Peachy's Pranks
"I'm sorry to have to announce it," said Peachy, "but my spirits are
fizzing over, and I guess if I don't go just the teeniest weeniest bit
on the rampage I'll fly all to pieces and make a scene. Sometimes I'm
tingling down to my toes and I've just _got_ to explode. Being good is a
lonesome job."
Peachy was sitting with Irene and Delia on one of the marble seats at
the bottom of the lemon pergola. It was a favorite spot with the girls,
for it was sheltered from the prevailing wind and the flowers grew
particularly luxuriantly. Lovely irises were blooming, white narcissus,
wallflowers, and beds of Parma violets, and the beautiful delicate
blossom of the arbutula drooped from an archway that spanned the path.
Irene, who was used by this time to Peachy's whimsical moods, laid aside
the book she was reading and laughed.
"Poor old sport! You've evidently got it badly to-day. What can we do
for you? How, where, and when do you want to rampage?"
Peachy shook her head dolefully.
"I don't know. Only wish I did. I'm tired of doing the same things over
and over again every day. Getting up in the morning and dressing myself,
having breakfast, going to classes, having dinner, grinding at prep,
playing tennis, having tea and supper, and undressing and going to bed.
I want to sleep in my clothes or go to class in my wrapper just for a
change, and I'd like tennis in the morning and tea instead of dinner.
I'm tired of the house and the garden. I want to dodge Antonio and go
through the big gate and run down the road. I tell you I want to do
absolutely anything that's weird and impossible and out of the ordinary.
Yes, I know I'm wrought up. I'm just crazy for a real frolic. Who'll
play 'Follow my Leader'?"
"If you won't do anything _too_ outrageous," ventured Delia, replacing a
dainty piece of sewing inside her workbag, and preparing to fall in with
her friend's mood. "I've had one little difference with Miss Bickford
this week, and if I have another Miss Rodgers may cut up rough and stop
my next exeat."
"Honest Injun, I'll take all the blame if blame there is. Renie, dearie,
you're coming too?"
"Got to, I suppose," chuckled Irene. "When the Queen of the South arises
and gives her orders her slaves must 'tremble and obey.'"
"Not much trembling about you. Come on and be sports, both of you. Are
you ready? Do as your Granny tells you then, and off we go."
The game of "Follow my Leader," as every schoolgirl knows, consists in
exactly imitating everything which is done by your chief, no matter what
extraordinary and peculiar antics she may perform. To submit to Peachy's
guidance in the present exalted state of her spirits was a decided leap
in the dark, but Irene and Delia were ready for fun, and prepared to
take a few risks. At first their light-hearted companion contented
herself with running in and out among the lemon trees, walking along the
low wall of the terrace, jumping the culvert, or easy physical feats,
then, having slightly worked off steam, she stood for a moment and
paused to reflect.
"Christopher Columbus! I guess I know what I'll do. I've an exploring
fit on me, and if I can't find America I'll find something else new and
undiscovered. Here goes."
Peachy, with her satellites in her train, plunged her way across the
garden in the direction of the kitchen. She had suddenly remembered an
object which had more than once set her curiosity a-galloping. In the
yard outside the scullery there was an iron staircase intended for use
as a fire-escape from the servants' bedrooms, and also as a means of
mounting the roof when workmen wished to attend to the chimney-pots. Up
here she was determined to go. Fortunately the maids were safely inside
the kitchen, and the defenses were left unguarded.
"This is my Jacob's ladder," she proclaimed. "Who'll follow me to the
sky?"
"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the spider to the fly,
''Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy!
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you're there.'"
"Go on, you lunatic," giggled Irene.
"And be quick about it if you don't want Dominica clattering at your
heels," added Delia.
So they clambered up the steep iron stairway, and, passing by the door
that led to the servants' apartments, they climbed on till they reached
the roof. This part of the Villa Camellia was _terra incognita_ to the
school. They decided hastily, however, that it would be a very desirable
acquisition. It was a large flat expanse covered with lead, and edged
with a low battlement. It was evidently used by the maids, for a
clothes-line was stretched between two chimneys, and a row of towels
hung out to dry. The view was adorable. It was like being on the top of
a mountain. They could see the town of Fossato, and a wide expanse of
water, and Vesuvius, and the distant outline of Naples all spread in a
panorama before them, besides having an excellent bird's-eye prospect of
the garden below. Peachy, who was ready to do anything wild, went
dancing about like a will-o'-the-wisp.
