“‘Dear Miss Fereda:“‘I have heard of you from Mr. Haynes, the agent, from whom my father, Robert Carroll, purchased Las Golondrinas. My aunt, my father, three of my friends and myself are at present spending a few weeks’ vacation at Las Golondrinas. We are greatly interested in the portrait gallery and should appreciate it if you would tell us something of the large portrait of the Spanish cavalier which hangs in the center of the gallery. He is a most romantic-looking person and must surely have an interesting history. We are very curious about him.“‘We have wondered that you did not reserve the collection of family portraits before selling the estate. If you would like to have them they are at your disposal. My father and I both feel that you have first right to them.“‘Las Golondrinas is an ideal place in which to spend a vacation. We are quite in love with this quaint old house and its furnishings. Would you object to telling us when the house was built and how many generations of Feredas have lived in it? Judging from the many antiques it containedand its general plan, it must be very old indeed.“‘We are sorry not to have met you personally and hope some day to have that pleasure. I understand that you are a young girl of about my own age. No doubt we should find that we had many interests in common. It would be a pleasure to have you visit me while we are here and meet my father, my aunt and my friends. Could you not arrange to pay us a visit?“‘I shall hope to hear from you and that we may become better acquainted in the near future.“‘Yours sincerely,“‘Patricia Carroll.’
“‘Dear Miss Fereda:
“‘I have heard of you from Mr. Haynes, the agent, from whom my father, Robert Carroll, purchased Las Golondrinas. My aunt, my father, three of my friends and myself are at present spending a few weeks’ vacation at Las Golondrinas. We are greatly interested in the portrait gallery and should appreciate it if you would tell us something of the large portrait of the Spanish cavalier which hangs in the center of the gallery. He is a most romantic-looking person and must surely have an interesting history. We are very curious about him.
“‘We have wondered that you did not reserve the collection of family portraits before selling the estate. If you would like to have them they are at your disposal. My father and I both feel that you have first right to them.
“‘Las Golondrinas is an ideal place in which to spend a vacation. We are quite in love with this quaint old house and its furnishings. Would you object to telling us when the house was built and how many generations of Feredas have lived in it? Judging from the many antiques it containedand its general plan, it must be very old indeed.
“‘We are sorry not to have met you personally and hope some day to have that pleasure. I understand that you are a young girl of about my own age. No doubt we should find that we had many interests in common. It would be a pleasure to have you visit me while we are here and meet my father, my aunt and my friends. Could you not arrange to pay us a visit?
“‘I shall hope to hear from you and that we may become better acquainted in the near future.
“‘Yours sincerely,
“‘Patricia Carroll.’
“How is that for a nice, polite letter to Eulalie?” Patsy inquired. “Any criticisms? If so, out with them now. If not, into an envelope it goes and on its way to the last of the Feredas, wherever she may happen to be. I’m not really counting much on an answer. I haven’t the least idea in the world what sort of girl this Eulalie is. Anyway it will do no harm to write her. If she should answer and we became acquainted and she paid us a visit, it would be splendid.”
“I think it’s a nice letter,” praised Mabel. “Go ahead and send it, Patsy.”
“I am sure she’ll like it,” approved Bee. “It’s thoughtful in your father to offer her the collection of portraits.”
“It seems funny to me that she didn’t reserve them. Maybe she didn’t want them. She might have grown tired of seeing them every day for so many years,” speculated Mabel. “They aren’t a particularly cheerful-looking lot of ladies and gentlemen. They all look so cold and stern and tragic.”
“Auntie says they gave her the horrors,” chuckled Patsy. “When I told her that Dad said I could write to Eulalie and ask her if she wanted the collection, Auntie said: ‘A very sensible idea. She is welcome to them. If she doesn’t want them I shall have the gallery cleared out before we come down here next season.”
“If Eulalie doesn’t want them, what will become of them?” Bee asked thoughtfully. “Would your father sell them? Suppose you were to find that some of them had been painted by famous artists? Then they’d be very valuable.”
“I don’t know what Dad would do in that case. He spoke of having an art collector come down here and look them over, you know. Of course, if Eulalie sends for them, that’s the end of it. If she doesn’t, Auntie will have them taken down.I know one thing. She hates the sight of them. Now I must write another letter. I hope I sha’n’t be disturbed while I’m writing it.”
Patsy beamed on her chums with owlish significance.
“Isn’t she snippy?” sniffed Mabel. “Come on, Bee, we’ve got to find that secret drawer. I hope we sha’n’t be disturbed while we’re hunting for it.”
Patsy merely grinned amiably at this thrust and settled herself to the writing of her letter. A little smile curved her red lips as the pen fled over the paper.
For ten minutes she continued to write, then called out:
“Come here, children, and sign this letter.”
“Never put your signature to a paper until you know what it’s all about,” Bee warned Mabel.
“Oh, you needn’t be so cautious. I was going to let you see what I wrote. Here!”
Patsy handed the letter to Bee.
Heads together, Mabel and Bee proceeded to read that which made them smile.
“Dear Wood Nymph,” the letter said. “Why won’t you come and play with us, instead of hiding away in the thickets? We are just four young girls like yourself, so you need not beafraid of us. We found the red book in the patio, so we know that you must have paid us a call yesterday while we were away from Las Golondrinas.“Why don’t you come and see us when we are at home? We’d love to have you. The next time you see us at the bathing-beach please come out of the woods and show us that you are not a tricksy sprite but a real live girl like ourselves.“We are placing this note in a book which we are sure you will like to read. We are going to leave the book on the sands just where you found the red book. After you have read it, won’t you bring it straight to us and get acquainted?“Your friends,“The Wayfarers.”
“Dear Wood Nymph,” the letter said. “Why won’t you come and play with us, instead of hiding away in the thickets? We are just four young girls like yourself, so you need not beafraid of us. We found the red book in the patio, so we know that you must have paid us a call yesterday while we were away from Las Golondrinas.
“Why don’t you come and see us when we are at home? We’d love to have you. The next time you see us at the bathing-beach please come out of the woods and show us that you are not a tricksy sprite but a real live girl like ourselves.
“We are placing this note in a book which we are sure you will like to read. We are going to leave the book on the sands just where you found the red book. After you have read it, won’t you bring it straight to us and get acquainted?
“Your friends,
“The Wayfarers.”
Below “The Wayfarers” Patsy had signed her own name, allowing sufficient space on the page for the names of her friends.
