Betty was quick to comprehend the cruel words, and in an instant she had crumpled the anonymous scrawl in her hand. But she was the fraction of a second too late. Amy had read it.
Betty heard the sound of Amy's sigh, and then the catch in her breath.She turned quickly.
"Amy!" cried Betty. "Did you see it? Oh, my dear! The meanness of it! The awful meanness! Oh, Amy, my dear!" and she put her arms around her trembling companion. "Oh, if I only knew who sent it!"
"I—I can guess!" faltered Amy.
"Who?"
"Alice Jallow."
"The—the cat!"
Betty simply could not help saying it.
"Let—let me see it again," whispered Amy. "I didn't mean to read your note, Betty, but I saw it before I realized it."
"My note? It isn't mine! I wouldn't own to receiving such a scrawl! Oh,Amy, I'm so sorry!"
"Never mind, Betty. I—I've been expecting it."
"You have?"
"Yes. That—that is what has been bothering me of late. You may have noticed—"
"I've noticed that you haven't quite been yourself, Amy, my dear, but I never suspected—and you think Alice sent this?"
"I'm almost sure of it. It has to be known sooner or later. But don't say anything to Alice."
"Why not? The idea! She ought to be exposed—and punished. I'll go to—"
"No, please don't, Betty. It—it is true, and—and there is no use giving her the satisfaction of knowing that she has—has hurt me," faltered Amy.
"Oh, the meanness of it!" murmured Betty. "But, Amy dear, I don't understand. This doesn't at all look like the writing of Alice Jallow."
"I know; she has disguised her scribbling, that's all. But it doesn't matter. I'll never charge her with it."
"Why not?"
"I haven't the heart. Oh, Betty, I'm afraid it's only too true! I really don't know who my father and mother are!"
"Amy!"
"No, I don't. I've suspected a mystery a long while, and now I am sure I am mixed up in one."
"Amy Stonington!" cried Betty. "Do you mean to tell me—look here, let's get to some quiet place. Some one will be coming in here. We can go to Miss Greene's room. She has gone for the day. But perhaps you don't want to tell me, Amy."
"Oh, yes I do. I want to tell all you girls. And then maybe—"
"Amy Stonington!" exclaimed Betty. "If you're going to hint—and I see that you are—that we'd pay any attention to this note, or let it make any difference between us—even if it's true—which I don't believe—let's see—what do I want to say—I'm all confused. Oh, I know. I mean that it shan't make a particle of difference to us—if you never had a father or mother—"
"Oh, of course I had—some time," and Amy smiled through a mist of tears."Only there's a mystery about them—what became of them."
"Why I thought—all of us thought—that Mr. and Mrs. Stonington were your parents," said the wondering Betty.
"So did I, until lately. Then I began to notice that papa and mamma—as I thought them—were frequently consulting together. They always stopped talking when I came near, but I supposed it might be about some plans they had for sending me away to be educated in music. So I pretended not to notice. Though I did not want to go away from dear Deepdale.
"Their queer consultations increased, and they looked at me so strangely that finally I went to mamma—no, my aunt, as I must call her, and—"
"Your aunt!" exclaimed Betty.
"Yes, that is what Mrs. Stonington is to me; or, rather she was poor dear mamma's aunt. I am going to call her aunt, however, and Mr. Stonington uncle. They wish it."
"Oh, then they have told you?"
"Yes. It was the night before the day that I fainted in school. It was thinking of that, I guess, that unnerved me."
"Why, Amy! A mystery about you?"
"Yes, and one I fear will never be found out. I'll tell you about it."
"Not unless you'd rather, dear," and Betty put her arms about her chum as they sat on the worn sofa in Miss Greene's retiring room.
"I had much rather. I want you and Grace and Mollie to know. Maybe—maybe you can help me," she finished with a bright smile.
"You see it was this way. Of course I don't remember anything about it. All my recollections are centered in Deepdale, and about Mr. and Mrs. Stonington. It is the only home I have ever really known, though I have a dim recollection of having, as a child, been in some other place. But that is like a dream.
"But it seems that when I was a very little girl both my parents lived in a distant city. Then one day there was a terrible storm, the river rose, and there was a flood. This I was told by my uncle and aunt, as I am going to call them. Who my father and mother were I never knew, except from what I have heard, but it seems that Mrs. Stonington was mamma's aunt.
"In the flood our house was washed away, but I, then a small baby, was found floating on a sort of raft tied to a mattress on a bed. I was taken to a farm house, and found pinned to my dress was an envelope."
"Just an envelope?"
"Yes. There might have been a letter in it, but if there was it had been washed out in the flood and rain. But the envelope was addressed to Mrs. Stonington here, and she was telegraphed to. Her husband hurried on, for he knew of the flood and feared for his wife's relatives who lived in that town. He took me back with him, and I have lived with Uncle John and Aunt Sarah ever since."
"But your father and mother, Amy?"
"No one ever knew what became of them. They—they were never found, though a careful search was made. I was the only one left."
"And was there nothing to tell of your past life?"
"There wasn't much to tell, you see—I was so small. There was a sort of diary in the bed with me, but it only gave details of my baby days—probably it was written by my mother—for the handwriting is that of a woman. Aunt Sarah gave it to me the other day. I shall always treasure it."
"And is that all?"
"Well, there was a mention of something—in a vague sort of way—that I was to inherit when I grew up. Whether it was land or money no one can tell. The reference is so veiled. Even Uncle John, and he is a stock and bond broker, you know, says he is puzzled. He has had a search made in Rockford—that's where the flood was—but it came to nothing. And so that is all I know of my past."
"But your aunt must know something of your mother if they were relatives."
"Very little. They saw each other hardly at all, and not for some years before my mother's marriage, Aunt Sarah says. How my parents came to pin the Stoningtons' address on my baby dress they can only guess. And I'll never know. Probably they did it before they were—were drowned."
"Then your name isn't Stonington after all, Amy?"
"Oh, yet it is. The queer part of it is that my mother is said to have married a man of the same name as Uncle John, but no relative, as far as we can learn. So I'm Amy Stonington just the same. My uncle and aunt formally adopted me after they found that there was no hope of locating my parents. And so I've lived in ignorance of the mystery about me until just the other day."
