“Penny, we can’t allow you to assume our debts,” Rhoda protested. “Please don’t—”
“Now Rhoda, it’s only a loan to tide us over for a few days,” Mrs. Breen interposed. “Ted will get a job and then we’ll be able to pay it back.”
Penny wrote out the cheque, and cutting short the profuse thanks of the Breens, declared that she and Louise must return home at once.
“Driving into Riverview?” Mr. Franklin inquired. “My car is in the garage, and I’ll appreciate a lift to town.”
“We’ll be glad to take you, Mr. Franklin,” Penny responded, but without enthusiasm.
Enroute to Riverview he endeavored to make himself an agreeable conversationalist.
“So the Breens are friends of yours?” he remarked casually.
“Well, not exactly,” Penny corrected. “I met Rhoda at school and visited her for the first time today. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the family.”
“They’re a no-good lot. The old man never works, and the boy either can’t or won’t get a job.”
“Do you have many such families, Mr. Franklin?”
“Oh, now and then. But I weed them out as fast as I can. One can’t be soft and manage a tourist camp, you know.”
Penny smiled, thinking that no person ever would accuse Mr. Franklin of being “soft.” He had the reputation of ruthless devotion to his own interests. Changing the subject, she remarked that Mrs. Marborough had returned to the city to take up residence at Rose Acres.
“Is that so?” Mr. Franklin inquired, showing interest in the information. “Will she recondition the house?”
Penny replied that she had no knowledge of the widow’s future plans.
“No doubt Mrs. Marborough has returned to sell the property,” Mr. Franklin said musingly. “I should like to buy that place if it goes for a fair price. I could make money by remodeling it into a tourist home.”
“It would be a pity to turn such a lovely place into a roadside hotel,” Louise remarked disapprovingly. “Penny and I hope that someday it will be restored as it was in the old days.”
“There would be no profit in it as a residence,” Mr. Franklin returned. “The house is located on a main road though, and as a tourist hotel, should pay.”
Conversation languished, and a few minutes later, Penny dropped the man at his own home. Although she refrained from speaking of it to Louise, she neither liked nor trusted Jay Franklin. While it had been his right to eject the Breens from the tourist camp for non-payment of rent, she felt that he could have afforded to be more generous. She did not regret the impulse which had caused her to settle the debt even though it meant that she must deprive herself of a few luxuries.
After leaving Louise at the Sidell house, Penny drove on home. Entering the living room, she greeted her father who had arrived from the newspaper office only a moment before. A late edition of the Star lay on the table, and she glanced carelessly at it, inquiring: “What’s new, Dad?”
“Nothing worthy of mention,” Mr. Parker returned.
Sinking down on the davenport, Penny scanned the front page. Immediately her attention was drawn to a brief item which appeared in an inconspicuous bottom corner.
“Here’s something!” she exclaimed. “Why, how strange!”
“What is, Penny?”
“It says in this story that a big rock has been found on the farm of Carl Gleason! The stone bears writing thought to be of Elizabethan origin!”
“Let me see that paper,” Mr. Parker said, striding across the room. “I didn’t know any such story was used.”
With obvious displeasure, the editor read the brief item which Penny indicated. Only twenty lines in length, it stated that a stone bearing both Elizabethan and Indian carving had been found on the nearby farm.
“I don’t know how this item got past City Editor DeWitt,” Mr. Parker declared. “It has all the earmarks of a hoax! You didn’t by chance write it, Penny?”
“I certainly did not.”
“It reads a little like a Jerry Livingston story,” Mr. Parker said, glancing at the item a second time.
Going to a telephone he called first theStaroffice and then the home of the reporter, Jerry Livingston. After talking with the young man several minutes, he finally hung up the receiver.
“What did he say?” Penny asked curiously.
“Jerry wrote the story, and says it came from a reliable source. He’s coming over here to talk to me about it.”
Within ten minutes the reporter arrived at the Parker home. Penny loitered in the living room to hear the conversation. Jerry long had been a particular friend of hers and she hoped that her father would not reprimand him for any mistake he might have made.
