“Now, Major,” cried the impetuous Ruth, “keep on your own preserves! I asked her first, and I’m just dying to do it. I know papa would let me, and wouldn’t it be a beautiful thing to launch a great singer upon the public?”
“It certainly would, my dear,” replied the major, “and I promise not to meddle, if you had first choice.”
“Why, where’s Mr. Martinez?” asked Mollie, as they climbed into the automobiles and she missed her companion of the ride over.
One of the boys gave a shrill whistle and the others began calling and shouting. Presently the answer came from up the stream. “I’mcoming,” he called and José appeared. “I was only taking a little stroll.”
“Why did you wish to miss the Gypsy song and dance?” demanded Mollie. “It was charming.”
“Pardon, Mademoiselle,” he replied, stiffly, “but I do not care to hear the songs of my country, or to see its dances in a foreign land.”
Mollie was a little piqued by José’s short answer, but she forgave him when he said sadly:
“Did you ever know, Madamoiselle, what it is to be homesick?”
“But I thought you said you liked America?” she persisted.
“So I do,” he replied; “nevertheless, there are times when I feel very lonely. You will forgive me, will you not. Was I rude?”
In the meantime Stephen said to Barbara:
“Bab, are you a good walker? How would you like to take a short cut through the woods to-morrow morning, and visit the hermit who lives on the other side? We can’t ride or drive very well, because it is too far by the road, but it is only about five miles when we walk. I haven’t been there for several years, but I know the way well. I suppose the hermit is still alive. At least, he was all right last summer, so John the butler told me. Anybody else who wishes may go along, but nobody shall comewho will lag behind and complain of the distance.”
“I am good for a ten mile walk,” replied Barbara. “I have done it many a time at home.”
“The woods grow more and more interesting the deeper you go into them,” continued Stephen. “There are places where the sun never comes through, and the whole way is cool and shaded. It is full of people, too. You would be surprised to find how many people make a living in a forest. They are perfectly harmless, of course, or else I wouldn’t be taking you among them. Besides the Gypsies, there are woodcutters, old men and women who gather herbs, and a few lonely people who live in cabins on the edge of the forest and have little gardens. Uncle has always helped them, in the winter, without asking who they were or why they were there. Then there’s the hermit. He is the most interesting of the lot. He is as old as the hills and he has a secret that he would never tell, the secret of who he is and why he has lived alone for some forty years.”
“How interesting!” exclaimed Bab. “I hope Miss Sallie won’t object.”
“We shall have to get the major on our side,” replied Stephen, “and perhaps win her over, too.”
“Oh, she is not really so strict,” replied Bab, “but she feels the responsibility of looking after other peoples’ children, she says.”
“Here we are,” said Stephen, as the cars stopped at Ten Eyck Hall.
It was not such a difficult matter, after all, to win permission from Miss Sallie and the major to take the walk through the forest. The major explained to Miss Sallie that Stephen was a safe and careful guide who knew the country by heart, and that if the girls were equal to the walk there would be no danger in the excursion. The party, however, dwindled to five persons, Bab and Ruth, Stephen, Jimmie and Alfred. The latter appeared early, equipped for the walk, carrying a heavy cane, his trousers turned up over stout boots.
“Now, Stephen,” said Miss Sallie, “I want you to promise me to take good care of the girls. You say the woods are not dangerous, although a highwayman stepped out of them one evening and attacked us with a knife. But I take your word for it, since the major says it is safe and I see Alfred is armed.”
Everybody laughed at this, and Alfred looked conscious and blushed.
“Doesn’t one carry a cane in this country?” he asked.
“Not often at your age, my boy,” replied Jimmie. “But I daresay it will serve to beat a trail through the underbrush.”
“Come along, girls; let’s be off,” cried Stephen, who at heart was almost a Gypsy, and loved a long tramp through the woods. He had strapped over his shoulder a goodly sized box of lunch, and the cavalcade started cheerfully down the walk that led toward the forest, a compact mass of foliage lying to the left of them.
“Isn’t this fun?” demanded Jimmie. “I feel just in the humor for a lark.”
“I hope you can climb fences, girls,” called Stephen over his shoulder, as he trudged along, ahead of the others.
“We could even climb a tree if we had to,” answered Bab, “or swim a creek.”
“Or ride a horse bareback,” interrupted Jimmie, who had heard the story of Bab’s escapade on the road to Newport.
“This is the end of uncle’s land,” said Stephen, at last. “We now find ourselves entering the black forest. Here’s the trail,” he called as the others helped the two girls over the dividing fence.
“All right, Scout Stephen,” replied Jimmie. “We are following close behind. Proceed with the march.”
Sure enough, there was a distinct road leading straight into the forest, formed by ruts from cartwheels, probably the carts of the woodcutters, Stephen explained. The edges of the wood were rather thin and scant, like the meagre fringe on a man’s head just beginning to turn bald at the temples; but as they marched deeper into the forest, the trees grew so thickly that their branches overhead formed a canopy like a roof. Squirrels and chipmunks scampered across their path and occasionally a rabbit could be seen scurrying through the underbrush.
“Isn’t this great!” exclaimed Stephen, after they had been walking for some time. “Uncle says there’s scarcely such another wood in this part of the country.”
“Don’t speak so loud, Stephen,” said Jimmie. “It is so quiet here, I feel as if we would wake something, if we spoke above a whisper.”
“Let’s wake the echoes,” replied Stephen and he gave a yodel familiar to all boys, a sort of trilling in the head and throat that is melodious in sound and carries further than an ordinary call. Immediately there was an answer to the yodel. It might have seemed an echo, only there was no place for an echo in this shut-in spot.
They all stopped and listened as the answer died away among the branches of the trees.
“Curious,” said Jimmie. “It was rather close, too. Perhaps one of your woodcutters is playing a trick on us, Stephen. Suppose we try again, and see what happens!” Jimmie gave another yodel, louder and longer than the first. As they paused and listened, the answer came again like an echo, this time even nearer.
“Let’s investigate,” proposed Alfred. “I think it came from over there,” and he led the way through the trees toward the echo.
