Nann shuddered as she gazed ahead at the gray, grim island. A flock of long-legged, long-beaked and altogether ungainly looking seabirds arose from the rocks with shrill, unearthly screams, and, after circling overhead for a moment they landed a safe distance away. There was no other sign of life.
Gibralter let the sail flap at the girl’s suggestion and began to row slowly along on the sheltered side of the island.
“Hark!” Nann said, lifting one hand. “Just hear how the surf is pounding on the outer coast. Don’t go too far, Gib; see how the water swirls around the rocks where they jut out into the sea.”
As he rowed slowly along, the boy kept a keen-eyed watch along the shore. “Thar’d ought to be a place whar a body could land safely,” he said at last. Then added excitedly as he pointed: “Look’et; thar’s a big flat shoal that goes way up to the island, an’ I’m sure as anything this here punt could slide right up over it an’ never touch bottom. Are ye game to try it, Miss Nann? Say, are ye?”
The girl looked at the wide, flat shoal that was about two feet under water and which was evidently connected with the island. Then she looked at the eager face of the boy. “I dare, if you dare,” she said with a bright smile.
Gibralter managed to row the punt boat within a length of the island over the submerged shoal, and then it stuck.
“Well,” Nann remarked, “I suppose we will have to stay here until the rising tide lifts us off.”
“Nary a bit of it,” the boy replied as he stripped off his shoes and stockings. This done he stepped over the side of the boat, which, lightened of his weight, again floated.
Taking the rope at the bow, the lad pulled and tugged until the punt was high and dry, then Nann leaped out. Standing on a rock, she shaded her eyes and gazed back across the three miles of sparkling blue waters. She could see the eight cottages in a row on the sandy shore. How strange it seemed to be looking at them from the island.
“We mustn’t stay long, Gib,” she said to the lad who was examining the rocks with interest. “When the tide rises the waves will be higher and that punt boat of yours may not be very seaworthy.”
“Thar’s nothin’ onusual on this here side,” the boy soon reported. “’Twon’t take long to climb up top and see what’s on the other side.” As he spoke, he began to climb over the rocks, holding out his hand to assist the sure-footed girl in the ascent.
“There doesn’t seem to be a green thing growing anywhere,” Nann remarked as she looked about curiously, “even in the crevices there is nothing but a silvery gray moss.” Then she inquired, “Are there any serpents on this island, Gib?”
The boy shook his head. “Never heard tell of anything hereabouts, ’cept just an octopus. Pa says onct a fisherman’s boat was pulled under by one of them critters with a lot of arms sort o’ like snakes.”
Nann stood still and stared at the boy. “Gibralter Strait,” she cried, “if I thought there was one of those terrible sea-serpents about here, I’d go right home this very instant. Why, I’d rather meet a dozen ghosts than one octopus.”
“I guess ’twant nothin’ but a story,” the boy said, sorry that he had happened to mention it. “Guess likely that was all.” Then, as they had reached the top of the rocks that were piled high, they stood for a moment side by side gazing down to the rugged shore far below.
The boy suddenly caught the girl’s arm. “Look!Look!” he cried. “That’s what I was wantin’ to find.”He pointed toward a whitening skeleton of a boat that was high on the rocks well out of reach of the surf and about two hundred feet to the left of where they were standing. “Like as not that wreck’s been thar nigh unto ten year, shouldn’t you say? An’ if so, why mightn’t it be ‘The Phantom Yacht’ as well as any other? I should think it might, shouldn’t you, Miss Nann?”
“I suppose so,” the girl faltered. “But oh, how I do hope that it isn’t. I want to believe that the mother with her boy and girl are safe, somewhere.” Then pleadingly, “Don’t you think we’d better start for home now, Gib? I do want to get away before the tide turns, and even if that old skeleton should be ‘The Phantom Yacht,’ there would be no way for us to prove it. You never did know the real name of the boat, did you?”
“No.” the boy confessed, “I never did. Sort o’ got to thinkin’ ‘Phantom Yacht’ was its name, but like’s not ’twasn’t.”
The bleached skeleton of the boat was soon reached and the lad, leaving Nann standing on a broad flat rock, scrambled down nearer and began searching for something that might identify it as the craft which, many years before, had sailed, white and graceful, to and fro in the sheltered waters of the bay, and which had been called “The Phantom Yacht.”