“Have a chair,” Mr. Parker greeted the young man cordially. “Now tell me where you got hold of that story.”
“Straight from the farmer, Carl Gleason,” Jerry responded. “The stone was dug up on his farm early this morning.”
“Did you see it yourself?”
“Not yet. It was hauled to the Museum of Natural Science. Thought I’d drop around there on my way home and look it over.”
“I wish you would,” requested the editor. “While the stone may be an authentic one, I have a deep suspicion someone is trying to pull a fast trick.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve made a boner, Chief.”
“Oh, I’m not blaming you,” Mr. Parker assured him. “If the story is a fake, it was up to DeWitt to question it at the desk. Better look at the rock though, before you write any more about it.”
As Jerry arose to leave, Penny jumped up from her own chair.
“I’d like to see that stone too!” she declared. “Jerry, do you mind if I go along with you?”
“Glad to have you,” he said heartily.
Before Penny could get her hat and coat, Mrs. Maud Weems, the Parker housekeeper, appeared in the doorway to announce dinner. She was a stout, pleasant woman of middle-age and had looked after Penny since Mrs. Parker’s death many years before.
“Penny, where are you going now?” she asked, her voice disclosing mild disapproval.
“Only over to the museum.”
“You’ve not had your dinner.”
“Oh, yes, I have,” Penny laughed. “I dined on chicken at the Dorset Tourist Camp. I’ll be home in an hour or so.”
Jerking coat and hat from the hall closet, she fled from the house before Mrs. Weems could offer further objections. Jerry made a more ceremonious departure, joining Penny on the front porch.
At the curb stood the reporter’s mud-splattered coupe. The interior was only slightly less dirty, and before getting in, Penny industriously brushed off the seat.
“Tell me all about this interesting stone which was found at the Gleason farm,” she commanded, as the car started down the street.
“Nothing to tell except what was in the paper,” Jerry shrugged. “The rock has some writing on it, supposedly similar to early Elizabethan script. And there are a few Indian characters.”
“How could such a stone turn up at Riverview?”
“Carl Gleason found it while he was plowing a field. Apparently, it had been in the ground for many years.”
“I should think so if it bears Elizabethan writing!” Penny laughed. “Why, that would date it practically in Shakespeare’s time!”
“It’s written in the style used by the earliest settlers of this country,” Jerry said defensively. “You know, before we had radios and automobiles and things, this land of ours was occupied by Indians.”
“Do tell!” Penny teased.
“The natives camped all along the river, and there may have been an early English settlement here. So it’s perfectly possible that such a stone could be found.”
“Anyway, I am curious to see it,” Penny replied.
The car drew up before a large stone building with Doric columns. Climbing a long series of steps to the front door, Penny and Jerry entered the museum through a turnstile.
“I want to see the curator, Mr. Kaleman,” the reporter remarked, turning toward a private office near the entrance. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
While waiting, Penny wandered slowly about, inspecting the various display cases. She was admiring the huge skeleton of a dinosaur when Jerry returned, followed by an elderly man who wore spectacles. The reporter introduced the curator, who began to talk enthusiastically of the ancient stone which had been delivered to the museum that afternoon.
“I shall be very glad to show it to you,” he said, leading the way down a long corridor. “For the present, pending investigation, we have it stored in the basement.”
“What’s the verdict?” Jerry inquired. “Do museum authorities consider the writing authentic?”
“I should not wish to be quoted,” Mr. Kaleman prefaced his little speech. “However, an initial inspection has led us to believe that the stone bears ancient writings. You understand that it will take exhaustive study before the museum would venture to state this as a fact.”
“The stone couldn’t have been faked?” Penny asked thoughtfully.
“Always that is a possibility,” Mr. Kaleman acknowledged as he unlocked the door of a basement room. “However, the stone has weathered evenly, it appears to have been buried many years, and there are other signs which point to the authenticity of the writing.”
The curator switched on an electric light which disclosed a room cluttered with miscellaneous objects. There were empty mummy cases, boxes of excelsior, and various stuffed animals. At the rear of the room was a large rust colored stone which might have weighed a quarter of a ton.
