by Augusta Huiell Seaman, beginning November 1915
CHAPTER XII: THE MYSTERY UNRAVELS FURTHER
It would be useless to attempt describing the mingled sensations with which the Antiquarian Club (all but Alexander) bent to examine the latest "find." The twins, however, drew back in a moment with a disappointed air and the disgusted query:
"Is that all! What in the world is it?" It certainly was neither gold nor jewels, nor, apparently, important papers of any sort, and their interest waned at once. It was paper of some kind—dirty, mildewed, stained with time, and nibbled freely by mice. But it bore no resemblance to the state documents, laden perhaps with impressive seals, that the twins had vaguely expected to behold, if, indeed, the find took that shape at all. But Margaret and Corinne had been turning it over carefully. All of a sudden they uttered a simultaneous little cry:
"Oh, girls! Don't you know what it is?"
"No!" declared the twins.
"Why—the other half of the diary!"
Then indeed did the twins give way to belated exultation in which Alexander joined, for of course he had already discovered this.
"Yes, it certainly is!" reasserted Corinne, examining it more closely. "The book was evidently torn in two, and this half concealed in the beam,—but for what earthly reason I can't imagine! I wonder if Alison put it there herself?"
"D'ye see anything queer about the first page?" inquired Alexander, mysteriously. They bent again to examine it. The first page was the most worn and stained and torn and least decipherable of all, because it had been unprotected. There were the same characters of the cipher, only very dimly discernible. But written diagonally across it, evidently with something black and dull, possibly a piece of charcoal or charred wood, were a few words in English. They were so faint that they might have been taken merely for the traces of dark stains or smudges had not one examined them closely.
"Shall I put you wise to what they say?" suggested Alexander.
"Oh, do!" they all cried.
"Well, here it is: 'I am now assured you are a spy. This proves it. I can make naught of it, but will hide it securely. Later I will denounce you.' Wouldn't that jar you, now!"
"Who do you suppose wrote it?" demanded Corinne.
"Could it have been Alison?" suggested Margaret. "Maybe she meant it about the steward."
"That's my guess!" echoed Alexander.
"But why did she write it in English, and with this charcoal or whatever it is? And why did she hide it in that beam? And why was the diary torn in two?"
"You can search me!" Alexander remarked, shrugging his shoulders.
"Would n't it be a good idea to find out by translating the rest?" quietly suggested Bess, the practical. "No doubt she 'll say something in it that will put us on the right track."
"Good business!" chuckled Alexander. "You 've got some sense in that bean of yours, kid!"
"I don't understand you!" retorted Bess, coldly. She thoroughly disapproved of his slang, and was never amused by it as the rest often were.
"I should worry!" he responded unconcernedly, and turned to Margaret. "Could n't you dope out a bit of it now, kiddie? You 've got the goods to do it with."
"No," interrupted Corinne, looking at her watch; "it's getting late, and I must go. Let's give Margaret a couple of days to work it out, and then we 'll have a grand old meeting and solve the whole riddle—I hope!"
Much as they longed to know the whole story at once, it was obvious that Corinne's suggestion was most sensible. But before they separated, they unanimously voted "Aye!" to another matter—that the discovery of the contents of the secret beam was the most satisfactory thing that had happened so far!
Two days later they gathered around Margaret, keen for the exciting revelations that they felt sure were awaiting them. Margaret had resumed her sphinxlike attitude of mystery and would reveal no clue to what she had discovered. When they were settled and quiet, Alexander remarked:
"Go ahead, kid ! Shoot! Get it off your mind!" And smiling indulgently on him, Margaret began:
"You remember where we left off in the other half of the journal—a sentence just stopped in the middle. It was this:—'For Madame M. will accept naught from him and—' Now, on this first page, she completes it. And, by the way, I had the worst time puzzling out that first page! It was so stained and faded and torn. Sometimes I was n't even sure I was getting it right. But I guess now I have it correct. She goes on to finish:
"—yet I scarce could tell him so. He must have guessed my predicament, for he only smiled and said it was of no moment. An she would not care for it, I might keep it for myself. 'T was rarely kind in him. I long to tell him about myself, but I dare not —not yet.
"Then comes a break. Now she says:
"His lady did pass me to-day, walking in the garden; and since the high shrubbery screened us, I curtesied deeply to her. I scarce dare notice her when any of the household are by. She looked at me long, then spoke me fair, asking had she not met me before she came here. I answered, yes, the day her coach broke down on the road last year, and I helped to hold the frightened horses while 't was mended. She did thank me anew, and asked me what it was I was about to tell her then, when Madame M. had dragged me suddenly away. I replied that I dared not repeat it there, but would seek some chance to speak with her alone when we did have more time and were not observed. Then I heard footsteps approaching, and I fled quickly away."
"Wonder what it could have been that she was trying so hard to tell Lady Washington!" sighed Corinne. "This does n't grow any less mysterious, apparently! Go on, Margaret!"
"Another break, then she says:
"I have at last learned what is this wicked plot—"
"Good business!" ejaculated Alexander.
" 'T is through Mistress Phoebe I found it out. She has a lover who is one of his life-guard, and this lover she has had cause to suspect is not entirely loyal to him. Last night she did ply him with overmuch good malt brew, and in his befogged state she did get him to babble the secret. Oh, it is a vile scheme! They are planning to deliver the city out of his hands. But that is not the worst. They seek first of all to murder him, and in some underhand, cowardly fashion. The manner of it is not decided yet. Phoebe tells me her lover will remember no word of what he said to her last night in his cups. But she intends to watch him right closely. When she has learned the manner of the plotted murder, he must be warned."
"Isn't this exciting!" exclaimed Corinne.
"Bully! Hot stuff!" agreed Alexander.
Margaret continued: "Now, another entry.
"I have confided my story to Phoebe. She is well to be trusted, I feel. She has promised to help me in my need. I am becoming right fond of Phoebe. Corbie was here last night to see the steward. They are both in the plot, we feel sure. After Corbie left, the steward descended to the cellar. I did not dare to follow—I could only guess that he went to his secret hiding-place.
"Now another space. Then:
"Phoebe had news to-day. Last night she did again muddle her lover with much strong drink. And she did get him to confess that the plot is near completion ; that if all goes well, 't will be put in action four days from now. He also did acknowledge that they intended to put him out of the way by poisoning something he ate. But he knew nothing more definite. Phoebe says she dares not thus befuddle him again. It is too dangerous, as he has shown that he suspects he is babbling and has asked her since many searching questions, to which she pretends guileless ignorance. We must watch him. What if we should not be able to foil him and his vile conspirators!
"Madame M.'s health does not improve. Nay, she has dropped so low that't is feared she will not live. Her physician did bleed her yesterday, but 't was of no avail. She recognizes me, but she will have naught to say to me. In fact she is too weak to utter a word. I am right sorry for her and grieve that she cannot forgive me, though I have done no real wrong. I have sometimes thought she must know of the plot, the vile plot that is to be enacted in this house. But Phoebe declares she is innocent of that. Deep as her hatred may be, she would never wink at such a crime."
"Well, that settles one question, anyhow!" interrupted Corinne. "Do you remember how we discussed that?"
"Yep! that was the day I butted in!" commented Alexander, in whimsical recollection. "Fire away, kid!
Margaret continued:
"Phoebe and I do despair of discovering by what means they plan to carry out the plot. She dares no longer question her lover when he is under the influence of wine. Nor does she yet dare denounce him, lest the other conspirators escape unharmed. It would be premature to do so till we know the exact facts. I have told her of the steward and his secret hiding-place in the wine-cellar. If we can do naught else, we will rifle that some time when he is away. Perchance there may be information in it.
"Then, here's the next entry:
"It is midnight, and on the morrow the plot will be consummated. I write this in much fear. Perchance it will be the last I shall ever have opportunity to write. If such be the case, and my relations in Bermuda do ever find this trunk and the diary in its false bottom, and should they be able to decipher it, I want them to know that I, Alison Trenham,—"
"Trenham!" shouted the listening group. "Hurrah! at last we know her full name! That's dandy!" Margaret gave them little heed and went on:
"—do grievously repent my folly in ever leaving my peaceful home; that I beg Grandfather to forgive me if he can, and wish Aunt and Betty to know that I love them always. Also, that H. and his uncle were little to blame for their part in what happened before we left Bermuda, and that I do not regret giving my assistance, for it was a noble cause, even though our government did not approve.
"To-night, Phoebe and I did raid the steward's secret hiding-place. We waited till he had gone out, about ten o'clock, and from his actions we made sure that he would be away long, for he went straight to Corbie's tavern. But even so, we took a terrible risk. Once in the cellar, our work was not difficult. I pointed out the location of the spot, and we opened the beam as I had seen him do. But our amazement was great when we found naught in it. He must have removed every belonging, and that right recently. We were just about to turn away when Phoebe declared she would look once more, and she felt all about in it carefully. Her search was rewarded, for far back in a crevice was stuck a small folded note.
"We read it by the light of the candle, not at first daring to take it away. It was from the governor, and said that on the morrow a dose of poison should be put into a dish of peas prepared for him at his noonday meal. The poison would have no effect under an hour. In the meantime, word should go forth, and the fortifications would be seized. Everything was in readiness. That was all. The note had plainly been forgotten by the steward when he removed his other papers. We dared to keep it, on a second thought, since he would probably think he had lost it elsewhere, if he missed it at all. So we took it away with us.
"Our plans are all laid. Phoabe will herself be in the kitchen to-morrow at noon, and no doubt either her lover or the steward will place the poison in the dish. Then I am to pass through the kitchen at a certain moment, and Phoebe will request me to carry in the dish and lay it before him. As I do so, I can whisper him a warning not to eat of it, saying I will explain later. If Phoebe herself did this, she would be suspected at once, for she never goes into the dining-room to serve. But she will choose a moment when no retainer of his happens to be in the kitchen, and send me with it instead. God grant that the plans do not go wrong. He will suffer, and our own lives will be in great danger should we fail or be discovered.
"We have arranged that, when I go to him later to disclose what we know, I shall also tell him my own story and throw myself on the protection of him and his good lady. For I fear it will then be no longer safe for me to remain here as I am now. That is all. God has us in His hands. I await the morrow with untold trembling.
"Should it be thought strange that in writing this journal I have given few names and so made the identities hard to guess, I must explain that I have ever been in great fear of this being discovered—nay, even deciphered. I bethought me that the fewer names I used, the less incriminating this might be to myself and all concerned. As I read it over now, I feel that it was but a poor makeshift, at best. However that may be, I trust that it may some day get back to my dear ones in Bermuda, should aught evil befall me. They will understand.
"The hour grows late and I must retire, though I feel little able to sleep. But one thing more I must disclose ere I bring this journal to an end,—the hiding-place of the sapphire signet. Should it befall that I never return to my home nor see my relatives again, it would be only right that they be informed where the jewel may be found, and that I meant no evil in taking it from Grandfather. Also, I do earnestly beseech any soul who shall perchance sometime long in the future find and decipher this record, that he or she will search for the signet in the place that I have indicated. And should they find it still there hidden, I pray that they will make an effort to return it to any of my family or connections who may still exist.
"I have concealed the sapphire signet in—"
Margaret came to a dead stop. "Girls— and Alexander—that's absolutely all there is!"
So tense had been the interest that they could not believe their ears when Margaret made this announcement. Alexander was the first to recover his power of speech. Thumping the floor indignantly, he delivered himself thus:
"Suffering cats! Can you beat it!"
to be continued...
Tom, Dick and Harriet, Chapter 12
by Ralph Henry Barbour, beginning May 1907
CHAPTER XII: THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED
Harry told her story later to Roy and Chub, who laughed immoderately and, as Harry thought at first, somewhat unkindly. But after a while she joined her laughter with theirs.
"Oh, he 's a peach!" declared Chub. "He 's too much for us!"
"Nothing of the sort!" said Harry. "He got the better of me to-day, but—"
"A time will come!" suggested Chub.
"And I 'll catch him yet; you see if I don't! He 's not so awfully smart."
"Well, he seems to be a heap smarter than any of us," said Roy. "I vote we leave him alone. When he gets good and ready he will probably tell us what he 's up to."
"Leave him alone nothing!" said Chub. "Even if we can't find out what he 's doing, we can make his life a burden to him. And I, for one, propose to do it. Look at the way he treated us in Silver Cove the other day! Let him alone? I guess not!"
"No, indeed," agreed Harry. "It 's war to the death!"
"'Revenge!'" suggested Roy laughingly.
"You bet," answered Chub.
The next day Dick, for some reason, refused to disappear or even attempt to. And that was a great disappointment to Harry, who had made all preparations to follow him and discover his secret—although without the aid of a disguise. When they met, as they did several times in the course of the day, Harry passed him with her small nose held at a disdainful angle. Dick only grinned.
There was hockey practice that afternoon and Dick went down to the rink to look on. Of course Harry and Chub followed at a discreet distance, doing their best to appear unaware of his presence in the world. During practice Dick stood across the rink and smiled amusedly at them whenever they glanced across, a proceeding which drove Harry to heights of exasperation. Once in a lull of practice Roy skated up to them.
"Do you see him over there?" he asked softly.
"Of course we do," answered Harry disgustedly. "Do you think we 're blind! He 's been grinning and grinning at us for half an hour."
Roy shook his head gravely.
"Ah," he muttered, "little he recks-"
Then he dashed away out of Chub's reach.
But the next day brought triumph to Sherlock Holmes, Vidocq and Estrella De Vere, proving the truth of the old adage which declares that he laughs best who laughs last. For at noon Roy and Chub, tumbling out of School Hall after a recitation, found Harry awaiting them. Her eyes were dancing and she was all excitement.
"Revenge!" she whispered dramatically.
"Good! What 's up?" asked Chub.
"I have tracked him to his lair!" whispered Harry. "All is discovered! The miscreant is in our power! Estrella De Vere has—"
"What do you mean, Harry? Have you found out about Dick?"
"I have discovered all! Listen!'
And Estrella De Vere, the Female Detective, with Sherlock Holmes on one side and Vidocq on the other, passed down the path.
Ten minutes later Dick came out of School Hall and stood for a minute on the porch, looking idly about him. The snow which had covered the campus a foot deep a fortnight before was almost gone, and in places the sere brown turf showed through the worn and tattered coverlid of white. It was quite warm to-day, with a muggy atmosphere and a leaden sky, almost too warm for snow, and yet feeling very much like it. There was a steady drip, drip from the eaves and ledges, and the walks were showing borders of trickling water.
Dick frowned and looked anxiously into the sky. What he saw there seemed to please him hut little, for the frown deepened.
"Two or three days of this sort of weather," he muttered half aloud, "and the ice won't be worth a cent."
Then, looking carefully about him again, he went down the steps and turned to the right toward Burgess. There were several boys in sight, but, and this was suspicious, neither Chub, Roy, nor Harry was to be seen. He took his books into the study room and deposited them on the big table. Then, the room being deserted, he crossed to one of the end windows and looked stealthily out. Apparently the coast was clear. But he was taking no chances, and so he stole around to a front window and viewed the prospect carefully from there. He seemed puzzled, for he thrust his hands into his pockets, stared steadily for a whole minute at the engraving of "Washington Crossing the Delaware," which adorned the wall above the fireplace, and whistled softly to himself. Then, having apparently decided upon a course of action, he left the study room, crossed the corridor and opened a door which gave on to a descending stairway leading to the cellar. Down this he went very quietly, reached the furnace room and from there gained the outer air by way of a flight of stone steps. He was in a small stone-paved court behind the building, with the hedge marking inner bounds but a few paces away. There was a gate here, and making his way between a double row of ash barrels he passed through it and plunged into the Grove. Then he turned to the right and wound between the trees, crossing the path to the boat-house and river at right angles, and keeping well out of sight of the windows of the halls. Five minutes of this brought him to the corner of the hedge. Here the trees ceased abruptly and gave way to snow-covered fields. Crouching behind the hedge so that his head was below the top of it, he followed it at right angles to his first course until opposite the barn and stables. Here he raised his head and reconnoitered. There was no one in sight and presently he was wriggling his way through a hole in the hedge. From there he passed around the back of the small stable and fetched up before a small door leading to the basement of the barn. That door required careful handling, for it hung only by one leather hinge. But Dick managed to get through it, displaying a certain degree of familiarity with its idiosyncrasies, and closed it behind him.
He found himself in total darkness, but without hesitation he crossed the earthen floor and climbed a narrow flight of steps. As he went upward the darkness gave way to gray twilight and when he reached the main floor of the barn behind the cow stalls it was light enough to allow him to see distinctly about him. So far he had made scarcely a sound since entering the building, and now he crept very quietly along until he could see the closed door. The barn was deserted save for the inmates of the boxes across the bare floor, and even they were so quiet that no one would have suspected their presence. Dick gave a sigh of relief and walked less stealthily to the back of the barn where a ladder led straight upward to the edge of the loft. He sprang nimbly onto it and ascended until he could crawl over the edge of the upper flooring.
In front of him was a space some thirty feet broad by twenty deep. On one side it was used as a storage place for a couple of old sleighs, the remnants of a windmill and similar discarded truck. On the other side the remains of last summer's hay was stowed in a mow which ran along over the cow stalls. In the center of the loft, under the small window, was a large packing-box and beside it was a small one. On the larger one were spread several sheets of brown paper, pencils, a square, a rule, a pair of dividers and other tools of the draftsman. There was a good light from the window, in spite of the fact that its four small panes were obscured with dust and spider webs.
Dick went to his improvised table, took up a piece of kneaded rubber which lay there, and played with it while he studied the top sheet of paper. It was pretty well covered with lines and figures, but only the designer knew what they stood for. After a moment he drew the small box up and sat down on it, discarded the eraser for pencil and rule and set to work.
It was very quiet in the barn. Now and then Methuselah moved in his cage and muttered unintelligibly or a bat squeaked somewhere overhead in the darkness. Soon Dick was quite oblivious to everything save the work before him. He drew lines with his pencil, used ruler and dividers, set down figures on a smaller sheet of paper and multiplied or added or subtracted, erased lines already drawn, and through it all wore a deep frown which told how wholly absorbed he was in the task. And so he did n't hear the soft rustlings which came from the top of the haymow a few feet away when three heads were thrust into view. Heard nothing, in fact, until the silence was suddenly shattered hy a sudden "Ah, There!"
He heard then; oh, yes, quite plainly!
Down dropped his pencil, over went the smaller box with a slam and Dick was staggering away in an effort to find his feet, his face very white and his mouth wide open for the exclamation of alarm which he was too frightened to give. There followed a brief moment of silence during which Dick stared at the three laughing, triumphant faces topping the haymow. Then the color crept back into his cheeks and he slowly closed his mouth.
"Humph!" he said at last.
"Move hand or foot,' cried Chub dramatically, "and you are a dead man!"
"We have you in our power at last!" added Harry. And—
"Little you recked," said Roy.
Dick picked up the box and began to grin.
"Well, you caught me at last, did n't you?" he asked. "But I don't see why Harry left off that lovely disguise of hers."
"If you had n't seen my hair—" began Harry vehemently.
"Be careful what you say," interrupted Chub, sliding down from the top of the mow, "for it will be used against you.''
The others followed and Roy playfully dug Dick in the ribs.
"Old Smarty was caught at last, was n't he?" he cried.
"Took you long enough, though," said Dick. "And gave you some good exercise, too, eh?"
"We don't deny, my boy, that you fooled us very nicely several times," answered Chub, "but the expression on your handsome countenance a moment ago made up for everything.''
"I dare say," laughed Dick. "I was scared stiff. How did you find out about this drawing^ room of mine?"
"That was Harry," said Roy. "She came in here this morning before school and let 'Thuselah out of his cage and he climbed up here and would n't come down. And as she had to hurry to school she came up and got him and saw the things here. Then she told us about it and after school we hurried over here and hid in the hay."
"Well," said Dick regretfully, "I wish I 'd stuck to my first plan and gone to the Cove instead of coming up here. Then you 'd all have had a nice quiet afternoon in the hay."
