THE MISSING LINKS
"So you thought that because we were having such a good time in
Bermuda, we had forgotten all about the mystery!" laughed Margaret, the
next afternoon, at the grand assembly of the Antiquarian Club. They
were all gathered in the Charlton Street parlor—all but Mr. Cameron.
He had, indeed, fully expected to be present, not intending to go to
his office till the following day. But unexpected business had called
him there, after all, so he could only send his hearty regrets to the
meeting of the club. It seemed like old times for the young folks to be
together again in this familiar room. The only wonderful difference was
in Margaret. No longer was she ensconced in her accustomed wheel-chair,
but in a big "comfy" armchair, with her cherished crutches leaning
against its arm. No longer did she seem a wan, frail, delicate little
invalid, but a brown, rosy, plump, and increasingly energetic young
person. But the sweetness of her smile and the shy, trusting expression
of her big gray eyes had not changed.
"Yes, I know you all must have thought we'd forgotten it," she went on;
"but we hadn't—not for a minute! Only, for several weeks, we didn't
seem to make any progress with it at all. We used to inquire of every
native Bermudian we met if he or she had ever heard of any one living
there by the name of Trenham; but no one seemed to have any ideas at
all about it. They'd say they hadn't heard of the name themselves, but
would always refer you to some one else, who would turn out to know as
little as they did! It was awfully discouraging! Finally, Mr. Cameron
suggested that the only way would probably be to go around to all the
different parish churches and consult the old parish registers for
the lists of births and marriages and deaths. He thought the name had
probably died out long ago, and perhaps no relatives or descendants
remained, or were even remembered.
"Well, this seemed a big piece of work, of course, and none of us
felt quite like attempting it just then, for Mr. Cameron wasn't yet
a bit well himself, and I was having treatments every day with the
big doctor in Hamilton. So we decided to put it off for a while. And
then—meantime—a very unexpected thing happened!
"You know, we were staying at a big hotel about four miles from
Hamilton, near Harrington Sound. Mr. Cameron likes it there because
it's out of the city, well away from everything distracting, like
the things going on in Hamilton. Part of this hotel is big and new,
but another section, where the dining-room is, has been standing for
over two hundred years. You can see how old it is by its very looks,
and we heard that it was really the old homestead of the proprietor's
ancestors.
"The housekeeper is a dear, kindly lady, and we got rather well
acquainted with her, because often we had to ask her for different
and rather unusual things for me. She was just lovely to me, always,
and after a while we had some long, interesting talks with her about
Bermuda and the different families living there. And once she took us
up to her own apartments, in the old part of the house, and showed us
a collection of the most wonderful old furniture and antiques that had
been in her own and her husband's families since way, way back. Corinne
and her father went just wild over them, for you know how they love
antiques!
"Well, one day we thought we'd ask _her_ if she'd ever heard of any one
on the island by the name of Trenham. She said no, she hadn't, but, if
we were interested to find out, she'd take us over to the South Shore
to see a very old lady there who knew lots and lots about Bermuda
history and former people. She said she was driving to Hamilton that
morning on some business, but would first take us over to the Jewell
Farm, introduce us to old Mrs. Jewell, go on to Hamilton, and come
back to get us later. She declared that the old lady would be delighted
to have us come, because she was blind now and had very little to
entertain her, and she loved to talk to people.
"This seemed too good a chance to lose, and Corinne and I accepted at
once. Mr. Cameron had gone off on a fishing-trip, so he couldn't be
included. We piled into the big, comfy carriage, and you ought to see
that great, strapping driver lift me in and out and carry me around!
Well, we got to the Jewell Farm over on the South Shore, and, oh,
folks! how I wish you could all see that place! It's simply the most
charming old house—two hundred and fifty years old!—set high on a
hill overlooking that marvelous blue ocean, with a garden all around
it that is like the things you dream about! We took some pictures of
the house and garden which I'll show you later, but they don't do it
anything like justice. You can only get a faint idea of its _real_
beauty!
"And the whole house, inside, was filled with the dearest old-time
furniture! It nearly set Corinne crazy! But never mind about all that
now—we must come to the _best_ part! The driver carried me in, and we
were introduced to the sweetest old lady you ever saw! She was nearly
ninety-five, with snow-white hair; and a dainty lace cap over it. Her
eyes were pretty and blue, and you'd hardly guess, to look at her,
that she couldn't see a thing. If she'd known us all her life, she
couldn't have received us more cordially, or seemed less surprised to
have complete strangers landed on her without any warning. She made us
feel at home and acquainted right away, and after a few moments the
housekeeper left us alone with her and went on to Hamilton.