“That’s sweet in you, Patsy,” lauded Mabel. “Give me your pen. I’ll sign my name in a hurry.”
Mabel promptly affixed her name to the letter, Beatrice following suit.
“We must get Nellie to sign it, too. You and Bee take it to her, Mab,” Patsy requested. “I’mgoing to ask Auntie if we can’t walk down to the beach, for once, without an escort. It’s not as if we were going bathing. We’ll just leave the book and come straight back. We won’t be in any danger.”
“Where’s the book?” inquired Bee.
“In my room. I’m going to put the letter in that book we read on the train when we were coming down here. You remember. It was ‘The Oriole.’ It’s such a pretty story and not too grown-up for our wood nymph. I’ll meet you girls in the patio.”
While Bee and Mabel went to inform Eleanor of the proposed expedition and obtain her signature to the letter, Patsy took upon herself the delicate task of interviewing her aunt.
She found Miss Martha on one of the balconies which overlooked the patio, a bit of embroidery in her hands, a book open on one knee. Miss Carroll had triumphantly mastered the difficult art of reading and embroidering at the same time.
Having come to the belief that it was really the girls’ wood nymph who had taken and subsequently returned her book, Miss Martha was now inclined to lay less stress on the incident. Her theory of tramps having been shaken, she demurreda little, then gave a somewhat reluctant consent to Patsy’s plea.
“You may go this once, but be sure you keep together and don’t loiter down there at the beach. I can’t say I specially approve of your trying to make friends with this young heathen. Once you come to know her you may find her very troublesome. However, you may be able to help her in some way. Your motive is good. That’s really the only reason I can give for allowing you to carry out your plan. Be sure you come back in time for luncheon.”
“You’re as good as gold, Auntie, dear.” Patsy tumultuously embraced Miss Martha.
“Really, Patsy, you fairly pull one to pieces,” grumbled Miss Carroll, grabbing ineffectually for embroidery and book as she emerged from that bear-like embrace.
“You like it, though.” Patsy deftly garnered book and embroidery from the balcony floor and restored them to Miss Carroll’s lap. Dropping a kiss on her aunt’s snowy hair she light-heartedly left the balcony to go to her own room for the book which was to play an important part in her kindly little plan.
Hastily securing the book, Patsy set her broad-brimmed Panama on her auburn head at a rakishangle and dashed from the room in her usual whirlwind fashion, banging the door behind her.
A few steps and she had entered the picture gallery through which she intended to pass on her way to the stairs. As she entered it a faint sound assailed her ears. She could not place in her own mind the nature of the sound, yet it startled her, simply because it had proceeded from the very center of the gallery.
An unbidden impulse caused her to direct her eyes toward the portrait cavalier. She caught her breath sharply. A curious chill crept up and down her spine. Was she dreaming, or had the man in the picture actually moved? With a little gasp of terror Patsy fled for the stairs and clattered down them, feeling as though the sinister cavalier was directly at her heels.
“What on earth is the matter?”
Seated on a bench beside Mabel and Eleanor, Bee sprang up in alarm as Patsy fairly tore into the patio and dropped limply upon another seat.
“Oh, girls, the picture!” she exclaimed. “That cavalier! Hemoved! I’m sure he did! It gave me the creeps! I was hustling through the gallery and I heard a faint, queer noise. I can’t describe it. It seemed to come right from the middle of the gallery. I looked toward that picture and it moved, or else the cavalier moved. I don’t know which.”
“You just thought you saw something move,” soothed Bee, sitting down beside her chum and patting her hand. “It was probably the way the light happened to strike on the picture that made it seem so. As for a queer sound! Every soundechoes and re-echoes in these old corridors. We heard you bang your door clear down here. You must have heard an echo of that bang in the gallery.”
“I’m a goose, I guess.” Patsy sheepishly ducked her head. “I never thought of the light falling like that on the picture. That’s what I saw, I suppose.”
“What has happened, Patsy?” called a dignified but anxious voice from the balcony. Miss Martha stood leaning over the rail looking down concernedly at her niece.
“Nothing, Auntie, dear. I heard a queer noise in the gallery and it startled me. Bee says it was only the echo from the bang I gave my door. I’m all right,” Patsy sturdily insisted, rising from the seat and blowing a gay little kiss to her aunt.
“Iheardyou bang your door,” was the significant response. “When you come back from your walk you must take one of those capsules that Dr. Hilliard prescribed for my nerves.”
“All right,” Patsy dutifully agreed. “Good-bye, Auntie. We’re going now.”
“Good-bye. Remember to be back by one o’clock.”
The three other girls calling a blithe good-bye to Miss Carroll, the quartette left the patio withan alacrity that betokened their eagerness for the proposed walk.
“I didn’t care to tell her about thinking I saw the picture move,” confessed Patsy. “As it is I’m in for swallowing one of those fat nerve capsules that Auntie always keeps on hand. I need it about as much as a bird needs a hat. We’ll have to walk fairly fast to get to the beach and back by luncheon time, girls. We’ll lay the book on the sand, then watch from the bath house windows to see what happens.”
“I hope our wood nymph comes along and finds it to-day,” commented Mabel. “Still she might not go near the beach for several days. After all, there’s only a chance that she’ll see it and pick it up.”
“I have an idea she goes to the beach every day,” said Beatrice. “She may be as curious about us as we are about her. She may be so shy, though, that she won’t come near us, even if she does read our note.”
Thus discussing the object of their little scheme, the Wayfarers forged ahead at a swinging pace. Soon they had left the highway and were on the narrow, white, palm-lined road to the beach, talking busily as they went. Once in the jungle four pairs of eyes kept up an alert watch on both sides of the road in the hope of spying the elusive wood nymph.
She caught her breath sharply, … had the man in the picture actually moved?
She caught her breath sharply, … had the man in the picture actually moved?
They came at last to the beach, however, without having seen any signs of their quarry. After they had gone through the little ceremony of placing the book on the spot on the sands from which the other book had disappeared, they went over to the bath house and, entering, eagerly watched from one of its windows.
After lingering there for half an hour, during which period the fateful book remained exactly where it had been laid, they gave up the vigil for that day and reluctantly started on the homeward hike.
“Of course we couldn’t really expect anything would happen just because we wanted it to,” declared Eleanor.
“Of course not,” her chums concurred. In her heart, however, each girl had been secretly hoping that somethingwouldhappen.
The following morning saw the Wayfarers again on the sands. This time, however, they had come down to the beach for a swim, Miss Martha dutifully accompanying them.