"And then they told you?"
"Yes. It was discussing the advisability of this that caused Uncle John and Aunt Sarah to confer so often. Then they decided that I was getting old enough to be told. They said they would rather it would come to me from themselves than from strangers."
"Oh, then others know of it?"
"Yes, a few persons in town, but they were good enough to keep it quiet for my sake. Among them, so Uncle John told me, were Alice Jallow's people. That is why I think she wrote the note. She must have found out about my secret in some way, and thought to taunt me with it."
"The mean creature!"
"Oh, I don't mind. I was only afraid you girls—"
"Amy Stonington! If you even hint at such a thing again we'll never forgive you! As if we cared! Why, I think it's perfectly wonderful to have such a romance about you. I know the other girls will be crazy about it. Of course, it's sad, too, dear. But maybe some day, you'll find out that your father and mother aren't—aren't gone—at all, and you'll have them again."
"That's what I've been hoping since I knew. But there is very little chance, after all these years. Uncle John told me not to hope. You see, they must have been drowned. The worst is that I can't recall them. They never corresponded with aunt and uncle in years. I don't know what sort of a home I had—or—or whether I had brothers or sisters."
"No, I suppose there isn't much chance of your parents having escaped the flood. And yet I've read—in books—"
"Oh, yes—in books. But this is real life, Betty. And now, dear, I've told you all I know. As I said, it shocked me when I first heard it, but I'm pretty well over it now. Only it did startle me when I read that note over your shoulder."
"I should think it would. When I see Alice—"
"Please don't say anything to her!" pleaded Amy. "Please don't! Let her see that—that it hasn't made a bit of difference."
"I will. A difference? Why, we'll love you all the more Amy,—if that's possible."
"That's good of you. Now shall we—"
"Hark, some one is coming!" exclaimed Betty, tiptoeing to the door, whileAmy shrank back on the sofa.
There was a moment of silence, and then the relieved voice of Betty was heard to say:
"Oh, it's Grace. I'm so glad. I thought—"
"What are you doing here?" asked the newcomer. It was evident from her rather mumbled words—which mumbling I have been unable to reproduce in cold type—that Grace was eating candy.
"Have some chocolate?" she went on, holding out a bag.
"Oh, Grace! Chocolate at such a time as this!" rebuked Betty, her mind filled with the story she had just heard.
"Why, what's the matter with the time?"
"Amy is in there," and she motioned to the private room.
"Gracious! Has she fainted again?"
"No; where is Mollie?"
"Coming. There she is. We were looking everywhere for you. AliceJallow said—"
"The horrid thing!" burst out Betty. "Why, whatever can have happened?You look quite tragic!"
"I am. Come in here!"
Grace advanced, and not even the prospect of hearing what she guessed was going to be some sort of a strange secret could stop her from taking another helping of candy. Betty saw and murmured:
"You are hopeless."
"What's up?" asked Mollie, gliding into the room, her dark hair straying rather rebelliously from beneath her hat.
"Come in," invited Betty, and soon the four were sitting together, while in a sort of dialogue Betty and Amy told the pathetic little story.
"And that's how it stands," finished Betty. "I wanted to do something—or say something—to make Alice Jallow feel—"
"She should be punished—we should all cut her—she ought to be put out of school!" burst out the impulsive Mollie. "I shall go to Miss Greene—"
"You'll do nothing of the sort, Billy!" exclaimed Betty, as she detained the girl, who had already started from the room. "Amy doesn't wish it. Besides, I think Alice will be sorry enough later for what she has done."
"I had rather you wouldn't go to her," spoke Amy, quietly.
"Oh, well, of course—" began Mollie. "I do wish I had better control of myself," she added, rather sadly. "I start to do such rash things—"
"Indeed you do, my dear," spoke Grace. "But we know you don't mean it.Here—help yourself," and she extended the candy bag.
"I couldn't—I don't feel like it. I—I feel all choked up in here!" exclaimed Mollie, placing her hand on her firm, white throat. "I—I want to do something to—to that—cat!" Her eyes filled with tears.
"That's what I called her!" said Betty. "But we mustn't let her know that she has annoyed us. Sometimes I feel real sorry for Alice. She seems rather lonesome."
"I suppose the story will be all over school soon," went on Grace.
"I shan't mind," spoke Amy, softly.
"Well, I'm glad you don't, my dear," remarked Betty. "It's more romantic than anything else—after you get over the sad part of it."
"And I am trying to do that," said Amy, bravely.
Together the four girls came out of the school. Most of the other pupils had gone home, for vacation days were near, and study hours were shortened on account of examinations.
"There she is now," said Mollie, as they turned a corner.
"Who?" questioned Betty.
"That Jallow girl and her familiar—Kittie. Her name is too good for her."
"Don't notice her," suggested Betty, "and don't, for goodness sake, speak to them. We don't want a scene. Perhaps Alice only did it impulsively—and did not really mean it."
If the reputed author of the anonymous letter, and her close friend, hoped for any demonstration on the part of those they had hoped to wound, they were disappointed.
In calm unconsciousness of the twain, the quartette passed on, talking gaily—though it was a bit forced—of their coming trip. And I must do Alice the justice to say that later she was truly sorry for what she had done.
"There's Will!" exclaimed Grace, as she caught sight of her brother. "And Frank Haley is with him. Here, girls, take what's left of these chocolates, or Will won't leave one."
"Does he know you have them?" asked Amy, accepting a few.
"Yes, he saw me buying them. Oh, bother! There comes that PercyFalconer, and he has a new suit. Vanity of vanities!"
The course of Will and his chum, as well as that of the "faultless dresser," as he hoped he appeared, brought them toward the girls. There was no escape, and the little throng walked onward. Betty kept close to Amy, for she knew just how she must feel after the disclosure.
"Ah, good afternoon, ladies!" greeted Percy. "Wonderful weather we're having. My word!"
"Beastly beautiful!" mocked the irrepressible Mollie. "Horribly lovely, isn't it, what?"
"Oh, I say now," began Percy. "I—really—"
"Where'd you get the clothes?" broke in Will.