“Halloo-o,” he called, “who are you?” and the answer came back “Halloo-o, who are you?” followed by a mocking laugh.
“Well, after all, it isn’t any of our business who you are,” cried Stephen, exasperated, “and I don’t think we had better leave the trail just here for a fellow who is afraid to come out and show himself,” he added in a lower tone.
There was no reply and they returned to the cartwheel road and began the march again.
“You were quite right, Stephen,” said Ruth, “why should we waste our time over an idler who plays tricks on people?”
There was another laugh, which seemed to come from high up in the branches; then sounds like the chattering of squirrels, followed by low whistles and bird calls. They examinedthe branches of the trees around them, but there was nothing in sight.
“Oh, go along!” exclaimed Alfred angrily. “Only cowards hide behind trees. Brave men show themselves.”
Silence greeted this sally, also, and they trudged on through the forest without any further effort to see the annoyer. Several times acorn shells whizzed past their heads, and once Jimmie made a running jump, thinking he saw some one behind a tree, but returned crestfallen. A surprise was in store for them, however. They had been walking for some time when the trail, which hitherto had run straight through the middle of the wood, gave a sudden and unexpected turn, to avoid a depression in the land, overgrown with vines and small trees, and now dry from the drought.
They paused a moment on the curve of the path to look across at the graceful little hollow which seemed to be the meeting place of slender young pine trees and silver birches gleaming white among the dark green branches.
“How like people they look,” Bab whispered. She never knew just why she did so. “Like girls in white dresses at a party.”
“And the pine trees are the men,” whispered Jimmie. “Look,” he said excitedly, under his breath, “there’s a man! Perhaps it’s the——”
He stopped short and his voice died away in amazement. Barbara said “Sh-h-h!” and the others paused in wonder. Just emerging from the hollow on the other side, was the figure of a man. All eyes saw him at the same moment and two pairs of eyes at least recognized a green velveteen hunting suit. As the figure turned for one brief instant and scanned the forest they saw his face in a flash.
“It’s José!” they gasped.
“Bab,” exclaimed Ruth, “he is wearing the green velveteens!”
“I know it,” replied her friend. “But are we sure it was José?”
“No; we aren’t sure,” answered Stephen. “It certainly looked like José, but we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, at any rate.”
From beyond the hollow came another yodel.
“By Jove!” said Jimmie, “nothing but a tricky foreigner, after all, and I was just beginning to like him too.”
“He’s more than a trickster,” Bab whispered. “He’s wearing a green velveteen suit.”
“Well, what of it?” asked Stephen.
“It’s the same suit the highwayman wore who slashed the tires of the automobile.”
“Whew-w-w!” cried the boys.
“Be careful,” whispered Ruth. “Don’t let him hear us. Do you think he saw us?”
“No,” replied Alfred, “or he would never have yodeled.”
Barbara began to consider. Should she tell about the knife, or should she wait? She believed that if she told it would only complicate matters and bring Zerlina, the Gypsy girl, into the muddle. Suppose she told, and then, when they reached home, they found that José had been away that morning? It would immediately call down upon him the suspicions of the whole party, suspicions perhaps undeserved. Bab had never had cause to regret her ability to keep a secret, and she concluded to test it again by holding her peace a little longer.
“José or no José, let’s go on and have our good time,” exclaimed Stephen. “Everything depends on whether José was at home or not this morning. If he wasn’t, why, then he’ll have to give an account of himself. And if he was, we shall have to consult uncle about what to do. We will hunt the man out of these woods, anyway. He has no business lurking around here.”
Once more they started off, and were not troubled again by the yodler.
Presently the jangle of a bell was heard in the distance, a pleasant musical tinkle in the midst of the green stillness of the forest.
“What on earth isthat?” exclaimed Ruth, alittle nervous now from the nearness of the robber.
“If I am not mistaken,” replied Stephen, “that is old Adam, the woodcutter. He has been living in these woods all his life, seventy years or more. He looks almost like a tree himself, he is so gnarled and weather-beaten and bent.”
In a few moments the woodman’s cart hove into sight, drawn by a bony old horse from whose collar jangled the little bell. The cart was loaded with bundles of wood, and Adam walked at the side holding the rope lines in one hand and flourishing a whip in the other, the lash of which he carefully kept away from his horse, which was ambling along at its pleasure.
“Good day, Adam,” said Stephen. “How are you, and how is the wood business?”
“Why, it’s Mr. Stephen!” cried the old man, touching his cap with one of his knotted hands. “The wood business is good, sir. We manage to live, my wife and I. Although I’m wishin’ t’was something else kept us going. I never fell a tree, sir, I don’t feel I’m killin’ something alive. They are fine old trees,” he went on, patting the bark of a silver birch affectionately. “I would not kill one of these white ladies, sir, if you was to pay me a hundred dollars!”
“It’s a shame, Adam,” replied Stephen. “It must be like cutting down your own family, youhave lived among them for so many years. How is the hermit? Do you give him enough wood to keep him alive in the winter?”
“He’s not been himself of late,” answered Adam, lowering his voice. “He’s always strange at this time of the year.”
“Do you think he’ll see us if we go over?” asked Stephen.
“I think so, sir,” replied Adam. “No matter how bad off he is, he’s always kind. I never see him angry.”
“Well, good-bye, Adam, and good luck to you,” said Stephen, dropping a piece of money into the wrinkled palm, and they continued their journey through the wood.
The little bell resumed its tinkle, and the cart was soon out of sight.
“Do you know,” exclaimed Ruth, “I feel as if I were in an enchanted forest, and these strange people were witches and wizards! The robber might have been a wood-elf, and now here comes the old witch. Perhaps she will turn us into trees and animals.”
“Oh, that is old Jennie, who gathers herbsand sells them at all the drugstores in the towns around here,” replied Stephen, as a strange figure came into view.
The gatherer of herbs and roots was not, however, very witchlike in appearance. She was tall and erect, and walked with long strides like a grenadier. What was most remarkable about her were her wide, staring blue eyes, like patches of sky, that looked far beyond the young people who had grouped themselves at the side of the path almost timidly, waiting for her to come up. She carried with her a staff, and as she walked she poked the bushes and grasses with it as if it had been a long finger feeling for trophies. The other hand grasped the end of an apron made of an old sack, stuffed full of herbs still green, and fragrant from having been bruised as she crushed them into the bag.
