Alas, the marshmallows came in pound tins and the shopkeeper gave Artie three tins so tightly sealed and wrapped that a burglar could not have opened them and left no trace.
Artie went on to the post-office and there, waiting for the letters to be sorted, was Carrie Pepper.
"Hello, Artie," she greeted him. "Mercy, what's that you are carrying? Eggs?"
"No," said Artie, always ready to give information, especially when asked. "No, I haven't any eggs. These are marshmallows."
Carried looked as though she rather expected him to offer her one.
"They're in a box and sealed up, so I can't offer you any," Artie explained. "Anyway, they're for to-night."
"What are you going to do to-night?" asked Carrie curiously.
"Have a beach party down in front of ourhouse," Artie replied. "Ella Mooney is coming."
Carrie said "Oh!" and just then the little wooden shutter at the post-office window went up with a bang and the postmaster began to distribute the mail. Artie had a small sheaf of letters and papers to take back with him and he did not see Carrie again.
Margy was the only one of the three girls who was deeply interested in the question of what she should wear. Margy dearly loved pretty clothes and, if her mother had allowed her, it is to be feared she would have worn her most fetching frock to the beach party, a white lace affair with a pink sash. As it was, she had to be content with her pongee, but at least, so she said, she could do her hair a new way. She meant part it a new way, for it was bobbed.
After supper she went upstairs to dress, knowing by experience that it would take her longer than either Polly or Jess. Polly, drying dishes for Mrs. Larue, was startled a few minutes later to hear a frantic call from Margy.
"Polly!" called her chum. "Oh, Polly! Jess! Listen, girls!"
Dish towel in hand, Polly ran out into the hall. Margy was leaning over the banisters, distress pictured vividly in her anxious face.
"Polly, who do you suppose is coming?" whispered Margy. "I happened to look out of the bathroom window, and I saw them coming down the road! Mattie Helms and Carrie Pepper!"
"Perhaps they're not coming here," Polly whispered back hopefully, but at that instant the screen door banged and Jess flew into the hall.
"Say, Carrie Pepper and Mattie Helms are coming!" she cried. "I saw them up the road. Who invited them to our party?"
Polly's sense of humor helped her to see the funny side.
"You sound as though you were telling us, 'the enemy are advancing!'" she giggled. "I don't know who invited Mattie and Carrie, but if they have come, we'll just have to be nice to them, I suppose. Maybe they didn't know we were going to have a beach party and this is just a call they're making."
"I'll bet a cookie they've come to the party!" Margy announced, as they heard the unbidden guests ascending the porch steps.
CHAPTER XVII
THE BEACH PARTY
Margydeclaring that she was not dressed and Jess flatly refusing to go, Polly had to answer the ring at the door.
"Hello," said Carrie, smiling. "We thought we'd come over for a little while. Isn't it a lovely evening?"
Polly thought it was and asked them to sit down on the porch, "while I tell Jess and Margy you're here."
She also told her mother and the others. To her surprise, they seemed to take the situation calmly.
"Why, dear, we have plenty of everything to eat," Mrs. Marley declared. "I think it will be nice to have Carrie and Mattie stay. Run out on the porch and talk with them until I get the rest of this bacon sliced."
"But they didn't ask us to their parties!" objected Jess, who was listening.
"What difference does that make?" Mrs.Larue said briskly. "Beach parties are anything but formal. Of course we must ask Carrie and Mattie to stay and share our fun."
Polly and Jess went out on the porch and talked to Carrie and Mattie till Margy came down in her pongee dress, her hair parted on one side. She usually parted it in the center.
"Here comes somebody," Carrie observed, a few minutes later. "Why, she's coming here. Do you know her?"
"That's Ella Mooney," said Polly quietly, going down the steps to meet the little girl who was advancing shyly.
She introduced Ella to the two girls she had not met and then every one came out on the porch and in the general hubbub of greetings and getting started for the beach, Ella quite forgot to be tongue-tied, and chatted as gayly as any of the others.
The boys' amazement when they saw Carrie and Mattie was so open that Polly wanted to laugh. Fred frankly scowled and his mother thought it best to keep him very busy with boxes and parcels, lest he forget his position as host and say something discourteous.
"A beach party!" trilled Carrie, when Mrs. Williamson explained what was planned. "Oh, I didn't know you were going to have a party to-night! Mattie and I would not have dreamed of coming over."
Artie was halfway down the steps with a box of stuffed eggs in his hands, but he heard this remark and turned in astonishment.
"Why, I told you we were going to have a party," he said clearly. "In the post-office this afternoon. Don't you remember? I said Ella Mooney was coming. That was why I had the marshmallows."
Carrie blushed and Mattie looked queer, but neither girl made any reply. In desperation Polly began to talk very fast about nothing at all, and in a few minutes the party had climbed over the dunes and were on the beach.
The fire was the most important thing to be attended to, and when the wood was piled, Mr. Williamson handed a match to Ella Mooney.
"We'll ask the honor guest to light the fire," he said, with a smile.
Ella was such a quiet child that one had to look at her intently to realize the charm of her seriousness. She had bright eyes that missed nothing of what went on around her, and though thinner than Jess, she was more muscular. It was easy to see that she lived an outdoor life and that she was much alone. She rarely spoke unless first spoken to, and then she replied readilyenough and with a charming smile that lighted up her sober face.
"But she has a good time, just listening," said Polly to herself, after watching her guest a few minutes. "She likes to hear the fun and she laughs at all the jokes."
"Tell about the club," suggested Ella Mooney, forgetting to be shy. "Your father said you had a Riddle Club, and I'd love to hear about what you do. I never belonged to any club, because I don't know many boys or girls."
"Don't you go to school?" Mattie Helms asked curiously.
"No, I have a governess who comes and teaches me," answered Ella. "Daddy doesn't like to have me go away to school, and the Sunrise school isn't very good."
So Polly, with the active help of the other members, tried to tell her something about the Riddle Club, and what they did and something of the experiences they had had.
"What nice times you have together!" said Ella wistfully.
"We have more fun in our Conundrum Club," Carrie declared. "We meet around at different houses, and it's more exciting. Besides, there are fourteen of us—seven boys and seven girls—and we can have better times with a crowd."