“Here it is,” Mr. Kaleman declared, giving the rock an affectionate pat. “Notice the uniform coloring throughout. And note the lettering chiseled on the surface. You will see that the grooves do not differ appreciably from the remainder of the stone as would be the case if the lettering were of recent date. It is my belief—don’t quote me, of course—that this writing may open a new and fascinating page of history.”
Penny bent to inspect the crude writing. “‘Here laeth Ananias’” she read slowly aloud. “Why, that might be a joke! Wasn’t Ananias a dreadful prevaricator?”
“Ananias was a common name in the early days,” Mr. Kaleman said, displeased by the remark. “Now on the underside of this stone which you cannot see, there appears part of a quaint message which begins: ‘Soon after you goe for Englande we came hither.’”
“What does it mean?” questioned Jerry.
“This is only my theory, you understand. I believe the message may have been written by an early settler and left for someone who had gone to England but expected to return. The writing breaks off, suggesting that it may have been continued on another stone.”
“In that case, similar rocks may be found near here,” Jerry said thoughtfully.
“It is an interesting possibility. On the underside, this stone also contains a number of Indian characters, no doubt added at a later date. So far we have not been able to decipher them.”
“Just why does the stone have historical value?” Penny interposed.
“Because there never was any proof that English colonists settled in this part of the state,” Mr. Kaleman explained. “If we could prove such were the case, our contribution to history would be a vital one.”
Penny and Jerry asked many other questions, and finally left the museum. Both had been impressed not only with the huge stone but by the curator’s sincere manner.
“Mr. Kaleman certainly believes the writing is genuine,” Penny declared thoughtfully. “All the same, anyone knows a carved rock can be made to look very ancient. And that name Ananias makes me wonder.”
“The Chief may be right about it being a fake,” Jerry returned. “But if it is, who planted the stone on Gleason’s farm? And who would go to so much unnecessary work just to play a joke?”
Frowning, the reporter started to cross the street just as an automobile bearing Texas license plates went past, close to the curb. As Jerry leaped backwards to safety, the automobile halted. Two men occupied the front seat, and the driver, a well-dressed man of fifty, leaned from the window.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, addressing Jerry, “we’re trying to locate a boy named Ted Wiegand. He and his sister may be living with a family by the name of Breen. Could you tell me how to find them?”
“Sorry, but I can’t,” Jerry answered. “I never heard either of the names.”
“Why, I know both Ted and Rhoda Wiegand,” Penny interposed quickly. “They’re living at the Dorset Tourist Camp.”
“How do we get there?” the driver of the Texas car inquired.
Jerry provided the requested information. Thanking him, the stranger and his companion drove on down the street.
“I wonder who they can be?” Penny speculated, staring after the car. “And why did they come all the way from Texas to see Rhoda and Ted?”
“Friends of yours?” Jerry asked carelessly.
“I like Rhoda very much. Ted seems to be a rather questionable character. I wonder—”
“You wonder what?” the reporter prompted, helping Penny into the parked automobile.
“It just came to me, Jerry!” she answered gravely. “Those men may be officers from Texas sent here to arrest Ted for something he’s done! I never meant to set them on his trail, but I may be responsible for his arrest!”
Jerry smiled broadly as he edged the car from its parking space by the curb.
“You certainly have a vivid imagination, Penny,” he accused. “Those two men didn’t look like plain-clothes men to me. Anyway, if Ted Wiegand had committed an illegal act, wouldn’t it be your duty to turn him over to the authorities?”
“I suppose so,” Penny admitted unwillingly. “Ted stole one of Truman Crocker’s chickens today. It was a dreadful thing to do, but in a way you couldn’t blame him too much. I’m sure the Breens needed food.”
“Stealing is stealing. I don’t know the lad, but if a fellow is crooked in small things, he’s usually dishonest otherwise as well. Speaking of Truman Crocker, he was the man who hauled the big rock to the museum.”
