CHAPTER XXITHE FUNNIES
Nathalie, with a limpid brightness in her eyes, and a deep pink in her cheeks, was whirling about—doing a one-step—with her soldier friend, Van Darrell, who she had discovered was “a love of a dancer.” It was the night of the second Liberty Tea, this time held at the Sunset Hill House. The affair had not only proved a glorious success, each one of the performers doing his or her part even better than at the Tea-House, but it had also netted quite a pile of silver coins, to the delight of the children, and added several new pupils to Philip’s French class at the hotel, besides giving him a few private ones.
The informal little hop at the end of the performance contributed to the pleasure of the evening, proving a real joy-time to Nathalie, who loved dancing. The girl had laughingly asserted to Nita that she had fairly worn her slippers to a thread.
Compelled from sheer fatigue to rest, the young couple, in order to escape from the heat of the ballroom, had sought refuge in one of the little card-rooms opening from the long corridor. It was here, as they happily chatted, that Van suddenly made the announcement,somewhat regretfully, “Do you know, Miss Blue Robin, that this is my last evening with you and the mountains, for I leave for Camp Mills to-morrow morning?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” exclaimed the girl with a note of disappointment in her voice, for she wasdisappointedas well as surprised, for, somehow, she had taken a liking to this soldier-boy, with the frank, open gaze, who could be very merry at times, and then again unusually silent and grave. “We shall miss you at our Liberty Cheers, and Mr. de Brie, I know, will be lonely without his soldier ‘matey.’”
“I shall miss you all,” rejoined Van slowly, “for you girls have given me the joy-time of the summer, and I shall be sorry to say good-by to you all, especially you.” Van looked appealingly into the girl’s brown eyes, as if he wanted her to assure him that she would miss him.
Nathalie flushed a little, as she replied, “Well, it has been a great pleasure to meet you. I can assure you, however, that I never thought of meeting one of Uncle Sam’s soldiers when I came up here to these White Hills.”
“I would like to tell you,” continued Van,—he gave his companion an odd look as he spoke,—“that I know a girl by the name of Blue Robin. She’s an awfully good sort,—” again that funny little gleam in his eyes. “I had a letter from her a short time ago. It was thekind of a letter to set a fellow thinking. I would like to show it to you sometime,” he added hesitatingly.
“Why, isn’t that funny! Are you sure her name is like mine?” questioned Nathalie in a whirl of amazement. Van nodded and smiled with some amusement, as he assured Nathalie that he was quite positive her name was Blue Robin. But, as the girl continued to ply him with questions about this girl who, he insisted, bore her name, his answers grew evasive, until finally Nathalie desisted from her questions, in a maze of mystery.
Presently they were in the ballroom again, and while taking another turn Van asked his partner if she would answer his letter if he wrote to her. Nathalie grew red with embarrassment at this direct question, for, as she had been whirling about, it had suddenly occurred to her what a queer thing it was for Van to say he would show her another girl’s letter.
Somehow the thought jarred her serenity, and, not knowing what reply to make, she finally settled the doubt in her mind by saying that if he wrote to her she would answer him if her mother thought best. For, happily, Nathalie was a real mother-girl, and, when in doubt about anything, always went to her for advice.
On the way home—Mrs. Van Vorst had sent them in her car—she had a disappointed feeling. She wished Van had not asked her to write to him, or told her about that other Blue Robin, for—Odear! she had heard of boys who would coax a girl to write to them, and then show their letters and make a boast of them. Ah, well, she sighed regretfully, she had not supposed he was that kind.
A few days later Nathalie was sitting under the trees before a small sewing-table, writing a letter to Helen. Presently she laid down her pen, and glanced over at her mother, who, while resting in the hammock near, had fallen asleep. Then, so as not to awaken her, almost in a whisper, she read:
“Dear Helen:
“I am going to call this letter ‘The Funnies,’ for I have some awfully funny things I want you to know, but first, I must tell you about my liberty kids, as I have promised to do many times. Danny is fourteen, a regular street-gamin, steeped and double-dyed in the ways of the slums and the habits of a newsie. There is an alert sharpness about him at times that baffles me, and yet his freckled, peanut face, with its twinkling blue eyes, has an open, merry expression that assures me he has the makings of a splendid man in him. I call him my handy man, for he not only does all the laundering for the children, but can cook, and wait on the table in fine style.
“He is a loyal little chap, so watchful of Sheila, and always tells the truth. He used to belong to the Junior Police Force,—he’s awfully proud of that,—and I think that has kept him on the square. I have an idea that his parents must have been refined people, for, when cleaning his room one day, his bag flew open—it was standing in a corner—and a little blue book fell out, scattering a lot of letters about, and a picture.The picture was a miniature of a young woman. She had a lovely face, it reminded me of Sheila, and her eyes had the same laughing glints in them that Danny has in his. The blue book seemed to be a diary, for on it in gilt letters was the name, Sheila Gloom.
“I have told you how quaint and interesting Sheila is, and lots about Jean, so I am going to tell you about Tony. He reminds me of one of Raphael’s cherubs, with his soft, liquid brown eyes, his red lips and ivory-tinted skin, and his wavy black hair that is always in a frowse. He adores me, and has an odd, sweet little trick of taking my hand, and then bending down and kissing it, in such a gallant way that he makes me think of the knights of mediæval days, who knelt to their ladies fair. And I love to hear him say, ‘I lova you, Mees Natta,’ for his voice is so soft and musical. But alas, he is not as open as Danny, and will tellteeny, teenywhite lies, while looking right up into your face with such a cherubic, innocent expression, that you have the feeling that you are the guilty one, and not he.