Almost the first object which met their gaze when they reached the sands was the book. It still lay exactly where Patsy had deposited it, thewhite edge of the letter showing above the book’s blue binding.
“She hasn’t been here!” Patsy cried out disappointedly. “I guess our plan isn’t going to amount to much after all.”
“Oh, don’t be discouraged,” smiled Eleanor. “Give her time.”
“Let’s forget all about it,” suggested Bee. “Nothing ever happens when one’s awfully anxious for it to happen. It generally happens after one has stopped thinking about it and gone on to something else. It’s a glorious morning for a swim. Let’s hurry into our bathing suits and take advantage of it.”
This wise view of the matter appealing to the disappointed authors of the little plot, the four girls betook themselves to the bath house to get ready for their morning dip in the ocean.
Having now become mildly interested in Patsy’s scheme to catch a wood nymph, Miss Martha took pains to further it by establishing herself on the sands at a point on the far side of the bath house. From there she could neither see the spot where the book lay, nor could anyone who might chance to approach it see her. This maneuver was not lost on her charges, who agreed with Patsy’s gleeful assertion that Auntie wasjust as anxious for “something to happen” as they were.
Soon engrossed in the fun of splashing and swimming about in the sun-warmed salt water, the Wayfarers forgot everything that did not pertain to the enjoyment of the moment.
True, on first entering the surf Patsy cast an occasional glance beachward. Bee’s merry challenge, “I’ll race you again to-day as far as the bend and back,” was the last touch needed to drive all thought of the mysterious wood nymph from Patsy’s mind.
Sturdy Bee proved herself no mean antagonist. When Patsy finally arrived at the starting point only a yard ahead of her chum, she was ready to throw herself down on the sands and rest after her strenuous swim. Bee, however, showed no sign of fatigue.
“You beat me, but only by a yard. To-morrow I’ll beat you.” Bee stood over Patsy, flushed and laughing.
“I don’t doubt it.” Patsy glanced admiringly up at her chum. “You’re a stronger swimmer than I, Bee. With a little more practice you’ll be a wonder. Here I am resting. You look ready to start out all over again.”
“I’m not a bit tired,” Bee said with a little airof pride. “I’ll prove it by swimming out there where Mabel and Nellie are.”
Stretched full length in the sand, Patsy lazily sat up and watched her chum as Bee waded out in the surf, reached swimming depth and struck out for a point not far ahead where Mabel and Eleanor were placidly swimming about.
Indolently content to remain inactive, Patsy continued to watch her three friends for a little, then lay down again, one arm thrown across her eyes to shut out the sun.
While she lay there, enjoying the luxury of thinking about nothing in particular, tardy recollection of the blue book suddenly crossed her brain. It impelled her to sit up again with a jerk and cast a quick glance toward the object of her thoughts.
Next instant a bare-footed figure in a white bathing suit flashed across the sands toward the jungle on a wild run. In that one glance Patsy had seen more than the blue book. She had seen a slim young girl, her small, beautiful face framed in masses of midnight black hair, flit suddenly out of the jungle, eagerly snatch up the book and dart off with it.
First sight of the strange girl and Patsy’s original intention to await developments flew tothe winds. Obeying a mad impulse to pursue the vanishing wood nymph, Patsy plunged into the jungle after her, crying out loudly: “Wait a minute! I want to talk to you.”
At sound of the clear, high voice the black-haired girl ahead halted briefly. Through the open screen of green, Patsy could see her quite plainly. She was looking over her shoulder at her pursuer as though undetermined whether to stand her ground or continue her flight.
“Don’t be afraid,” Patsy called out encouragingly. “Please don’t run away.”
As she spoke she started quickly forward. Her eyes fixed on the girl, her runaway feet plunged themselves into a mass of tangled green vines. With a sharp, “Oh!” she pitched headlong into a thicket of low-growing bushes.
As she scrambled to her feet she became aware of a loud, metallic buzzing in her ears. Then she felt herself being jerked out of the thicket by a pair of strong arms and hauled to a bit of dear space beyond.
“Stay where you are,señorita,” commanded a warning, imperative voice. “Move not, I entreat you!”
Bewildered by the suddenness with which things had happened, Patsy stood perfectly still,her eyes following the movements of a lithe figure, darting this way and that, as though in search of something.
Still in a daze she heard the voice that had addressed her utter a low murmur of satisfaction, as its owner stooped and picked up a dead branch from under a huge live oak. Two little brown hands played like lightning over the thick branch, ripping off the clinging dead twigs. Next the denuded branch was thwacked vigorously against the parent oak.
“It is strong enough,” announced a calm voice. “Now we shall see.”
Fascinated, Patsy watched breathlessly. She now understood the situation. Her headlong crash into the thicket had stirred up a drowsy rattler. The prompt action of her little wood nymph had saved her from being bitten by the snake. Now the girl intended to hunt it down and kill it. She looked so small and slender. It seemed too dangerous a task for her to undertake.
“Oh, please let it alone! It might bite you!” Patsy found herself faltering out. “A rattle-snake’s bite is deadly.”
“I have killed many. I am not afraid. Always one must kill the snake. It is the sign ofthe enemy. One kills; so one conquers.Comprende?”
The girl shook back her black hair, her red lips parting in a smile that lighted her somber face into sunshine. Patsy thought it quite the prettiest thing she had ever seen.
Very cautiously the intrepid little hunter began to circle the thicket, poking her impromptu weapon into it with every step she took.
“Ah!”
She uttered a shout of triumph as the sinister, buzzing sound Patsy had so lately heard began again.
Having located her quarry, the girl proceeded to dispatch it with the fearlessness of those long used to the wilds. Her weapon firmly grasped in determined hands she rained a fury of strong, steady blows upon the rattler. Finally they ceased. Giving his snakeship a final contemptuous prod with the branch, she called across the thicket to Patsy:
“Come. You wish to see. He is a very large one. Of a length of eight feet,quisas. Wait; I will lay him straight on the earth.”
Approaching, Patsy shuddered as her rescuer obligingly poked the dead reptile from the spot where it had made its last stand. She shudderedagain as a small brown hand grasped the still twitching tail and straightened the snake out.
“It is the diamond back,” the girl calmly informed. “See.” She pointed with the branch, which she still held, to the diamond-shaped markings on the snake’s back. “He carried the death in his sting. So we shall bury the head, for the sting of a dead snake such as this is safer covered.”
