“Well, I’m going to sleep,” Arden declared, yawning freely. “I want to look my best when I meet the chief.”
The conversation dragged, and feeling secure in the knowledge that the midnight intruder had gone, the girls finally drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, after breakfast, and with Mrs. Landry’s consent, they started for the village to report to Chief Reilly.
Leaving by the front door, they were on their way to the garage at the back when they came face to face with George Clayton, Melissa’s father.
“Good-morning,” he said a little sheepishly. Perhaps he was conscious of his somewhat fishy-scented clothes and muddy hip boots.
“’Morning,” Terry replied, and waited for him to speak again. All the girls felt rather antagonistic toward him, since they had witnessed his treatment of Melissa.
“I wuz wonderin’,” he began again, “that is—have you young ladies seen anythin’ of my daughter Melissa?”
“Why, no. Not since early last evening,” Arden replied. “Why?”
“I wuz a little worried about her. She ain’t been home all night, and I thought maybe——”
“The last time we saw her, she was riding in a green car that some woman who came to see the artist on the houseboat parked here,” Sim volunteered.
George Clayton blinked his eyes rapidly and seemed at a loss for anything to say to that surprising news.
“U-hum-m!” He shook his head. “Melissa ain’t entirely responsible, you know. She’s overly fond of bright things. Like a blue jay. She just can’t resist ’em.”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Arden. “I do hope nothing happened to her.”
“We were just going to the village to tell Rufus Reilly about a burglar we had around here last night,” Terry explained. “Shall we tell him to look for Melissa?”
“Oh, no, miss, please!” Clayton exclaimed. “He knows all about Melissa. Thinks I ought to send her to some institution. But I can’t bear—to do that,” he concluded rather pathetically.
“Why didn’t you let her keep the bracelet the other day?” Sim asked suddenly. “It was only worth a quarter. Perhaps she ran away because you——”
“I know, miss,” Clayton interrupted, “she possibly told you how mean I was to her. But if I let her keep it she’d follow you around all the time, looking for something else.” After all, perhaps the man was not so mean as they had thought.
“Say!” exclaimed Terry suddenly. “Maybe that was Melissa we heard last night, coming back for the bracelet!”
“It did look like her, I mean her height and all,” agreed Sim. “I’m sure that’s just who it was.”
“She might have done it,” the fisherman admitted reluctantly. “You won’t tell Reilly, will you?”
“If you can keep her away from here so she won’t scare us out of our wits again, we won’t,” Terry agreed. For the girls still believed in their hearts that Melissa was to be pitied and, though he said not, they felt that her father was a hard man to deal with.
“When she comes back I’ll——” Clayton began but never finished, for there was Melissa herself walking toward them along the little path. Her pale pink cotton dress was a mass of wrinkles, and her hair in uncouth disarray. One white string of her sneakers flapped as she walked.
Instantly her father was a changed man. As soon as he saw her he drew himself up to his full height and assumed an aggressive manner.
“Melissa!” he shouted. “Come here!”
“Yes, Pa,” she answered meekly and came slowly forward with one arm held up near her face as though to ward off a blow.
“Where wuz you last night?” he demanded.
“Here, Pa. I slept in the car in the garage,” came the surprising reply.
“Why didn’t you come home?” he shouted at her.
“I was afraid to. The lady took me for such a nice ride, it was late when I got back.” Poor Melissa, thought the girls.
“What lady?” snarled her father.
“I dunno her name. The pretty one with the nice fur. She asked me if I’d like a ride, so I said yes. She gave me a quarter, too.” Melissa held out her tanned hand and showed them the money.
“Don’t you know any better than to go riding off with strangers?” her father shouted. “And scarin’ these young ladies, who was so nice to you, out of their wits? Wuz you around this house last night?”
“I was just lookin’ in a window. I didn’t mean any harm.” How cruel for a poor girl to be helpless!
“Well, you come along home with me.”
Melissa looked woefully at the surprised girls and started off to follow her father, who went clumping down the path in his hip boots.