"I think clubs and pins and meetings are all nice," replied Ella quietly.
By this time the fire presented a glowing bed of embers and was pronounced "just right" for toasting the bacon and cheese sandwiches. Fred passed around the pointed sticks, and as fast as one toasted his or her sandwich, it was eaten.
"Gee, that's good!" sighed Ward, in blissful satisfaction, after he had disposed of three sandwiches and as many more of the stuffed eggs.
The moon was making a silver path across the water, and the older folk decided that a walk on the beach would please them more than sitting still and toasting marshmallows. So, after promising to return within an hour, they set off up the beach and left the fire to the Riddle Club and their guests.
"I've eaten so many marshmallows I don't want to taste another one," said Carrie Pepper, putting down her stick, after a busy interval in which the luscious brown and dripping marshmallows had been enjoyed to the uttermost. "Let's do something for fun."
It was, perhaps, not Carrie's place to propose a change in the program, but Carrie had never been called backward or shy. She said what came into her head and said it so plainly that few people were left in doubt as to her opinions and wishes.
"Ella hasn't finished yet," said Polly significantly.
Ella Mooney was intently roasting a marshmallow, her whole mind absorbed in getting it just the right shade of brown. There was no doubt about Ella having a good time—her face was transfigured with happiness, and though she did not talk much, she laughed more and more spontaneously.
"That child is lonely," Mrs. Marley had remarked, as the elders left the children gathered around the fire. "It will do her good to play a little with our boys and girls; she needs companions of her own age."
"I'm through now," Ella said hastily, popping her candy into her mouth. "I didn't know I was eating so many."
"You didn't—not half as many as the boys," Jess assured her. "And there's a pound left in that box we haven't touched."
Ella, however, could not be persuaded to eat any more, so they put more driftwood on to burn and leaned back to watch the fire.
"I tell you what would be fun to do," said Carrie, helping herself to a marshmallow from the freshly opened box and apparently forgetting whatshe had just said. "Let's each write a message on a strip of paper and put them in that tin box. Then throw it in the ocean and perhaps it will be picked up fifty years from now."
"By the Chinese, who can't read it," Fred suggested.
"Then they can have the messages translated," retorted Carrie.
Artie's mind approved thoroughly of this idea, and he was eager to try it. He was quite sure that a waiting world would be eager to hear from them fifty years hence.
"Well, here's a pencil," said Fred grudgingly. "But I haven't any paper."
"Tear up the labels on the candy boxes," Jess suggested. "We can write on the back."
"And don't let any one know what you are going to write," said Mattie Helms. "Then it will be a surprise."
Jess whispered that she didn't see who was going to be surprised, but Margy was busily writing and told her to hush.
After some thought and a little bickering, due to the impatience of one or two of the writers who didn't like to have to wait for the pencil, the nine slips of paper were ready to be put in the box. The lid fitted tightly and, once in place,seemed quite likely to stay there for fifty years, if the box was not found before that time.
It was low tide, and Fred had to go out several yards before he thought it safe to fling the box. He threw it as far as he could and it fell with a satisfying splash.
"I wish I knew who was going to find it," sighed Carrie. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I don't think it makes much difference," Polly declared, and Fred said that he hoped an Eskimo found the box and ate the papers.
"Say," Artie remarked matter-of-factly, "there's somebody sitting at our fire."
Artie spoke as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world, but Carrie was at once excited.
"I left my sweater!" she cried. "If that's a tramp, he'll steal it."
Ella said nothing, but Polly remembered the little beaded bag she had seen.
"You left your purse, didn't you, Ella?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, but there's only ten dollars in it," Ella said calmly, though the others gasped at thought of this sum.
"Probably it's only some one who wants to get warm," Jess declared. "Come on—he'll go when he sees us coming."
But the tramp, if tramp he was, did not move at their approach. He merely stared, and the children stared back at him.
They saw an old man, stoop-shouldered and dressed in wrinkled, baggy clothes that were vaguely reminiscent of sailor's clothing. He wore a funny little peaked cap and he had a curly white beard.
"Evening," he said, as they did not speak.
"How—how do you do?" Polly stammered.
"I saw the fire and I thought I'd sit down and warm my old bones," croaked the tramp, in a hoarse voice. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Well, if you're warm, I should think you could go now," Carrie said, before any one else could speak.
She snatched her sweater from the ground, almost from under the old man's elbow.
"Oh, Carrie, how can you talk like that?" whispered Polly.
"Well, you never can tell what a tramp will take," Carrie said, taking no pains to keep her voice low.
"I wouldn't take anything, lady," the old man protested, with dignity.
"I'll bet he's hungry," Jess whispered to Polly. "Are there any sandwiches left?"
There were three or four, and a little shylyPolly offered them to the tramp who thanked her and ate them with evident appetite. Then Jess toasted him several marshmallows, and though he said he wasn't "any great hand for sweet things," he ate them without further protest.
Fred put more wood on the fire, and as he leaned over to prod it into a better blaze, he saw Ella Mooney slip her hand into the gaping pocket of the shabby jacket the old man wore.
"I'll bet she gave him some money," ran Fred's swift thought. "She's that kind of a girl—while all Carrie can think of is that she may lose her silly sweater."
Ella's eye caught Fred's, and she blushed violently. He shook his head to signify that he would not tell, and she seemed relieved. Meanwhile, Mattie Helms had been asking questions: Where had he come from? Where was he going? Was he a sailor?
"We just sent some messages off in a tin box," she chattered. "Do you suppose maybe sailors on a ship will pick them up, or people on shore?"
"Maybe a ship will sight your box," the old man said slowly. "It's hard to say. Then again, it may never be found—it may float for years and not be picked up."
"I don't see why he doesn't go," Carrie muttered disagreeably to Polly. "I don't think yourmother would like us to be talking to an old tramp."
"Why, Carrie, maybe he isn't a tramp! How do you know he doesn't live near here?" expostulated Polly. "And if he is a tramp, what harm is there in letting him sit by our fire? I wish you wouldn't talk so loud—he might hear you."
"Captain Mooney is awfully particular," said Carrie, apparently on another track. "Everybody says he won't let Ella talk to hardly anybody. He won't like it if he finds you had a tramp come to your party."