“It’s horrible!” shivered Patsy. “It was coiled up in the thicket. I must have disturbed it when I fell. I don’t see how I escaped being bitten.”
“He was resting at the edge of the thicket,señorita,” corrected the girl. “Always such as he keep near the edge so that it becomes for them thus easy to strike the small creatures they hunt. So you missed him and he sang the song of death. I heard that song and came. He had eaten not long ago, I believe, and was lazy. So he did not try to go away. Now he is dead. So if the enemy comes to me, I must conquer. This is a true saying.”
A sudden silence fell upon the two girls as the picturesque little stranger made this solemn announcement. Now that the excitement was over the wood nymph began to show signs of returning shyness.
Fearing that she might turn and run away, Patsy stretched forth a slim white hand and said winningly:
“I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for what you did. You were very brave, I think. I’m ever so glad to know you. Can’t we be friends?”
The girl hesitated, a wistful look in her large dark eyes. Very slowly she put her small brown hand into Patsy’s extended one.
“I will give you the hand because already I like you,” she said. “I cannot be your friend because I am too poor. Always I must wear theold ugly dress. Always I must go with the feet bare.”
“That has nothing to do with our being friends,” was Patsy’s gentle assurance. “I’m bare-footed, too.” She laughed and thrust forward one pink, bare foot. “Just look at my bathing suit. It was wet when I started after you. Falling down didn’t improve it.”
“Ah, but your feet are bare because you wish it,” reminded the girl sadly. “Never I wish the bare feet, but always it must be. I have seen you the other day in the automobile. You and your friends I saw.Mi madreyou were most wonderful! You werelinda;hermosa!”
The girl clasped her brown hands in a fervent gesture as she relapsed into Spanish by way of emphasizing her ardent admiration.
“I was behind the hedge and saw you go,” she continued apologetically. “With me was the red book, I would to bring it back. Was it wrong to take it for one day? I desired it much.”
“You were very welcome to it,” smiled Patsy. “We found it in the patio with your thank you. Did you read it?”
“Si; but not all. It was long, with such hard words.No comprendiaall. It told of theamor. That is the love, you know. Yetamoristhe more sweet word. It is the Spanish. You must know that I am Spanish, but I speak the English quite well, though for a long time I have spoken it little.”
“I should say you did speak it well!” emphasized Patsy.
As it happened, Patsy was already decidedly amazed at this fact. Though the girl’s phraseology was a trifle clumsy at times, in the main her English was grammatical. To Patsy she was a bewildering combination of childish frankness, sturdy independence, shy humility and quaint charm. Above all, there hung over her that curious air of mystery which wholly fascinated Patsy.
“You have said you desire to be to me the friend. So I shall tell you why I speak the English,” pursued the wood nymph in a sudden burst of confidence. “First, we must bury the head of this,” she pointed to the dead snake, “then I will show you the place under the tree where we may sit for a little.”
“I’d love to,” eagerly responded Patsy.
Completely wrapped up in the adventure, impetuous Patsy had entirely forgotten the passing of time. The effect her disappearance would have on her friends had not yet occurred to her.Her mind was centered on her new acquaintance, who was now busily engaged in digging a hole in the soft earth with a sharp stone she had picked up.
“It is done,” she announced, when the crushed, ugly head of the reptile was hidden from view and the earth pounded down over it. “Come now. I will show you. Follow me and fear not. We shall not see another such snake, I believe.”
Following her lively companion for a few yards of comparatively easy going, the two came to a wide-spreading palmetto under which was a space clear of vines and bushes. Only the short green grass grew luxuriantly there.
“This place I love. I have myself made it free of the vines and weeds. Here I love to lie and look up through the trees at the sky. Sit you down and we will talk.”
Only too willing to “talk,” Patsy obeyed with alacrity. The wood nymph seated herself beside Patsy, endeavoring to cover her bare feet and limbs with her faded brown cotton skirt. Slim hands clasped about her knees, she stared solemnly at the white-clad girl beside her.
“I am Dolores,” she began. “That means the sadness. I have lived here long, but before that I lived with my father in Miami. My mother Inever knew. I was the little baby when she died. So I went to a school and learned English. Now I have seventeen years, but in Miami, when I was of an age of twelve years, my father, who did the work every day of thecarpintero, became very sick. So he died, but before he died he wrote the letter to his friend who came for me and brought me here. So never more I went to school but had always the hard work to do.”
“You poor little thing!” exclaimed Patsy, her ready sympathies touched by the wistfulness of the girl’s tones as she related her sad little story. “Where do you live now, and why do you have to work so hard?”
“These things I cannot tell you. It is forbidden.” The girl mournfully shook her head. “So it is true also that I cannot be your friend. But if you will come here sometimes, I will see you,” she added, her lovely, somber features brightening.
“Of course I will, and bring my friends with me. They are dandy girls, ever so much nicer than I. My name is Patricia Carroll, but everyone calls me ‘Patsy.’ Why can’t you come to Las Golondrinas to see us?”
“It is forbidden.NeverI can go there again. I am sorry.”
The brightness faded from the stranger’s beautiful face, leaving it more melancholy than before.
Patsy looked briefly baffled, then tried again with:
“Come down to the beach with me now and meet them and my aunt.” Sudden remembrance of Miss Martha caused her to exclaim: “Good gracious! I wonder what time it is! None of my friends knows where I went. They’ll be terribly worried.”
Patsy sprang to her feet in dismay. She wondered if she had really been away from the beach so very long. She was of the rueful conviction that she had.
“I would go, but I am afraid. If she saw me she would be angry and shut me up for many days. So she has said.”
This was even more amazing to Patsy. She longed to ask this strange girl all sorts of questions. Courtesy forbade her to do so. She also had a vague idea that it would be of no use. Fear of the person she had referred to as “she” had evidently tied the wood nymph’s tongue.
“I’d love to have you come with me,” Patsy said warmly. “But I wouldn’t want you to do anything that might bring trouble upon yourself.Is it right that you should obey this—this person?”
“No; never it is right!” The answer came in bitter, resentful tones. “Often I think to run away from here, never to return. Only I have the no place to go. I am truly the poor one. Dolores!” She made a little despairing gesture. “Si, it is the true name for me.”
“Then if you feel that it is not right to obey a person who is treating you unjustly, don’t do it,” was Patsy’s bold counsel. “I wish you would tell me your trouble. Perhaps I could help you. Won’t you trust me and tell me about it?”