Half an hour passed, but search as he might, the disappointed boy found nothing that could identify the boat. The storms of many winters had stripped it, leaving but a whitened skeleton and, before long, even that would be broken up and washed on the shore where the cottages were, to be gathered and burned as driftwood.
It was with real regret that Gibralter at last left the wrecked boat and returned to the side of the girl. He found her gazing into the swirling green waters beyond the rocks as though she were fascinated.
“What ye lookin’ at, Miss Nann?” he inquired.
She turned toward him, wide-eyed. “Gib,” she said, “I thought I saw that octopus you were telling about. Look, there it is again! See it stretching out a long brown arm.”
The boy laughed heartily. “That thar’s sea weeds, Miss Nann,” he chuckled, “one o’ the long streamer kind.” Then he added, more seriously, “We’d better scud ’long. ’Pears like the tide is turnin’.” Then his optimistic self once again, “All the better if it has turned. It’ll take us to Siquaw Point a scootin’.”
When they reached the ridge of the island, the boy looked regretfully back at the grim skeleton. “D’ye know, Miss Nann,” he remarked, “I’m sure sartin that we’re leavin’ without findin’ a clue that’s hidin’ thar waitin’ to be found. I’m sure sartin we are.”
It was a habit with the boy to repeat, perhaps for the sake of emphasis.
“Wall,” Nann declared, “to be real honest, Gib, I’d heaps rather be standing on that sandy stretch of beach over there where the cottages are than I would to find any clue that the old skeleton may be concealing.” Then she laughed, as she accepted his proffered assistance to descend the rocks. “I don’t know why, but I feel as though something skeery is about to happen. Maybe I’m more imaginative on water than I am on land.”
They slid and scrambled down the rocks and were nearing the bottom when an ejaculation of mingled astonishment and dismay escaped from the boy.
“What is it, Gib?” the girl asked anxiously. “Has the skeery something happened already?”
“The punt. ’Taint thar. The tide rose sooner’n I was countin’ on and like’s not that boat o’ mine is sailin’ out to sea.”
For one panicky moment the girl stood very still, her hand pressed on her heart. Then she recalled something that her father once had said: “When danger threatens, keep a clear head. That will do more than anything else to avert trouble.”
The boy, shading his eyes, was searching for the escaped punt far out on the shining waters, but Nann, looking about her, made a discovery. Then she laughed gleefully. The boy turned toward her in astonishment. Then, being very quick witted, he too understood. “You don’ need to tell me,” he said, “I’m on! We changed our location, so to speak, when we went to look at the wreck, and that fetched us down at a different place on this here side.”
Nann nodded. “I do believe that we’ll find the punt beyond the rocks yonder,” she hazarded. And they did. Ten minutes later the boy had pushed the boat safely over the submerged shoal. The rising tide carried them swiftly out of danger of the hidden rocks. Although Nann said nothing, she kept intently gazing into the dark green water. She would far rather meet any number of ghosts on land, she assured herself, than even catch a glimpse of one of those dreadful sea monsters.
It was nearly one o’clock when Dories, who was standing on the porch of the cabin, saw the flat-bottomed boat returning, and she ran down to the shore to meet her friend.
“Did you find a clue?” she called as Nan leaped ashore.
“I don’t believe so,” was the merry response. “We found an old whitening skeleton of some ill-fated boat, but I’m not going to believe it is the Phantom Yacht. Not yet, anyway.” Then Nann turned to call to the boy who was pushing his punt away from the rocks, “See you tomorrow, Gib, if you come this way. Thank you for taking me sailing.”
As soon as the girls had turned back toward the cottage, Dories exclaimed, “Nann, I believe that I have thought of a splendid way to trap the ghost tonight, but I’m not going to tell you until just before we go to bed.”
There was a sharp, cold wind that afternoon and so Nann suggested that they make a big fire on the hearth in the living room and write letters. Miss Moore had told them that she wished to be left alone.
“We have used up nearly all of the wood in the shed,” Nann said as she brought in an armful.
“There’s lots of driftwood on the shore. Let’s gather some tomorrow,” Dories suggested as she made herself comfortable in a deep, easy willow chair near the jolly blaze which Nann had started. “Now I’m going to write the newsiest kind of a letter to mother and brother. I suppose you’ll write to your father.”