"Maybe you think I'd better go, young lady?" the old man asked, getting to his feet slowly and painfully. "I'm not welcome here?"
Shy, quiet little Ella Mooney surprised them all by bursting into speech.
"Don't go," she urged earnestly. "We want you to stay."
"I think I'd better go," the old man muttered, and tugged at his beard with both hands.
Carrie shrieked and clutched at Fred.
"Look!" she gasped.
CHAPTER XVIII
SWIMMING RACES
Beforenine pairs of astonished eyes, the old man pulled off his curly white beard and let it drop to the ground. He threw off his cap, turned down the collar of his coat, and grinned pleasantly, a grin that strongly reminded them of Fred Williamson when he was in mischief.
"Mr. Williamson!" cried Carrie, and:
"Dad!" Margy shouted together with Fred.
Mr. Williamson's eyes were dancing.
"Well?" he asked, enjoying the variety of expressions on the amazed faces turned to his.
"It was a trick!" Carrie scolded. "I might have known. I suppose you knew who he was all the time."
"I thought it was somebody like Mr. Williamson," said Mattie Helms. "But of course I couldn't be sure."
Fred chuckled, for he had seen Mattie's face when his father removed the beard. If there was ever a surprised girl, Mattie had been surprised.
"You're mistaken, Carrie," said Mr. Williamson pleasantly. "No one knew I was going to play a trick like this—least of all myself. But the temptation to try and fool you all was too much; I couldn't resist it. I went up to the house and got into these duds and raked out the beard from Mrs. Meeker's attic. I think it must be a Hallowe'en trophy."
Carrie's face was red. She would have given anything to have acted differently.
"By the way, Ella, I'll return this to you now. I don't need it, but thank you for the kind little thought," said Mr. Williamson, handing Ella a folded bill he took from the pocket of his coat.
It was Ella's turn to blush, and she did vividly.
"I didn't think you saw me," she said diffidently, putting the five dollars back in her purse.
"I knew I was right," Fred said to himself, and when they covered the fire and made ready to go home, he was the one to suggest that they all walk to the hotel with Ella.
Ordinarily Fred troubled himself very little about social duties, and he had been known to go to some trouble to avoid them.
After Ella had been left at the hotel—where her father was waiting for her on the porch—Carrie and Mattie were escorted to the Helms' bungalow and then the Riddle Club enjoyed amoonlight walk over the deserted beach to their own comfortable cottage.
"Gee, Carrie never will get over the way you fooled us, Daddy," Fred said to his father.
"I'm sorry if I hurt her feelings," declared Mr. Williamson seriously. "It was all a joke."
Polly and Margy and Jess enjoyed talking things over the next day. They were sure that Ella Mooney had had a happy time and really enjoyed the party. When the next week a gracefully-worded little note, addressed to Mrs. Marley, but including every one at Meeker Cottage by name, arrived from Ella, the girls were made doubly sure.
"It was the nicest party I ever went to," wrote Ella. "And I told my father every single thing that happened. I wrote it all down in my diary, too, and some day I will show it to you."
The busy summer days marched along briskly after the beach party. Captain Mooney had asked Mr. Williamson to bring the "young folks" over to see Ella, but one thing and another conspired to put off the visit. Once the Captain even sent his car, but the cottage was closed and every one off on a picnic. Most of the time, the three fathers were at River Bend, and when they were away the car left in the barn was almost useless,since none of the mothers liked very much to run it.
Then, too, truth to tell, the members of the Riddle Club had always been able to amuse themselves in perfect contentment without outside influences. Perhaps, without knowing it, they had grown clannish. They liked Ella more than a little, but they did not miss her, and so Captain Mooney's invitation passed from their minds except when one of the girls happened to recall it by saying:
"I suppose we ought to go and see Ella Mooney next week."
"What do you think!" said Artie one morning at the breakfast table. "I met Albert Holmes, and Joe Anderson is coming down next week to stay another two weeks."
"Now that," Fred remarked, reaching for another muffin, "is my idea of good news! Do you know any more?"
"Yes, I do," the literal-minded Artie informed him. "There's going to be swimming races, and I'm going in 'em."
Ward choked over his oatmeal and Fred stared.
"Why, you can't swim, Artie," said Jess, who was apt to speak frankly.
"Yes, I can. I can swim some," Artie insisted. "I started to learn at Lake Bassing and I havelearned some more here. The races are for everybody and they have gold pieces for prizes and I'll put mine in the Riddle Club fund."
He beamed upon them so generously, exactly, Fred said, as though he had already deposited the gold piece in the bank, that it was impossible to try to discourage him.
"But will such little boys go in the races, Artie?" Mrs. Marley asked anxiously.
"Oh, of course, Mother. And I'm bigger than you think I am," her son assured her.
"Is that why Joe Anderson came down?" demanded Margy. "He thinks he is a fine swimmer."
"Now, children, I don't want to hear you begin and pick Joe Anderson to pieces," Mrs. Larue announced half in earnest, half in fun. "I don't think you realize it, but every time Carrie Pepper's name is mentioned, or Joe Anderson's, some one is sure to think of an unkind comment and make it."
"You mean we knock 'em?" said Fred slangily. "Well, all right, I am afraid we do. Let's reform—but Joe Anderson is conceited; any one will tell you that."
Mrs. Larue laughed and said she thought the habit was too strong to be broken easily, but that she hoped they would try.
"We do talk rather—rather—well, you know," said Polly, when the children found themselves alone on the porch. "I'm going to try not to say a word about any one after this, unless it is something nice."
"Tell about the races, Artie," urged Jess. "When are they going to be and where?"
Artie explained that the races were an annual affair, that people paid to see them, and that the money was turned over to the life guards.
"Like a benefit," said Margy wisely.
There were "all kinds of classes," to quote Artie. The expert swimmers swam for distance and speed and tried to establish records. There were classes for beginners and for children under ten. There was a "novice" class for those who had never tried to swim a stroke. There was a class for fat swimmers. Artie suggested that Ward enter this.
