IN WHICH SARAH CHANGES HER MIND
It was indeed Sarah! The sound of her latch-key in the basement door
was unmistakable. What could have induced her to return when she had
been away scarcely more than an hour, they could not imagine, unless
it was her anxiety on Margaret's account. At any rate, there she was,
and a panic of consternation seized them all. Even the wonderful signet
was forgotten in the stress of the moment. Strangely enough, it was
Margaret who first regained her poise and grasped the situation.
"Quick!" she whispered. "Corinne and Jess, get those things back in the
trunk—any old way! Bess, you go out and call down to ask her what's
the matter. Maybe she isn't coming up just yet!"
They got to work in frantic haste, and Bess went out in the hall to
make her inquiries of Sarah.
"What's the trouble, Sarah? You're back very early!" they heard her
ask. And an answering voice from the basement stairs responded:
"Sure 'tis rare unhealthy weather fur this time of year! 'Twas so
war-rm I nearly roasted in me heavy coat—and we not out of winter yet!
I come back fur me lighter cape. 'Tis hangin' in the attic!"
"We're lost!" muttered Mr. Cameron as Bess rushed in, despair written
all over her face. "Can't any one think of something to keep her
downstairs for five minutes?"
And this time it was Alexander who came to the rescue.
"Just watch your Uncle Dudley!" he whispered, as he ambled with
apparent unconcern out of the room. "If you hear me call her down, give
that trunk the boost to the attic as soon as you can, and put the key
back in her shoe."
They heard him leisurely descending the stairs, and Sarah's massive
tread approaching nearer and nearer. At one point there came sounds as
of a slight scuffle, and muttered remarks of "Spalpeen!" and "I'll fix
you yet, young man!" Then Alexander passed on, whistling derisively,
and Sarah's heavy feet began the ascent of the second-story flight.
Up and up she came, and still nothing happened. Hope died out in the
listening group, for they were sure now that, whatever Alexander might
do, it would be too late to avert the catastrophe. Sarah had, indeed,
just planted a broad foot on the top step when they heard Alexander's
shrill voice calling from the basement:
"Oh, Sarah! Sarah! Come quick! There's something afire in the kitchen!"
"Saints save us!" They heard her exclaim, and she turned to descend
with a speed of which they had never dreamed her capable.
"Do you think it's anything _serious_?" whispered Jess to Mr. Cameron.
"Oughtn't we go down, too?"
"No indeed!" he laughed. "I guess we can trust Alexander. Fortunately,
the trunk is very light, so you girls can get it upstairs while I
listen in the hall to see if they need help below."
In five minutes the three girls had the trunk safely back in its place,
and the key restored, and were back in Margaret's room, panting from
exertion and breathless excitement. But it was at least a quarter of an
hour before Alexander came up again, chuckling and smoke-blackened.
"Well, this is one time when we put it all over the lallypaloozer!" he
exclaimed jubilantly. "I got that pail of glue I keep in the yard to
paste kites with, and put it on the gas-stove as if I was going to heat
it. Then I accidentally-on-purpose dropped a lighted match into that
big tin thing where Sarah keeps the waste paper and scraps. It made a
big blaze, but I knew it couldn't hurt anything, 'cause it's tin all
around it. But I raised a hullabaloo like you'd thought the Woolworth
Building was going up in blue smoke! It fetched her down, all right,
and I figure it'll keep her there a good spell! The gas-stove's all
smoky, and she's cleaning it up and growling like a bear, so I beat it
up here!"
Then at last, with their minds relieved, did they have their first
opportunity to consider their wonderful "find," and they all crowded
around Margaret, in whose little white palm it lay. The gold setting at
the back was tarnished quite black, but the jewel itself was apparently
unchanged. They gave an involuntary gasp as they examined it, for it
was even more beautiful than they had imagined. The flat sapphire
itself was as large as a big Lima bean, flawless, and curiously
engraved with the old-English letter "T," and a crest above it, looking
like two eagles holding a sword. The surrounding diamonds were tiny,
but finely cut and still brilliant.
"Isn't it almost unbelievable," half whispered Margaret, at last, "to
think that right here in my hand I hold the very jewel that cost poor
Alison so much pain and trouble! And, oh! to think, besides, that it
never got back to Bermuda, after all, and probably she didn't either.
It makes me, feel just—sad—somehow!"
"But what are we going to do with it?" demanded Corinne.
Mr. Cameron had been examining the jewel with all the ardor of a
genuine lover of antiques. He now spoke very quietly:
"There's only one thing to do, and it's a solemn duty imposed on us by
the writer of that poor little journal you found. We must make every
effort to discover whether the Trenhams in Bermuda have any descendants
or relatives existing to-day. No matter how distant they may be, the
signet must be returned to them, for it was Alison's wish. If we should
find none, that is another matter. I believe the jewel would then be
rightly counted the property of—the Bronsons of Charlton Street!"
