CHAPTER XIITHE WOUNDED BIRD
“Good-bye Ralph!” said Barbara, extending her hand to her old friend.
“Good-bye, Barbara,” Ralph answered, politely. “It has been a great pleasure for Hugh and me to see you and the other girls in your forest retreat. I am sorry we must be off so soon.”
“But you will come back again, in a week ortwo won’t you?” begged Ruth. “I heard you promise those lovely English girls, Hugh, to take part in the autumn sports at Lenox.”
“Oh, we shall be back if possible, Ruth.” Hugh assured her. “I think we can promise to give Lenox a taste of our charming society, say near the first week in October.”
“Let’s be off, Hugh,” called Ralph. “Here is that Latham fellow coming up the hill.”
Bab laid her hand on Ralph’s sleeve. “You are not angry with me for going off with Reginald Latham last night are you? Truth of the matter, Ralph, I don’t believe I like Mr. Latham any better than the others do. But I am rather sorry for him; he seems queer and nervous. Why, the other day, even at his own house, all the young people except me ran away from him. I don’t think he is very happy. That’s why he is always fooling with inventions and things. He’s a weak kind of fellow, Ralph, but I don’t think he is horrid.”
Ralph laughed and his face cleared. “Good for you, Bab. Always looking after the oppressed. But I don’t think you need feel sorry for a fellow who has such a lot of money coming his way as Reg Latham.”
“He hasn’t it yet!” was Bab’s wise comment.
As Ralph and Hugh disappeared, Reginald Latham joined the four girls. He wore hisshooting clothes, and his dark face was transformed with pleasure. He knew he was not popular with young people and the idea made him unhappy. He had been brought up in a foreign country and was shy and ill at ease. His mother had always kept him in her society. Now, he was delighted with the independence and courage of “The Automobile Girls” and longed to be friends with them.
“I hope I am in time for the shooting,” he declared. “My uncle sent me up to apologize for the chapter of accidents that occurred last night in our coon hunt. Gwendolin Morton is laid up with a bad ankle, Franz Heller has influenza, and everyone else is tired out with the long tramp. But you look entirely rested.” He turned to Barbara and spoke under his breath. “Forgive me for last night’s performance.”
“Come, Naki,” called Ruth to their guide, “we are ready for our target practice. Mr. Latham is here.”
Ruth led the way over the hill. At a little distance from the house Naki set up a pasteboard target, which he nailed to the side of a big cedar tree, at the edge of a slight embankment. Below it was nothing but underbrush. No one was near. It seemed a perfectly safe place for the rifle practice.
Mollie sat on the ground back of the eagersportsmen. Nothing could induce her to handle a gun. “I suppose I am safe, back here,” she laughed, “so, I shall sit here and watch this famous shooting match. Only, for goodness’ sake, all of you be careful!”
Bab, Ruth and Grace were each to have ten shots at the target, Naki showing them how to load and fire. Reginald Latham would keep the score. The girl who hit the bull’s eye the greatest number of times was to be proclaimed champion.
Bab fired first. She hit the second ring from the center of the bull’s eye.
“Good for you!” Ruth cried, taking aim. But she missed the target altogether. The shot from her rifle went down the hill.
Mollie thought she saw something stir. “Isn’t this a dangerous business?” she asked Reginald Latham.
“There is nothing in these woods to harm, Miss Mollie,” he explained. “Most of the birds have already flown away.”
For an hour the girls fired at the target. Grace had grown tired and had taken her seat by Mollie, but Ruth and Barbara were both enthusiastic shots. Ruth’s score stood two ahead of Bab’s, who still had three more shots to fire.
Suddenly Barbara raised her rifle. “No, don’t show me, Naki,” she protested. “I thinkI can take aim myself.” As Bab fired Mollie rose to her feet with a cry. She had seen something brown and scarlet moving in the underbrush on the hill below them.
Bab’s shot had missed the target. But did they hear a low moan like the sound of a wounded dove?
Barbara turned a livid white. “I have hit something!” she called to Ruth. But Ruth was after Mollie, who was scrambling down the hill.
The whole party followed them, Barbara’s knees trembling so that she could hardly walk.
There were tears streaming from Mollie’s eyes as she looked up at Bab. The child’s arms were around a little figure that had fallen in the underbrush, a little figure in brown and scarlet, with a wreath of scarlet autumn leaves in her hair.
“I have been afraid of this,” said Naki, pushing the others aside.
“It’s my little Indian girl!” Mollie explained. “She couldn’t bear to keep away from us, and at first I thought her the ghost of Lost Man’s Trail. I have seen her around our hut nearly every day; but I promised not to tell you girls about her. Is she much hurt, Naki?”
The man shook his head. “I can’t tell,” he said. “Better take her to the house and see.”
At this Eunice opened her eyes. Her lips were drawn in a fine line of pain, but she did not flinch.