“She is blind,” whispered Stephen, “but in a minute she will perceive that some one is near. She has a scent as keen as a hunting dog’s.”
A few yards away from them old Jennie paused and sniffed the air like an animal. Reaching out with her stick she felt around her. Presently the staff pointed in the direction of the boys and girls, and she came toward them as straight as a hunter after his quarry. The girls, a little frightened, started to draw back.
“She won’t hurt you,” whispered Stephen.“Why, Jennie,” he said in a louder voice, “don’t you know your old friend and playmate?”
A smile broke out on Jennie’s handsome face, which, in spite of her age, was as smooth and placid as a child’s.
“It’s Master Stephen!” she cried, in a strange voice that sounded rusty from lack of use. “I be glad to hear you, sir. It’s a long time since we’ve had a frolic in the woods. You don’t hunt birds’ nests in the summer now, or go wading in the streams. I found a wasps’ nest for you, perhaps it was a month, perhaps a year ago, I cannot remember. But I saved it for you. And how is young Master Martin? He was a little fellow to climb so high for the nests.”
“We are both well, Jennie, and you must come over to the hall and see us. We may have something nice for you, there, that will keep you warm when the snow comes.”
“Ah, you’re a good boy, Master Stephen, and I’ll bid ye good day now, and good day to your friends. There be four with you I think,” she added in a lower voice, sniffing the air again. “I’ll be over on my next trip to the village.” Old Jennie moved off as swiftly as she had come, tapping the path with her long stick, her head thrown back as if to see with her nostrils, since her eyes were without sight.
“What a strange old woman!” cried Stephen’s companions in one voice.
“And the strangest thing about her,” replied Stephen, “is that she has no sense of time. She can’t remember whether a thing happened a year ago or month ago, and she thinks Martin and I are still little boys. We haven’t hunted birds’ nests with her for six years. I have not even seen her for two or three years, but she sniffed me out as quickly as if I always used triple extract of tuberose.”
“Where does she live?” asked Bab.
“She lives in a little cabin off in the forest somewhere. Her father and mother were woodcutters. She was born and brought up right here. She doesn’t know anything but herbs and roots, and night and day are the same to her. She knows every square foot of this country, and never gets lost. Martin and I used to go about with her when we were little boys, and she was as faithful a nurse as you could possibly find.”
“No wonder you love these woods, Stephen,” said Bab. “There is so much to do and see in them. I wish we had something better than scrub oak around Kingsbridge.”
“Wait until you see the chief treasure of the woods, Barbara, and you’ll have even more respect for them.”
“Meaning the hermit?” asked Jimmie.
“But he won’t tell anything, will he?” demanded Ruth. “Didn’t you say he was a mystery?”
“The greatest mystery of the countryside,” replied Stephen. “Nobody knows where he came from, nor why he has been living here all these years—it’s about fifty, they say. You see, he is not ignorant, like the other wood people. He is a gentleman. His manners are as fine as uncle’s, and the people who live in the woods all love him. They come to him when they are sick or in trouble.”
“How does he live?” asked Alfred.
“He must have some money hidden away somewhere, for he always has enough to eat, and even to give when others need help. But nobody knows where he keeps it. In a hole in the ground somewhere, I suppose.”
While they were talking they had approached a clearing on the side of a hill. Most of the big trees had been cut away, and only the silver birch, “the white ladies,” as old Adam had christened them, and the dogwood, mingled their shade over the smooth turf. The grass was as thick and well kept as on the major’s lawn, only somewhat browned now for lack of water. All the bushes and undergrowth had been cleared away years before, and the place had a lived-in, homelike look in contrast to the great black forestthat seemed to be crouching at its feet like a monster guarding it from the enemy. And indeed, that must have been what the mysterious man had intended when he built his little house at the top of the hill, for five miles of woods intervened between him and the outer world on one side, while on the other, was a high precipice that marked the end of the forest.
The house, a log cabin with a big stone chimney at one end, commanded a view, from the back, of a long stretch of valley. The portico in front was shaded by honeysuckle vines. Here, in an old-fashioned armchair, sat the master smoking a meerschaum pipe.
Stephen approached somewhat diffidently, taking off his cap.
“May we rest here a little, sir?” he asked. “We have walked a long way this morning.”
“You are most welcome,” said the old man in a deep, musical voice that gave the young people a thrill of pleasure. They looked at him curiously. He was tall and erect, with a beak-nose and black eyes that still had some of their youthful fire in them, despite the man’s great age and his snow white hair.
“Come in, and we will bring some chairs out for the young ladies.”
Stephen followed their host into the house while, through the open door, the others caughta glimpse of an enormous open fireplace and walls lined with books. The girls took the proffered chairs and sat down rather stiffly, while the old man reappeared, carrying a bucket and a gourd.
“Perhaps you are thirsty. Will you draw some water from the well?” he asked, turning to Stephen. He stopped abruptly and looked closely at the boy. “Why, it’s little Stephen,” he exclaimed, and with an expression half of pain, half pleasure, he added, “grown to be a man and how like”——But he paused and turned hastily away.
“I am glad to see you, sir,” replied Stephen, politely. He never knew exactly how to address the hermit, and he found not knowing his name somewhat awkward. “May I introduce my friends? Miss Ruth Stuart, Miss Barbara Thurston, Alfred Marsdale and Jimmie Butler.”
The old man bowed to the company as gracefully as if he had been receiving guests in a fine mansion.
“The names are,” he repeated gently, “Miss Ruth Stuart and—did I hear you aright—Miss——?”
“Barbara Thurston,” finished Stephen.
“Barbara Thurston?” repeated the old man under his breath. “Barbara Thurston! Comehere, my child, and let me look at you,” he added, in an agitated voice.
Barbara obediently came forward and stood before the hermit, who had covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, as if he were afraid to see her face.