"But you did n't!" said Harry triumphantly. "And it was the female detective that discovered you. Sherlock Holmes and Vidocq were out-detected by Estrella De Vere!"
"Eh?" asked Dick.
Then they told him all about their impersonations and he thought it was a huge joke, and mollified Harry completely by congratulating her on her triumph over the others. Then they compared notes for the past week.
"Where did you go the day we followed you to the stationery store?" asked Roy.
"I went out the back door and came around to the street and watched from the next corner until you crossed and went into the store. Then I went about my business."
"And that reminds me," said Roy, "that we don't know yet what you 're up to. Are you going to 'fess up now?"
"Sure. I 'd have told you all about it long ago if you had n't begun this detective work. When I found what you were up to I thought I 'd just give you a run for your money."
"Is it anything about the F. H. S. I. S.?" asked Harry. Dick shook his head.
"No," he replied. "The fact is that 's at a standstill, I guess. I 've had it in mind right along, but I can't think of any way to go ahead. How about you?"
"I have n't thought of anything," Harry confessed. And Roy and Chub answered the same way.
"Well, it 'll come in time," said Dick. "How about the funds, Harry? Got them safe?"
"Yes, they 're—but maybe I ought n't to tell where I keep them."
"Just as well not to, I guess," Dick laughed. "Chub might get hard up and borrow them."
"Look here, Dick, what 's all this mean?" asked Eoy, who was staring perplexedly at the drawing on top of the packing-case. "Are you inventing something?"
"Pshaw," said Chub, "that 's just a problem in trig., is n't it, Dick?''
"Well, you know all about it, so what 's the use of asking me?"
"No, go ahead and tell us, like a good fellow," said Eoy.
"Well, then, it 's the plan of an ice-boat."
"Ice-boat!" exclaimed the others in chorus. "Yes, why not?"
"But-but what 's it for?" asked Chub.
"To sail."
"You mean you are going to make one?"
"Yes, it 's being made now."
"Well, I 'll be jiggered!" Chub exclaimed. "Whatever put that into your crazy head?"
"Oh, I 've wanted it ever since I saw that one of Thurston's the day that Roy took a cold bath. So I found out all I could about the things; read everything I could find, you know. That was what I was doing that night in the library when you thought I was reading about fly-casting or something."
"Did n't think anything of the kind," Roy disclaimed. "I saw you turn the pages as we came up."
"Did you? All right. Well, I finally got some idea about the things and had a talk with a fellow at the Cove. He builds boats, but has never tried his hand at ice-boats before. He did n't want to have anything to do with it at first, but I finally got him interested. He said I 'd better go to some fellow at Poughkeepsie or somewhere who knew all about them, but I told him I wanted it made where I could have a finger in the pie. So he got busy. I made the drawings and he 's building accordingly."
"Is this it?" asked Roy interestedly, pointing to the plan before him.
"No, that 's only the sail-plan. The other 's at the Cove; Johnson has it."
"That 's what you bought the lumber for!" exclaimed Chub. Dick nodded.
"Yes. And I 've bought a lot more since then. It 's costing like anything, but it 's lots of fun. I want you all to go over with me Saturday and have a look at it."
"How big is it, Dick?" asked Roy.
"It 's just a smallish one," was the answer. "Twenty-nine feet long by eighteen wide."
"Phew!" cried Roy. "It does n 't sound small! When will it be done?"
"I don't know; about a week, I guess. The worst thing is figuring about the sails. You see, I don't know very much about sailing; never sailed anything in my life but a kite. So it 's puzzling, and I 'm more than half guessing. Maybe the fool thing won't go when it is done."
"Course it 'll go," said Chub. "A sail 's a sail."
"I think it 's perfectly grand!" said Harry with awe. "Will you take me out in it, Dick, when it 's finished?"
"Of course; and if it does manage to go I 'm going to send a challenge to that Thurston chap."
"Say, that 'll be bully!" cried Chub. "And I 'm just dying to see the thing. Can't we go over before Saturday?"
"Maybe, but it won't be very far along before that time. A lot of the bolts and braces had to be made, and that takes time, you know. Besides, that 's only three days from now."
"What color are you going to paint it!" asked Harry.
"Well, I 'd like to have her red," answered Dick, "but I suppose it would n't do, for that 's Hammond's color, and, besides, Thurston's is red."
"Paint her blue," suggested Roy.
"Pink," said Chub.
"I guess I 'll have her green," Dick said. "That shows up pretty well at a distance."
"And call her the Shamrock or the Erin Go Bragh," laughed Roy. "What are you going to call her, by the way?"
"Have n 't thought much about that yet. Usually they call 'em Icicles or Jack Frosts or Blizzards, but I 'd rather have something a little newer."
"Well, you can name her after me if you want to," observed Chub modestly.
"Yes, call her the Chump," said Roy.
"Let 's all think of names for it," cried Harry. "We 'll write them down so as not to forget them and then we 'll give them to Dick and he can select one."
"And the one whose name is selected," suggested Chub, "gets a prize, like—like not having to ride on the boat."
"You 'll be glad enough to ride on her when you see her," said Dick.
"Who? Me?" queried Chub. "Well, maybe so; I 'm naturally of a brave and reckless disposition. In fact, as far as I 'm personally concerned I 'd like it, but there is the community to think of. Of course, I owe it to the community to be careful of myself and not—"
"You 're talking a great deal of nonsense, Thomas H. Eaton," said Harry. "If Dick asks me to go with him I 'll go mighty quick!"
"If it 's any sort of a boat that 's just the way you will go," observed Roy dryly. "So quick you won't know what 's happening to you."
"It must be lovely!" cried Harry, clasping her hands and looking enraptured.
"Has any one seen Thurston's boat lately?" asked Chub.
"Yes," Roy answered, "I see it pretty nearly every afternoon. It 's a hummer, too. I think he goes over to school on it in the mornings and back to the Cove in the afternoon, because I 've seen him heading that way several times about the time we get through hockey practice."
"The only thing I 'm afraid of," said Dick, with an uneasy glance through the grimy window, "is that we 'll have a thaw before I get her ready."
"That 's so," Chub agreed, "it looks like that now. But you can't tell; it may be frozen tight again by morning. Where are you going to get your sails, Dick?"
"At the Cove. There 's a fellow there makes them. And, say, you fellows, I 've got to finish this plan this afternoon so as to take it over tomorrow. I don't want to seem inhospitable, but if you 'll just let me alone for about an hour I can do it."
"Of course we will," Harry declared. "We 'll go right away. Come on, Vidocq, and Sherlock Holmes!"
"You 're sure you don't want me to stay and help you?" asked Chub. "I 'ma terror at planning; once I planned a dog-house."
"I 'll bet it was a peach!" jeered Roy.
"It was. I put a door at each end so Caesar could get in and out easily, but the fool dog thought it was a tunnel and used to run through it full-tilt like an express train."
"Get out! "said Dick.
"Fact, really! He 'd get a good start and go through like sixty; and he used to whistle as he went in."
"Chub Eaton!" cried Harry. "You come on home after that!"
"All right," laughed Chub. "This is no place for genius, anyway. After you, Miss Estrella De Vere."
to be continued...
CHAPTER XII: THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED
Harry told her story later to Roy and Chub, who laughed immoderately and, as Harry thought at first, somewhat unkindly. But after a while she joined her laughter with theirs.
"Oh, he 's a peach!" declared Chub. "He 's too much for us!"
"Nothing of the sort!" said Harry. "He got the better of me to-day, but—"
"A time will come!" suggested Chub.
"And I 'll catch him yet; you see if I don't! He 's not so awfully smart."
"Well, he seems to be a heap smarter than any of us," said Roy. "I vote we leave him alone. When he gets good and ready he will probably tell us what he 's up to."
"Leave him alone nothing!" said Chub. "Even if we can't find out what he 's doing, we can make his life a burden to him. And I, for one, propose to do it. Look at the way he treated us in Silver Cove the other day! Let him alone? I guess not!"
"No, indeed," agreed Harry. "It 's war to the death!"
"'Revenge!'" suggested Roy laughingly.
"You bet," answered Chub.
The next day Dick, for some reason, refused to disappear or even attempt to. And that was a great disappointment to Harry, who had made all preparations to follow him and discover his secret—although without the aid of a disguise. When they met, as they did several times in the course of the day, Harry passed him with her small nose held at a disdainful angle. Dick only grinned.
There was hockey practice that afternoon and Dick went down to the rink to look on. Of course Harry and Chub followed at a discreet distance, doing their best to appear unaware of his presence in the world. During practice Dick stood across the rink and smiled amusedly at them whenever they glanced across, a proceeding which drove Harry to heights of exasperation. Once in a lull of practice Roy skated up to them.
"Do you see him over there?" he asked softly.
"Of course we do," answered Harry disgustedly. "Do you think we 're blind! He 's been grinning and grinning at us for half an hour."
Roy shook his head gravely.
"Ah," he muttered, "little he recks-"
Then he dashed away out of Chub's reach.
But the next day brought triumph to Sherlock Holmes, Vidocq and Estrella De Vere, proving the truth of the old adage which declares that he laughs best who laughs last. For at noon Roy and Chub, tumbling out of School Hall after a recitation, found Harry awaiting them. Her eyes were dancing and she was all excitement.
"Revenge!" she whispered dramatically.
"Good! What 's up?" asked Chub.
"I have tracked him to his lair!" whispered Harry. "All is discovered! The miscreant is in our power! Estrella De Vere has—"
"What do you mean, Harry? Have you found out about Dick?"
"I have discovered all! Listen!'
And Estrella De Vere, the Female Detective, with Sherlock Holmes on one side and Vidocq on the other, passed down the path.
Ten minutes later Dick came out of School Hall and stood for a minute on the porch, looking idly about him. The snow which had covered the campus a foot deep a fortnight before was almost gone, and in places the sere brown turf showed through the worn and tattered coverlid of white. It was quite warm to-day, with a muggy atmosphere and a leaden sky, almost too warm for snow, and yet feeling very much like it. There was a steady drip, drip from the eaves and ledges, and the walks were showing borders of trickling water.
Dick frowned and looked anxiously into the sky. What he saw there seemed to please him hut little, for the frown deepened.
"Two or three days of this sort of weather," he muttered half aloud, "and the ice won't be worth a cent."
Then, looking carefully about him again, he went down the steps and turned to the right toward Burgess. There were several boys in sight, but, and this was suspicious, neither Chub, Roy, nor Harry was to be seen. He took his books into the study room and deposited them on the big table. Then, the room being deserted, he crossed to one of the end windows and looked stealthily out. Apparently the coast was clear. But he was taking no chances, and so he stole around to a front window and viewed the prospect carefully from there. He seemed puzzled, for he thrust his hands into his pockets, stared steadily for a whole minute at the engraving of "Washington Crossing the Delaware," which adorned the wall above the fireplace, and whistled softly to himself. Then, having apparently decided upon a course of action, he left the study room, crossed the corridor and opened a door which gave on to a descending stairway leading to the cellar. Down this he went very quietly, reached the furnace room and from there gained the outer air by way of a flight of stone steps. He was in a small stone-paved court behind the building, with the hedge marking inner bounds but a few paces away. There was a gate here, and making his way between a double row of ash barrels he passed through it and plunged into the Grove. Then he turned to the right and wound between the trees, crossing the path to the boat-house and river at right angles, and keeping well out of sight of the windows of the halls. Five minutes of this brought him to the corner of the hedge. Here the trees ceased abruptly and gave way to snow-covered fields. Crouching behind the hedge so that his head was below the top of it, he followed it at right angles to his first course until opposite the barn and stables. Here he raised his head and reconnoitered. There was no one in sight and presently he was wriggling his way through a hole in the hedge. From there he passed around the back of the small stable and fetched up before a small door leading to the basement of the barn. That door required careful handling, for it hung only by one leather hinge. But Dick managed to get through it, displaying a certain degree of familiarity with its idiosyncrasies, and closed it behind him.
He found himself in total darkness, but without hesitation he crossed the earthen floor and climbed a narrow flight of steps. As he went upward the darkness gave way to gray twilight and when he reached the main floor of the barn behind the cow stalls it was light enough to allow him to see distinctly about him. So far he had made scarcely a sound since entering the building, and now he crept very quietly along until he could see the closed door. The barn was deserted save for the inmates of the boxes across the bare floor, and even they were so quiet that no one would have suspected their presence. Dick gave a sigh of relief and walked less stealthily to the back of the barn where a ladder led straight upward to the edge of the loft. He sprang nimbly onto it and ascended until he could crawl over the edge of the upper flooring.
In front of him was a space some thirty feet broad by twenty deep. On one side it was used as a storage place for a couple of old sleighs, the remnants of a windmill and similar discarded truck. On the other side the remains of last summer's hay was stowed in a mow which ran along over the cow stalls. In the center of the loft, under the small window, was a large packing-box and beside it was a small one. On the larger one were spread several sheets of brown paper, pencils, a square, a rule, a pair of dividers and other tools of the draftsman. There was a good light from the window, in spite of the fact that its four small panes were obscured with dust and spider webs.
Dick went to his improvised table, took up a piece of kneaded rubber which lay there, and played with it while he studied the top sheet of paper. It was pretty well covered with lines and figures, but only the designer knew what they stood for. After a moment he drew the small box up and sat down on it, discarded the eraser for pencil and rule and set to work.
It was very quiet in the barn. Now and then Methuselah moved in his cage and muttered unintelligibly or a bat squeaked somewhere overhead in the darkness. Soon Dick was quite oblivious to everything save the work before him. He drew lines with his pencil, used ruler and dividers, set down figures on a smaller sheet of paper and multiplied or added or subtracted, erased lines already drawn, and through it all wore a deep frown which told how wholly absorbed he was in the task. And so he did n't hear the soft rustlings which came from the top of the haymow a few feet away when three heads were thrust into view. Heard nothing, in fact, until the silence was suddenly shattered hy a sudden "Ah, There!"
He heard then; oh, yes, quite plainly!
Down dropped his pencil, over went the smaller box with a slam and Dick was staggering away in an effort to find his feet, his face very white and his mouth wide open for the exclamation of alarm which he was too frightened to give. There followed a brief moment of silence during which Dick stared at the three laughing, triumphant faces topping the haymow. Then the color crept back into his cheeks and he slowly closed his mouth.
"Humph!" he said at last.
"Move hand or foot,' cried Chub dramatically, "and you are a dead man!"
"We have you in our power at last!" added Harry. And—
"Little you recked," said Roy.
Dick picked up the box and began to grin.
"Well, you caught me at last, did n't you?" he asked. "But I don't see why Harry left off that lovely disguise of hers."
"If you had n't seen my hair—" began Harry vehemently.
"Be careful what you say," interrupted Chub, sliding down from the top of the mow, "for it will be used against you.''
The others followed and Roy playfully dug Dick in the ribs.
"Old Smarty was caught at last, was n't he?" he cried.
"Took you long enough, though," said Dick. "And gave you some good exercise, too, eh?"
"We don't deny, my boy, that you fooled us very nicely several times," answered Chub, "but the expression on your handsome countenance a moment ago made up for everything.''
"I dare say," laughed Dick. "I was scared stiff. How did you find out about this drawing^ room of mine?"
"That was Harry," said Roy. "She came in here this morning before school and let 'Thuselah out of his cage and he climbed up here and would n't come down. And as she had to hurry to school she came up and got him and saw the things here. Then she told us about it and after school we hurried over here and hid in the hay."
"Well," said Dick regretfully, "I wish I 'd stuck to my first plan and gone to the Cove instead of coming up here. Then you 'd all have had a nice quiet afternoon in the hay."
"But you did n't!" said Harry triumphantly. "And it was the female detective that discovered you. Sherlock Holmes and Vidocq were out-detected by Estrella De Vere!"
"Eh?" asked Dick.
Then they told him all about their impersonations and he thought it was a huge joke, and mollified Harry completely by congratulating her on her triumph over the others. Then they compared notes for the past week.
"Where did you go the day we followed you to the stationery store?" asked Roy.
"I went out the back door and came around to the street and watched from the next corner until you crossed and went into the store. Then I went about my business."
"And that reminds me," said Roy, "that we don't know yet what you 're up to. Are you going to 'fess up now?"
"Sure. I 'd have told you all about it long ago if you had n't begun this detective work. When I found what you were up to I thought I 'd just give you a run for your money."
"Is it anything about the F. H. S. I. S.?" asked Harry. Dick shook his head.
"No," he replied. "The fact is that 's at a standstill, I guess. I 've had it in mind right along, but I can't think of any way to go ahead. How about you?"
"I have n't thought of anything," Harry confessed. And Roy and Chub answered the same way.
"Well, it 'll come in time," said Dick. "How about the funds, Harry? Got them safe?"
"Yes, they 're—but maybe I ought n't to tell where I keep them."
"Just as well not to, I guess," Dick laughed. "Chub might get hard up and borrow them."
"Look here, Dick, what 's all this mean?" asked Eoy, who was staring perplexedly at the drawing on top of the packing-case. "Are you inventing something?"
"Pshaw," said Chub, "that 's just a problem in trig., is n't it, Dick?''
"Well, you know all about it, so what 's the use of asking me?"
"No, go ahead and tell us, like a good fellow," said Eoy.
"Well, then, it 's the plan of an ice-boat."
"Ice-boat!" exclaimed the others in chorus. "Yes, why not?"
"But-but what 's it for?" asked Chub.
"To sail."
"You mean you are going to make one?"
"Yes, it 's being made now."
"Well, I 'll be jiggered!" Chub exclaimed. "Whatever put that into your crazy head?"
"Oh, I 've wanted it ever since I saw that one of Thurston's the day that Roy took a cold bath. So I found out all I could about the things; read everything I could find, you know. That was what I was doing that night in the library when you thought I was reading about fly-casting or something."
"Did n't think anything of the kind," Roy disclaimed. "I saw you turn the pages as we came up."
"Did you? All right. Well, I finally got some idea about the things and had a talk with a fellow at the Cove. He builds boats, but has never tried his hand at ice-boats before. He did n't want to have anything to do with it at first, but I finally got him interested. He said I 'd better go to some fellow at Poughkeepsie or somewhere who knew all about them, but I told him I wanted it made where I could have a finger in the pie. So he got busy. I made the drawings and he 's building accordingly."
"Is this it?" asked Roy interestedly, pointing to the plan before him.
"No, that 's only the sail-plan. The other 's at the Cove; Johnson has it."
"That 's what you bought the lumber for!" exclaimed Chub. Dick nodded.
"Yes. And I 've bought a lot more since then. It 's costing like anything, but it 's lots of fun. I want you all to go over with me Saturday and have a look at it."
"How big is it, Dick?" asked Roy.
"It 's just a smallish one," was the answer. "Twenty-nine feet long by eighteen wide."
"Phew!" cried Roy. "It does n 't sound small! When will it be done?"
"I don't know; about a week, I guess. The worst thing is figuring about the sails. You see, I don't know very much about sailing; never sailed anything in my life but a kite. So it 's puzzling, and I 'm more than half guessing. Maybe the fool thing won't go when it is done."
"Course it 'll go," said Chub. "A sail 's a sail."
"I think it 's perfectly grand!" said Harry with awe. "Will you take me out in it, Dick, when it 's finished?"
"Of course; and if it does manage to go I 'm going to send a challenge to that Thurston chap."
"Say, that 'll be bully!" cried Chub. "And I 'm just dying to see the thing. Can't we go over before Saturday?"
"Maybe, but it won't be very far along before that time. A lot of the bolts and braces had to be made, and that takes time, you know. Besides, that 's only three days from now."
"What color are you going to paint it!" asked Harry.
"Well, I 'd like to have her red," answered Dick, "but I suppose it would n't do, for that 's Hammond's color, and, besides, Thurston's is red."
"Paint her blue," suggested Roy.
"Pink," said Chub.
"I guess I 'll have her green," Dick said. "That shows up pretty well at a distance."
"And call her the Shamrock or the Erin Go Bragh," laughed Roy. "What are you going to call her, by the way?"
"Have n 't thought much about that yet. Usually they call 'em Icicles or Jack Frosts or Blizzards, but I 'd rather have something a little newer."