"We didn't like to introduce the subject we were most interested in
right away, so we chatted with her about her lovely old home, and the
furniture in it, and its history. After a while, though, when we could
bring it in naturally, we asked her if she had ever known any one by
the name of Trenham in Bermuda. She gave the most curious little
start, but only said very quietly:
"'I would like to know why you ask? Whom do you know of that name?'
Well, Corinne and I looked at each other and I saw we were agreed that
it was time to make a bold move, so I said right out that we were very
much interested in some one who lived in Bermuda a long while ago and
whose name was Alison Trenham.
"Folks, if I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget the strange
expression that came over that old lady's face when I spoke that name!
For a minute or two she didn't answer—just sat quietly thinking. Then
at last she said, still very quietly:
"'Yes, I know the name! I have heard of only one Alison Trenham in my
life, and that was—_my grandmother_!'"
There was a gasp and a start from her listeners, and Margaret laughed
as she continued:
"You'd just better believe _we_ jumped, too! And I thought Corinne's
eyes would pop out of her head—she looked so startled! I just
couldn't help smiling to myself at her expression, though I was so deep
in other things. Then I said:
"'Well, Mrs. Jewell, since you _do_ know an Alison Trenham, and she
was your own grandmother, I guess we'd just better tell you our whole
story. For the two Alisons _may_ turn out to be the same!' Then, as
quickly as I could, I told her all about finding the trunk and the
journal, and our Antiquarian Club, and all the discoveries we made
afterward, and how we'd come to a snag and could get no further. I even
told her how Sarah had burned the original journal. But I didn't say a
word about the sapphire signet—just then. I wish you could have seen
the expression on her face all the time I was talking! It was as though
she were listening to a story so strange that she couldn't believe a
word of it! I ended by begging her, please, if she could throw the
least light on our mystery, to oblige us by doing so, as it was the
chief aim of our Antiquarian Club to find the key to the riddle!
"She was silent a long time after I had finished—so long that we were
beginning to think she must have fallen asleep, for she had covered her
eyes with her hand, and was leaning her elbow on the arm of the chair.
But suddenly she spoke, saying very low:
"'All this seems like a dream to me! You children have stumbled upon
a secret that I supposed no mortal would ever discover in this world!
The ways of chance are very mysterious! Yes, it is the same Alison;
and since you know so much, I am going to tell you the rest of the
story, though she made me solemnly promise, when I was a young girl,
that I would never tell a soul. That is why I was hesitating. But I
feel certain that, were she to know these circumstances, she would have
no real objection to your knowing the whole story. It can harm no one
now—least of all herself!
"'As I told you, she was my grandmother. I was born in 1820, and she
was then a woman sixty years old. My own mother and father died in my
infancy, and left me to her care. This was her home, this same old
farm, and I came here to live with her. We are a long-lived race, here
in Bermuda, and she lived on to be almost ninety-five, as I myself am
doing! A few years before she died she told me that she had something
on her conscience that she would like to tell me, because she felt
that she would die happier, knowing that she had not kept the secret
unconfessed to the end. She made me promise I would never disclose
it, as some of it had once been of political consequence, and she had
always feared its discovery.'
"And now, folks, I'm going to tell you the story of Alison in my own
words, because I can't remember all of hers!" ended Margaret. Then she
re-settled herself in her big chair and began anew, very much flattered
by the breathless attention of her auditors.
[Illustration: "For a minute or two she didn't answer"]
"Alison Trenham lived on this same old farm with her grandfather,
Archibald Trenham. Her parents had both been lost at sea when she was
little, and that's why she was living with him. He was a queer, crabby
sort of an old man, and had never loved Alison because he was so
disappointed she hadn't been a boy. She was a big, beautiful-looking,
athletic girl, and he had had her taught to ride, and swim, and sail
a boat, and do most of the things boys generally do, besides learning
to read and write and some Latin and French. It was his whim that she
should be educated like a boy, even if she wasn't one.