“I am afraid,” was the mournful repetition. “Not afraid of you. Oh, never that! Already I have for you theamor. You aresimpatica. I would to go to the sands with you now and meet your friends. I cannot. I will show you the way to the road. So you can walk more quickly to the sands. I will try to come to this place to-morrow at this time and wait for you.”
“May I bring the girls with me?” petitioned Patsy. “My chum, Beatrice, saw you in the thicket the first time we came to the beach. She is longing to know you.”
“Beatrice; it is the pretty name. She is perhaps that one with the true face and the browncurls. I saw her look at me that day. She is not so pretty as you; yet she is pretty. So, also, are those other two girls who look alike and still not alike.”
“They are sisters; Mabel and Eleanor,” informed Patsy. “At home, away up North, they live next door to me. When I come here to-morrow I will tell you more about myself. I must go now. You haven’t said yet whether I might bring my chums with me to-morrow.”
“I wish it,” was the brief consent. “Now I will show you the way.”
It was not as far as Patsy had thought to the sandy road. Guided by Dolores, who knew her ground thoroughly, Patsy found jungle travel easy, even in her bare feet. The two girls finally came out on the road about an eighth of a mile above the beach.
“Thank you ever so much for showing me the way.”
Patsy paused in the middle of the road, her hand extended. Impulsively she leaned forward and lightly kissed Dolores.
The vivid color in the girl’s cheeks deepened at the unexpected caress. A mist sprang to her glorious dark eyes. She caught Patsy’s hand in both her own. Bending, she touched her lips toit. “Oh, you are mostsimpatica!” she murmured, then turned and darted away, leaving Patsy standing in the middle of the white, sandy road, looking tenderly after the lithe, fleeing form until a tangle of green hid it entirely from her view.
Meanwhile, down on the sands, three anxious-eyed girls were holding counsel with an equally disturbed matron.
“When did you see Patsy last?” Miss Martha was inquiring in lively alarm.
“She was lying in the sand when I started to swim out to Mab and Nellie,” replied Bee. “When I got to them, Mab began splashing water on me and we had a busy time for a few minutes just teasing each other. Then I looked toward the beach. I was going to call out to Patsy to come on in, but she wasn’t there. I supposed, of course, she’d gone up to the bath house to take off her bathing suit and dress again. She had said she was tired.”
“How long ago was that?” Miss Martha asked huskily.
“An hour, I’m afraid; perhaps longer,” faltered Bee. “We’ve looked all along the beach and called to her. We looked in the bath house first before we told you, Miss Martha. We hated to frighten you. We kept expecting she’d come back. We thought maybe she was hiding from us just for fun and would pounce out on us all of a sudden.”
“You should have told me at once, Beatrice.”
Worry over her niece’s strange disappearance lent undue sternness to Miss Carroll’s voice.
“I—I—am—sorry.”
Bee was now on the verge of tears.
“So am I,” was the grim concurrence. “At all events, Patsy must be found and immediately. I shall not wait for you girls to change your bathing suits. I shall walk back to the house at once. You are to go into the bath house and stay there until my brother comes for you. He will bring men with him who will search the woods behind the beach.”
“Won’t you let me try again along the edge of jungle, Miss Martha,” pleaded Bee. “I won’t go far into it. I’ll just skirt it and keep calling out——”
“Who-oo!” suddenly supplemented a clear, high voice.
It had an electrical effect upon the dismayed group. Out from the jungle and onto the beach darted a small, bare-footed, white-clad figure and straight into the midst of a most relieved company.
“Patricia Carroll,wherehave you been?” demanded Miss Martha sternly. “No; don’t try to smooth things over by hugging me. I amveryangry with you for disobeying me.”
Nevertheless, Miss Martha made only a feeble attempt to disengage herself from Patsy’s coaxing arms.
“Now, Auntie, don’t be cross. A Patsy in hand is worth two in the jungle,” saucily paraphrased the unabashed culprit. “I’ve been as safe as safe could be. I’ve really had a wonderful time. I was so interested I forgot that very likely you might miss me and be a little worried.”
“A little worried!”
Miss Martha raised two plump hands in a despairing gesture.
“Why, yes. I——”
“Do you know how long you’ve been gone?” was the severe question. “Long enough to set us all nearly distracted wondering what had become of you. Really, Patsy, I think you’ve behaved very inconsiderately.”
“I’m sorry, dearest Auntie; truly I am. I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I saw her and before I knew it I was following her as fast as I could run. She came out of the jungle after the book.”
“Saw her? Do you mean our——” Mabel began excitedly.
“Wood nymph,” Patsy finished triumphantly. “I surely do. I not onlysawher. I talked with her.”
“I might have known it,” came disapprovingly from Miss Carroll. “I should have set my foot down firmly in the first place about this girl. I thought you too sensible by far to race off into a snake-infested jungle, bare-footed, at that, after this young savage. I see I was mistaken.”
“She’s not a savage, Aunt Martha.” Patsy rallied to defense of her new friend. “She’s a perfect darling. She’s Spanish, but she speaks really good English in such a quaint, pretty way. She likes me and I like her, and we’re friends. We’ve shaken hands on that.”
“What is her name, Patsy, and where does she live?” eagerly asked Eleanor.
“Her name is Dolores. I don’t know where she lives,” confessed Patsy. “I asked her but she wouldn’t tell me. She said it was forbidden. Iasked her to come to Las Golondrinas to see us, but she said that was forbidden, too. She read your book, Auntie. I told you she wasn’t ignorant.”
“What did she say about the ‘Oriole’?” interposed Bee, before Miss Carroll could frame an adequate reply to Patsy’s astounding announcement.
“I——Why, the idea! I forgot to ask her,” stammered Patsy. “I saw her pick up the book and run away with it. I started after her. Then I fell almost on that horrible snake and——”
“Snake!” went up in shocked unison from four throats.
“Why, yes.” Patsy colored, then grinned boyishly. “I was going to tell you about it in a minute. I caught my foot in some vines and pitched into the bushes. I stirred up a rattler. It began to sing and Dolores ran to me and dragged me away from the place before it had time to bite me. Then she killed it. It was as thick as my wrist and eight feet long. She said it was a diamond——”
“I must say you have very peculiar ideas of safety,” interrupted her aunt.
Despite the dry satire of her tones, Miss Martha was feeling rather sick over Patsy’s near disaster.In consequence, she was inclined toward tardy appreciation of the “young savage.”
“This girl,” she continued in a dignified but decidedly mollified voice. “I feel that we ought to do something for her. You say she insists that it is forbidden her to come to Las Golondrinas. Did she explain why?”
