CHAPTER XIIRESCUED
“What is it, Daddy?” asked Bert, who had also been awakened, more by Nan’s voice than by the noise in the night. “What is it?” he inquired again.
“Nan heard something. I guess we can all hear it now,” answered Mr. Bobbsey, as the sound of breaking twigs, branches and underbrush told of some large body advancing.
“Do you think it could be a—bear?” faltered Nan.
“Of course not,” laughed her father. “There are no bears in these woods. It may be another auto coming, breaking its way along a narrow road.”
“It sounds more like one of those war tanks we saw in the soldiers’ parade, Nan,” remarked Bert. “It’s coming over everything.”
And, truly, this seemed to be the case. Whoever or whatever it was, drew on crashingly. Nearer and nearer to the automobile came the loud sounds. Nan was almost ready to scream. Mr. Bobbsey had turned on the headlights again, but nothing showed directly in front of their glare.
Then, suddenly, Bert gave a yell and leaped to Nan’s side of the car.
“Oh! It’s coming into the auto!” he cried.
Nan looked through the celluloid windows of the side curtains and saw, in the gleam of the little light on the dash, the head and face of what, at first, she took to be a monster animal.
She opened her mouth to scream, but her father caught sight of the animal at the same time, and he gave a loud laugh. This kept Nan from screaming, and also made Bert turn around to look.
“It’s only a horse!” cried Mr. Bobbsey. “A wandering horse. It has been crashing its way through the underbrush, and now it has come to see what we are doing here, I suppose.”
“Oh! Only a horse!” faltered Nan, somewhat ashamed of her needless fear.
“Just old Dobbin, the horse!” chuckled her father.
“He made noise enough for a whole circus,” declared Bert. “And when I saw him looking in through the curtain I thought—well, crickity grasshoppers, I didn’t know what to think.”
“I’m glad the horse came along,” said Mr. Bobbsey, as the animal, after sniffing at the automobile once or twice, continued on his wandering way, crashing through the masses of underbrush in the darkness.
“Well, I’m not,” declared Nan. “He frightened me.”
“Why are you glad about the horse, Daddy?” asked Bert.
“Because it shows there must be a farm near here, and we’ll find our way out in the morning,” was the answer.
“I hope so,” murmured Nan.
“Better go to sleep again,” suggested her father. “And don’t be frightened by any more noises. Noise can’t harm you, and there are no bears or other wild beasts in these woods.”
Nan and Bert curled up again, and were soon sound asleep, though their bed was not the most comfortable one they might have had. But being young and tired, they soon fell into a sound, healthy slumber.
Once again during the night Nan heard a noise. It was the distant hooting of an owl, who kept inquiring:
Who? Who? Who?
But Nan had heard owls before and knew what they were. So she paid little attention to this one, and was soon asleep again.
Mr. Bobbsey, however, was not so lucky. He nearly dozed off once or twice, but when he got to thinking of all that had happened during the day—the chase after the strange woman with the faded shawl, the old woman with the big frog, and how he had taken the wrong road and so become lost—it excited him a little and kept him awake.
“And I do hope the folks at home aren’t worrying too much,” thought Mr. Bobbsey. He knew his wife would worry a little—that could not be helped. He felt that she knew he would have sent word to her had it been possible. However, there was no telephone in the woods, but he made up his mind to talk to her as soon as possible in the morning—calling her up from the first telephone he reached.
In truth, Mrs. Bobbsey did worry some. But she felt that the children were safe with their father, and she knew her husband would have sent word had he been able. Baby May was somewhat troublesome, on account of cutting a tooth, and this kept Mrs. Bobbsey rather busy all night.
In the woods hours of darkness passed, and at last those waiting in the automobile saw another day coming. At least, Mr. Bobbsey noticed the growing light in the east. Nan and Bert were still sound asleep.
“I guess I’ll get out and stretch my legs—I’m all cramped up,” said Mr. Bobbsey to himself, when it grew a little lighter. “We’ll soon start and see where we come out.”
He slipped quietly from the car so as not to awaken Nan and Bert, and, walking a little way down the woodland road, he saw a spring of water. There he washed his hands and face, and felt much refreshed. He also took a long drink.
“Not much of a breakfast, but it will have to do,” chuckled Mr. Bobbsey. “I feel sorry for the children, though.”