Nann nodded as she seated herself on the other side of the fireplace, pencil and pad in readiness. For a few moments they scribbled, then Dories glanced up to remark with a half shudder, “Do hear that mournful wind whistling down the chimney, and here comes the fog drifting in so early. If it weren’t for the fire, this would be a gloomy afternoon.”
Again they wrote for a time, then Dories glanced up to find Nann gazing thoughtfully into the fire. “A penny for your thoughts,” she called.
Nann smiled brightly. “They were rather a jumble. I was wondering if, by any chance, you and I would ever meet the wee girl and the handsome little boy who sailed away on the Phantom Yacht; then, too, I was wondering who was playing a practical joke on us.”
“Meaning what?”
“Why the notes, of course.” Nann folded her finished letter, addressed the envelope and after stamping it, she glanced up to ask, “Why not tell me now, how you intend to trap the joker.”
“You mean the spook. Well this is it. I found a little bell today. One that Aunt Jane used, I suppose, to call her maid in former years.”
Nann’s merry laughter rang out. “I’ve heard of belling a cat,” she said, “but never before did I hear of belling a ghost.”
Dories smiled. “Oh, I didn’t mean that we were to catch the—well, whoever it is that leaves the messages, first, and then hang a bell on him. That, of course, would be impossible.”
“Well, then, what is your plan?”
But before Dories could explain, a querulous voice from the adjoining room called, “Girls, its five o’clock! I do wish you would bring me my toast and tea. The air is so chilly, I need it to warm me up.”
Contritely Dories sprang to the door. She had entirely forgotten her aunt’s existence all of the afternoon. “Wouldn’t you like to have part of the supper that Nann and I will prepare for ourselves?” she asked. “We’ll have anything that you would like.”
“Toast and tea are all I wish, and I want them at once,” was the rather ungracious reply. And so the girls went to the kitchen, made a fire in the stove and set the kettle on to boil.
“Goodness, I’d hate to have nothing to eat but tea and toast day in and day out,” was Dories’ comment. Then to her companion, “It’s your turn to choose from the cupboard tonight and plan the supper.”
“All right, and I’ll get it, too, while you wait on Miss Moore.”
An hour later the girls had finished the really excellent meal which Nann had prepared, and, for a while, they sat close to the kitchen stove to keep warm. The wind, which had been moaning all of the afternoon about the cabin, had risen in velocity and Dories remarked with a shudder that it might be the start of one of those dismal three-day storms about which Gib had told them.
“It may be as terrible as that hurricane that swept the sea up over the wall and undermined old Colonel Wadbury’s house,” she continued, bent, it would seem, on having the picture as dark as she could.
“Won’t it be great?” Nann smiled provokingly. “You ought to be glad, for surely the spook that carries the lantern down on the point will be blown away.” Then, chancing to recall something, she asked, “But you haven’t told me your plan yet. How are you going to bell the ghost?”
“My plan is to hang a little bell on the knob after we have locked our door. Then, of course, if we have a midnight visitor, he won’t be able to enter without ringing the bell,” Dories explained.
“Poor Aunt Jane, if it does ring,” Nann remarked. “How frightened she will be.”
Dories drew her knees up and folded her arms about them. “Well, I do believe that we would be most scared of all,” she said.
“Then why do it?” This merrily from Nann. “And, what’s more, if it is a ghost, it will be able to slip into our room without awakening us. Whoever heard of a ghost having to stop to unlock a door?”
“Maybe not,” Dories agreed, “but if we are going to have any real enjoyment during our stay in this cabin, we must frighten away the ghost that seems to haunt it. I think my plan is an excellent one and, at least, I’d like to try it.”
“Very well, maiden fair.” Nann rose as she spoke. “On your head be the result. Now, shall we ascend to our chamber?”
Taking the lantern, she led the way, and Dories followed, carrying a small bell. When the loft room was reached the lantern was placed on a table. Nann carefully locked the door and, removing the key, she placed it by the lamp.
Then she held the small bell while Dories tied it to the knob. This done, they hastily undressed and hopped into bed.
“Let’s leave the light burning all night so that we may watch the bell,” the more timid maiden suggested.
How her companion laughed. “Why watch it?” she inquired. “We surely will be able to hear it in the dark if it rings. There is very little oil left in the lantern, so we’d better put the light out now, and then, if along about midnight we hear the bell ringing, we can relight it and see who our visitor may be.”