“No. I wanted awfully to ask her, but I felt sure that she wouldn’t tell me a thing. There’s a mystery connected with her. I know there is.”
“Nonsense!” Miss Martha showed instant annoyance at this theory. “I dare say her parents have merely forbidden her to trespass upon the property of strangers. I have been told that these persons known down South as ‘poor whites’ still feel very resentful toward Northerners on account of the Civil War. The old folks have handed down this hatred to the younger generations. This girl’s parents have no doubt learned that we are from the North.”
“But such people as these poor whites are Americans with American ancestors. Dolores is Spanish. Besides, her father and mother are dead. She said so.”
Patsy went on to repeat the meager account Dolores had given of herself, ending with thegirl’s allusion to the mysterious “she” of whom she appeared to stand in such lively dread.
“Very unsatisfactory,” commented her aunt when Patsy had finished her narration. “Understand, Patsy, I am grateful to this girl for the service she did you. As for the girl herself——”
Miss Martha’s pause was eloquent of doubt.
“She’s perfectly sweet,” insisted Patsy with some warmth.
“Nevertheless, you know nothing of her beyond what she has chosen to tell you,” firmly maintained Miss Carroll. “I don’t approve of her dodging about in the woods like a wild young animal. For all you know this ‘she’ may have been put to a great deal of uneasiness by the girl’s will-o’-the-wisp behavior. She may be so headstrong and disobedient as to require the adoption of strong measures.”
“She’s not that sort of girl,” Patsy again defended. “She’s gentle and dear and lovable. When she smiles her face lights up just beautifully. Mostly, though, she’s terribly sober. Her voice is so soft and sweet. Only it makes one feel like crying.”
“Hmm!” The ejaculation was slightly skeptical. “She seems to have completely turned your head, Patricia. I suppose you will give meno peace until I have seen her for myself. I am a fairly good judge of character, however. It will not take me long to decide whether she is a proper person for you to cultivate.”
“Then come with me into the woods to-morrow,” eagerly challenged Patsy. “I promised to meet her there, at a certain place, and bring the girls. I’m not the least bit afraid you won’t like Dolores. I know that you will.”
“What! flounder through that jungle and risk snake bite? No, indeed! Furthermore, I forbid you girls to do so.”
“Then we can’t see her!” Patsy cried out disappointedly. “I told you she said she was afraid to meet us on the beach. Listen, dearest and bestest Auntie. As we go back over the road to the house, I’ll show you the place where Dolores wants us to meet her. It’s only a little way off the road and easy to reach. There isn’t the least bit of danger from snakes. There’s a kind of natural aisle between the trees that leads to it. Dolores brought me back over it, so I know what I’m talking about.”
“You may point it out to me as we go back to the house,” was the nearest approach to consent which Miss Carroll would give. “Now all of you must hurry to the bath house and make upfor lost time. It will be at least two o’clock before we reach home. I will wait for you here. Don’t stop to talk, but hurry.”
Once in the bath house, however, the Wayfarers’ tongues wagged incessantly as they speedily prepared for the homeward hike.
Very naturally the conversation centered on Dolores, of whom Patsy continued to hold forth in glowing terms.
“Wait until Aunt Martha sees her,” she confidently predicted. “She can’t help liking our wood nymph. She was a tiny bit peeved when I said that I knew there was a mystery about Dolores. There is, too. I’m sure of it. She’s not headstrong or disobedient, but sheisterribly unhappy. The person she lives with, that horrible ‘she,’ I suppose, must be awfully hateful to her.”
“Do you think we could find out for ourselves where she lives?” Bee asked earnestly. “Then we might be able to help her. She may need help very badly. Your father said that she might be the daughter of a fisherman.”
“We’ll try to find out.” Patsy spoke with quick decision. “Day after to-morrow we’ll make Dad take us to where those fisher folks live. Maybe we’ll find her there. Don’t say a word about it when you meet her to-morrow. We’lljust keep it dark and do a little sleuthing of our own.”
Her companions agreeing with Patsy that this would be an excellent plan, the quartette rapidly finished dressing, locked the door of the bath house behind them and joined Miss Carroll on the beach.
“There’s the place where we are to meet Dolores, Auntie,” informed Patsy when the party reached the point on the road where she had left her new friend. “It’s right beyond those oaks. You can see for yourself that the walking is good.”
“It isn’t quite so bad as I had expected,” Miss Martha grudgingly admitted. “Since you are so determined to introduce this girl to me, I may as well resign myself to taking this walk with you to-morrow.”
This being as good as a promise, wily Patsy accepted it as such and said no more on the subject. Added discussion of it might result in a change of mind on her aunt’s part.
Reaching the house, however, a most unpleasant surprise lay in wait for the party. To see Mammy Luce standing in the entrance to the patio was not an unusual sight. To see her stationed there, however, her bulky form swathed inan ancient linen duster, a shapeless black hat, decorated with a depressed-looking ostrich plume jammed down upon her gray wool, was another matter. More, in one hand was a section of a turkey red tablecloth, tied together at the four corners and bulging with her personal belongings. In the other hand she held a green cotton umbrella which she raised in a kind of fantastic salute as the Wayfarers approached the entrance.
“I’se gwine away fum here, I is,” she rumbled. “I ain’t gwine stay in no house where sperrits come sneakin’ aroun’. I done seen one this mawnin’.”
“What does this mean, Mammy Luce?” Miss Martha took majestic command of the situation. “You have no right to leave me like this without giving notice. Now tell me exactly what the trouble is.”
“I done tell yoh a’ready, Missis. I done seen a sperrit. I wuz bakin’ a cake, I wuz, in de kitchen. I done looks up from de oben an’ I seen a long, tall, ole white sperrit a-sneakin’ for de back stairs. I near fell daid, I did. When I come to, I wuz shakin’ like a leaf. So I jes’ put mah traps togedder quick an’ now I’se gwine. I’se been awaitin’ to tell yoh an ax yoh fer mah wages.”
“There are no such things as ‘spirits,’ Mammy Luce,” Miss Carroll informed the frightened servant. “You only thought you saw one.”
Alarmed at the prospect of losing an excellent cook, Miss Martha proceeded to do her utmost to convince the old woman that her visitant, provided she really had seen an apparition, was not supernatural.
“I seen it. I ain’t blind. I seen it,” Mammy Luce doggedly reiterated. “Yoh cain’t tell this niggah it wuzn’t no sperrit, ’cause it wuz.”
