IN THE HEART OF AN ANCIENT WOOD.
Deep in the heart of the September woods there was gathered one
morning a little company of greatly excited people. Old Cap'n Jack was
the wildest of the lot. Next him in point of eagerness was the
Colonel. Corny Stillwell was there; so was his brother Wicky, who had
come across country to see how now fared Lucetta, the "shiftless" wife
of his "energetic" brother. Of late these terms had been exchanged in
the minds of the Wickliffe Stillwells, owing to various statements
made them by their new friends, the "Water Lilies." Being honest and
warm-hearted they hadn't hesitated to express their change of opinion;
and it was a fact that though Lucetta Stillwell had never been so ill
in her life she had never been so comfortable.
Lizzie, her sister-in-law, never allowed herself the extravagance of
keeping "help;" but it was she who had hunted up a good old "Mammy"
and established her in the lean-to of the little cabin. She had bidden
this good cook:
"See to it that Lucetty has nourishments continual, and do for mercy's
sake, feed them skinny childern till they get flesh on their bones!
They're a real disgrace to the neighborhood, the pinched way they
look, and I shan't set easy in meetin' if I can't think they're fatted
up right. You do the feedin' and we-all'll find you the stuff."
So on this special morning Lizzie had despatched her husband with a
small wagonload of vegetables and poultry; and having left his load at
the cabin, the sociable man had driven on to the Copse, to meet and
inquire for the "Lilies." Arrived at the boat, Aunt Betty had eagerly
greeted him, explaining:
"You're a man of sense and mighty welcome just now. Our people have
gone actually daft over a dirty piece of paper and a few French words
scribbled on it. The precious document belongs to the Colonel--Oh!
yes, he's here. He has been sometime. I think he means to tarry
developments--that will never be. He's infected all my family with his
crazy notions and they're off now on this wild-goose search for
'buried treasure.' I wish you'd go and warn them that they mustn't
trespass on private property, for I believe they'll stop at nothing in
their folly."
"I've heered about that there 'treasure.' I 'low more time's been
spent by fools lookin' for it 'an would ha', arn't 'em a livin'. Sure.
Yes ma'am, they has so. How many's at it now, Mrs. Calvert?"
She laughingly counted upon her fingers:
"The Colonel; the Captain; old Ephraim; James, Melvin, Gerald. Nor
could Mabel, Aurora, Dorothy--Oh! by no means least, Dorothy!--resist
the temptation to follow. And if I'm not greatly mistaken, I saw Chloe
sneaking through the underbush a little while ago, with Metty in hand.
I've heard nothing but 'buried treasure' ever since Gerald blundered
upon a fancied trail, coming home from his second stay at your
brother's. Elsa, here, hasn't caught the fever. She's the only one
among us, I believe _hasn't_ caught the money fever, for I confess
even I am curious to hear the outcome--absurd as I know it to be. Mrs.
Bruce says nothing. She's a wise woman who knows enough to set a check
upon her lips--which you'll see I don't. So, if you'll be kind enough
to 'light,' as they say here, and try to keep my people out of
mischief, I'll consider it another proof of your friendship."
Farmer Wicky was flattered by the confidence which she had always
reposed in him, and sided with her entirely.
"If I had any rights to any hid treasures, which I haven't; and I
expected to find it, which I don't; I wouldn't be the feller to go
publish it broadcast this way. I'd keep it to myself an' do my own
diggin'; onless, course, I'd tell Lizzie. Why, Ma'am, Mrs. Calvert, I
'low 't the hull state o' Maryland's been dug over, ten foot deep,
from Pennsylvania to old Virginny, with the hull Eastern Sho' flung
in, a-lookin' for what hain't never been put there--'ceptin' them
same shovels. Maybe that's what makes our sile so rich an' gives us
our wonderful crops! Ha, ha, ha!"
Aunt Betty was "ha, ha, ha-ing," too, inwardly; for despite himself, a
great eagerness had lighted the farmer's face at mention of this last
digging-excursion. As soon as he could do so he rose and hastily
struck off into the woods.