"They're a London importation."
"London importation, my eye!" exclaimed Frank. "Why, Cohen's Emporium, on Main street, has the same thing in the window marked thirteen ninety-eight—regular fourteen dollars."
"Oh, I say now! Quit your spoofing!"
"Give us some candy, Sis!" begged Will. "Come on, now, I know you've got it!"
"I had it, we have it—they had it—thou hast it—not!" quoted Grace, with a laugh. "Nothing doing this time, little brother of mine."
"And you ate all those chocolates?" This in semi-horrified tones.
"We—not I," corrected his sister.
Percy Falconer, after vainly trying to get in place to walk beside Betty, who frustrated him by keeping Amy close to her, drifted off to find new sartorial worlds to conquer.
The others walked on, the boys joining in the talk and laughter. Amy seemed to have recovered her spirits, and the girls made no reference to the little tragedy which they knew would soon become public property.
"So you are really determined to go off on that walking trip?" askedWill, who had floated back to join Mollie.
"We certainly are. Why, don't you think we can do it?"
"Perhaps. But I think you'll run at the sight of the first tramp—or cow; and as for a storm—good night!"
"Thank you—for nothing!" and Mollie's dark eyes had little of fun in them as they looked into those of Will Ford.
Eventually Will and Frank left them, and the girls continued on until they reached Mollie's house.
"Come in," she invited. "I know they baked to-day, and we'll have a cup of tea and some cake. It will refresh us."
"I ought to be going—home," said Amy, with a little hesitating pause at the word "home."
"Oh, do come in!" begged the French girl.
As they entered the yard the twins, hand in hand and solemn-eyed, came down the walk to meet them.
"Oh, the dears!" gushed Grace.
"Isn't she too sweet," whispered Betty, as she caught up Dodo.
"And in need of soap and water, as usual," commented Mollie, drily. "But Nanette can do nothing with them. They are clean one minute—voila! like little Arabs the next! What would you have?" and she threw herself into a tragic gesture, in imitation of the imported French maid, at which her chums laughed.
"Have you a kiss for me, Paul?" demanded Grace, of the little fellow, when she had replaced his sister on the walk.
"Dot any tandy?" came the diplomatic inquiry.
"Listen to the mercenary little wretch!" cried his older sister. "Paul,ma cherie, where are your manners?"
"Has oo dot any tandy?" came in inflexible accents.
"I might find—just a morsel—if you'd kiss me first," stipulated Grace.
"Tandy fust," was the imperturbable retort. "I like tandy—Dodo like tandy—we bofe like tandy!"
"The sum total of childish happiness!" laughed Betty "Do, Grace, if you have any left, relieve this suspense."
Some candy was forthcoming, and then, with more of it spread on their faces than had entered their chubby mouths, the twins toddled off content.
"Girls, what do you say to a little row on the river?" asked Mollie, when they had been refreshed by cakes and tea. "My boat will hold us all, and we can float down and talk of our coming trip."
"Float down—and—rowback," remarked Grace, with emphasis.
"The exercise will do you good. We must get in—training, I believe the proper word is—in training for our hike."
"Hike?" queried Betty.
"Suffragist lingo for walk," explained Mollie. "Come on."
The Argono river ran but a short distance from Mollie's home, and soon the four girls were in an old-fashioned, but safely constructed, barge, half drifting and half rowing down the picturesque stream.
The afternoon sun was waning behind a bank of clouds, screened from the girls by a fringe of trees. And as they floated on they talked at intervals of Amy's secret, and of the coming fun they expected to have.
"Let's get farther out in the middle," suggested Betty, when they came to a wide part of the river. "It's more pleasant there, and the air is fresher. It is very warm."
"Yes, I think we will have another storm," agreed Grace. "If it rains now it isn't so likely to when we start."
She was pulling on one pair of oars and Mollie on a second, the others relieving them occasionally. Soon the boat was in the middle of the stream. They had gone on for perhaps half a mile, when Betty, who was sitting comfortably in the stern, toying with the rudder ropes, uttered an exclamation.
"Oh!" she cried. "My feet are wet! Mollie, the boat is leaking!"
"Leaking?"
"Yes! See, the water is fairly pouring in!"
Mollie made a hasty examination under the bottom boards of her craft.
"Girls!" she cried, in tragic tones, "there's a hole in the boat!"
"Don't say that!" begged Amy, standing up.
"Sit down!" sternly ordered Betty. "There is no danger! Sit down or you'll fall overboard!"
"Oh, but see the water!" cried the nervous Amy. "It is coming in faster!"
And indeed it was.
"It is those twins!" declared Mollie. "I told them not to get in my boat, but they must have, and they've loosened the drain plug so that it came out a moment ago. Quick! See if you can find it!"
There was a frightened search for the plug that fitted in a hole in the bottom of the boat, through which aperture the water could be drained out when the craft was on shore.
"It isn't here!" cried Grace. "Oh, Mollie!"
"Keep quiet! It must be here!" insisted the owner of the boat. "It couldn't get out. Look for it! Find it! Or, if you can't, we'll stuff a handkerchief in the hole!"
Meanwhile the water continued to pour in through the bottom of the boat, setting the boards afloat, and thoroughly wetting the skirts of the girls. And they were now in the centre of the widest part of the river.
Rapidly the water rose in the boat. It had now set the bottom boards more fully afloat, and the girls in vain tried to raise their feet out of the incoming flood. They stared at the swirling water, fascinated for the moment.
"Girls, we simply must do something!" cried Betty, usually the one to take the initiative.
"Row ashore! Row ashore!" begged Amy. "It's so deep out here."
"It isn't much shallower near shore," remarked Mollie. "What can have become of that plug?" and, pulling in her oars she began feeling about in the bottom of the boat, moving her hand around under the water.
"Maybe the twins took it to make a cat's cradle with," suggested Grace.
"No, it couldn't have been out when we started or the water would have come in at once," said Mollie. "It has come out only a few minutes ago. We simply must find it!"
"Row ashore—row ashore!" insisted Amy.
Betty had swung the boat's head around, but the craft was now badly water-laden, and did not move quickly. The current of the river was carrying them down the stream.