"Light and airy--light and airy,
Sure, I feel a sort of fairy,"
she extemporized. "Renie Beverley, you're not mad enough! Give me your
hand. I tell you you've got to dance. We're witches who've flown over on
our broomsticks and alighted here, and we'll have a frolic before we go
back to--wherever we came from. Hello, what's this business? It looks
like a water-tank. Give me a boost, somebody, for I'm going up to see."
It was rather a scramble even for Peachy's agile limbs, but she was
resolved thoroughly to explore the capacities of the roof, and the
cistern must not be left unvisited. She clung on to its slippery side
and peered down at her own reflection in the water below.
"No idea I looked so nice," she perked. "The blue sky makes a charming
background. Really, a pool is quite a becoming mirror. Does anybody else
want to come up and peep? It's like looking at the view-finder of a
camera. Rather painful hanging on, though. I think I'll drop if you're
neither of you coming. Oh, botheration! I've lost my hair ribbon. It's
gone right down inside the cistern. Well! It's done for now. I can't
possibly fish it out."
"It wasn't your best!" consoled Delia.
"No, but the only scarlet one I possess, and just at present I've a
wild fad for scarlet. I get crazes for various colors. Last term I'd
look at nothing but pale blue, till Bertha Ford got that new blue
chiffon dress, and that, of course, set me against it forevermore. I'd a
rage for tartan once, only Jess was rather nasty about it; she thinks no
one in the school has a right to wear Scotch plaids except herself. I've
spent all my pocket money for this week, so I can't buy another ribbon
till next Saturday. I shall have to go about in pink. Miau! I'll be such
a good little pussy-cat. I'm sure different colors make me good or bad.
Don't laugh at me! I mean it! I'm a different person according to what I
wear."
For a short time the girls loitered about on the roof, enjoying the
novelty of their position, and particularly the fact that they were on
unlicensed ground, and would undoubtedly get into trouble if they were
caught by Dominica or Anastasia. Naughty Peachy, to play the maids a
trick, took down the row of towels, folded them neatly, and placed them
in a pile behind the cistern, chuckling over the prospect of Anastasia's
consternation when she came up to fetch them and found them missing.
"I owe her something for breaking my pink alabaster vase," she
announced. "She's an awful smasher with her duster--just goes surging
ahead over our mantelpiece and sends our ornaments flying. Mary's
Pompeii pots went to smithereens yesterday. Now, Signorina Anastasia,
you won't find your towels in too big a hurry. I guess I've paid you
out."
"She'll pay _you_ out if she catches us up here," suggested Delia, who
was anxious not to forfeit her exeat. "Hadn't we better be getting a
move on?"
"Words of wisdom, my child, fall from your lips like pearls and
diamonds. The same sage thought was occurring to your humble servant.
Anastasia has what is commonly called a tart tongue, and an inconvenient
and inconsiderate habit of reporting trifles at headquarters. It would
be quite unnecessary of her to mention to Miss Rodgers that she had seen
us here, but I believe she'd go out of her way to do it."
"I'm sure she would, bad luck to her. Lead on, MacDuff! Let's descend
from the Highlands to the Lowlands."
"We may find further sport farther afield. I'm not at the end of my
resources yet. I've an idea or two more in my head," nodded Peachy,
escorting her friends down the staircase to the comparative safety of
the back yard.
There was no doubt that Peachy was in an exceedingly mischievous mood
and ready for any prank which came to hand. She dodged with her
followers successfully past the kitchen door, without attracting the
hostile attention of Anastasia or any other of the servants. She was
bent on exploring a patch of the garden which was only accessible from
the rear of the scullery. She had observed it from the vantage-ground of
the roof, and had decided that, by climbing on to a low shed, it would
be quite possible to scale the wall which divided the grounds of the
Villa Camellia from those of its next door neighbor. The girls had
always been extremely curious about the Villa Sutri. From their
dormitory windows they could catch a glimpse of its green shutters and
creeper-covered walls, set away among a thick grove of trees, and they
had decided that its garden looked immensely superior to their own. The
estate belonged to Count Sutri, who often spent part of the winter and
spring among his orange groves and his flowery pergolas. He was supposed
to have a reputation for gardening, and rumors of his wonderful exotics
had circulated round the school. None of the girls, however, had ever
actually been inside the grounds.
Peachy's project was, of course, extremely audacious, and had the Count
been at home she would hardly have dared to let it materialize. She had
heard Mrs. Clark mention on Sunday that their neighbor had started for a
cruise in his yacht, and that he would probably be away for a
considerable time.
"The Villa will be shut up, and only a few gardeners left about the
place," declared Peachy, "and if I know anything of Italian gardeners,
they'll all be sitting smoking inside the summer-house, so we needn't
trouble ourselves to worry about them. It's the opportunity of a
lifetime. I saw the whole thing in a flash from the roof. There's a shed
on our side of the wall and a shed on his. All you have to do is to step
over and get down. Nothing could be simpler. I'm just aching to explore
that garden."