However, Nan and Bert thought it rather jolly fun. When they awakened they, too, washed and drank at the spring, and then Bert brought out his cake of milk chocolate.
“Nan, you set the table and I’ll get breakfast,” he jokingly said. And Nan, joining in the joke, put three broad green leaves for plates on a flat stump.
“Now we’ll eat,” said Bert.
He was about to break the chocolate into three pieces, but his father said:
“None for me, Bert, thank you. I never could eat sweet stuff so early in the morning. You two eat it all and then we’ll start for home, if we can find the way.”
The boy broke the chocolate into two pieces, giving the larger one to Nan, for which she thanked him. She was very fond of chocolate, even in the morning. For that matter, so was Bert, and I give him credit for being unselfish. Not that he wasn’t a “regular boy.” Indeed, he had his faults—he wouldn’t have been a boy if he hadn’t had some. But he was of a generous nature.
“Please take a little bite of my breakfast, Daddy,” begged Nan, as she nibbled her chocolate.
“I really don’t want it,” her father said. But she prevailed on him to take a nibble, and so did Bert.
It did not take long to finish “breakfast,” and then Mr. Bobbsey started the automobile, which did not balk, refuse to go, or anything like that.
“Which way are you going, Daddy?” asked Bert, as he and his sister took their seats again.
“I don’t know that it makes much difference,” Mr. Bobbsey replied. “But I think I’ll travel back and see if we can get on the road we first took. This big rock doesn’t seem to be the right one. We must have turned off the road on which we were traveling, some distance back.”
On they chugged through the forest, but it was with lighter hearts now—hearts that were lightened by the smiling sun even as the dark woods were made less gloomy. They would certainly get out of the forest soon, they felt.
However, look about him as Mr. Bobbsey did, he could not tell where the main road was—at least, the road by which he had entered the forest in search of the strange woman.
He saw several wood roads leading off the one which he had traveled, and he tried to tell, by looking at the marks of automobile wheels, which was the way they had originally taken. But other cars had also gone over the same road, so the marks of the wheels of the Bobbsey car could not be picked out.
The twins’ father was about to decide to turn about and go the other way when suddenly, from just ahead of them, came a voice, shouting:
“Whoa there! Where you tryin’ to go? You’ve been out all night, an’ now you want to run away ag’in! Whoa, I tell you!”
“Sounds like somebody talking to a horse,” observed Bert.
“Maybe it was the horse that tried to get into our auto,” suggested Nan.
Then, around a bend in the road, came a lanky farmer boy, of not more than fourteen, leading a horse. Whether it was the same animal that had frightened Nan and Bert could not be said for certain at once, though, later, they learned that it was.
The boy, leading the horse, advanced toward the automobile, which Mr. Bobbsey had stopped.
“Mornin’, neighbors,” called the youth pleasantly and not at all bashfully. “You’re out early.”
“I might say the same of you,” remarked Mr. Bobbsey. “We’ve been out all night—lost in the woods. Can you put me on the road to Hankertown?”
“Straight ahead and take the first turn to the left,” said the lad. “You’re on the old lumber road that isn’t used much any more. This horse seems to like it, for he ran away last night and I only just found him.”
“I think we found him first,” said Mr. Bobbsey, and he described the visit of the animal in the night.
“I reckon that was our horse,” the boy said. “It’s just like old Jim to go pokin’ his nose in where he isn’t wanted. Hope he didn’t do any damage.”
“Not any,” laughed Mr. Bobbsey. “And I’m much obliged to you for setting us right. I got all mixed up on these wood roads. Is there any restaurant or eating place before I get to Hankertown?”
“Restaurant? Good land, no! But say! ain’t you folks had any breakfast?” he demanded.
“Not yet,” said Mr. Bobbsey.
“Well, neither have I, but I reckon on havin’ some right soon. Our house is only about a mile back, on another road. If you want to go there my mother’ll be glad to give you something hot.”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble her,” objected Mr. Bobbsey.
“No trouble at all. She likes to have folks to meals. Say, I believe I could sit on the back of your machine and lead old Jim along by his halter, if you didn’t go too fast. Then I could be right there with you and explain.”
“Thank you, I wish you would,” replied Mr. Bobbsey. And the farmer boy was soon sitting on the back seat, between Nan and Bert, while, following behind, led by the long halter, was Jim, the midnight-wandering horse.
