The Villa Bleue
Delia's good resolution remained only half fulfilled, for after all she
visited Count Sutri's cove again. This time, however, it was in a
perfectly orthodox fashion. Mr. and Mrs. Bond, meeting Miss Morley at
the house of an American resident in Fossato, invited the whole school
to come and view the garden on Sunday afternoon, and clad in their best
dresses the girls paraded in through the gate, and were shown the
beauties of the lovely grounds. They were taken in relays down in the
lift to the creek by the sea, and afterwards entertained with ice-cream
and biscuits on the terrace in front of the villa, which was all very
interesting and delightful, though not nearly so exciting as the
surreptitious peep which the naughty trio had previously obtained on
their own account. Mr. Bond might indeed be silent on the subject of
that afternoon's adventure, but the expedition into his grounds had been
only a part of Peachy's pranks in her game of "Follow the Leader," and
for one of her sins at any rate she was to be called to account. The
cistern on the top of the roof supplied a tap on the upper landing from
which Anastasia, one of the chambermaids, was accustomed to draw water
with which to fill the bedroom jugs.
On the morning after the events just narrated she took her can as usual,
but was utterly horrified, when she turned the tap, to find the water
running red. She was intensely superstitious, and immediately jumped to
the conclusion that she was the victim of witchcraft, so she flung her
apron over her head, commenced to sob, and deplored the early death
which would probably overtake her. She sat on the landing making quite a
scene, prophesying evil to the other servants who crowded round to
condole and marvel, and showing the bewitched water in her jug with a
mixture of importance and horror. The girls who occupied rooms on the
upper landing were duly thrilled, and, after debating every possible or
impossible solution of the mystery, were on the point of carrying the
tale to Miss Rodgers when Peachy came hurrying along.
"I've only just heard. Don't, _don't_ go to the 'Ogre's Den' about it.
If you love me don't. I guess I know what's happened. The water's _not_
bewitched. If you've any sense left in your silly head come with me on
to the roof and we'll look at the cistern. We'll soon find out what's
the matter. Callie, lend me your butterfly-net, that's a saintly girl!"
Anastasia, though somewhat protesting, allowed herself to be persuaded,
and went with Peachy first to the kitchen floor and then up the iron
staircase to the roof. Approaching the cistern Peachy climbed on to its
edge, lowered her butterfly-net, and presently fished up a wet and
draggled scarlet ribbon which stained her fingers red as she held it out
to Anastasia's astonished gaze.
"I guess it's this that has been bleeding inside the tank and has
stained the water," she explained.
"But, Signorina, I ask how it place itself there?" demanded the still
puzzled chambermaid in her halting English, then mother-wit
overmastering native superstition, she burst into laughter. "Oh! Oh! Oh!
It is no magic but you, Signorina. Who hid my towels? I go to tell Mees
Rodgers. Yes! You shall get into very big scrape!"
"No, Anastasia, don't tell," implored Peachy. "It was only a joke. Look
here! Are you fond of chocolates? I had a box sent me yesterday, and you
shall have them all. It won't do any good to tell Miss Rodgers, will
it?"
"You not come on to this roof again and touch my towels?" conceded
Anastasia doubtfully.
"Never! I promise faithfully."
"Then I not tell."
"Good! You're a white angel. I'll square the girls and get them not to
mind washing in pink water for a day or two. It ought to improve their
complexions. So we'll just say nothing at all about it at headquarters.
That's settled. Anastasia, your English is improving wonderfully; I
guess I'll teach you some American next--it's the finest language in the
world. Botheration, I've soused Callie's butterfly-net. I don't know
what she'll say about it. I'm out of one scrape into another the whole
time. Well, I'd rather face Callie than Miss Rodgers anyhow. She may
storm, but she can't give me bad marks or stop my next exeat. Come
along, Anastasia. We'll take the ribbon with us to show as a trophy. It
will give them a little bit of a surprise downstairs if I'm not
mistaken."