“Nann Sibbett, I’m almost inclined to think that you write those messages yourself, just to tease me, for you don’t seem to be the least bit afraid.” This accusingly.
“Honest, Injun, I don’t write them!” Nann said with sudden seriousness. “I haven’t the slightest idea where the messages come from, but I do know that whoever leaves them does not mean harm to us, so why be afraid? Now cuddle down, for I’m going to blow out the light.”
Dories ducked under the quilt and, a moment later, when she ventured to peer out, she found the room in complete darkness, for, as usual, a heavy fog shut out the light of the stars.
“How long do you suppose it will be before the bell rings?” she whispered.
“Well, I’m not going to stay awake to listen,” Nann replied, but she had not slept long when she was suddenly awakened by her companion, who was clutching her arm. “Did you hear that noise? What was it? Didn’t it sound like a faint tinkle?”
The two girls sat up in bed and stared at the door.
The faint tinkle sounded again. Nann sprang up and lighted the lantern. To her amazement the bell was gone. Surprised as she was, she had sufficient presence of mind not to tell her timid companion what had happened. Very softly she turned the knob. The door was still locked. She glanced at the window; the blind was still hooked. Then, blowing out the light, she said in a tone meant to express unconcern, “All is serene on the Potomac as far as I can see.” After returning to bed, however, Nann remained awake, long after her companion’s even breathing told that she was asleep, wondering what it could all mean. Toward morning Nann fell into a light slumber, from which she was awakened by the sun streaming into the room. Sitting up, she saw that Dories was dressed and had opened the blinds. For a moment she sat in a dazed puzzling. What was it that she had been pondering about in the night? Remembering suddenly, she glanced quickly at the door. There hung the little bell as quietly as though it had never disappeared. Dories, hearing a movement, turned from the window where she had been gazing out at the sparkling sea.
“Good morning to you, Nancy dear,” she said gaily. “O, such a lovely day this is! How I hope that I may go sailing with you and Gib.” Then, as she saw her friend continuing to stare at the bell as though fascinated, Dories remarked, “Well, I guess the ghost took warning all right and stayed away. We won’t find a little paper in our room this morning, I’ll wager.” As she talked, she was crossing the room to the door. Lifting the little bell, she dropped it again with a clang.
Nann sprang out of bed, all excited interest. “Dories, what happened? Why did you drop the bell?”
Dories pointed to the floor where it lay. Nann bent to pick it up. Tied to the clapper was a bit of paper and on it was written in the familiar penmanship and with the same red ink, “In eleven days you will know all.”
Instead of acting frightened, Dories’ look was one of triumph. “There now, Mistress Nann,” she exclaimed, “you are always saying that it is not a being supernatural that is leaving these notes. What have you to say about it this morning?”
“That I am truly puzzled,” was the confession Nann was forced to make; “that the joker is much too clever for us, but we’ll catch him yet, if I’m a prophet.” She was dressing as she talked.
Dories, standing near the window, was examining the paper. “It seems to be the sort that packages are wrapped in,” she speculated. Then, after a silent moment and a closer scrutiny, “Nann, do you suppose that it is written with blood?”
“Good gracious, no!” the denial was emphatic. “Why do you ask such an absurd question?”
“Well, that was what the red ink was made of in one of the ghost stories that I read to Aunt Jane yesterday morning.”
Nann, having completed her toilet, went to the window to look out. “Good!” she exclaimed. “There is Gibralter Strait in his little punt boat. He seems to have plenty of time to go sailing. Oh, I remember now. He did tell me that their country school does not open until after Christmas. So many boys are needed to help their fathers on the farms and with the cranberries until snow falls.”
“I suppose I ought to stay at home again this morning and read to Aunt Jane.” Dories’ voice sounded so doleful that her friend whirled about, and, putting loving arms about her, she exclaimed: “Not a bit of it! You may sail with Gibralter this morning and I will stay here and read to your Great-Aunt Jane.”
But when the two girls visited the room of the elderly woman, she told them that she wished to be left quite alone.
Dories went to the bedside and, almost timidly, she touched the wrinkled head. “Don’t you feel well today, Aunt Jane!” she asked, feeling in her heart a sudden pity for the old woman. “Isn’t there something I could do for you?”