“Did I tell you in my last letter what good friends the little old lady in the red house and I have become? I run in there quite often. Sometimes I read to her, or hold her yarn, and for two days I nursed her when she was ill. I am a great chatterbox, for, O dear! I just talk about everything to her, but she says my chats cheer her up. But, you see, she keeps asking me questions, first about one person of our household, and then another. She loves to have me tell her about Janet, but she doesn’t seem to like Cynthia very much.
“I am getting used to her queer ways now, and can tell, by the gleam in her gray eyes,—sometimes they snap with humor,—the mood she is in, for, frankly speaking, at times she is most cantankerous. I feel sorry for her then, for I imagine that some greatsorrow has come into her life and soured the sweetness of it. She is always greatly interested in Mr. de Brie, and I have promised to take him in sometime to see her.
“Oh, I must not forget to tell you that Dick is with us for a few days—on a furlough. And mother,—well, she goes about like a glorified saint. Now come the funnies. Cynthia Loretto’s young man is here. His name is Buddie, but he looks anything but a bud, although Cyn always speaks of him as if he had just gone into long trousers.
“He is queerly interesting, for he sits and looks at Cynthia in a meek, adoring way, while his big solemn blue eyes keep up a blinking that have made the kiddies—you know boys always feature peculiarities—dub him, ‘The Blink.’ As to other details, he’s insignificant-looking, with a shock of yellow hair that gives him an unkempt, Hunnish appearance, and a sharp, ferret-like nose with an inquisitive tip on it that is sunburned to a bright red. Imagine!
“Now for funny number one. The Blink—we all unconsciously call him that—and the make-believe lady—that’s the boys’ name for Cynthia—have monopolized the hammock on the veranda ever since the gentleman’s arrival. It has been annoying, for they—Well, they spoon, and it gets on one’s nerves, and after a while these lovers are the star performers on the stage.
“The other morning I caught Danny and Tony fooling with the hammock. They said they were fixing it so it wouldn’t slip down. That evening every one had disappeared but your lonesome and the lovers, who were in the hammock with arms intertwined, with the usual turtle-dove cooing.
“All at once I heard a queer sound, and looked in the direction from which it proceeded, to see two pairsof legs sweeping through the air with a wild, frantic clawing, while shrill cries and a swear-word informed me that the hammock had turned over, and that the pair of love-makers were standing on their heads. I tried not to laugh, but a wee little giggle slipped out, and then I flew to the rescue and turned down, or turned up, Cynthia’s skirts, and then gave a helping hand to The Blink, who rose to his feet with a wild, bewildered stare in his blinking eyes. Then I flew, for if I hadn’t, I should have collapsed with merriment, for, as it was, I was stuffing my handkerchief in my mouth to keep in my laughter.
“As I flew through the hall queer sounds arrested my flight, and there, on the floor, were those two kids, Danny and Tony, rolling about in exultant joy, while emitting squeals of delighted glee. And then I knewwhythey had been fooling with the hammock that morning. I was smothering with laughter, but grabbed each one by an ear and marched them to mother, with appropriate explanations, leaving her to administer the punishment they deserved. Naturally Cynthia blamed me, insisting that I had encouraged the boys in their mischief, and hasn’t spoken to me since.
“Funny number two. I have told you of Cynthia’s obsession for searching for the valuable thing. Well, evidently she has imparted her obsession to her lover, for we find him poking around into all sorts of out-of-the-way places, that annoys mother extremely. The other morning Mrs. Van Vorst sent me to the studio with a message for Cynthia. The door was open, and, to my amazement, I saw the lady in question hoisted up on a ladder,—The Blink was holding it,—poking about among the rafters of the attic.
“As I stood wondering what she was doing, I saw her suddenly duck her head, and then, to my stupefaction,the Make-believe Lady was perched up there on that ladder like a poll-parrot, for her head was as bare as a billiard-ball, while her hair that was, was swaying gracefully on a nail some distance above.
“Suddenly discovering her nudity, she made a frenzied grab, not at the suspended wig, but at her skirts, hurriedly throwing them over her head, as if to hide its bareness, and then made frantic attempts to unhitch the black hairy thing that wiggled and wobbled just out of reach of her arm. At this moment Mr. Buddie—patience was written in his drooping pose, as he clung to that ladder—raised his head. His face immediately became the hue of his nose, for, alas, Cynthia, in her hurried endeavor to cover her denuded poll, had raised not only her dress-skirt but her under-skirts, and two black-hosed legs, lean and lank, stood forth from beneath her short, beruffled skirt. I waited to see no more, but hastily made my exit, to explode my mirth in the depths of my pillow on the bed in my room.
“Funny number three. My bedroom was next to the mystery-room, and then comes Cynthia’s,—she and Janet room together. There is a door between, which is generally closed, unless it is very warm. The other evening we were just getting ready for bed, when I suddenly remembered something I wanted to tell Janet, so stepped to the door, which was open. The room was dimly lighted by a single candle, and Cynthia, who likes to undress in the dark, was on her knees by the bed, saying her prayers, while Janet sat near, taking off her shoes.
“As I turned away so as not to disturb Cynthia at her devotions, I suddenly spied a man’s face peering in the transom over the door. Before I could cry out, Cynthia arose, and, carelessly glancing up, sawthe face. With a wild scream she seized one of Janet’s shoes lying on the floor, and sent it flying at the head peeping over the door.
“I gasped, for it struck the man square on the nose. Then I heard a suppressed expletive, followed by a jarring crash, a general smashing sound, and then a dead silence. I gave one prolonged scream and rushed to the door. You can guess the rest, for Dick, mother, and even the boys had heard the racket, and a moment later, when they appeared on the scene, it was to find me trying to extricate the figure of a man, in a bath-robe, with a somewhat dazed expression on his meek, bewildered face,—that would have been pitiful if it had not been so ludicrous—from the débris of broken chairs and a turned-over table.