"Well, you can name her after me if you want to," observed Chub modestly.
"Yes, call her the Chump," said Roy.
"Let 's all think of names for it," cried Harry. "We 'll write them down so as not to forget them and then we 'll give them to Dick and he can select one."
"And the one whose name is selected," suggested Chub, "gets a prize, like—like not having to ride on the boat."
"You 'll be glad enough to ride on her when you see her," said Dick.
"Who? Me?" queried Chub. "Well, maybe so; I 'm naturally of a brave and reckless disposition. In fact, as far as I 'm personally concerned I 'd like it, but there is the community to think of. Of course, I owe it to the community to be careful of myself and not—"
"You 're talking a great deal of nonsense, Thomas H. Eaton," said Harry. "If Dick asks me to go with him I 'll go mighty quick!"
"If it 's any sort of a boat that 's just the way you will go," observed Roy dryly. "So quick you won't know what 's happening to you."
"It must be lovely!" cried Harry, clasping her hands and looking enraptured.
"Has any one seen Thurston's boat lately?" asked Chub.
"Yes," Roy answered, "I see it pretty nearly every afternoon. It 's a hummer, too. I think he goes over to school on it in the mornings and back to the Cove in the afternoon, because I 've seen him heading that way several times about the time we get through hockey practice."
"The only thing I 'm afraid of," said Dick, with an uneasy glance through the grimy window, "is that we 'll have a thaw before I get her ready."
"That 's so," Chub agreed, "it looks like that now. But you can't tell; it may be frozen tight again by morning. Where are you going to get your sails, Dick?"
"At the Cove. There 's a fellow there makes them. And, say, you fellows, I 've got to finish this plan this afternoon so as to take it over tomorrow. I don't want to seem inhospitable, but if you 'll just let me alone for about an hour I can do it."
"Of course we will," Harry declared. "We 'll go right away. Come on, Vidocq, and Sherlock Holmes!"
"You 're sure you don't want me to stay and help you?" asked Chub. "I 'ma terror at planning; once I planned a dog-house."
"I 'll bet it was a peach!" jeered Roy.
"It was. I put a door at each end so Caesar could get in and out easily, but the fool dog thought it was a tunnel and used to run through it full-tilt like an express train."
"Get out! "said Dick.
"Fact, really! He 'd get a good start and go through like sixty; and he used to whistle as he went in."
"Chub Eaton!" cried Harry. "You come on home after that!"
"All right," laughed Chub. "This is no place for genius, anyway. After you, Miss Estrella De Vere."
to be continued...
"The Sea-Horse of Grand Terre"
by Charles Tenney Jackson, May 1914
And the camp boss turned with simple confidence to his sturdy sixteen-year-old son, who, that morning, was idling in the shade of the commissary with his chum, George Fernald.
"Better go see to the old man, Paul. The Two Sisters is flying the catch-flag, and the launch is going to tow her in. Landry will put you ashore, and you can hike up the beach with some lemons and stuff. See if he needs the doctor."
And blazing hot as low-lying Grand Terre appeared in the September calm, the boys were eager to go. Miller was a friend of Paul's. In half an hour, they had the few delicacies and simple remedies which the camp possessed, and were on the launch speeding for the outlying reef. For a week, black, majestic storm-clouds had swung about Barataría Bay, at intervals, for this was the time of the equinox, when the south coast had been swept time and again by the West Indian hurricanes. Still the shrimp luggers went out, and when the boys landed in the salt marsh, they saw the Two Sisters limp-sailed and far on the gulf, but flying the red flag that told of a successful catch. The launch went on through Four Bayou Pass to meet her, while the lads turned up the six-mile beach to the lighthouse.
"Dad said that Gaspar, who takes care of the oyster-beds here and keeps an eye on our cattle, might round up a couple of horses for us," commented Paul. "But all the stock seems to be miles away, and Gaspar is n't around his shack."
They passed the tiny, palm-thatched hut perched on a ten-foot platform above the tides. The mud beneath was trampled where the stock sought refuge from the sun, and here Paul pointed out a great hoof-mark.
"That 's Big King's, the stallion that Father turned loose here when he went into this experiment with stock on the salt marsh. He has never been able to recapture him since. Gaspar complains that the white stallion hates him, and chases him every time he goes ashore. The Zelie's crew say that they saw Big King follow Gaspar in his skiff away out in deep water, and that the Cajun l was so scared that, finally, he dived over and swam to their boat. Gaspar sometimes declares he will shoot the horse or quit his job!"
"Must be a regular old sea-horse!" laughed George. "Is that him—that beautiful big white fellow over in the mangroves?"
"Yes," Paul whispered cautiously. "And don't provoke him to charge us—there is n't a place to escape him if he does!"
Two hundred yards away, the splendid creature stood, his eyes warily on the invaders. He snorted menacingly, his mane erect and tail spread, but he let them pass, and then charged magnificently down the wet sands to turn and watch them, with the surf breaking about his legs.
"What a grand old fellow he is!" cried Paul. "Father ought not to put him in charge of an oyster-digger like Gaspar—of course he 'd hate him!"
It was dazzling noon when the weary lads reached the lighthouse. The oppressive calm made the heat in the marshy hollows intolerable, and they hailed with relief the sight of the keeper, whom they found lying on his airy platform. The keeper's eyes were feverish as he explained how, all the morning, he had watched them with his powerful glasses, which gave him the only diversion of his monotonous life. But he was n't sick, he said—just a "touch o' sun," and he was chagrined to find that the Zelie had reported him ill. "Lighthouse folks ain't no business gettin' sick, ever," he declared.
All the same, he was glad to get the lemons and other things the boys brought, and when they tried to make him a corn-starch pudding, the ensuing hilarity seemed to hearten him wonderfully. When they came out on the gallery, he declared all this "cuttin'-up had made him plumb well." But when the keeper gazed around, he fixed an intent look on the southeast.
"Your dad 's goin' to have the launch at Four Bayou for you?" he asked. "Well, you boys better get off. The wind 's scuddin' them clouds fast over there, and this is the hurricane month, remember. There 's a sea running now, and—feel that? The air 's twitching!"
And in fifteen minutes it was more than twitching. Out of the strange, calm oasis with the black clouds rolling up all about the horizon, there suddenly shot a squall from the southeast that tore the sand from under the boys' feet when they went down Mr. Miller's ladder. But they did n't mind the blow. They laughed, and shook Miller's hand, and promised to come the next day with the launch and make another pudding, and with raisins in it.
"Mebbe you will and mebbe you won't," shouted the old man. "It 's time for a blow up from Cuby, and I reckon I 'm better off here than you 'll be on your dad's crazy platforms. You boys won't see old man Miller for a while, if a sou'east sea begins to pound over them marshes. In La Cheniere storm, there was n't a thing above water except this light, from here to upper Lafourche. And your dad's platform villages—pooh! was n't stick or stump left of any of 'em!"
The boys talked of the dreaded gulf hurricanes as they tramped on the harder sand, as near to the water as they could. On their left, the sand was already blowing from the dunes, and when they reached a little bayou which they had crossed dry-shod in the morning, they found the water pounding half'a mile inland, and had to go around it. "The gulf is so shallow for miles out,'" explained Paul, "that the least little wind kicks up a quick sea."
But when they rounded the bayou and went over the low ridge, the wind was so fierce as to stagger them and whirl the loose sand around their feet.
"Whew!" cried George, "and just see how the water 's rising, Paul! It 's all through the grass there, and beyond—why, it 's a lake!"
"Let 's cut over on the bay side and see if the mangroves won't break the wind a bit," suggested Paul. "If it keeps on, we can't well walk against it." He reached a rise in the meadows and vainly stared at the pass which, two miles away, was hidden by the oncoming rain and scud. There was no boat in sight, and, northward, Barataría Bay was whipped to as furious a sea as was the outside water to the south. "It 's there sure." Paul muttered, "but, if we made the launch, I don't think she 'd live in that gale. But we can run to Grand Bank and put into that camp for the night."
He hastened on, not telling his friend all his fears. But from the highest dune they saw nothing except the oyster-guard's thatched hut, and, far off, near the mangrove clumps, a few of the cattle wandering with the storm.
"Ticklish business if we have to spend the night in this shack," George declared half an hour later, when, wet and tired, they reached the hut on the edge of the marsh and climbed the ladder to the door. Indeed, the sight was an evil one. The oyster-stakes had entirely disappeared, and the rising sea was pouring across the island in three places back on the way they had come. The pounding water against the piles made the shack reel, while every now and then portions of the thatched sides would be torn off, and go humming away in the gale. The boys went in and inspected the gaping roof; the sheets of rain reached every inch of the interior—they were as well off outside. Where Gaspar had gone they did not know; they concluded that he had abandoned his job—"Scared off by the big horse," said Paul.
"If the water keeps on rising, you 'll lose all your stock," observed George. "But the launch—where do you suppose it is?"
Though night and darkness were coming on, they could see the pass enough to know it held no boat. What had happened was that the launch, early in the afternoon, had broken its propeller in towing the Two Sisters, and had then drifted until both boats grounded in the marsh, where the crew clung, half drowned, to the lugger's rigging through the night of the hurricane. The boys, huddled in what should have been the lee shelter of the thatch on the platform, noticed again how fast the shallow sea was rising. Grand Terre light was invisible in the storm, and it seemed that the whitecaps were speeding across the island everywhere except over the higher sand-ridge near them. Watching this, they saw the backs of the cattle moving through the mangroves, and then Mr. West's old bay mare. "The stock are coming back!" cried Paul. "The water 's coming in from the pass now, and it 's turned them." He looked apprehensively at his companion's face. "George, if it rises high enough to get a sweep at this shack over the bars, the platform won't last half the night."
"Your cattle are coming here, anyway. And look, the big horse is leading them!"
The stock had been accustomed to huddle in the shade of the platform hut, and now they were deserting the mangrove ridge to seek this bit of human companionship. The cows were mooing in a scared fashion as they waded, more than knee-deep, to the place. The two bay horses cast appealing looks up at the boys, and Paul called down encouragingly. Big King lunged about the piling and whinnied, watching off to the mainland. The frail structure trembled when the crowding cattle got under it.
"Better drive them out," George shouted above the wind. But this was impossible; and presently, as the darkness fell, the animals were quieter in the fierce rain, though the waves pounded over their backs, and the calves could hardly keep their footing.
Paul crawled back on the platform after an inspection of the base of the timbers. The sands were washing up badly, and the tramping hoofs assisted at the slow settling of the platform. Paul could touch the horses' necks from the floor, and once his fingers went lightly along the rough mane of the white stallion. The big brute turned about his fine, wary eyes at the boy. But he did not bite; he even seemed to crowd closer to his master's son. "Get over there—you!" Paul yelled: "don't crowd against that post!"
He reached down and slapped the great horse, and then dug him in the ribs ineffectually. King neither resented it nor obeyed. The boys laid out full-length on the boards to avoid the wind, and in the last light saw their dumb companions half buried in the waves. Although the rain was not cold, they were shivering with exhaustion from the pounding wind and water. For an hour, the dark was intense. Then it seemed as if the rising moon broke the gloom a trifle, though ihe storm did not abate.
"It 's still rising!" commented Paul, after he had thrust a crab-net pole down by the piling; "and very fast, George. I wish it was daylight!"
Then, when he had crawled back to his wet comrade, there came a tremendous shock to the platform. They heard one of the calves bawl wildly, and felt a rush and stagger of the animals beneath them. Paul jumped up and ran to the other end of the reeling platform, where an entire side of the thatched wall fell out into the sea.
"It 's a big tree!" he shouted back, as George groped for his hand. "I was afraid of that, whenever the tide got high enough to bring the drift off the gulf side. Now we 're in for it! It tore out three of the piles, and it 's dragging at another. Come, let 's try to get it off!"
Thirty-five miles away, the Southwest Pass of the Mississippi poured all the flotsam of the mighty river into the gulf to be spread far along the sand-dunes by the tides, and every southeaster sent this wreckage charging over the marshes. In every great blow the platform dwellers of Barataria dreaded this invasion. The lads vainly hunted for poles to fend off the tree pounding under their shelter. Some of the cattle had been knocked down and others were scattered, and Paul saw one of the mares go swimming off in the whitecaps to certain death. Above the wind they heard the frightened stock struggling for foothold in the sand and the groaning of the timbers. There was nothing to do. The shack, trembling, twisting, finally settled slowly back; the big cypress-tree had gone on, luckily. But presently a smaller one was battering at the piling, and more of the cattle were scattered.
"The other end of the platform is sinking!" George shouted; "everything is gone there!"
They fought their way back just in time to see more than half the thatch hut tumble into the waves. Paul had saved a coil of half-inch rope from (Caspar's belongings, with the idea of tying fast some of the loose piles, but this was now useless.
"The rest of it will go sure!" he muttered.
"George, when it does, jump clear of the cattle and head southwest—" he looked helplessly off in the dark—"if we can swim to the mangroves, maybe we can hold on a little longer."
But to reach the ridge, even if it was above the breakers, was an impossibility, for one would have to swim directly into the storm. And the boys had lost all sense of direction. The next big shock from the driftwood sent them to their feet in a wild effort to leap free of the animals, although how many of them there still were they did not know. The last log crashed through the midst of them and left the platform tilted at such an angle that the boys could no longer walk on it. Paul slipped and went over the side to his waist, but he still clung to his rope. As he kicked to recover his footing, while George reached down to help him, he slowly became aware that his legs were over the wet, heaving back of Big King. His hold on the boards was slipping; the entire platform seemed to be coming after him.
"It 's all sinking!" George yelled at him. "Don't let it pin you under the water!"
But Paul was motioning wildly for his friend to slide after him. He was reaching around the supping boards to drag the rope about the big stallion's neck.
"If it goes," he shouted, "hang to the rope; maybe Big King will drag us free of the stuff."
He was working busily at the rope about the horse's neck when George was thrown into the water beside him. The stallion was plunging about with Paul firmly astride his back and George fighting to grasp the rope. Another instant and the wrecked platform slid down upon them, striking Paul in the side and dealing the horse a savage blow on the flank, driving him out from under the piles where he had fought to the last against the sea. He plunged on madly, with the water breaking over his back, to which Paul clung while he tried to drag his friend up behind him. They never would have succeeded if King had been on dry land. But the water and the small drift impeded his struggles to shake off the rope and the burden, and now he dashed into a depression where his hoofs failed to find bottom, and the waves swept entirely over him.
The panting lads clung to the rope and to each other. Paul was dragged off the back of the swimming horse, and then they both were thrown against him and regained a hold on his tough and heavy mane. But the whitecaps were almost drowning them. Big King reached a ridge and drew himself up where the water was hardly to his breast; then he plunged on in the teeth of the storm, swimming again. He knew where he was going well enough. While the foolish cattle drifted with the waves out to the open bay, the lion-hearted stallion fought his way seaward and to the mangrove ridge.
But before he gained it, the boys were all but washed off. Once, indeed, Paul felt his friend's hand slip from his. George went over the horse's flank and under the water, but he kept his grip on the rope. From his gasps, the rope was apparently all but strangling the stallion. When they reached another shallow, Paul leaned forward and loosened it. "Hold up, old fellow!" he muttered; "hold up, and we 'll make it yet!"
And the big wild horse actually twisted his shaggy neck knowingly under the boy's fingers as he eased the line! Paul got George on the animal's back again, as they reached the mangrove ridge. The bushes, beaten by the hurricane, cut and pounded their faces, and the choppy seas broke through, churning the sands about them. But the water here was not more than three feet deep, and Big King fought through it.
Paul was anxious to stop him now. They were on the highest point, and no other refuge was possible. He began patting the horse and murmuring to him as one would to a pet colt, and, after a quarter of a mile of fruitless tramping, Big King suddenly rounded the thickest clump of mangrove and stopped, with his tail pointing into the gale.
"He knows !" whispered Paul, weakly, to his comrade. "It 's the only shelter to be found. Now if he only lets us stay on his back!"
But apart from nervous and resentful starts and shakings, the horse did not stir. He seemed badly exhausted himself. The boys laid forward on his heaving back, Paul clinging to him, and George to Paul, and there the weary, dark hours passed. The sea was rising more slowly now. At times, King struggled deeper into the bushes as the sand washed from under his feet. And how the wind did blow! It was as if the air above them was full of salt water, and even with their backs to it, the boys could not speak without strangling. The lashing mangroves skinned their legs painfully, and the salt added to their suffering. But their chief fear was the rising water. They measured it time and again during the long night, but could never tell whether it was coming up or whether their live refuge was slowly sinking. The stallion changed his position whenever his legs went in too deep. "Old boy," muttered Paul, "you can manage this much better than we can."
Somehow, in his heart, he felt a hot and almost tearful love and admiration for the dreaded horse of the Grand Terre meadows. "If we ever get out," Paul told George, "I 'll take him back to New Orleans and ride him. He 's the biggest, bravest horse in all the world!"
"If we get out !" retorted George. "And I do believe the rain is quitting!" And with the ceasing of the rain, a slow lightening came over the waters. Yet not for hours longer, while the long, tugging swells surged through the mangroves and kept the tired boys ever struggling to retain their place, did it become light enough to be really day. And then they saw nothing in any direction but gray sky over the stormy sea. For two hundred yards, the higher mangroves were above the flood. Of the palm-thatched hut and the platform not a stick remained, nor was a single one of the cattle or either of the two mares in sight.
"Nobody but Big King," muttered Paul, "and you and me, George! I 'm going to get down and pet the old fellow!"
He swung off in water to his armpits and went about to King's head. The horse bared his teeth, and then slowly, with lessening pride, allowed the boy's hand to stroke his muzzle. "Old man,'' whispered Paul, "you weathered the blow for us, did n't you!"
And the strangest thing was that, when the boys were tired of standing in the water, the great creature allowed them to climb again on his back. At last the wind died out, and when the first glint of sun broke through, it could be seen that the sea was not rising further. Big King began nibbling at the mangroves, while the exhausted lads half dozed and watched the waters to the north. It was two hours before they could see anything two miles distant, and knew that the "hurricane-tide," so feared by the shrimpers, had turned again seaward. Drift and wreckage were going out through the flooded pass. And, finally, almost at noon, Paul made out the little gas steamer that ran from camp to camp, headed down from the direction of the platforms.
"It 's looking for us, George!" he cried. "But Dad—he 'll never dream we lived through it all!"
They watched the boat with weak yells of jubilation. A mile away, Big King's white flanks caught the attention of the steamer men. Then they saw the boys, and, fifteen minutes later, Paul and George were shaking hands with Paul's father. "Dad, your old sea-horse did it!" cried the son. "I 'm going to get him off this island, for he deserves better things. He ought to get a life-saving medal!"
"I 'll wager," laughed Mr. West, "you 'll never lay hands on him again."
And the boys never did, though they made three trips to Grand Terre after the sea went down, first to attend to old man Miller, and then to tame the great white horse. Big King did not molest them; he even let Paul come close enough to reach out a loving finger to his nervous muzzle. But that was all; at sight of a halter or the motion of a hand to his neck, he was off, again charging magnificently down the wet sands to turn and watch them, with the surf breaking about his legs. To the end of his days he was the lonely and wild sea-horse of Grand Terre.
A magnificent stallion, two teenage boys, and a Gulf Coast hurricane—all you need to know about this grand adventure story.Allesjandro, the seine-captain, first told the men at Chinese Platforms that the light-keeper at Grand Terre Island was sick. One of the Zelie's crew had gone ashore for water, and reported that old Miller was "done beat out with feveh." The Zelie had two hundred dollars' worth of shrimp which a few hours' delay under the Louisiana sun would spoil, so the lugger sailed for the drying platforms, where Allesjandro told Mr. West, the camp boss.
And the camp boss turned with simple confidence to his sturdy sixteen-year-old son, who, that morning, was idling in the shade of the commissary with his chum, George Fernald.
"Better go see to the old man, Paul. The Two Sisters is flying the catch-flag, and the launch is going to tow her in. Landry will put you ashore, and you can hike up the beach with some lemons and stuff. See if he needs the doctor."