Owing to luck, and to the kindness of Anastasia, Peachy's pranks did
not on this occasion meet with any punishment. Irene, who had been
greatly fearing an exposure of the whole escapade, once more breathed
freely. If the matter had come to the ears of Miss Rodgers the three
girls would certainly have been "gated," and Irene was particularly
anxious not to lose her approaching exeat. It was her turn to go to tea
at the Villa Bleue, and she was looking forward greatly to the occasion.
It would be her first visit, for she had forfeited her privilege earlier
in the term, when she and Lorna lost themselves among the olive groves.
Much to their satisfaction the buddies were invited together, in company
with Mary, Sheila, Monica, and Winnie, who were also on the good conduct
list. Of course there was considerable prinking in front of the
looking-glasses, careful adjusting of hair ribbons and other trifles of
toilet, before the girls considered themselves in party trim and ready
to do credit to the Villa Camellia. Escorted by Miss Brewster, who acted
chaperon, or "policewoman" as Sheila insisted on calling her, they
walked in orderly file down the eucalyptus avenue to the town, past the
hotel, along the esplanade, and up a steep incline to the Villa Bleue.
The hospitable little parsonage seemed an exact materialization of the
personality of its owners. Canon and Mrs. Clark were both small and
smiling and charitable and particularly kind, and their tiny
unpretentious dwelling, with its sunny aspect and its flowers and its
pet birds, was absolutely in keeping with their tone of mind. From some
houses seem to emanate certain mental atmospheres, as if they reflected
the sum total of the thoughts that have collected there, and sensitive
visitors receive subconscious impressions of chilly magnificence,
intellectual activity or a spirit of general tolerance.
The Villa Bleue always felt radiant with kind and cheery impulses, and
its flower-covered walls seemed almost to shine as the girls, secure of
a welcome, parted from Miss Brewster, and ran up the steps to the
pleasant veranda. Mrs. Clark made them at home at once. She had six cosy
basket-chairs waiting for them, and a plateful of most delicious almond
taffy, and she installed them to sit and admire the view, while she
talked and put them at their ease. Schoolgirls are notoriously bashful
visitors, and in certain circumstances all six would have been mum as
mice and entirely devoid of conversation except a conventional yes or
no, but with dear Mrs. Clark's beaming face and warm-hearted manner to
disarm their shyness they were perfectly natural, and enjoyed themselves
as entirely as if they were at a dormitory tea or a sorority supper. The
best part about Mrs. Clark was that she had the happy knack of
forgetting her age and throwing herself back into the mental environment
of sixteen. She was certainly not a stiff hostess; indeed her treatment
of her guests was less conventional than that adopted by Rachel Moseley
at the prefects' parties; she laughed and chatted and asked questions
about the school, till in a few minutes the girls were chattering like
sparrows and behaving as if they had known her for years.
Tea was set out on little basket tables in the veranda, and there were
all the delicious home-made things for which the Villa Bleue had gained
a just reputation--brown scones and honey, potato cakes, Scotch
shortbread, buttered oatmeal biscuits, iced lemon sandwich cake, and
chocolate fingers.
When tea was taken away and the basket tables were once more free, Mrs.
Clark produced dainty cards and scarlet pencils and organized a
competition. It was entitled "Nursery Rhymes," and contained twenty
questions to be answered by the competitors. These ran as follows:
NURSERY RHYMES COMPETITION
1. Who made Cock Robin's shroud?
2. Who was exhausted by family cares?
3. Who disliked insects?
4. Who showed an interest in
horticulture?
5. Who summoned an orchestra?
6. Who pursued matrimonial intentions
without the parental sanction?
7. Who showed religious intolerance?
8. Who took a joint that did not belong
to him?
9. Who deplored the loss of hand gear?
10. Whose salary was restricted owing to
slackness in work?
11. What animal pursued horological
investigations?
12. Who made the record high jump?
13. Who wore a superfluity of jewelry?
14. Whose culinary efforts were
temporarily confiscated?