The Bronson contingent there present gasped in chorus!
"But how shall we go about hunting up the descendants of the Trenhams?"
questioned Corinne. "That'll be a big piece of work, won't it?"
"It probably will, and perhaps a very complicated one, besides," agreed
Mr. Cameron. "We had better start our investigations with the Bermuda
records, and I'll write down there to the authorities asking how I
can get hold of data about the family history. The matter must be
dealt with very carefully, because it is really no light affair. I am
convinced, even in this hasty examination, that the signet is very rare
and of very considerable value, not only because of the stone itself,
but of its antiquity. It must not be lightly given away. Its ownership
must be proved beyond a doubt. I expect to be extremely busy for the
next three or four weeks, and may have little time to give to this
matter. But after that, when business slackens, I can give this the
attention it deserves. Meantime, I think perhaps it had better be kept
in my safe-deposit box at the bank, where it will be absolutely safe.
We won't trust _this_, at least, to Sarah's tender mercies!"
Suddenly Corinne cried out in perplexity: "But this makes our mystery
deeper than ever! Do you realize it, folks? What became of poor little
Alison, after all? And why were her trunk and her jewel and half her
journal found floating about in a wrecked vessel?"
"I tell you, she had to 'walk the plank'!" reiterated Alexander. "I
said so before, and now I believe it! It'd make a gorgeous old pirate
yarn!"
"She didn't! She didn't!" wailed Margaret. "I won't believe such a
thing!"
"Never mind what happened—just yet!" interrupted Mr. Cameron,
soothingly. "The Antiquarian Club's going to find out the truth some
time—I'm convinced of that!"
It was two weeks later, about the middle of March, when Corinne came in
to see Margaret one afternoon with considerable suppressed excitement
in her manner. Margaret was still confined to her bed, and, though
scarcely so listless as she had seemed at first, she was undoubtedly
weaker. Corinne's visits were now her mainstay of pleasure and
interest, and she welcomed the girl with a glad little cry.
"I've got news for you, Honey!" said Corinne, laying her usual offering
of flowers and fresh fruit on the bed.
"What?" cried Margaret, eagerly.
"Well, you mustn't be surprised, but Father hasn't been a bit well
again, lately. The weather's awfully hard on him, and his business has
rushed him, too, and he's all run down. So in a couple of weeks he's
going to take a vacation and go down to Bermuda again. It did him a lot
of good last time. He'll stay at least a month, and longer if he feels
like it."
"Isn't that nice!" cried Margaret, with great interest. "I'm awfully
sorry he doesn't feel well, but I'm glad he can go to such a lovely
place and get better. You'll miss him though, won't you, Corinne,
because you seem to be with him such a lot,—more than most girls are
with their fathers!"
"No," said Corinne, slowly, "I won't miss him, because—I'm going with
him!"
Margaret stared at her a moment wide-eyed, and her chin quivered—just
a mere trifle. But she braced up with a visible effort and exclaimed:
"Oh, Corinne! how lovely! You certainly are a lucky girl!" Then the
chin began to quiver harder, and all at once poor little Margaret
completely lost control of herself, and buried her head in the pillow,
sobbing:
"Oh, I _am_ glad! I really am glad for you, Corinne! Don't mind this!
Only it just seemed as though I _couldn't_ live without you for so
long!"
Corinne gathered the sobbing form in her arms and crooned to her: "You
won't have to, dearie, for—_you're going along, too_!"
Margaret sprang back from her embrace, pushed the tangled curls from
her eyes, and gazed at Corinne as though her friend had suddenly gone
crazy.
"_What?_" was the only word she could utter.
"Now, just you let me explain it all," began Corinne, soothingly,
settling down on the bed beside her. "And don't you get so excited,
because it isn't good for you. I'll tell you the whole story. It was
like this. After Father found it was best to go to Bermuda, he made
up his mind that Aunt Katharine and I might as well go, too, because
he hates to go alone. And, of course, I was crazy to go, but just one
thing kept me from being _entirely_ delighted, and that was—_you_! I
hated to leave you, because I love you, and also because you are not at
all well just now. Father and I have both been very anxious about you.
So we got to talking it over, and suddenly he said: 'Why not invite
Margaret to come along with you as your guest! The trip might do her a
great deal of good, and I know you two are growing as inseparable as a
pair of Siamese twins!'
"Well, you can just warrant I was delighted, for I knew Father'd never
make such a suggestion unless _he_ really wanted you, too! He said he
would call on your mother at her place of business, and see if she
would consent, and also on your doctor, to see if he thought the trip
would be advisable. I begged him to make them keep it a secret, so
that, if everything went well, I could surprise you with the news when
it was all settled. I hated to have you disappointed in case the doctor
thought it wasn't wise, or your mother felt that she couldn't consent
to your going.