“I will go home to my own tent,” she protested. “I will not enter the abode of my enemies.” The little girl struggled out of Mollie’s hold and rose to her feet. One arm hung limp and useless at her side.
When Reginald Latham touched her, she shuddered. Tiny drops of blood trickled down to the ground.
“Give me your handkerchief, please?” asked Bab as she went up to Eunice. “It is I who have hurt you,” she said, “though I did not mean to do so. Surely you will let me help you a little if I can.”
She tore open Eunice’s sleeve and tenderly wiped the blood. Naki brought two sticks, and, with his assistance, Bab bound up the wounded arm, so the blood no longer flowed. “Now you must go home to our cabin with us!” she pleaded.
But Eunice broke away from them and started to flee. She trembled and would have fallen had not Mollie caught her.
“See, you can’t go home alone, Eunice dear,” Mollie remonstrated. “And you must see a doctor. The bullet from the rifle may still be in your arm.”
Eunice was obstinate. “Indians do not need doctors,” she asserted.
But Naki came and took her in his arms. “We will take you to your own tent,” he declared. “She will rest better there,” he explained to the girls, “and I know the way over the hills. You may come with me. The Indian squaw, her grandmother, will be hard to manage.”
“But how shall we get a doctor up there?” asked Grace.
“I will go down for him later,” Naki answered briefly. “You need have no fear. An Indian knows how to treat a wound. They have small use for doctors.”
“Is your guide an Indian?” asked Reginald Latham of Ruth.
Ruth shook her head. “He may have some Indian blood,” she said. “I didn’t know it. But this Indian child, where did she come from? And to think her name is Eunice!”
“Eunice!” cried Reginald Latham in a strange voice. “Impossible. Why Eunice is not an Indian name!”
“But it is what Mollie called her,” protested Ruth. “And Mollie seems to know who she is.”
Reginald Latham’s face had turned white.
Ruth felt her dislike of him slipping away. He seemed very sympathetic. Mollie, Bab and Grace were hurrying along after Naki, overwhose broad shoulder hung the little Indian girl. Her black hair swept his sleeve, her broken arm drooped like the wing of a wounded bird.
Once she roused herself to say. “My grandmother will not like these people to come to our tent. We live alone like the beasts in the forest.”
But Barbara, Ruth, Grace and Mollie trudged on after Naki. While silently by their side walked Reginald Latham.
CHAPTER XIIITHE WIGWAM
“How much farther must we walk, Naki?” asked Mollie, after an hour’s hard tramping. “Surely Eunice and her grandmother must live somewhere near. Eunice could not have traveled such a distance to our hut every day.”
“An Indian girl flies like the wind,” Naki answered. “But another half hour will find us at the wigwam. The Indian woman lives in her tent. She will have nothing like the white race, neither house, nor friendships. She is the last of a lost race. She and the child live alone on the hill. Sometimes other Indians visit them, those of the race who have studied and becomeas white men. They have taught the child what she knows. But Mother Eunice, as the grandmother is known, still smokes her pipe by an open fireside.”
“Is the old woman also named Eunice?” Ruth inquired curiously. “I do not understand. Eunice is not an Indian name.”
Reginald Latham, who was walking next Ruth, panted with the exertion of climbing the hill; his breath came quick and fast. He seemed intent on Naki’s answer to Ruth’s simple question.
“Eunice is a family name in these parts among a certain tribe of Indians. But you are right; it is not properly speaking an Indian name. Many years ago a little girl named Eunice, the daughter of a white man, was stolen by the Indians. She grew up by their firesides and married an Indian chief. In after years, she would never return to her own people. And so her children and her children’s children have from that day borne the name of Eunice. The Mohawk Indians have the white man’s blood as well as the red man’s in their veins.”
Mollie was walking near Eunice, whom Naki still carried in his arms, and then Mollie would lean over every now and then and gently touch the child. Once or twice, during their long walk, she thought the little Indian girl lost consciousness.But never once did Eunice moan or give a cry of pain.
“Over there,” said Naki finally, “lies the Indian wigwam.” He pointed in front of him, where a solitary hill rose before them, shaded by dense woods.
“But I can’t see an opening there,” Ruth cried; “neither smoke, nor anything to suggest that people are living on that hill.”
Naki smiled wisely. “The Indians have forgotten much of their father’s wisdom,” he declared. “But not yet have they forgotten how to hide in their own forests.”
“Do you think I had better go ahead, Naki?” Bab queried. “Some one ought to tell the grandmother that Eunice is hurt. Since I am responsible for the accident, it is my place to break the news to her. I will run on ahead.”
“Not alone, Bab!” protested loyal Ruth. “You are no more responsible for Eunice’s injury than the rest of us. It just happened to be your shot that wounded her. It might just as easily have been mine. How could we have dreamed the child was hiding in the underbrush? I shall go ahead with you.”
