny Ann.
No one had been told of the proposed trip except Mr. and Mrs. Preston. The ghost party had no intention of allowing practical jokers in the neighborhood to get up "fake spooks" for their entertainment. They were seriously determined to find out why the ancient house was supposed to be inhabited by spirits from another world, and whether David Brewster had seen real ghosts during his visit to the house or only creatures of his own imagination.
Miss Betsey clung tightly to David's arm as they made their way along the dark road. The old lady wore a pale gray dress, with a soft real lace collar around her neck. Recently the houseboat girls had persuaded her to leave off her false side curls and to wave her hair a little over her ears. No change of costume could make Miss Betsey a beauty, but she was improved, and she did look a little less like an old maid. To-night Miss Betsey had concealed her dress with a long, black macintosh cape, which completely enveloped her. With her tall, spare form and her lean, square shoulders Miss Betsey looked like a grenadier. On her head she had tied, with a long gray veil, one of Jack Bolling's soft felt hats.
"Madge, if you keep on prattling such gruesometales I shall turn back and leave you to your fate," expostulated Phil, as she urged Madge along behind David and their chaperon. "I know nothing will happen to-night, except that we will all be dead tired and wish we were safe at home in our little beds. Good gracious, what was that?" Phil gave Madge's arm a sudden pinch. "That" was an old woman hobbling along the road in the opposite direction from the four adventurers.
"Scat!" cried Miss Betsey nervously as the woman came face to face with her.
David laughed and took off his hat in the dark. The old woman had picked up her skirts and started to scurry off as fast as she could. But as she caught sight of Miss Betsey's face in the light of the lantern that David carried the old mammy paused. She was the "Mammy Ellen" to whom Mrs. Preston had talked on the day of the drive to the "ha'nted house."
"Land sakes alive, chillun, how you scairt me!" grumbled the old woman. "When you done said 'Scat!' I thought certain you'd seen a black cat, and it jest nacherally means bad luck. Ain't you the lady I seen with Mrs. Preston?" inquired Mammy Ellen of Miss Betsey, with the marvelous memory that colored people have for faces.
Miss Betsey nodded. "I wish you would cometo see me in the morning, Mammy," suggested Miss Betsey. "Long years ago I used to know Mr. John Randolph, and Mrs. Preston tells me you were a member of his family. We can't stop to-night. We are going—on up the road," concluded Miss Taylor vaguely.
Even in the darkness Madge and Phyllis could see the whites of Mammy Ellen's eyes grow larger. "You ain't a-goin' near the house of 'ha'nts,' is you? If you do, you'll sure meet trouble, one of you, I ain't a saying which. But ef you disturb a dead ghost, he am just as apt to put his ice cold fingers on you, and you ain't no more good after that. You am sure enough done for."
"Why not, Auntie?" inquired Madge, her blue eyes dancing. Meeting this aged colored woman with her mysterious tale of ghost signs and warnings was the best possible beginning for their lark.
"Child, ef a ghost's cold fingers teches you, your heart grows stone cold. There ain't nobody that loves you and you don't love nobody ever after. Don't you go near that old house, chilluns. It ain't no place for the likes of you," pleaded Mammy Ellen. "I tell you there am more buried there than youall knows. That old house am a grave for the young and the old. Mind what I say. It sure am."
"Why do you think we are going to the 'ghost house,' Mammy?" queried David, laughing.
The old colored woman shook her head slowly. "It ain't caze I think youall's going to the old place that I warn ye; it am only caze I's so afeerd you might. I know there ain't nobody, in their right good senses as would want their wits scairt clean out of 'em."
"But we don't believe in ghosts, Mammy," argued Madge.
Mammy Ellen peered into Madge's bright face. "Go 'long, child," she said. "You don't believe in ghosts caze you ain't seen 'em, jest as ye don't believe in most of the things you's got to find out."
Mammy Ellen bowed courteously to Miss Betsey and the young people as she walked away from them.
"I do wish we hadn't met that old colored woman, Madge," whispered Phil. "She makes me feel as though we were intruding on ghosts when we go prying about their haunts at night."
Every leaf of every tree, every rustling blade of grass, every stirring breath of the night wind took on a more sinister character as the four ghost-investigators slipped up the tangled, overgrown path to the house of mystery.
"We must put out all our lanterns but one," ordered David. "If any one happens to bewalking along the road, we don't wish them to see us prowling about this place. Besides, we don't want to frighten the ghosts."