“Mr. Clayton,” called Arden after him. “Please don’t punish Melissa; she didn’t do any harm.”
“I’ll take care of Melissa,” he answered shortly, completely forgetting how anxious he had been only a short time before to appear the worried father.
“If you touch her I’ll, I’ll——” Arden said, but he continued on his way, not even listening to her.
“What a horrid old man!” Terry remarked anxiously. “First he shows his concern and then——”
“His teeth,” finished Sim.
Several days after their rather unpleasant meeting with Melissa’s father, George Clayton, the three girls were “soaking up the sun” on the beach. Of course, as it developed, there was nothing to report to Chief Reilly. They were quite sure that Melissa had been their erstwhile burglar. More than ever the girls felt Melissa needed a friend. They talked over the situation, trying to piece together the girl’s story and her father’s denial of that part which blamed him. But whether he was entirely fair and just, trying to protect his daughter, or whether his allusions to her “being queer” were merely a pretext to excuse himself, not even Arden the wise ventured to decide. But in the end the opinion was unanimous that Melissa needed friends, and they each and all resolved to do all they could to befriend the strange, wild creature.
But finally the delightfully warm air, the friendly sun, and the inviting ocean drove all such serious thoughts from their minds. What could be more perfect than such a day in such a place for such girls!
Sim was almost asleep, while Arden and Terry were blissfully drowsy. They were turning a golden tan, most becoming to all save Terry, who, as she herself declared, was “raising a fine crop of freckles.”
Arden rolled over on her back and then sat bolt upright in surprise. Far out of the corner of her eye she could see Dimitri Uzlov in bathing togs coming toward them.
“Wake up, kids,” she hissed in a stage whisper. “Here comes our hero, and he’s tramping right this way. Don’t look now! He’ll know I told you.”
Of course they did look, even though Arden had warned them not to. But the oncoming “hero” didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he smiled pleasantly and deliberately sat down on the sand by Arden.
“Hello,” said Arden casually, while Terry and Sim smiled vacuously.
“Hello,” he answered. “It was awfully kind of you to bring my—” he began—“I want to thank you for rowing over to the houseboat and back with my—— That is, I hope it did not trouble you too much,” he stammered.
He was clearly embarrassed and not at all sure how to proceed.
Arden realized at once that Dimitri was attempting to explain and for some reason apologize for the visit of the mysterious Olga.
“Not at all,” Arden replied reassuringly. “We didn’t mind a bit.”
“I did not expect her. I was quite surprised. I do not think she will come again.”
In his embarrassment his accent was becoming more pronounced, and Sim and Terry shot a sly glance of delight at each other.
“Please don’t let that little thing worry you,” Arden hastened to add. “It was nothing at all.”
“You are very kind,” Dimitri smiled. “I would like to ask you all, and your mother,” he nodded to Terry, “to take tea with me on the houseboat. Perhaps it would amuse you to have tea in the Russian manner. Yes?”
“We’d love it,” Terry replied quickly, “and I know Mother would, too.”
“Would I be giving you too short notice to ask you today? I am letting up a bit in my work, and tomorrow I must begin again with new vigor,” the young man stated simply.
“I’m sure it will be all right,” Terry answered. “We don’t have many dates down here, and if Mother can come, we’ll all be over this afternoon.”
“That will be charming,” Dimitri said. “I will expect you. And now I must go home and bathe Tania so she will look her best at my little party.”
He rose and bowed, quite as dignified as if he had been fully dressed instead of merely wearing the informal bathing suit; then he left them smiling after him.
“What a surprise!” gasped Sim.
“What a lark!” insisted Arden.
“What fun!” squealed Terry.
“He’s so young and good-looking to have such an ugly old name,” went on Arden, as if anxious to reconstruct the “hero” into somebody more American.
“Adds to the glamour,” drawled Terry with assumed sophistication. “I always did adore those foreign names.”
“Too, too divine,” mocked Sim.