“Barbara Thurston!” he exclaimed again. “Little Barbara!” And drawing from his pocket a pair of horn spectacles, he put them on and examined her features. He seemed to have forgotten the others. Suddenly he removed the spectacles and looked up in a dazed way.
“On the very day! The very day!” he cried, and waving his arms over his head in a wild appeal to heaven, he turned and rushed down the hillside. In another moment the forest had swallowed him up, while the five young people stood staring after him in amazement.
“Well, of all the rummy old chaps!” exclaimed Alfred.
“Oh, he’s touched of course,” said Stephen, tapping his head. “He must be. You know old Adam said he’s always pretty bad at this time of the year. I suppose it is the anniversary of something. But, Barbara, what do you mean by going and stirring up memories?”
“It wasn’t I; it was my name,” replied Barbara. “Once there was a girl named Barbara,but the rest of the story can never be written, because he won’t tell what it is.”
“Let’s have a peep at the house before we go,” said Jimmie, “and then let’s eat. I’m starving.”
“All right,” said Stephen. “Step right in and have a look for yourselves, but hurry up before the old gentleman comes back.”
The place was certainly comfortable and cosy-looking, in spite of the wooden walls and bare floors. It was spick and span and clean, kept that way by Adam’s wife, Stephen explained. There were a great many books, some of them in foreign languages, two big easy-chairs near the open fireplace, and on an old mahogany table, the only other piece of furniture in the room, a brown earthenware jar filled with honeysuckle. Only one picture hung on the wall, a small miniature suspended from a nail just over the pot of flowers. Ruth examined the picture closely. Besides his books, she thought, this little miniature was perhaps the only link with the outer world that the old man had permitted himself to keep.
“Come here, everybody, quick,” she called, “and look at this miniature. As I live, it’s enough like Bab to be a picture of her, except for the old-fashioned dress and long ringlets.”
They looked at the picture carefully, taking itdown from its nail in order to see it in the light.
“My word!” exclaimed Jimmie. “It’s as good a likeness as you could wish to find. It must have been the resemblance that gave the old man the fit, then, and not the name.”
The miniature showed the face of a young girl, somewhat older than Barbara, but certainly very like her in features and expression. She had the same laughing mouth and frank, brown eyes, the same chestnut hair curling in crisp ringlets around the forehead, but caught up loosely in the back in a net and tied with a velvet snood. She wore a bodice of rose-colored taffeta cut low in the neck, and fastened coquettishly among the curls was a pink flower.
“Who is it, Barbara?” asked Stephen. “Have you any idea?”
“I can’t imagine,” replied Bab. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. I am not an uncommon type and may have lots of doubles. There are many people in this world who have brown eyes and brown hair. You meet them at every turn.”
“Yes,” said Ruth, “but all of them haven’t regular features and little crisp curls, and just that particular expression. However, we must go. We shouldn’t like the hermit to come back and find us prying into his affairs. And that iswhy he is here, evidently—to hide from pryers.”
“Yes,” agreed Stephen, “I really do think we had better be going. I know a pretty little dell where we can eat lunch if Jimmie can restrain his appetite until we get there.”
“Well, cut along, then,” ordered Jimmie, “and let us hasten to the banquet hall.”
Closing the door carefully behind them the young folks hurried toward the woodcutters’ road.
When the last sandwich had been eaten, and the last crumb of cake disposed of, the picnic party leaned lazily against the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree to discuss the events of the morning.
José was the subject of the talk. All were inclined to believe, now, that they had been deceived by the strong resemblance between the young Spaniard and the mischievous person who had mystified them in the woods that morning. It seemed impossible that José was a thief, or that he could have been guilty of such trifling trickery as the individual in the robber’s clothes.José, quiet and reserved though he was, had become a favorite with the young people.
“It is strange,” said Ruth. “He must have the nameless charm, because there is not one of us who does not like him. As for me, I feel sorry for him. And why, I’d like to know?”
“It’s his mournful black eye, my dear young lady,” replied Jimmie.
“Whatever it is,” said Stephen, decisively, “we must not make any accusations without knowing, for certain, that we are right. It is rather an uncomfortable situation, I think, considering he is uncle’s guest.”
“It is, indeed,” replied Alfred, “and I vote that we say not a word to anyone until we find out where José spent the morning.”
“Agreed by all,” cried Jimmie. “Am I right, girls?”
The two girls assented, and the matter was settled.
“I think we had better be moving on toward home, now,” said Stephen, “if we want to escape a scolding from Miss Stuart.”
“All right, general,” replied Jimmie. “The bivouac is at an end. Rise, soldiers, and follow your leader.” He cocked his hat, turned up his coat collar and struck a Napoleon pose.
There was a stifled laugh, from behind aclump of alder bushes—a coarse laugh that made the boys look up quickly and uneasily.
“What was that?” asked Ruth, frightened.
Without waiting for a reply, Alfred divided the bushes with his cane disclosing three pairs of eyes gazing impudently at them. Three figures untangled themselves from the bushes and rose stiffly, as if they had been lying concealed there for a long time. The girls gave a stifled cry of alarm, for each recognized the giant tramp, who had attacked them near the churchyard of Sleepy Hollow; and his companions were probably the same, although the girls had not seen them at that time. The leader of the three roughs did not recognize them, however. He had been too much intoxicated to remember their faces; but he was sober, now, and in an uglier mood than when he had been in his cups.
“So ho!” he cried. “We have here five rich, young persons—rich with the money they have no right to—stolen money—stolen from me and mine. While we beg and tramp, and dress in rags, you throw away the money we have earned for you. Well, we won’t have it. Will we, pals? We’ll get back some of the money that belongs to us by rights. You’ll hand out what you’ve got in your pockets, and, if it ain’t enough, we’ll keep you into the bargain until your fathers they pays for your release. D’yesee? Ho! Ho!” He roared out a terrible laugh until the woods resounded.
The three boys had lined up in front of the two girls and Stephen had called to them reassuringly over his shoulder:
“Start on, girls. You know the path. Follow it the way we came. If you meet Adam, ask him to go with you, or even old Jennie. Don’t be frightened. It’ll be all right, but we’ve got to fight.”