“There’s our place,” said Silas Remington, which proved to be the name of the farmer boy. “Drive right up. My mother’ll be s’prised to see me comin’ back in style, I reckon,” and he chuckled as he pointed out a small house set in a little clearing of the woods.
CHAPTER XIIITHE LAST DAY
“For the land sakes, Silas! what happened? Did ye break your leg?”
This was what Mrs. Remington asked as she saw her son driving up in the automobile to the little house in the clearing, leading the strayed horse by the halter from the back seat.
“There has been no accident,” said Mr. Bobbsey quickly, for he did not want the boy’s mother to worry. “We just met your son and gave him a ride home, and—”
“These folks have been out in the woods all night, Mother!” Silas Remington explained. “I found them when I was hunting old Jim down the wood road. Now if you can give them some breakfast—”
“I’m sure we don’t want to trouble you,” interrupted Mr. Bobbsey. “But I’d be glad to pay—”
“Pay! Nonsense! No trouble at all! Come right in, and I’ll have breakfast ready in a jiffy!” exclaimed the kind Mrs. Remington. “You take the horse to the barn, Silas, and then come in and get your breakfast, and bring your pa with you. Silas started out early to find Jim,” she explained to the Bobbseys, as she bustled about.
“It’s a good thing for us that he did,” said Mr. Bobbsey, “or I don’t know how much longer we might have been wandering in the woods. But where can I get a telephone? I must let my wife know we are all right—she’ll be worried.”
“We’ve got a telephone,” said Mrs. Remington. “I don’t bother with it much myself, but my husband thought he had to have one. Next I know he’ll be gettin’ a tin Lizzie, I guess,” and she laughed.
Mr. Bobbsey was soon talking to his wife over the telephone, while the farmer’s wife was getting breakfast.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right!” exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, when she heard her husband’s voice. “I couldn’t imagine what had happened, but I knew the children would be all right with you. How’s Baby May? Oh, she’s fine, and she’s cut another tooth! That’s why she fretted so last night!”
Bert and Nan were glad to know all were well at home, and then they sat down to a good breakfast. All their troubles were over now, for Mr. Remington, who had come into breakfast with Silas and who had a small farm on the edge of the woods, told Mr. Bobbsey where to drive to get back to the main road to Hankertown.
“But about that strange old woman with the faded shawl you were after, I don’t know,” and the farmer shook his head. “I never seen her around these parts. She must be a stranger here.”
“Could it have been old Mary Dodd back by the spring?” asked Mrs. Remington. “She’s very odd.”
“You mean the woman with the frog in the spring?” inquired Mr. Bobbsey. “No, we saw old Mary and she gave us water. The woman I am seeking is another person.”
“Wa-all, then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” said Mr. Remington, with a shake of his head. “But if Silas or I see the old woman around I’ll try and find out who she is and let you know.”
“Sure we will!” piped up Silas.
“I wish you would,” returned Mr. Bobbsey, and he prepared to set out again with Nan and Bert in the automobile.
They bade good-bye to the kind farmer and his wife and to his talkative son, and were soon out of the woods and on the main highway. Mr. Bobbsey did not think it would be of any use to try further to locate the strange woman, so he drove directly back to Lakeport.
“My, you had an adventure, didn’t you?” exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, when the twins and their father arrived.
“I should say we did!” ejaculated Nan.
“But it was jolly fun!” laughed Bert. “Even when the horse tried to stick his head in through the side curtains.”
“Tell me about it!” begged Freddie.
“I want to hear, too,” said Flossie. “And Baby May has a new tooth—she has!”
“Yes, we heard about that over the telephone,” laughed Nan.
The smaller twins were delighted to hear the account of the adventures of Nan and Bert in the night, and Freddie declared that the next time his father went on a trip like that he was going too.
“Well, so you didn’t find the old woman after all?” remarked Mrs. Bobbsey, after she had talked matters over quietly with her husband.
“No. And it begins to look as if we never should. She is more of a mystery than ever. I have notified the police of Hankertown, though, and they said they would keep a lookout for her.”
“And until she is found and tells us the secret of Baby May, we will keep the little girl,” suggested Mrs. Bobbsey.
“Wouldn’t you rather send her to an orphan asylum?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, thinking perhaps the care of the baby was too much for his wife.
“Oh, no indeed!” she exclaimed. “I never could give her up now, unless it were to her real mother.”