“Better keep with me,” enjoined Naki. “You could not find your way to the wigwam. We have followed the ‘Lost Man’s Trail.’ When we get up to the tent, keep a little in thebackground. The Indian woman is very old. She cannot forgive easily. It is best that I explain to her as well as I can. I will go first, alone, with the child.”
Eunice stirred a little on Naki’s shoulder. “The little one,” she declared feebly. “She of the pale face and the hair like the sun. I wish her to go with me to the tent of my grandmother.” And Eunice pointed with her uninjured arm toward Mollie.
Under a canopy formed of the interlaced branches of great hemlock trees stood an Indian wigwam. It looked as much a part of the landscape as the trees themselves. The rains and the sun had bleached it to an ashen gray. Outside the tent hung a bunch of arrows. Against the side leaned a long bow. A fire near by had been hastily covered over. But nowhere about was there a sign of human life.
“Your grandmother has heard the footsteps of strangers approaching,” Naki said to Eunice. “Let her know that you are here.”
Naki set the little girl down on her feet. Mollie stood by her; but Bab, Ruth, Grace and Reginald Latham were concealed by some thick bushes a few yards away.
Eunice spoke a few words in the Indian tongue. Suddenly the flap of the wigwam opened, revealing an aged Indian woman. Shelooked older than anyone that the girls had ever seen before. Her brown face was a network of fine wrinkles; but her black eyes blazed with youthful fire. She was tall and straight like the pine trees in her own forest. The old woman wore an ordinary woolen dress. Over her shoulders she had thrown an Indian blanket, striped in orange, black and red. She knew that strangers were near. But her grandchild called her!
At the sight of Eunice the Indian woman gave a curious cry, which she quickly stifled. In a voice that only Mollie, who stood near, could hear she asked: “My little wood pigeon is wounded? I have long feared it.”
Mollie marveled that the old Indian squaw spoke English.
Mother Eunice gathered her child in her arms and carried her within the wigwam, laying her on a bed of cedar boughs covered with a heavy blanket. Naki explained that Eunice had been accidentally shot by a rifle. The old woman grunted. Without a word she tore down a bunch of herbs that hung at the side of a wall. Placing them in an iron pot she went out of her tent and stirred her fire into a quick blaze.
All this time the Indian woman had not spoken to Mollie, nor had she appeared to know that anyone else was near.
Mollie had followed Eunice into the wigwam and knelt by her side. The child moved restlessly. Mollie leaned over her and unfastened her dress. Around Eunice’s neck was an amulet of gold, each link in the chain carved with curious Indian characters. At the end of the amulet, on a square of beaten gold about an inch in size, was a monogram in English lettering. Mollie had only time to see that the letters, looked like E. L. or E. S. She could not tell which, for the Indian squaw was back in the room, scowling at her.
As the grandmother tore the bandage from the little Indian girl’s arm and washed the wound with her healing herbs, Mollie saw that under the clothing, the child’s skin was several shades fairer.
At last the Indian woman rose up from her knees. “Let them come,” she requested of Naki. “Let those who linger in the bushes outside my wigwam draw near to it. But beware how they cross the threshold of my tent!”
The squaw stood at her own door, waiting to speak to the girls and Reginald Latham, as they drew near. “You have injured my child!” she said bitterly. “Even in times of peace no Indian seems safe before the bullets of the white man.”
Bab colored deeply. “I am dreadfullysorry!” she declared. “It was I who hurt your grandchild. Naki has told you what happened. How could we know she was hiding near us? But, now that I have hurt her, you must at least let us do what we can for her. Naki shall go down the hill and send a doctor up here to look at Eunice’s arm.”
“Ugh!” grunted the squaw. “An Indian has no need of the white man’s doctor. I shall tend my child. Begone, all of you!”
Reginald Latham moved back a few paces; but Bab, Grace and Ruth did not stir.
“Naki,” Ruth gave her order quietly, “go down the hill at once and see that a doctor comes up to look at this child’s arm. An Indian’s treatment for a bullet wound may be a good one. I do not know. But I do know I am not willing that this child should not see a doctor. Bab and I would feel responsible all our lives if anything serious resulted from this accident. Go immediately, Naki,” Ruth ended. She was her father’s daughter. Though she seldom asserted her authority, there were times when she insisted on obedience.
“We want no doctor here,” the Indian woman repeated, rocking back and forth. “No good comes to the Indian from his white neighbors. Therefore, have I tried to keep my child away from them.”
But Eunice’s voice was heard calling inside the tent.
“Let the ladies come in, grandmother. I wish to have a talk with them.”
Sullenly the old woman moved aside and let the girls and Reginald Latham enter the wigwam.
“Little brown one,” Eunice cried, smiling at Bab, “you would be almost as brown as I am, if you lived always in the woods. Do not be so sorry that you hurt my arm. It was my fault, not yours. I should not have been in hiding. I disobeyed the commands of my grandmother. See, I am better. She will not let a white doctor look at me, perhaps, because my skin is too fair for an Indian.”