“Hey, there!” exclaimed Terry. “We have got to go right now and tell Mother. He said this afternoon.”
“Not yet,” Arden rebuked. “Wait until he gets out of sight. He’ll think we’ve never been asked any place before if we act so—grabby.”
Impatiently they sat and waited until Dimitri had gone behind the small pavilion; then they scrambled up and hurried to tell Terry’s mother.
She was much amused at their exuberance and laughed at the serious way they had of deciding what they would wear. A simple tea on a houseboat and all this to-do!
Eventually the hour rolled around, and they set out in high spirits, Terry puffing as much with excitement as with effort as she rowed the boatful down the bay.
Once on the houseboat they were somewhat ill at ease. But Dimitri was a perfect host and with Old World courtesy succeeded in making them feel, as Arden said later, “like the visiting Czarina and her daughters.”
Tania was beautifully white and fluffy, greeting them all with a friendly “woof” and briskly wagging tail.
“Oh, a samovar!” exclaimed Arden as she sighted the polished brass urn with a dull glowing charcoal fire underneath.
“It is only to boil the water. I could have done it on the oil stove, but I thought you would like it this way,” Dimitri said, smiling.
“We are enjoying it,” Terry assured him. “Won’t you show Mother some of your pictures?” she cautiously interposed.
“They are really not worth looking at,” he replied modestly. And he seemed sincere about it, too.
“Of course they are,” Arden interrupted. “They’re lovely.”
Dimitri pulled one canvas out from a pile leaning against the wall. It was a marine, done in dark and light blues, a fair sea and a clear sky. The girls looked at it politely but hoped he would show them the covered canvas, and in fact Arden stood near it, waiting. Dimitri noticed her and gazed at her keenly for a second, as though understanding her wish.
“Now, I will show you something really lovely,” he said. “Because I am proud of it and because it is a thing of so much beauty. I do not show it to everyone; few people know I have it, and I ask you, please, not to mention to anyone that I have it in my possession. Pardon me a minute, please.”
He pushed aside a curtain that divided the room into two parts and disappeared behind the improvised screen. They could hear him moving something like a heavy piece of furniture, and then they heard the squeak of a key in a lock. They looked wonderingly at each other, but no one spoke. What could he be going to show them? Why all the mystery?
He came back almost at once, holding something in his hands as though it were too precious to be exposed to the air. Silently they gathered around him, and cautiously, almost solemnly, he opened his hands!
Then they beheld the treasure!
There, shining dully on his carefully outstretched palm, they beheld a box, a tiny snuffbox of burnished gold!
“Oh!” came a chorus. But no other word was spoken.
Somehow this all seemed like some sacred rite to their still bewildered eyes which could now discern jewels, even diamonds, surrounding the box.
It was about four inches long and an inch deep, with a delicately painted medallion top, the medallion framed by precious stones: diamonds and rubies!
Dimitri was watching them intently, his own eyes glittering with the beauty of his valued possession.
Terry’s mother took a step nearer. Even she had fallen under the spell of this strange treasure.
“How perfectly beautiful!” exclaimed Arden. “What is it?”
“It is a snuffbox that once belonged to the Russian Czar. It is of great value. A fortune almost.” He held it so they could all see it. “Now watch.”
With his thumb he pushed down a section of the golden side. This uncovered a small compartment in which rested a little key. He took out the key and turned the box upside down. Then they saw that the under side was as elaborately designed as the top. Daintily painted miniature woodland scenes with birds and a bounding deer. He inserted the key in a tiny hole and gave it a few turns, then very carefully placed the box on a near-by table.
The beautiful medallion in the center of the box showed a brightly plumaged bird on a tropical tree, and around the medallion, like a frame, was a row of marvelous diamonds and rubies. The box suddenly opened, as the group watched, and a tiny bird, not much over a half inch in height, sprang up, turned his little head from side to side, and moved his wee feathered wings up and down magically. As they waited, awe-struck, the tinkle of a song was heard, and it seemed as though the little feathered creature was actually singing. Then in a flash the fairy songster ceased his song, folded up his wings, and the medallion snapped shut, leaving the golden and bejeweled box as the cage of the little wizard.