“And his eye, well, it was already beginning to swell; for Cynthia had been game, Dick said, and had not only given her lover a swelled nose, but a swelled eye as well. O dear! it was comical to see the way she glared at the poor creature, meekly trying to explain that he was only trying to peer into the mystery-room, for he seems to think that the valuable thing is hidden in that room, and had gotten as far as he could get—into the wrong room. Mother says she is glad it happened and hopes he will now stop his prowling.
“Now for funny number four. After the excitement caused by Mr. Buddie’s efforts to peep into the mystery-room quietness reigned for a while, until the other night. I was terribly tired, for I had been doing the kids’ ironing, and my feet ached so that I carried a pail of hot water to my room to soak them. I am on the upper floor now, near the boys, for Cynthia insisted that they made such a noise at night that they kept her awake. But everything that goes wrong she lays on their little shoulders, so I have mounted guard, to avoid any future unpleasantness. As I sat there,trying to make up my mind to plunge my feet in that hot water, I heard a queer sound.
“There has been a report lately that burglars are in the neighborhood, for several of the ladies at the Sunset Hill House have missed articles of jewelry. Somehow that noise brought it to my mind, and I jumped up,—I was in my bare feet,—quickly turned off the light, stepped to the window, and poked my head out, and—if there wasn’t a man on the roof of the veranda, creeping stealthily towards the mystery-room, directly under mine. O dear! and its two windows were both unlatched,—one of the boys had discovered that,—but no one had dared to break the rule and go in to fasten them. In a moment he had begun to work at the shutters, very cautiously,—he had a flashlight in his hand,—stopping every moment or so to listen, to see if any one had heard him.
“My heart bounded into my throat, but while I was making up my mind what to do, there came a wrench, and I knew that in a moment or so that man would be in the room! Desperate with fright, I flung about, and then my glance fell on that pail of water. Without further ado I seized it, pushed it softly out of the window, hurriedly turned it upside down, and then hurled the pail after the water. There came a smothered sound, a half-cry and groan, and then a funny, swishy noise.
“As I peered down through the darkness I saw a black object slipping down the roof, and heard a sudden imprecation, as it rolled over the edge. There came a splashy sound, a deep groan, and then I knew that the thief had fallen off the roof, and landed in a hogshead of water that always stood under the veranda by the kitchen porch.
“Now came a fierce barking, mingled with growls, and I realized that Jean’s little dog, Tige, was chewingup the thief. The next instant I made a mad rush for the door, to see Dick flying down the stairs in his bath-robe, followed by mother and the boys!
“I plunged blindly forward, managed to grab him by the arm, and, between hysterical gasps, explained what I had seen, and begged him not to go out for fear the man would shoot him. But Dick shook me off like a feather, and, although mother tearfully seconded my plea, he was about to dash into the darkness when Cynthia rushed up and handed him her revolver,—Janet says she always sleeps with one under her pillow. The boys—each little chap, even Jean, was armed to the teeth, Danny with his policeman’s club, Tony with an iron bar, and Jean with a mountain-staff—lost no time in following him, with mother close behind.
“I grabbed a chair—it could fell a man, at least—and followed mother, while Janet, Cynthia, and Sheila alternately yelled and wept as they sat huddled on the stairs, each one expecting to be shot. But by the time I reached the veranda Dick appeared, dragging a miserable-looking little object by the collar of his pajamas,—for his trousers had been about chewed off by Tige,—with rivulets of water oozing over his face, who was abjectly pleading and howling that he was no thief.
“But Dick was obdurate, and as we all stared with bulging eyes, he marched him up to Cynthia. As he shook him fiercely by the collar, as one would shake a dog, he cried, ‘Here, Miss Cynthia, here’s the thief, your estimable friend and lover, Mr. Buddie!’ I leave the rest for you to imagine. Mr. Buddie left the next morning.
“Now good-by. Be sure and tell me more about yourself and your work when you write again, for I am anxious to know everything that happens to you,girl of my heart, for you are a brave dear, and I miss you more than I can express.
“Again with love,“Nathalie Page.”
“Again with love,“Nathalie Page.”
CHAPTER XXIITHE MAN IN THE WOODS
“Oh, Nathalie, what do you think? They have sent for a detective up at the hotel!” The speaker was Nita, who, with her friend, was sitting on the veranda of Seven Pillars, a few afternoons subsequent to Nathalie’s sending her letter to Helen.
“A detective?” echoed Nathalie, looking at Nita in surprise. “What for?”
“Why, about those robberies. I told you some time ago how the guests were missing jewelry and other small articles of value. It has been kept very quiet, but mother heard this morning that the manager is getting worried as to who is the thief, and has sent for a secret-service man to come up and ferret out the mystery. But, Blue Robin,” she added, with a more serious expression, “those school friends of yours are not going to take any more French lessons.”
“And pray, why not?” demanded Nathalie. Then she ejaculated, “Dear me, what have we done to offend them now?”
“I don’t know. But, Nathalie, did you notice the night of the Liberty Tea at the hotel, how they sat in a corner, whispering most of the time? I had an uncanny feeling that they were making unkind remarks about us, not thatI care, for I don’t like them anyway,” added Nita disgustedly.
“I’m sorry,” said Nathalie regretfully, “for I hate to have Mr. de Brie lose any pupils. I imagine they were angry at the last Liberty Cheer, for, you remember, when they joined us we all grew very quiet. Not that any one meant to be rude, but they are so snobby that they cast a cloud over one’s fun.”
“Well, I guess Philip can get along without them,” returned Nita confidently. “Did you notice that he was quite the lion the other evening? He cast the Count quite into the shade, for every one fell in love with him.”
“Yes, he can be very charming,” acquiesced Nathalie, “for he is so distinguished-looking in his uniform of a British lieutenant. Mother says that in his manners he combines the fineness of an American gentleman with the courtesy and charm of a Frenchman. I am sorry about his arm, for the doctor says he will always have to carry it stiffly.