“I’d like to know where the real mother is,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “It certainly seems very strange!”
Baby May did not seem to mind being the center of a mystery. She grew fatter and taller, her eyes seemed bluer, her hair more golden, and certainly her smile was sweeter. She was a dear little baby, and every one loved her, especially the Bobbsey twins.
Summer was close at hand now. Every day it seemed warmer and warmer to have to go to school. With the windows open, so the sweet wind blew in and the songs of birds could be heard, it was quite a task to keep the children at their lessons. Miss Riker found it so in the room where Bert and Nan recited.
“Well, children,” said the teacher one Monday afternoon, as the class was about to leave for the day, “Friday, you know, is the last day of school for the term.”
The girls looked at one another with glad eyes, and the boys wanted to shout, but that would not have been allowed. So they kept quiet, though it was hard work.
“We will have some exercises in our room for the last day,” went on Miss Riker, “and those who wish to may recite a piece or sing. We will make up a program. There will be no lessons, but just some exercises. Now, those of you who wish to recite will please tell me the name of their piece after school. Now you may go!”
There was a buzz of excitement, all the boys and girls talking about the joyous “last day” of school.
Examinations were over, Nan and Bert successfully “passed,” as did most of their chums, and Freddie and Flossie proudly brought home their report cards, showing that they had done well and could be advanced to a higher class next term.
“I’m going to speak that piece about the Indian Chief,” announced Bert, as the last day drew near.
“And I’m going to sing a duet with Nellie Parks,” said Nan.
The two children were practicing hard to have their numbers a success when they got up before the class on the last day of school.
There was in Bert’s class a boy named Sam Todd. He was a pretty good boy—sometimes; but he was very fond of playing tricks or jokes—on others, you must know. Bert didn’t remember that he ever played a trick or joke on himself, though.
Sam had heard about the piece Bert was going to speak, and just before the last day Sam said to his chum, Joe Norton:
“I’m going to play a good joke when Bert Bobbsey gets up to speak his piece.”
“What are you goin’ to do?” Joe asked.
“Well, I got a lot of turkey feathers and I fastened ’em to an old football. I made it look like the head of an Indian. I made this football-Indian-head fast to a string. I sit right near the window, you know, and when Bert gets up to speak I’m going to pull on the string, and I’ll pull it in through the window, the football with feathers on. I’ll pull it in just when Bert hollers out that line about: ‘What is this fearful thing I see?’ In will pop the feathered football, and say—won’t there be a howl!”
“Goodness, yes!” gasped Joe. “That’s a dandy trick! But are you sure the thing will come in the window when you pull the string?”
“I’ll put it outside the window just before we come in for the last day, and I’ll tie the string to my desk. It’ll be easy for me to pull it in. Oh, boy! Some joke! Eh?”
“Oh, boy! Some joke!” echoed Joe, with a chuckle.
Bert, knowing nothing of this, kept on studying his piece. Finally the last day of school came. There were to be exercises in the different rooms, more simple ones where Flossie and Freddie were.
After Nan and Nellie had sung and other boys and girls had taken their parts, Bert’s turn came. He walked rather nervously up to the platform on which stood Miss Riker’s desk.
“Now for the joke!” whispered Sam Todd to Joe, who sat in front of him. There was a string running from Sam’s desk out of the open window. The other end of the string had been fastened to the old football covered with feathers. At a distance it did look like the head of an Indian.
Bert started his recitation. He got along very well, and at last he came to the line where he had to call, several times, loudly:
“What is this fearful thing I see?”
Just as Bert started this Sam gave a hard pull on the string. He expected to haul in his “trick.”
But something had gone wrong!
CHAPTER XIVA BIG SPLASH
Bert Bobbsey was speaking his piece so well that his teacher and the other boys and girls did not see what Sam Todd was trying to do. The eyes of all in the room were fixed on Bert—that is, the eyes of all but Sam and his chum Joe. Bert had practiced his recitation many times at home, his mother helping and correcting him, until he could do it very well.
All this mattered nothing to Sam, however, if he could spoil Bert’s recitation by playing the trick. With all that, Sam did not intend to be mean. It was all just a “good joke” to him and Joe.
But, as was said, something went wrong.
When Sam pulled on the string it seemed to be caught on something outside the window. The football with its feathers, making it look like the head of an Indian, did not bounce in through the open window, as Sam hoped it would.