And blazing hot as low-lying Grand Terre appeared in the September calm, the boys were eager to go. Miller was a friend of Paul's. In half an hour, they had the few delicacies and simple remedies which the camp possessed, and were on the launch speeding for the outlying reef. For a week, black, majestic storm-clouds had swung about Barataría Bay, at intervals, for this was the time of the equinox, when the south coast had been swept time and again by the West Indian hurricanes. Still the shrimp luggers went out, and when the boys landed in the salt marsh, they saw the Two Sisters limp-sailed and far on the gulf, but flying the red flag that told of a successful catch. The launch went on through Four Bayou Pass to meet her, while the lads turned up the six-mile beach to the lighthouse.
"Dad said that Gaspar, who takes care of the oyster-beds here and keeps an eye on our cattle, might round up a couple of horses for us," commented Paul. "But all the stock seems to be miles away, and Gaspar is n't around his shack."
They passed the tiny, palm-thatched hut perched on a ten-foot platform above the tides. The mud beneath was trampled where the stock sought refuge from the sun, and here Paul pointed out a great hoof-mark.
"That 's Big King's, the stallion that Father turned loose here when he went into this experiment with stock on the salt marsh. He has never been able to recapture him since. Gaspar complains that the white stallion hates him, and chases him every time he goes ashore. The Zelie's crew say that they saw Big King follow Gaspar in his skiff away out in deep water, and that the Cajun l was so scared that, finally, he dived over and swam to their boat. Gaspar sometimes declares he will shoot the horse or quit his job!"
"Must be a regular old sea-horse!" laughed George. "Is that him—that beautiful big white fellow over in the mangroves?"
"Yes," Paul whispered cautiously. "And don't provoke him to charge us—there is n't a place to escape him if he does!"
Two hundred yards away, the splendid creature stood, his eyes warily on the invaders. He snorted menacingly, his mane erect and tail spread, but he let them pass, and then charged magnificently down the wet sands to turn and watch them, with the surf breaking about his legs.
"What a grand old fellow he is!" cried Paul. "Father ought not to put him in charge of an oyster-digger like Gaspar—of course he 'd hate him!"
It was dazzling noon when the weary lads reached the lighthouse. The oppressive calm made the heat in the marshy hollows intolerable, and they hailed with relief the sight of the keeper, whom they found lying on his airy platform. The keeper's eyes were feverish as he explained how, all the morning, he had watched them with his powerful glasses, which gave him the only diversion of his monotonous life. But he was n't sick, he said—just a "touch o' sun," and he was chagrined to find that the Zelie had reported him ill. "Lighthouse folks ain't no business gettin' sick, ever," he declared.
All the same, he was glad to get the lemons and other things the boys brought, and when they tried to make him a corn-starch pudding, the ensuing hilarity seemed to hearten him wonderfully. When they came out on the gallery, he declared all this "cuttin'-up had made him plumb well." But when the keeper gazed around, he fixed an intent look on the southeast.
"Your dad 's goin' to have the launch at Four Bayou for you?" he asked. "Well, you boys better get off. The wind 's scuddin' them clouds fast over there, and this is the hurricane month, remember. There 's a sea running now, and—feel that? The air 's twitching!"
And in fifteen minutes it was more than twitching. Out of the strange, calm oasis with the black clouds rolling up all about the horizon, there suddenly shot a squall from the southeast that tore the sand from under the boys' feet when they went down Mr. Miller's ladder. But they did n't mind the blow. They laughed, and shook Miller's hand, and promised to come the next day with the launch and make another pudding, and with raisins in it.
"Mebbe you will and mebbe you won't," shouted the old man. "It 's time for a blow up from Cuby, and I reckon I 'm better off here than you 'll be on your dad's crazy platforms. You boys won't see old man Miller for a while, if a sou'east sea begins to pound over them marshes. In La Cheniere storm, there was n't a thing above water except this light, from here to upper Lafourche. And your dad's platform villages—pooh! was n't stick or stump left of any of 'em!"
The boys talked of the dreaded gulf hurricanes as they tramped on the harder sand, as near to the water as they could. On their left, the sand was already blowing from the dunes, and when they reached a little bayou which they had crossed dry-shod in the morning, they found the water pounding half'a mile inland, and had to go around it. "The gulf is so shallow for miles out,'" explained Paul, "that the least little wind kicks up a quick sea."
But when they rounded the bayou and went over the low ridge, the wind was so fierce as to stagger them and whirl the loose sand around their feet.
"Whew!" cried George, "and just see how the water 's rising, Paul! It 's all through the grass there, and beyond—why, it 's a lake!"
"Let 's cut over on the bay side and see if the mangroves won't break the wind a bit," suggested Paul. "If it keeps on, we can't well walk against it." He reached a rise in the meadows and vainly stared at the pass which, two miles away, was hidden by the oncoming rain and scud. There was no boat in sight, and, northward, Barataría Bay was whipped to as furious a sea as was the outside water to the south. "It 's there sure." Paul muttered, "but, if we made the launch, I don't think she 'd live in that gale. But we can run to Grand Bank and put into that camp for the night."
He hastened on, not telling his friend all his fears. But from the highest dune they saw nothing except the oyster-guard's thatched hut, and, far off, near the mangrove clumps, a few of the cattle wandering with the storm.
"Ticklish business if we have to spend the night in this shack," George declared half an hour later, when, wet and tired, they reached the hut on the edge of the marsh and climbed the ladder to the door. Indeed, the sight was an evil one. The oyster-stakes had entirely disappeared, and the rising sea was pouring across the island in three places back on the way they had come. The pounding water against the piles made the shack reel, while every now and then portions of the thatched sides would be torn off, and go humming away in the gale. The boys went in and inspected the gaping roof; the sheets of rain reached every inch of the interior—they were as well off outside. Where Gaspar had gone they did not know; they concluded that he had abandoned his job—"Scared off by the big horse," said Paul.
"If the water keeps on rising, you 'll lose all your stock," observed George. "But the launch—where do you suppose it is?"
Though night and darkness were coming on, they could see the pass enough to know it held no boat. What had happened was that the launch, early in the afternoon, had broken its propeller in towing the Two Sisters, and had then drifted until both boats grounded in the marsh, where the crew clung, half drowned, to the lugger's rigging through the night of the hurricane. The boys, huddled in what should have been the lee shelter of the thatch on the platform, noticed again how fast the shallow sea was rising. Grand Terre light was invisible in the storm, and it seemed that the whitecaps were speeding across the island everywhere except over the higher sand-ridge near them. Watching this, they saw the backs of the cattle moving through the mangroves, and then Mr. West's old bay mare. "The stock are coming back!" cried Paul. "The water 's coming in from the pass now, and it 's turned them." He looked apprehensively at his companion's face. "George, if it rises high enough to get a sweep at this shack over the bars, the platform won't last half the night."
"Your cattle are coming here, anyway. And look, the big horse is leading them!"
The stock had been accustomed to huddle in the shade of the platform hut, and now they were deserting the mangrove ridge to seek this bit of human companionship. The cows were mooing in a scared fashion as they waded, more than knee-deep, to the place. The two bay horses cast appealing looks up at the boys, and Paul called down encouragingly. Big King lunged about the piling and whinnied, watching off to the mainland. The frail structure trembled when the crowding cattle got under it.
"Better drive them out," George shouted above the wind. But this was impossible; and presently, as the darkness fell, the animals were quieter in the fierce rain, though the waves pounded over their backs, and the calves could hardly keep their footing.
Paul crawled back on the platform after an inspection of the base of the timbers. The sands were washing up badly, and the tramping hoofs assisted at the slow settling of the platform. Paul could touch the horses' necks from the floor, and once his fingers went lightly along the rough mane of the white stallion. The big brute turned about his fine, wary eyes at the boy. But he did not bite; he even seemed to crowd closer to his master's son. "Get over there—you!" Paul yelled: "don't crowd against that post!"
He reached down and slapped the great horse, and then dug him in the ribs ineffectually. King neither resented it nor obeyed. The boys laid out full-length on the boards to avoid the wind, and in the last light saw their dumb companions half buried in the waves. Although the rain was not cold, they were shivering with exhaustion from the pounding wind and water. For an hour, the dark was intense. Then it seemed as if the rising moon broke the gloom a trifle, though ihe storm did not abate.
"It 's still rising!" commented Paul, after he had thrust a crab-net pole down by the piling; "and very fast, George. I wish it was daylight!"
Then, when he had crawled back to his wet comrade, there came a tremendous shock to the platform. They heard one of the calves bawl wildly, and felt a rush and stagger of the animals beneath them. Paul jumped up and ran to the other end of the reeling platform, where an entire side of the thatched wall fell out into the sea.
"It 's a big tree!" he shouted back, as George groped for his hand. "I was afraid of that, whenever the tide got high enough to bring the drift off the gulf side. Now we 're in for it! It tore out three of the piles, and it 's dragging at another. Come, let 's try to get it off!"
Thirty-five miles away, the Southwest Pass of the Mississippi poured all the flotsam of the mighty river into the gulf to be spread far along the sand-dunes by the tides, and every southeaster sent this wreckage charging over the marshes. In every great blow the platform dwellers of Barataria dreaded this invasion. The lads vainly hunted for poles to fend off the tree pounding under their shelter. Some of the cattle had been knocked down and others were scattered, and Paul saw one of the mares go swimming off in the whitecaps to certain death. Above the wind they heard the frightened stock struggling for foothold in the sand and the groaning of the timbers. There was nothing to do. The shack, trembling, twisting, finally settled slowly back; the big cypress-tree had gone on, luckily. But presently a smaller one was battering at the piling, and more of the cattle were scattered.
"The other end of the platform is sinking!" George shouted; "everything is gone there!"
They fought their way back just in time to see more than half the thatch hut tumble into the waves. Paul had saved a coil of half-inch rope from (Caspar's belongings, with the idea of tying fast some of the loose piles, but this was now useless.
"The rest of it will go sure!" he muttered.
"George, when it does, jump clear of the cattle and head southwest—" he looked helplessly off in the dark—"if we can swim to the mangroves, maybe we can hold on a little longer."
But to reach the ridge, even if it was above the breakers, was an impossibility, for one would have to swim directly into the storm. And the boys had lost all sense of direction. The next big shock from the driftwood sent them to their feet in a wild effort to leap free of the animals, although how many of them there still were they did not know. The last log crashed through the midst of them and left the platform tilted at such an angle that the boys could no longer walk on it. Paul slipped and went over the side to his waist, but he still clung to his rope. As he kicked to recover his footing, while George reached down to help him, he slowly became aware that his legs were over the wet, heaving back of Big King. His hold on the boards was slipping; the entire platform seemed to be coming after him.
"It 's all sinking!" George yelled at him. "Don't let it pin you under the water!"
But Paul was motioning wildly for his friend to slide after him. He was reaching around the supping boards to drag the rope about the big stallion's neck.
"If it goes," he shouted, "hang to the rope; maybe Big King will drag us free of the stuff."
He was working busily at the rope about the horse's neck when George was thrown into the water beside him. The stallion was plunging about with Paul firmly astride his back and George fighting to grasp the rope. Another instant and the wrecked platform slid down upon them, striking Paul in the side and dealing the horse a savage blow on the flank, driving him out from under the piles where he had fought to the last against the sea. He plunged on madly, with the water breaking over his back, to which Paul clung while he tried to drag his friend up behind him. They never would have succeeded if King had been on dry land. But the water and the small drift impeded his struggles to shake off the rope and the burden, and now he dashed into a depression where his hoofs failed to find bottom, and the waves swept entirely over him.
The panting lads clung to the rope and to each other. Paul was dragged off the back of the swimming horse, and then they both were thrown against him and regained a hold on his tough and heavy mane. But the whitecaps were almost drowning them. Big King reached a ridge and drew himself up where the water was hardly to his breast; then he plunged on in the teeth of the storm, swimming again. He knew where he was going well enough. While the foolish cattle drifted with the waves out to the open bay, the lion-hearted stallion fought his way seaward and to the mangrove ridge.
But before he gained it, the boys were all but washed off. Once, indeed, Paul felt his friend's hand slip from his. George went over the horse's flank and under the water, but he kept his grip on the rope. From his gasps, the rope was apparently all but strangling the stallion. When they reached another shallow, Paul leaned forward and loosened it. "Hold up, old fellow!" he muttered; "hold up, and we 'll make it yet!"
And the big wild horse actually twisted his shaggy neck knowingly under the boy's fingers as he eased the line! Paul got George on the animal's back again, as they reached the mangrove ridge. The bushes, beaten by the hurricane, cut and pounded their faces, and the choppy seas broke through, churning the sands about them. But the water here was not more than three feet deep, and Big King fought through it.
Paul was anxious to stop him now. They were on the highest point, and no other refuge was possible. He began patting the horse and murmuring to him as one would to a pet colt, and, after a quarter of a mile of fruitless tramping, Big King suddenly rounded the thickest clump of mangrove and stopped, with his tail pointing into the gale.
"He knows !" whispered Paul, weakly, to his comrade. "It 's the only shelter to be found. Now if he only lets us stay on his back!"
But apart from nervous and resentful starts and shakings, the horse did not stir. He seemed badly exhausted himself. The boys laid forward on his heaving back, Paul clinging to him, and George to Paul, and there the weary, dark hours passed. The sea was rising more slowly now. At times, King struggled deeper into the bushes as the sand washed from under his feet. And how the wind did blow! It was as if the air above them was full of salt water, and even with their backs to it, the boys could not speak without strangling. The lashing mangroves skinned their legs painfully, and the salt added to their suffering. But their chief fear was the rising water. They measured it time and again during the long night, but could never tell whether it was coming up or whether their live refuge was slowly sinking. The stallion changed his position whenever his legs went in too deep. "Old boy," muttered Paul, "you can manage this much better than we can."
Somehow, in his heart, he felt a hot and almost tearful love and admiration for the dreaded horse of the Grand Terre meadows. "If we ever get out," Paul told George, "I 'll take him back to New Orleans and ride him. He 's the biggest, bravest horse in all the world!"
"If we get out !" retorted George. "And I do believe the rain is quitting!" And with the ceasing of the rain, a slow lightening came over the waters. Yet not for hours longer, while the long, tugging swells surged through the mangroves and kept the tired boys ever struggling to retain their place, did it become light enough to be really day. And then they saw nothing in any direction but gray sky over the stormy sea. For two hundred yards, the higher mangroves were above the flood. Of the palm-thatched hut and the platform not a stick remained, nor was a single one of the cattle or either of the two mares in sight.
"Nobody but Big King," muttered Paul, "and you and me, George! I 'm going to get down and pet the old fellow!"
He swung off in water to his armpits and went about to King's head. The horse bared his teeth, and then slowly, with lessening pride, allowed the boy's hand to stroke his muzzle. "Old man,'' whispered Paul, "you weathered the blow for us, did n't you!"
And the strangest thing was that, when the boys were tired of standing in the water, the great creature allowed them to climb again on his back. At last the wind died out, and when the first glint of sun broke through, it could be seen that the sea was not rising further. Big King began nibbling at the mangroves, while the exhausted lads half dozed and watched the waters to the north. It was two hours before they could see anything two miles distant, and knew that the "hurricane-tide," so feared by the shrimpers, had turned again seaward. Drift and wreckage were going out through the flooded pass. And, finally, almost at noon, Paul made out the little gas steamer that ran from camp to camp, headed down from the direction of the platforms.
"It 's looking for us, George!" he cried. "But Dad—he 'll never dream we lived through it all!"
They watched the boat with weak yells of jubilation. A mile away, Big King's white flanks caught the attention of the steamer men. Then they saw the boys, and, fifteen minutes later, Paul and George were shaking hands with Paul's father. "Dad, your old sea-horse did it!" cried the son. "I 'm going to get him off this island, for he deserves better things. He ought to get a life-saving medal!"
"I 'll wager," laughed Mr. West, "you 'll never lay hands on him again."
And the boys never did, though they made three trips to Grand Terre after the sea went down, first to attend to old man Miller, and then to tame the great white horse. Big King did not molest them; he even let Paul come close enough to reach out a loving finger to his nervous muzzle. But that was all; at sight of a halter or the motion of a hand to his neck, he was off, again charging magnificently down the wet sands to turn and watch them, with the surf breaking about his legs. To the end of his days he was the lonely and wild sea-horse of Grand Terre.
"A Trip to the Tea Country"
by William M. Tileston, February 1878
But before going further, let me tell you who we all are, where we are, and what we are doing.
Of course I am aware that it is exceedingly impolite to put oneself first, but in the present instance you must excuse it; for besides being the oldest, I occupy the position of guide, philosopher and friend to Charley, and my story would scarcely be intelligible or complete if I did not begin with myself. Well, to begin: I am one of those unfortunate individuals known in China as "cha-szes," or tea-tasters; doomed for my sins, or the hope of one day getting rich, to pass the time in smelling, tasting and buying teas for the great mercantile house or "hong" of Young Hyson & Co. The place at which you find me is Hankow, on the great Yang Tsze Kiang, or river, some six hundred miles from its mouth. If you have a map of China, and will find on it the Yang Tsze, by tracing with your finger—if your map is at all correct—you will discover the cities of Chin Kiang, Nanking, Nganking, Kiu Kiang, and finally, at the junction of the river Han with the Yang Tsze, Wuchang. Hankow will probably not be on your map, but on the north bank of the Yang Tsze, just at the point of junction with the Han, is this important trading port, thrown open to foreigners in 1861, after the signing of the treaty of Tein-Tsin.
And now for Charley, whom I have kept talking pigeon-English to Akong all this time. Charley was the son of an old friend, chaplain to the British consulate at one of the coast ports; his mother dying, Charley was to have been sent home to relatives in England, but I had prevailed upon his father to let the boy, now between twelve and fourteen years old, make me a visit before his final departure.
And now for the conspiracy:
"Chin-chin (how do you do), Akong?" said I.
"What is it, Charley? Out with it, my boy; some mischief, I know." Akong gave a chuckle and a muttered "hi-yah," and Charley proceeded to explain.
"Well Cha,"—the Chinamen called me Cha-tsze and the boy had abbreviated it to Cha,—"Akong says that he has a boat going up to the tea country to-morrow or next day, and wants me to go with him; may I?"
Charley knew that I could refuse him nothing, but the trip of several hundred miles into a district rarely, if ever, visited by foreigners, involved more of a risk than I cared to assume. Charley seeing that I looked unusually solemn, turned to Akong for support.
"What for you no go too, Cha-tsze? Just now my thinkee no got new chop come inside two week; get back plenty time."
Akong's pigeon-English perhaps requires explanation: You must know, then, that the Chinese with whom all foreigners transact business, instead of learning correct English have a lingo, or patois, of their own, ascribed, but I think erroneously, to the carelessness of their first English visitors, who addressed them in this manner, thinking to make themselves more easily understood. The fact is, that pigeon-English, besides having many Portuguese words mixed up with it,—the Portuguese, you know, were established in China as early as the seventeenth century,—is in many instances a literal translation of Chinese into perverted English. In the present instance, Akong suggested that as there would be no more tea down for a fortnight, it would be well for me, too, to go. The proposition was quite agreeable to me, and Charley scampered off to tell Ahim, the cook, and Aho, my boy, to make the necessary preparations.
The next morning, at an early hour, Akong's great mandarin, or house-boat, was moored at the jetty, and the boys were packing away the provisions and the charcoal for cooking, and long strings of copper "cash" to be used in the purchase of eggs and chickens, and the mats of rice that would form the principal article of "chow-chow" for the crew. Everybody in China has a boy, and Charley had his; a regular young imp of a fellow of about his own age. Aling was his name; Charley used to call him Ting-a-ling, and would jabber horrible Chinese to him by the hour. Aling jumped down the steps, two at a time, with Charley's traveling bag; but Aho, more sedate and dignified, marched after him; Charley and I joined Akong in the front of the boat, and with a chorus of "chin-chins" from the coolies and house-servants left behind, and the explosion of a pack of fire-crackers to propitiate the river dragon, the boat was shoved from the jetty, the sail hoisted, and we were soon slowly stemming the broad current of the Yang Tsze. On our right was Hankow, with its million or more inhabitants, the hum of the great city following us for miles; and the mouth of the Han, its surface so covered with junks that their masts resembled a forest, and only a narrow lane of water was left for the passage of boats. Just beyond the Han was Han Yang, once a fine city, but now in ruins, one of the results of the Tae-ping rebellion. Across the Yang Tsze, here a mile wide, was Wuchang, the residence of the viceroy of the Hupeh province. This place was supposed to be closed to foreigners, but Charley and I had made many a secret visit, and had some rare sport among the curiosity shops, with occasionally an adventure of a less pleasing description, about which I should like to tell you if I had time.