“But, Nita,” continued Nathalie, “I just adore that big doctor friend of yours. What do you think? I was worrying about his calling so many times on Philip, for I was afraid that my ‘drop in the bucket’would not be enough to pay the bill, and of course Philip wouldn’t have enough from his earnings to pay it. Finally I wrote the doctor to send his bill to me. And oh, Nita, he wrote me a love of a letter, in which he said that he never charged girls anything. And as for Mr. de Brie, he considered it his great privilege to be allowed to give his services to a man who had given the best of himself to give liberty to the world. Oh, I think he is just the dearest old thing!” ended the girl enthusiastically.
“Oh, I knew he would dothat,” answered Nita, with a wise little smile, “for he has the best heart in the world.”
“But listen,” went on her companion earnestly. “Janet told Philip about it, excusing herself by saying that he was worrying over the bill, and that she wanted to relieve his mind.”
“Of course she did,” giggled Nita, “for one can see with half an eye what is going on in that direction for it is a clear case of ‘spoons,’ all right.”
“Do you really think so?” cried Nathalie with sudden animation. “Why, I suggested something of that kind to mother, and she said I was a silly. Well, they were made for one another. Why, Philip just adores the ground she walks on, and as for Janet, it’s just a guessing game as to how she feels. But, to go on with my tale,” continued the girl. “As soon as Philip heard what Janet had to tell, he came straight to me,and, with a voice that fairly shook with emotion, said that my kindness to him would be one of the unforgettable things in his life. Of course I had to make light of the matter, for I saw the poor fellow was terribly affected over it. Oh, I do hope things will brighten for him this fall, for he is going to the city, to make an attempt to get some pupils to tutor until his health is better. You know,” she added, dropping her voice, “I think there must have been some mystery about his grandmother, or his family, for although he loves to come down here and be one of us,—he says it is so homey with us,—he never says a word about her or his family.”
Nita had been reading to Miss Whipple, and Nathalie had been tying up sweet peas, one morning a few days after Nita’s news about the detective, and the two girls were on their homeward way, when Nathalie suddenly exclaimed with a little burst of laughter, “Oh, Nita, I have something funny to tell you.”
“Well, tell it to me then,” rejoined her companion somewhat dolefully, “for although I have something to tell you, alas, it is anything but funny.”
“Oh, is it about Philip?” cried Nathalie, a sudden premonition of evil darkening the golden lights of her eyes. “Or are any more of the girls going to give up taking French lessons?”
“It is worse thanthat,” answered Nita, with such grave import in her voice that Nathalie stared at herwith big eyes as she cried, “Oh, Nita! do hurry and tell me. Have those girls—”
“Yes, those girls, your friends—”
“Please don’t call them my friends,” pleaded poor Nathalie tremulously, “for they are anything but friends.”
“So it seems,” nodded Nita dryly, “for they have told—well, just about every one in the house—that they suspect that Mr. de Brie is the thief who has been robbing the hotel. You know he has been giving them private lessons. Nelda declares that she believes Philip took her watch,—it was lying on the table when she left the room to answer a ’phone call from the office. Justine was out riding with the Count. When Nelda returned the watch was gone. Five other girls came to me this morning and told me that they were not going to take any more lessons.
“These girls have circulated all over the house,” continued Nita gloomily, “that Philip is an impostor; that you picked him up without knowing anything about him and that he is not a British soldier at all. O dear! how hateful people can act! And the clerk of the hotel—Well, he informed me this morning that the Profile House had sent word that they did not care to have Philip speak to their guests, as people were tired of hearing about the war.”
“Nita, this is terrible! Oh, I know Philip is not an impostor,” protested Nathalie with a dismayed face.“Why, Nita, he showed me a letter written to him by a soldier at the front, and he called him Lieutenant de Brie. And where could he have gotten his uniform if he is an impostor? Oh, I just believe those horrid, hateful girls have made the whole thing up.” Nathalie stopped, suddenly remembering that she was not speaking kindly, and not living up to her motto. She gave a long sigh, and then asked, “But, Nita, have you heard anything more about the detective coming up from the city?”
“Yes. Oh! there he is now, coming down the walk,” cried Nita, lowering her voice. Then she added, with a laugh, “Talk of the angels and you’ll hear the flutter of their wings.”
“Well, he doesn’t look much like an angel,” answered Nathalie, her eyes lighting humorously, as she watched a stout, red-faced man with a sandy moustache coming down the path towards them.
As the gentleman under discussion approached the girls he lifted his hat courteously, as he said, “I beg your pardon, but could you tell me how I can reach the top of Garnet? I understand that there are several trails up the mountain, but could you tell me which one would be the best one to ascend?”
The girls made no reply for a moment, assailed by the miserable fear that the man was going up the mountain to trail Philip. Then Nathalie, with an effort, turned and pointed down the road, explaining ina few words that one of the trails started in near the Grand View road.
As the man thanked her and walked slowly on, Nathalie drew a deep breath, while a troubled light shone in Nita’s eyes, as she cried, “Oh, do you suppose he is going to arrest Philip?” She spoke in a half-whisper.
“Arrest Philip? Why, the idea of such a thing! No, of course not,” Nathalie answered determinedly, as if she was not going to allow herself to become frightened. “Philip has committed no crime. That man can’t arrest him unless he has some evidence, and where is he going to get it?”
Nita made no reply, and the two girls, depressed by the unpleasant occurrence, and the vague fear that trouble was brewing for their friend, sat down in one of the summer-houses near the board-walk. Here they sat in silence for a few moments, and then Nathalie, as if determined to throw off the depression that assailed her, cried, “Oh, Nita, I have not told you the funny thing.”