"Oh, girls!" cried Amy, her voice trembling somewhat, "it's getting deeper!"
"It certainly isn't stopping from coming in," murmured Mollie. "Whereisthat plug!"
Desperately she continued to feel about, while the other girls cast anxious eyes toward the shore, that now seemed so far away.
"And there's not another boat in sight!" exclaimed Betty. "We must call for help!"'
"I have it! I have the plug!" suddenly cried Mollie, pulling on something.
"Ouch! That's my foot—my toe!" cried Grace. "Let go!"
"Oh, dear!" sighed Betty, in disappointed tones.
"I thought I had it!" said Mollie. "Wait until I catch those twins!"
"We—we never may see them again," faltered Amy, whose recent rather tragic experience; had gotten on her nerves.
"Stop that!" commanded Betty, a bit sharply.
"Oh, how fast the water is coming in!" moaned Grace. "I'm going to faint—I know I'm going to faint!"
"Don't you dare!" cried Mollie, quickly. "If you do I'll never speak to you again! There! Take that!" She reached over on the seat beside Grace, caught up a chocolate from a bag and thrust the confection into the tall girl's mouth. "That will keep you from saying such silly things, and also from fainting," remarked Mollie, practically. "Now, girls, since we can't find that plug, we've got to do the next best thing."
"If we could only whittle one!" said Betty.
"If we had a knife we might cut a piece off one of the oars, or the side of the boat," went on Mollie, "but as we haven't—we can't. We must arrange to take knives with us on our tour, though!"
"It's no time to talk about tours now!" moaned Amy. "We—we'll never get ashore."
"Nonsense!" cried Betty. "We've got to. If we can't find a plug, or make one, we'll have to stuff something in the hole. Girls, your handkerchiefs!" She seemed to have a sudden inspiration.
She began rolling hers into a sort of cylindrical shape as she spoke. The other girls saw her idea, and passed over their tiny squares of linen, which Betty rolled with her own.
"That's one of my best ones," sighed Grace, as she parted with hers. "I got it on my birthday."
"It's in a good cause—never mind," remarked Betty, firmly. "And you'll get it back, you know—when we get ashore."
"If we ever get ashore, you mean," spoke Amy.
"Stop it!" commanded the Little Captain, sharply. "Of course we'll get ashore. Now, Billy, where is that hole?"
"Wherever the water seems to be coming in fastest," replied the owner of the boat. "Oh, be quick, Betty. We can't float much longer!"
"Well, we can swim," coolly replied Betty, as she began feeling about for the hole in the bottom of the boat. Meanwhile she looked closely at the surface of the water in the craft, which had now risen until it was close to the under side of the seats. The girls were quite wet. The boat was harder than ever to row.
"That plug ought to be floating somewhere hereabouts," she murmured.
"It's probably caught in a crack, or under one of the seats," said Mollie. "Hurry up, Betty. The hole is right near where you were feeling that time."
"Yes, you can see the water bubbling up," added Amy. "Oh, do hurry, or we'll sink!"
"Well, then we can swim," said Betty, coolly. "It's a good thing we all know how."
"But—in our clothes!" protested Amy.
"Oh, I guess we can do it if we try," went on Betty. "There, I have the handkerchiefs in the hole!" she exclaimed, as she forced the wadded-up linens into the aperture. "Now let's row harder!"
"Oh, but I'm soaked!" sighed Grace. Indeed, they were all in no very comfortable plight.
They succeeded in heading the boat for shore, but they had only rowed a short distance when Grace cried:
"The water is still coming in!"
There was no doubt about it. They all stared at the place where, under water, Betty had thrust in the handkerchiefs. There was a string of small bubbles, showing that the river water was still finding its way into the boat.
"Help! Help! Help!" suddenly called Amy.
"Why—what's the matter?" demanded Betty, in alarm.
"Oh, there's someone on shore, near a boat! It's a man—or a boy! He must come out and rescue us!" said Amy, and there was a trace of tears in her voice.
"What's—the—matter?" came the hail from the one on shore.
"We're—sinking!" called Betty, making a megaphone of her hands. "Come out and save us!"
"All right!" and then the following words were lost as the wind carried them aside. The youth on shore—the girls could now see that he was a youth—began shoving out a boat. He did not seem very adept in the knowledge of rowing, and took quite a little time to get under way.
"Oh, it's that Percy Falconer!" cried Betty. "He'll never get to us!Girls, I guess we'll have to swim for it, after all!"
"Look—there comes someone else!" suddenly cried Amy. "Oh, Grace, it's your brother Will!"
"Thank goodness for that," murmured Betty. "Now we have some chance. If he can only make Percy listen to reason, and put back for him."
"They seem to be having some argument," said Grace. "Oh, if that Percy isn't the—"
She did not finish, for they were all vitally interested in what was taking place on shore. Will and Percy seemed to be having a difference of opinion, and it appeared that Percy wanted to shine as a lone hero in the rescue that must be performed quickly now, if it was to be performed at all.
"Come back with that boat!" Will could be heard to cry. "You don't know how to row!"
"I do so!" retorted Percy, the wind now carrying the words to the girls.
"Come back here!" insisted Will, firmly, "or I'll—"
"We'll be too late!" almost whined Percy. "They said they were sinking!"
"Come back here!" fairly shouted Will. "I can row twice as fast as you, and we'll make better time even if you do put back. Come on, or I'll jump in and swim out to you, and chuck you overboard! Come back!"
This argument proved effective. Possibly Percy was thinking what would happen to his clothes if Will put his threat into execution. At any rate, he swung the big boat around and a few moments later Will and he, the former pulling vigorously on the oars, were on their way to rescue the now thoroughly frightened girls.
"Oh, Will, do hurry! My dress will be ruined!"
Thus called Grace, as she frantically waved to her brother to hasten his stroke.
"Huh!" he panted. "Dress! A nice time to think—of dresses—when they're—almost sinking!"
"Are they—do you think they'll sink—and be drowned?" faltered Percy.
"They may sink—they're not very likely to be drowned, though," grunted Will, as he glanced over his shoulder to get his course straight. "They can all swim. Pull on your left more. We'll pass 'em if you don't!"