The three women put out the light of their lanterns. David kept his light, walking in front, with Miss Betsey next and Madge and Phyllis bringing up the rear. The women clutched at one another's skirts as they went around and around the dark old house, tumbling over crumbling bricks and tangled vines. They thought it best to look thoroughly around the outside of the house for loiterers, whether ghostly or real, before exploring the inside.
"'Chickamy, chickamy, crainey crow, went to the well to wash her toe! When she came back her chickens were all gone.' What time is it, old Witch?" murmured Madge, giving Phil's skirt a wicked pull. Phil fell back, almost upsetting Miss Betsey, who clutched feverishly at David's coatsleeve.
"What on earth happened to you, child?" she asked tremulously.
"It was that good-for-nothing Madge's fault," laughed Phyllis.
No one of the party took the first part of their ghost hunt seriously, but when David reported that the hour was growing late, and that it was now time for them to enter the old house, a different feeling stole over each one of them—akind of curious foreboding of evil, or unhappiness, or some unexplainable mystery.
"Let's give up and go back, Madge," proposed Phyllis. "The old house is so musty, dark and horrible that it is sure to have rats in it, if nothing worse. I feel that it would be better for all of us not to go in. Suppose we should see something queer? What could we do?"
"Phyllis Alden, the very idea of your suggesting that we turn 'quitters'!" expostulated Madge. "Do you suppose we could face Miss Jenny Ann and the girls if we retreat before we even know there is an enemy? Come on, Miss Betsey; you and I will go on ahead. Let Phil come with David if she likes."
Madge danced up the old, tumbled-down veranda steps, guided by the rays of her lantern. Each one of the women had relit her lantern to enter the deserted house. Once inside they might put them out again. But who could tell what they might stumble against in a house that was supposed never to have been entered in nearly forty years?
Madge pushed at the front door, which hung by a broken hinge, and drew Miss Betsey in after her. "Oh, dear me, isn't it awful?" she whispered.
Not one of the ghost party had spoken in an ordinary voice since the start of their adventure.Somehow their errand, the darkness of the night and their own feelings made whispered tones seem more appropriate.
The four explorers gazed silently at the sight that Madge described as "awful." They had expected to find the "ha'nted house" empty of furniture. Yet in the broad hall there was an open fireplace. On either side of it were great oak arm-chairs. Spider webs hung in beautiful silver festoons from the mantel, with their many-legged spinners caught in their mesh. Gray mice, lean and terrified, scuttled across the dusty floor. A bat flapped blindly overhead.
Miss Betsey caught Madge by the hand. "I can almost see dead people sitting in those dusty chairs," she murmured. "Let us go on upstairs. I wish this thing were over."
The railing had fallen away from the steps, that were covered not only with dust but with a kind of slippery mould, as many winters' rain had fallen down upon them from the holes in the roof. David crawled up first, pulling Madge, Phyllis and Miss Betsey after him. They groped their way to the front bedroom.
"I won't go in there; I shall wait here in the hall," Phil said pettishly. "I can't help thinking of Harry Sears's story about the sick girl in that old house on Cape Cod."
David shoved at the closed door. It was fastenedtight. Had the room been locked against intruders for nearly half a century? But ghosts do not hesitate at closed doors. David pushed harder than he knew. The lock on the old door gave way. It fell forward, striking the floor with a terrific crash.
Phyllis screamed with horror, then turned rigid. Not one of the others made a single sound, except that Madge's lantern dropped to the floor at her feet and her light went out.
An old man rose slowly from the side of a tumbled bed. He was so thin, so white, so ethereal that he could not be human. But the four pair of frightened eyes strained past the ghostly old man to a thin wraith that lay on the bed. It was a girl, frail, white and wasted, staring not at the intruders before the fallen door, but at an object that she seemed to see afar off.
Madge's voice caught in her throat. Her knees trembled and she swayed helplessly toward Phil. If only she and Phil could have run from the sight before them! But they stood stupidly still, unable to move. There was absolutely not a ray of light in the ghostly bedroom, save that which came from the reflection of the dark lanterns in the hall. David had jumped back when the door fell before him. But Miss Betsey's tall, thin figure, in her queer, military coat, cast a long black shadow across the oldroom. Why did not some one speak? Ghosts can not talk and the onlookers were dumb with fear and amazement.