For one fleeting moment there was that strange expression in the dark, deeply-sunken eyes. It might have been a hungry yearning for love and affection. Impulsively the girl kissed the sallow cheek, but the elderly woman had closed her eyes and she did not open them again, and so Nann and Dories tiptoed out to the kitchen.
“Poor Aunt Jane!” the latter began. “She hasn’t had much love in her life. I don’t remember just how it was. She was engaged to marry somebody once. Then something happened and she didn’t. After that, Mother says she just shut herself up in that fine home of hers outside of Boston and grieved.”
“Poor Aunt Jane, indeed!” Nann commented as she began to prepare the breakfast. “She must be haunted by many of the ghosts that your mother told about, memories of loving deeds that she might have done. With her money and her home, she could have made many people happy, but instead she has spent her life just being sorry for herself.” Then more brightly, “I’m glad we can both go sailing with Gib.”
Half an hour later, the girls in their bright colored sweater-coats and tams raced across the beach. The red-headed boy was on the watch for them and he soon had the punt alongside the broad rock which served as a dock. “Do you want passengers this morning?” Nann called gaily.
“Sure sartin!” was the prompt reply. Then, when the two girls were seated on the broad seat in the stem the lad hauled in the sheet and away they went scudding. “Where are you going, Gib?” Nann inquired curiously.
“We’ll cruise ’long the water side o’ the ol’ ruin,” he told them. “Pa says he’s sure sartin he saw a light burnin’ thar agin late las’ night, an’ like’s not, we’ll see suthin’.”
The girls were as eager as the boy to view the old ruin from the water, and the breeze being brisk, they were quickly blown down the coast and into the quiet sheltered water beyond the point. “O, Gib,” Dories cried fearfully, “do be careful! There are logs under the water along here that come nearly to the top. Is it a wreck?”
“No, ’taint. It’s all that’s left of the long dock I was tellin’ yo’ about whar the Phantom Yacht used to tie up. Pa said ol’ Colonel Wadbury had lights clear to the end of it and that, when ’twas lit up, ’twas a purty sight.”
“It must have been,” Nann agreed. Then Dories inquired: “Doesn’t it make you feel strange to realize that you are on the very spot where the Phantom Yacht once sailed?”
“And where some day it may sail again,” Nann completed.
The high rocky point cut off the wind and so Gib let the sail flap as they slowly drifted toward the swamp.
“Thar’s all that’s left of that sea wall I was tellin’ about,” the boy nodded at huge rocks half sunken in mire.
“The reeds are higher than our heads,” Dories commented; then she asked, “Is there a path through the marsh, do you think, Gib?”
“No, I’msurethar ain’t one,” the boy declared. “Me’n Dick Burton would have found it if thar had been. We’ve looked times enough from the land side. We never could get here by water, bein’ as we didn’t have a boat. That’s why I’ve been savin’ to get a punt. Dick, he put in some toward it, an’ so its half his’n.”
“Who is Dick Burton?” Nann inquired.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Gib seemed surprised. “Sort o’ thought o’ course you knew ’bout the Burtons. Dick’s folks own the cabin that’s nearest the rocks. He’s a city feller ’bout my age, or a leetle older, I reckon. He’s been comin’ to these parts ever since we was shavers. You’d ought to know him,” this to Nann, “he lives in Boston, whar you come from.”
The girl addressed laughed good-naturedly. “Gib,” she queried, “have you ever been up to Boston?”
The boy reluctantly confessed that he had not. Then the girl explained that since it was much larger than Siquaw Center, two people might live there forever and not become acquainted.
“Yeah.” Gib had evidently not been listening to the last part of Nann’s remark. “I do wish Dick was here now that we’ve got the punt,” he said. “I sure sartin wish he was.”
“Why?” Dories inquired as she let one hand drift in the cool water.
“Wall, me’n he allays thought maybe thar was a channel through the swamp up toward the old ruin. If he was here we’d set out to find it.”
“But why can’t Dori and I help you as much as he could?” Nann queried. “I believe you are right, Gib,” she continued before the boy had time to reply. “I’ve seen swamps before, and there was always a narrow channel through them where the tide washed when it was high. See ahead there, where the swamp comes down to the water’s edge, I wish you’d take the sail down, Gib, and row as close to it as you can.”