15. Who pulled Pussy from the well?
16. Who slept instead of attending to
business?
17. Who exhibited sanctimonious
satisfaction over a meal?
18. Who lost a number of domestic
animals?
19. Who had an accident during the
performance of their duty?
20. Who was mutilated by a bird?
Some of the questions seemed easy and some were difficult. The girls
sat puzzling over them, and writing the answers when they got
inspiration. Irene scribbled away delightedly, but Lorna, who had almost
forgotten the nursery rhymes of her childhood, was in much
mystification, and only filled in a few of the vacant spaces. Numbers 6,
7, 13 and 14 proved the most baffling and no one was able to solve all
twenty.
After allowing a considerable laxity in respect of time Mrs. Clark rang
the bell and declared the competition closed. The girls changed cards,
and waited with interest while their hostess read out the answers.
ANSWERS TO NURSERY RHYMES COMPETITION
1. I, said the beetle,
With my thread and needle.
2. The old woman who lived in a shoe.
3. Miss Muffet.
4. Mary, Mary, quite contrary.
5. Old King Cole, who called for his fiddlers three.
6. Froggie would a-wooing go,
Whether his mother would let him or no.
7. Goosey goosey gander,
Whither do you wander,
Upstairs, downstairs,
In my lady's chamber.
There I met an old man
Who wouldn't say his prayers,
So I took him by the left leg
And threw him down the stairs.
8. Taffy was a Welshman,
Taffy was a thief,
Taffy came to my house
And stole a piece of beef.
9. Three little kittens
Lost their mittens
And they began to cry.
10. Johnny shall have a new master
And he shall have but a penny a day,
Because he won't work any faster.
11. Dickery, dickery, dock!
The mouse ran up the clock!
12. The cow jumped over the moon.
13. The fair lady of Banbury Cross.
Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
She shall have music wherever she goes.
14. The Queen of Heart's tarts.
15. Little Tommy Trout.
16. Little Boy Blue.
17. Little Jack Horner.
18. Little Bo Peep.
19. Jack and Jill.
20. The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes,
When by came a blackbird
And nipped off her nose.
There was a good deal of laughter over the competition and much counting
up of marks. Irene, who had scored eighteen out of the possible twenty,
came out top, and was accordingly handed the pretty little photograph
frame which formed the prize.
"I only got six," mourned Lorna. "I was a perfect duffer at it."
"I had fifteen," purred Sheila, "but I couldn't for the life of me
remember who made Cock Robin's shroud, or who pulled Pussy out of the
well."
"It's such ages since I read any nursery rhymes," said Monica.
"That's just the fun of it, of course!" declared Mary. "Did you make up
the questions, Mrs. Clark?"
"No, I got the Canon to compose them. He'll be glad you liked them. Oh,
here he comes. He had to go to a committee meeting this afternoon. Did
you get tea, dear, at Major Littleton's?" (to her husband). "That's
right! Then sit down on this comfy chair and entertain us, please."
"Rather a big order," laughed Canon Clark, shaking hands with his young
visitors, and taking the proffered seat. "How do you want to be
entertained? No sermons to-day?" and his eyes twinkled. "Don't all speak
at once. I'm beginning to get nervous!"
"You can tell the most beautiful stories," suggested Sheila, who had
paid visits before to the Villa Bleue and knew the capabilities of her
host.
"Oh, yes, please, _do_ tell us a story!" agreed the others. "We'd like
it better than anything."
"I have one inside my desk which is just ready to send off to a
magazine. If it won't bore you to listen to it, I'll read it aloud and
let you judge whether it has any interest in it or not. An audience of
schoolgirls ought to be severe critics. As a rule they're omnivorous
readers of fiction. If you turn it down I shall tear it up."
"Oh, but we shan't!"
"_Please_ begin!"
Thus urged, Canon Clark fetched a manuscript from his study, and after
passing round the plate of taffy, to "sweeten his narrative" as he put
it, he sat down in his basket-chair on the veranda and began to read.