"Your mother was awfully surprised, of course, and for a while she
almost refused, because she felt it to be too much for Father to do.
But when she found that it was going to do you so much good, and how
terribly I wanted you, she gave in. And you needn't worry about being
taken care of and having everything done for you that Sarah does. _I'm_
going to do that! It's to be my job, being your lady's maid, and won't
I enjoy it! Aunt Katharine will help too, when necessary. She's lovely
and kind and gentle, and you're going to like her a lot!
"Honey, we sail a week from next Wednesday, and I can hardly wait for
the time to come!"
There was surprise and rejoicing in the Charlton Street house that
night when Mrs. Bronson arrived and the great secret became public
property. Mrs. Bronson admitted that she had known about it for
several days, and was having a pretty outfit of traveling clothes made
for Margaret. The twins were frankly delighted, for they had been
themselves experiencing much secret anxiety on account of Margaret's
precarious health, as indeed had all the household. Alexander gave an
Indian war-whoop that was ear-splitting and performed the acrobatic
feat of standing on his head in the middle of the parlor floor for
three minutes unassisted! The extraordinary racket brought an indignant
Sarah up from the kitchen to investigate.
But it was when Sarah heard the news that consternation fell upon the
happy household. She placed both hands on her massive hips, threw back
her head, squared her shoulders, and announced:
"If Margie puts one fut aboard that rampagin' ship, I go out of this
house, never to retur-rn!"
Now, when the autocratic Sarah made a statement of this nature, it
was time for the family to tremble! Mrs. Bronson argued, pleaded,
commanded—in vain. Sarah could no more be budged from her position
than the Rock of Gibraltar. Urged to state her reasons, she would
offer but two. And these were that, about forty years ago, she herself
had come over from Ireland in a truly "rampagin'" ship, and never
again would she trust herself or any one she held dear to the mercies
of the ocean. Arguments that ship-building had made some progress
and traveling was safer since those days had absolutely no effect on
her—in fact, she refused to believe them!
Her second reason was that Margaret had been in her care ever since
she was born, and no one else knew so well what to do for the delicate
child. She was firmly convinced that it would be the death of her
beloved charge to be removed from her oversight. At last the distracted
Mrs. Bronson laid the matter aside for the night, the girls retired to
bed in tears and indignation, and Alexander dared to shake his fist
at the broad back of Sarah departing to the kitchen. Only Margaret
remained in ignorance of the impending disaster, and fell asleep happy
beyond words.
The next day Mrs. Bronson sent a request to Mr. Cameron to call that
evening, for she felt that the situation must be explained to him. It
would be a serious matter if Sarah kept her word—as she doubtless
had every intention of doing. It also was important, for the sake of
Margaret's health, that she should get away and have this wonderful
change. Mrs. Bronson was a sorely troubled woman as she explained the
circumstances to her visitor. Mr. Cameron sat in deep thought for a few
moments. Then he said:
"Could you have your housekeeper come up here for a few minutes and
allow me to see her alone?"
Mrs. Bronson declared that it was entirely possible, summoned Sarah,
who arrived full of hostile intent, introduced her to the visitor, and
went upstairs, leaving them together for a while. Margaret had by this
time learned of the trouble, and was nervous and anxious and feverish.
Corinne, who had come with her father, was sitting with her, trying to
assure her that she need not worry. But the assurance rang hollow in
her own ears. She, too, knew Sarah!
Presently they were surprised to hear her heavy footsteps coming
upstairs. They passed the door and entered Mrs. Bronson's room. Then,
in a moment, they returned, halted, and a singularly changed Sarah
stood in the doorway.
"Yer father's goin' now, Miss Corinne, and he wants ye," she announced
in a strangely meek, quiet voice. "I'll be back in two minutes to fix
me child for the night. We got to get her in good shape before she
takes that rampagin' ship for Bermudy!"
That was all, but she actually _smiled_—a weak, apologetic little
smile—before she vanished from the doorway!
The girls stared at each other in complete bewilderment. Never had they
witnessed a change more astonishing.
"Well, doesn't that beat everything!" exclaimed Margaret. "What could
have happened to Sarah?"
"I don't know," answered Corinne, "except that Father's had a talk with
her. He told me, coming over, that your mother had called him up to-day
on the telephone, explained some of the trouble, and asked him to call
to-night. He said he himself was going to have an interview with Sarah,
and I told him it probably wouldn't do any good. But he said he had
something that he thought would convince her ladyship pretty speedily.
But he also said I was _not_ to ask him what it was! Some time he might
tell me, but not at present. Isn't that mysterious! I really didn't
think he'd succeed. He evidently has! Hurrah!"
"But what _can_ he have said to Sarah that would make her change around
so!" marveled Margaret.
"I'm sure I can't imagine!" cried Corinne. "But never you mind, honey
dear! A week from next Friday we step off on the island that was
Alison's home! And nothing else matters!"