The boy looked his amazement.
“But, I say, Miss Nann, like’s not we’d hit a snag, like’s not we would.”
“Who’s skeered now?” the girl taunted. The boy flushed. “Not me!” he protested, and taking down the sail he rowed along the water side of the dense reedy growths. “Yo’ see thar’s nothin’,” he began when Nann, leaning forward, pointed as she cried excitedly, “There it is! There’s an opening in the swamp leading right up to that haunted house.”
Nann was right. A narrow channel of clear water appeared among the reeds that were higher than their heads. It led toward the middle of the marsh and was wide enough for a larger boat than theirs to pass through.
“Now, the next question is, do we dare go in?” Nann was gleeful over her find and how she wished that Gib’s friend, Dick Burton, were there to share with them that exciting moment.
“Well, that question is easy to answer,” Dories hastened to say. “We most certainly do not dare.”
The boy, having removed his nondescript cap, was scratching his ear in a way that he always did when puzzled. Then there was a sudden eager light in his red-brown eyes. Replacing his hat, he seized the oars and began to row rapidly back up the shore and toward the row of eight cottages.
Nann was puzzled and voiced her curiosity. “Got to get back to Siquaw in time for the ten-ten train,” was all the information she received.
Since he had said nothing of this when they started out, and had seemed to be in no hurry whatever, Nann naturally wondered about it.
Some light might have been thrown on his action had she seen him, one hour later, as he sat on the high stool at his father’s desk in the general store. He was painstakingly writing, and, when the ten-ten train arrived, Gibralter Strait was on the platform waiting to send to the nearby city of Boston the very first letter that he had ever written.
All the next day the girls waited and watched, but Gibralter Strait appeared neither on land nor on sea to explain his queer actions. Their hostess asked Dories to read to her and so the morning was passed in that way. Nann, busy at a piece of fancy work she was making for a Christmas present, sat listening. In the afternoon the girls were told to amuse themselves. This they did by climbing to the “tip-top rock,” sitting there in the balmy sun and speculating about the old ruin; about the reason for Gib’s sudden departure for his home the day before, and about the boy and girl who had sailed away on the Phantom Yacht. It was not until a fog, filmy at first, but rapidly increasing in density, began to hide the sun that they thought of returning homewards. As they passed the cabin nearest the rocks, Dories said, “This is the Burton cottage, I suppose. I wonder if Dick is our kind of boy?”
“Meaning what?” Nann wondered.
“O, you know as well as I do. I like Gib, of course. He’s a splendid boy, but he hasn’t had a chance. I merely meant a boy from families like our own.”
“I rather think so,” Nann replied, as she gazed at the boarded-up cabin. Then suddenly she stopped and stared at one of the upper windows. The blind had opened ever so slightly and then had closed again, but of this Nann said nothing. She was afraid that she was becoming almost as imaginative as Dories. Then suddenly she recalled something. Gib had said that his father had seen a light in the old ruin the night before. And what was more, she and Doriesknewthere had been someone carrying a lantern on the beach near the rocks at least twice since they had been there. What if the lantern-carrier hid in the Burton cottage during the day? He couldn’t live in the old ruin, since it had only one wall standing.
Luckily, Dories had been interested in watching the waves breaking at her feet. Turning, she called, “O, but it’s getting cold and damp. Let’s run the rest of the way.”
When they reached their home cabin, Nann went at once to inquire if Miss Moore wished her supper. The girl was sure that she heard a scurrying noise in the old woman’s room. The door was closed and there was silence for a brief moment before she was told to enter. Puzzled, Nann glanced quickly at the bed and noted that the old woman’s cap was awry. She also saw something else that puzzled her, but she merely said, “What would you like tonight with your tea, Miss Moore?”
“Nothing at all but toast, and tell Dories to be sure it doesn’t burn. I don’t relish it when it has been scraped.” The tone in which this was said was impatient and fretful. It was evident that the old woman was not in as pleasant a mood as she had seemed to be in the morning.
Returning to the kitchen, where the kettle was already boiling, Nann made the tea and toasted the bread as well as she could over the blaze; then Dories arranged her aunt’s tray attractively and took it in to her. While she was gone, Nann stood staring out of the window at the gathering dusk. She believed she had a clue to one of the mysteries surrounding them, but decided not to tell her friend until she was a little more certain about it herself.