“Mr. Latham,” Bab turned to Reginald, who had not spoken. He was looking curiously at the furnishings of the wigwam, at the Indian squaw and at Eunice. He did not hear Bab.
“Mr. Latham!” Bab called more distinctly, “can’t you persuade——”
A curious guttural noise interrupted her. The old Indian woman’s eyes were blazing. She had seized a pine stick in her hand and held it over Reginald Latham’s head. “Out of my wigwam! Shall your name forever sound in my ears? Am I not safe in my own house? Out with you!”
Reginald Latham had not waited before the old woman’s wrath. He was already several yards down the hill.
The girls were thunderstruck. Why had the name of Latham fired this old squaw to such a burst of fury?
“Come on, Ruth,” said Grace, finally. “Let us go back home. We shall do no good by staying here. I suppose we can find our way home! The old Indian woman seems dreadfully upset, and our staying can only make matters worse. Naki will bring the doctor and attend to everything. Then he will let you know about Eunice.”
“I think we had better go,” Mollie agreed. “I know it will be best for Eunice.” She kissed the little Indian girl good-bye. “Tell your grandmother,” Mollie explained, “that Mr. Latham had nothing to do with the injury to you. She may have thought he was responsible.”
“I told you,” whispered Eunice in Mollie’s ear, “the name of Latham must not be mentioned in my house. When I first learned to read I found it written in an old book that told only the story of the Indian races. My grandmother tore it from my hand and threw it into the fire, and said I must never hear that English name again.”
“Oh!” Mollie faltered. “I remember you did say something about this to me, the first time I saw you, but I did not think about it. I do not understand it now. But never mind. Good-bye.”
“The Automobile Girls” joined Reginald Latham farther down the hill.
“What a crazy old thing that Indian woman is!” he muttered, laughing nervously. “She was only making a scene. She never heard the name of Latham before in her life.”
“I wonder if that is true?” pondered Mollie to herself all the way back to their cabin.
CHAPTER XIVGIVE WAY TO MISS SALLIE!
“Aunt Sallie,” declared Ruth mournfully about two o’clock the next day, “we are in great trouble!”
“My dear child, what is the matter now?” demanded Miss Stuart.
“Well,” continued Ruth, “you remember about the little Indian girl whom Bab accidentally shot yesterday? Naki has come back from a visit to her and says she is very ill. He found the doctor there, who says he won’t answer for the child’s life unless she is taken to ahospital in the village, where he can see her often, and where she can have the proper care. The doctor told Naki we waited too long yesterday to send for him. He had to probe Eunice’s arm to get out the bullet. But she will be all right if she is only properly looked after.”
“Then,” declared Miss Sallie, “the matter is a very simple one. Have Naki see to it. The child must be taken to a hospital in Lenox at once. Everything shall be done for her comfort.”
“Indeed, auntie, this is not such a simple matter to attend to as it seems. The Indian grandmother positively refuses to let Eunice be moved. She has kept the child hidden in these hills all her life, until she believes Eunice will be eaten up, or run away with, if once she allows her to go among white people.”
“Nonsense!” sniffed Miss Sallie.
“It is all very well for you to say nonsense, Aunt Sallie, but you do not dream how obstinate this old woman is. She declares an Indian does not need treatment from a doctor. In the meantime, poor little Eunice’s temperature is going up, and she is delirious from the fever. What shall we do? Poor Bab is feeling perfectly miserable.”
“Take me to this obstinate old woman,” said Miss Stuart, firmly.
“You?” cried Ruth, in astonishment.
“Certainly!” answered Aunt Sallie. “Isaid, ‘take me.’”
“But, auntie, you will so hate the climb up that trail,” Ruth argued. “And the wigwam is dreadful after you get there. Only the little Indian girl is exquisite, like a flower growing in some horrid place. I don’t believe you will ever be equal to the trip.”
“Ruth,” insisted Miss Stuart in stately tones, “since I have thrown in my fortunes as chaperon to ‘The Automobile Girls’ I have had many strange adventures. Doubtless I shall have many others. Persuading an obstinate woman to do what is best for the child she loves is not an impossible task. It does not matter in the least whether the woman is white or an Indian. Tell Naki to take me to the wigwam at once.”
“Aunt Sallie, you are an angel!” cried Ruth, throwing her arms around her aunt. “Now, Bab, don’t you worry any more,” she called into the next room.
“Aunt Sallie does not know what she promises!” said Barbara, joining Ruth and her aunt.
“Just let’s leave her alone, Bab,” whisperedRuth. “We will go along with her to see Eunice. I think I am counting on my Aunt Sallie to win.”
Miss Stuart paused to draw one deep breath, when she finally reached the Indian woman’s wigwam. Then she quietly entered the tent and walked over to Eunice’s bedside. Crouched on the floor by the child was the old Indian squaw, who did not even lift her eyes to look at Miss Sallie.