“Well, tell it to me, then; for I think it will take something real comical to get me out of the blues.”
“It is about Tony,” explained Nathalie. “You know the child is obsessed with the desire to have me find the mystery thing. Well, the other day Danny came running to tell me that Tony was rolling on the floor with the colic. I was alarmed, for I immediatelythought he had been eating green apples, the way Sheila did the other day, and mother had to poultice her with mustard.
“I flew to his room and there was the little fellow moaning and squirming about, apparently in great pain. When he saw me he immediately begged me to put a mustard plaster on his stomach. I was surprised, for generally children will suffer quite a little before they will have one on. I found some old linen,—mother was out,—hurried down to the kitchen closet, and got the mustard-box.
“But when I opened it, imbedded in the yellow, powdery stuff, was something that glittered strangely. I shook the box, and out rolled a little gold coin. I carefully examined it, and immediately saw that it was an ancient Roman coin, for although one side was so blurred and worn with age that I could not decipher anything on it, the other side bore the name and head of Cæsar within a circle of fine gold beading.
“Something immediately told me that the coin belonged to Tony, and that he had placed it there so I would find it, for, not long ago he lost something from his vest-pocket,—he keeps all of his treasures sewed up in that old vest. Danny had helped him look for it,—it had slipped out of a hole,—and after it had been found he came and told me about it, describing it as a little round piece of gold, the kind that you see, he said, up in the museum at Central Park.
“I made the plaster and carried it, with the coin, up to Tony, but before I put on the poultice I showed him the gold piece and asked if it was not his. But the little chap, with a bland and innocent expression, vowed that he had never seen it. No amount of coaxing or persuasion could make him confess to the truth. You know that is the great trouble I have with Tony, he will tellteeny little stories.” Nathalie sighed dolefully.
“Although I was sure that he didn’t have any colic, and that the whole thing was just a trick to get me to look in the mustard-box to find the coin, I put the plaster on, and made him stay in bed, thinking that when it got to burning that he would ’fess up.’ But he didn’t, and although he howled and writhed with the sting of it,—while I was reading him a lecture on the sin of lying,—I told the story of Ananias and Sapphira,—he stuck it out. Then, finally, my conscience wouldn’t let me torture the boy any longer, and I took the plaster off. That night while he was asleep I found his old vest, and after putting the coin in the pocket, sewed it up.”
After the girls had laughed over the incident, Nathalie started homeward, her mind full of dismal forebodings in regard to Philip. “Oh, I wish I could prove in some way that he is not an impostor. But suppose he should be?” The girl came to a sudden halt. Then, with her eyes full of a strange brightlight, she went on. No, she just knew that Philip was good and true.
“But I must do something,” she half moaned. “For how dreadfully he will feel if he thinks that people believe him a thief; and he will soon know something is wrong, when all the girls stop taking lessons. But Nita and I will have to pretend that the season is drawing to a close,—as it is. But, O dear! he does need the money so much. And Janet,—how it will hurt her, for I am sure she cares—” the girl halted at the thought, for it seemed too sacred a thing even to whisper to herself. Then she was busy again, trying to think how she could prove that her friend was what he claimed to be.
As she unconsciously uttered her thoughts aloud, by some mysterious process of thought, or strange correlation between mind and matter, before her mental vision flashed the picture of a dark wood, lighted by gleams of moonlight that filtered through the tall tree-tops. In the foreground of a forest-gloomed retreat, in front of a high rock, a man was digging in the ground, plainly seen by the yellow flickerings from a burning torch that had been stuck upright in the ground, a few feet away.
Although the girl reasoned and tried to convince herself that there was no possible connection between that man and the thief at the hotel, she could not drive the impression from her mind. On going home shequestioned Jean, and found that he, too, still vividly remembered the incident.
That night Nathalie could not sleep, for she was haunted by the picture of the man in the woods, although she hurled every name she could think of at herself for being so foolish. The next night again found her sleepless, but when morning dawned, as if pursued and driven by the haunting vision, she called the boys together, and stated the circumstances to them. She did not tell her mother, asshewould say that she was losing her reason, and, well, she was determined to find out—something.
Early the following morning, before any one had gone through the woods, Nathalie and the boys met Nita at the Red Trail; she had been taken into their confidence, and accordingly was weirdly and thrillingly excited. They soon reached the seat-tree, and then, after locating the big rock, they all began to dig.
They had dug for almost an hour, by Nita’s wristwatch, and then, feeling tired, and on the verge of absolute despair, were talking about giving the whole thing up, when all at once Jean’s little terrier began to scratch in the ground on one side of the rock, and partly under it. Jean gave a queer little cry as he watched Tige, and the next moment had driven the dog away, and had begun to dig as furiously as he could with his one hand, in the place where the dog had been scratching up the earth.
Nathalie watched him listlessly, for she had abandoned all hope, and felt utterly weary, too, after her two sleepless nights. Suddenly Jean gave a loud shout, and then a moment later they had all rushed to his side, and presently were boring down into the earth under the rock as quickly as they could, to unearth in a few moments a gold chain. Nita gave a loud scream as she snatched it from Danny, for she immediately recognized it as belonging to an old lady at the hotel, who had been bemoaning its loss. A few moments’ digging, and then, with pale faces, in repressed excitement, they replaced the chain in the hole, covered it with dirt, so as to make it appear that the spot had not been disturbed, and then they started home, stopping to rest on the stone ledge of Liberty Fort, while discussing their discovery. It was enough to excite any one, and might mean a great deal to Philip.
Nita was quite insistent at first that they should immediately tell the manager of the hotel what they had seen. But Nathalie demurred, convinced, on second thought, that if the jewelry was found hidden up in the woods, because Philip lived up on the mountain, every one would say that that was sure proof that he was the thief. “No,” declared the girl determinedly, “we can’t do that; but we will have to come up here and watch for the man so we can identify him.” This plan was finally decided upon, and the little party, seething with suppressed excitement underthe weight of their momentous secret, returned home.