"But she was restless and discontented and headstrong, and hated her
life there with her grandfather, and wanted the worst way to go away
from Bermuda altogether and see some of the world. She had an aunt, a
Madame Pennington, living down at Flatts (that's right where our hotel
was), and a cousin Betty, and she was very fond of them both. The aunt
was like a mother to her, and spoiled her a lot. Well, Alison confided
to her aunt that she wanted to go away from Bermuda, but that her
grandfather wouldn't hear of it. And she said she was so crazy to go
that sometime she was going to run away!
"The aunt was very much shocked, but finally Alison begged her so hard
that she consented to write to a friend of hers in New York, a Madame
Mortier, and get her to invite Alison up there for a long visit. Madame
Mortier wrote back that she would be delighted to have Alison come,
especially as her husband had just lately died and she was very lonely.
So that much was arranged, and Alison was delighted. But the difficulty
was to get away from Bermuda without her grandfather knowing, for
he would never have consented. Alison discovered a way out of this
herself, and here comes the exciting part! Alexander, you were _right_,
after all, as you'll see in a moment!"
"Oh, your Uncle Dudley's right sometimes," grumbled that irrepressible
youngster, trying to conceal his satisfaction.
"Now, to go on. One day Alison happened to meet, quite unexpectedly, a
neighbor of theirs, a young fellow named Harrington Ord—"
"_'H'!_" shouted the listening ones, simultaneously.
"Yes, you're right! that was 'H'! He had been away on a cruise with
his uncle, George Ord, in his uncle's ship, the _Lady_. Harrington
said they had only touched at St. George's for a day or so to take on
a cargo of salt, and would then be off again for America. Then Alison
saw her chance. She begged Harrington to ask his uncle if she might be
taken aboard to go with them without letting her grandfather know. She
knew the uncle and her grandfather had some standing quarrel between
them, and that George Ord would not be sorry to do anything to get
the best of the old man. Harrington hesitated about it, then finally
confided to her the news that his uncle was engaged in a strange plot—"
"The gunpowder!" exclaimed the audience.
"Yes, the very thing! Alexander was exactly right in his guess! George
Ord was planning to steal the gunpowder the very next night, and all
the details were arranged except one thing, and that was puzzling them
all dreadfully. It was this: the governor slept with the keys of the
magazine under his pillow, and how to get at them without disturbing
him, nobody could think. Some one had suggested putting a heavy
sleeping-powder in his food, but that was all but impossible, as no
one knew any of his servants or could get into his kitchen. Harrington
had the powder in his pocket, and, at his wits' end, he showed it to
Alison. She had an idea right away. She told him to give it to her, and
she would see that it got to its proper destination all right, if, in
return, his uncle would take her secretly to America.
"He declared that his uncle would be only too delighted to reward her
in that way, and everything was arranged. She was to go next day to her
aunt's as if for a week's visit. That same afternoon she would take a
little cat-boat and sail by herself up to St. George's, and be taken
aboard the _Lady_ at sundown, as she was setting sail, and when no one
was observing. But first she intended to stop at the governor's mansion
and make a call on his niece, whom she knew rather well.
"Everything went off like clockwork! Her grandfather suspected nothing.
She got to her aunt's and bade her good-by, sailed up to St. George's
in her little dinghy, called on the governor's niece, and, before she
left, went down to the kitchen to see the colored cook Dinah, who was
a sister of her grandfather's cook and was rather fond of Alison.
She found, just as she had expected, that Dinah was preparing the
governor's little afternoon snack of cake and a glass of wine. When
Dinah wasn't looking, she quietly dropped the powder in the wine, and
the game was won! Later, as she went out, she saw him drinking it.
"Well, the governor slept like a log that night, and you all know how
successful the rest of the scheme was! Captain Ord was so grateful to
Alison that he couldn't do enough for her. He landed in New York, and
Harrington escorted her to Richmond Hill, the home of Madame Mortier.
The old song, 'The Lass of Richmond Hill,' was very popular just
then, and Harrington kept teasing Alison by whistling and singing it
constantly, and saying _she_ was now that 'lass'!
"Madame Mortier was lovely to her at first, and seemed delighted to
have her there. But Alison didn't have a very lively time, because
Madame Mortier lived a very secluded and quiet life, and her house was
way off from the city, and she never went anywhere. And Alison found
out, too, that she was a strict Tory, and hated Washington and the
rebels, and felt very bitter about the war that was just commencing.
Now, Alison had heard a lot about Washington from Captain Ord and
Harrington, who both admired him terrifically, and she herself had
begun to feel a great respect for the rebel leader. But when she spoke
in praise of him, one day, Madame Mortier just 'jumped on her,' as
Alexander would say, and almost went crazy denouncing him.