She made her mirth audible as the branches closed behind him,
exclaiming to Mrs. Bruce:
"There's another one! I'm afraid I'm responsible for this last
crack-brain; and--and--the disease is catching. I declare I'd like to
pin up my skirts and travel the road the rest have taken! But I'll
read a little in Don Quixote, instead. I wonder when they'll be back!"
Meanwhile, the trail was growing "hot" in the depth of that old
forest, or grove. It was, indeed, part of a great private park known
as "Cecilia's Manor," and it was the pride of its owners to keep it
intact as it had come down to them.
Captain Jack held the floor, so to speak, with the less talkative but
more deeply interested--if not excited--Colonel, occasionally
interrupting and correcting.
"Yes, siree! We've struck the gulf-stream 'at leads _di_-rect and
straight, to the spot! Woods, says you? Here they be. Stream o' water?
There she flows! Ford an' deers feedin'? Course, they's the very
identical! Tracks an' all----"
"Them's cow tracks," corrected farmer Wicky, while Corny laughed and
nudged his brother to let the farce proceed.
"Well, now, mate, how d'ye _know_ them's cows' tracks? You don't _see_
cows around, do ye? No, I don't see cows, nuther; so, 'cordin' to
ship's law what you don't know you can't prove. Ahem. Path? If this
here we've come ain't a crooked-zig-zag I never stumped one. Here's a
tree, been struck by lightin', 'pears like; a-holdin' out its arms to
keep the hangin' vines on 'em, exactly like a cross. Or nigh exactly."
"Hold on, Cap'n Jack! In the map the zig-zag line stops at the tree.
This one goes ever so much beyond."
The Captain glared round upon the audacious Cornwallis, who dared gibe
at his assertions. Then standing as upright as he could, he shouted:
"Now face that way--North, ain't it? Right about--South! Yonder's
East, an' t'other side's West. I allows I knows the p'ints of the
compass if I don't know nothin' else. I tell you, _this is the spot_.
Right below our feet lies--lies--"
"The treasures of Golconda!" suggested the irreverent Corny. In the
past he had held faith in this same "buried treasure," but now to see
so many other people so earnestly interested in it, changed the whole
aspect for him.
But the doughty Captain, self-constituted master of ceremonies
disdained to notice the "Ne'er-do-well" of the countryside and in
stentorian tones, with his hands trumpet-wise before his mouth, he
bellowed:
"Now, my hearties, dig! DIG!"
Each was armed with something to use, Jim had brought some of the
engineering tools from the "Pad" and had distributed these among the
boys. Ephraim had borrowed an old hoe from a farmer near by, Wicky had
caught up a pick-axe from his own wagon--he had meant to leave it at
his brother's cabin but forgot; Chloe had seized a carving knife, and
the others had spoons, table knives, or whatever came handiest. Only
the Colonel and the Captain were without implements of some sort. Even
the jesting Corny had seized the fallen branch of a tree and broken
its end into the semblance of a tool. It was he who first observed the
idleness of the two men most interested, and slapping Cap'n Jack upon
the shoulder, ordered:
"Dig, my hearty! DIG!"
"I--I'm a--a cripple!" answered the sailor, with offended dignity;
"and don't you know, you Simple Simon, 't they always has to be a head
to everything? Well, I 'low as how I'm the head to this here v'yage,
an' I'll spend my energy officerin' this trip!"
Corny laughed. Now that all was well at his home in the fields he
found the world the jolliest sort of place, and the "Lilies" the most
interesting people in it. Then he turned upon the Colonel, sitting
upon a soft hummock of weeds as near in shape to Billy's restful back
as possible.
"But, Cunnel, how 'bout you? I thought the 'treasure' was yours--in
part, anyway. Why aren't you up and at it? 'Findings are keepings',
you know. Up, man, and dig!"
The Colonel lifted sorrowful eyes to the jester's face, and murmured
in his tired voice:
"I cayn't. I never could. I shouldn't find it if I did. They ain't no
use. I couldn't. They won't. Nobody will. Not nigh _her_; not on My
Lady Cecilia's Manor. I've known that all along. But I _had_ to come.
Something made me, I don't know what. But I had to. Corny Stillwell,
do you know what day this is? Or ain't you no memory left in that
rattle-pate o' you-all's? I don't suppose they is. Nobody remembers
nothin'. Ah! hum."