"I'll bet it's a heap of fun," said Jess. "Lots of the swimming will be a joke and people just go in it for a good time and to make money for the life guards. I'll tell you what! Let's each one of us enter something. One of us ought to get some kind of prize."
"If six of us go in, we must surely win something for the Riddle Club," added Fred.
They found the rules and regulations for themeet posted in the post-office and an eager group studying them. As Jess had surmised, the swimming itself was more or less of a joke, and the funnier spectacle the swimmers made, the better the audience liked it. The prizes ranged all the way from a ten dollar gold piece for the fastest time in the expert class, to one dollar gold pieces for the children's events. A charge of ten cents was made for each registration, and Artie was so sure that he was going to capture a prize that he made Fred loan him the ten cents and arranged that it was to be counted as his "dues" for the next club meeting and not charged against him.
Ward, much against his will, was entered in the fat swimmer's class for children. Margy, who had resolutely refused to learn to swim, cheerfully entered the novice class. Polly and Fred were registered in the boys' and girls' classes, for swimmers of their age. Artie cast his lot with the youngest beginners, and Jess was to be in the floaters' race.
"Captain Mooney gives the prizes every year," said Carrie Pepper, whom they met as they were coming out of the post-office. "I'm going in and so is Mattie. Are you?"
They said they were, and Carrie volunteered the information that Joe Anderson expected towin the prize for the boys' class and that Albert Holmes was going to float.
"I suppose Captain Mooney will be a judge—some one said he had consented to serve this year," Carrie chattered on. "Have you seen Ella lately?"
"No, Captain Mooney sent his car over for us, but we weren't home," said Margy, who no more could help saying that with an air than Carrie could, had the opportunity been reversed.
"I could shake you, Margy Williamson!" Polly declared indignantly, after they had left Carrie. "You sounded positively boastful."
"But I didn't say anything mean about Carrie, did I?" said Margy, with obvious pride.
Until the day set for the swimming races, the Riddle Club practically lived in the water. Their mothers united in making this statement. Of course a certain amount of practice was necessary for all except Margy, who would have disqualified herself by practice.
"But I hope you are not going to turn into ducks," said Mrs. Marley, pretending to be anxious.
Margy, the neatest needlewoman of the three girls, took pains to see that the letters on their suits were restitched tightly in place. She saidthat she wanted every one to see "R.C." plainly and to ask what it stood for.
"SHE'S WON!" JESS SHRIEKED OVER AND OVER.The Riddle Club at Sunrise Beach.Page 175
"They'll say, 'Who is that boy who just won the race? He has R.C. on his shirt,'" said Artie.
"Artie, you mustn't set your heart on winning," Margy protested. "If you lose, you'll feel dreadful."
"But I won't lose," Artie assured her, with a sunny smile.
The day for the races was bright and cloudless and the banks of the inlet, where they were to be held, was crowded early in the afternoon with spectators. All sat informally on the grass, and the pretty dresses of the women and their bright-hued parasols made lovely splashes of color.
"Say, Captain Mooney isn't going to be a judge," Carrie Pepper announced, meeting Polly in the booth where the numbered badges that identified the swimmers were being distributed. "That is, he was supposed to be one of the judges, but they have just had word that he can't be here."
"I wonder why," mused Polly absently. "Maybe Ella will come and see the races."
"I haven't seen her," Carrie said. "There, they're signaling—we ought to go and line up."
The races followed in quick succession, forthere was rather a long program to put through in the single afternoon allotted. One of the summer residents captured the prize for the expert class, and then there were four races for the older boys and girls in none of which the Riddle Club was vitally interested.
But when it came to the race in which Polly was to compete, they followed the event with closest attention. Polly was a fair swimmer, and she did her best evenly and seriously. She came in third, and finished with no other feeling than the one resolve that she would do better the next year.
Fred found it harder to take his defeat at the hands of Joe Anderson. If it had been any one else, he later told the others, he would not have minded. It must be confessed that Joe made the most of his opportunity to display his five dollar gold piece and he would brag a little more than was becoming to the victor, but Fred set his teeth, congratulated him, admired the prize, and set about encouraging Jess and Margy and Artie.
"Fred always expects to win," Carrie Pepper remarked in his hearing. "I guess he was surprised to find he can't come out ahead every time."
Carrie herself frankly said that she didn't mind losing as long as Polly Marley had also lost. If there was one thing, declared Carrie, she couldnot stand, it was to have the Riddle Club win any more prizes.
"Even if Albert loses, we're ahead," she told Joe gleefully. "You have five dollars and they haven't anything."
Carrie felt that Joe was upholding the honor of the Conundrum Club, despite the fact that he announced loudly he meant to spend his prize for himself.
The last events always attracted more attention and interest than the more serious races. When the novices started off, they were loudly cheered and the way they floundered and puffed and tried to run—at least Margy did—through the water, moved the "gallery" to loud laughter.
Margy, in her own way, was as determined as Artie, and, to gain her end, she simply shut her eyes and forged ahead. She galloped, she trod water, she pulled herself ahead with a sweeping motion. She sank, but she came up again, shook the water from her face and struck out blindly and doggedly.
"Go to it, little seal!" some one on the bank was roaring. "Go to it—you can make it. Just a little farther! Jump, little seal, jump!"
Margy had no idea the man was shouting to her, but she took the advice in good faith. Gathering the last ounce of energy she gave onetremendous hop forward—and came in first, the shouts of the audience ringing in her ears.
"She's won!" Jess shrieked over and over, jumping up and down. "Margy won the race! Girls! boys! did you see her?"
Polly had seen her, but she had also heard something. Back in the crowd a woman's voice was raised in excitement.
"Have you heard about Ella Mooney?" she was asking.
CHAPTER XIX
BAD NEWS
Thedripping Margy was quickly surrounded by a laughing, congratulating group, but even as Polly put her sweater around her, she was wondering about Ella Mooney. Had anything happened to her?
There was no time to ask questions, for there were still three races to be decided. Jess and Artie and Ward were eager to win a prize, and the "fat" class was the next event scheduled.
Just about the plumpest children you ever saw were entered in that race. The mayor of Sunrise Beach was heard to remark that it showed what the sea air could do—he gave the beach all the credit for the fat, healthy children who pranced out on the platform and announced that they were ready.