There was no time to lose. Bert was just beginning the startling line—
“What is this fearful thing I see?”
If the football did not pop in now the joke would be spoiled. As all eyes were on Bert, Sam felt it would be safe to leave his seat to look and find out what the trouble was. He had a little time, as Bert had to say this line three times—slowly.
Bert gave the line once. He paused. He repeated it. Sam was now leaning over the edge of the window sill, looking down to see what was holding the string of the feather-decorated football.
Then Bert exclaimed, very loudly:
“What is this fearful thing I see?”
As he did so, Sam Todd lost his balance and fell out of the window. But that was not all! Just under the window was a big barrel of water, that had been used by masons when they had done some work on the school foundation.
With a splash and a cry of surprise, Sam Todd toppled into this barrel of water, his shout of alarm mingling with Bert’s dramatic demand to know what fearful thing it was that he saw.
“Oh, dear, look at that!”
“Sammie’s out of the window!”
“He’s in the water!”
“He’ll be drowned!”
“What was he doing anyway?”
And so the cries of the children ran on.
Well, of course that brought Bert’s recitation to a sudden end. No boy could speak a piece with another lad falling out of the window into a barrel of water and yelling at the same time.
“What is it? What has happened?” exclaimed Miss Riker, leaping to her feet.
“Sammie Todd fell out of the window,” answered Sadie Moore, who was a quick little thing.
“What in the world was he doing? Why was he leaning out of the window in that way?” demanded Miss Riker, for she had seen Sam at the sill just before he fell.
“He wanted to—he was going to—” began Joe Norton. Then Joe happened to think it was hardly the fair thing to tell on Sam—to let the teacher know about the joke. She might find out, anyhow—very likely she would—but Joe could not tell.
“What was Sam going to do?” demanded Miss Riker. But no one answered her, and from outside the window sounded the splashing in the barrel of water and the voice of Sam begging for help.
“We must go to him. Maybe he is hurt,” the teacher said, starting for the door.
But Bert was ahead of her. He did not much mind having his recitation broken up in this queer way. As a matter of fact, Bert only laughed about it afterward.
But now Sam might be in danger, through his own foolishness, and might need help. So Bert and some of the other boys rushed out of school ahead of the teacher. These boys, too, rather welcomed the interruption. They did not care much about “speaking pieces.”
As Bert and his chums reached the school yard under the open window, they saw Sam, dripping wet and covered with bits of lime and plaster, climbing from the barrel of water.
“I—I—now—I fell in!” spluttered Sam, as if there was any need of an explanation. “I—I—now—fell right in!”
“I should say you did!” laughed Bert. He could laugh now, and so could the other boys, for Sam was not in the least hurt.
Sam balanced himself for a moment on the edge of the barrel and then slipped down and out, over the edge. The water ran from him and made little puddles around his feet.
“How did it happen? Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” asked Miss Riker.
Sam did not answer the first question, but to the second he replied.
“Oh, no’m—thank you—I’m not hurt. I—I’m just—wet!”
“Yes, we see you are,” observed Miss Riker, trying not to smile, for by this time she began to suspect that something was wrong. No boy sitting in his seat in a quiet schoolroom, where “speaking pieces” is going on, can fall out of the window and into a barrel of water without having done something himself to bring it about.
Once it was certain that Sam had suffered no more than a wetting, the teacher began to cast about to find an explanation. Her quick eye caught sight of the string running in through the open window to the schoolroom. Stepping to the window she looked inside and saw that the string was fastened to Sam’s desk.
Another look, on the ground near the barrel, disclosed the football and the feathers on it. Then she understood.
“Oh, I see,” she murmured. “This was a sort of—joke, Sam? Was that it?”
“Ye—ye—yes’m,” faltered the dripping lad.
“Very well. You may go back to your seats, children—that is, all but Sam. You had better go home and change into dry clothes,” she added, and this time she smiled broadly.
“Shall I—now—shall I come back?” asked Sam. All the joking spirit had departed.
“No, you don’t need to come back,” said Miss Riker. “School will be out for the term by the time you could return.” And as Sam, rather shame-faced, made his dripping way toward his home, the teacher remarked: “I hardly think it worth while to go on with the closing exercises. They were almost finished, anyhow. Unless, Bert, you wish to conclude your recitation?” she added, turning to the Bobbsey twin questioningly.