When Dories returned to the kitchen she said, “Day-dreaming, Nann?”
“No, dusk-dreaming,” was the smiling reply; then, “Now let’s get our evening repast. What shall it be?”
Together they looked in the closet, each selecting a canned vegetable and something for desert. “This is a lazy way to live,” Nann began, when Dories exclaimed: “Do you realize that we haven’t had one of those notes today? I believe my bell scared away the ghost after all.”
Nann laughed merrily. “Nary a bit of it, my friend. Didn’t his spooky highness tie his last note to the bell clapper? I suppose that is why we didn’t hear it tinkle again.”
“But we haven’t found a note today—O dear!” Dories broke off to exclaim: “The fire must be going out, Nann,” she called; “you’re the magician when it comes to stirring up a blaze. What do you suppose is the matter?”
A quick glance within brought the amused answer: “Wood needed, my dear, that’s all! Which reminds me of Dad’s wondering why the car won’t go when it’s out of gas.” As she spoke she turned toward the wood box and found it empty. “Hmm!” she ejaculated, “that means one of us will have to hie out to the shed after more wood if we want a hot supper.”
Dories, after a swift glance at the black fog-hung window, suggested, “Let’s change our menu and have a cold spread.”
“Nixy, my dear,” Nann said brightly. “I’ll be wood-carrier. I’ll sally forth with a lighted lantern, like that mysterious midnight prowler. I won’t be able to bring in much wood, but I believe a piece or two will provide all the heat we’ll need to warm up canned things.” She was lighting the lantern as she talked. The lamp was burning on the kitchen table, and, while her friend was gone, Dories laid out the dishes and silver.
Nann, having reached the shed, groped about for the leather thong. To her surprise the door was not fastened, and, as she stood peering into the dense blackness, she was sure that she heard a scrambling noise inside. Then all was still. Nann scratched one of the matches that she had brought with her. In the far corner stood an empty barrel and in front of it was piled the wood that she and Dories had gathered on the beach. Not another thing was to be seen, and although she stood listening intently for several seconds, not another sound was heard.
“A rat probably,” the girl thought as she placed her lantern on the floor and picked up several pieces of wood.
Returning to the kitchen, Nann threw her armful of wood into the box near the stove, when Dories suddenly leaped forward, exclaiming excitedly, “There it is. There’s the note we have been wondering about.”
“Why—why, so it is!” Nann stared as though she could hardly believe her eyes. Then, springing up, she cried joyfully: “Dories Moore, we’ve caught the ghost. He was leaving this paper when I went out. He must still be in the woodshed somewhere, for I bolted the door on the outside. He must have been hiding in that old empty barrel when I looked in. Light the lantern again and let’s go out this minute and see who is there.”
Although Dories was not enthusiastic over the prospect of capturing a ghost in a woodshed on so dark a fog-damp night, yet, since her companion was ready to start, she couldn’t refuse to accompany her, and so, after closing the kitchen door, they stole along the path leading from the porch to the shed that was nearer the swamp. Suddenly Dories clutched her friend’s arm, whispering, “Hark. What’s that?”
“It’s the ghost. He’s still in there.” This triumphantly from Nann, the fearless. “That’s the same scrambling noise that I heard before. Come on. Don’t be afraid. I’ll throw open the door and at least we’ll see who it is.”
Leaping forward, Nann unbolted the door and held up the lantern. The shed was as empty as it had been before, and there was nothing at all in the barrel.
Dories’ sigh was one of relief, and she fairly darted back to the warm kitchen, nor did she breathe naturally until the outer door was bolted. Then Nann inquired, “What did the note say. We forgot to read it?” Stooping, she took it from under a splinter of wood and, opening it, read: “In ten days you will know all.”
Long after Dories slept that night Nann lay awake thinking of the several mysteries surrounding them. Who was leaving the notes in places where the girls could not help finding them; who was carrying a lantern on the rocky point at night; was it the same light that was seen in the old ruin by people living in Siquaw Center, and why had the blind in the Burton cottage opened ever so little and then closed again as though someone had peered out at them for a brief moment? It was indeed puzzling. Could it possibly have anything to do with the Phantom Yacht? Nann decided that was impossible. At last she fell asleep. When she awakened it was nearly dawn. The fog had drifted away, the stars shone out and the full moon made it as light as day.