Delia, still thinking of her exeat, demurred, and even Irene's valor
slightly quailed.
"Oh, come on! Be sports!" tempted Peachy. "You'll never get such a
chance in your lives again--never."
So they hesitated, and were lost, and finally followed their leader up
the low, sloping roof of the shed.
As Peachy had prophesied, it was really remarkably easy. They had only
to scale quite a low piece of wall, and drop on to the roof of the shed
on the other side, then scramble down into Count Sutri's garden. In less
than five minutes the feat was accomplished, and three rather awed but
delighted girls were speeding along a green alley in quest of adventure.
There was no doubt about it being a beautiful garden. It was more
carefully kept than that of the Villa Camellia, and contained choicer
and rarer flowers. There were glorious tanks of water-lilies, and there
were pergolas of sweet-scented creepers, and the statues and arbors
utterly eclipsed even those of a public park. It was evidently the
Count's favorite hobby, and he had spared no expense in laying out the
grounds. Rather fearful of being caught by some chance gardener the
girls walked on, holding themselves in readiness to dive away if
necessary and make a quick escape.
"Do you feel like Adam and Eve in Paradise?" queried Delia tremulously.
"Not a bit, because they never got back after they were once turned out.
I wish we could annex this place and add it on to the Villa Camellia.
The Count can't want it while he's away."
The girls wandered about in breathless enjoyment. Stolen waters are
sweet, and somebody else's garden seemed much more attractive than their
own. They did not dare to venture too near the Villa, and kept carefully
away from anything that looked like a grotto or a summer-house, in which
they might find a gardener seated, enjoying his cigarette. At the end of
a rose pergola, however, Peachy made a discovery. It was neither more
nor less than a flight of steps leading down to a door in the ground.
She stood gazing at it with curiosity.
"Now I wonder what that is?" she exclaimed.
[Illustration: "'I WONDER WHAT THAT IS?' SHE EXCLAIMED"
--_Page 183_]
"Looks like the entrance to a mausoleum," shuddered Delia.
"Or the strong room where the Count keeps his money," laughed Irene.
"I don't believe it's either. I shouldn't be surprised if it's the
passage leading to the sea. I know there is one in the Sutri garden, to
get down to the bathing cove. How priceless if we've happened to light
upon it. Is that door open? I'm going to see."
Peachy ran down the steps, turned the handle, and somewhat to her own
astonishment found the door unlocked. She was peering into a long dark
tunnel, at the end of which could be distinguished a faint glint of
light. This was indeed an adventure. It seemed a deed of daring to
explore such hidden depths, but she was out to take risks that
afternoon.
"Come along!" she commanded, bracing up the spirits of her more timorous
comrades.
Holding one another's arms particularly tightly, the three entered the
doorway and began to walk along the underground passage. It sloped
sharply downwards, and was rough under foot, but the farther they
descended the brighter grew the light in front of them. Presently they
had stumbled out of the darkness, and were emerging from a tunnel at the
foot of the cliffs, and stepping out on to the sandy shore of a little
cove.
It had always been a great grievance at the Villa Camellia that the
school had no bathing place, and the girls had greatly coveted the creek
which was the exclusive property of their neighbor, Count Sutri. To find
themselves on a level with the sea, facing the lapping waves, was
exactly what they had hoped. They ran along the sand in huge delight, to
the very edge of the water. It was really a beautiful cove. There were
groups of rocks with smooth pools amongst them, and in the silvery sand
were numbers of tiny fragile shells, very pretty and delicate, and just
the thing for a collection.
"It's a shame it should all belong to one man who probably hardly ever
uses it," flamed Peachy. "Now, if only we could all come down here to
bathe, wouldn't it be a stunt? The cove is really mostly under the
garden of the Villa Camellia. _I_ say it ought to belong to us."
"It's ours for the moment at any rate," said Irene.
"Yes, isn't it great? We've got it all to ourselves," rejoiced Delia,
dancing along the beach with outstretched arms, like an incarnation of
Zephyr or a spring vision of a sea-nymph. She skimmed over the sand
almost as if she were flying, but, as she reached the largest group of
rocks, her exalted mood suddenly dissipated and her high spirits came
down to earth with a thud. Sitting on the other side of the rock, calmly
smoking a cigar, was a middle-aged individual in a tweed coat and a soft
hat. The creek, which they had imagined was their private paradise, was
occupied after all.
Delia fled back to her friends, this time on wings of fright, and
communicated her awful discovery.