"Sink! I can't—I can't swim. Oh, dear!" cried Percy.
"I know it. That's why I wanted you to come back and get me. You'd look nice rescuing four girls all alone," said Will. "And you not able to swim a stroke!"
"I could do it," protested Percy, in self-defense.
"Maybe," agreed Will. "Anyhow, it's lucky I happened to come along."
"And it's a good thing I heard them hollering, and got the boat ready," said the well-dressed lad, whose attire was now rather disheveled from the haste of rowing.
"That's right, Percy. I'll give you credit for that."
"Oh, do hurry, boys!" cried Mollie. "We'll be under in another minute."
"Coming!" cried Will. "Pull harder, Percy!"
"I can't!"
"You've got to!" That seemed to be all there was to it. Percy pulled harder.
Only just in time did Will and his companion reach the boat that was on the verge of sinking. And only the skill and good sense of the girls, and the knowledge that they could swim if they happened to fall into the water, enabled the rescue to be made. For it was no easy task to disembark from one craft to the other, especially with one nearly submerged. But, while Will and Percy held the gunwale of their boat close to that of the half-sunken one, the girls carefully crawled out and soon, rather wet, considerably dismayed, but, withal, calmer than might have been expected, the quartette was safe in the larger craft.
"Oh, what a relief!" exclaimed Mollie, wringing some water from the bottom of her skirt.
"But look at my dress—and this is only the second time I've worn it!" cried Grace, in distress. "It will be ruined."
"All it needs is pressing," said Will, disdainfully.
"What do you think this is—a pair of your trousers?" demanded his sister, indignantly. "Pressing! It is ruined!"
"We're all drenched," spoke Amy. "But it doesn't matter as long as we're safe."
"That's the way to look at it!" exclaimed Will. "How did it happen, anyhow?"
"Plug out of the bottom," explained Mollie, sententiously. "The twins!"
"I see! Say, she's going down all right!" This Will remarked as the boat from which the girls had climbed settled lower and lower in the water.
"Oh, can't we save it?" cried Mollie. "My poor boat!"
"I'll use one of the oars as a buoy," said Will. "I'll fasten it to the painter. It will probably drift, but it will run into the eddy at the Point, and we can get it to-morrow."
Quickly he knotted the end of the painter about one of the oars. Then taking the others into the craft that Percy had commandeered for the occasion, the two boys rowed the girls back to the dock at the foot of the slope that led to Mollie's house.
"Come in, girls," she invited. "We can get dry, and Will can go for some decent things for you three."
"I'll go, too!" exclaimed Percy, eagerly. And for once the girls were glad of his services.
Up the walk went the four bedraggled ones. The twins saw them coming, and, grave-eyed and solemn, came down to meet them.
"Oo's wet," remarked Dodo.
"Drefful wet," echoed Paul.
"Yes, you naughty children!" scolded Mollie. "Why did you take the plug—the wooden peg—out of sister's boat? Why did you do it?"
"Dodo do it," remarked Paul, with the ancient privilege of the accusing man. "Dodo want to make a doll."
"Oo helped me," came from the little girl. "Oo helped!"
"But us put it back," asserted Paul.
"Yes, but it came out, and sister and her friends were nearly drowned.You were naughty children—very naughty!"
"Oo dot any tandy?" demanded Dodo, fixing her big eyes on Grace.
"Candy! Good land sakes, no! Candy? The idea!"
"We 'ikes tandy," added Paul.
Then out came Mrs. Billette, startled at the sight of the dripping figures.
"Oh, did you fall in?" she asked, with a tragic gesture.
"No, we fell out," said her daughter, laughing. "It's all right, momsey, but we must get dry. Girls, give Will and Percy your orders."
"Perhaps we had better telephone," suggested Betty.
"Oh, yes!" chorused the others.
Soon the desired garments had been specified, and the boys promised to bring them in suitcases as soon as might be. Then the drenched ones made themselves comfortable in Mollie's home, and, while waiting, talked over the accident.
That it had not resulted more seriously was due to a combination of circumstances.
"For once Percy was really useful," commented Amy, kindly.
"Yes, but we'll never hear the last of it," declared Grace. "He'll think we are his eternal debtors from now on. Oh, here comes Will! I'm so glad."
Soon clothed, and if not exactly in their right minds, at least on the verge of getting there, the four came out to thank the boys, and there was more talk of the occurrence.
"I hope nothing like this happens when we set off on our tour," said Amy."It won't be so comfortable then to be drenched."
"Don't speak of it, my dear," begged Betty. The little happening—not so little, either, when one considers the possibility—had one good effect. It had raised Amy out of the slough of despond into which she had unwittingly strayed, or been thrust.
I shall pass rapidly over the next few days, for nothing of moment happened. I say nothing of moment, and yet there was, for the story of the mystery concerning Amy's parentage became generally known, as might have been expected.
There were curious glances cast at Amy, and more than one indiscreet girl tried to draw her out about the matter. This made it hard for Amy, and she was so upset about it that Mrs. Stonington kept her home from school for two days.
Then, chiefly by reason of the sensible attitude of Betty, Grace and Mollie, there came a more rational feeling, and it was agreed that the affair was not so uncommon after all.
The chums of Amy said nothing about the letter Alice had written. That she had was very evident from her actions, for she was at first defiant, and then contrite, and several times it was seen that she had been crying. But she said nothing, perhaps being too proud to admit her fault.
"We'll just treat her as if nothing had happened," said Betty, and this advice was followed. Alice was not generally liked, but the three chums were so pleasant to her, in contrast with the conduct of the other girls, that it must have been as coals of fire on her head.
Mollie's boat was easily recovered, and the handkerchiefs that had been stuffed in the hole were of some service afterward, though rather stained by river water. The missing plug was found fast under a seat brace, which accounted for it not floating.
As for the five-hundred-dollar bill, nothing was heard of the owner, and it, with the attached paper, remained in Mr. Nelson's safe. The advertisement about it was published again, and though there were several inquiries from persons who had lost money, they could lay no claim to this particular bankbill.