Eunice was lying on her cedar bed, with her cheeks the color of the scarlet leaves that once crowned her black hair.
“How do you do?” asked Miss Stuart politely, bowing to the Indian woman. As Miss Sallie put her soft hand on Eunice’s hot head, the child stopped her restless movements for a second. The grandmother looked up.
“Your little girl is very ill!” Miss Stuart continued quietly. “I have come to see that she has proper care. She must be taken to a hospital at once. Naki will see to the arrangements. The doctor says the child must be moved to-day.”
The Indian woman shook her head. “The child shall not leave my wigwam!” she declared, obstinately.
“Listen to me!” commanded Miss Stuart, quietly. Ruth and Barbara stood near her,trembling with excitement. “We mean no harm to your little girl. Naki will explain matters to you. But she must be properly looked after. You are too old to attend to her, and your wigwam is not a fit place. You declare your Eunice shall not go away from you even for a little time.” Miss Sallie spoke slowly and impressively. “If you do not allow the child to go away, now, for a short time, so that the doctor can make her well for you, she will leave you forever!”
But still the Indian woman muttered: “My child shall not leave my wigwam. Indians have no need for white men’s doctors.”
“You are alone, aren’t you?” inquired Miss Stuart, gently. “Are not you and your grandchild the last of your race? Perhaps, if you had allowed it, the doctors might have kept other members of your family for you.”
The Indian woman shivered. Miss Stuart had touched some chord in her memory. She raised her black eyes to Miss Sallie and spoke mournfully. “You are right!” she asserted. “My grandchild and I are the last of a great race. I am very old and I am now afraid. Let your white medicine man make my Eunice well again. But I must follow where the child goes. Down in the village they will steal her from me.”
“Why, who would wish to steal her from you?” inquired Miss Stuart.
The old woman mumbled. “An enemy came to my door but yesterday.” Then a look of cunning crossed her face. She spoke childishly. “The lady is wise!” she declared. “Who could wish to steal a poor little Indian girl? Who in all this world has a claim on her but her poor old grandmother? Enough has been said. An Indian does not like too much talk. The child and I will go down into the valley to ask the service of the white doctor. Naki is my friend. I will do as he says. An Indian can keep a secret. Naki has long known that my child and I lived on this hilltop, but he has not betrayed us. He has not even told his own wife. An Indian can keep a secret.” The old woman rocked back and forth as though well pleased with herself.
“Keep whatever secrets you will!” Miss Sallie replied. “It is enough that you will permit the child to have proper care.”
“Girls!” Miss Stuart spoke from the depth of the largest chair in the living room of their log cabin. It was nearly dusk and she was worn out from her long walk to the Indian wigwam. “Girls, I want to ask you something.”
“Attention, girls!” cried Bab. “What is it, Miss Sallie?”
“What do you say,” continued Miss Stuart, “to our going back to civilization? We have had a beautiful time on our hill. I, for one, shall long remember it. But the days are growing shorter. If we are to enjoy Lenox, and all the delights it offers, don’t you think it is about time we were moving there? To tell you the truth, I have already engaged our board at the hotel.”
“Well then, Aunt Sallie, we have no choice in the matter, have we?” asked Ruth, ruefully. “I want to enjoy Lenox, too, but I do so hate to leave this heavenly hill.”
“I vote for Lenox with Aunt Sallie!” Grace exclaimed.
“Sensible Grace!” Miss Stuart murmured.
“See here, Ruth, dear,” protested Grace, “please don’t look as if you were offended with me. We have had a simply perfect time in the log cabin, but I am just longing to see the lovely places down in Lenox, and to meet the delightful people.”
“Ruth,” Barbara spoke sadly, “I, too, want to go down into Lenox now. If Eunice is to be laid up in the hospital I want to be near her, so I can find out how she is each day. I shall never be happy again until I know she is well.”
Mollie put her arm round her sister. “Don’tyou worry so, Bab, dear,” she pleaded. “I don’t believe your shooting poor little Eunice in the arm is going to do her harm in the end. Poor little thing! It was simply dreadful for her to have to spend all her time with her old Indian grandmother. She never had a chance to see anybody, or to learn anything. She was simply sick for companions of her own age. That is why she was always haunting our cabin. I don’t believe Eunice is more than part Indian, anyway!” Mollie ended impressively. “I’ve a feeling that we shall do her more good, in the end, from this accident than we have done her harm.”
“You are a dear!” cried Bab, already comforted by her sister’s prophecy.
“You are all against me!” quoth Ruth, rising. “I surrender, as usual, to my beloved aunt. I want to go to Lenox, but—I want to be here on the hill, too. So runs the world. We can’t manage to have all the things we want at the same time; so hurrah for Lenox and the gay world again! Come here to the door with me, children. Let us say farewell to our sweet hillside!”
The girls stood arm in arm on their front porch. The evening wind swept up the hill and rustled through the pines. The brook near their house hurried down the slope into the valleyas though it were late for a night’s engagement.