Nann, the fearless, decided to dress and go out on the sand and look at the Burton cottage. She was nearly dressed before she realized that if Dories woke and found her gone, she might scream out in her fright and waken the old woman, and so she shook her gently, whispering her plan. Dories’ eyes showed her terror at being left alone. She got up at once. “I simply will not stay in this haunted loft,” she declared vehemently. “I’m going with you.” As it was still dark they took the lighted lantern with them, but when they reached the back porch, Nann whispered that they would have to put out the light as they would be seen if, indeed, there was anyone to see them. “We’ll take it, though. I have matches in my pocket. We’ll light it if we need it.”
Dories clung to her friend’s hand as Nann led the way back of the row of boarded-up cottages. When they reached the seventh, Dories suddenly drew back and whispered, “Nann, why are we doing this? What are you expecting to see? I’m simply scared to death.” Her companion realized that this was true, since Dories’ teeth were chattering. Self-rebukingly, she said, “O, I ought not have brought you. In fact, I probably shouldn’t have come myself, but I am so eager to solve at least one of the mysteries that surround us.” Then she told how she had been sure that she had seen a blind open ever so slightly and close late the afternoon before as though someone had been watching them. “I thought if someone goes every night to the old ruin and returns to the Burton cottage to hide during the day, he probably comes just about this hour, and that if we were watching, we might at least see what the—the—well—whoever it is—looks like.” They had crouched down in the shadow of the seventh cottage as Nann made this explanation.
Slowly the darkness lightened, the stars and moon dimmed and the east became gray; then rosy, but still there had been no sign of anyone entering the Burton cabin. Nann had been sure that an entrance could not be made in the front of the cottage as the lower windows and door on that side were securely boarded up. The back door was not boarded, and so that was where she was watching.
An hour dragged slowly by. The sun rose and was well on its apparent upward way, and still no one appeared.
“Don’t you think that maybe you imagined it all?” Dories inquired at length as she tried to change her position, having become stiffened from crouching so long.
“Why, no, I am sure that I didn’t.” Then, fearless as usual, Nann announced, “I’m going up to the back porch and try the door.”
This she did, and to her surprise it opened, creaking noisily as it swung on rusty hinges.
Dories leaped to her side. “Gracious, Nann, are you going in?” she whispered tragically. “If anyone is in there, he might lock us in or something.”
Nann turned to reply, but instead she exclaimed: “Why, Dories Moore, you’re whiter than any sheet I ever saw. If you’re that scared, we’d better go right home.”
“I am!” Dories nodded miserably. “I wouldn’t any more dare go into this cottage than—than——”
“Then we won’t.” Nann took her friend by the hand and together they went down the back steps, and Dories said: “I’d rather go home by the front beach if you don’t mind. It’s more open. There’s something so uncanny about the swamps at the back.”
“Anything to please,” was the laughing reply. As they rounded the cottage, Nann looked curiously at the upper windows, and was sure that she saw the same blind open ever so little, then close again. She said nothing of this, and tried to change the trend of her companion’s thoughts by talking about Gibralter Strait and wondering if they would see him during that day which had just dawned. Nann was deciding that she would take Gib into her confidence. A boy as fearless as he was would not mind entering the Burton cottage and finding out why that upper blind had opened and closed as it seemed to do.
As they neared their home cabin, Dories became more like her natural self and even skipped along the hard beach, laughing back at Nann as she called, “Another glorious, sparkling day! I hope something interesting is going to happen.”
“I believe something will,” Nann replied. They were nearing the front steps when Dories stood still, pointing, “Look at that stone lying in the middle of the top step. How do you suppose it ever got there?”
Nann shook her head and, leaping up the steps, she lifted the small rock, then turned back, exclaiming: “Just what I thought! Here is today’s note from your ghost. It’s much too clever for us.” Then she read: “In nine days you shall know all.”
Not wishing to awaken Miss Moore at so early an hour, the girls tiptoed down the steps and went around to the back of the cabin.
“Let’s look in the woodshed by daylight,” Nann suggested as she unbolted the door. “Nothing within, just as I supposed,” she remarked. “Humm-ho. We’re not very good detectives, I guess.”
They started walking toward the kitchen. “But why try to find out what the mysteries are about if every day brings us one nearer to the time when we are to know all?” Dories inquired.