"We'll just have to wait to solve that mystery," said Grace. "Maybe until after we come back from our tour."
Arrangements to start on the journey had rapidly been completed. Betty had made out the schedule.
"We'll leave Deepdale early in the morning," she said, "and go on to Rockford. There we're due to stop with my aunt. We can take lunch wherever we find it most convenient, but we'll make Rockford at dusk, I hope."
"I certainly trust so," said Mollie. "A night on a country road—never, my dear!"
"The next night we'll stop in Middleville," went on Betty, "at Amy's cousin's house. From there to Broxton, where Grace's married sister will put us up, and then, in turn to Simpson's Corners—that's my uncle, you know—to Flatbush, where Grace's mother's niece has kindly consented to receive us; on to Hightown, that's Mollie's aunt's place; to Cameron—that's where we'll go to the camp that Mr. Ford's half-brother runs."
She paused to make a note and to glance over the schedule to make sure of some points.
"Then we'll go to Judgville, where my cousin lives, and that will be our last stopping place. Then for home," she finished.
"It sounds good," said Mollie.
"It will be lovely," declared Betty. "Are you sure your—your aunt and uncle won't have any further objections to you going, Amy?"
"Oh, sure! It was only because they thought that I might be upset on hearing of the mystery that they didn't want me to go. But I'm over that now."
"Bravely over it," murmured Betty, as she put her arms about her chum's shoulders.
The examinations were on, and boys and girls were working hard, for, because of the need of some repairs to the school, it had been decided to cut the summer term short.
Then came the closing days, with the flowers, the simple exercises, and the farewell to the graduating class, of which our girls were not members.
"Two days more and we'll be off on our wonderful tour!" exclaimed Mollie, as she and the others came out of school on the final day. "Oh, I can hardly wait!"
"How do we look?"
"Don't you think these skirts are too short?"
"Isn't it fine to have—pockets?"
"Oh, Grace Ford! You'll never be able to walk in those shoes! Girls, just look at those French heels!" It was Amy who spoke.
"They're not French!" declared Grace, driven to self-defense. "They're a modified Cuban."
"Not enough modification, then; that's what I say!" exclaimed Mollie, the three expressions which opened this chapter having come from Betty, Grace and Amy, respectively. "They're of the French—Frenchy, Grace, my dear!"
"I don't care! I tried to get fitted in the kind of shoes you girls have," and Grace looked at the stout and substantial walking boots of her companions, "but they didn't have my size. The man is going to send for them, and he said he'd forward them to Middleville. They'll be there when we arrive."
"All right, as long as you're going to get them," spoke Betty. "You never could belong to our Camping and Tramping Club in those shoes, Grace."
"Well, they're the largest I have, and I don't think the heels are so very high; do you?" and she appealed to the others.
"Here are Will and Frank," spoke Amy. "We'll let them decide."
"Oh, Will is sure to say something mean," declared his sister. "Don't you dare mention heels to him!"
"Ready for the hike?" demanded Will, as he came up with his chum.
"We start in half an hour," replied Betty, in the front yard of whose house the others were gathered. "Gracious, I know I haven't half the things I need. What did I do with that alcohol stove?"
"I saw you put it in the case," said Amy.
"Oh, yes, so I did. I declare I don't know what I'm doing! Now, girls, is there anything else to be thought of?"
"If there is, I'm not capable of it," declared Mollie. "I am a wreck," and she leaned against patient Amy for support.
"We'll go part way with you," offered Will.
"You shall not!" exclaimed his sister. "You'll make all manner of fun of us, and—"
"No, we won't—I promise!" exclaimed Frank, earnestly.
"Oh, let them come," pleaded Betty.
"Then go get Percy," urged Grace.
"Don't you dare!" cried Betty.
"Well, here comes Allen Washburn, anyhow," went on the tall girl. "At least we'll have enough escorts." Betty blushed and hurried into the house on some pretense or other.
The girls were to travel "light," taking with them only a few articles of clothing. Their suitcases they had arranged to send on ahead, so that they would be at each stopping place in the evening when the little party arrived. Then on leaving in the morning the satchels would again be dispatched in advance. Near the end of the route trunks would await them.
The girls expected to get their dinners wherever it was most convenient, and Betty had drawn up a sort of schedule that, should they be able to keep up to it, would mean comfort at noon. As I have explained, the breakfasts and suppers would be eaten at the homes of friends or relatives.
The girls had a little alcohol stove, a teapot and saucepan, and they expected, under favorable circumstances, to stop by the roadside and brew a cup of tea, each girl carrying an aluminum cup and saucer. Evaporated cream and sugar, to be replenished from time to time, formed part of their stores. Sandwiches, to be procured as needed, would form a staple food.
The day was a "perfect" one for June. Clad in their new suits of olive drab, purposely designed for walking, with sensible blouses, containing pockets, with skirts sufficiently short, stout boots and natty little caps, the outdoor girls looked their name. Already there was the hint of tan on their faces, for they had been much in the open of late.
They had assembled at Betty's house for the start, and were about ready to leave, though there seemed to be much confusion at the last minute.
Their first stopping place, at least for the night, would be the town of Rockford, about sixteen miles away, where Betty's aunt lived. They expected to remain two nights there, using the second day to walk to a certain old historic mill that was said to be worthy of a visit.
The good-byes were said, over and over again, it seemed, and a number of friends called to wish the girls good luck. Betty, who had been voted into the place of leader, looked over her small command. What it lacked in numbers it made up in attractiveness, for certainly no prettier picture could have been viewed than the one the girls presented that June morning, beneath the trees in the big yard.
"Well, are we ready?" finally asked Betty.
"As ready as we ever shall be," replied Grace.
"Then—what shall I say—forward—march?"
"Just say—hike!" cried the irrepressible Will.
"Don't mind him!" cautioned his sister. "Oh, I've left my handkerchief in your house, Betty!" and she hastened to secure it.
But, finally, after a few more forgotten articles had been collected, the girls were ready to start. Mr. Nelson came out to wave a farewell, and his wife appeared, to add more to her already numerous cautions.
"What shall I do with that five hundred dollar bill?" asked Betty's father. "If the owner comes, shall I give it up?"