“Oh, no’m—thank you—I don’t mind quitting!” Bert made haste to say. He did not exactly object to “speaking pieces,” but if there was a good excuse to get out of it, he was glad of that excuse. “I can recite it next term,” he added.
“Yes, I suppose so,” returned Miss Riker, with a laugh. “Well, boys and girls, you may go now. School is over for the term. I hope you’ll all have a happy vacation.”
“Thank you! Thank you! The same to you!” chorused the boys and girls.
There were murmurs, talks, laughter and a general movement of relief. No more books or studies for more than two months—oh, joy!
Some of the pupils returned to the classroom to get things from their desks. Charlie Mason was beside Bert as the two boys walked over to the water barrel to look more closely at the “joke.”
“Say, Bert, I’m glad you said you didn’t care about going on with your piece,” said Charlie.
“Why?” asked Bert.
“ ’Cause I was after you, and I didn’t know my piece very well. There’s one verse I never can remember, and I know I’d have broken down up on the platform. So I’m glad I didn’t have to speak.”
“So’m I,” murmured Bert. “Say, what is that thing, anyhow?” he asked, as Joe Norton pulled into view the “joke” Sam Todd had prepared with such care.
“Looks like a scalped Indian,” remarked Danny Rugg.
“That’s what Sam made it for,” chuckled Joe. “He was going to pull it in when you said that line, Bert, about what a fearful thing you saw.”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed Bert. “He was going to pull it in, was he? Well, he pulled himselfoutinstead! It was a good joke all right!”
And so it was, only it turned just the other way from what Sam intended. But very often jokes do turn that way.
However, nothing much now mattered except that school was out for the long vacation.
“Where are you going for your vacation?” asked May Miller of Nan Bobbsey, as she walked home with Flossie and Freddie. Bert had gone on ahead with some of the boys.
“We don’t exactly know,” Nan replied. “Since we have Baby May with us, mother and daddy haven’t made up their minds. I guess we’ll go away somewhere.”
“We’re going to the seashore,” said May.
“We’ve been there—lots of times,” Nan said.
“I like the seashore!” murmured Flossie. “We went there and played in the sand.”
“And Flossie fell into the water!” added Freddie, anxious to tell all the news.
“So did you fall in, too!” countered Flossie.
“Yes, we both fell in!” laughed her twin brother, shaking his head of golden hair. “It was lots of fun.”
“Well, I want to go swimming in the ocean,” said May, laughing at the smaller Bobbsey twins, “but I don’t exactly want to fall in. I suppose Baby May is too young to be taken to the seashore,” she added, for by this time every one in Lakeport knew about the little foundling who had been left on the Bobbsey doorstep.
“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed Nan. “But we’ll go away somewhere, I’m sure. Good-bye, May!”
“Good-bye,” May answered, as she turned down her street.
“I’m going to ask mother if I can wheel Baby May out in the baby carriage,” said Flossie, as she and her sister and brother neared home.
“You’ll have to be very careful, and stay right in front of the house,” cautioned Nan. “We don’t want any more runaways.”
“I’ll be careful,” promised Flossie.
But when they reached the house and went clattering up the steps, Mrs. Bobbsey came softly out of the door with a hand raised to stop them.
“Hush!” she whispered. “Don’t make any noise!”
“What’s the matter?” asked Nan, in a low voice.
“Baby May is sick,” Mrs. Bobbsey replied. “The doctor has been here, and the poor little thing has just gone to sleep. Don’t make any noise!”
CHAPTER XVFREDDIE SEES SOMETHING
With hushed voices and walking on tiptoes, the smaller Bobbsey twins and Nan entered the house. Mrs. Bobbsey closed the door softly after them.
“Where is she? Where is Baby May?” asked Flossie.
“May I look at her?” asked Freddie soberly.
“Not now, dears,” their mother answered. “She has just fallen asleep, and I don’t want her to awaken. You may see her after she has had her nap—that is, if she is well enough.”
“Is she very sick?” Nan wanted to know. “It must have come on suddenly, for she was all right when we went to school this morning.”
“Yes, it was sudden,” Mrs. Bobbsey answered. “She was taken with a spasm after you left, and I had to telephone for the doctor.”