Then the ghost laughed drearily. "You have found me out," it said mournfully. "I have no place, even in this house of darkness. I can not see your faces. But I wonder why you wish to disturb an old man's last retreat?"
For answer, Madge burst into tears. She was nervous and overwrought, and to find that "the ghost" was a real person was more than she could bear.
"We didn't know there was any one living in the house," she faltered. "We are strangers in this neighborhood. The people about here told us that this old place was haunted, and we came to-night to see if ghosts were real."
"Come in and bring your lights," invited the old gentleman. "There are many kinds of ghosts, child. I will tell you who I am."
The four visitors crowded into the musty room. Phyllis and Madge had their eyes fixed on the girl's figure in the bed. She did not return their look, although the muscles of her face were twitching pathetically.
Miss Betsey Taylor was behaving very curiously. She held her dark lantern up so that its light fell full on the white face of the old man whom they had so rudely disturbed.
"Bless my soul!" she murmured out loud, "itcan'tbe!"
"My name is John Randolph," explained the old gentleman, with a fine stateliness. "My grandchild and I have been living in this deserted house because we had no other home in the world."
"I knew it!" announced Miss Betsey. "Isn't it just like John Randolph! Would rather bury himself alive than let his friends take care of him. Southern pride!" sniffed Miss Betsey. "I call it Southern foolishness."
"Madam," answered Mr. Randolph coldly, "I have no friends. I can not see that I have done wrong to any one by hiding away in this old place, that was once the property of my friends. If people have thought of me as a ghost, and I have tried to encourage them in the idea, well, lives that are finished and have no place in the world are but ghosts of the unhappy past."
"Nonsense!" said Miss Betsey vigorously, her black eyes snapping, though she felt a curious lump in her throat. "You were always a sentimentalist, John Randolph. But you can't live on memories. You still are obliged to eat and to breathe God's fresh air. How do you do it?"
If the broken old man wondered why MissBetsey Taylor took such an interest in his affairs, he was too courteous to show it.
"An old colored woman, 'Mammy Ellen,' who was a girl in our family when I was a young man, has not forgotten us. She brings us each day such food as she can procure. As for air"—the old man hesitated—"we do not go out in the daytime. I prefer that the people of the neighborhood should think of me as dead. But at night my little grand-daughter and I walk about over the old place."
Madge, Phil and David gasped involuntarily. They had been silent and amazed listeners to the dialogue between the two old people. Now the thought of a girl younger than themselves being shut up all day in this dreadful house, and only being allowed to go out-of-doors at night was too dreadful to contemplate.
"Oh, but surely you can't keep your little grand-daughter shut away from the daylight!" exclaimed impetuous Madge, her face alive with sympathy as she gazed at the thin little form on the bed.
"Daylight and darkness are as one to my little girl," the old gentleman answered quietly, "she is blind."
Madge shivered. Phil went over to the bed and patted the girl's hand softly. But they both longed, with all their hearts, to get away fromthis house of tragedy. It was strange that Miss Betsey did not offer to go and leave the old man and child to their privacy.
Miss Betsey's black eyes were no longer snapping; they were wet with tears.
"I am coming to take you both away from this place in the morning, John Randolph. If you won't come for your own sake, you must come for the child's. So like a man not to know that that poor baby needs tofeelall the more sunlight because she can'tseeit! And she may even be able to see it some day with proper care." Miss Betsey bent over the child so caressingly that she looked more like a funny old angel in her strange, long cape and her ridiculous hat than a selfish, cross-grained old maid.
"I do not understand your kindness, Madam," returned the old gentleman with courteous curiosity.
"Because I am your friend," answered Miss Betsey curtly. "I'm Betsey Taylor, whom you used to know a great many years ago. You have forgotten me because you have had many interests in your life that have crowded me out. But I—I have remembered," concluded Miss Betsey abruptly. "Good night." She swung her dark lantern and, looking more than ever like a grenadier, led the little procession out.
MRS. PRESTON says we may have a dance before we go back to the houseboat, Eleanor," announced Lillian. The two girls were out under the big grape arbor filling a basket with great bunches of red and purple grapes. "And Madge suggests that we have a surprise dance for the boys the night they get back with the motor launch."
Eleanor laughed happily. "What a perfectly delightful idea! Isn't Mrs. Preston a dear? We must have been a lot of trouble to her."