"It must be Count Sutri," gasped Peachy.
"He can't have started off in his yacht after all," agreed Irene.
"I don't _think_ he saw me, but I'm not sure about it," panted Delia
breathlessly.
"Whether he did or he didn't we'd better scoot quick," opined Peachy.
So three agitated girls dashed back over the sands and into the dark
tunnel, and hurried as fast as they could up the underground passage,
expecting every moment to hear a footstep behind them and a voice
demanding to know what they were doing trespassing upon the premises. At
the top of the tunnel a horrible surprise awaited them. The door through
which they had entered was shut and bolted. At first they could hardly
believe their ill luck. They groped for the handle in the darkness, and
pushed and pulled and turned and tugged, but all in vain. They even
thumped on the door and called, hoping to attract the attention of a
gardener, but there was no reply. They were hopelessly locked inside the
underground passage.
Now thoroughly frightened they were almost in tears.
"We shall have to go back to the cove," faltered Irene.
"And show ourselves to Count Sutri, and ask him to take us back
somehow," gulped Peachy.
"We're in for the biggest row of our lives with Miss Rodgers," choked
Delia.
There was certainly nothing else to be done. Time was passing quickly,
and unless they could return at once to the Villa Camellia they would be
late for preparation. Very sadly and soberly they walked back along the
seashore to the rocks.
"_You_ explain, Peachy," urged the others, and Peachy, though she did
not relish the task thus thrust upon her, acknowledged that she was the
instigator of the whole affair and therefore responsible for helping her
companions out of a decidedly awkward situation.
The gentleman in the soft hat was still sitting under the shadow of the
rock smoking, but he rose and threw away his cigar as the deputation of
three advanced to address him. Peachy, in her very best Italian, began
to stammer out an explanation and excuses. He listened for a moment or
two, then shook his head and interrupted.
"Sorry I don't speak much Italian. I'm afraid I don't quite understand."
"O-o-h! You're American!" gasped Peachy, her face one broad smile of
relief. "We--we thought you were Count Sutri."
"I haven't that honor! I'm only plain Mr. Bond. I've taken the Count's
villa, though, for two months. Can I be of any service to you?"
"We're Americans too," sparkled Peachy; "at least Delia and I are. We're
at school at the Villa Camellia up there. I--I'm sorry to say we're
trespassing here. We climbed over the wall into your garden and came
down the passage to the shore, and now the door's locked and we can't
get back again."
"And it's nearly preparation time," added Delia desperately.
Mr. Bond's eyes twinkled with amusement.
"I'll take you back," he offered. "It was hard luck to find the door
locked. I've hardly explored the place properly myself yet. I came down
in the lift."
"The lift!" exclaimed Irene in surprise.
"Yes, here it is, and a very convenient arrangement too," said Mr.
Bond, leading the way into an artificial cave close at hand.
Here to the girls' amazement was a perfectly modern and up-to-date
"ascenseur," nicely upholstered and lighted by electricity. Mr. Bond
ushered his visitors inside, closed the door, pressed a button, and
immediately they shot aloft, landing ultimately in a kiosk in Count
Sutri's garden at the top of the cliff. Feeling as if a magician had
used occult means to transport them back to safety, the girls gazed
round highly delighted to find themselves out of the cove. Their host,
to whom they hastily confided some details of how they had penetrated
into his premises, fetched a ladder, and by its aid they mounted to the
roof of the shed, and skipped over the wall on to the top of their own
wood-hut.
"You won't tell Miss Rodgers?" begged Peachy, waving a good-by to their
rescuer after they had all protested their gratitude.
"I guess I know how to keep a secret," he laughed. "I won't betray you.
Hope you'll be in time. There goes your school bell. You've run it fine
but I believe you'll just do it if you hustle up."
Three breathless girls, with minds much too agitated to apply
themselves properly to French translation, slipped into the Villa
Camellia at the eleventh hour, and answered "present" as their names
were read on the roll-call. Peachy's disheveled hair drew down a rebuke
from Miss Bickford, but this was such a very minor evil that she took it
meekly, smoothed the offending elf-locks with her fingers, and composed
her dimples to an expression of docile humility.
"We got out of that very well," she purred in private afterwards.
"Thanks to Mr. Bond and the lift," agreed Irene.
"I guess I'm not going to try anything so risky again," declared Delia.
"It was the fix of my life. I'll be down with nervous prostration
to-morrow. Shouldn't wonder if I raise a temperature to-night. Peachy
Proctor, you may coax and tease as you like, but nothing you say will
ever induce me to climb that wall and go into Count Sutri's garden
again. It's not worth the thrills. Sorry to be a crab, but I mean it."