“Was he?” Penny inquired, not particularly interested in the information. “I understand he does a great deal of rock hauling around Riverview. A queer fellow.”
Becoming absorbed in her own thoughts, Penny had little to say until the car drew up in front of the Parker home.
“Won’t you come in?” she invited Jerry as she alighted.
“Can’t tonight,” he declined regretfully. “I have a date at a bowling alley.”
Mr. Parker had been called downtown to attend a meeting, Penny discovered upon entering the house. Unable to tell him of her trip to the museum, she tried to interest Mrs. Weems in the story. However, the housekeeper, who was eager to start for a moving-picture theatre, soon cut her short.
“Excuse me, Penny, but I really must be leaving or I’ll be late,” she apologized, putting on her hat.
“I thought you were interested in mystery, Mrs. Weems.”
“Mystery, yes,” smiled the housekeeper. “To tell you the truth, though, I can’t become very excited over an old stone, no matter what’s written on it.”
After Mrs. Weems had gone, Penny was left alone in the big house. She sat down to read a book but soon laid it aside. To pass the time, she thought she would make a batch of fudge. But, no sooner had she mixed the sugar and chocolate together than it seemed like a useless occupation, so she set aside the pan for Mrs. Weems to finish upon her return from the movie.
“I know what I’ll do!” she thought suddenly. “I wonder why I didn’t think of it sooner?”
Hastening to the telephone she called her chum, Louise, asking her to come over at once.
“What’s up?” the other inquired curiously.
“We’re going to carry out a philanthropic enterprise, Lou! I’ll tell you about it when you get here!”
“One of these days you’ll choke on some of those big words,” Louise grumbled. “All right, I’ll come.”
Fifteen minutes later she arrived at the Parker home to find Penny, garbed in an apron, working industriously in the kitchen.
“Say, what is this?” Louise demanded suspiciously. “If you tricked me into helping you with the dishes, I’m going straight home!”
“Oh, relax,” Penny laughed. “The dishes were done hours ago. We’re going to help out the Old Wishing Well.”
“I wish you would explain what you mean.”
“It’s this way, Lou. The Breens are as poor as church mice, and they need food. At the Marborough place this afternoon Rhoda made a wish—that her family would have more to eat. Well, it’s up to us to make that wish come true.”
“You’re preparing a basket of food to take out to the camp?”
“That’s the general idea. We can leave it on the doorstep of the trailer and slip away without revealing our identity.”
“Why, your idea is a splendid one!” Louise suddenly approved. “Of course Mrs. Weems said it would be all right to fix the basket of food?”
“Oh, she won’t mind. I know she would want me to do it if she were here.”
Swinging open the porcelain door of the ice box, Penny peered into the illuminated shelves. The refrigerator was unusually well stocked, for Mrs. Weems had baked that day in anticipation of week-end appetites. Without hesitation, Penny handed out a meat loaf, a plum pudding, bunches of radishes, scrubbed carrots, celery, and a dozen fresh eggs.
“Dash down to the basement and get some canned goods from the supply shelf,” she instructed Louise briskly. “We ought to have jelly too, and a sample of Mrs. Weems’ strawberry preserves.”
“You do the dashing, if you don’t mind,” her chum demurred. “I prefer not to become too deeply involved in this affair.”
“Oh, Mrs. Weems won’t care—not a bit,” Penny returned as she started for the basement. “She’s the most charitable person in the world.”
In a minute she was back, her arms laden with heavy canned goods. Finding a market basket in the garage, the girls packed the food, wrapping perishables carefully in waxed paper.
“There! We can’t crowd another thing into the basket,” Penny declared at last.
“The ice-box is as bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard,” Louise rejoined. “What will the Parker family eat tomorrow?”
“Oh, Mrs. Weems can buy more. She’ll be a good sport about it, I know.”
With no misgivings, Penny carried the heavy basket to the garage and loaded it into the car. Discovering that the gasoline gauge registered low, she skillfully siphoned an extra two gallons from her father’s car, and then announced that she was ready to go.