Corny's face had sobered and he held out his hand in sympathy.
"Shake, old fellow! and look-a-here, haven't you held on to your
grudge long enough? The Doc's a fine man if he is a mite greedy for
the almighty dollar. Land of love! Aren't we all? Else why are we
acting like such a parcel of idiots this minute! Get up, Cunnel. Get
some energy into your tired old body and see how 'twill feel. At
present, you're about as inspiriting as a galvanized squash, and first
you know your willing helpers'll quit. Come on. Let's strike off a
bit deeper into the woods. Too many banging around the roots of that
one old tree. First they know it'll be tumblin' over on 'em. Come on
out of harm's way. You and I've been good friends ever since I used to
go to the Manor House and flirt with--"
"Hold on! Don't you dare to say that name to me, Corny, you fool! you
ain't wuth your salt but I'd ruther it had been you than him. You
clear out my sight. I ain't got no thoughts, I ain't got no
memories--I--I--ain't got no little girl no more!"
The man's emotion was real. Tears rose to his faded eyes and rolled
down over his gaunt cheeks; leaving, it must be admitted, some clean
streaks there. Big-hearted, idle Corny couldn't endure this sight and
was now doubly glad he had wandered to this place that day. The
Colonel was a gentleman, sadly discouraged and, in reality, almost
heart-broken. His merry friend could remember him as something very
different from now; when his attire was less careless, his face
clean-shaven, the melancholy droop of his countenance less pronounced.
He had always talked much as he did still but he had been, despite
this fact, a proud and happy man. These strangers mustn't see the old
planter weeping!
"Come."
The touch of the jester's hand was as gentle as Lucetta's own, as he
now adroitly guided his old friend to a sheltered spot where none
could see his face. Except--Well, Dorothy was quite near; harmlessly
prodding away at the earth with Aunt Betty's best paperknife. Her
digging was aimless, for her thoughts were no longer on her present
task. They were so absorbed that she didn't hear the approach of the
two men--nor of one other, yet unseen. Suddenly, the little steel
blade of her implement struck with a ringing sound upon something
metallic, and she paused in astonishment. Then bent to her work
excitedly, wondering:
"Is it--can it be I've--found--it--IT! Oh!--"
An unfamiliar voice suddenly interrupted her task, demanding:
"Girl! Why are you despoiling my property, trampling my choicest
ferns, trespassing upon my private park?"
The paperknife went one way, Dorothy's red Tam another, as she sprang
up to confront the most masterful looking woman she had ever seen.
Tall as an Amazon, yet handsome as she was forbidding, she towered
above the astonished child as if she would annihilate her.
"I--I couldn't do very much--with a paperknife, could I? I didn't
know--I'm sorry, I'll plant them right back--I only did what the
others said--Nobody warned me--us--"
"_Us?_ Are there others then? Where? This is outrageous! Can't you
read? Didn't you see the signs 'No Trespassing' everywhere? Where are
the rest? This must be put a stop to--I wouldn't have had it happen
for anything. My park--Eunice's precious playground, where she is safe
and--Oh! I am so sorry, so sorry."
The lady was in riding habit. A little way off stood a horse and
beside it a tiny pony with a child upon its back. A groom was at the
pony's side, apparently holding its small rider safe. The child's face
peered out from a mass of waving hair, frail and very lovely, though
now frightened by her own mother's loud tones.
These tones had roused others also. Wheeling about the lady faced
Corny and the Colonel, slowly rising from the log where they had been
resting. A moment she stared as if doubting the evidence of her own
eyes, then her whole expression changed and springing forward she
threw her strong arms about the trembling Colonel and drew his tired
face to her shoulder.
"Oh! Daddy, Daddy! You have come home--you have come home at last. And
on my wedding day! To make it a glorious day, indeed! Ten years since
I have had a chance to kiss your dear old face, ten years lost out of
a lifetime just because I married--_Jabb_!"
But now her strong, yet cultured voice, rang out in mirth, and Dorothy
looked at her in amazement, almost believing she had found a crazy
woman in these woods. Then Mr. Corny, as she called him, came to where
she stood, observing, and gently pushed her back again upon the heap
of ferns.