That night Nathalie, Danny, and Jean stole up the trail. Strange to say, it was again a moonlight night, the same as a month ago, when the man had been seen by Nathalie and Jean. After finding the seat-tree they all sat down and waited, alternately dozing and waking, but although they remained until the first streaks of gray dawn appeared, nothing happened.
The following night, Jean—Nathalie had put the boy to bed for the day, letting her mother think that he had one of his headaches to which he was subject—and Tony accompanied the girl to the tree. But alas, for the second time nothing came to pass. Nathalie began to be discouraged. Fortunately it rained that night, and, as they could not venture out, they all had a good night’s rest.
The fourth night again found the girl with the boys at her post, oppressed and miserable, for by this time she began to fear that the man in the woods was a snare and a delusion,—something she had dreamed, or else he had gone. But why did he leave that jewelry behind?—for the children had discovered that there were other pieces hidden in that hole, or very near it.
All at once—Nathalie had fallen quite sound asleep—Jean gave her a pinch; he was snuggling up against her, seated on her lap. The girl opened her eyessleepily, rubbed them drowsily, and then stretched them wide, caught by the gleam of a light over by the rock. Yes, the man was there! Her heart leaped excitedly, for he was digging under the rock, just where they had found the jewelry!
With stilled breath, the three figures, hidden by the tree, watched him, Nathalie’s mind keeping up an incessant query as to how she could steal around behind the rock to get a view of his face. Ah, that queer shaking of the head! Who was it that she had seen who had that peculiar nervous affliction? And then, in a sudden revelation, she knew! It was the man who had stared at her so rudely in the post-office, the man who had repaired her automobile. Why, it was the man known asthe Count!
CHAPTER XXIIIA MYSTERY SOLVED
Several hours later, Nathalie, Nita, Sheila, the three boys, and Mrs. Van Vorst were seated in that lady’s sitting-room on the second floor of the Sunset Hill House, overlooking the roof of the front veranda. Nathalie was nervously tapping the floor with her foot, as, with a perplexed, uneasy expression in her eyes, she watched Mr. Grenoble, the secret-service man, who had been employed to fathom the strange mystery of the many jewelry thefts that had occurred at the hotel within the last few weeks.
She had told her story, not only to the detective, but to the manager of the hotel, explaining how she had come to discover the man digging in the woods the night that Sheila had wandered away. She had told also how they had all dug under the rock, to find the pieces of missing jewelry, and how she and the boys had hid in the woods, and finally had seen the man again digging by the rock. She had verified her story in its details, and, although sharply questioned by the detective and the manager, she had stoutly maintained that the man whom she had seen was Mr. Keating, known as the Count. But her intuition immediatelyrevealed to her that they were not inclined to accept her theory as to the identification of the thief.
The manager immediately protested that shemust bemistaken, that his guest was too well known, his position too assured, to identify him in any way with the man at the rock. As the girl realized that her story was doubted, a strange numbness seized her, and she had a paralyzing premonition that not only would her well-founded suspicions prove futile, as well as her long, watchful hours, and her many efforts to clear Philip, but that possibly these things would increase the circumstantial suspicions already directed towards him.
Seeing the apparent uselessness of further conversation the girl rose, oppressed by the dread that if she remained in that room a moment longer she would burst into tears. But no,she would not give up! She would go somewhere and think it all over, to see if there was not some way of ascertaining who the man was. Perhaps she could go again to the woods,—she would try and get behind that rock,—and make sure—
At this moment Sheila, who was standing with Jean by the window, watching the automobiles constantly coming and going in front of the hotel, uttered a sharp cry. As Nathalie turned towards the child as if to still her, she heard her exclaim: “Oh, Jean, there’s the funny ’phone man! See, there he is! Don’t youremember, he’s the man who put the black trumpet on top of his head when he was in the ’phone-box?” Sheila always called the receiver a “black trumpet.”
Nathalie, aroused by the remark, mechanically allowed her glance to follow the direction of the child’s finger, as she pointed towards Mr. Keating, who was coming up the walk leading to the hotel. Unconsciously she bent forward, and with alert eyes watched the man, for she had again seen that peculiar motion of the head that had identified him as the man whom she had seen digging in the woods.
But Sheila’s exclamation had been overheard by the detective, who stepped quickly to the child’s side, crying: “What was that you said, little girl, about a funny ’phone man? Tell me about him.”
The man’s manner was so abrupt and commanding, that Sheila shrank back against Nathalie, and shyly hid her face. But the girl, startled also by Mr. Grenoble’s abruptness, with a quick glance at his face, cried, “Yes, Sheila, tell the gentleman what you saw.” Oh, yes, she remembered now that the two children had told her about this “funny ’phone man” whom they had seen at the hotel one day, but she had paid no attention to their prattle at the time.
Sheila, with a quick upward glance into the girl’s face, as if instantly divining the seriousness of the situation, answered, “Why, that’s the man I saw in the ’phone-box,” again pointing towards the Count,who had stopped to chat with a lady on the walk. “He put the black trumpet right up on top of his head, like this,”—she imitated the man’s motion,—“when he was talking through the ’phone.”
“Did you see him, too?” questioned the detective, turning towards Jean, his eyes suddenly illumined with an odd gleam. Jean nodded silently, and then, seeing that further confirmation was needed, in his odd, hesitating English, repeated the same words, accompanied by the same motion, as the little girl.
The detective nodded absently, still with that odd gleam in his eyes, and then walked hastily towards the door. As he reached it, as if suddenly remembering their former conversation, he turned towards the occupants of the room and, with slow deliberation, said, “Well, ladies, I think our problem is still unsolved; however, I will look into the matter and let you know the result in a few days.” With an abrupt nod he motioned to the manager, whose kindly face was strangely perturbed, as he quickly followed him from the room.