“Ruth,” Barbara declared solemnly, “whatever happens to ‘The Automobile Girls,’ one thing is certain, nothing can ever be lovelier than the weeks we have spent together on this beautiful hill. Let us kiss all around. Call Aunt Sallie. She must be a party to the agreement. We will never forget our little log cabin—never, no, never, in all our lives.”
CHAPTER XVSOCIETY IN LENOX
“Miss Sallie, is Lenox the oldest summer resort in the United States?” inquired Barbara, as they sat on a private veranda which opened into their own sitting-room, in the most beautiful hotel in Lenox.
“I am sure I don’t know, Bab, dear,” Miss Sallie answered complacently. “I think modern Lenox has been transformed by the wealth that has come into the place in the last fifty years. I am told that it once had more literary associations than any other town in the country. As Ruth tells me you are ambitious to become a writer some day, this will interest you. Yougirls must go about, while you are here, and see all the sights.”
Barbara blushed and changed the subject. She did not like to talk of her literary ambitions.
“Ruth and Mollie are late in getting back, aren’t they?” she asked. “You know they have gone over in the automobile to inquire for Eunice. I hope they will be back in time for tea. Did Ruth remember to tell you that the British Ambassador’s daughters, Dorothy and Gwendolin Morton, are coming in to tea? And perhaps Mr. Winthrop Latham and Reginald Latham will be here also.”
Miss Sallie nodded. “Yes; I am expecting them,” she declared. “It is most kind of them to call on us so promptly. I was afraid we would know no one in Lenox, as I have no acquaintances here. I did not expect you and little Mollie to pull friends down from the sky for us, as you seem to have done by your rescue of Mr. Latham and his nephew. What a strange thing life is!”
“Do you know, Miss Sallie,” Barbara continued, “it seems awfully funny for Mollie and me to to be associating with such important people as the daughters of the English Ambassador. I am even impressed with that funny little German Secretary, Franz Heller, just becausehe is attached to the German Embassy. It makes me feel as though I were a character in a book, to even meet such clever people. Dear me, what a lot you and Ruth have done for us!”
“Barbara, dear,” replied Miss Stuart, kindly, “we have not done much more for you than you girls have done for us in a different way. True, through my brother, we happened to have the money to pay for our good times; but poor Ruth and I couldn’t have had those good times without the other three ‘Automobile Girls.’ How is Grace’s headache? Will she be able to see our friends this afternoon?”
“Shall I ask her?” Bab suggested, going in to the bedroom through the French window which opened onto their porch.
She came out, shaking her head. “Grace is not well enough to get up yet,” she explained. “She says she may be able to join us for a few minutes when our guests arrive; but you are not to worry. Her headache is better.”
“Shall we have tea out on our veranda, Barbara?” Miss Sallie asked. “I cannot tear myself away from this view. How exquisite the lake looks down between those mountains. And what is the name of that hill over there? Oh, yes, I know you girls have told me the name of it many times before, but as I cannotremember it, you will probably have to tell it to me repeatedly. Monument Mountain, did you say? Oh, I recall the story now. An Indian girl is supposed to have flung herself off of it on account of some love affair. Curious people the Indians,” she continued. “Do you know, Bab, I am much interested in our little Indian girl? She is a very beautiful child, and her race is not usually beautiful. I don’t understand the girl looking as she does. I shall go to the hospital with you to see her soon. Now, hurry along, child, and order the tea.” Miss Sallie paused for an instant. “And tell the waiter to see that the service is good. English people are so particular about their tea!”
Barbara was back from her errand just in time to see a pony carriage drive up in front of the hotel. She went forward to meet their guests, sighing a little to herself. “I do wish Ruth and Mollie would come. I am sure I shan’t know how to talk to these English girls by myself. I hardly spoke to them the night of our famous coon hunt.”
Gwendolin and Dorothy Morton came half shyly forward. They were tall, willowy girls, with soft, brown hair and lovely complexions.
“I know why English girls are thought to look like roses,” flashed through Bab’s mind. “These girls are just like roses bending fromlong stems.” Barbara came forward, speaking in her usual frank fashion. “I am so glad to see you,” she declared. “Will you come to our little private balcony? If it is not too cold for you, Miss Stuart wishes to have tea out there.”
Gwendolin and Dorothy Morton followed Bab in silence. As English girls do not talk so much as American girls on first acquaintance, Barbara felt compelled to keep up the conversation.
“I am ever so sorry,” she went on; “but my friend, Ruth Stuart, and my sister, Mollie, are not yet back from the hospital. They have gone to ask about our little Indian girl.”
“Your little Indian girl!” exclaimed Dorothy Morton, surprised into talking. “Why, what do you mean?”
Bab glanced back over her shoulder as the three girls started into the hotel. “There come Ruth and Mollie now!” she exclaimed. “They can tell you about our little Eunice better than lean.”
A crimson motor car was speeding up the avenue.