“Don’t you ever patronize a filling station?” Louise inquired as her chum headed the automobile down the street.
“Oh, now and then,” Penny grinned. “After that cheque I wrote for the Breens’ rent, I’m feeling rather poor. Dad is much better able to buy gasoline than I, and he won’t begrudge me a couple of gallons.”
“You certainly have your family well trained,” Louise sighed. “I wish I knew how you get by with it.”
The car toured through Riverview and presently arrived at the entrance of the Dorset Tourist Camp. An attendant stopped the girls, but allowed them to drive on when he learned that they did not wish to make reservations for a cabin. Penny drew up not far from where the Breen trailer was parked.
“A light is still burning there,” Louise observed. “We’ll have to be careful if we don’t want to be seen.”
As Penny lifted the heavy basket from the rear compartment of the automobile, she noticed another car standing not far away. It looked somewhat familiar and in studying it more intently she noted the license plate.
“Why, it’s that same Texas car!” she exclaimed. “Those men must still be here.”
“What car? What men?”
“Oh, this evening two strangers inquired the way to this tourist camp,” Penny explained briefly. “They said they were looking for Ted Wiegand.”
“Friends of his?”
“I don’t know who they were or what they wanted. It struck me as odd though, that they would come from such a long distance.”
“Whoever they are, they must be at the trailer now,” Louise said after a moment. “Should we leave the basket on the doorstep or wait until they’ve gone?”
“We can’t very well wait, Lou. They might decide to stay half the night.”
Carrying the basket between them, the girls moved noiselessly toward the trailer. Blinds had not been drawn and they could see Mr. and Mrs. Breen, Rhoda, and the two men seated at the table carrying on an animated discussion.
“I wish I knew why those Texas fellows came here,” Penny remarked thoughtfully. “If we wanted to find out—”
“I’ll not listen at any window!” Louise cut her short.
“I was merely thinking wecould. Of course, I never would do such an ill-bred thing.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” Louise replied with emphasis. “For a very good reason too! I shall take you away before temptation sways you.”
Depositing the basket of food on the trailer doorstep, she forcibly pulled Penny to the waiting car.
At school the next morning, both Penny and Louise eagerly awaited some indication from Rhoda Wiegand that the basket of food had been discovered by the Breen family. The girl had failed to appear at five minutes to nine, and they began to wonder if she intended to absent herself from classes.
“Oh, by the way, what did Mrs. Weems say about last night’s little episode?” Louise asked her chum curiously.
“Entirely too much,” Penny sighed. “She sent me three thousand words on the budget problems of a housekeeper! If you don’t mind, let’s allow the subject to rest in peace.”
It was time for the final school bell, and the two girls started toward the assembly room. Just then Rhoda, breathless from hurrying, came into the hallway. Her eyes sparkled and obviously, she was rather excited.
“Girls, something strange happened last night!” she greeted Penny and Louise. “You’ll never guess!”
“We couldn’t possibly,” Louise said soberly.
“Two baskets of food were left at the door of our trailer! It’s silly to say it, I know, but it seems as if my wish at the old well must have had something to do with it.”
“Did you saytwobaskets of food were left?” Louise questioned, gazing sideways at Penny.
“Yes, one came early in the evening. Then this morning when Mrs. Breen opened the door, she found still another. You don’t suppose any of the members of the Palette Club did it, do you? We shouldn’t like to accept charity—”
“I’ll ask the girls if you want me to,” Penny offered hastily. “If any of them did, nothing was said about it to me.”
“Maybe the old well granted your wish, Rhoda,” Louise added. “You know, folks say it has a reputation for doing good deeds.”
The ringing of the school bell brought the conversation to an abrupt end. However, as Louise and Penny went to their seats, the latter whispered:
“Who do you suppose left that second basket on the Breen doorstep?”
“Probably one of the other club members had the same idea you did,” Louise responded. “Anyway, the Breens will be well fed for a few days at least.”
At recess Penny made a point of questioning every member of the Palette Club. Not one of the girls would admit having carried the basket to the trailer park, but all were agreed that Rhoda should be invited to join the art organization. Without exception, they liked the girl after becoming acquainted with her.