"Well, by and by Alison began to feel dreadfully lonely and homesick,
and just longed to go back to Bermuda, and wished she'd never come
away! But getting back was more difficult than coming to New York. She
didn't like to tell Madame Mortier she was tired of her and wanted
to leave, for she had been invited to stay a year, at least, as a
companion to the old lady. Then something happened that changed the
whole face of affairs for her—two things, in fact!
"A sailor from Captain Ord's ship turned traitor some months after the
gunpowder affair, and in Corbie's tavern let it all out and told how
Alison had been mixed up in the plot,—or at least, that he suspected
she was, for he didn't actually know about her drugging the governor.
This got round to the steward, whom we all know about, and finally was
hinted at by him to Madame Mortier. She began to treat poor Alison very
coldly and suspiciously, without, however, telling her the real reason.
She evidently thought Alison was some kind of a spy! And Alison never
guessed the reason till Harrington gave her the hint that night under
her window.
"Anyhow, that was when she first began to feel uneasy, and as if things
had changed in the house and she was not altogether safe there. But
the climax came when one stormy winter day she and Madame Mortier were
driving home along Greenwich road and saw ahead of them a coach whose
wheel had come off and whose horses were snorting and kicking with
fright. The driver could seem to do nothing with them. Alison got out,
rushed to the horses, and held them steady till they quieted down. She
knew horses well and just how to treat them. Then, while the wheel was
being adjusted, she spoke to the occupant of the coach, who proved to
be none other than Lady Washington!
"She was traveling through the city on her way from Virginia to
her husband's camp outside Boston when the accident happened. She
congratulated Alison on her skill with horses, and asked her about
herself. Alison was just beginning to tell her about Bermuda and how
she longed to go back, when Madame Mortier, who had just learned about
the occupant of the broken coach, rushed up and dragged her bodily
away! And then things got worse and worse!
"Now, there's no need of telling you all that happened after that
because we know it; so I'll skip at once to the night of that last
entry in the journal, and explain how it came to be so mysteriously
broken off. While Alison was sitting there writing, she suddenly heard
again the mysterious footsteps, just as she had that time before. She
was horribly nervous, but she suspected something wrong and crept
to the door and opened it to peep out. And there, sure enough, was
the steward, come back from Corbie's tavern, and evidently going
down to the cellar again! Alison was scared to death, but, almost
unconsciously, she found herself creeping after him, her journal still
in her hand.
"Suddenly on the stairs something made him turn—and he saw her! Before
she could cry out he made one leap and clapped his hand over her mouth.
Then with the other he tried to get hold of the journal. She began to
struggle and twist, and try to keep it away from him, and he whispered
that if she made a sound he would kill her right there! Still she kept
struggling, but at last he got hold of it and gave it a wrench. Of
course it came in half, and at the same moment she got free from him
and ran like mad to her own room and locked herself in.
"She hid the half of the journal she had kept hold of in the bottom of
her trunk, and stayed for hours shivering with fright and listening at
the door. Then, at last, not hearing anything more, she crept out, and
rushed to Phœbe's room, and told her all about it. They decided that
it was best to wait no longer, but tell the whole thing to Washington
at early dawn, and let him take matters into his own hands. They had
the interview, and Washington acted on the matter at once. He got his
life-guard, Thomas Hickey, made him confess the whole thing, and then
sent out and had every one of the conspirators arrested. Strangely
enough, the steward was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared
completely, and was never seen or heard of again. He had probably
thought it wise to take flight in the night. Alison always thought,
too, that he was intending to run away when he did, anyhow, without
warning any one, because he had appropriated a lot of the gold and
money that was to be used in paying the conspirators. That was what he
had kept hidden in the beam, and he had removed it all that very night,
preparatory to making off with it.
"Early that morning, Washington sent Phœbe back to the city to stay with
her father, as she would be safer there. And as he thought the house no
longer a safe place for his wife, either, he arranged to despatch her at
once with a strong escort to Philadelphia. Alison had told him her own
story, explained how she aided in the gunpowder plot, and begged him to
send her back to Bermuda if he could. He was so grateful to her for the
assistance which she had twice given that he told her he would send her
to Philadelphia with Lady Washington, and there would arrange that she
should sail for her home as soon as was possible.