“What did he say?” Nan asked, while Flossie and Freddie, hardly breathing so anxious were they to make no noise, waited for the answer.
“He said he thought it was something she had eaten, and he gave me some medicine for her. After she took it she fell asleep. She is up in my room now.”
“Is anybody with her?” asked Nan. “We got out of school a little earlier on account of Bert speaking his piece.”
“Dinah is sitting beside Baby May,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “But what do you mean about getting out earlier on account of Bert speaking his piece? I hope he didn’t fail or cut up or—”
“Oh, no,hewas all right,” softly laughed Nan. “It was Sammie Todd. He fell out of the window—”
“Fell out of the window!” exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey, and then she suddenly lowered her voice for fear of waking Baby May. “Was he hurt?” she whispered.
“No,” chuckled Nan, and then she told what had happened. “I’ll go up and sit by the baby,” she added, when she had finished the story.
“All right, then Dinah can come down,” Mrs. Bobbsey said. “You and Flossie go out and play, Freddie,” she added to the younger twins. “But don’t make any noise.”
“I’ll play with my paper dolls—they don’t make a sound,” decided Flossie.
“And I’ll take my little cart with the rubber tires on the wheels—that doesn’t make any noise, either,” said Freddie.
“Why can’t you give my family a ride in the cart?” suggested Flossie. “The children haven’t had a ride for a long time.” By children, she of course meant her paper dolls.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” answered Freddie. “We’ll pretend the cart is a trolley car and the children can ride on it. Only they have to pay fare. Little stones will do for money.”
And so it was arranged.
With the younger twins thus safely amusing themselves, Nan could spend her time with the baby.
She went quietly up to the room where Dinah sat beside the bed on which little May was lying.
“De honey lamb is gettin’ bettah,” whispered Dinah. “I kin tell by de way she breeves. Dat doctor man’s medicine done her a powerful sight ob good! But don’t wake her up. Let her sleep! Sleep’s de best when a baby’s sick.”
“Yes,” agreed Nan, in a whisper, and then she sat silent beside the bed.
Baby May was a beautiful picture to look upon as she slept—a beautiful picture, but just a little sad, Nan thought. For the little child seemed friendless and alone in the world, no one, seemingly, knowing where her father and mother were. No one ever to have cared for her save the queer old woman with the green umbrella!
“I wonder where that woman is now,” thought Nan, as she listened to the breathing of Baby May. As Dinah had said, her “breeves” were quieter, now that the medicine had its effect. But she still looked ill, Nan thought, as she tenderly touched one dimpled hand with a finger.
Outside in the yard below the bedroom window Flossie and Freddie could be heard at their play. They made only a little noise—not enough to waken the baby. Nan heard them and smiled, then she almost laughed as she thought of how Sam had fallen into the barrel of water.
The baby stirred uneasily in her sleep and cried faintly. Mrs. Bobbsey came quickly up the stairs and appeared in the room.
“If she is waking I must give her some more medicine,” she said.
Baby May awoke with a pitiful, fretful sick cry, and she wailed more loudly as she became more widely awake. It was hard work to make her take the medicine, but at least she swallowed some, and then she cried harder than ever.
“Poor little dear!” murmured Nan. “She must be terribly sick!”
“Oh, perhaps not,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “Little babies cry very hard for only a slight illness. The doctor did not seem to think it was anything serious. But he is coming in again.”
“Shall I take her out in the carriage?” offered Nan.
“Oh, no. She must stay in the house,” her mother answered.
Flossie and Freddie came creeping up the stairs, having left their play at the sound of the baby’s cries.
“Is she all right now?” asked Flossie. “Could I take her out?”
“She is far from being all right,” answered Mrs. Bobbsey. “Better run down and play some more, little twins. Nan and I will look after Baby May.”
“She sounds all right,” observed Freddie. “She’s making a lot of noise,” for the infant was crying hard.
“All babies have to cry,” wisely remarked Flossie, as she went downstairs with her brother. “You cried when you were little.”
“I don’t ’member it,” said Freddie.
The doctor came again that evening soon after supper. He carefully looked the baby over and, after sitting in his chair and appearing to be in deep thought, he asked:
“Has she ever had the jaundice?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Bobbsey answered. “You see, she isn’t our baby, exactly. She was left on our doorstep, and what she may have had and gotten over I don’t know.”