“The mystery deepens,” Penny commented to Louise as they wandered, arm in arm, about the school yard. “If no one in the Palette Club prepared the basket, then who did do it?”
“I guess we’ll have to attribute it to the old wishing well after all,” Louise chuckled. “Let me see your ears, my pet.”
“What for? Don’t you think I ever wash them?”
“I merely want to see if they’ve grown since we were at the Marborough place. Why, goodness me, I believe they are larger!”
Before Penny could think of a suitable retort, Rhoda joined the girls. Curious to learn more of the two Texas men who had arrived in Riverview, they gave the newcomer every opportunity to speak of it. As she remained uncommunicative, Penny brought up the subject by mentioning that two strangers had asked her how they might locate the trailer family.
“Yes, they found us all right,” Rhoda replied briefly. “Mr. Coaten came to see Ted.”
“An old friend, I suppose,” Louise remarked.
“Not exactly. I can’t figure out just why he did come here.”
Rhoda frowned and lapsed into silence. Penny and Louise did not question her further, and a few minutes later recess ended.
The affairs of the Breen family concerned Penny only slightly. Although she kept wondering why Mr. Coaten and his companion were in Riverview, she gave far more thought to the stone which had been dug up on the Gleason farm. Directly after school she proposed to Louise that they drive into the country and interview the farmer.
“I don’t mind the trip,” her chum said, “but why are you so interested in an old rock?”
“Oh, Dad thinks the whole story may be a hoax. I’d like to learn the truth, if I can.”
Mindful that in the past Penny had brought theRiverview Starmany an important “scoop,” Louise was very willing to accompany her on the trip. Four-thirty found the two girls at the Gleason farm in conversation with the old farmer.
“I’ve been pestered to death ever since that rock was found here,” he told them somewhat crossly. “There’s nothing new to tell. I was plowing in the south field back of the barn, when I turned it up. I didn’t pay much attention until Jay Franklin come along and said the writing on it might interest the museum folks. He gave me a couple of dollars, and paid to have old man Crocker haul it to town.”
“I didn’t know Jay Franklin had an interest in the stone,” Penny remarked. “You say he gave you two dollars for it?”
“That’s right,” the farmer nodded. “I was glad to have the rock hauled off the place.”
Satisfied that they could learn no more, Penny and Louise inspected the hole from which the stone had been removed, and then drove toward Riverview.
“Mr. Gleason seemed honest enough,” Penny commented thoughtfully. “If the rock was deliberately planted on his farm I don’t believe he had anything to do with it.”
“He isn’t sufficiently clever to plan and carry out an idea like that,” Louise added. “Maybe the writing on the rock is genuine.”
“The curator of the museum thinks it may be. All the same, I’ll stack Dad’s opinion against them all.”
The car approached the old Marborough place, and Penny deliberately slowed down. To the surprise of the girls, they observed two automobiles parked in front of the property.
“It looks as if Mrs. Marborough has guests today,” Penny commented. “Shall we stop and say hello?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Louise replied doubtfully as the car drew up at the edge of the road. “We’re not really acquainted with her, and with others there—”
“They’re leaving now,” Penny said, jerking her head to draw attention to a group of ladies coming down the walk toward the street.
The visitors all were known to the two girls as women prominent in Riverview club circles. Mrs. Buckmyer, a stout, pompous lady who led the procession, was speaking to the others in an agitated voice.
“In all my life I never was treated with less courtesy! Mrs. Marborough at least might have invited us into her house!”
“I always understood that she was a queer person,” contributed another, “but one naturally would expect better manners from a Marborough.”
“I shouldn’t object to her manners if only she would allow the Pilgrimage Committee the use of her house,” added a third member of the group. “What a pity that she refuses to consider opening it during the Festival Week.”
Still chattering indignantly, the women entered their separate cars and drove away.
“What did you make of that?” Louise asked in perplexity.