"Best not to notice. Best keep right on diggin'. That's Josie--I mean
Josephine--Dillingham--Jabb! Her father intended her to marry into one
of our oldest Maryland 'families' and she rebelled. Took up with Jabb,
a son of the poorest white trash in the county, not a cent to his
name--that's bad enough!--but more brains 'an all the 'first families'
put together ever had. Made his way right straight up the ladder.
Has a reputation greater outside Annyrunnell than in it. Only
fault--likes money. Says he'll make a fortune yet will beat the
'aristocrats' into being proud of him. Says if he does have to leave
his daughter the humble name of Jabb he'll pile money enough on top of
it to make the world forget what's underneath. Says when she marries
she shall never discard that name but always be 'of J'. Poor little
child! Her parents adore her but all her father's skill and pride is
powerless to straighten her poor little body. She's a hunchback, and
though she doesn't mind that for herself she grieves over it for them.
Oh! but this is a grand day! The Colonel will just idolize little
Eunice--I want to fling up my hat and hurra!"
All this information had been given in a whisper while Dorothy
snuggled in the great fronds, and Mr. Stillwell crouched beside her,
idly digging with the paperknife he had picked up, and trying to keep
his presence hidden from these two chief actors in this unexpected
scene.
"Do you suppose it was really to find the 'buried treasure' the
Colonel came? Or to--to make up friends with his daughter?" asked
Dolly, softly.
"Well--both, maybe. No matter why nor how--he's here. They've met, and
at heart are just as loving as they always were. It is a good day, the
best anniversary Josie Dillingham ever had. Hark! What's doing? Peep
and see."
"The lady has motioned that groom to lead the horses this way. Ah!
isn't that sweet? The little thing is holding out her arms to the
Colonel as if she knew him and loved him already!"
"Reckon Josie's taught her that. Joe always was a brick! Liked to rule
the roost but with a heart as big as her body. She told my Lucetty 't
she should teach little Eunice to know she had a grandpa somewhere and
that he was the very best, dearest man alive; so that when they met,
if they ever did, she wouldn't be afraid but would take to him right
away. Reckon her plan's succeeded. Won't Lucetty be glad about this!"
The groom was now leading the two horses through the woods, toward the
Copse and the Water Lily. Both saddles were empty for little Eunice
was in her grandfather's arms and he stepping as proudly, almost as
firmly, as the woman walking beside him.
"They--why--why--what have you done? Broken Aunt Betty's paperknife of
real Damascus steel! She says she knows it's that because she bought
it there herself, once when she went on a 'round the world' tour. She
says it mayn't be any better than other steel--reckon it isn't, or it
wouldn't have broken that way. I ought not to have taken it but I was
so excited, everybody was, I didn't stop to think. What makes you look
so queer, Mr. Corny? Aunt Betty won't care, or she'll blame me only.
You--you most scare me!"
Indeed, her companion was looking very "queer," as she said. His eyes
were glittering, his face was pale, his lips nervously working, and he
was rapidly enlarging the hole her knife had made by using his bare
hands.
Dorothy sprang to a little distance and then watched, fascinated. A
suspicion of the truth set her own eyes shining and now she was
scarcely surprised when the man stood up, holding a muddy box in his
hand, and shouting in hilarious delight:
"Found! Found! After all, that old yarn was true! It's the 'buried
treasure', as sure as I'm alive! Hurra!"
Away he sped carrying the big box above his head and summoning all his
fellow searchers to join him at the house-boat and behold.
Half-dazed by this success Dorothy picked up the discarded fragments
of the paper cutter, and followed him. But even as she did so she
wondered:
"Odd! That he can carry it so, on the very tips of his fingers, and so
high up! I thought 'buried treasure' was always gold, and a box full
of gold would be terrible heavy. Even two, three hundred dollars that
Mr. Ford let me lift, out in California, weighed a lot!"
But she shared to the full the excitement of all the company who now
threw down their own tools to follow Corny with his joyous shouts:
"Come on! Come on, all! The 'treasure' is found!"