Rapidly we passed the suburbs of these cities, and drawing over to the south bank, as the wind was light, the crew were ordered ashore, and stretching themselves along a tow-rope extending from the mast-head, the boat was soon moving quite rapidly. And that reminds me that I have not yet described our boat. These boats, used by the gentry in transporting themselves about the country, are almost like Noah's ark on a small scale—a boat with a house running almost the entire length of the deck, with little latticed windows on the outside, and the interior divided into rooms for eating and sleeping. The crew all lived aft on the great overhanging stern, where the cooking was done, and where the handle of the great "yuloe," or sculling oar, protruded. In front of the cabin was a little piece of deck-room where Charley and I had our camp-stools, and which gave us an excellent place from which to observe everything going on ahead.
The boat coolies were straining on the tow-rope a hundred yards ahead. Frequently we passed some fisherman sitting in his little mat hut, with his feet on the windlass that raised his great square net; but never did we see them catch a fish, although on our return the same men were working as assiduously as ever. The country presented the same compact system of farming, the hills in many places being terraced to their very summits, and planted with waving crops of wheat and millet, beans, and vegetables of every description. Toward noon we passed the "Ta" and "Lao Kin Shan" (great and little golden mountain), and by the time Aling had announced "tiffin" (luncheon), we were abreast of Kin Kow, a picturesque village in the neighborhood of which I generally found some excellent shooting. After tiffin we again resumed our camp-stools. I lighted a cigar, and Akong smoked his hubble-bubble, a small copy of the nargileh of the Turks. The river was alive with junks, some going in the same direction as ourselves, and others loaded with tea, charcoal, vegetable tallow, oil of various kinds, and gypsum, brought, most of them, from the far western province of Sze Chuen.
There was but little variety in the journey until the following day, when we approached the great bend in the Yang Tsze, and Akong told us that, if so inclined, we could land from the boat, and by walking six or eight miles across the country join the boat again, the bend rendering it necessary for her to go around some thirty or forty miles. This we gladly assented to, and taking my gun, in hopes of meeting with some snipe in the paddy-fields, and with Aling and a coolie for interpreters, we landed.
Charley and I both experienced a rather queer sensation as we watched the boat sail off, and found ourselves with no other white man within a hundred or more miles. The country ahead was one immense rice-field, divided by dykes or banks paved with stones and forming paths for walking. At some distance we saw a large clump of bamboos with tall elms beyond, indicating a village, called, as a coolie at work in a ditch informed us, Fi-Loong. Soon we saw a broad creek with a handsome stone bridge over it, and on the other side an unusually large house of two stories, which turned out to belong to the Te-poy, or local magistrate of the place. The old gentleman himself was sitting outside of the house having his head shaved by the village barber. He politely invited us to wait, and after the shaving was over regaled us with a cup of tea,—rather weak, but refreshing,—and after chin-chin-ing we resumed our journey.
Can you see our party trudging along? Beyond the village were more paddy-fields, from which occasionally a great white paddy-bird arose. I shot one of them, to the great delight of our coolie, who pronounced it No. 1 good chow-chow; but Charley and I were much more pleased at the sight of several English snipe. Reaching an old lotus-pond, a shot scared up these birds almost in myriads, and a good bunch of them promised a very welcome addition to our dinner. Meanwhile we had been following a creek, which we now needed to cross. But before long Aling espied a man in the distance at work with a huge buffalo, and exclaiming, "Hi-yah! belly good walkee now," rushed off in that direction. He soon returned with the buffalo and his owner, and indicated that we could cross on the back of the former. The huge, ungainly beast threw up his head and snorted when he caught sight of the "fanquis," or foreign devils, but a pull at the ring through his nose soon brought him to subjection.
"How much does he want, Aling, to carry us over?"
"He say ten cash can do."
As this sum (one cent) was not an unreasonable ferriage, we nodded; and the buffalo being led into the water near the bank, I mounted first, then came Charley with his arms around me, then Aling, who had climbed up behind. When we were half-way over, Charley laughed so heartily at the ridiculous figure we made that the buffalo gave another snort, and threatened to roll us off, into the muddy water, but we landed safely, and giving the man his ten cash, went on again. The rest of the walk was without adventure, and we finally arrived at the river-bank just as the boat was coming around the point below us.
That evening we left the main river and tracked up a tributary stream until we came to a broad canal, which Akong informed us led direct to our destination.
Turning out of our beds the next morning we found the boat moored to the bank of the canal, opposite a long, rambling, one-storied building, which proved to be the "hong" of the tea-merchant to whom the neighboring plantations belonged. We were really in the tea country at last. On every side of us, as far as the eye could reach, the dark-green tea-plants were growing in their beds of reddish sandy soil. Notwithstanding the cook's urgent appeals to wait until chow-chow was ready, we jumped ashore and into the midst of a crowd of noisy coolies moving in every direction, each with his load slung at the ends of a bamboo across his shoulders, and singing a monotonous "Aho, Aho, Aho!" which appears as necessary to the Chinese carrier as the "Yo heave ho!" to the sailor. Long, narrow junks were lying at the bank, and being rapidly loaded with the familiar tea-chests; crowds of men, women and children were coming from the plantation, each with bags of the freshly picked leaves, or with baskets on their heads in which the more delicate kinds were carefully carried. We stepped into the building, and there witnessed the entire operation of assorting, firing the teas, and even the manufacturing of the chests. We would gladly have remained, but Aho came up and informed us "that breakfast hab got spoilem," so we deferred further investigation until after the meal.
Akong joined us at breakfast, and partook of our curry and rice with great gusto, for tea-brokers as a rule are by no means averse to foreign chow-chow, and handle a knife and fork with almost as much ease as they do the native chop-sticks. Charley plied us both with questions regarding tea in general, and probably the following summary will pretty well represent the result of his queries:
The cultivation of the tea-plant is by no means confined to any one district or spot, but is scattered about through the different provinces, each producing its peculiar description known to the trade by its distinctive name. We were now in the Hupeh or Oopack country, and the tea we saw being gathered and prepared was the heavy-liquored black-leafed description, known in England and to the trade as Congou. This Congou forms the staple of the mixture known in that country under the generic name of "black," and sometimes finds its way to us under the guise of "English breakfast tea." From Foo-chow-foo, on the coast, half-way between Shanghae and Hong Kong, is shipped another description known as red-leaf Congou, the bulk of which goes to England also, although we are gradually absorbing an increasing quantity. Kiu Kiang, on the Yang Tsze, some one hundred and forty miles below Hankow, shares with the latter port in the trade of the Hupeh country, and is, or was until recently, the point of shipment for the fine green teas grown and manufactured in the Moyune district, a very large proportion of which is shipped to this country. First in importance as a point of shipment is Foo-chow-foo, whence are exported, in addition to the red-leafed Congous, or Boheas, the bulk of the Oolongs. Still further down the coast is Amoy, from which point inferior descriptions of both kinds are shipped, together with some scented teas; but the bulk of the latter, known as Scented Capers, Orange Pekoe, etc., are exported from Canton and Macao. These, together with a peculiar description of green, are manufactured at these ports from leaf grown in the neighborhood. Although no tea is grown near Shanghae, much of the Congou grown in the Hupeh province is sent there for sale, and thence shipped to England. The green teas from both the Moyune and Ping-Suey countries are also shipped from Shanghae.
Breakfast over, we jumped ashore again, and, desiring to conduct our sight-seeing systematically, started for the fields. First we walked to the foot of a hill a little distance off, where some men in short cotton trousers and jackets were laying out a new plantation. The ground was accurately marked off, and in one place the little plants, only an inch or two in height, were just showing above the ground. In another, the seeds—little round balls they looked like—were being planted in the rows. Passing another field, where some men were at work with their hoes in true Chinese style, stopping every few moments to smoke their pipes, we came at last to where the plants had attained some size and the actual picking was going on. The plants themselves were from two to six feet high, according to age, and from repeated cuttings down had grown into dense masses of small twigs. Many of them were covered with little white flowers, somewhat similar to the jasmine, and seeds inclosed in a casing not unlike that of the hazel-nut, but thinner and full of oil. Charley thought they looked like little laurel bushes; to me, those that had been well picked were not unlike huckleberry bushes, only the leaves were, of course, a much darker green. The first picking, usually in April, is when the leaves are very young and tender, commanding a much higher price than those subsequently plucked. The second is a month later, when they have attained maturity; and as unpropitious weather would be likely to ruin them, great expedition is used in getting in the crop, the entire population turning out to assist. A third, and even a fourth, follows; but the quality rapidly deteriorates, and but a small proportion of these last pickings is prepared for export.
The plantations were filled with a merry crowd, composed principally of women and children, all engaged in stripping the bushes as rapidly as possible, yet with great care and dexterity, so as not to bruise the leaves. They looked up from their work and screamed to each other in their harsh guttural tones, casting glances of astonishment at the barbarians. Following some of the coolies, who with filled bags were trudging off to the curing-house, we saw the most interesting operation of all. Here, at least thirty young girls were engaged in assorting the leaves, picking out all the dead and yellow ones, and preparing them for the hands of the rollers and firers. Our entrance excited quite a commotion among the damsels, as we were probably the first barbarians they had seen, and we had the reputation of living entirely on fat babies. A word from Akong, who had joined us, reassured them, and in a few minutes Charley was airing his little stock of Chinese, more, I thought, to their amusement than their edification. Leaving this room we went into another where the curing was in progress. On one side extended a long furnace built of bricks, with large iron pans placed at equal distances, and heated by charcoal fires below. Into these pans leaves by the basketful were poured, stirred rapidly for a few minutes, and then removed to large bamboo frames, where they were rolled and kneaded until all the green juice was freed. They were then scattered loosely in large, flat baskets, and placed in the sun to dry. Subsequently, the leaves were again carried to the furnaces and exposed to a gentle heat, until they curled and twisted themselves into the shapes so familiar to you all. Some of the finer kinds often prepared for exportation are rolled over by hand before being fired. The great object appears to be to prevent the leaf from breaking; hence, in the commoner kinds and those intended for home consumption, which do not receive the same care, the leaves are found to be very much broken. In fact, the preparation of this latter sort is very simple: a mere drying in the sun, after which it presents a dry, broken appearance, like autumn leaves.
Green tea, although grown in particular districts, receives its peculiar color by being stirred with a mixture of gypsum and Prussian blue during the firing, but is prepared in a more laborious manner, the leaves being selected and divided to form the different kinds known as Imperial, Gunpowder, Young Hyson, Hyson, Hyson Skin and Twankay. An aggregation of these kinds, proportioned according to their value, forms what is known as a "chop," whereas a chop of black tea comprises all of one grade or quality. Chinamen wonder at the taste of "outside barbarians" in preferring a tea colored green, but would provide them with a leaf of yellow or blue if there was a market for it.
The entire operation pertaining to the business appeared to be carried on in the cluster of little buildings with court-yards between, but almost under the same roof, and afforded occupation to an immense number of persons. And yet the payments could not have been very large; from six to ten cents per day being about the wages they received. In one room men were engaged in making boxes; in another, lining them with thin sheets of lead. Further on, the outsides of the boxes were being pasted over with paper, on which was stamped the name of the tea and the maker's business-title. Finally, they were being filled, soldered up and carried off to the boats, not to be opened again until they reached the shop of some London grocer.
The principal object of our friend Akong's visit was to convoy with his mandarin-boat a fleet of tea-junks to Hankow; so that but one day was given us for our visit. The boats being nearly ready, it was arranged that we should start on our return the following morning. The evening was devoted to a dinner and "sing-song" given for our entertainment by the tea-men. Aho asked if he should take our knives and forks, a proposition which we indignantly rejected. As it was to be a Chinese dinner, we determined to do it in Chinese style, chop-sticks and all. Such a dinner! We were seated at little square tables holding four persons each, the Chinamen all dressed in their official or state costumes. First came little dishes of sweetmeats and then bowls of bird's-nest soup, with the jelly-like substance floating about in it in company with little pieces of chicken. This was very nice, although we did all eat out of the same bowl, using little porcelain spoons. Then came more sweetmeats, followed by dishes of bêche de mer, or sea-slugs and fat pork; this we passed, but not until an over-polite Chinaman took up a gristly piece of something with his chop-sticks, and, after biting off a piece, passed the rest to Charley. The chop-sticks we could not manage; the meat would slip out of them, and had it not been for the soups, of which there were several, and the rice, which we could shovel into our mouths, we should have had no dinner. Tea was passed by the servants continually, as were little bowls of "samshu"—a liquor distilled from rice. During the dinner, the sing-song girls played on the native two-stringed fiddles, and sang in falsetto voices a selection of music, which was undoubtedly very fine if judged by the Chinese standard, but which we could not appreciate.
The noise soon became almost intolerable, and we slipped off to the boat and sought our beds.
When we awoke in the morning the whole fleet of tea-boats was under way, and with a fair wind we ran rapidly down the creek and were once more on the broad Yang Tsze. On the third day we reached Hankow safely, and well pleased with our trip to the tea country.
This is a remarkable story about tea plantations in the 19th century, with a restrained amount of the flagrant prejudice that was sadly so prevalent then, although the now pejorative "Chinaman" is used. Certainly Tileston shows the Chinese more respect than the pulp or series books of the day, which portrayed Chinese as sinister and treacherous.I was leaning over the tea-room table on one of the lovely spring mornings that we sometimes have in China. In front of me the large window, like that in an artist's studio, admitted the north light upon the long array of little porcelain teacups and saucers, and "musters," or square, flat boxes of tea-samples. The last new "chop" had been carefully tasted and the leaf inspected, and I was wondering whether the price asked by the tea-man would show a profit over the latest quotations from London and New York, when my speculations were disturbed by the entrance of my friend Charley, followed by Akong, well known as the most influential tea-broker in the Oopack province. Charley and Akong were fast friends, and I saw by the twinkle in the eyes of each that a premeditated plot of some kind was about being exploded upon my unsuspecting self.
But before going further, let me tell you who we all are, where we are, and what we are doing.
Of course I am aware that it is exceedingly impolite to put oneself first, but in the present instance you must excuse it; for besides being the oldest, I occupy the position of guide, philosopher and friend to Charley, and my story would scarcely be intelligible or complete if I did not begin with myself. Well, to begin: I am one of those unfortunate individuals known in China as "cha-szes," or tea-tasters; doomed for my sins, or the hope of one day getting rich, to pass the time in smelling, tasting and buying teas for the great mercantile house or "hong" of Young Hyson & Co. The place at which you find me is Hankow, on the great Yang Tsze Kiang, or river, some six hundred miles from its mouth. If you have a map of China, and will find on it the Yang Tsze, by tracing with your finger—if your map is at all correct—you will discover the cities of Chin Kiang, Nanking, Nganking, Kiu Kiang, and finally, at the junction of the river Han with the Yang Tsze, Wuchang. Hankow will probably not be on your map, but on the north bank of the Yang Tsze, just at the point of junction with the Han, is this important trading port, thrown open to foreigners in 1861, after the signing of the treaty of Tein-Tsin.
And now for Charley, whom I have kept talking pigeon-English to Akong all this time. Charley was the son of an old friend, chaplain to the British consulate at one of the coast ports; his mother dying, Charley was to have been sent home to relatives in England, but I had prevailed upon his father to let the boy, now between twelve and fourteen years old, make me a visit before his final departure.
And now for the conspiracy:
"Chin-chin (how do you do), Akong?" said I.
"What is it, Charley? Out with it, my boy; some mischief, I know." Akong gave a chuckle and a muttered "hi-yah," and Charley proceeded to explain.
"Well Cha,"—the Chinamen called me Cha-tsze and the boy had abbreviated it to Cha,—"Akong says that he has a boat going up to the tea country to-morrow or next day, and wants me to go with him; may I?"
Charley knew that I could refuse him nothing, but the trip of several hundred miles into a district rarely, if ever, visited by foreigners, involved more of a risk than I cared to assume. Charley seeing that I looked unusually solemn, turned to Akong for support.
"What for you no go too, Cha-tsze? Just now my thinkee no got new chop come inside two week; get back plenty time."
Akong's pigeon-English perhaps requires explanation: You must know, then, that the Chinese with whom all foreigners transact business, instead of learning correct English have a lingo, or patois, of their own, ascribed, but I think erroneously, to the carelessness of their first English visitors, who addressed them in this manner, thinking to make themselves more easily understood. The fact is, that pigeon-English, besides having many Portuguese words mixed up with it,—the Portuguese, you know, were established in China as early as the seventeenth century,—is in many instances a literal translation of Chinese into perverted English. In the present instance, Akong suggested that as there would be no more tea down for a fortnight, it would be well for me, too, to go. The proposition was quite agreeable to me, and Charley scampered off to tell Ahim, the cook, and Aho, my boy, to make the necessary preparations.
The next morning, at an early hour, Akong's great mandarin, or house-boat, was moored at the jetty, and the boys were packing away the provisions and the charcoal for cooking, and long strings of copper "cash" to be used in the purchase of eggs and chickens, and the mats of rice that would form the principal article of "chow-chow" for the crew. Everybody in China has a boy, and Charley had his; a regular young imp of a fellow of about his own age. Aling was his name; Charley used to call him Ting-a-ling, and would jabber horrible Chinese to him by the hour. Aling jumped down the steps, two at a time, with Charley's traveling bag; but Aho, more sedate and dignified, marched after him; Charley and I joined Akong in the front of the boat, and with a chorus of "chin-chins" from the coolies and house-servants left behind, and the explosion of a pack of fire-crackers to propitiate the river dragon, the boat was shoved from the jetty, the sail hoisted, and we were soon slowly stemming the broad current of the Yang Tsze. On our right was Hankow, with its million or more inhabitants, the hum of the great city following us for miles; and the mouth of the Han, its surface so covered with junks that their masts resembled a forest, and only a narrow lane of water was left for the passage of boats. Just beyond the Han was Han Yang, once a fine city, but now in ruins, one of the results of the Tae-ping rebellion. Across the Yang Tsze, here a mile wide, was Wuchang, the residence of the viceroy of the Hupeh province. This place was supposed to be closed to foreigners, but Charley and I had made many a secret visit, and had some rare sport among the curiosity shops, with occasionally an adventure of a less pleasing description, about which I should like to tell you if I had time.
Rapidly we passed the suburbs of these cities, and drawing over to the south bank, as the wind was light, the crew were ordered ashore, and stretching themselves along a tow-rope extending from the mast-head, the boat was soon moving quite rapidly. And that reminds me that I have not yet described our boat. These boats, used by the gentry in transporting themselves about the country, are almost like Noah's ark on a small scale—a boat with a house running almost the entire length of the deck, with little latticed windows on the outside, and the interior divided into rooms for eating and sleeping. The crew all lived aft on the great overhanging stern, where the cooking was done, and where the handle of the great "yuloe," or sculling oar, protruded. In front of the cabin was a little piece of deck-room where Charley and I had our camp-stools, and which gave us an excellent place from which to observe everything going on ahead.
The boat coolies were straining on the tow-rope a hundred yards ahead. Frequently we passed some fisherman sitting in his little mat hut, with his feet on the windlass that raised his great square net; but never did we see them catch a fish, although on our return the same men were working as assiduously as ever. The country presented the same compact system of farming, the hills in many places being terraced to their very summits, and planted with waving crops of wheat and millet, beans, and vegetables of every description. Toward noon we passed the "Ta" and "Lao Kin Shan" (great and little golden mountain), and by the time Aling had announced "tiffin" (luncheon), we were abreast of Kin Kow, a picturesque village in the neighborhood of which I generally found some excellent shooting. After tiffin we again resumed our camp-stools. I lighted a cigar, and Akong smoked his hubble-bubble, a small copy of the nargileh of the Turks. The river was alive with junks, some going in the same direction as ourselves, and others loaded with tea, charcoal, vegetable tallow, oil of various kinds, and gypsum, brought, most of them, from the far western province of Sze Chuen.