“Apparently Mrs. Marborough gave them the brush off,” Penny chuckled. “I know Mrs. Buckmyer heads the Pilgrimage Committee.”
“What’s that?”
“Haven’t you heard about it, Louise? A group of club women decided to raise money by conducting a tour of old houses. In this community there are a number of places which date back over a hundred years.”
“And people will pay money to see them?”
“That’s the general idea. Festival Week has been set for the twenty-sixth of this month. During a five-day period the various homes are open, gardens will be on display, and costume parties may be held at them.”
“There’s only one colonial house that I’d care about getting inside,” Louise said. “I should like to see the interior of Rose Acres.”
“Maybe we can do it now. Mrs. Marborough invited us to visit her again.”
“Yes, but did she really mean it?”
“Why not find out?” Penny laughed, swinging open the car door.
Entering the grounds, the girls saw that very little had been done to the property since their last visit. A half-hearted attempt had been made to rake one side of the lawn and an overgrown lilac bush had been mercilessly mutilated. Shutters on the house remained closed and the entire place had a gloomy, deserted appearance.
Penny rapped on the door. Evidently Mrs. Marborough had noted the approach of the two girls for she responded to their knock immediately.
“Good afternoon,” Penny began, “we were driving by and thought we would drop in to see you again.”
“How nice of you,” Mrs. Marborough smiled. “Look over the garden as much as you please.”
“The garden—” Louise faltered, gazing quickly at Penny.
“Or make wishes at the well,” Mrs. Marborough went on hastily. “Go anywhere you like, and I’ll join you as soon as I get a wrap.”
The door closed gently in their faces.
“Who wants to see a tangle of weeds?” Louise demanded in a whisper. “Why didn’t Mrs. Marborough invite us into the house?”
“Why indeed?” echoed Penny, frowning thoughtfully. “There can be but one reason! She has a dark secret which she is trying to hide from the world!”
“Hiding a secret, my eye!” laughed Louise. “Penny Parker, sometimes I think that every person in Riverview suggests mystery and intrigue to you!”
“Then you explain why Mrs. Marborough doesn’t invite us into her house!” Penny challenged her chum. “And why did she turn the members of the Pilgrimage Committee away?”
“Oh, probably the place isn’t fixed up the way she wants it yet.”
“That’s no reason. No, she has a different one than that, Lou, and I’m curious to learn what it is.”
“You’re always curious,” Louise teased, taking Penny by the arm. “Come along. Let’s get a drink at the well.”
While the girls were lowering the bucket into the bricked cavern, Mrs. Marborough joined them, a woolen shawl thrown over her head and shoulders.
“I’ve not had time to get much work done yet,” she apologized. “I really must hire a man to clean up the grounds.”
“Then you have decided to make your home here?” Louise inquired eagerly.
“For the present, I may. Much depends upon how a certain project turns out.”
Penny and Louise waited hopefully, but Mrs. Marborough said no more. Changing the subject, she inquired about Rhoda Wiegand and the other members of the Palette Club.
“I like young people,” she declared brightly. “Do tell your friends to come to Rose Acres whenever they wish.”
“A rather strange thing occurred yesterday,” Penny said suddenly. “Rhoda made a wish here at the well, and it came true.”
“What was the wish?” the old lady inquired with curiosity.
“That the people with whom she lives might have more food. Two baskets were left at the trailer camp. Louise and I were responsible for one of them, but we can’t account for the other.”
“Very interesting,” Mrs. Marborough commented. “In years past, a great many wishes which were made here, apparently came true. So I can’t say that I am surprised.”
“To what do you attribute it?” Louise asked quickly.
“Chance perhaps,” Mrs. Marborough smiled. “One cannot explain such things.”
A chill, penetrating wind blew from the direction of the river. Shivering, Louise drew her jacket collar closer about her neck, remarking rather pointedly that the weather was turning colder. Even then, Mrs. Marborough did not suggest that the girls enter the house. A moment later, however, she excused herself and went inside, leaving them alone in the garden.
“It does seem odd that she acts so secretive,” Louise commented. “I’m inclined to agree with members of the Pilgrimage Committee that her manners aren’t the best.”