"Just as though Ward wasn't always fat!" the justly indignant Jess exclaimed. "He's fat in River Bend, the same as here."
At the word, the fat youngsters started, and intheir way they were quite as funny as the novice class. They knew something of the swimming strokes, but in their desire to win they abandoned skill in favor of speed and in three seconds most of them were floundering hopelessly.
Ward paid no attention to any one. Desperately he struggled on, his breath coming in gasps, his face red with his exertions.
"All I thought about," he told his comrades afterward, "was keeping a straight line."
This was an excellent thought, in fact, for most of the swimmers went far out of their course and one ambitious competitor actually drifted out beyond the safety mark and had to be rescued by a watchful life guard.
"Go to it, Ward!" Fred shouted suddenly. "Straight ahead! Speed it up!"
Ward had been sure that he could not do another stroke, but now he opened his eyes and obediently "speeded up." A volley of cheers greeted his effort.
"Here, kid, you don't have to go on forever," some one said, reaching down and grabbing him by his belt. "You've won the race—let it go at that, can't you?"
"Gee! Did I win?" Ward's astonishment made his listeners laugh. "Do I get the prize?"
He was assured that he did, and when he sawFred and Artie the precious gold piece was already in his hand.
"Have you heard about Ella Mooney?" some one in the crowd behind him was saying. "She——"
The rest was lost in the bellow of the announcer's megaphone. The floaters' race was to be run off.
"Wouldn't it be lovely if I should win, too?" said Jess, and they all agreed that it would.
Mrs. Marley thought that a floaters' race sounded "so peaceful," but the actual race was not exactly to be described in those words. True they started peacefully enough, half a dozen children floating gently on their backs, arms spread out as though the rolling swells were comfortable pillows. But alas, none was an experienced floater, and most of them were used to depending on some kind of water wings. One little girl sank from sight almost as soon as she started and was pulled out, choking and sputtering. Jess managed to keep floating for perhaps three minutes longer, and then, much to her surprise, her head went down and her feet went up, as feet sometimes will when one is floating, and the next thing she knew, she came up, far behind the others and feeling as though she had swallowed most of the ocean.
"Never mind, you floated lots longer than you ever did before," Margy told her in an attempt to be consoling.
Polly was aware that there was a great deal of whispering going on among the people on the bank, and an undercurrent of excitement that was vaguely disquieting. But the last race was now to be decided and Artie was so confident that he would win that he really infected the others with his optimism.
"That will make seven dollars for the Riddle Club fund," he announced, as he went to take his place. "The five dollars Margy won and the dollar Ward won and then mine."
It was impossible to argue with any one who was so sure of victory, and Polly found herself wondering what Artie would say or do if he did not win. She hated to see him so eager, for his disappointment would be correspondingly great.
"They say her father is almost crazy," a woman in a bright pink dress said clearly.
"Well, you can't blame him—Ella is all he has, you know," another voice chimed in.
Then the crowd moved closer to the mark where the swimmers were to come in and Polly heard no more.
"Goodness, I hope nothing has happened to Ella Mooney," she thought nervously. "Is thatArtie? Why, he is leading—I do believe he is ahead!"
Artie might have retorted "Certainly I'm ahead!" He was not at all surprised to find himself in the lead. He had meant to be there.
But his plans were upset by the frantic appeal of Albert Holmes. He had not distinguished himself in the floaters' class—in fact he had doubled up like a jackknife and dropped out early in the contest, but nothing daunted, he had entered the race for beginners.
"I'm drowning!" gurgled Albert. "I'm drowning—Artie, what'll I do?"
Here he swallowed a generous mouthful of water and began to cry, half from fright and half from the unpleasant taste of the salty water.
Artie was exasperated. It was bad enough to have to swim his head off, so he thought irritably, without being called upon to stage a rescue. Still, he could not very well let Albert drown. He wished some one else would look after him, but the other children were intent on winning the race and they paid no attention to Albert's moanings. They had troubles of their own.
"I suppose I'll have to help him," groaned Artie. "I never can do anything I want to do. Hush up!" he added rudely to Albert, who wasbeginning to thrash around wildly. "If you don't keep still, I'll leave you where you are."
Artie would rescue Albert, if no one else would, but he was not the boy to let a little thing like that interfere with his first and foremost intention. He still planned to win the race.
"Keep kicking your feet," he ordered Albert and, with a sudden backward sweep of his arm, he grabbed the astonished lad by his hair.
The crowd laughed and cheered, but Artie paid no attention. He knew what he meant to do, and with grim determination he forged ahead, swimming a queer, one-sided stroke and dragging Albert along by main force.
It is doubtful if Artie could have won, had not the other swimmers allowed their attention to be distracted by his performance. But they were so interested to see what he was doing and Albert made so much noise, too, that they turned their heads and one or two stopped swimming and floated, the better to watch.
"Great guns, he's done it!" Fred cried, a few minutes later. "Artie's won the race!"
And Artie, "I told you so" in every line of his expressive face, held up Albert with one hand and took his gold piece with the other, quite as though he was accustomed to doing double duty.
"I said I was going to win," was all the comment he made when the other members of the Riddle Club descended upon him to congratulate him.
"Carrie Pepper is looking for you!" a girl in the crowd called to Polly, as, the races over, the audience began to break up and drift away.
"Well, you needn't look for Carrie Pepper," Fred said crossly, but Polly stopped him.
"Here comes Carrie now," she said. "I wonder what she wants?"
Carrie burst into speech as soon as she caught sight of the Riddle Club, all gathered in a bunch.
"Have you heard about Ella Mooney?" she cried.
Polly took a step forward.
"I heard people talking," she said anxiously. "Has anything happened to Ella?"
"Well, you know I thought there was something the matter as soon as I heard Captain Mooney didn't come to serve as a judge for the races," stated Carrie with evident enjoyment. She did so like to be the first to tell a piece of news. "Ella Mooney," went on Carrie, "has disappeared. She's gone, and no one can find her. They think she may have been kidnaped and will be held for ransom."
"Oh, my!" squeaked Artie, but Polly was too distressed to speak for a moment.
"What ever will her father do?" asked Margy. "He thinks there never was a girl like Ella."