Lillian shook her head thoughtfully. "I don't think so," she answered. "At least, I believe Mrs. Preston has liked the trouble. She says that we have made her feel younger and jollier than she ever expected to feel again in her life. She says that she is awfully fond of each one of us, and that Mr. Preston has never cared as much for a boy since his own son died, many years ago, as he does for David Brewster."
"Lillian," Eleanor's tones were serious, "I think that we ought to change our opinions of David. Somehow, he seems so much nicer recently, since the other boys went away. He isawfully quiet and sad, but I don't believe he is hateful and sullen, as we thought him at first. Poor David!"
Lillian did not reply at once. A sympathetic expression crossed her delicate, high-bred face. "I suppose, Nellie, dear, it must be hard for David to be with fellows who have everything in the world, like the motor launch boys—money and family and friends—when David has nothing."
"Madge declares that David will some day be a great man," rejoined Eleanor. "There he is now over there under the trees with Madge, Phil and little blind Alice. Isn't she a quaint child? She says she loves Madge best of all of us, because she can feel the color in Madge's red hair and cheeks. Miss Betsey is almost jealous of our little captain."
Lillian finished eating a bunch of catawba grapes. "Miss Betsey wants to take that blind child back to Hartford with her. She says that if Alice sees specialists in New York her sight may be restored. And her grandfather has consented to let her go, though I don't see how the old man can bear to give her up. Mr. and Mrs. Preston have asked him to live here with them, but he says he will go into a Confederate home for old Southern soldiers as soon as Alice leaves. Let's go over under the trees with Madge andPhil. We can eat our grapes and talk about the party."
Madge waved a yellow telegram frantically as Nellie and Lillian came toward them. "Tom and the boys will be back with the motor launch the day after to-morrow," she announced. "And that darling, Mrs. Preston, says we can have our dance on that very night, and it's to be a fancy dress party if we like, because she has stores and stores of lovely old-fashioned clothes up in her attic and she won't mind our dressing up in them. So we must drive round the neighborhood this afternoon and deliver our invitations and decide what characters we are to represent and——" Madge gasped for breath, while Phil fanned her violently with a large palm-leaf fan.
"Come right on upstairs to the attic with me," ordered Madge, as soon as she could speak again. "We have no time to waste. We can look at the dresses and then see what characters we wish to represent. David, you can come, too," invited Madge graciously. "You can carry Alice up the steps."
David lifted the blind girl to his shoulder and trotted obediently after the girls. He no longer minded Madge's occasionally imperious manner, for he knew she was unconscious of it.
On top of all the other clothes in Mrs. Preston's cedar chest was a black velvet gown, made with a long train and a V-shaped neck. Phyllis laid it regretfully aside. "This is perfectly elegant," she sighed, "but it isn't appropriate for any of us to wear."
Lillian Seldon received the rejected costume with outstretched arms. For some time she had cherished the belief that she bore a faint resemblance to the beautiful but ill-fated "Mary, Queen of Scots." Lillian had come across a picture of the lovely Mary Stuart in an illustrated "Book of Queens" in Miss Tolliver's school, and had borne the book to her bedroom and carefully locked her door. There she had gazed thoughtfully at the picture and then at her own reflection in the glass. Of course, it would never do for her to mention it, not even to one of the beloved houseboat girls, but it did appear to Lillian that her own blonde hair grew in a low point on her forehead in much the same fashion as Mary Stuart's. Also, she had a similar line to her aristocratic, aquiline nose, and her chin was almost as delicately pointed. Assuredly Lillian was not vain. She did not think for a moment that she was beautiful, like Mary Queen of Scots, still she thought that she bore a faint resemblance to the ill-fated Queen.
In the velvet gown lay Lillian's opportunity to impersonate the lovely Mary, but she blushedas she smoothed it softly. "I wonder if I might not wear this dress to the party?" she suggested meekly.
Madge shook her head critically. "It is much too old for you, dear," she argued.
"But I have always wanted to wear a black velvet gown so much, Madge, I mean to buy one as soon as I am really grown-up," she pleaded, "and I could come to our dance as 'Mary, Queen of Scots.'"
The three girls surveyed pretty, blonde Lillian thoughtfully. Then three heads nodded approvingly.
"Here is a costume for Nellie. It looks like her, doesn't it, girls?" exclaimed Phyllis, picking up a soft, white silk gown with a Greek border of silver braid a little tarnished by time. "Isn't it just too sweet for anything?"