“Um—yes,” remarked the doctor. “Well, it looks to me as if she were going to have a touch of the jaundice; she’s getting a bit yellow. I’ll give her some new medicine,” and he began to write on one of his prescription blanks.
“What’s jaundice, Mother?” asked Nan, when the doctor was gone. “Did I ever have it?”
“Yes, you had it, and you turned as yellow as saffron, so Dinah said. As a rule, it isn’t anything serious. Little babies often have it. Their stomachs get out of order. But I will need to have this medicine brought from the drug store.”
“I’ll get it,” offered Bert.
“I’ll go with you,” said Nan.
“We’ll go, too,” chimed in Flossie and Freddie.
“No, it’s too late,” said their father, for, though it was not yet dark, night was fast coming on.
However, it was not too late for Bert and Nan to go to the drug store, which was only a few blocks away, and out they started. Bert had some money saved up, and he treated his sister to an ice-cream cone while they waited for the medicine to be prepared.
It was when the twins were on their way home that Bert saw Nan stop, turn around, and look back several times.
“What’s the matter?” he finally asked.
“I thought I saw some one following us,” she answered.
“Some one coming after us, do you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Who was it—Danny Rugg?” asked Bert. “He isn’t mean any more. He used to follow you and throw stones at you, but he doesn’t any more.”
“No, it wasn’t Danny Rugg,” Nan answered.
“Who then?”
“It was an old woman.”
“An old woman!” exclaimed Bert. “Do you mean it was the same one who left Baby May?”
“I couldn’t be sure about that,” replied Nan, once more glancing back over her shoulder. “But it was some old woman. She has been following us for two blocks.”
“Wait a minute—we’ll fool her the way detectives do!” exclaimed Bert, not explaining how he happened to know anything about detectives.
“What you going to do?” asked Nan.
“We’ll turn the next corner, and then we’ll hide in a doorway,” Bert explained. “If any old woman is following us she’ll think we kept right on and we can see who she is.”
“Oh, I know, like playing tag,” said Nan.
So the children turned the next corner quickly, and then, swinging back, hid themselves in a doorway. They waited, but no one followed them. They waited some little time longer. Then Bert stepped out and looked back down the street from which they had turned.
“No one’s coming,” he said. “I guess you didn’t see anybody, Nan.”
“Yes, I did,” she insisted.
When the twins reached home with the medicine, and told their parents about the matter, Mr. Bobbsey said:
“I don’t believe it was the same old woman. She doesn’t want to be found out, that’s certain; so she wouldn’t come back to the same town in which she deserted the baby. It was some other old woman, Nan.”
“Well, perhaps it was, Daddy,” said Bert’s sister.
After that they thought no more about it. The new medicine seemed to be just what Baby May needed, for she was much better the next day. She really had the jaundice, and her skin grew ever so yellow, causing the Bobbsey twins to fear for the worst. But their mother laughed at their alarm and said Baby May would soon be better.
And she was. A few days later she could be taken out in the yard and allowed to sleep in the hammock beneath the overshadowing trees.
Mrs. Bobbsey placed Baby May in the hammock, where the little thing crowed and cooed in her happiness at feeling well again. Freddie was with his mother. Nan had taken Flossie down to a store to buy her a new hair ribbon. Bert had gone fishing with some of the boys.
“De telafoam am ringin’,” announced Dinah, coming to the back door and calling to Mrs. Bobbsey. “Somebody done want yo’, Mrs. Bobbsey.”
“I’ll come right in, Dinah. Freddie, you watch Baby May a little while, and don’t swing the hammock.”
“No’m, I won’t,” Freddie promised.
He sat beside the baby, smiling at her, for she was so pretty and cute, and letting May catch hold of one of his fingers. Then, as Freddie looked toward the street he saw something—or rather, some one. And that some one was an old lady in a faded shawl. Freddie insisted afterward that the shawl was faded.
At any rate, an old lady passed the Bobbsey house, and when she saw a baby swinging in a hammock in the side yard, with a little boy sitting beside the hammock, a strange look came over her face.
“Oh!” softly murmured Freddie. “Oh, it’s the same old woman!”
As he spoke thus to himself the old woman put her hand on the closed gate, and seemed about to push it open.
“Don’t come in here! Don’t you come in!” screamed Freddie, in such a loud voice that he frightened Baby May and she began to cry.
“Don’t you come in!” Freddie shouted again.