“Oh!” gasped Arden, the first to speak. “It is so lovely it almost makes me feel like crying,” she stammered. “Could you make him do it again?”
“Of course,” Dimitri replied. “Did you see this little watch in the side and the real feathers on the little bird?”
“I have never seen anything like it!” exclaimed Mrs. Landry. “It must be worth a fortune.”
“It is,” solemnly answered Dimitri. “It is the only really valuable possession I have left except——” He turned aside without finishing the sentence. Again he wound the spring, and once more the remarkable performance was repeated. The artist let them each examine the treasure, and at last taking it from Arden he looked at it fondly and very deliberately carried it back to its hiding place. When he returned he remarked:
“I could not bear to lose it, and perhaps it is childish of me to keep it with me instead of in some deep bank vault, but it belonged to my mother, and I like to have it near me to look at when I become discouraged.”
The girls were still spellbound, while Mrs. Landry assured him that it was the natural thing to do and hoped it would be quite safe in his affectionate keeping.
“I have hidden it well, I hope, and I need not tell you why I have trusted you all.”
There was something so pathetically frank about the artist’s proud display of his treasure that even the girls, who had joked and speculated upon the mysterious man, were now profoundly impressed.
“We will never violate your confidence.” Mrs. Landry spoke for the group, but even that polite assurance seemed unnecessary.
Somehow the artist knew he could trust them; and he had!
“And now, will you try some tea, Russian style?”
The girls agreed all at once and wanted to help, but he waved them aside and served them quite as though he were accustomed to having four guests every day in the week on this wobbly old houseboat.
They sat, sipping from glasses the clear amber liquid though Dimitri, as a concession to their American tastes, offered them cream as well as sliced lemon. He sweetened his own clear tea liberally.
The houseboat, for all the masculine untidiness, was a bright pleasant place, and the little party chatted like old friends until Mrs. Landry announced they must go.
“We must not wear out our welcome, you know,” she said lightly, “and perhaps you will come and have dinner with us some time, Mr. Uzlov.”
“Thank you, I would be pleased to,” he suavely answered.
Then, saying good-bye, they left, a smiling, happy foursome, and started away in the old rowboat over to the Landry landing.
As Terry pushed out in the boat they heard a light step, surely a girl’s step, and a few seconds later they saw Melissa rowing quickly away from the side of the houseboat.
“There’s Melissa,” Sim exclaimed needlessly, for they had all seen her. “No need to worry about her comings and goings.”
“She’s always around from one place to another. I suppose she doesn’t know what to do with herself all day,” Terry answered between strokes, taking it all very casually.
“Where is her home, Terry? Is it near here?” Arden asked.
“Not very. It’s clear across the bay; two or three miles, anyway, isn’t it, Mother?”
“Every bit of that,” Mrs. Landry replied. “Poor creature! She doesn’t lead a very happy life. I hope you girls will be kind to her if you can.”
“Of course we will, Mrs. Landry,” Sim assured her, and then in another mood she asked, “Wasn’t that a knockout snuffbox? Imagine keeping nasty old snuff in it.”
“Dimitri doesn’t keepanythingin it. He loves it because it’s so beautiful,” Arden announced. “There’s a true artist for you.” She was very much in earnest.
“You like him a little, don’t you, Arden?” Terry asked whimsically.
“Don’t be silly, Terry! You like him, too,” Arden snapped back.
“We all do, even Mrs. Landry, don’t you?” Sim wanted to know, joining in the complimentary chorus.
Terry’s mother smiled and nodded.
“Well, I think it’s strange, just the same,” Arden said almost to herself, “very strange.”
“What, the box?” Sim inquired.
“No; but I mean the way he spoke about Olga, and the way he keeps that picture covered,” Arden answered. “And a lot of things not really—well, not exactly wordy things butqueerthings,” she wound up vaguely.