"It is a love of a frock," sighed Eleanor rapturously, "but I don't think it suggests any special character."
Madge frowned thoughtfully. "Oh, it doesn't make so much difference about representing a particular character, Nellie. You can go as a lady of King Arthur's time. I imagine the women wore just such gowns in the days of beauty and chivalry."
"All right," said Eleanor obediently. "There is a 'King Arthur's Knights' in the library. I'llget it and read up on the doings of the King and his subjects. Perhaps I'll find a character that will just suit me. I'm too dark to ever think of impersonating Elaine."
"I can't represent a great historical character," declared Madge, peering into the trunk—"who ever heard of a heroine with red hair and a turned-up nose?—but I am going to wear this dress." Madge held up a flowered silk of softest, palest blue, with great pale-pink roses trailing over it. It was made with a long, pointed blouse, and had little paniers over the hips. Madge slipped the gown on over her frock. The dress had a little bag of the same silk hanging at its side and in it a dainty lace handkerchief, sweet with a far-off fragrance of lavender.
David and the three girls gazed admiringly at Madge.
"Miss Dolly Varden!" exclaimed Phil. "It is just the kind of costume that Dickens makes Dolly Varden wear in 'Barnaby Rudge.' Only Miss Jenny Ann must make you a poke bonnet. But what about poor me? I am such a dreadfully unromantic-looking person. I am not a tall, stately maiden like our rare, pale Lillian, nor a witch like Madge, nor a dainty little maid like Nellie. I am just plain Phil!" Phyllis sighed, half in jest and half in earnest.
"I know what character I want you to represent,Phyllis, darling," cried Madge. "There is no costume here that is very appropriate for it, but I know how to make a helmet and shield out of silver paper and cardboard. And I am sure we could get up the rest of the costume."
"Whom do you mean, Madge?" inquired Phil.
"Guess. My character is a wonderfully brave girl, who sacrificed her life to save her King and her country. Just lately she has been declared a saint by her church."
David glanced up from the floor, where he was amusing little Alice. "Joan of Arc, you mean, don't you?" he asked.
"Of course I do, David. How did you guess it? I don't say that Phil looks just like the pictures of Joan of Arc, but she is like her. She would do anything in the world that she thought was right, even if she lost her life in doing it," declared her friend admiringly. "Now, Mr. David Brewster, having arranged the costumes of four important members of the Preston household, what character will you represent?"
"My own humble self," announced David firmly. "Please don't ask me to 'dress up.' I felt like a perfect chump the night I had to rig myself up as 'Hiawatha.' I rushed up to the house and got the crazy clothes off, even before I—before I——" David stopped, then continuednervously: "Remember, the other fellows won't have time to get themselves into fancy costumes, so please let me off. I'll clear out, now, and let you girls fix up your costumes."
To save her life, Madge could not help looking curiously at David. It was the usual hour in the afternoon when the young man disappeared. When, late that afternoon, the lad came home he had lost his cheerful mood of the morning. He was sullen and downcast. David had made up his mind that his best chance to restore the stolen property to Miss Betsey Taylor and Mrs. Preston was on the night of the fancy dress ball. The upstairs part of the house would then probably be empty, and no one would think of him or notice him. At any rate, he dared not wait longer. As soon as Tom and the other boys returned, the houseboat party would start off up the river again in tow of the "Sea Gull," and his opportunity would be lost.
ALL afternoon, just before the night of the fancy dress ball, the four girls took turns watching at the front windows of the Preston house for the belated boys. In spite of Tom's telegram, plainly stating the day of their arrival, the motor launch boys had not put in an appearance. Soon after luncheon David went down to the river bank to watch for them. At six o'clock he came back to say that he had waited as long as possible and had seen no sign of the "Sea Gull." It looked as though the boys had been delayed.
The girls were in despair. Here they had planned a wonderful surprise party for the boys, and their guests of honor were not going to be present. The young people from the nearby country houses had been invited to the dance, to begin at eight o'clock that evening, so it was quite impossible to put it off.
At half-past eight the old Virginia homestead, where belles and beaux had made merry many long years before, was gay with the voices of the invited guests. But the dancing had not yet begun. Each time the old door-bell rang thefour girls hoped it meant the return of the four boys.