"Don't you dare!" she cried. "At least, not until we girls have a chance to see him. We want to find out about the romance back of it. Write to us if it's claimed."
"All right—I will," he said, with a laugh.
"But it doesn't seem as though, after this lapse of time, that it would be called for. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye! Good-luck!"
This was echoed and re-echoed. Then the four members of the Camping and Tramping Club started down the pleasant country road, whereon the June sun shone in golden patches through the leafy branches of the trees.
"A good omen," breathed Amy, who walked beside Betty.
Will, Frank and Allen brought up the rear, carrying the small valises or suitcases the girls had packed. The little cavalcade passed Mollie's house, Mrs. Billette appearing at the window to wave another farewell. The twins were not in sight.
"For which I am thankful—they'd cry to come," said their sister, "and they are dreadful teases."
As the girls and their escorts swung around a turn in the highway a little later, about a mile from Mollie's house, Grace looked back to cry out in almost tragic accents:
"Look! The twins! They're following us," and the others turned around to see Dodo and Paul, hand in hand, trudging bravely and determinedly after them.
Molly, for a moment, looked as if she wanted to cry from sheer vexation, for the getting ready to start had been trying on all of them. Then the humor of the situation appealed to her, and she exclaimed, as the solemn-eyed twins drew: nearer:
"Dodo—Paul—what does this mean? Go back home at once! Mamma will be dreadfully worried about you. Go back."
"We tum too," lisped Dodo.
"We go for walk wit oo, Mollie," Paul added.
"The little dears!" murmured Amy.
"You wouldn't say so if you had to go all the way back with them," exclaimed the sister. "Dodo—Paul, you must go home at once."
"Dot any tandy?" asked Dodo, seeing, doubtless, a chance to make capital out of the escapade.
"Candy! The idea!"
"We go back if oo dot tandy," spoke Paul, cunningly, seeing the drift of his small sister's scheme. "We 'ikes tandy."
"I'll give them some if they promise to go back," spoke Grace, making a motion toward her little case that Frank carried.
"No, they must not be bribed," said Mollie, firmly. "I shall insist on their going back. And oh! what faces they have! They must have been eating candy already this morning."
"Our tandy all gone," spoke Dodo. "Oo dive us tandy we go back; won't us,Paul?" and confidingly she looked up into her brother's face.
"We go for tandy," he affirmed, and there was an air of determination about him that boded no good for the girls.
"You must go back!" declared Mollie.
"We go for walk," said Dodo. "Tum on, Paul. We dot fings to eat same as dem," and proudly she displayed a very dirty bag, the opening of which disclosed a rather jumbled collection of bread and butter, and cookie crumbs.
"An' I dot a gun to shoot bad bears," went on Paul, shouldering a wooden article, that, by a wide stretch of the imagination could be seen to somewhat resemble a musket. "Gun go bang-bang!" explained the little chap, "bad bears run 'way off. Turn on, Dodo, we go wif 'em," and he nodded at the "hikers," as Will unfeelingly characterized his sister and her chums.
"Go back! Go back!" cried Mollie, now again on the verge of tears. "Oh, you bad children! What shall I do? Mamma will be dreadfully worried, and if we take them back we'll lose a lot of time. What shall we do, girls?"
"We go back for tandy—lots of tandy," spoke the inexorable Dodo. "We 'ikes tandy; don't us, Paul?"
"Yes," said Paul, simply.
"The easiest way out of it is to give them some candy," said Grace, in a low voice, but, low as it was, the twins heard. Their eyes brightened at once, and they came eagerly forward.
"Oh, dear, I suppose it is the only thing to do," affirmed Mollie. "Will you go straight back if you get some candy?" she asked. "Straight home to mamma?"
"Ess—we bofe go," promised Dodo, who usually led her small brother. "We 'ikes tandy," she reiterated.
"Me tan shoot bears to-morrow," said Paul, philosophically. "Where is tandy?" With him evidently the prospect of present enjoyment was preferable to the future possibility of becoming a great hunter.
"Here you are!" cried Grace, as she took out some chocolates. "Now be good children. Do you think it safe for them to go back alone, Mollie?"
"That's so, I never considered that. I wonder if we'll have to go with them? Oh, isn't this annoying, and we're behind time now! We'll never get to Rockford to-night. What shall I do?"
"We take 'em back if oo dive us some tandy!" mocked Will, who, with his chums, had been an interested observer of the little scene.
"Smarty!" exclaimed his sister. "But I'll take you at your word just the same. Here, Frank—Allen—you see that he performs his part of the contract," and she held the candy box out to the other two, who laughingly accepted the bribe.
Then with the hands of the trusting, and now contented, twins in theirs, Will and Frank bade the girls good-speed and led away the two small ones on their homeward way, Allen following them after a farewell to Betty.
"At last we are off!" murmured Mollie. "I'm so sorry it happened, girls!"
"Why, the idea!" cried Betty. "It was just a little pleasant episode, and we'll remember it all day, and laugh."
"But it may make us late," suggested Mollie, anxiously.
"Not much," went on the Little Captain. "It wasn't your fault, anyhow. We can just walk a little faster to make up for it—that is, if, Grace thinks she can stand it."
"Oh, you won't find me complaining," declared the girl whose footwear had been the subject of comment. "I'm not as comfortable as you, perhaps," she admitted, "but I will be when I get my other shoes. And now, let's give ourselves up to the enjoyments of the way—and day. Oh, isn't it just lovely!"
Indeed, a more auspicious start—barring the little delay caused by the twins—could not have been provided. The day was one of those balmy ones in June, when it is neither too hot nor too blowy, when the breeze seems fairly laden with the sweet scent of flowers, and the lazy hum of bees mingles with the call of birds.
The way led out along a pleasant country road, which, for some distance, wound in and out among great maples that formed a leafy shade which might be most acceptable later in the day, since there was the promise of considerable heat at noon.
As yet it was early, a prompt enough start having been made to allow of an easy pace along the road.
"For," Betty had said in reviewing the procedure to be followed, "we don't want to tire ourselves out on the first stage of our trip. We ought to begin gradually. That is the way all athletes train."