“Melissa is odd too. Why do you suppose Olga took her riding and gave her money?” Terry asked, adding more interest to the mystifying questions.
“I can’t imagine. It’s strange the way she always pops up,” Arden added. “I mean Melissa, not Olga.”
“I don’t like her father, either,” Terry went on. “He’s the meanest man I ever saw, and I don’t believe a word he says!”
“Now, Terry,” Mrs. Landry rebuked, “you know nothing about him. He’s just not like the city people we’re used to, and you probably misjudge him.”
“But he seems so cruel and crafty. I wonder if he punished Melissa for staying away the other night? The night she stayed in the garage.”
“Oh, he couldn’t!” Arden exclaimed. “I’ll ask Melissa the next time I see her. I wonder where she went just now? I don’t see her boat anywhere. She seems to have disappeared all of a sudden.”
“Playing hide and seek with us, maybe,” Terry suggested. “Hope we don’t catch any of this queer business,” she finished, easing a little to look at her burning hand.
“I think this whole place is queer,” Sim said, looking over the untroubled bay. “I don’t like that Olga, nor George Clayton, either, and I’m sure he’s up to some shady business—not to say dark and dangerous.”
“Now, Sim,” Mrs. Landry said gently, “you mustn’t make a mystery out of everything. He’s probably just an ordinary crabber and fisherman with a difficult daughter to look out for, and in these wild places girls cannot be allowed to run wild, you know.”
They were almost home, and everyone seemed willing to think a little and stop talking. “Buckingham Palace” stood out with reassuring friendliness against the late afternoon sky and looked decidedly more inviting than the moldy houseboat.
“You may be right, Mother,” Terry said, pulling the oars gently as they drifted up to their little dock. “But there’s something going on, I’m sure. Something we don’t know anything about—yet,” she ended significantly.
And no one there was to say “nay” to that possibility.
The girls did not really enjoy the tea as it had been served on theMerry Jane. Not that the tea wasn’t good; it must have been, for Russian tea is famous. But it tasted that way, they thought—“famous.” Home-made tea was much more congenial. Consequently, at home again, the tea given them at “Buckingham Palace” when supper was served was even more appreciated than usual.
“Maybe that water from the samovar——” began Terry.
“No, those old brass urns are lined with—well, I think it’s tin or lead,” Arden informed them. “Grandfather had one; bought it from a man who used to work for Tolstoi. It had the stamp from what this man called the president’s factory, which meant, I believe, it was made in a sort of royal shop,” Arden concluded.
“Why, what a lot you know,” teased Sim. “Why didn’t you tell the artist? He might trace some relationship——”
“Oh, say!” interrupted Terry. “You and your old samovar! What about the jeweled box? Don’t you feel guilty to have seen a thing—so—well, so precious?”
This brought on a discussion so animated and so filled with questions and exclamations that the beauty of the snuffbox must have been greatly enhanced by so much young enthusiasm.
Afterwards they were sitting, as had become their custom, on the screened porch. The first one out always claimed the comfortable swing. Next in favor came two large, low wicker chairs covered with bright striped linen. Tonight Terry was in the swing and Arden and Sim curled up in chairs.
They must have been talking very loudly or else have been asleep, they facetiously decided later. How else could they explain the fact that a car had driven right up to the back door and they had not heard it?
In fact they all jumped with surprise when Arden called their attention to a young man, coming up the sandy path.
“Sit up, girls, here comes another visitor,” she exclaimed. “What now, I wonder?”
The young man hesitated as he reached the screen door.
“Good-evening,” said Arden pleasantly.
“Good-evening,” responded the caller. “I hope I have not disturbed you, but I wonder if you could tell me how to reach a houseboat? I understand it is somewhere near here.”
“Oh, you meanMerry Jane,” Sim piped up brightly. “Lots of people ask us that. That is, you’re the second one who has inquired,” she replied, feeling a little foolish at being so friendly.
He smiled amicably and said he hoped they had not been bothered in that way.