"Is she really lost?" Polly said. "How long has she been gone?"
Carrie was now surrounded by a circle of interested faces, for her voice had carried and the mention of Ella Mooney's name always held interest for any of the Sunrise Beach folk.
"She's been missing since last night," said Carrie importantly. "That is, since yesterday afternoon, really. Her father saw her at lunch, and he hasn't laid eyes on her since. She took her pony out of the stable, and they found that tied to the post back of the post-office. But Ella has completely disappeared."
"How awful," said Polly. "I don't see what can have happened to her. You don't suppose any one thinks for a minute that she really has been kidnaped?"
"Her father does," said a man in the listening crowd. "I heard this morning he was going to have bills printed, offering a reward. There's Jim Collins now—I'll bet he is posting 'em."
The eyes of all followed the direction of his pointing finger. A man in overalls was pasting something on a telegraph pole across the road. With one accord, the crowd surged over to read the placard.
"It's offering one hundred dollars reward for information!" ran the quick whisper. "One hundred dollars for information that will lead to finding Ella Mooney. The Captain must be just about wild, for Ella is the apple of his eye."
Jubilant as the Riddle Club were over their success in the swimming matches, the news that Ella Mooney had disappeared saddened them and made them anxious. They knew that she had never spent a night away from home, and Polly, especially, could picture her vividly as lonely and frightened, perhaps held against her will by strange and cruel people who would demand a large sum of money for her return.
Little else was talked of that night, and the next morning Captain Mooney drove up in his car to the Meeker Cottage and asked if they had seen Ella the day she disappeared.
"She was so fond of you and she talked so much about the Riddle Club," the Captain said, "that I thought she might have ridden over to see you. I never knew her to leave the grounds without letting me know where she was going, but I had a conference that afternoon with several business men and I suppose Ella did not like to interrupt me."
Captain Mooney looked as though he had spent a sleepless night, and he went away as soon as hefound that the Riddle Club could give him no news of his missing daughter. He did drink the coffee Mrs. Marley insisted on giving him, however, and he mentioned that he had heard of the three prizes won the day before. He said that Ella would be glad to know the Riddle Club had captured them.
"You wouldn't think he'd even remember any of us won a race, would you?" said Polly. "Every one says he is the kindest man. But what do you suppose can have happened to Ella?"
The boys and girls did not feel like going swimming that morning, but they went down to the beach and were idly picking up shells when the put-put of a motor boat sounded close inshore.
"That's Larry," Fred said. "I wonder where he is going? He chases up and down the coast exactly like a delivery wagon."
"It must be fun to sail in that old boat," said Jess idly.
Just then Larry hailed them gayly. He was a middle-aged man, known to half the town and all the fishermen. No one had ever seen Larry ill-tempered or in a hurry.
"Want a little trip?" Larry called cheerily. "I'm going up to Glen Haven and back—won't take long."
"Let's go!" urged Margy. "Mother won't care."
"Run down to the wharf and I'll take you on," Larry yelled good-naturedly.
They scampered for the old wharf some yards farther down the beach, and when the shabby motor boat came alongside, dropped one by one into the tiny hold.
"Too nice a day to stay on land," said Larry, whose weather-beaten face was wrinkled with smiles. "I have to take a picnic party out this afternoon, and I'm running up the coast for some special supplies."
"Where's the picnic going?" asked Polly, more as a reply than from curiosity.
"Blackberry Island—prettiest place around here," Larry answered. "If you haven't been there, that's one place you ought to see."
"Girls, why don't we have a picnic of our own?" said Jess eagerly. "Why don't we go to Blackberry Island?"
CHAPTER XX
POLLY SAVES THE DAY
Themore Jess thought about Blackberry Island, the surer she was that her happiness depended on a picnic there. The others were inclined to enjoy the present—the salty breeze blowing in their faces, the swift motion of the boat through the green water, and the sense of being quite cut off from the land, though they could see the shore line plainly.
"Wouldn't it be funny if we should pick up our own tin box?" giggled Jess. "You know, the one we put the messages in when we had our beach party."
"Poor Ella Mooney wrote a message, too," Polly sighed. "I guess we never thought then that she would disappear."
"Larry, what do you think has happened to her?" asked Fred curiously.
Of course Larry knew Captain Mooney and his daughter. He knew every one who lived within a twenty-five-mile radius of Sunrise Beach.
"What do I think has happened to her?" he repeated. "Well, I'll tell you. I think she has been kidnaped—that's what I think. Kidnaped and carried off, because her pa is rich and the kidnapers count on getting a mint of money from the Captain."
Larry was so confident that Ella had been kidnaped that the children accepted his theory without further speculation. They spent an hour in Glen Haven, while Larry made his purchases, and on the way home, Jess renewed her argument for a picnic.
"It's up to you," Larry declared. "If your ma is willing and says the word, I'll take you all over to the island and turn you loose. I can't hang around a whole day, but I'll take you early and come after you when you want to come home."
"Let's go," Jess urged again. "I want to see Blackberry Island. Mother will let us go, if we all say we want to."
And as soon as they were deposited on their own beach, she insisted that they go up to the cottage and see what the prospects were for a picnic at Blackberry Island.
"To-morrow would be a good day, because I'm hired for the rest of this week," Larry called after them. "If you can't go to-morrow, better put it off for a week."
Now Jess, like other girls, had no mind to wait a week for something she wanted very much indeed.
"It may pour rain all next week," she declared. "I'm going to ask if we can go to-morrow."
When the three mothers heard about Blackberry Island, they were just a bit dubious.
But Mr. Larue proved an unexpected ally. Both Mr. Williamson and Mr. Marley were in River Bend, but they were expected back that night.
"Let the kids have their picnic on Blackberry Island without any grown-ups to tag along and bother them," said Mr. Larue. "I know this Larry—he is absolutely trustworthy and nothing can happen to them under his care. Blackberry Island is a pretty place and safe, too. Then, with the children out of the way, what is to hinder a motor trip and picnic for the rest of us? I'm not so old that I can't enjoy an all day picnic."
"Well," said Mrs. Marley uncertainly, "if you mean to have two picnics to-morrow, I'd better see to putting the chicken on to cook."