Barbara and Ruth, both very calm and pale, were standing silently, waiting for orders.
“Do you think we could help by staying, Bab?” asked Ruth.
“I don’t know, dear,” replied Bab. “Wait, and let me think a moment.” She closed her eyes and her moving lips repeated the little prayer: “Heaven, make me calm in the face of danger,” but in that moment the fight had begun. The two girls stood fascinated, rooted to the spot.
Stephen, who was a trained boxer, had tackled the leader and had managed to give him several straight blows, at the same time dodging the badly-aimed blows from the big fist of his opponent. Alfred had purposely chosen the next largest tramp, leaving a small, wiry man for Jimmie to grapple with. Alfred, also, had been carefully trained in the arts of boxing and wrestling; but his opponent was no mean match forhim, and the two presently were rolling over and over on the ground, their faces covered with dust and blood. Poor Jimmie was not a fighter. All his life he had shunned gymnasiums, preferring to thrum the piano or the guitar, or invent models for airships. However, the boy was no coward and he went at his enemy with a will that was lacking in force only because he himself lacked the muscle to give it. But the wiry fellow who had been his portion was evidently the best-trained fighter of the three tramps, and it was only a few moments before Jimmie was bleeding from the nose and one eye was blacked. It looked as if Alfred, too, were getting the worst of it, while Stephen and his tramp were still raining blows upon each other, jumping about in a circle. Bab longed to help Jimmie, but she saw, and Ruth agreed, that they would do more harm than good.
The two girls decided to run for help, even if they had to run all the way to Ten Eyck Hall, especially as, in the midst of the scrimmage, Stephen had called out to them to hurry up.
Making the best speed they could through the brambles and ferns, they had gone not more than a few rods when, pausing in their flight, they found themselves face to face with blind Jennie.
“What is happening?” demanded the oldwoman in a terrified whisper. “I hear the sound of blows. I smell blood.”
“There is a fight, Jennie,” replied Bab, almost sobbing in her excitement. “We must get help quickly from somewhere. Are the Gypsies far from here?”
“Yes,” answered Jennie. “Not so near as the hall. But wait! Come with me,” and her face was illumined by the expression of one who is about to reveal a well-kept secret.
“But, Jennie, is it help you are bringing us?” asked Ruth, demurring a little.
“You may trust old Jennie,” exclaimed the blind woman. “Be ye not the friends of young Master Stephen?”
The two girls followed without a word.
Almost in sight of the fighters, she paused by the stump of a hollow tree which, when rolled away by her strong arm, disclosed a sort of trapdoor underneath. Lifting the door, crudely constructed with strips of wood, the bark still on, the girls saw a small underground chamber dug out like a cellar. The walls were shored up with split trees which also did duty as cross beams. There was a rough, hand-made ladder at the opening, and at one side a shelf on which was neatly folded—could they believe their eyes—the suit of green velveteen. Old Jennie, who seemed to be peering down into thecavity with her sightless blue eyes, shook Bab’s arm impatiently.
“Get the firearms,” she whispered. “They be on the shelf. I felt them there last time.”
Sure enough, lying in the shadow at the far end of the shelf the girls made out two pistols gleaming ominously in the dark. Without a word, Bab bounded down the ladder, and seizing the pistols was up again almost as quickly.
“Ruth,” she said, “have you forgotten our rifle practice in the Berkshires?”
“No,” replied her friend. “All you have to do is to cock it and pull the trigger, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” answered Bab. “Take this one and come on. They are both loaded, I see. Don’t fire unless I tell you, and be careful where you aim. You had better point up so as not to hit anybody. Jennie, wait for us over here. I believe you have saved us all.”
So saying, Bab ran, followed by Ruth, to the scene of the battle. And it was indeed a battle! Jimmie was lying insensible on the ground, while his opponent had joined in the fight against Stephen, who was rapidly losing strength. Alfred and his tramp were still rolling over and over, locked in each other’s arms.
A few feet away from the fighters Bab fired her pistol in the air. The explosion stopped the fight. So intent had the combatants been thatthey had forgotten time and place. At the report of the pistol they came to themselves almost with a jump. Everybody, except poor, unconscious Jimmie, paused breathless, perspiration pouring from their faces. Alfred had got the better of his opponent and his hands gripped the man’s throat. Bab, followed by Ruth, dashed up, and both girls pointed their pistols at the two tramps who were engaging Stephen.
“Shall we shoot them, Stephen?” asked Bab as calmly as if nothing had happened.
“Throw up your hands,” cried Stephen to the tramps; which they proceeded to do in prompt order. “Now, give me your pistol, Ruth; give yours to Alfred, Bab.”
In the meantime, Alfred had risen, hardly recognizable in a coating of dust and blood, ordering his man to lie quiet or be killed.
“Suppose we herd them together, Stephen,” he suggested, “and drive them up to the hall like the cattle they are?”
“Just what I was thinking,” replied Stephen, “only what about Jimmie?”
“The girls will see to him,” answered Alfred.
“No, no,” retorted Stephen. “We can’t leave the girls here alone with him in that condition, not after this. There may be more tramps lurking around, for all we know.”
Just then an exclamation from Ruth, who waskneeling beside the prostrate Jimmie, caused the two boys to turn their heads involuntarily, and in that moment, the two men who were standing with their arms up at the point of Stephen’s pistol, ran for the underbrush, Stephen shot and missed his aim. He shot again and hit the small fellow in the leg, having aimed low; not wishing to kill even in self-defense. But the tramps had plunged into the woods, and were out of sight in an instant.
“Better not go after them, Stephen,” called Alfred. “We’ve got one here and we may catch the others later. I wish we had a rope to tie this fellow’s hands with.”
“Try this,” suggested Ruth, and she calmly tore the muslin ruffle off her petticoat and handed the strip to Alfred, who bound the man’s hands behind his back and ordered him to sit still until he was wanted.
Meanwhile, the two girls had turned their attention to Jimmie, who showed no signs of returning consciousness, but lay battered and bleeding, a sad sight in comparison to the joyous Jimmie of half an hour before. Blind Jennie had come from her hiding place behind a tree, and was kneeling beside the wounded boy. Feeling the abrasions on his face with her sensitive fingers, she shuddered.