“Much more likely it was one of the maids who dressed up in a sheet on purpose to frighten you,” was Miss Martha’s practical view of the matter. “Where are Celia and Emily?”
“Em’ly she am upstaihs somewhar. She don’t know nuffin’ ’bout it, an’ this am Celia’s day off. Dey am good girls an’ don’t go for to skair ole Mammy Luce. ’Sides, this yeah sperrit wuz ’bout seben foot high. It wuzn’t nopusson. It ain’t no use talkin’, Mis’ Carroll, ’cause I’se gwine ter git out fore dat sperrit gits after this niggah. It ain’t no fun to be daid an’ I ain’t gwine to be it.”
Further argument on the part of not only Miss Martha but the girls as well proved futile. Mammy Luce had but one thought. Thatthought was to put distance between herself and Las Golondrinas. The substantial increase of wages Miss Carroll felt impelled to offer her did not interest the superstitious old woman.
“I jes’ want what’s acomin’ to muh an’ git out,” she declared with finality. “I’se gwine ober yander ’bout three mile toh see mah brudder. He’ll hitch up his ole yaller mule an’ tote ole Luce toh the station.”
“Go upstairs, Patsy, to my room and bring me my handbag. It is in the tray of my trunk. Here is the key.”
From the white crocheted bag swinging from one arm, Miss Carroll took a small brass key which she handed to Patsy.
As she passed through the patio and thence on upstairs, recollection of the curious impression she had received that morning in walking through the portrait gallery came back to Patsy.
She had been absolutely sure at the moment that the pictured cavalier had moved. Mammy Luce, it seemed, was equally sure that she had seen a “sperrit.” The question that now obtruded itself in Patsy’s mind was, had she and Mammy Luce seennothing, or had both of them really seensomething?
Now minus a cook, it remained to the Wayfarers to prepare their own luncheon. Not stopping to bewail their cookless state, the four girls, under the direction of Miss Martha, attacked the task with the utmost good humor.
Miss Carroll, however, was not so optimistically inclined. Mammy Luce’s sudden departure had deprived her of a skilled cook, whom she could not easily replace. She was thankful that the panic had not extended to the maids. Providentially, Celia was absent for the day. According to Mammy Luce, Emily was still in ignorance of the “sperrit’s” visitation. She had eaten her noonday meal and gone back to her upstairs work before Mammy Luce had seen the dread apparition.
In the midst of preparations for the belatedluncheon, she appeared in the kitchen, broom and duster in hand, her black eyes round with curiosity at the unusual sight which met them.
In as casual a tone as she could muster, Miss Carroll informed the girl that Mammy Luce had left Las Golondrinas. This news appeared not to surprise Emily so much as had the sight of the “young ladies an’ the Missis aworkin’ in de kitchen.”
“Huh!” was her scornful ejaculation. “I guess ole Luce done got skairt ’bout dat ere ghos’. Carlos wuz tellin’ her ’bout it t’other day. That Spanish fellah in the queer duds up thar in the pitcher gallery done walk aroun’ this house. He go fer to say he’s seen it. He am a liar. They ain’t no sech things ’s ghos’es, I says, but Luce, she says they is. She wuz ’fraid she’d see it.”
“Certainly there are no such things as ghosts, Emily,” Miss Martha made haste to agree. “I am glad to find you so sensible on the subject. Since you have mentioned it, I might as well say that it was this ghost idea which caused Mammy Luce to leave us.”
Miss Martha diplomatically avoided making a direct explanation of the affair. Once Emily learned Mammy Luce had insisted that she had actuallyseena ghost, she might not remain firmin her conviction that there were “no sech things.”
“I hope Celia has no such foolish ideas about ghosts as Mammy Luce,” Miss Carroll continued inquiringly.
“Celie, she’s ’bout half an’ half. She says as thar might be or mightn’t. Only she says she ain’t gwine to git skairt ’less she sees one. Celie’n me, we don’t take no stock in that good-fer-nuffin’ Carlos. He am a sorehead, he am. Ef it’s ’greeable, Mis’ Carroll, I reckon I ain’t sech a bad cook. Leastways, I don’ mind tryin’. Ef yoh likes mah cookin’ mebbe I can git mah sister t’ come an’ do mah work.”
This was joyful news indeed. Needless to mention, Miss Carroll was not slow to take good-natured Emily at her word.
“I shall be very glad to have you try, Emily,” she said. “If you can get along with the cooking it will save us the trouble of sending to Miami for another cook. Where does your sister live? Perhaps she wouldn’t care to come here for so short a time.”
“She lives home with mah mudder, Mis’ Carroll. Jes’ a little ways from Miami. She am only fifteen, but she am right smaht. I done gwine t’ write her t’night,” assured Emily, showing her white teeth in a wide grin.
“Do so, Emily. To have your sister come here will simplify matters wonderfully.”
Miss Martha looked her relief at this unexpected solution of the domestic problem.
With the deft assistance of Emily, the luncheon which the Wayfarers had busied themselves in preparing was soon on the dining-room table. It consisted of bread and butter, bacon, an omelet, and a salad, composed of tomatoes, green sweet peppers and lettuce, with French dressing. The fateful cake which Mammy Luce was removing from the oven when she saw the “sperrit” now figured as dessert along with oranges which Patsy had painstakingly sliced and sugared.
Previous to Emily’s disappearance, the preparation of luncheon had been accompanied by much talk and laughter on the part of the Wayfarers. Presently seated at table, they had considerably less to say. Emily’s revelation concerning Carlos had set them all to wondering and speculating.
“It strikes me that this Carlos has very little good sense,” Miss Martha criticized the moment Emily had left the dining-room. “He should have known better than tell such a tale to old Mammy Luce. I shall speak to your father about him, Patsy.”
“When we asked him about the portrait gallery he said he didn’t know a thing,” Patsy replied with a puzzled frown. “Do you suppose he really told Mammy Luce about the picture and the ghost? If he did, that proves he wasn’t telling us the truth. Now why should he lie to us?”
“Very likely to get rid of answering your questions,” responded her aunt. “Undoubtedly he knew better than to tell you girls such a silly story. He knew you would refer to it to your father and that Robert would be displeased. I believe Emily, of course. As to Mammy Luce, I don’t know. It is exactly the sort of foolish yarn that I warned you we were likely to hear down South. I am sorry that it should have cost us our cook.”