“We didn’t mind,” Terry chimed in. “We don’t have much to do here, anyway.” The girls really were being silly.
“It’s down the bay, but you can’t reach it by car. The road is too soft this time of year,” Arden said helpfully, the first one really to answer his question.
“Is one obliged to walk, then?” the man asked. His wording was foreign and a slight accent made it seem more so.
“No; walking would be dangerous, too,” Arden explained. “The only way is by boat.” She waited to see what effect this announcement would have, but Sim spoiled it.
“We have a rowboat you could use. We could take you,” she announced, still pursuing the rôle of the very young.
“But couldn’t I take myself? That is, with your permission and if you wouldn’t be using the boat?” He looked questioningly at them.
“I guess we won’t be going out again tonight,” Terry remarked. “You’ll be careful not to lose the oars, won’t you? I’ll show you where we keep the boat.”
Terry, followed by Arden and Sim, led the way to the dock, stopping to pick up the oars as they went.
“Let me take them, please,” the caller protested. Terry handed him the oars.
They wanted very much to ask if he knew Dimitri and try to get some more information, but they could not naturally work the talk around to it. The young man volunteered no information at all. He seemed quite sure of himself, and Arden fancied she saw in him a slight resemblance to Dimitri.
When they reached the old rowboat, Terry pointed down the bay.
“TheMerry Janeis just around the bend; if you stay close to shore, you can’t miss it,” she instructed the stranger.
They all looked admiringly over the still green water where the fish were beginning to jump in the stillness of the evening. The beauty of the bay was inescapable.
“Tania, the big dog, will bark, and you can row in the direction of the noise, if you should be doubtful about the location,” Arden suggested.
The man raised an eyebrow. “You know Dimitri, then?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Sim answered. “We’re good friends.” She felt justified in saying that.
“I am a friend, too,” their caller replied as he got into the boat. “I’ll take very good care of your skiff and tie it up very carefully when I return.” He pushed off and began rowing easily down the bay. “Good-bye,” he called to the girls. “And thank you, a thousand times!”
“Good-bye,” Terry answered, while the others mumbled something.
They waited until he was out of sight, and then began the flood of “What do you think’s” and “Maybe’s.” But of course they all agreed on one thing. That he was very charming and well mannered and that perhaps all foreigners were that way. But they decided it was indeed queer the way Dimitri’s friends all came to them for advice on reaching the old houseboat. The newest caller gave rise to plenty of speculation, but the girls retired earlier than usual, and it was, perhaps, for this reason that Arden awoke sometime near morning, although it was still dark. Deciding she could not get back to sleep, she lay tossing restlessly.
The events of the day marched before her now active mind. The gold snuffbox, Olga, Tania, Dimitri, the man who had come that evening. It was all very puzzling. She turned over and looked at Sim, sleeping peacefully. Nothing bothered her. Arden sighed and then started. What was that noise? Another mysterious visitor? She strained every nerve to listen. Then she smiled as she realized it was the motor of an auto purring along. Going to the window, she saw the stranger’s car move slowly as it was started and disappear as it gathered speed. She looked at her wrist watch. The dial showed four-thirty, and he was just coming back from the houseboat!
“‘Curiouser and curiouser,’” Arden said to herself as she climbed back to bed. “Alice in Wonderland had nothing on me. I wonder, too.”
“Well, Sim,” said Arden, stretching luxuriously, “I feel merry as a grig this morning.”
“You don’t say,” Sim replied with sarcasm. “I guess you haven’t looked outside then. I think we’re in for a storm. What is a grig, anyway?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Arden continued, “but that’s how I feel. It’s very merry. How do you feel?”
“I feel like a chocolate nut sundae,” Sim answered, making a wry face.
“You’re a little cross, too. What’s the trouble?” Arden asked.
“Oh, nothing. But I’m thinking, if we do get a northeaster, there won’t be any bathing for days. I think I’ll go in today just to get a swim before it comes,” Sim answered. “Look at that,” she continued, pointing to the little weather vane on the garage roof.