Artie gave a joyous whoop and landed on the arm of his mother's chair.
"That means we can go!" he cried, kissing her. "When Mother begins to think about the eats, everything is as good as settled."
They all laughed, but they agreed with Artie.
And for the rest of the day Meeker Cottage was a very busy place indeed. One picnic, you know, is something to get ready for, but two simply doubles the excitement.
"I think we'll fix individual boxes of lunch," said Mrs. Marley to Mrs. Larue. "Then each will have something to carry, and it seems fairer than if one or two have to carry everything. I'm glad the children are going, because it will take their minds off poor little Ella Mooney."
Meanwhile Fred was busy giving advice to Artie.
"Now, whatever you do," he told him, "don't go publishing all over the place that we are going on a picnic to-morrow. Because, if you do, you know what will happen: Carrie Pepper and Mattie Helms will invite themselves and Joe Anderson and Albert Holmes will come along for good measure."
Artie was no more anxious for this calamity to befall their party than Fred, and he said so.
"Carrie says she would like to find where Ella Mooney is and get the hundred dollars," announced Artie.
"Huh, I'd like to find Ella Mooney and tell her father to keep his hundred dollars," Fred declared.
But Margy had already confided to Polly thatshe would like to find Ella "somewhere 'way off" and take her home and have the reward to put in the bank.
"In place of the money Mother wouldn't let me take for finding the diamond ring," Margy added.
Polly said little, but she thought more about Ella than any one, except perhaps her mother, suspected. She knew that Ella was quiet and rather timid and had been used to being taken care of all her life. She would, Polly thought, be afraid of strangers.
In the afternoon it happened that there was no one to go for the mail except Artie. Fred and Ward had gone to tell Larry to meet them at half past eight in the morning with his motor boat and the three girls were busy wrapping sandwiches.
Artie liked to go to the post-office, especially when, as in this instance, he had money for an ice-cream soda to cool the end of the long walk.
"I'll get my soda first," decided Artie, when he reached the town.
As luck would have it, two people were ahead of him at the soda fountain in the drug store. Carrie Pepper and Mattie Helms were discussing the merits of vanilla or chocolate ice-cream whenin marched Artie and climbed up on one of the high stools before he recognized them.
"Hello, Artie!" Carrie greeted him, and Artie was so afraid that she would begin and ask him questions that he said "Hello" as briefly as possible and ordered his soda.
Carrie wanted to know how "all the folks were," and Artie answered her as though he had not a minute to spare.
But he was no match for Carrie Pepper, who was very observant. She guessed at once, from Artie's manner, that he was trying to conceal something.
"You haven't heard from Ella Mooney, have you?" she asked abruptly.
Artie shook his head.
"If Polly is going to be at home to-morrow, tell her Mattie and I will come over," Carrie said placidly.
This was dreadful and Artie floundered.
"She—she won't be at home," he stammered. "That is, I don't think she will be."
"Well, Jess or Margy will do," Carrie returned. "I want to ask them something."
"They won't be home, either," said Artie. "Nobody will be at home to-morrow."
"Won't your mother?" Mattie inquired curiously.
Artie shook his head.
"Are you going some place?" prodded Carrie.
"We're going on a picnic," poor Artie announced, swallowing an extremely cold spoonful of ice-cream before he was ready. "We're going to Blackberry Island."
Carrie merely said, "Oh," but he was sure she was thinking this information over. In a panic he slipped down from his seat and almost ran for the door. He dashed into the post-office, got the mail, and ran most of the way home.
"Where's Polly?" he demanded of his mother excitedly.
He found her out in the barn, hunting the lid of the vacuum bottle which Ward remembered leaving in the car.
"Polly, what do you think?" Artie cried unhappily, and then he told her of the meeting with Carrie.
Polly comforted him by saying that she was sure he would not have told Carrie if he could have helped it.
"But just the same, she and Mattie can't go on our picnic," Artie's sister declared firmly. "There isn't room enough in the boat and they'll spoil our fun. I must think up some way to make them stay at home."
Artie was sure his sister could be trusted to think up a way, and he felt better immediately.
"You didn't tell her what time we were going to leave, did you?" said Polly, when she had thought for a few moments.
No, luckily, that was one question Artie had not been asked.
"Then I know what we can do," returned Polly. "Come on and we'll find the rest and tell them."
There was a hurried and whispered conference out on the porch and an admonition from Polly, "remember no one is to say a word, except Margy to me," and then the picnic preparations went ahead with a rush.
Perhaps the older folks were a little surprised that evening after supper to see Carrie and Mattie come up the path. But the Riddle Club members were not surprised.
"We thought we'd come over for a little while," said Carrie blandly. "It is such a lovely evening, don't you want to take a walk on the beach?"
It was on the tip of Jess's tongue to say she was tired and that they expected to get up early in the morning, but she stopped in time. Margy spoke of the next day.
"I don't believe I'll go," she drawled lazily. "I'm tired from working so hard to-day, getting ready for to-morrow. I want to get to bed early."
Carrie said nothing, but she exchanged a glance with Mattie.
"You won't forget to call me, will you, Polly?" went on Margy clearly.
"No, I won't forget," Polly promised. "What time shall I call you?"
Margy appeared to be thinking. Fred pinched Artie gently as a reminder to keep still.
"Oh, if we don't leave till half past nine, I guess seven o'clock would be early enough," Margy decided.
Polly and Jess went for a walk with Carrie and Mattie, and not a word was said about picnics. Margy asked particularly, when her chums came back.
"But just the same, if Carrie Pepper gets down to the wharf at half past nine to-morrow morning, she won't find us," said Jess.
"Maybe she doesn't intend to go," Polly murmured dubiously.
And from the boys' room overhead came a derisive snort. They had been listening with the door open into the hall.
CHAPTER XXI
A CONTRARY ENGINE
"It'sa bright morning and you're like it," Larry greeted the Riddle Club with enthusiasm at quarter past eight the next morning.
The Meeker Cottage had been early astir, and the zeal displayed by the younger members of the household was marveled at.
"Even though a picnic is to be the attraction, I never remember seeing such a concerted desire to be off," Mr. Marley remarked.