Nathalie and the children, a few mornings after the conference at the Sunset Hill House, were standing in front of the big white Roslinwood barn watching Teddy and Billy, two little black pigs that were the delight of Sheila’s heart. But they were tantalizing joys, for as soon as they caught sight of their admirer, as they peered out of the big barn-door, withtheir bright, bead-like eyes, they would scurry away as quickly as their round, shiny black bodies would permit, greatly to that young lady’s disappointment.
As Sheila ran to gather a roadside nosegay, and the boys hurried homeward, for Philip had promised to teach them some new military tactics in their soldier-drill at the Liberty Fort, Nathalie, beguiled by the calm stillness of the woods, sat down on the seat under the trees where the sign, “Hit the Trail,” showed that was where the path started that led through Lovers’ Lane.
The woods, aglow with the yellow and reds of the maples, were strangely still that beautiful September morning, save for the occasional chirp of some belated songster, or the loud caw of a crow as he signaled to his mates, who were making a noisy clatter in some leafy retreat of the greenwood.
To Nathalie, the crimson branches of the reddening maples, showing vividly bright from among the green leaves of the spruce, fir, oak, or beech, softened with the glow from the silver poplars as they quivered in the wind, seemed like red banners. As they swayed in undulating motion, to her they were flags, curling and beating the air for that which is every man’s right, liberty.
The girl felt a little depressed at the thought that the summer was over, for the crumpled and autumn-hued leaves, as they fell from the trees, or swept by onthe wings of the wind in their dying splendor, seemed to be calling a sad and mournful farewell. Oh, how she would hate to leave these rocky heights that rose in such statuesque grandeur before her, the splendors of the sky with its glory of sunset, the forest gnomes in their crooked and gnarled ugliness, and the green fields, now starred with the yellow beauty of our national flower, the goldenrod!
What an odd summer it had been! So different from what she had expected. How she would miss her beautiful companions on her morning walks, the blue-hazed mountains! And yet she had made friends. Ah, there was the soldier-boy. She wondered if he would write to her. Then there was Janet. Well, she was never going to let her go out of her life, for she was to visit them next winter.
Her eyes saddened as she thought of the Sweet-Pea ladies. Oh, how sorry she would be to bid them good-by, for Miss Whipple seemed to grow frailer every day, and then what would become of poor Miss Mona? And her queer little old friend in the red house? Well, she didn’t suppose that she would ever see her again, for she said that she never wrote to people. Yes, it was depressing to think that you had to meet people you liked, and then go away and just have to forget them, because they passed out of your life.
And the kiddies? She hated to think of their goingback to that slum life again. She wondered if any of the country people up in the mountains would like to take them to live with them, for, yes, Tony and Danny could learn to be very useful. But poor Jean—and Sheila! Then she wondered if her trying to make them Sons of Liberty would help them to be good and honorable men. Sometimes it seemed as if she hadn’t accomplished much, and then again she could see how different they were from what they had been when they came to her. O dear! theywereproblems.
And Philip de Brie? Surely she had made a friend of him, at least he was more than a friend to Janet, who—the perverse thing!—was so careful not to let her know if she really cared for him or not. Perhaps it was on account of Cynthia, for she had overheard that young lady telling Janet that Philip was an impostor, and that he had fooled her the way he had Nathalie Page and her mother. The story of his being a British soldier, and that story, too, about his grandmother, was all folderol.
And poor Janet had meekly made no reply to this tirade, but Nathalie, in imagination, saw the red mount into her cheeks, and knew how humiliated she felt. Well, he was better than that funny little Mr. Buddie anyway. She believed it wasjustjealousy on Cynthia’s part, for she herself had tried to be very nice to Philip, but somehow he didn’t seem to understandher,—no sensible person could,—and although he had always been very courteous to her, he had never made a friend of her.
Well, she had done her best to clear him of the horrible suspicion that had lost him his pupils; but, alas, she seemed to have made the matter worse, or, at least, she had not done him any good, for when his cabin on the mountain had been burned one night, people had declared that he had set it afire himself to destroy evidences of his guilt.
And then, when the manager of the hotel had the ground dug up, where she and the children had discovered those pieces of jewelry, nothing had been found. And Mr. Keating, alias the Count, had gone, called to Chicago, he claimed, the very night before they dug up around the rock,—the very night, too, that the cabin had been burned. No, Philip had not been arrested, for certainly the evidence was not strong enough to warrant such action. And then the detective had disappeared, although Nathalie had a feeling at times that he was hanging around somewhere near the place, in disguise, perhaps, watching Philip.
And the people who had been so nice to Philip, now acted very queerly whenever they saw him, and Philip, the poor fellow, had said nothing, although Nathalie was afraid that he suspected that something was wrong. Her mother had persuaded him to come down to Seven Pillars after the burning of the cabin, andalthough he had accepted their kind hospitality for the time being, he chafed under the favors showered upon him, and showed that he was inwardly suffering to have to be placed in such a position, for Janet said he resented charity. Yes, and ten days had passed, and Nathalie had not heard one word from the detective. O dear! the world was a queer place to live in, anyway.
Just after luncheon, as Nathalie and her mother sat knitting on the veranda, a loud “Honk! Honk!” announced the arrival of Nita, who, with her cheeks red with excitement, burst upon the group like a young whirlwind.
“Oh, Blue Robin,” she cried, as she caught sight of Nathalie, “I have the most wonderful news for you.” And then, without waiting to be questioned by her friend, who had risen to her feet in nervous expectancy, she added excitedly, “Philip has been cleared!”
“Oh, Nita, how do you know?” cried Nathalie, her face turning white, as she nervously clutched at her chair.