Under the great curved stairway the orchestra of colored musicians was tuning up. Sam, the colored boy, who had first introduced two of the houseboat girls to Mrs. Preston, was the leader of the band of six instruments. If you have never heard old-time colored people play dance music, you can hardly imagine how delightful it is. To-night Sam's orchestra was composed of six instruments, a bass violin, which he played himself, two banjos, two guitars and a tambourine.
In the long parlors that were to be used for the dancing Mr. and Mrs. Preston stood, shaking hands with their guests. Just back of them sat Miss Betsey in her best black silk dress, and dear Miss Jenny Ann in a white silk gown, looking as young as any one of her girls. Between them was little Alice. On the other side of Miss Betsey a stately old gentleman smiled indulgently on the young people. Mr. John Randolph could no longer have been mistaken for a ghost. A few days of cheerful conversation with his old friends, good food and sunshine had revived him wonderfully. Mrs. Preston explained to her friends that Mr. Randolph had been living alone and, accompanied by his grand-daughter, had lately come to make them a visit.
The four girls walked about the great room, receiving their visitors, talking to them, trying to entertain them, doing everything in their power to delay the dancing, in the vain hope that their friends would still appear.
In answer to a nod from Mrs. Preston, Madge and Phil hurried to her side. "It is time to begin the dance, dears," reminded Mrs. Preston. "I am sorry that your friends have not arrived, but we can't disappoint our other guests on their account. Tell Sam to begin with an old-fashioned Virginia reel. It is the way we begin our dances down here in the country."
Madge slipped out in the back hall. She noticed David standing alone near the front door. He seemed shy and ill at ease. He did not know how to dance, and it was hard to pretend to be cheerful when he had such a load on his mind.
A loud ring at the front-door bell and a knock on the door startled David. He went forward to open it, but a witch of a girl in a pale blue flowered silk, her blue eyes dancing under her poke bonnet, flitted by him. "Please let me open the door, David," she entreated. "I feel just sure Tom and the other boys have come at last."
Tom Curtis stared blankly. Who was this lovely apparition that had opened the old farmhouse door for him? Was he dreaming, or hadhe and his friends strayed into the wrong house? There were the sounds of music and strange boys and girls were about everywhere. Tom took off his hat. With a familiar gesture he ran his fingers through his curly light hair, making it stand on end. "Who is it, and where am I?" he asked feebly, pretending to be overcome with emotion, like the hero in a romantic play.
"Come into the house, Tom Curtis, this minute, and don't be a goose! You know perfectly well I am Madge. Only to-night I am appearing in the character of Miss Dolly Varden. We were giving you boys a surprise party, but we were afraid you would not get here in time for it. Hello, everybody!" Madge shook hands first with Tom, and then with the other three boys. She then took Tom by one hand and her cousin, Jack Bolling, by the other. With Harry Sears and George Robinson following her, she escorted them proudly across the room to Mr. and Mrs. Preston. Lillian, Phil and Eleanor hurried to join them, tendering the belated guests an enthusiastic welcome.
"Here the young men are, at the last minute, Mrs. Preston," exclaimed Madge triumphantly. "Now our dance can really begin."
Tom leaned over to whisper in Miss Dolly Varden's ear, "You'll dance with me, won't you, Madge, for old time's sake?"
Madge nodded happily. "I have waited for you," she answered. "I felt perfectly sure you wouldn't disappoint us."
Jack Bolling asked Phyllis to dance with him, Harry Sears and Lillian were partners and Eleanor and George Robinson.
"Get your places for the Virginia reel!" Sam shouted.
Mr. and Mrs. Preston stood, each one of them at the head of a long line. Miss Jenny Ann came next, with her partner, a man from the next farm. The four girls were hurrying off with the motor launch boys when Madge stopped suddenly. Old Mr. John Randolph smiled at her. It was hard not to smile at Madge when she was happy.
The little captain whispered something in the old man's ear. "Do, please," she urged, "it will be such fun."
Mr. Randolph rose and bowed low to Miss Betsey Taylor, with his right hand over his heart in the manner of half a century ago. "Miss Betsey, will you do me the honor to dance this reel with me?" he asked, almost with a twinkle in his eye.
"My gracious, sakes alive!" exclaimed Miss Betsey nervously. "I haven't danced in half a lifetime. I am sure my bones are much too stiff." Nevertheless, frivolous Miss Betsey allowedher old admirer to lead her to her place in the line.