It was quivering in the wind and pointing due northeast. A brave morning sun was trying to pierce the leaden clouds, but not making much headway.
A week before, Arden had seen the second mysterious caller drive away in his car after tying up their boat. Since then they had neither seen nor heard from Dimitri, and in an orgy of swimming and sunbathing had almost forgotten about him, so perfect had the weather been and so completely had the girls enjoyed it.
Now Sim and Arden were in their room making plans for the day, and Terry, in gay bathrobe and slippers, strolled in to talk things over before breakfast.
“Don’t go in today, Sim, there’s bound to be a bad undertow; and besides, I have to go to town,” Terry remarked as she had heard Sim’s decision.
“But the tide will be coming in, and I’ll only take a short dip. I’ll be ready when you want to go. Let’s eat now, and by the time we have our rooms in order I can go in for a swim. Then we’ll drive to the village. How’s that?” Sim asked, smiling.
“You seem to have it all planned. I suppose it’s all right. It’s nearly ten now, so let’s go down for breakfast,” Terry suggested. “I’m hungry.”
Sim and Arden, donning bathrobes and slipping their feet into soft mules, pattered downstairs after Terry.
They ate and put on their bathing suits when they went upstairs again, a habit they had fallen into since the lovely weather had begun.
When they went out a little later, Sim wished she hadn’t been so insistent about swimming. The breakers were piling in, slapping down on the beach and churning up a white sudsy foam.
“I’m not going inthatsea,” Arden decided, “and I don’t think you should either, Sim.”
“Nonsense, Arden,” Sim said scornfully. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”
“We’ll have rain before night,” Terry stated positively, “and the ocean is getting rougher all the time. Go on in, Sim, if you’re going to, but be careful.”
In a moment of bravado, Sim flung off her sweater and ran down to the water. She hesitated for a second as the cold water whirled around her feet, then, running swiftly, she plunged in head first. She was lost to sight immediately, but presently came up again and waved a hand to Arden and Terry, who were watching. Then she turned and began to swim out into the sea.
“I wish she wouldn’t go out,” Arden worried.
“Oh, she’ll be all right. Sim’s a good swimmer,” Terry reassured her.
As they watched they could see Sim’s scarlet bathing cap bobbing in the rough sea. She swam easily for a while and then floated on her back. Did they imagine it, or was she having trouble? Arden and Terry strained their eyes to see. Sim was swimming hard toward the shore but seemed to be making no headway.
“She’s having a hard time getting back. Do you think she’s all right?” Arden asked anxiously.
“Wait—” Terry cautioned—“I’m not sure——”
Sim was still swimming but seemed to be tiring. She turned over on her back for a brief rest and began again. But it seemed no use. Apparently she was caught in a sea-puss and was still making no headway.
Terrified, Terry and Arden looked at each other, unable to utter a word. In that instant a figure flashed by them and disappeared with a splash in the waves. Still speechless, they both knew——
It was Melissa!
She was going to help Sim to safety. The girls watching on the beach felt the relief so suddenly and so completely that each grasped the other.
“Melissa!” breathed Terry.
“She’ll get her,” answered Arden.
What little they had done to make friends with the girl came now in a rush of grateful memory.
Yes, Melissa would help them. She was their friend.
In almost no time at all Melissa and Sim walked out of the wild sea, a little further down the beach. Arden and Terry ran down to greet them.
“Sim, you idiot! I told you not to go in. Are you all right?” Arden asked breathlessly.
“Of course I’m all right,” Sim panted.
“She was caught in a sea-puss. There’s a trick in getting out. It’s because the storm is coming and the inlet to the bay is so near,” Melissa answered modestly.
“It was very brave of you to go out, just the same,” Terry insisted. “It was just fine!”
Sim looked a little sheepish and pulled her sweater on over her dripping suit.
“Don’t tell your mother, Terry; you know how she would worry,” Sim said. “Melissa, you were swell!” she exclaimed.