The tale of the ghostly cavalier was not disturbing Miss Carroll in the least. The loss of a cook was of far greater importance to her.
The Wayfarers, however, were more impressed by Mammy Luce’s ghost than they dared allow Miss Carroll to guess. During luncheon four pairs of bright eyes continually exchanged significant glances. They were burning to talk things over among themselves.
Miss Carroll’s announcement that she intended to take a nap directly after luncheon gave themthe longed-for opportunity. Patsy’s demure invitation, “Come on into Bee’s and my room, Perry children,” held untold meaning.
“Girls,” began Patsy solemnly, the instant the door of the room closed behind the quartette, “there’s something queer about this old house. There’s something queer about that picture. Carlos knows more than he pretended to know. I wouldn’t feel so—well, so funny about it if I hadn’t thought I saw that cavalier in the picture move. It gives me the shivers. Do you suppose there is——Oh, there simply can’t be aghostin this house!”
“Of course there isn’t,” smiled Bee. “Brace up, Patsy. You’re just nervous over that picture business this morning. I think perhaps Carlos told Mammy Luce that story just to be malicious and scare her. He looks like that sort of person. Maybe he dislikes us as much as his grandmother appeared to, and just because we live in the house that belonged to his former employer.”
“If that’s the case, he may have told the yarn to Mammy Luce on purpose to get her to leave, and so inconvenience us,” suggested Eleanor. “He may have thought she’d leave in a hurry without telling us why she was going.”
“Let’s begin at the beginning and see what we know,” proposed Bee. “First, there’s crazy old Rosita who called us thieves and said we’d never find something or other that Camillo, whoever he is or was, had hidden. Second, there’s Carlos, who turned out to be the grandson of Rosita, who said she was not crazy but pretended to know nothing else about anything here. Third, there’s Mammy Luce, who went off and left us because she saw, or thought she saw, a ghost. Fourth, there’s Emily, who said Carlos told Mammy Luce that the ghost of the cavalier in the picture gallery walked about this house. Fifth, there’s Patsy, who heard an odd noise in the gallery and saw, or thought she saw, the cavalier picture move. Put it all together. Does it mean something or nothing?”
“No one except Carlos can answer that question. The whole thing, except Patsy’s scare, centers on him,” declared Mabel.
“I’m going to have a private talk with Dad,” announced Patsy. “I’m going to ask him not to speak to Carlos about the ghost story, but to let him alone and see what happens next. If he really has a grudge against us he’ll be sure to do something else to bother us. We’ll be on the watch and in that way we’ll catch him at it. Thenmaybe Dad can make him tell what he wouldn’t tell us.”
“But what about your aunt, Patsy?” conscientiously reminded Eleanor. “She’s going to ask your father to speak to Carlos, you know.”
“I’ll see Dad first and explain things. I’ll ask him to tell Auntie, when she mentions Carlos to him, that he thinks it would be a good idea to let Carlos alone for the present and watch him. Itisa good idea, and I know Dad will agree with me. I’d say so to Auntie myself if I were sure she wouldn’t mind. She would, though, because she’s not in sympathy with us when it comes to mysteries.”
“If any more queer things happen, Miss Martha will have to admit that thereisa mystery hanging over Las Golondrinas,” Bee predicted. “I forgot to add Dolores to the list. She’s another mystery.”
“She surely is, but she doesn’t belong to the Carlos puzzle,” returned Patsy. “Never mind, give us time and we’ll put all the pieces of all the puzzles together. We’re determined to do it. That’s half the battle.”
“We may even find the secret drawer,” supplemented Mabel hopefully.
This remark was received with derisive chuckles.Her companions had come to regard the mythical secret drawer as a huge joke.
“Laugh at me if you want to. When I find it, then it will bemyturn to laugh atyou,” Mabel emphasized.
“Whenyou do, we’ll stand in line and let you laugh at us,” jeered Eleanor.
“I’ll remember that,” retorted her sister. “I’m going to the sitting-room now to patiently pursue my indefatigable investigations. Ahem! ‘Never despair’ is my motto.”
“‘Sleep, sweetly sleep,’ is going to be mine,” yawned Eleanor. “I’m going to take a nap.”
“I’dliketo go down to the orange groves.” Patsy beamed significantly upon Beatrice. “I’m not supposed to trail around this vast tract of terrestrial territory alone. If some one will kindly volunteer——”
“I’ll take pity on you,” laughed Bee. “Come on. While we’re about it we might as well lug a basket along and fill it with oranges. ‘Try to be useful as well as ornamental.’ That’smymotto.”
“Mine is: ‘Be thankful for small favors,’” retaliated Patsy with an impish grin. “Allow me to escort you to the kitchen for the basket. Good-bye, Perry children. We’ll see you later.”
Patsy offered her arm to Bee with an extravagantflourish and the two girls left the room laughing. Mabel promptly made a bee-line for the sitting-room, while Eleanor went to her own room for her nap.
Bee and Patsy spent an enjoyable but uneventful hour in the orange groves, returning with their basket piled high with luscious fruit. Mindful of her intent to have first audience with her father on his return that afternoon, Patsy posted herself on a balcony overlooking the drive to watch for him.
When, at five o’clock, he drove the car up the drive, he was met halfway to the house by his daughter who imperiously demanded a ride to the garage.
Informed of all that had recently occurred and the course of action Patsy had laid out for him, Mr. Carroll looked decidedly grave.
“I’m sorry to hear this of Carlos,” he said. “So far as work goes, he’s an excellent man. I’m going to adopt your suggestion, Patsy, to say nothing to him at present about this ghost business. I’ll explain to your Aunt Martha so that she’ll be satisfied to let matters stand as they are. Of course, if he continues to stir up trouble among the maids or my black boys by frightening them with ridiculous yarns about ghosts, then Ishall feel obliged to come down on him for it.”
“Have you asked him yet about either old Rosita or Dolores?”
Having related to her father all she knew of both, Patsy now referred to them by name.
“Yes.” Mr. Carroll smiled. “I described them to him this morning and inquired about them. He had nothing to say beyond that this Rosita was his grandmother and not insane. He swears that he never saw this girl Dolores.”
“I don’t believe him,” Patsy said with a vigorous shake of her auburn head. “She has lived in this neighborhood several years. She told me so. He was brought up here. He must have seen her often. He’s a Spanish-speaking Mexican and she’s Spanish. He must certainly know who she is. Why he should deny knowing her I can’t imagine. Just the same, it’s something I intend to find out, if only for my own satisfaction.”