“How well Miss Stuart drives her car!” laughed Gwendolin Morton. “But she will have to be very careful; the road laws are very strict in Lenox. I must tell her that, if she isarrested, she will surely be taken to prison. I don’t know how to drive a car. My sister and I are more fond of horses. Do you ride, Miss Thurston?”
Barbara colored. She wondered what these wealthy English girls would think of the kind of riding to which she had been accustomed. An old bareback horse, a Texas pony, once even a mule had been Barbara’s steeds. So she answered shyly: “Yes, I do ride a little. But, of course, I don’t ride in the beautiful way I know you and your sister do.”
“We are very anxious to have you and your friends take part in our autumn sports at Lenox,” urged Dorothy Morton.
Barbara and the two English girls were waiting at the hotel door for Ruth and Mollie.
In another moment Ruth jumped from her car, and, followed by Mollie, came hurrying up to her guests.
“I am so sorry not to be here when you arrived,” she explained. “We just flew home. I was afraid of being held up every minute. But we were kept waiting so long at the hospital that I knew we were late. Do let’s join Aunt Sallie. She will grow impatient.”
Miss Stuart came forward from her veranda into their private sitting-room. “I am so glad to see you,” she said to the two English girls.
“And we are delighted to be your first guests, Miss Stuart,” said Gwendolin, who was the elder of the two girls. “Mr. Heller wishes to come in and pay his respects to you later, and I believe Mr. Winthrop Latham and his nephew are on their way now. We passed them as we drove here.”
“Aunt Sallie,” Ruth spoke softly a few moments later, when she thought no one was listening, “little Eunice is better. But Naki had to take her to the hospital at Pittsfield. He could not find a place for her here. Fortunately, Pittsfield is only a few miles from Lenox over a simply perfect road, so we shan’t mind going back and forth in the car. Naki and Ceally are keeping the poor old Indian grandmother with them. Ceally says she seems subdued and frightened.”
Ruth turned rosy red. From the silence in the room she knew her guests were hearing what she said. “I beg your pardon,” she explained, turning to Dorothy Morton, who was nearest her. “Please forgive my bad manners. We are so interested in our new protégée that I forget that you know nothing of her.”
“But we should like to know, awfully!” Dorothy declared. “Who is this Indian girl? I thought all the Indians had vanished from the Berkshires.”
But Mr. Winthrop Latham and his nephew Reginald were at the door.
Behind them was a plump little German, with blond hair parted in the middle, a tiny waxed mustache and near-sighted blue eyes. He was Franz Heller, the Secretary at the German Embassy. He could usually be found somewhere in the neighborhood of Gwendolin Morton.
Reginald Latham came up to Bab and sat down next her.
“Please,” he whispered immediately, “do not speak of the little Indian girl before my uncle.”
“Why not?” queried Bab, in astonishment.
“I can’t explain to you now!” Reginald faltered. His uncle’s eyes were fastened on him.
Miss Stuart announcing that tea was waiting on the balcony, the little party adjourned to the veranda and stood talking and admiring the view. It was a wonderful, clear October day, radiant with warm sunshine.
Mr. Winthrop Latham stood near Miss Stuart, assisting her to serve the tea. The young people were talking in a group near them.
“I say, Ruth!” exclaimed Dorothy Morton. “Forgive my calling you Ruth so early in our acquaintance, but if I call you Miss Stuart, your aunt may think I am speaking to her. Do please tell us about the mysterious little Indiangirl, who is your protégée. Where did you find her?”
Reginald Latham, who was near Barbara, broke into the conversation.
“Tell Miss Stuart about our fall sports, Dorothy!” he urged.
“Tell me of them afterwards,” said Dorothy. “I must hear about this Indian child first.”
“Well, the story of our little Indian girl is a long and rather odd one,” Ruth asserted. “As she is really Mollie’s discovery, not mine, Mollie must tell you about her.”
Mollie was embarrassed at suddenly finding herself the center of so many eyes.
Mr. Winthrop Latham had turned around, and was also watching her. He had caught Ruth’s last speech.
“Why,” confessed Mollie, “the story of our little Indian girl is simple enough, but it is very strange.”
The little girl paused. Reginald Latham’s eyes were fixed on her in a strange gaze; but she had started to tell her tale and must go on. Mollie looked over at Aunt Sallie, and the latter nodded her approval.
Quietly Mollie told of her wood nymph first leading her astray on the mountain; of Eunice’s visit to her, next day, and of Bab’s accidental shooting of the child afterwards.
“I don’t think our discovery of the little Indian girl was so odd,” said Mollie. “What I think is strange is that no one around here ever knew of her before. Just think, Eunice is thirteen or fourteen years old and she has been kept hidden in these hills by her old Indian grandmother all her life. She had never been to a town until she was taken to the hospital by our guide, Naki. Yet she is so pretty and gentle. I love her already.” The little girl had a queer feeling as if she were defending Eunice—she did not know why.