“He should have water,” she whispered.“There is a brook not far from here. I will show you,” and she turned her sightless eyes in the direction of Stephen, who was guarding the remaining tramp.
“Ruth, you and Alfred take our three hats and go with Jennie for the water. Alfred, take the pistol with you in case of another attack. Bab, you stay and look after Jimmie, please.”
Ruth and Alfred followed after old Jennie, while Bab, kneeling beside Jimmie, began chafing his wrists. Not a sound broke the stillness. Stephen, on a log, had his pistol cocked and pointed straight at the tramp who was huddled in a heap on the ground, gazing sullenly into the barrel of the pistol. Bab had not looked around for some time, so intent was she on her efforts to bring some life back into poor Jimmie. But feeling a sudden, unaccountable loneliness, she called:
“Stephen, aren’t you curious to know where we found the pistols?”
There was no answer, and, looking over her shoulder, Bab was horrified to see Stephen lying prone on the ground in a dead faint, the pistol still grasped tightly in his hand, while the tramp had evidently lost no time in joining his pals.
Leaving Jimmie, Bab rushed to Stephen. First releasing the pistol from his hand, she laidit on a stump. Then she began rubbing his wrists and temples.
“Poor old Stephen!” she murmured. “You were hurt all the time and never said a word.”
Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at Bab in a sort of shamefaced way.
“I suppose the tramp got away?” he asked.
“Who cares,” replied his friend, “if you aren’t hurt?”
“Oh, I’m not,” he answered. “I was only winded. That big fellow gave me a blow, just as you shot the pistol off, that nearly did for me. But I thought I could keep up until the others came back. I knew I couldn’t go for the water. How did you get the pistols?”
By the time Bab had finished her story the others had come up with the water.
“It’s just as well the tramp has gone,” said Alfred, when he had heard what had happened. “I don’t believe we could have managed him and Jimmie, too.”
They bathed Jimmie’s face and wrists with the cold spring water, and it was a battered and disconsolate young man who finally opened his one good eye on the company.
“I think,” said Stephen, “we had better put these pistols back where they were. If they are gone, the robber will take alarm and we’ll never catch him. I don’t think we’ll be attacked bythose tramps any more to-day. They’ll never imagine we have left the pistols.”
The others agreed, and the pistols were left on the shelf by Bab, who remembered exactly where they had been when she found them. All the others, even Jimmie, peered curiously down into the underground room.
“I don’t think it’s been very long dug,” observed Alfred. “There is so much fresh earth around the door. The fellow carted most of it away, I suppose, and put leaves and sticks over what was left. But there is plenty of evidence of fresh earth, just the same.”
“So there is,” replied Stephen. “Jennie, you did a good day’s work when you found that hole in the ground. You may have saved our lives, for all we can tell.”
But the old woman only muttered, as she punched the leaves with her staff. The somewhat dilapidated picnic party resumed its homeward journey, Jimmie supported by his two friends and stopping often to rest, while the two girls followed, keeping a sharp lookout on both sides. Old Jennie brought up the rear.
When they reached Ten Eyck Hall, it was with relief that the young people learned that the others had gone motoring for the afternoon, and would probably not be back until dinner time. Stephen put Jimmie under the care of the housekeeper, who bound up his wounds in absorbent cotton saturated with witch hazel. The girls disappeared into their own room, but not before Bab had cautioned Stephen to bring them word about José.
The information came in the form of a few scribbled lines on the tea tray.
“John tells me,” the note ran, “that José was off on his motor cycle until lunch time. S.”
The two girls read the note excitedly.
“Bab, dear,” cried Ruth, “I simply can’t believe it of that nice boy, can you?”
“I don’t want to believe it,” replied Bab, “even though appearances are against him.”
“But who could the joker in the woods have been, if not José?” continued Ruth. “And, come to think of it, he might have been the highwayman, too. It would not have been difficultfor him to have found out at the hotel where we were going. I am afraid he is in an awful mess, yet, in spite of everything, there is something about him that disarms suspicion.”
Ruth was a loyal friend to people she liked. She believed that her chosen circle consisted of a superior class of beings, and she was as blind to their faults as a mother to those of her favorite child. There was a tap on the door, and the maid informed them that Zerlina, the Gypsy girl, wished to speak to them.
“Send her up,” said Ruth, and presently Zerlina was ushered into the room.
There was a scared look in her eyes as they wandered hastily around the charming apartment and finally rested on the two girls who were stretched on the bed in muslin kimonos.
“How do you do, Zerlina?” said Ruth. “Excuse our not getting up. We are just dead tired. Won’t you have a cup of tea?”
“Thank you,” replied the Gypsy stiffly, “I do not care for tea. I came——” she paused. “I thought——” she hesitated again.
“Well, Zerlina, what did you think?” asked Ruth.
Bab was looking at the girl curiously.
“I came because you asked me,” she said finally.
“So we did,” replied Ruth, “and we are delighted tosee you. Did your grandmother come with you?”
“No,” answered Zerlina and paused again.
“Perhaps you had some special reason for coming, Zerlina,” hinted Bab. “Was it to ask us a question?”
The girl’s face took on the same stubborn expression it had worn when Bab had asked her to show the knife used in the dance.
“I came because you asked me,” she repeated, in the same sing-song tone.
Again there was a tap at the door and Bridget appeared, bringing a note for Bab.
“Another note from Stephen,” observed Bab, reading it carefully and handing it to Ruth. The note said:
“If you and Ruth don’t mind, kindly keep the fight, if possible, a secret from everybody for a day or two. It would be necessary to explain about the pistols, and if José is the man who owns them, telling would give everything away. I shall tell uncle, of course. People will think that Jimmie fell out of a tree or down into a hollow. Keep as quiet as possible about the particulars of our adventure. S.”
“I’m sorry,” exclaimed Ruth; “it would have been such fun to tell it all.”
“The telling is only a pleasure deferred for a while,” said her friend.
In the meantime, the Gypsy girl had lost nothing of the conversation except the contents of the note, which Bab had rolled into a little ball and thrown into a waste paper basket.