“The news came this morning from the detective, and the manager told mother. He said Mr. Grenoble got his clew from Sheila. You just come right here, little girl,” broke off Nita abruptly, as she beckoned for Sheila to come to her, “so I can kiss you for a blessed dear.” She seized the somewhat astonishedchild and began to hug her with excited exuberance.
“But who is the thief?” exclaimed Nathalie breathlessly. “Oh, do tell us!”
“The thief? Why, Mr. Keating, the Count, of course,” laughed Nita gleefully; “and he was caught all through Sheila’s crying out about the funny ’phone man. When she spoke of the man in the booth placing the receiver on his head when telephoning, it gave Mr. Grenoble a big clew. It seems that the detective-bureau had been on the lookout for some time for a gentleman burglar who had the peculiar eccentricity of holding the receiver on the top of his head, as Sheila stated. He was born without any folds to his ears,—no, that isn’t the word; I guess it was ganglion cells. No,thatisn’t right—Well, anyway he had something the matter with his auditory nerve, so that his hearing was defective. By placing the receiver on the top of his head, as he had very good bone-conduction,—yes, that’s right,—he could hear better.
“As soon as the detective heard what Sheila said he began to shadow our friend, the Count. He saw him do the same thing that Sheila told about, andthat, with certain other clews, led to his arrest. He was notthe Mr.Keating from Chicago that he claimed to be, whom the manager asserted had spent a summer at the hotel two years ago. That gentleman died this spring, and this ‘count’ fellow impersonated him, so as to gain a social standing in the hotel.
“The manager now admits that at times he had been puzzled by certain changes in Mr. Keating’s appearance, but he attributed it to the fact that he was older, and was now clean-shaven, when two years ago he wore a mustache. The detective thinks that the Count burned the cabin up in the woods so as to deepen the suspicion already fostered in regard to Philip.”
“But he got away with the jewelry,” exclaimed that young gentleman, who, with Janet, had just stepped up to the edge of the veranda, while Nita had been talking.
“But he did not get far,” rejoined Nita, “for when he walked into the New York station a few days ago,—that was just a ruse, talking about being called to Chicago,—he simply walked into the net that the detectives had spread for him, and he is now in jail.”
“I saw that the detective doubted my story,” remarked Nathalie, “and it made me feel unpleasant. But, oh, I am so glad the thief has been caught—and—”
“That Philip is cleared,” interrupted that young man. “Yes, Miss Nathalie, you have added to the store of kind things that you have done for me. But wait,” Philip’s eyes glowed, “some day,—well, perhaps I can repay every one. And little Blue Robin,” he continued, laughingly, “I knew that I was the suspected one, although you were all so careful not to let anything slip out that would tell me, so as to save mysensitiveness, but as I was innocent I knew that things would clear up somehow.”
And then he and Janet returned to their seats under the trees, where Philip had been reading to her, while Nathalie, with a glad light in her eyes, continued to discuss the many details of the affair. As Nita rose to go she suddenly exclaimed: “Oh, there, I forgot to tell you that we are going home in a couple of days. Mother is anxious to get back to the city.”
“Oh, I shall miss you terribly,” cried her friend, as she placed her arm affectionately around the little hunchback; “but then I presume we shall be going soon ourselves. But, Nita,” she added abruptly. “I came very near forgetting to tell you that we have all handed our diaries to Mr. Banker, and I am so glad that irksome task is over, for I hated to have to write in it every day. We are to meet Mr. Banker in the mystery-room to-morrow afternoon. It all sounds very thrilling, doesn’t it? We are all very curious to know what is hidden there.”
“Oh, I am just dying to know, too,” cried Nita. “Well, come over to tea to-morrow, and then perhaps the mystery will be a mystery no longer.”
“But have you selected thevaluable thing?” asked the girl laughingly, after she assured her friend that she would surely accept her invitation.
“Why, no, not as yet,” returned Nathalie, “for Iam swayed by two loves. But it is all nonsense anyway, so I don’t think it will make much difference what any of us select. Cynthia will probably win the prize, as the kiddies say, for she has chosen a very valuable painting. Janet has selected a most curious thing,—a necklace. It came from China, and has a series or chain of heads; they say every one is a likeness of some old mummified mandarin. When you touch a spring—Janet didn’t know this until mother showed it to her, for she saw this necklace years ago, when Mrs. Renwick brought it home with her from one of her Oriental trips—each one of these mummified Chinamen sticks out his tongue.”
“Well, good-by until to-morrow,” cried Nita, and then she was in her car and a moment later went whizzing along the road towards Sugar Hill village.
Nathalie had just finished putting her boys through their morning drill the following day, and seen them hurry away with Janet to do some weeding and hoeing for her in her garden, when she was joined by Philip. As he finished telling her a bit of war news,—she was industriously trying to finish a sweater for Dick,—his glance was arrested by the little Bible lying on the chair by her side, for Nathalie had continued her Scripture readings to the children.
Picking the book up, he began to turn over its leaves carelessly, almost mechanically, as if his mind was occupied with some other matter, when suddenly Nathalieheard a surprised exclamation, and looked up to see Philip staring at the fly-leaf of the Bible, with an odd, curious expression on his face.
“Where did you get this Bible?” he asked hurriedly, turning towards the girl.
“In one of the upper rooms of the house. I think it must have belonged to Mrs. Renwick’s son, Philip. Why, your name is Philip, too,” she cried smilingly. “Why, I never thought of that before.”
“Yes, my name is Philip, and this Bible belonged to my father—”
“Your father?” repeated the dazed girl. But before Philip could answer her, in a quick revelation she cried, “Why, is your name Renwick?” staring at him with wide-open eyes.
“Yes, Philip de Brie Renwick.”
“And Mrs. Renwick, who used to live here?”
“Was my grandmother!”