A voice broke into the conversation. “You say, my dear”—Mr. Latham spoke sternly—“that you and your friends have found an old Indian woman and a child called Eunice hidden in the woods back of you? The thing is impossible. The old woman and the girl are probably gypsies or tramps. They cannot be Indians. I have reason to know the history of the Indians in this part of the country very well. My eldest brother married an Indian girl. She was the last of her people in this vicinity, and she died about fifteen years ago.”
Mollie did not answer. A sudden silence fell upon the little group.
Barbara looked at Reginald. She understood, now, why he was often afraid of his uncle. The older man would not endure contradiction.
“Reginald, we must say good-bye to Miss Stuart,” his uncle commanded.
“Don’t go just yet, Mr. Latham,” pleaded Gwendolin Morton. “You promised to help me explain to Miss Stuart the plan for our day of sports. You see, Miss Stuart, every season at Lenox we have an annual entertainment for the benefit of our hospital fund. This year father is to take charge of the sports, which we try to make just as informal and jolly as possible. One of the reasons for my call was to ask you to let your girls help us out with our amusements. As soon as I told my father we had met some delightful American girls who were camping near here, he suggested that we invite them to join in our sports. We intend to have some really good riding; but the other games are only jokes. Did you ever hear of a dummy race or a thread-and-needle race?”
Miss Stuart shook her head, smilingly, as she said, “Miss Morton, I don’t even try to keep up with the ways young people have of entertaining themselves these days; but I am sure, whatever your Lenox sports may be, my ‘Automobile Girls’ will be happy to take part in them.”
“That’s awfully jolly of you, Miss Stuart!” declared Dorothy Morton, who was the younger and more informal of the English girls. She turned to Ruth.
“Won’t you come in and have a game of archery with us to-morrow afternoon? Father and mother will both be at home. We can tell you all of our plans for next week.”
“We’ll be happy to come,” laughed Ruth, “but none of us know how to use the bow. That is an English game, isn’t it? We shall be delighted to look on.”
“Oh, archery is all the rage at Lenox,” little Mr. Heller explained. “Perhaps you will let me show your friends how to shoot.”
Ruth shook her head. “We shall have plenty to learn if we are to take part in your queer races next week. If my friend, Miss Carter, is better to-morrow you may expect us.”
Grace came out on the porch. “I am well, already!” she apologized. “At least I decided that, headache or no headache, I couldn’t miss all the fun this afternoon. So here I am!”
“Now, we must positively say good-bye, Miss Stuart,” declared Mr. Latham, extending his hand. “I want to take you and your girls for a drive to Lake Queechy. Then you must see the place where the Hawthorne’s ‘little red house’ formerly stood. The house burned down some years ago, but the site is interesting, for Hawthorne lived in the Berkshires a number of years and wrote ‘The House of Seven Gables’ here. We have plenty of literary associations, MissStuart. My people have lived here so long that I take a deep interest in the history of the place.”
“Lake Queechy,” Miss Sallie exclaimed sentimentally, “is the lake named for Susan Warner, the author of ‘Queechy’ and ‘The Wide, Wide World.’ Dear me, I shed quantities of tears over those books in my day. But girls don’t care for such weepy books nowadays, do they? They want more fire and adventure. I am sure I should be ashamed of my ‘Automobile Girls’ if they fell to crying in the face of an obstacle. They prefer to overcome it. We shall be delighted to drive with you. Good-bye!”
“Curious, Reginald!” declared Mr. Winthrop Latham, when the two men had walked several yards from the hotel in silence. “That is a very remarkable story that your friends tell of the discovery of an unknown Indian child. Did they call her Eunice? That is strangest of all! You have been up on the hill with these girls a number of times. Have you seen this girl?”
Reginald mumbled something. It was not audible. But his uncle understood he had not seen the girl.
“Oh, well, the old woman is probably a gypsy tramp,” Mr. Latham concluded, “but I will look up the child, some day, for my own satisfaction. Reg, boy, the rudder of our airship will be repairedin the next few days. Do you feel equal to another aerial flight?”
“Most assuredly I do,” the nephew replied. The two men walked on. But, for once, they were not thinking of their favorite hobby. The mind of each man dwelt upon Mollie’s story of a poor little Indian girl. What connection could she have with these two men of wealth and position?
Reginald Latham’s suspicions were growing. The Indian girl might be an obstacle in his path.
“I must tell mother all I have heard and guessed,” he reflected. “Under no circumstances must uncle be allowed to see this child. Mother will know how to manage. We may have to spirit the girl away, if she is the child I fear she is. But we must make sure.”
Reginald Latham was not a pleasant man, but he was clever. If he had reason to fear little Eunice he would work quietly. What chance had the child and her ignorant, uncivilized grandmother against him?
Mr. Winthrop Latham’s thoughts were of a different kind. “The young Indian girl,” he assured himself, “can have no further possible interest for me.”