"Well, we can't be late," replied Ward, and all the Riddle Club giggled at some secret joke.
They were ahead of time, each with a large square box of lunch in one hand and a heavy sweater in the other. The mothers had insisted on the sweaters. The grown-ups had started in the car almost as soon as the Blackberry Island party left, and Polly felt relieved, for she believed that if Carrie's desire for a picnic was too strong, she might prevail upon the motorists to take her with them.
"And I do think they ought to have one day without any children to bother them," Polly confided to Fred and Jess.
"Especially Carrie," Fred agreed, with a grin.
Larry helped the girls and boys into the boat, and then made them nervous by tinkering with the engine.
"There's nothing the matter with it," he explained; "but I want it to run a bit smoother. We'll be off in a jiffy now."
Until the engine sputtered cheerfully, six pairs of anxious eyes kept watch on the wharf. Quarter past eight was not half past nine, but, as Ward said dismally, "you never can tell."
However, long before half past nine they were well out to sea and heading down the coast for the famous Blackberry Island.
"I suppose there are blackberries on it," mused Artie, who was always interested in names.
"It used to be a solid tangle of briars and bushes," Larry informed him. "Late years, it's been trimmed up and a stone fireplace built where you can do cooking. And before that, my father used to tell, the finest blackberries in the state was raised there. Big, cultivated ones—some man tried experiments and took the island because nobody could steal his secrets."
Jess wanted to know where he was now.
"Oh, I suspect he died and is buried and forgotten," Larry concluded cheerfully.
It was a hot day with a calm sea. Larry had grumbled at the start that he didn't like the looks of that sea.
"Why, there isn't a ripple on it," Fred said, surprised. "It's as smooth as glass."
"And the color of lead," declared Larry. "If the wind doesn't come up before night, I miss my guess."
Ward had put his lunch box with the others, but Polly detected him taking several looks at it, and once she saw him pinch the corners. Something had to be done to distract his attention, she felt sure.
"Ward," she said suddenly, "why must the model of a boat be always correct?"
Larry leaned forward, his oily rag poised in mid-air.
"That a riddle?" he demanded. "I used to be a great hand for riddles when I was young."
"You did?" Polly beamed. "Oh, perhaps you know some new ones. We have a Riddle Club, you know, and we love to hear new riddles."
Larry had to hear about the Riddle Club then and there, and even Ward forgot the tantalizing nearness of the lunches. Larry had never heard of a riddle club, but he thought it was a fine planand said he would like to come to a meeting some day.
"We're not holding regular meetings this summer," Fred explained. "But if you ever come to River Bend, you be sure and come and see our clubrooms. We have two—a winter one and a spring and summer one."
Then Larry suggested that Ward had not answered the riddle Polly had given.
"Why must the model of a boat be always correct?" Polly repeated.
"So folks can sail it and not have it sink," said Ward.
"Now, is that any kind of an answer?" Polly demanded patiently.
"Well, I guess it is a hard one and I don't know the answers to hard ones," said Ward sadly.
Margy could not guess and Jess, after two wild attempts, also gave up.
"Let me think," said Artie, when it was his turn, and he went off into one of his thinking spells from which he emerged several minutes later with the suggestion that perhaps there was no answer.
"Isn't it a trick riddle?" he asked engagingly.
"Certainly not!" his sister announced coldly. "Do you know, Fred?"
Fred rose to his feet and bowed, not an easy thing to manage in a small boat going at highspeed and trembling from bow to stern with the bursting energy of her busy engine.
"I have the honor, ladies and gentlemen," squeaked Fred, in a high voice, "to tell you the answer to the riddle. Why must the model of a boat be always correct? Because it must be shipshape."
"Ha-ha!" boomed Larry. "That's a good one. Because it must be always shipshape! Now I wonder who thought that up!"
As usual, Ward and Artie wanted an explanation.
"Shipshape means neat and tidy, in good order, nothing out of place," recited Fred obligingly. "Everything as it should be—correct, in other words."
"And you know what a model is," Polly reminded the two younger boys.
"Well, it's a queer riddle, but it may be all right," admitted Ward. "Now let Larry tell one."
Larry scratched his head and said he would have to take a little time. While he was thinking he tightened up several screws and nuts on the engine and changed the position of the rudder slightly.
"Ha!" he said at last, clearing his throat so deeply that he made Margy jump. "I recollecta good one now! What is the resemblance between a part of the year and a sailor?"
"Part of the year?" echoed Ward. "What part?"
"Any part you like," Larry answered promptly.
This was one of those deceiving riddles that sounded easy and was not. Margy was sure she had solved it, and she offered her answer before any one else was ready to report.
"Because they're both stormy?" she asked Larry.
Artie protested that a sailor wasn't stormy and Margy confessed that she had been thinking of the sea, not the sailor.
"Maybe it is because they have ragged sailors," Jess submitted. "I mean when the flowers come, you know," she hastened to explain. "And some sailors are ragged."
"If their wives don't mend 'em up, the way mine does me, they are ragged," said Larry. "But that isn't the way the answer goes, as I remember it."
Fred was frowning with his effort to solve the riddle.
"Not because they both wear blue?" he suggested. "Some flowers are blue, you know, and the hills are in the distance and the ocean—lots of times."
Larry shook his head and tapped a nut with his monkey wrench.
"She's knocking again," he muttered. "No, Fred, I begin to think you're a better fisherman than you are a riddle solver."
Polly almost had an idea—she opened her mouth and closed it again.
"I know exactly what it is," she said in a moment. "I'm just as sure I have it! Wait till I get it straight. Ocean—water—sea—that's it!" she cried in triumph. "Both are seasons! Isn't that it, Larry?"
Larry smiled at her proudly.
"They made no mistake when they put you at the head of the Riddle Club," he said admiringly. "'Tis right you are. Seasons—sea sons—is the answer."
"I thought of the four seasons," Polly explained. "Then I tried the water and ocean and all the words that mean the sea. I though of 'sea' last, and that was the word I wanted all the time."
"Tell another, Larry," begged Artie. "Tell an easy one that I can guess."
"What makes an engine stop when you count on her doing her prettiest?" Larry muttered half angrily. "It's dead she is."