“Will the ladies not show me some of their beautiful dresses?” asked Zerlina presently.
“We haven’t much to show,” replied Ruth, “but we’ll be glad to show what we have.” She pulled herself lazily from the bed and opened the door of a wardrobe at one side of the room.
“Ruth, you show her your fine things,” called Bab. “I haven’t a rag worth seeing. Get out your pink lingerie and your leghorn with the shaded roses. They would please her eye.”
“Why don’t you show her your organdie, Bab?” asked Ruth. “It’s just as pretty as my pink, any day.”
“Oh, very well,” returned Bab, opening her side of the massive clothes press and spreading the dress on the bed before the admiring eyes of Zerlina. “‘A poor thing, but mine own,’” she said. “I certainly never thought to be displaying my rich wardrobe to anyone. It’s entirely a new sensation.”
In the meantime Ruth had piled her own gauzy finery on the bed beside Bab’s, and Zerlina feasted her gaze on the pink lace-trimmed princess dresses and the flower bedecked hats.
“Some day you must have pretty dresses, too,Zerlina,” said Ruth from the depths of the wardrobe, as she replaced the things; “some day when you are a great singer.”
There was no reply, and Bab, who was busy folding her dress, looked quickly around. Zerlina’s arm was in the scrap basket. She had looked up as Ruth spoke, and catching Bab’s eye, dropped the crumpled note she had just seized. An angry blush overspread her face and she bit her lip in embarrassment.
“I must be going,” she said. “It is late.”
Bab did not answer. She was thinking deeply. Here was positive proof that Zerlina and José were working together in some way.
“Wait a minute, Zerlina,” called Ruth, kindly. “Won’t you accept this red velvet bow? It would look pretty in your black hair.”
“Thank you,” exclaimed the girl, her eyes filling with tears. “You are very good to me.” Her lip trembled as if she were about to burst into tears, but she conquered them with an effort and started to the door. “Good-bye,” she said, looking at Bab so reproachfully that the latter’s heart was melted to pity.
At dinner that night there was much concern expressed for poor Jimmie who, with his face swathed in bandages, was sound asleep in his own room. Stephen had been closeted with his uncle for half an hour before the gongsounded, and the major’s usually placid face was haunted by an expression of deep worry.
“Do tell us about the hermit, Stephen,” cried Grace, and that being a safe subject the four adventurers plunged into a description of the strange old man and the miniature that so resembled Bab.
“Do you remember when he came, Major?” asked Miss Stuart.
“Only vaguely,” replied the major, “I was quite a little chap then, eight or ten, I think I was, and we were living in France at the time. He had become a fixture when we came back, but he always shunned advances from my family. Undoubtedly he was a fugitive from somewhere. However, this is not such an out-of-the-way place but that he could have been found if they had looked for him very hard. I have not seen him for many years. How does he look?”
“Like an exiled prince,” answered Ruth. “He is a very noble looking old man.”
“José, did you play croquet with the girls this morning?” asked Stephen.
“Wasn’t he mean?” interrupted Mollie. “No sooner had you gone than he was off on his motor cycle.”
The young Spaniard’s face had flushed scarlet at the question, but he smiled at Mollie’s teasing reply and looked Stephen squarely in the eye.
“It must have been rather hot work motoring this morning, wasn’t it, José?” went on Stephen.
“I went only to the forest,” answered José.
The four friends stirred uneasily, and the major looked down at his plate. It hurt him deeply to see José put on the rack in this way.
“How far did you go into the woods, José? It’s curious we didn’t meet you.”
“Only to the haunted pool,” replied José.
“You were not far off, then,” said Stephen. “Did you hear us yodeling?”
“No,” answered José; “er—that is, yes. I did hear something like that, but I was not there long.” His face was still flushed and he looked as if he would like to run away from his inquisitors; but the soft-hearted major could endure the painful situation no longer and he changed the conversation to another topic.
“Why don’t you young people ever dance?” he asked. “I had planned to see young couples whirling around the red drawing room. It would be a pretty sight, Sallie. Would it not?”
“I have a plan,” broke in Mollie, “but I can’t tell it now. It’s to be a surprise for Miss Sallie and the major.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Miss Sallie. “Are we to feel honored or slighted, Major?”
“Oh, not slighted,” protested Mollie. “It is something that will amuse you.”
“What is it?” asked a voice from the doorway. “I am palpitating to know.”
Everybody looked up in surprise at the apparition of Jimmie regarding the company gravely with his one good eye. His other eye was swathed in a bandage, and his nose was swollen and red. There was a joyous peal of laughter from the assembled party.
“Why, Jimmie,” cried Martin, “you look like an exhausted Dutchman.”
“Don’t throw stones, my son,” replied Jimmie. “You’re a Dutchman yourself, remember.”
“Come in and have some dinner, Jimmie,” coaxed the major.
“I’ve dined, thank you, sir. My kind nurse saw to that, and I feel considerably better.”
“How did you happen to black your eye, you poor boy?” asked Mollie.
Stephen cleared his throat audibly. Why on earth had he not cautioned Mollie not to ask Jimmie any questions? But Ruth came to the rescue and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“You mustn’t ask Jimmie embarrassing questions, Mollie. A black eye and a red nose are enough to bear for the present.”
The major relieved the situation by saying:
“Now, Mistress Mollie, we are ready to be surprised.”
“Come on,” said Stephen, taking Jimmie bythe arm, and as they stood aside, he whispered into his ear: “Keep it dark about the tramps. Uncle will explain.”
“The surprise is this,” explained Mollie, detaining the young people in the hall. “Why not give our masquerade to-night?”
“This is as good a time as any other,” agreed Martin.
“Oh, you children!” exclaimed Stephen.
“Don’t be a wet blanket, Stephen,” said Martin.
“Oh, I simply thought perhaps the girls might be tired or something,” replied Stephen. “We’ll all dress up if you like.”
“What fun!” cried Mollie. “José, you’re to be a pirate, remember.”
“I think José would make a good highwayman,” observed Bab, “with a knife in his belt and a slouch hat on.” She had no sooner spoken than she repented her words.