"Oh, then we are going to be athletes?" asked Amy.
"Walking athletes, at least," responded the leader. "Now, girls, if any of you feel like resting at any time, don't hesitate to say so. We want this to be an enjoyment, not a task, even if we are a regular club."
So perfect was the day, and in such good spirits were the girls, that even the simplest sights and happenings along the highway brought forth pleased comments. The sight of a cow placidly chewing her cud in a meadow, the patient creature standing knee-deep amid the buttercups, was a picture they all admired, Mollie carried a little camera, and insisted on snapping the bovine, though the other girls urged her to save some films with which to take their own pictures.
"But that cow will make such a lovely enlargement," said Mollie. "It's like an artist's painting."
Bravely they marched along, with a confident swing and firm tread—at least, all but Grace trod firmly, and she rather favored herself on account of her high heels. But her chums were good enough not to laugh.
They passed farm houses, in the kitchen doors of which appeared the women and girls of the household, standing with rolled-up sleeves, arms akimbo, looking with no small wonder at the four travelers.
There were comments, too, not always inaudible.
"I wonder what they're selling?" one woman asked her daughter, as they paused in their work of washing a seemingly innumerable number of milk pans.
"They take us for peddlers," said Amy.
A little later a small boy, who had been playing horse in front of his house, scuttled back toward the kitchen, crying out:
"Ma—ma! Come an' see the suffragists!"
"Oh, mercy!" exclaimed Betty. "What will we be taken for next?"
But it was fun, with all that, and such a novelty to the girls that they wondered why they had not before thought of this means of spending part of their vacation.
The sun crept higher in the sky, and the warmth of the golden beams increased. The girls were thankful, now, for any shade they might encounter, and they were fortunate in that their way still lay in pleasant places. They came to a little brook that ran under the road, and not far from it a roadside spring bubbled up. Their collapsible drinking cups came in useful, and they remained for a little while in the shade near the cool spot.
"Where shall we eat our lunch?" asked Grace, as the ever-mounting sun approached the zenith.
"Are you hungry already?" asked Amy.
"I am beginning to feel the pangs," admitted the tall, graceful girl.
"Then you can't have eaten much candy," commented Mollie.
"Only three pieces."
"Hurrah! Grace is reforming!" cheered Betty. "That's fine!"
"I don't see why you're always making fun of me," Grace said, as she pouted. "I'm sure you are all just as fond of chocolate as I am."
"Never mind," consoled Mollie. "We will eat soon, for I confess to having an appetite on my own account."
Deciding to eat, at least on this first day of the tramp, a lunch of their own providing, rather than go to some restaurant, country hotel, or stop at a chance farm house, the girls had brought with them packages of food, and the alcohol stove for a cup of tea, or some chocolate.
"This looks to be a perfect place for our picnic," said Betty, as, on passing a farm, they saw the plow-horses unhitched and led under a tree to partake of their hay and oats. "It must be noon by that sign," went on the Little Captain, confirming her guess by a glance at her watch. "It is," she said. "So we'll eat here," and she indicated a little grassy knoll under a great oak tree at the side of the road.
"There's the most beautiful spring of water here, too," went on Grace."Shall we make tea?"
"Do!" exclaimed Mollie. "I'm just dying for a good hot cup. But not too strong."
Soon they had merrily gathered about the greensward table, on which paper napkins formed the cloth. The sandwiches were set out, with a bottle of olives to add to the attractiveness, and then the little kettle was put on the alcohol stove, which had been set up in the shelter of the great oak's massive trunk.
"It's boiling!" finally announced Betty. "Hand me the tea ball,Amy, my dear."
Pouring the steaming water over the silver tea ball, Betty circulated it around in the cup, until one fragrant brew was made. She passed this over to Mollie, and proceeded to make another.
"It's delicious!" cried the French girl, as she tasted it, cream and sugar having been added. "Oh, isn't this just lovely!"
"Perfect," murmured Grace. "I wouldn't have missed this for anything!"
In pure enjoyment they reclined on the grass after the meal, and then, as Betty, after a look at her watch, warned them that the better half of their journey still lay before them, they started off again.
They had proceeded a mile or so, and the way was not so pleasant now, for the road was sandy, when they came to a fork of the highway. A time-worn sign-post bore letters that could scarcely be made out, and, though they had a road map, the girls were not quite sure which way to take to get to Rockford. They were debating the matter, alternately consulting the map and the sign-post, when a farmer drove past.
"Which road to Rockford, please?" hailed Betty.
"Th' left!" he exclaimed, sententiously. "G'lang there!" This last to the horses, not to the girls.
"The road map seems to say the road to the right," murmured Betty, as the farmer drove that way himself.
"Well, he ought to know," insisted Grace. "We'll take the left," and they did.
If they had hoped to have all go smoothly on this, their first day of tramping, the girls were destined to disappointment. In blissful ignorance they trudged on, talking so interestedly that they never thought to glance at the sign-boards, of which they passed several.
It was Amy who discovered the error they had made—or rather, the error the farmer had caused them to make. Again coming to a dividing of the ways, they saw a new sign-board, put up by a local automobile organization.
"Eight miles to Hamptown, and ten to Denby," read Amy. "Girls, where isRockford?"
Anxiously they stared at the sign.
"It doesn't seem to say anything about Rockford," murmured Grace.
"Maybe someone has moved our town," suggested Mollie, humorously.
Betty looked puzzled, annoyed and a little anxious. A snub-nosed, freckle-faced boy came along whistling, and beating the dust of the road with a long switch.
"Which is the road to Rockford, little boy?" asked Betty.
"Huh?"
"I say, which is the road to Rockford?"
"Give him a candy if you have any left, Grace," suggested Mollie, in a low tone.
"Are you folks peddlin' candy?" asked the boy, and his eyes shone.
"No, but we have some," answered Betty. "We want to get to Rockford."
"You're five miles off the road," exclaimed the boy, with a grin, as though he took personal delight in their dilemma. "You come the wrong way. Huh!"
"Oh, dear!" murmured Mollie. "Don't you give him any candy, Grace."
"It isn't his fault that we went wrong," spoke Betty.