"THE LUCK OF DACREPOOL
"I had known Jack Musgrave out East; we had chummed
at Mandalay, messed together at Singapore, hunted
big game up in Kashmir, and shot tigers in Bengal,
and, when we said good-by, as he boarded the
homeward-bound steamer at Madras, it was with a
cordial invitation on his part that I should look
him up if ever I happened to penetrate into the
remote corner of Cumberland where his family acres
were situated.
"For a year or two my affairs kept me in India, and
nothing seemed more unlikely than that--for the
present, at any rate--Jack and I should cross paths
again, but by one of those strange chances which
sometimes occur in this world I found myself, on
the Christmas Eve of 190-, standing on the platform
of Holdergate Station, having missed the connection
for Scotland, and with the pleasing prospect before
me of spending the night, and possibly--if trains
were not available--the ensuing Christmas Day at
the one very second-rate inn in the village.
"It was then that I remembered that Holdergate was
the nearest station to Dacrepool Grange, and that,
if Jack's memory still held good, I might find a
hearty welcome and spend a pleasant evening
recalling old times and discussing past shots,
instead of putting up with the inferior
accommodation offered by the landlady of the King's
Arms. As no one either at the station or in the
village seemed willing to vouchsafe me definite
information as to whether the owner of Dacrepool
was at home or abroad, parrying my inquiries with
such scant courtesy and in so uncouth and
unintelligible a dialect as to be scarce
understood, I resolved to chance it, and with some
difficulty hiring a farmer's gig, I started out on
a six-mile drive over the bleak moorlands, which
seemed to stretch as far as the eye could reach in
a dim vista of brown heath and distant snow-clad
fell. It was a dreary and unseasonable evening,
with a damp mist rising from the sodden ground, and
occasional falls of sleet, mingled with rain that
chilled one to the bone. I buttoned my coat closely
round my throat, and braced my nerves to meet the
elements, hoping I might find my reward at the end
of my journey, and inwardly cursing every mile of
the rough road.
"But even Cumberland miles cannot wind on forever,
and my Jehu at length drew up at a massive stone
gateway, which he assured me formed the entrance to
Dacrepool Grange. There was neither light nor sound
in the lodge, nor did any one come out in answer to
our impatient calls, so we had perforce to open the
gates for ourselves. They creaked on their rusty
hinges, as if they had not been unclosed for many a
day, and when I noted the neglected drive, where
the overhanging trees swept our faces as we passed,
I began to fear that I had come on a fool's errand,
and that I should find the house shut up and my
friend abroad.
"On this point, however, my driver reassured me.
'Nay, oo'be to home, theer's a light i' yon
winder,' he said, pointing with his whip where a
faint streak of yellow shone like a beacon into the
surrounding gloom. The moon was struggling through
the clouds, and I could dimly discern the outline
of the quaint gabled front of the house, with its
mullioned windows, and masses of clinging ivy.
Dismounting at the old stone porch, I seized the
knocker and beat a mighty tattoo. There was no
reply. Even the light had disappeared from the
window almost simultaneously with the approach of
our carriage wheels, and though I hammered for
fully five minutes I failed to obtain the slightest
response to my knocks. I was on the point of
turning away in despair and driving back in the gig
to Holdergate, when a sound of footsteps was heard
within, together with an unbolting and unbarring,
the door was opened about six inches on the chain,
and a hard-featured woman peeped cautiously out
into the darkness.
"I at once proclaimed my identity and my errand,
but, by the light of the candle which she held in
her hand, she looked me up and down with a glance
of keen distrust and evident disfavor. 'How am I to
know it is as you say?' she replied guardedly, and
without making any move to grant me admittance.
"'Then fetch your master,' I exclaimed with some
heat, thrusting my card into her hand. 'He should
know my name at any rate, though he seems to have
trained you in strange notions of hospitality to
keep a guest standing on the doorstep on a bitter
evening in December.'