There was but little variety in the journey until the following day, when we approached the great bend in the Yang Tsze, and Akong told us that, if so inclined, we could land from the boat, and by walking six or eight miles across the country join the boat again, the bend rendering it necessary for her to go around some thirty or forty miles. This we gladly assented to, and taking my gun, in hopes of meeting with some snipe in the paddy-fields, and with Aling and a coolie for interpreters, we landed.
Charley and I both experienced a rather queer sensation as we watched the boat sail off, and found ourselves with no other white man within a hundred or more miles. The country ahead was one immense rice-field, divided by dykes or banks paved with stones and forming paths for walking. At some distance we saw a large clump of bamboos with tall elms beyond, indicating a village, called, as a coolie at work in a ditch informed us, Fi-Loong. Soon we saw a broad creek with a handsome stone bridge over it, and on the other side an unusually large house of two stories, which turned out to belong to the Te-poy, or local magistrate of the place. The old gentleman himself was sitting outside of the house having his head shaved by the village barber. He politely invited us to wait, and after the shaving was over regaled us with a cup of tea,—rather weak, but refreshing,—and after chin-chin-ing we resumed our journey.
Can you see our party trudging along? Beyond the village were more paddy-fields, from which occasionally a great white paddy-bird arose. I shot one of them, to the great delight of our coolie, who pronounced it No. 1 good chow-chow; but Charley and I were much more pleased at the sight of several English snipe. Reaching an old lotus-pond, a shot scared up these birds almost in myriads, and a good bunch of them promised a very welcome addition to our dinner. Meanwhile we had been following a creek, which we now needed to cross. But before long Aling espied a man in the distance at work with a huge buffalo, and exclaiming, "Hi-yah! belly good walkee now," rushed off in that direction. He soon returned with the buffalo and his owner, and indicated that we could cross on the back of the former. The huge, ungainly beast threw up his head and snorted when he caught sight of the "fanquis," or foreign devils, but a pull at the ring through his nose soon brought him to subjection.
"How much does he want, Aling, to carry us over?"
"He say ten cash can do."
As this sum (one cent) was not an unreasonable ferriage, we nodded; and the buffalo being led into the water near the bank, I mounted first, then came Charley with his arms around me, then Aling, who had climbed up behind. When we were half-way over, Charley laughed so heartily at the ridiculous figure we made that the buffalo gave another snort, and threatened to roll us off, into the muddy water, but we landed safely, and giving the man his ten cash, went on again. The rest of the walk was without adventure, and we finally arrived at the river-bank just as the boat was coming around the point below us.
That evening we left the main river and tracked up a tributary stream until we came to a broad canal, which Akong informed us led direct to our destination.
Turning out of our beds the next morning we found the boat moored to the bank of the canal, opposite a long, rambling, one-storied building, which proved to be the "hong" of the tea-merchant to whom the neighboring plantations belonged. We were really in the tea country at last. On every side of us, as far as the eye could reach, the dark-green tea-plants were growing in their beds of reddish sandy soil. Notwithstanding the cook's urgent appeals to wait until chow-chow was ready, we jumped ashore and into the midst of a crowd of noisy coolies moving in every direction, each with his load slung at the ends of a bamboo across his shoulders, and singing a monotonous "Aho, Aho, Aho!" which appears as necessary to the Chinese carrier as the "Yo heave ho!" to the sailor. Long, narrow junks were lying at the bank, and being rapidly loaded with the familiar tea-chests; crowds of men, women and children were coming from the plantation, each with bags of the freshly picked leaves, or with baskets on their heads in which the more delicate kinds were carefully carried. We stepped into the building, and there witnessed the entire operation of assorting, firing the teas, and even the manufacturing of the chests. We would gladly have remained, but Aho came up and informed us "that breakfast hab got spoilem," so we deferred further investigation until after the meal.
Akong joined us at breakfast, and partook of our curry and rice with great gusto, for tea-brokers as a rule are by no means averse to foreign chow-chow, and handle a knife and fork with almost as much ease as they do the native chop-sticks. Charley plied us both with questions regarding tea in general, and probably the following summary will pretty well represent the result of his queries:
The cultivation of the tea-plant is by no means confined to any one district or spot, but is scattered about through the different provinces, each producing its peculiar description known to the trade by its distinctive name. We were now in the Hupeh or Oopack country, and the tea we saw being gathered and prepared was the heavy-liquored black-leafed description, known in England and to the trade as Congou. This Congou forms the staple of the mixture known in that country under the generic name of "black," and sometimes finds its way to us under the guise of "English breakfast tea." From Foo-chow-foo, on the coast, half-way between Shanghae and Hong Kong, is shipped another description known as red-leaf Congou, the bulk of which goes to England also, although we are gradually absorbing an increasing quantity. Kiu Kiang, on the Yang Tsze, some one hundred and forty miles below Hankow, shares with the latter port in the trade of the Hupeh country, and is, or was until recently, the point of shipment for the fine green teas grown and manufactured in the Moyune district, a very large proportion of which is shipped to this country. First in importance as a point of shipment is Foo-chow-foo, whence are exported, in addition to the red-leafed Congous, or Boheas, the bulk of the Oolongs. Still further down the coast is Amoy, from which point inferior descriptions of both kinds are shipped, together with some scented teas; but the bulk of the latter, known as Scented Capers, Orange Pekoe, etc., are exported from Canton and Macao. These, together with a peculiar description of green, are manufactured at these ports from leaf grown in the neighborhood. Although no tea is grown near Shanghae, much of the Congou grown in the Hupeh province is sent there for sale, and thence shipped to England. The green teas from both the Moyune and Ping-Suey countries are also shipped from Shanghae.
Breakfast over, we jumped ashore again, and, desiring to conduct our sight-seeing systematically, started for the fields. First we walked to the foot of a hill a little distance off, where some men in short cotton trousers and jackets were laying out a new plantation. The ground was accurately marked off, and in one place the little plants, only an inch or two in height, were just showing above the ground. In another, the seeds—little round balls they looked like—were being planted in the rows. Passing another field, where some men were at work with their hoes in true Chinese style, stopping every few moments to smoke their pipes, we came at last to where the plants had attained some size and the actual picking was going on. The plants themselves were from two to six feet high, according to age, and from repeated cuttings down had grown into dense masses of small twigs. Many of them were covered with little white flowers, somewhat similar to the jasmine, and seeds inclosed in a casing not unlike that of the hazel-nut, but thinner and full of oil. Charley thought they looked like little laurel bushes; to me, those that had been well picked were not unlike huckleberry bushes, only the leaves were, of course, a much darker green. The first picking, usually in April, is when the leaves are very young and tender, commanding a much higher price than those subsequently plucked. The second is a month later, when they have attained maturity; and as unpropitious weather would be likely to ruin them, great expedition is used in getting in the crop, the entire population turning out to assist. A third, and even a fourth, follows; but the quality rapidly deteriorates, and but a small proportion of these last pickings is prepared for export.
The plantations were filled with a merry crowd, composed principally of women and children, all engaged in stripping the bushes as rapidly as possible, yet with great care and dexterity, so as not to bruise the leaves. They looked up from their work and screamed to each other in their harsh guttural tones, casting glances of astonishment at the barbarians. Following some of the coolies, who with filled bags were trudging off to the curing-house, we saw the most interesting operation of all. Here, at least thirty young girls were engaged in assorting the leaves, picking out all the dead and yellow ones, and preparing them for the hands of the rollers and firers. Our entrance excited quite a commotion among the damsels, as we were probably the first barbarians they had seen, and we had the reputation of living entirely on fat babies. A word from Akong, who had joined us, reassured them, and in a few minutes Charley was airing his little stock of Chinese, more, I thought, to their amusement than their edification. Leaving this room we went into another where the curing was in progress. On one side extended a long furnace built of bricks, with large iron pans placed at equal distances, and heated by charcoal fires below. Into these pans leaves by the basketful were poured, stirred rapidly for a few minutes, and then removed to large bamboo frames, where they were rolled and kneaded until all the green juice was freed. They were then scattered loosely in large, flat baskets, and placed in the sun to dry. Subsequently, the leaves were again carried to the furnaces and exposed to a gentle heat, until they curled and twisted themselves into the shapes so familiar to you all. Some of the finer kinds often prepared for exportation are rolled over by hand before being fired. The great object appears to be to prevent the leaf from breaking; hence, in the commoner kinds and those intended for home consumption, which do not receive the same care, the leaves are found to be very much broken. In fact, the preparation of this latter sort is very simple: a mere drying in the sun, after which it presents a dry, broken appearance, like autumn leaves.
Green tea, although grown in particular districts, receives its peculiar color by being stirred with a mixture of gypsum and Prussian blue during the firing, but is prepared in a more laborious manner, the leaves being selected and divided to form the different kinds known as Imperial, Gunpowder, Young Hyson, Hyson, Hyson Skin and Twankay. An aggregation of these kinds, proportioned according to their value, forms what is known as a "chop," whereas a chop of black tea comprises all of one grade or quality. Chinamen wonder at the taste of "outside barbarians" in preferring a tea colored green, but would provide them with a leaf of yellow or blue if there was a market for it.
The entire operation pertaining to the business appeared to be carried on in the cluster of little buildings with court-yards between, but almost under the same roof, and afforded occupation to an immense number of persons. And yet the payments could not have been very large; from six to ten cents per day being about the wages they received. In one room men were engaged in making boxes; in another, lining them with thin sheets of lead. Further on, the outsides of the boxes were being pasted over with paper, on which was stamped the name of the tea and the maker's business-title. Finally, they were being filled, soldered up and carried off to the boats, not to be opened again until they reached the shop of some London grocer.
The principal object of our friend Akong's visit was to convoy with his mandarin-boat a fleet of tea-junks to Hankow; so that but one day was given us for our visit. The boats being nearly ready, it was arranged that we should start on our return the following morning. The evening was devoted to a dinner and "sing-song" given for our entertainment by the tea-men. Aho asked if he should take our knives and forks, a proposition which we indignantly rejected. As it was to be a Chinese dinner, we determined to do it in Chinese style, chop-sticks and all. Such a dinner! We were seated at little square tables holding four persons each, the Chinamen all dressed in their official or state costumes. First came little dishes of sweetmeats and then bowls of bird's-nest soup, with the jelly-like substance floating about in it in company with little pieces of chicken. This was very nice, although we did all eat out of the same bowl, using little porcelain spoons. Then came more sweetmeats, followed by dishes of bêche de mer, or sea-slugs and fat pork; this we passed, but not until an over-polite Chinaman took up a gristly piece of something with his chop-sticks, and, after biting off a piece, passed the rest to Charley. The chop-sticks we could not manage; the meat would slip out of them, and had it not been for the soups, of which there were several, and the rice, which we could shovel into our mouths, we should have had no dinner. Tea was passed by the servants continually, as were little bowls of "samshu"—a liquor distilled from rice. During the dinner, the sing-song girls played on the native two-stringed fiddles, and sang in falsetto voices a selection of music, which was undoubtedly very fine if judged by the Chinese standard, but which we could not appreciate.
The noise soon became almost intolerable, and we slipped off to the boat and sought our beds.
When we awoke in the morning the whole fleet of tea-boats was under way, and with a fair wind we ran rapidly down the creek and were once more on the broad Yang Tsze. On the third day we reached Hankow safely, and well pleased with our trip to the tea country.
The Sapphire Signet, Chapter 11
by Augusta Huiell Seaman, beginning November 1915
CHAPTER XI: ALEXANDER SPRINGS A SURPRISE
It was with impatience indescribable that the members of the Antiquarian Club awaited the demolition of McCorkle's stable. Now that Alexander had enlightened them as to the approaching changes in Varick Street, the girls watched with absorbing interest the slow, gradual approach of the house-wrecking throng which had sometime before invaded the upper portion of the street. For weeks they had been passing unheeded the frenzied scene of tearing down, digging up, and general destruction that had suddenly changed peaceful Varick Street into an unsightly heap of ruin and scaffolding. It had meant nothing to them, so absorbed were they in their own affairs. And now they found, quite to their amazement, that it was going to have a very direct bearing on these same affairs!
House by house, block by block, it drew nearer. Every day that was pleasant enough for Margaret to be out she commanded Sarah to wheel her past the work of demolition, much to Sarah's disgust, who infinitely preferred the quiet, sunny, unobstructed walks of peaceful Charlton Street. Then, before turning the corner homeward, Margaret would beg to be wheeled past McCorkle's stable, at which she would gaze hard and rapturously as long as it was in sight. This also deeply annoyed and bewildered Sarah.
"Bedad!" she would exclaim impatiently, "it does beat me what ye see in that dur-rty owld rookery! 'T is fit only fur th' scrap-heap, and ye look at it as if it was hung wid diamonds! What's got into ye these days, Margie ma-cushla! 'T is that quare Corinne gur-rl that has bewitched ye!"
Margaret could easily see that Sarah was very, very jealous of her new friend, so she would say nothing, but only smile her slow, mysterious little smile. "That queer Corinne girl" had indeed bewitched her, and had brought into her pain-ridden, colorless existence something worth living for! But this, of course, she could not admit to Sarah.
At last, one cold, blustery afternoon, the twins burst in with the exciting information that the house-wrecking had actually commenced on their own block, up at the King Street corner. After that the interest became concentrated and intense. And by the time the little old dormer-windowed shanty on their own corner was leveled to the ground, they had reached the tiptoe of excitement.
Fully two weeks before this McCorkle's stable had been vacated and left ready for its destruction. And since then Alexander had spent much time crawling around its foundations and examining it in every nook and cranny.
When the little building next to it came down, and the day before the stable was to have its turn, the Antiquarian Club held an important meeting, called at the request of Alexander.
"This is going to be ticklish business!" he announced; "getting at that beam, I mean. And I ain't so sure it's going to pan out all right, either. Good thing to-morrow's Saturday, so I can be on the job all day. But I 've been laying my pipes pretty slick! I 've got on the soft side of a lot of those workmen, and the night-watchman loves me as if I was his little nephew Willie! It's the night-watchman I 'm depending on most. He's agreed to let me in there to grub around any night I want—so long as I don't do any damage. But, see here, you kids! Don't be setting your hopes on me getting at anything to-morrow, 'cause more 'n likely they won't touch the foundation before next week!"
The next day saw the demolition of McCorkle's stable. It being Saturday, the Antiquarian Club was able to be present in full force (on the opposite side of the street) to see it go. Margaret's chair was wheeled by the twins and Corinne in turn. But Alexander, across the street in the danger-zone, gyrated, imp-like, up and down the sidewalk and was twenty times ousted from imminent peril by the half-indignant, half-laughing workmen.
Piece by piece the boards and bricks fell, story by story the old building came down, till at last it was level with the very sidewalk, and carts began to remove the debris. Then was visible the strange thing that Alexander had long before told them about.
"See! see!" he cried, running across to them and pointing back excitedly. "There it is! Didn't I tell you so?" And looking toward the back, they could plainly discern the queer, curved outline of the old stage, with a few cracked and tarnished bits of gilt cornice still clinging to it.
"But when are they going to reach the beams underneath?" demanded Margaret, in an excited whisper.
"Not before Monday! At least, they can't get to uncovering the ones we want before then. The rest are almost bare now."
"Oh! how can we wait till Monday!" wailed Margaret.
"I gave you the tip we might have to!" admonished Alexander. "You 're entirely too light and speedy! You ought to go into the house-wrecking business yourself—then you 'd see!"
The interval between Saturday and Monday seemed simply interminable to every one of the five. On Sunday, Alexander spent much time haunting the ruins, Corinne was obliged to be in her own home, Mrs. Bronson was visiting a sick friend, and Margaret and the twins, left alone, whispered together most of the day about the impending event.
"What do you suppose we 'll find in that beam?" Margaret would inquire for the hundredth time.
"Probably nothing!" Bess would reply, for she was always inclined to look on the dark side of things.
"Oh, that's not possible!" Margaret would retort. "J think it may be some important papers. I don't expect there 'll be gold, or jewels, or anything of that kind. But just suppose it was the sapphire signet!"
"Do you know, dear," said Jess, once, "I 'd be pretty well satisfied if we even found just the hole! That would show, at least, that Alison's account was correct, and we had worked things out right, so far."
"Yes, but it would n't help us out any with solving the mystery," objected Margaret. "When do you suppose it will be get-at-able, anyway?"
"Alexander says he 's going to be there before school in the morning, and again at noon, and in the afternoon too. He says he 's almost tempted to play hookey and be there all day! But I told him Sarah and Mother would have a fit if he did! The club is to be all together here in the afternoon, and he 'll come right in and tell us the minute he discovers anything."
"Would n't it be simply awful," moaned Margaret, "if any one got in ahead of us and looted the place in the beam!"
"Alexander does n't think that likely," declared Jess. "I asked him about that, too, but he says it's probably so well concealed that nobody would think of such a thing—unless the beam were to be chopped up, and that won't happen for a good while yet."
So they were all forced to possess their souls in patience till Monday afternoon. Then, with fast-beating hearts, the girls gathered in the Charlton Street parlor. Alexander, of course, was not with them, and they did not expect him for some time. But, to their utter amazement, he strolled in about three-thirty, hands in his pockets, whistling "The Lass of Richmond Hill" as unconcernedly as though this were not the day of days for the Antiquarian Club!
"Good gracious, Alexander, what's wrong?" demanded Corinne.
"Wrong? Nothing at all! Everything O. K., A, number one!" he replied airily.
"But why are n't you over at the stable as you said you 'd be?"
"Oh, I didn't think it worth while!" he answered indifferently, ambling over to gaze out of the window.
"But, Alec!" cried Margaret. "Have you gone back on us like this? And after all you said! And you seemed so interested, too! I just can't believe it of you !" Her great, beautiful gray eyes filled with sudden tears, and Alexander, turning from the window, observed it
"Aw! turn off the weeps!" he exclaimed gruffly, but contritely. "Can't you all take a bit of kidding? It ain't worth while for me to be over there any more—because I 've found the beam already—and explored it!"
At this astonishing revelation they sprang upon him literally in a body—all but Margaret.
"Oh, Alec! You didn't! When? Tell us all about it? What did you find? How did you do it?" The questions rained thick and fast.
"Well, just unhand me, and sit down, and I 'll tell you all about it! Saturday night I was crawling round a bit after the work was all over, and only the night-watchman there. I found that the two beams on this north end were really pretty well uncovered, in spots, and what was left over them could be easily scraped off. It was mostly dirt and loose mortar. I didn't have time to do anything that night, but I gave the watchman the tip that I 'd be back the next night and poke around a bit. He likes me, and he thinks I 'm collecting wood to build an Indian wigwam in that vacant lot on Hudson Street. And us fellows are building one, too, so it's no lie!" Alexander, to do him justice, was scrupulously truthful.
"So I beat it out, last night, after borrowing the twins' door-key, so I wouldn't have to wake up that lallypaloozer, Sarah, when I came in. Of course I took a chance of not striking the right beam,—it might be the one at the south end, for all I knew. However, I doped out the one I thought it was, shoveled off the bricks and mortar softly, so 's not to attract attention, and measured off ten feet from the west end with a tape-line. You know the kid, Alison, said the steward stood about ten feet from the wall of the house, along the beam.
"Then I opened my big-bladed pocket-knife and poked and poked and poked around it, top, bottom, and sides. But never a sign of an opening did I find. After I 'd been at the job about an hour, I gave it up and scooted for the east end of the beam, and began the same thing all over. Nothing doing for about half an hour! Then all at once, my blade slipped into a crack! I gave a hard pull, and—jumping Jupiter!—there I was! The thing came open like a door on a rusty hinge, and there was a hole about a foot and a half long!