“Perhaps I would, Mademoiselle,” he replied gently, with a deep sigh.
The picture they made as they filed down the oak staircase two by two and all attired in their antique costumes was one long remembered by the servants of Ten Eyck Hall, who had gathered below to see the masqueraders. Miss Stuart and the major, standing together at the door of the red drawing room, were amazed and delighted.
“Is this a company of ghosts,” cried the major, “ghosts of my dear departed ancestors returned to the halls of their youth?”
“Look at the dears!” exclaimed Miss Sallie. “How pretty they are in their ancient finery! Ruth, my child, you are the very image of the portrait of your great-grandmother at home. And here is Bab, who might have stepped out of an old miniature.”
“So she has,” replied Ruth. “In that pink dress she is a perfect likeness of the miniature the hermit had.”
“José,” said the major kindly, for he could not insult a guest by believing evil of him until it had been actually proved, “you do not belong to this company of belles and beaux. You lookmore like a Spanish gallant of an earlier day, in that velvet coat and cavalier hat. As for you two slips of girls,” he continued, smiling at Mollie and Grace, “you might be my two colonial great-aunts stepped down from their frames. But come along, now. We must have a little fun, after all this trouble you have taken to amuse us. Strike up, my poor bruised Jimmie, and we’ll have a dance.”
Jimmie had volunteered to furnish the music. His face, in its present state, needed no further disguise, he said. The furniture was moved back, the rugs rolled up, and in a few minutes the dancers were whirling in a waltz. There was a change of partners at the second dance, and Bab found herself dancing with José. He was not familiar with the American two-step, so, after a few rounds, they stepped out upon the piazza for a breath of the cool evening air.
“Aren’t you afraid to stay out here, José, after your experience of the other night?” Bab asked.
“Are you afraid, Barbara?” he replied.
“Why should I be?” she answered. “It was evidently you the assassin was after.”
He winced at the word “assassin,” and did not reply. The two stood gazing silently out onto the stretch of lawn in front of the house. Presently José sighed deeply.
“I am afraid you are unhappy,” said Bab sympathetically.
“Madamoiselle Barbara,” he replied, “I am in great trouble. I tell you because you have already been more observing than the others, and because I see you keep your counsel.”
“Why don’t you ask Major Ten Eyck’s advice, José?” asked Barbara, “he is so kind and gentle. I know he would love to help you.”
“In this case,” replied the Spaniard, with a frightened look in his eyes, “he might not be so kind. I am afraid to tell him. To-night I shall decide what to do. It may be that it would be better to go away. I cannot tell, now.”
“Tell me, José, have your troubles any connection with the Gypsies?”
“Yes,” he assented.
A shadowy figure moved up the lawn and approached the house. José stirred uneasily.
“Who is that?” he whispered. “Don’t you think you had better go in?”
“No,” replied Barbara. “I am not afraid, if you are not.”
It was Zerlina, and, seeing the two people on the porch, she paused irresolutely.
“What is it, Zerlina?” called Barbara. “Do you want to see anyone?”
“My grandmother is over there,” replied thegirl, pointing to the shrubbery. “She has come to tell fortunes, if it pleases the ladies.”
Zerlina did not look at Bab, as she spoke. She was looking at José, long and curiously. And he returned the gaze with interest.
“You have not seen Mr. Martinez, Zerlina?” asked Bab, recalling how he had stolen away in the woods when the Gypsy danced for them.
Zerlina bowed coldly, and José took off his cavalier hat; but neither said a word, and Bab felt somewhat embarrassed at the silence.
“Wait a moment, Zerlina, and I will ask the major about the fortunes,” she said, stepping through the French window. Just as she parted the curtain, she turned to say something to José, and saw Zerlina quickly hand him a note. Bab’s face flushed angrily.
“This business ought to be stopped,” she said to herself. “We’ll all be slain in our beds some fine night. Why can’t José be frank? The entire band of Gypsies might be a lot of robbers, for all we know.”
The revelers inside were all interested to know that Granny Ann had come at last to tell fortunes, and Zerlina was dispatched at once to bring her grandmother back. When the old woman passed through the room on her way to the library, where the fortunes were to be told, she took a rapid survey of everybody there. Sheexamined the girls and boys in their masquerade costumes, looked curiously at Jimmie’s bandaged countenance, and finally her eyes rested on José leaning on a balcony rail outside.
While the fortunes were being told, there was a concert in the drawing room. Grace sang in her high, sweet soprano voice, followed by another of Zerlina’s Gypsy songs. Then José was induced to sing a beautiful Spanish love song, and finally Jimmie gave a comic version of “The Old Homestead” in which he himself acted every part.
After the fortunes were told Granny Ann sent word that there was one person she had not seen, and go she would not until she had seen him.
“Who has not yet been in?” demanded the major.
There was no reply.
“José, you have not seen her, have you?” asked Mollie.
“No,” replied José; “I do not wish to go.”
Word was sent in to Granny Ann, who sent a message back that she insisted on seeing the young man.
“Oh, go ahead, José,” urged Stephen. “It’s only for a few minutes, and we want to have another dance before bedtime.”
José bowed and disappeared from the room. Soon after Mollie touched Bab on the arm.
“Bab,” she whispered, “come out on the porch. I have something to tell you.”
The two girls stole out onto the moonlit piazza, while Mollie continued in a low voice: “I know I should not have done it, but I followed José into the library, by the dining-room door, and hid behind a curtain. I was curious to see what Granny Ann would do. He had hardly got into the room before she commenced talking in a loud voice. She spoke in a foreign language, but she seemed terribly angry, and shook her fist in his face. He was quite gentle with her, and just stood there, pale and quiet. I felt so sorry for him. Once I thought she would strike him, but he never flinched or dodged. What do you suppose it means, Bab, dear?”
“I don’t know, Mollie,” replied Barbara, “There is some mystery about José. Something happened to-day that put him in a very unfortunate light, but I’d rather not tell you until to-morrow. Don’t dance with him any more to-night, but be kind to him, little sister,” Bab added, “for I do feel sorry for him.”