"Grumbling under her breath she went away, and I
was half inclined to follow her example and quit
this very unpromising spot, when a quick step
resounded in the hall, the door was flung open
wide, and I was dragged forcibly into the house by
my friend Jack, who hailed me with such unfeigned
delight and enthusiasm that there could be little
doubt of the genuineness of his welcome.
"'You've sprung upon us at a queer time, as it
happens, old man, but if you don't mind taking
pot-luck we'll spend a ripping night together,' he
cried, hauling me into the dining-room, where a
pretty fairy of a girl sprang up to greet us. 'This
is my sister Bessie, and I've talked about you so
often that she'll give you as big a welcome as I
do. It's only a poor best we can show you in the
way of entertainment, but you'll make allowances
when I tell you how I'm situated, and what we lack
in kind we must make up in good will.'
"'What's good enough for you will be good enough
for me,' I replied heartily, submitting to be
relieved of my coat and installed in the best chair
by the blazing fire--a pleasant change indeed from
the cold and the sleet outside.
"'You must not think our guests usually receive
such a churlish reception,' said Jack, laughing a
little, 'but the fact is, we took you for the
bailiffs. I'm sorry to say I've outrun the
constable--it's really not my fault, for the old
place was mortgaged to its last penny when it fell
to me--but, as the case stands, I'm enduring a kind
of siege; daren't put my nose out of my own door
for fear I should be served with writs, and have to
smuggle what supplies we can beg or borrow through
the kitchen window. It's a queer kind of Christmas
to spend, and a poor lookout for the New Year, for
I'm afraid the old place is bound to go in the end,
though I have vowed to stick to it as long as I can
hold it, and Bessie has vowed to stick to me,
though she might have a more cheerful home
elsewhere if she liked. There's precious little to
offer you in our larder, but perhaps we can furnish
up something in the way of supper; can't we,
Bessie?'
"Miss Musgrave laughed merrily.
"'Mr. Harper must imagine himself back in camp,'
she replied; 'I hope he can manage to subsist on
porridge and cheese and tinned provisions, for I
don't think we have anything better to offer him.'
"I would have subsisted on a far poorer diet to
remain within sight of those bright eyes, and I
endeavored to convince my host and hostess that I
desired nothing more than to be treated as one of
themselves, with such success that I seemed to drop
at once into the family circle, and never spent a
pleasanter or more jovial evening in my life. Jack
and I sat up late after Bessie had retired,
chatting of bygone days and past adventures till
the jungles and plains seemed almost more real than
the cheery blaze of the fire before us; but the
talk came round at last to the affairs of the
moment.
"'Is not there any plan by which you could raise
the wind, Jack?'" I inquired.
"'Never a one. I've tried every end up, but there
seems no way out of the trouble unless, indeed, we
could find Sir Godfrey's treasure.'
"'Who's he?'
"'An ancestor of mine, rather a back number,
considering he died somewhere about two hundred and
fifty years ago--but a restless old gentleman, for
he is still said to have a trick of haunting the
house, and, according to popular tradition, hoping
to be able to point out the hiding-place of a
treasure he stowed away.'
"'Was it genuine treasure?'
"'I believe so. He went off to fight in the Civil
Wars, and hid the family plate and jewels in a
secure place which nobody knew of but himself. He
had not the sense to leave any record of the spot,
and when he was killed at Naseby his secret died
with him, and the valuables--unless, as I sometimes
suspect, the old chap had previously pledged
them--were not forthcoming, nor have they ever been
heard of since.'
"'Has he ever appeared to you?'
"'Not he; I only wish he would. The hoard would be
a jolly windfall to me if I could manage to light
upon it. But I'm not the kind who goes about seeing
ghosts. I'm too plain and matter-of-fact by half,
and, though I often hear mysterious taps on the
panels of my bedroom, I prosaically set it down to
rats and mice. Now, you're a psychic sort of a
fellow, the seventh son of a seventh son; if he
wants to make himself visible, perhaps you may get
a sight of him; I'm afraid it's more than ever I
shall.'