"You bet I did n't do a thing but shove my hand in and feel all around in the hole! I did n't dare even to light a match, for fear a cop might see me. Just then, all of a sudden, the watchman called out softly that the roundsman was coming and I 'd better beat it while the going was good! I just had time to duck off that beam, crawl along the darkest side of the wall, and sneak out as the roundsman came along and stood talking to the watchman, as he always does, for about fifteen minutes. I got into the house all hunky,—and that's why it ain't any use for me to be there this afternoon!" he ended abruptly.
"But, Alec, what did you find? Did you find anything?" demanded the four in one breath.
Alexander nodded impressively. "Yep! I found something all right!" Then he suddenly took an object from under his coat and laid it carefully in Margaret's lap.
"I found this!"
to be continued...
CHAPTER XI: ALEXANDER SPRINGS A SURPRISE
It was with impatience indescribable that the members of the Antiquarian Club awaited the demolition of McCorkle's stable. Now that Alexander had enlightened them as to the approaching changes in Varick Street, the girls watched with absorbing interest the slow, gradual approach of the house-wrecking throng which had sometime before invaded the upper portion of the street. For weeks they had been passing unheeded the frenzied scene of tearing down, digging up, and general destruction that had suddenly changed peaceful Varick Street into an unsightly heap of ruin and scaffolding. It had meant nothing to them, so absorbed were they in their own affairs. And now they found, quite to their amazement, that it was going to have a very direct bearing on these same affairs!
House by house, block by block, it drew nearer. Every day that was pleasant enough for Margaret to be out she commanded Sarah to wheel her past the work of demolition, much to Sarah's disgust, who infinitely preferred the quiet, sunny, unobstructed walks of peaceful Charlton Street. Then, before turning the corner homeward, Margaret would beg to be wheeled past McCorkle's stable, at which she would gaze hard and rapturously as long as it was in sight. This also deeply annoyed and bewildered Sarah.
"Bedad!" she would exclaim impatiently, "it does beat me what ye see in that dur-rty owld rookery! 'T is fit only fur th' scrap-heap, and ye look at it as if it was hung wid diamonds! What's got into ye these days, Margie ma-cushla! 'T is that quare Corinne gur-rl that has bewitched ye!"
Margaret could easily see that Sarah was very, very jealous of her new friend, so she would say nothing, but only smile her slow, mysterious little smile. "That queer Corinne girl" had indeed bewitched her, and had brought into her pain-ridden, colorless existence something worth living for! But this, of course, she could not admit to Sarah.
At last, one cold, blustery afternoon, the twins burst in with the exciting information that the house-wrecking had actually commenced on their own block, up at the King Street corner. After that the interest became concentrated and intense. And by the time the little old dormer-windowed shanty on their own corner was leveled to the ground, they had reached the tiptoe of excitement.
Fully two weeks before this McCorkle's stable had been vacated and left ready for its destruction. And since then Alexander had spent much time crawling around its foundations and examining it in every nook and cranny.
When the little building next to it came down, and the day before the stable was to have its turn, the Antiquarian Club held an important meeting, called at the request of Alexander.
"This is going to be ticklish business!" he announced; "getting at that beam, I mean. And I ain't so sure it's going to pan out all right, either. Good thing to-morrow's Saturday, so I can be on the job all day. But I 've been laying my pipes pretty slick! I 've got on the soft side of a lot of those workmen, and the night-watchman loves me as if I was his little nephew Willie! It's the night-watchman I 'm depending on most. He's agreed to let me in there to grub around any night I want—so long as I don't do any damage. But, see here, you kids! Don't be setting your hopes on me getting at anything to-morrow, 'cause more 'n likely they won't touch the foundation before next week!"
The next day saw the demolition of McCorkle's stable. It being Saturday, the Antiquarian Club was able to be present in full force (on the opposite side of the street) to see it go. Margaret's chair was wheeled by the twins and Corinne in turn. But Alexander, across the street in the danger-zone, gyrated, imp-like, up and down the sidewalk and was twenty times ousted from imminent peril by the half-indignant, half-laughing workmen.
Piece by piece the boards and bricks fell, story by story the old building came down, till at last it was level with the very sidewalk, and carts began to remove the debris. Then was visible the strange thing that Alexander had long before told them about.
"See! see!" he cried, running across to them and pointing back excitedly. "There it is! Didn't I tell you so?" And looking toward the back, they could plainly discern the queer, curved outline of the old stage, with a few cracked and tarnished bits of gilt cornice still clinging to it.
"But when are they going to reach the beams underneath?" demanded Margaret, in an excited whisper.
"Not before Monday! At least, they can't get to uncovering the ones we want before then. The rest are almost bare now."
"Oh! how can we wait till Monday!" wailed Margaret.
"I gave you the tip we might have to!" admonished Alexander. "You 're entirely too light and speedy! You ought to go into the house-wrecking business yourself—then you 'd see!"
The interval between Saturday and Monday seemed simply interminable to every one of the five. On Sunday, Alexander spent much time haunting the ruins, Corinne was obliged to be in her own home, Mrs. Bronson was visiting a sick friend, and Margaret and the twins, left alone, whispered together most of the day about the impending event.
"What do you suppose we 'll find in that beam?" Margaret would inquire for the hundredth time.
"Probably nothing!" Bess would reply, for she was always inclined to look on the dark side of things.
"Oh, that's not possible!" Margaret would retort. "J think it may be some important papers. I don't expect there 'll be gold, or jewels, or anything of that kind. But just suppose it was the sapphire signet!"
"Do you know, dear," said Jess, once, "I 'd be pretty well satisfied if we even found just the hole! That would show, at least, that Alison's account was correct, and we had worked things out right, so far."
"Yes, but it would n't help us out any with solving the mystery," objected Margaret. "When do you suppose it will be get-at-able, anyway?"
"Alexander says he 's going to be there before school in the morning, and again at noon, and in the afternoon too. He says he 's almost tempted to play hookey and be there all day! But I told him Sarah and Mother would have a fit if he did! The club is to be all together here in the afternoon, and he 'll come right in and tell us the minute he discovers anything."
"Would n't it be simply awful," moaned Margaret, "if any one got in ahead of us and looted the place in the beam!"
"Alexander does n't think that likely," declared Jess. "I asked him about that, too, but he says it's probably so well concealed that nobody would think of such a thing—unless the beam were to be chopped up, and that won't happen for a good while yet."
So they were all forced to possess their souls in patience till Monday afternoon. Then, with fast-beating hearts, the girls gathered in the Charlton Street parlor. Alexander, of course, was not with them, and they did not expect him for some time. But, to their utter amazement, he strolled in about three-thirty, hands in his pockets, whistling "The Lass of Richmond Hill" as unconcernedly as though this were not the day of days for the Antiquarian Club!
"Good gracious, Alexander, what's wrong?" demanded Corinne.
"Wrong? Nothing at all! Everything O. K., A, number one!" he replied airily.
"But why are n't you over at the stable as you said you 'd be?"
"Oh, I didn't think it worth while!" he answered indifferently, ambling over to gaze out of the window.
"But, Alec!" cried Margaret. "Have you gone back on us like this? And after all you said! And you seemed so interested, too! I just can't believe it of you !" Her great, beautiful gray eyes filled with sudden tears, and Alexander, turning from the window, observed it
"Aw! turn off the weeps!" he exclaimed gruffly, but contritely. "Can't you all take a bit of kidding? It ain't worth while for me to be over there any more—because I 've found the beam already—and explored it!"
At this astonishing revelation they sprang upon him literally in a body—all but Margaret.
"Oh, Alec! You didn't! When? Tell us all about it? What did you find? How did you do it?" The questions rained thick and fast.
"Well, just unhand me, and sit down, and I 'll tell you all about it! Saturday night I was crawling round a bit after the work was all over, and only the night-watchman there. I found that the two beams on this north end were really pretty well uncovered, in spots, and what was left over them could be easily scraped off. It was mostly dirt and loose mortar. I didn't have time to do anything that night, but I gave the watchman the tip that I 'd be back the next night and poke around a bit. He likes me, and he thinks I 'm collecting wood to build an Indian wigwam in that vacant lot on Hudson Street. And us fellows are building one, too, so it's no lie!" Alexander, to do him justice, was scrupulously truthful.
"So I beat it out, last night, after borrowing the twins' door-key, so I wouldn't have to wake up that lallypaloozer, Sarah, when I came in. Of course I took a chance of not striking the right beam,—it might be the one at the south end, for all I knew. However, I doped out the one I thought it was, shoveled off the bricks and mortar softly, so 's not to attract attention, and measured off ten feet from the west end with a tape-line. You know the kid, Alison, said the steward stood about ten feet from the wall of the house, along the beam.
"Then I opened my big-bladed pocket-knife and poked and poked and poked around it, top, bottom, and sides. But never a sign of an opening did I find. After I 'd been at the job about an hour, I gave it up and scooted for the east end of the beam, and began the same thing all over. Nothing doing for about half an hour! Then all at once, my blade slipped into a crack! I gave a hard pull, and—jumping Jupiter!—there I was! The thing came open like a door on a rusty hinge, and there was a hole about a foot and a half long!
"You bet I did n't do a thing but shove my hand in and feel all around in the hole! I did n't dare even to light a match, for fear a cop might see me. Just then, all of a sudden, the watchman called out softly that the roundsman was coming and I 'd better beat it while the going was good! I just had time to duck off that beam, crawl along the darkest side of the wall, and sneak out as the roundsman came along and stood talking to the watchman, as he always does, for about fifteen minutes. I got into the house all hunky,—and that's why it ain't any use for me to be there this afternoon!" he ended abruptly.
"But, Alec, what did you find? Did you find anything?" demanded the four in one breath.
Alexander nodded impressively. "Yep! I found something all right!" Then he suddenly took an object from under his coat and laid it carefully in Margaret's lap.
"I found this!"
to be continued...
Tom, Dick and Harriet, Chapter 11
by Ralph Henry Barbour, beginning May 1907
CHAPTER XI: THE ADVENTURES OF ESTRELLA
They were not able to take Harry into their confidence right away, however, as by the time they reached school it lacked but a few minutes of dinner time. And after that meal, when they called at the Cottage, they found that Harry had not returned from Silver Cove but had remained to take dinner with one of her girl friends in the village. In the dining-room Roy and Chub had treated Dick with contemptuous indifference and afterward had observed him pass out of the building and across to the library with supreme unconcern. He smiled tauntingly as he passed them in the corridor, but both Roy and Chub looked impassively by him.
"Who 's your friend?" asked Chub audibly.
"Never met him," responded Roy loftily. "Some low person."
At two Roy had to go and get ready for the hockey game, and as Chub had nothing better to do he went with him. During the half-hour of practice preceding the game and during the contest itself he watched from the side of the rink and, with Sid, Whitcomb, Pryor, Post and others cheered the home team on to a well-deserved victory. Harry did n't turn up at the game—an unusual thing for her—and so it was not until after supper next day that Roy and Chub found Harry. They called again at the Cottage and were ushered by Mrs. Emery into the little parlor. Harry joined them soon afterward and in a few moments was made acquainted with the situation relating to Dick.
"It 's a mystery!" she declared excitedly.
"It surely is," Roy answered. "And we want you to help us find out what the silly chap is up to. Will you?"
"Yes, and I 'll be a detective too!"
"All right," answered Chub, "but I don't think I ever heard of a female detective; did you, Roy!"
Roy shook his head, but Harry protested vigorously.
"There are female detectives," she asserted stoutly. "I read of one once in some book. She was awfully smart and found the stolen diamonds after every one else had failed!"
"All right," said Chub. "What was her name?"
"Why, it was—was—oh, dear, I 've forgotten it!"
"Then I don't see how you can be her," teased Roy.
"I shall recall it," answered Harry with dignity. "Besides, detectives have aliases, don't they?"
"Oh, the cheap ones do," replied Roy. "Sherlock Holmes did n't change his name."
"Did Vi—Vi—Vidocq?" asked Harry anxiously.
"Yes, often," answered Chub. "He was the real thing, too. He caught more desperate criminals than Sherlock Holmes ever thought of! And he was great for disguising himself, too."
"Oh, that 's it!" cried Harry. "I must have a disguise!"
"Wear your hair on top of your head," suggested Roy laughingly.
"Put your shoes on the wrong feet," added Chub.
"Never you mind," said Harry with sparkling eyes. "I know what I shall do. You wait and see. But if you recognize me—if you penetrate my disguise, I mean, you must n't let on. You won't, will you? Because it might spoil everything."
"You may depend upon us," replied Roy gravely.
"We ought to have a password," Harry continued. "So when we meet each other we can communicate."
"'R-r-r-revenge!'" muttered Chub with a ferocious scowl. Harry clapped her hands.
"That 's it! That 's the password! 'Revenge!' Don't forget it."
"Trust us," said Roy. "We think of nothing else. 'Revenge!'"
"'Revenge!'" echoed Harry.
"'Revenge!'" growled Chub.
Then they looked at each other and laughed enjoyably. And suddenly Harry gave an exclamation of triumph.
"I remember!" she cried. "It was Estrella!"
"What was?"
"The name of that lady detective. Estrella— Estrella—oh, I can't remember her last name, but I guess Estrella will do, won't it?"
"Yes, I should think so," Chub said. "It 's a fine-sounding name, all right. Roy, allow me to present you to Miss Estrella, the Lady Sleuth."
"What 's a sleuth?" asked Harry anxiously.
"Oh, that 's just a slang name for detective."
"Well, I don't believe lady detectives would use slang," she said. "So I guess I won't be a sleuth, if you don't mind, Chub."
"Have your own way about it. It does n 't make much difference what you call yourself, Harry, if you 'll only find out what Dick is up to. He 's got to be punished for the way he has treated us all. It—it 's a low-down trick, that 's what it is!"
"Yes, we owe him something," Roy agreed. "And we 'll pay him back, too. But we must try and make him think that we are n't watching him any more."
"Yes, lull his suspicions," said Chub.
"Then maybe he will get careless and we 'll catch him red-handed."
"Red-handed!" echoed Harry with gusto. "Is n't it lovely? I do wish I could start to-morrow, but I suppose you can't detect on Sunday!"
"Hardly," Roy agreed. "But on Monday we 'll begin in earnest. We must n't let him out of our sight a moment."
"I don't see how we can help letting him out of our sight," Chub objected. "We have our recitations to attend and Harry has to go to Silver Cove."
"Well, after school, then," answered Roy. "In the afternoon we 'l—we 'll—"
"Dog his very footsteps," aided Chub. "I read that somewhere; good, is n't it?"
"Fine,'' laughed Roy. "Little he recks—!"
"You dry up," growled Chub good-naturedly, "and come on home."
Harry went to the porch with them and there, at her suggestion, they clasped hands and cried "Revenge!" together in a thrilling chorus.
"We meet anon," said Chub. "Farewell!"
And thereupon Vidocq and Sherlock Holmes slunk away into the enveloping darkness, and Estrella, muttering "Revenge!" under her breath, closed the front door and stole stealthily into the library to ransack the shelves for the detective story which recounted the adventures and triumphs of her namesake.
The next day Dick was inclined to be chummy, but Roy and Chub repulsed his overtures coldly. And in the afternoon he once more disappeared and did n't show up again until supper-time. He spent most of the evening in the study-room, and although Roy and Chub watched him surreptitiously they were unable to gather any incriminating evidence, since he did nothing more enlightening than apply himself to his algebra lesson.
There was no hockey practice on Monday, and so when Roy had finished his last recitation in School Hall he hurried across toward the dormitory to dispose of his books, with the idea of then finding Dick before that mysterious youth had whisked himself out of sight. But before he had covered half of the distance between the two buildings he had forgotten all about Dick. For on the steps of Burgess stood a most remarkable figure. Roy stared and marveled. At first he thought he was looking at an elderly woman, but the next moment he changed his mind, for the small, slight form was youthful in spite of the attire. There was a vividly blue cloth skirt which swept the ground, a black fur cape, rather the worse for service, which reached almost to the waist, a large hat with brown feathers and a heavy black veil which completely hid the face. One hand clutched a silver-handled umbrella and the other was lost in the folds of the voluminous skirt.
"Well, that's a funny-looking scarecrow!" muttered Roy as he approached. The lady, whoever she was, seemed to be viewing him from behind the thick veil, and Roy ceased staring. But as he mounted the steps he could not resist another look. Through the close meshes of the veil he caught sight of two bright eyes and a rather impertinent nose, and—
"Revenge!" said a smothered voice.
Roy stopped and stared with wide-open mouth.
"I—I beg your pardon, ma-am!" he faltered, uncertain whether he had imagined it. "Did you speak?"
"Revenge!" said the voice again. Roy gasped.
"Harry!" he exclaimed incredulously.
"S-sh! Would you betray all?"
"Oh, but you 're a sight!" said Roy, standing off to obtain a better view of her. "Where 'd you get the clothes, Harry?" Then he leaned up against the opposite railing of the porch and gave way to mirth. Harry stamped her foot and thumped the silver-handled umbrella.
"Roy Porter, you 're just as mean as you can be!" she declared aggrievedly. "And you can do your own detecting!"
"But, Harry," Boy gasped, "if you could only see the way you look!"
"I don't care; I fooled you all right enough, Mister Smarty!"
"That 's so; I thought you were an old woman at first! It 's a dandy disguise, Harry."
"Do you really think so?" Harry asked, somewhat mollified. "I had a terrible time getting the things, because of course I could n't ask for them; if I had, my disguise would have been no longer a secret, would it!"
Roy shook his head.
"And so I had to swipe— borrow them, I mean, without saying anything to mama. And if I should meet her would n't she be surprised?" And Harry giggled behind the veil.
"I 'll just bet she would," laughed Roy. "Have you seen anything of—"
"S-sh! Some one approaches!" cried Harry. "Follow me, but take no notice!"
Several boys had come out on to the steps of School Hall and were looking curiously across. Harry seized the folds of the ridiculous blue skirt and lifted it so that she could walk without tripping over it. Then, raising the silver-handled umbrella in a gesture of caution she turned and stole stealthily into the building. Roy, vastly amused, followed. Harry crossed to the dining-room, opened the door and beckoned. To enter the dining-room outside of meal-hours was strictly against the rules, but Harry was a law unto herself, and Roy ventured after her. Then she closed the door, turned the key in the lock and raised the black veil.
"Now," she said, "we are safe for the moment."
"Yes, that 's all very well, but supposing Dick takes it into his silly head to disappear while we are in here talking?"
"Then we must find him."
"But we said we were going to watch for him and follow him. What 's the good of letting him get away? I left him in School Hall and he will be out in a few minutes."
"Well, maybe we 'd better go," said Harry. "But I did want to talk to you a minute."
"All right, go ahead. What do you want to talk about?"
"Do you think Dick would recognize—would penetrate my disguise if he met me?" she asked anxiously.
"I don't believe he 'd let you get near enough," answered Roy with a laugh. "I 'll bet if he saw you coming he 'd run a mile!"
"Now you 're being mean again," said Harry reproachfully.
"Well, honest then, Harry, I don't believe your own mother would know you!"
"But she 'd know her clothes," Harry said laughingly. "Supposing, then, that I go over toward School Hall and wait for him to come out. Then I can follow him and he won't suspect anything."
"All right, but I would n't let him think you are after him," Roy advised.
"Of course I sha'n't," answered Harry indignantly. "Don't you suppose I know more about— about detecting than that? I 'll just make believe that I 'm a visitor looking around the school. And maybe I 'll meet him and ask him some questions. Would n't that be funny?"
"He 'd know your voice in a minute," said Roy.
"I 'd disguise it, like this," Harry replied, sinking her voice until it sounded like the croak of a raven. "You could n't tell it was me, could you?"
"I should say not!" Roy declared with emphasis. "You sound the way Methuselah did the time he had a sore throat!"
"You 're not very complimentary," said Harry with a pout. "But I suppose detectives must n't mind that. Now I think we 'd better go, don't you?"
Roy agreed and Harry carefully lowered her veil. At the door she turned.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," she said. "I found that book last night after you went, and my name is Estrella De Vere. Is n't it lovely?"