“Perhaps you’ll finally decide that I am right!” Penny said triumphantly. “Take my word for it, there’s something inside the house she doesn’t want anyone to see!”
Louise started slowly toward the road, only to pause as her chum proposed that they walk to the river and call upon Truman Crocker, the stonecutter.
“You intend to tell him who stole his chicken?” Louise asked in surprise.
Penny shook her head. “No, I’ll let him discover it for himself. I want to talk to him about that big rock he hauled to the museum.”
Louise could not imagine what useful information her chum might expect to gain, but she obediently trailed Penny through the rear yard of Rose Acres, down a sloping path which led to the river.
“I hope you know the way,” she remarked dubiously as the going became more difficult, and they were forced to move slowly.
“Oh, we can’t miss the cabin. Crocker’s place is the only one near here,” Penny responded.
The trail was a narrow one, so infrequently used that bushes and vines had overgrown it in many places. Finally emerging on an open hillside, the girls were able to gaze down upon the winding river. Recent rains had swollen it to the very edges of the banks, and from a distance Truman Crocker’s shack appeared to be situated dangerously close to the water.
“Wouldn’t you think he would soon be flooded out?” Louise commented, pausing to catch her breath. “I shouldn’t care to live so near the river.”
“Oh, the water never comes much higher,” Penny rejoined. “A few years ago the city built some sort of river control system which takes care of the spill should there be any. Anyway, Crocker’s place wouldn’t represent much of a loss if it did wash away.”
The girls regained their breath, and then started down the slope. Penny, who was leading the way, did not pay particular attention to the rutty path. Suddenly catching her shoe in a small hole, she tripped and fell sideways.
“Ooh, my arm!” she squealed. “I struck it on a big rock!”
Louise helped Penny to her feet, brushing dirt from the girl’s skirt.
“You’ve ripped your stocking,” she said sympathetically.
“I guess I’m lucky it wasn’t my head,” Penny returned gazing ruefully at the tear. “Let’s sit down and rest a minute.”
Seating herself on the large smooth rock, she gingerly examined a bruised place on her elbow. Louise stood beside her, plucking burs from her chum’s sweater.
“I’m all right now,” Penny said a moment later, getting up. “Why, Lou! Do you see what I’ve been sitting on?”
“A rock, my pet.”
“A stone that looks exactly like the one at the museum!” Penny cried excitedly.
“All rocks are pretty much alike, aren’t they?”
“Certainly not,” Penny corrected. “There are any number of varieties. This one is quartz unless I’m mistaken and itdoesresemble the one at the museum.”
“Maybe you can find some writing on it,” Louise teased. “The rock only weighs two or three hundred pounds. Shall I lift it for you so you can see the under side?”
“Don’t bother,” Penny retorted, eagerly examining the stone. “I’ve already found it.”
“Found what?”
“The writing! Iknewthis stone looked like the one at the museum!”
Louise was certain that her chum merely pretended to have made such an important discovery. However, as Penny continued to examine the rock in an intent, absorbed way, she decided to see for herself.
“Why, it’s true!” she exclaimed incredulously. “Thereiswriting on the stone!”
Carved letters, so dimmed by age and weathering processes that they scarcely remained legible, had been cut unevenly in the hard surface.
“‘Went hence vnto heaven 1599,’” Louise deciphered slowly. “Why, 1599 would date this stone almost before there were known settlers in the country!”
“Almost—but not quite,” replied Penny. “Historians believe there were other settlements before that date. Obviously, this is a burial stone similar to the one found on the Gleason farm.”
“If it’s such an old rock why was it never discovered before?”
“The stone may be a fake, but that’s not for us to try to figure out. We’ve made an important discovery and the museum is sure to be interested!”
“Don’t forget that this is on Mrs. Marborough’s property,” Louise reminded her chum. “We’ll have to tell her about it.”
Retracing their way to Rose Acres, the girls knocked on the door. Mrs. Marborough soon appeared, looking none too pleased by their unexpected return.