"'Is there no clew at all left as to the
hiding-place of the treasure?' I inquired.
"'Only an old rhyme so obscure as to be quite
unintelligible:
He who plucks a rose at Yule
Will bring back luck to Dacrepool.
Even you, with your fondness for antiquities and
rummaging strange things out of old books, can
scarcely make anything of that, I should say.'
"I shook my head, for the riddle seemed quite
unreadable, and as we had already sat up until long
past midnight I begged for my candle, and proposed
to defer our conversation until the morning. Jack,
declaring that none of the beds in the damp old
house was fit to sleep in without a week of
previous airing, insisted upon giving up his room
to me, and passing the night himself on the
dining-room sofa, and, in spite of my
protestations, I was forced to acquiesce in his
plans for my comfort.
"Left alone, I looked with some curiosity round the
gloomy oak-paneled chamber, where the fire-light
flashed on the carved four-poster, with its faded
yellow damask curtains, and lit up the moth-eaten
tapestry that adorned a portion of the upper part
of the walls, but scarcely illumined the dark
corners which lay beyond. There were quaint old
presses and chests roomy enough to hide a dozen
ghosts in, and a portrait of a gentleman in the
elaborate costume of the Stuart period seemed to
look down upon me with strangely haunting eyes.
"'A spooky enough place,' I murmured, 'hallowed by
the spirits of numerous generations, no doubt.
Well, I'll undertake they won't disturb me
to-night, for I am dog-tired and mean to sleep like
a log.'
"I am an old traveler, and was soon in bed and
enjoying a well-earned slumber, but my dreams were
wild, for I seemed now to be driving furiously over
the moorland, pursuing ever the phantom of pretty
Bessie, who, with her bewitching smile, was luring
me into the fog and darkness, and now to be barring
the front door to defend her from some unknown
assailant, whose perpetual rapping rang like an
echo through my brain. With the impotent strength
of dreamland I struggled vainly to close the door,
which was opening slowly to admit the nameless
horror. I seemed to feel a hot breath on my cheek,
and with a wild shriek I woke, to find the
moonlight streaming in through the broad
diamond-paned window, falling in a white shaft
across the floor, while the last embers of the fire
were smoldering to ashes upon the hearth.
"I sat up in bed with that feeling of broad
awakeness and alertness which comes to us
sometimes, and caught my breath as I listened, for
through the stillness of the night came the
unmistakable sound of a gentle tapping from behind
the paneling of the wall. It was not continuous,
but more as one might rap at the chamber door of a
sleeping person, waiting every now and then to hear
if one had obtained a response. An intense and
vivid sensation came over me that I was not alone
in the room; that there was some presence other
than my own personality which was striving in some
way to force itself upon my consciousness and
arrest my attention. Was it only my fancy, or were
the moonbeams actually shaping themselves into a
human form, till against the dark background of the
fireplace, I seemed to see the misty shadowy
outline of a figure, so vague and ethereal that
even as I looked it appeared to melt again into the
moonlight and cease to exist?
"With every nerve on the stretch I strained my
eyes to gain a clearer impression. A passing cloud
left the room for a few moments in darkness, but,
as the beams shone out full and clear once more,
that shadowy figure seemed to gather substance, and
I felt as if some unknown force were compelling my
attention and chaining my every sense in a mute
endeavor to establish some chord of connection
between me and the dim spirit world which floats
forever round us. Now waxing, now waning, the
vision grew, till I fancied I caught a glint of
armor. For an instant a wild imploring glance met
my own, and a transparent finger pointed to the
richly-carved paneling below the arras, but as I
sprang from the bed the vision faded swiftly away,
leaving me standing on the floor in the calm
moonlight doubting the evidence of my senses, and
half convinced that I must still have been in the
continuance of my dream.
"Yet, as I looked, something in the carved paneling
struck my notice, and, following the direction in
which the spectral finger had pointed, I saw that
the dragons and the twisted scrolls were united in
the center by a Tudor rose. In an instant there
flashed across my mind the old saying which Jack
had quoted:
He who plucks a rose at Yule
Will bring back luck to Dacrepool.