"Fine and dandy!" answered Boy. "It sounds almost real."
He remained inside until Harry had passed down the steps and was sauntering with elaborate unconcern toward School Hall. Then he went out on to the porch and watched. Harry, her blue skirt trailing regally behind her, stopped in front of the entrance, leaned on her umbrella and studied the architecture of the building. A group of boys on the porch stopped talking and viewed her curiously. Presently, with a nod of approval, Harry turned and walked slowly up the path toward the Cottage, pausing at length to take in the details of that modest structure quite as thoroughly. The boys on the porch, Roy observed, were laughing and making fun of the queer figure. At that moment the door of School Hall opened again and Dick hurried out and along the path toward Harry, who had now turned and was sauntering back toward the hall. As he went he cast a quick and cautious glance about him and Roy, although he tried to draw back out of sight, knew that Dick had seen him. Dick's gaze now was on the person in the black veil. When he reached the place where the path to the Cottage branched off from the road to the barn he seemed to hesitate an instant. Then he turned to the right toward the Cottage and Estrella De Vere.
By this time Harry had made up her mind to a desperate venture. As Dick reached her she sank her voice to sepulchral tones.
"Pardon me, young man," she said, "but can you tell me what building that is?" She pointed the umbrella toward School Hall.
Dick stopped and touched his cap, looking very intently at the black veil. But Harry kept her head averted as much as she could and flattered herself that Dick was far from suspecting her identity. But she did wish he would n't look so hard!
"Yes, ma'am," answered Dick. "That is the Biological Laboratory." Harry gave a gasp. "And further along," pointing out the dormitory, "you see the Astronomical Observatory." Harry gasped again. Dick swung around and indicated the gymnasium. "And that building, ma'am, is called Somes Hall in honor of Mr. Richard Somes, who gave the money for it. It cost two million dollars and contains the Phrenological and Optimistic departments."
Harry had a wild desire to giggle, but conquered it. She wondered for an instant whether Dick knew her, after all, and was trying to tease her. The expression of his face, which was one of the utmost seriousness, told her nothing. She almost forgot to disguise her voice as she answered him.
"Thank you so much," she said. "And— and the small house here?"
"Oh, that 's the Insane Asylum," answered Dick readily. "I have but one case confined there at present, a young girl. It 's really very sad, ma'am. I don't think she will ever be any better. She imagines"—he dropped his voice to a confidential whisper—"she imagines that she 's a detective ! Very sad, really!"
He touched his cap again, gravely and politely, and went on toward the Cottage, leaving Harry a prey to conflicting emotions, the strongest of which was exasperation.
"Now how did he know me?" she wondered. "I think he 's just as mean as he can be!"
She stood motionless and watched Dick ring the bell. In a moment the door was opened and he passed into the Cottage.
"And what do you suppose he 's gone there for?" she asked herself. "Perhaps he 's going to tell mama that I 'm out here with her old blue skirt and fur cape on! Let him I I think he 's the meanest—!"
But at that moment the mystery was explained. She had put up one hand to make certain of the arrangement of her veil, which since she had first donned it had been giving her not a little trouble, and discovered that it had become undone at the back, leaving exposed a small expanse of red hair.
"That 's how he knew!" she exclaimed. "If it had n't been for that he 'd have been fooled just as Roy was! Beastly old veil! And I just know he 's told mama and they 're having a lovely joke about it! I 'm going in!"
She hurried to the Cottage and attempted the front door, only to find that it was locked. Wrathfully she rang the bell. Steps sounded in the hall, the door was opened a little and Mrs. Emery's face appeared for a brief moment. Then,
"Nothing to-day, thank you," said her mother, and the door closed again sharply before Harry had recovered from her surprise. Then she beat upon the portal with the umbrella and stabbed at the button until the bell fairly outdid itself. A window opened up-stairs and Mrs. Emery put her head out.
"If you don't go away at once," she said, "I 'll call the man to put you off the grounds. We don't allow peddlers here."
"I 'm not a peddler!" cried Harry. "I want to get in! I 'm Harry!"
"What! Harry?" exclaimed her mother. "Well, I am surprised!"
But Harry noticed that she was smiling broadly as she closed the window and disappeared. In a moment the door was opened and Harry passed inside, a little bit sulky.
"You knew it was me," she declared. "You just did it to tease me!"
"What, knew you in those clothes?" asked her mother. "Why, how could I, my dear? And with that veil over your face? And tied so neatly, too!"
"Yes, you did know; Dick told you! And he 's as mean as mean can be!"
"Dick? No, Dick did n't tell me, my dear. But I saw you leaving the house half an hour ago and found my blue skirt missing."
"Where 's Dick?" demanded Harry.
"Oh, he's been gone a long time, I guess. He came and asked if he might pass through the house and go out by the back door; he said you and he were playing a game called— Detective, was n't it? So I told him he might and the last I saw of him from my window he was climbing over the hedge into the ball field."
Harry sank into a chair, the black veil trailing from one hand and the silver-handled umbrella in the other.
"Foiled again!" she cried despairingly.
to be continued...
CHAPTER XI: THE ADVENTURES OF ESTRELLA
They were not able to take Harry into their confidence right away, however, as by the time they reached school it lacked but a few minutes of dinner time. And after that meal, when they called at the Cottage, they found that Harry had not returned from Silver Cove but had remained to take dinner with one of her girl friends in the village. In the dining-room Roy and Chub had treated Dick with contemptuous indifference and afterward had observed him pass out of the building and across to the library with supreme unconcern. He smiled tauntingly as he passed them in the corridor, but both Roy and Chub looked impassively by him.
"Who 's your friend?" asked Chub audibly.
"Never met him," responded Roy loftily. "Some low person."
At two Roy had to go and get ready for the hockey game, and as Chub had nothing better to do he went with him. During the half-hour of practice preceding the game and during the contest itself he watched from the side of the rink and, with Sid, Whitcomb, Pryor, Post and others cheered the home team on to a well-deserved victory. Harry did n't turn up at the game—an unusual thing for her—and so it was not until after supper next day that Roy and Chub found Harry. They called again at the Cottage and were ushered by Mrs. Emery into the little parlor. Harry joined them soon afterward and in a few moments was made acquainted with the situation relating to Dick.
"It 's a mystery!" she declared excitedly.
"It surely is," Roy answered. "And we want you to help us find out what the silly chap is up to. Will you?"
"Yes, and I 'll be a detective too!"
"All right," answered Chub, "but I don't think I ever heard of a female detective; did you, Roy!"
Roy shook his head, but Harry protested vigorously.
"There are female detectives," she asserted stoutly. "I read of one once in some book. She was awfully smart and found the stolen diamonds after every one else had failed!"
"All right," said Chub. "What was her name?"
"Why, it was—was—oh, dear, I 've forgotten it!"
"Then I don't see how you can be her," teased Roy.
"I shall recall it," answered Harry with dignity. "Besides, detectives have aliases, don't they?"
"Oh, the cheap ones do," replied Roy. "Sherlock Holmes did n't change his name."
"Did Vi—Vi—Vidocq?" asked Harry anxiously.
"Yes, often," answered Chub. "He was the real thing, too. He caught more desperate criminals than Sherlock Holmes ever thought of! And he was great for disguising himself, too."
"Oh, that 's it!" cried Harry. "I must have a disguise!"
"Wear your hair on top of your head," suggested Roy laughingly.
"Put your shoes on the wrong feet," added Chub.
"Never you mind," said Harry with sparkling eyes. "I know what I shall do. You wait and see. But if you recognize me—if you penetrate my disguise, I mean, you must n't let on. You won't, will you? Because it might spoil everything."
"You may depend upon us," replied Roy gravely.
"We ought to have a password," Harry continued. "So when we meet each other we can communicate."
"'R-r-r-revenge!'" muttered Chub with a ferocious scowl. Harry clapped her hands.
"That 's it! That 's the password! 'Revenge!' Don't forget it."
"Trust us," said Roy. "We think of nothing else. 'Revenge!'"
"'Revenge!'" echoed Harry.
"'Revenge!'" growled Chub.
Then they looked at each other and laughed enjoyably. And suddenly Harry gave an exclamation of triumph.
"I remember!" she cried. "It was Estrella!"
"What was?"
"The name of that lady detective. Estrella— Estrella—oh, I can't remember her last name, but I guess Estrella will do, won't it?"
"Yes, I should think so," Chub said. "It 's a fine-sounding name, all right. Roy, allow me to present you to Miss Estrella, the Lady Sleuth."
"What 's a sleuth?" asked Harry anxiously.
"Oh, that 's just a slang name for detective."
"Well, I don't believe lady detectives would use slang," she said. "So I guess I won't be a sleuth, if you don't mind, Chub."
"Have your own way about it. It does n 't make much difference what you call yourself, Harry, if you 'll only find out what Dick is up to. He 's got to be punished for the way he has treated us all. It—it 's a low-down trick, that 's what it is!"
"Yes, we owe him something," Roy agreed. "And we 'll pay him back, too. But we must try and make him think that we are n't watching him any more."
"Yes, lull his suspicions," said Chub.
"Then maybe he will get careless and we 'll catch him red-handed."
"Red-handed!" echoed Harry with gusto. "Is n't it lovely? I do wish I could start to-morrow, but I suppose you can't detect on Sunday!"
"Hardly," Roy agreed. "But on Monday we 'll begin in earnest. We must n't let him out of our sight a moment."
"I don't see how we can help letting him out of our sight," Chub objected. "We have our recitations to attend and Harry has to go to Silver Cove."
"Well, after school, then," answered Roy. "In the afternoon we 'l—we 'll—"
"Dog his very footsteps," aided Chub. "I read that somewhere; good, is n't it?"
"Fine,'' laughed Roy. "Little he recks—!"
"You dry up," growled Chub good-naturedly, "and come on home."
Harry went to the porch with them and there, at her suggestion, they clasped hands and cried "Revenge!" together in a thrilling chorus.
"We meet anon," said Chub. "Farewell!"
And thereupon Vidocq and Sherlock Holmes slunk away into the enveloping darkness, and Estrella, muttering "Revenge!" under her breath, closed the front door and stole stealthily into the library to ransack the shelves for the detective story which recounted the adventures and triumphs of her namesake.
The next day Dick was inclined to be chummy, but Roy and Chub repulsed his overtures coldly. And in the afternoon he once more disappeared and did n't show up again until supper-time. He spent most of the evening in the study-room, and although Roy and Chub watched him surreptitiously they were unable to gather any incriminating evidence, since he did nothing more enlightening than apply himself to his algebra lesson.
There was no hockey practice on Monday, and so when Roy had finished his last recitation in School Hall he hurried across toward the dormitory to dispose of his books, with the idea of then finding Dick before that mysterious youth had whisked himself out of sight. But before he had covered half of the distance between the two buildings he had forgotten all about Dick. For on the steps of Burgess stood a most remarkable figure. Roy stared and marveled. At first he thought he was looking at an elderly woman, but the next moment he changed his mind, for the small, slight form was youthful in spite of the attire. There was a vividly blue cloth skirt which swept the ground, a black fur cape, rather the worse for service, which reached almost to the waist, a large hat with brown feathers and a heavy black veil which completely hid the face. One hand clutched a silver-handled umbrella and the other was lost in the folds of the voluminous skirt.
"Well, that's a funny-looking scarecrow!" muttered Roy as he approached. The lady, whoever she was, seemed to be viewing him from behind the thick veil, and Roy ceased staring. But as he mounted the steps he could not resist another look. Through the close meshes of the veil he caught sight of two bright eyes and a rather impertinent nose, and—
"Revenge!" said a smothered voice.
Roy stopped and stared with wide-open mouth.
"I—I beg your pardon, ma-am!" he faltered, uncertain whether he had imagined it. "Did you speak?"
"Revenge!" said the voice again. Roy gasped.
"Harry!" he exclaimed incredulously.
"S-sh! Would you betray all?"
"Oh, but you 're a sight!" said Roy, standing off to obtain a better view of her. "Where 'd you get the clothes, Harry?" Then he leaned up against the opposite railing of the porch and gave way to mirth. Harry stamped her foot and thumped the silver-handled umbrella.
"Roy Porter, you 're just as mean as you can be!" she declared aggrievedly. "And you can do your own detecting!"
"But, Harry," Boy gasped, "if you could only see the way you look!"
"I don't care; I fooled you all right enough, Mister Smarty!"
"That 's so; I thought you were an old woman at first! It 's a dandy disguise, Harry."
"Do you really think so?" Harry asked, somewhat mollified. "I had a terrible time getting the things, because of course I could n't ask for them; if I had, my disguise would have been no longer a secret, would it!"
Roy shook his head.
"And so I had to swipe— borrow them, I mean, without saying anything to mama. And if I should meet her would n't she be surprised?" And Harry giggled behind the veil.
"I 'll just bet she would," laughed Roy. "Have you seen anything of—"
"S-sh! Some one approaches!" cried Harry. "Follow me, but take no notice!"
Several boys had come out on to the steps of School Hall and were looking curiously across. Harry seized the folds of the ridiculous blue skirt and lifted it so that she could walk without tripping over it. Then, raising the silver-handled umbrella in a gesture of caution she turned and stole stealthily into the building. Roy, vastly amused, followed. Harry crossed to the dining-room, opened the door and beckoned. To enter the dining-room outside of meal-hours was strictly against the rules, but Harry was a law unto herself, and Roy ventured after her. Then she closed the door, turned the key in the lock and raised the black veil.
"Now," she said, "we are safe for the moment."
"Yes, that 's all very well, but supposing Dick takes it into his silly head to disappear while we are in here talking?"
"Then we must find him."
"But we said we were going to watch for him and follow him. What 's the good of letting him get away? I left him in School Hall and he will be out in a few minutes."
"Well, maybe we 'd better go," said Harry. "But I did want to talk to you a minute."
"All right, go ahead. What do you want to talk about?"
"Do you think Dick would recognize—would penetrate my disguise if he met me?" she asked anxiously.
"I don't believe he 'd let you get near enough," answered Roy with a laugh. "I 'll bet if he saw you coming he 'd run a mile!"
"Now you 're being mean again," said Harry reproachfully.
"Well, honest then, Harry, I don't believe your own mother would know you!"
"But she 'd know her clothes," Harry said laughingly. "Supposing, then, that I go over toward School Hall and wait for him to come out. Then I can follow him and he won't suspect anything."
"All right, but I would n't let him think you are after him," Roy advised.
"Of course I sha'n't," answered Harry indignantly. "Don't you suppose I know more about— about detecting than that? I 'll just make believe that I 'm a visitor looking around the school. And maybe I 'll meet him and ask him some questions. Would n't that be funny?"
"He 'd know your voice in a minute," said Roy.
"I 'd disguise it, like this," Harry replied, sinking her voice until it sounded like the croak of a raven. "You could n't tell it was me, could you?"
"I should say not!" Roy declared with emphasis. "You sound the way Methuselah did the time he had a sore throat!"
"You 're not very complimentary," said Harry with a pout. "But I suppose detectives must n't mind that. Now I think we 'd better go, don't you?"
Roy agreed and Harry carefully lowered her veil. At the door she turned.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," she said. "I found that book last night after you went, and my name is Estrella De Vere. Is n't it lovely?"
"Fine and dandy!" answered Boy. "It sounds almost real."
He remained inside until Harry had passed down the steps and was sauntering with elaborate unconcern toward School Hall. Then he went out on to the porch and watched. Harry, her blue skirt trailing regally behind her, stopped in front of the entrance, leaned on her umbrella and studied the architecture of the building. A group of boys on the porch stopped talking and viewed her curiously. Presently, with a nod of approval, Harry turned and walked slowly up the path toward the Cottage, pausing at length to take in the details of that modest structure quite as thoroughly. The boys on the porch, Roy observed, were laughing and making fun of the queer figure. At that moment the door of School Hall opened again and Dick hurried out and along the path toward Harry, who had now turned and was sauntering back toward the hall. As he went he cast a quick and cautious glance about him and Roy, although he tried to draw back out of sight, knew that Dick had seen him. Dick's gaze now was on the person in the black veil. When he reached the place where the path to the Cottage branched off from the road to the barn he seemed to hesitate an instant. Then he turned to the right toward the Cottage and Estrella De Vere.
By this time Harry had made up her mind to a desperate venture. As Dick reached her she sank her voice to sepulchral tones.
"Pardon me, young man," she said, "but can you tell me what building that is?" She pointed the umbrella toward School Hall.
Dick stopped and touched his cap, looking very intently at the black veil. But Harry kept her head averted as much as she could and flattered herself that Dick was far from suspecting her identity. But she did wish he would n't look so hard!
"Yes, ma'am," answered Dick. "That is the Biological Laboratory." Harry gave a gasp. "And further along," pointing out the dormitory, "you see the Astronomical Observatory." Harry gasped again. Dick swung around and indicated the gymnasium. "And that building, ma'am, is called Somes Hall in honor of Mr. Richard Somes, who gave the money for it. It cost two million dollars and contains the Phrenological and Optimistic departments."
Harry had a wild desire to giggle, but conquered it. She wondered for an instant whether Dick knew her, after all, and was trying to tease her. The expression of his face, which was one of the utmost seriousness, told her nothing. She almost forgot to disguise her voice as she answered him.
"Thank you so much," she said. "And— and the small house here?"
"Oh, that 's the Insane Asylum," answered Dick readily. "I have but one case confined there at present, a young girl. It 's really very sad, ma'am. I don't think she will ever be any better. She imagines"—he dropped his voice to a confidential whisper—"she imagines that she 's a detective ! Very sad, really!"
He touched his cap again, gravely and politely, and went on toward the Cottage, leaving Harry a prey to conflicting emotions, the strongest of which was exasperation.
"Now how did he know me?" she wondered. "I think he 's just as mean as he can be!"
She stood motionless and watched Dick ring the bell. In a moment the door was opened and he passed into the Cottage.
"And what do you suppose he 's gone there for?" she asked herself. "Perhaps he 's going to tell mama that I 'm out here with her old blue skirt and fur cape on! Let him I I think he 's the meanest—!"
But at that moment the mystery was explained. She had put up one hand to make certain of the arrangement of her veil, which since she had first donned it had been giving her not a little trouble, and discovered that it had become undone at the back, leaving exposed a small expanse of red hair.
"That 's how he knew!" she exclaimed. "If it had n't been for that he 'd have been fooled just as Roy was! Beastly old veil! And I just know he 's told mama and they 're having a lovely joke about it! I 'm going in!"
She hurried to the Cottage and attempted the front door, only to find that it was locked. Wrathfully she rang the bell. Steps sounded in the hall, the door was opened a little and Mrs. Emery's face appeared for a brief moment. Then,
"Nothing to-day, thank you," said her mother, and the door closed again sharply before Harry had recovered from her surprise. Then she beat upon the portal with the umbrella and stabbed at the button until the bell fairly outdid itself. A window opened up-stairs and Mrs. Emery put her head out.
"If you don't go away at once," she said, "I 'll call the man to put you off the grounds. We don't allow peddlers here."
"I 'm not a peddler!" cried Harry. "I want to get in! I 'm Harry!"
"What! Harry?" exclaimed her mother. "Well, I am surprised!"
But Harry noticed that she was smiling broadly as she closed the window and disappeared. In a moment the door was opened and Harry passed inside, a little bit sulky.
"You knew it was me," she declared. "You just did it to tease me!"
"What, knew you in those clothes?" asked her mother. "Why, how could I, my dear? And with that veil over your face? And tied so neatly, too!"
"Yes, you did know; Dick told you! And he 's as mean as mean can be!"
"Dick? No, Dick did n't tell me, my dear. But I saw you leaving the house half an hour ago and found my blue skirt missing."
"Where 's Dick?" demanded Harry.
"Oh, he's been gone a long time, I guess. He came and asked if he might pass through the house and go out by the back door; he said you and he were playing a game called— Detective, was n't it? So I told him he might and the last I saw of him from my window he was climbing over the hedge into the ball field."
Harry sank into a chair, the black veil trailing from one hand and the silver-handled umbrella in the other.
"Foiled again!" she cried despairingly.
to be continued...
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