Melissa smiled happily. It was seldom, indeed, that her actions pleased anyone. Her whole day would be happy now, and at night she could lie in her hard little bed and remember how the girls had praised her. It took so little to brighten the dull life of Melissa.
The girls thanked her again and cautioned her about telling Mrs. Landry. Then, waving good-bye to Melissa, they left her, digging her toes in the sand in embarrassment, with her confused thoughts.
The three girls, a guilty little group, went back to “Buckingham Palace” and dressed quickly, never mentioning the almost tragic adventure to Terry’s mother.
Sim’s feet and hands were still cold when she climbed into the car beside Arden and Terry, a while later, as they started for the village.
The storm was coming in rapidly now. The sun was obscured, and sudden strong gusts of wind swerved the car as they drove along. It had not yet begun to rain. But Chief of Police Reilly cocked his weather eye and “reckoned” it would not be long in coming. He was filling the gas tank of the little car and chatting with the girls as he worked.
“How do you like your new neighbor, Miz Landry?” he asked, showing a shining gold tooth.
“We like him all right, but we don’t see much of him,” Terry answered, smiling.
“Funny feller,” he chuckled as he wiped off the windshield. “Wrote to me ’long ’bout last April and rented my ole boat. Never even saw it.” He gave the windshield a grand swipe.
“Do you know Melissa Clayton?” Sim asked, abruptly changing the subject. Her adventure in the ocean was still fresh in her mind.
“Sure; everyone knows Melissa,” the chief answered.
“How about her father? What kind of a man is he?” pursued Sim.
“George Clayton? He’s all right. None too smart, but he gets along,” Reilly answered indifferently. “Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, you know.”
But Sim was not satisfied. She wanted to find out if Melissa’s father was as cruel as they imagined him to be. The chief, however, in his good-natured way, didn’t see what Sim was driving at and gave her no satisfaction. Finally she questioned him no further. They agreed on the weather and said they’d see him soon again, just how soon, none of them knew.
Then they drove back home and unloaded the last of the groceries from the car just as the first drops of rain showed on the windshield. Like all bad news, it was better to have it started. The sooner begun the sooner it would be over.
The wind increased in violence, and with the high tide of the afternoon the surf pounded with wild fury. At Terry’s home the rain lashed the windows, and the awnings protested noisily against the gale. Arden announced blandly that she no longer felt “merry as a grig.”
“Let’s play rummy, the storm makes me restless,” Sim suggested.
“If you feel restless now, I hate to think how you’ll feel after three days of it,” Terry reminded her.
“Three days!” Arden exclaimed. “I’ll have to get out my tatting to keep me busy, I guess.”
“You can’t tat, silly,” Sim smiled. “Come on, let’s play cards.”
Terry opened a painted card table, and they began a half-hearted game of rummy. But Arden couldn’t concentrate, so Terry and Sim told her to “give up,” whereat they abandoned the cards.
“Listen to that old ocean,” Arden remarked. “If you were out there now, Sim, it would take more than Melissa to pull you to safety.”
“Wasn’t she great?” Sim asked. “She knew just how to go about it. I wasn’t scared, but I was beginning to tire. Melissa took me out beyond the current, and then we struck a stroke and got in easily. Were you frightened?”
“We were a little,” Terry admitted. “We weren’t sure whether you were all right. I was ready to come out when Melissa dashed by us like a shot, and then it seemed only a few seconds till you were back on the beach.”
“She’s a marvelous swimmer,” Sim said admiringly. “I wish she could lead a more pleasant life, poor girl.”
“Chief Reilly didn’t seem to think her father was so awful,” Terry remarked.
“Oh, Chief Reilly!” Arden exclaimed. “He doesn’t seem to think much anyway.”
“He doesn’t have to think much. There’s nothing for him to think about down here. I don’t know what he’d do if he ever had a real case,” Terry went on.
“The excitement would probably be too much for him. I’ll bet he reads detective stories and has it all planned out just the way he’d conduct a murder inquiry,” Arden laughed.