What impulse urged me I cannot say, but compelled
by some seemingly irresistible suggestion I seized
the sculptured rose and wrenched at it with all my
strength. There was a dull thud, followed by a
harsh grinding noise, and the whole of the paneling
slid slowly back, revealing a cavity behind, where,
half hidden by the accumulations of dust and
cobwebs, I could catch a sight of silver tankards
and masses of plate enough to make the mouth of a
collector water with envy. Still scarcely certain
whether I was sleeping or waking, I put in my hand
and drew out a bag filled with something heavy, and
even as I did so the rotten mildewed canvas broke
with the strain, and a stream of golden coins
descended with a clatter upon the floor.
"Like a maniac I rushed to my door and hallooed
lustily for Jack, who, roused by my shouts, came
hurrying up in scanty attire, with a revolver in
one hand and a poker in the other.
"'What is it, old man, thieves or bailiffs? Just
hold 'em till I come, can't you?'
"'It's neither,' I replied, as I hauled him in with
triumph, 'but I believe I have had a visit from
your esteemed ancestor, and, as a Christmas gift,
allow me to introduce you to the long-lost family
treasure.'
"There was no mistake about it--it was real enough,
and, as the Christmas bells came chiming through
the frosty air, we turned out bags of gold, piles
of silver and priceless jewels warranted to redeem
Dacrepool Grange twice over if necessary, and
sending Jack into a very ecstasy of joy.
"'By Jove, old chap,' he exclaimed, 'I owe it all
to you. Here I've slept in this room for years, and
never paid any heed to the raps and taps, though
I've heard them often enough, while the treasure
was under my very nose, only waiting to be
discovered. Then you come along with your
ghost-seeing eyes, and the spirit, if spirit it
was, is able to convey to you the secret it's been
trying to get off its mind for hundreds of years.
You've saved me from the bankruptcy court, and it's
a debt of gratitude you'll find I shan't lightly
forget.'
"It was a very jovial Christmas which we spent
that day, for the news of the find got abroad at
daylight, and we were promptly visited by the
butcher and baker, bringing stores of good cheer
and profuse apologies for past misunderstandings;
even the severe old servant relapsed into smiles as
she bore in a smoking sirloin of beef. Jack's
spirits rose to the wildest pitch, and little
Bessie, who persisted in calling me the savior of
the family credit, could scarcely do enough to show
her gratitude. Jack wanted me to share the best of
the jewels with him, and was so annoyed at my
refusal that I could only gain peace by a hint that
I should sometime ask him for something more
valuable still. And I got my way, for my unexpected
visit lengthened out to a stay of some weeks,
during which pretty Bessie's gratitude had time to
ripen into a warmer feeling. So in the end it was
quite a different treasure which I bore away from
Dacrepool Grange, and I feel equally with Jack that
I have cause to remember that strange Christmas
Eve, and to render my thanks to old Sir Godfrey,
who now sleeps soundly in his grave, secure in the
accomplishment of his mission, having rid his soul
of the burden of his secret and restored luck to
Dacrepool."
"Is it true?" asked Sheila, as Canon Clark folded up his manuscript.
"Well, I can hardly call it a personal reminiscence, but you must allow
for author's license. Old historic houses sometimes have secret
hiding-places, and dreams are undoubtedly strange things. It's all
founded upon legends which I have heard. Mrs. Clark and I first met in
an ancient grange not at all unlike Dacrepool, didn't we, Bess? And if
we didn't find treasure behind the paneling we certainly ought to have
done so. Now I'm extremely sorry to have to hurry you, but I promised
Miss Morley that you should be back at school by half past six, and I
undertook to escort you through the town. I hope you'll all come and
have tea with us some afternoon next term and we'll have another
competition. Don't say good-by to Mrs. Clark. Give the Italian 'A
rivederci' instead, because that means not a parting greeting but 'May
we see one another again.'"