"So Alison packed her little trunk, and without even bidding Madame
Mortier good-by (for of course she didn't dare see her) she left that
morning with Lady Washington, and never again in all her life looked
upon Richmond Hill. In Philadelphia she was fortunate enough to catch a
vessel sailing at once for Bermuda, but before she got to her home one
other accident was to happen to her. The ship ran into a terrific storm
and was completely dismasted. It almost foundered, but, after drifting
around helplessly for more than a week, the passengers and crew were at
last rescued by another vessel, leaving all their belongings behind on
the wreck, and finally were landed in Bermuda.
"She went straight to her aunt first, for she did not dare go to her
grandfather, thinking he had never forgiven her for running away. But
her aunt told her that her grandfather, though terribly angry with her
at first, was now very, very ill, and kept constantly calling for her.
So she returned to him and was forgiven, and nursed him tenderly till
he died, leaving her the fine old farm. A few years later she married
Harrington Ord, for he had always admired and loved her. He died, in
later years, by falling from the mast of the vessel of which he was
captain, and Alison was left alone with one daughter, who also married,
after a time, and it was _her_ daughter, old Mrs. Jewell, who told us
the story. Alison lived all her life in secret terror lest her part in
the gunpowder plot should ever be discovered by the Bermudians, for she
felt that she had been disloyal to her country in the part she played.
Yet she never wholly regretted it, because of the intense admiration
she always felt for Washington, and her gratitude to him for his timely
rescue of her. Madame Mortier died soon after her departure, and never
knew about the defeat of her beloved Tories.
"So that is the end of the story, folks, and I guess I've explained
everything!"
"No, you haven't!" said Alexander promptly. "What about that half of
the diary that we found in the beam! Put us wise to that!"
"Well, of course, that's one of the things we can't be absolutely
certain about, but can only guess at. The steward had gone off with
that half, and Alison never saw it again. She always wondered what
became of it. We think, though, that the steward must have come back
that night looking for the slip of paper that he had forgotten or lost.
He evidently thought it might be left in his hiding-place, and was on
the way to hunt it up. Then he had the encounter with Alison, and got
hold of that half of her diary. He must have taken it to the cellar,
examined it hurriedly, written on it that mysterious sentence, and
thrown it into the opening where he hid his things. Probably he looked
for his paper, and, not finding it, thought he'd dropped it elsewhere.
We think likely he didn't suspect that any one had discovered the place
in the beam. That's the only explanation that seems possible."
"Yes," objected Alexander, still unconvinced, "but how came it to
remain there all that time untouched? Didn't they go and search the
beam afterward? Didn't any one else ever know about it?"
"No, it seems that Phœbe and Alison, in their hurry that morning, did
not think to tell Washington where they had found the paper. They
didn't have time—everything had to be done so quickly. They just gave
it to him and told who the conspirators were. Then Phœbe was sent
right off, and Alison went away, too, and, of course, nobody else ever
knew about it or suspected it. So it lay through all the years till
Alexander unearthed it! Isn't it too wonderful!"
"Then that gink of a steward must have beat it out for keeps!"
commented Alexander. "Guess he didn't think it'd be healthy for him to
shine about those parts again, after he'd got away with all the swag!
He was _some_ pippin, he was!"
"Well," ended Margaret, "now you know all the mystery and the history
of Alison Trenham, and I hope you're satisfied!"
"_Satisfied!_" ejaculated Bess, sitting up very straight. "When you
haven't said one word about the _sapphire signet_—the most important
thing of all? I guess _not_!"
"I was wondering when you'd begin to be curious about that," commented
Margaret, with her tantalizing smile. "Since you seem a little anxious
on the subject, I'll go on with the second half of the story. Well, as
I've hinted, we didn't say a word about the signet to the old lady,
and she didn't mention it in her account either. But when she had
finished, Corinne asked her if there was anything else she knew of that
had troubled Alison's mind—whether she'd ever heard her grandmother
speak of something she'd lost. And at that Mrs. Jewell looked awfully
surprised, and said no, her grandmother had never spoken of anything
else, and what did we mean?
"Then we told her all about the signet, and how we'd found it, and how
valuable it was, and how we wanted above everything to return it to
Alison's descendant, and were so glad we'd found her at last. Well, if
you'll believe me, Mrs. Jewell looked simply stunned for a while, as if
she couldn't trust her senses! And we had the hardest time convincing
her that the signet was really hers and she must take it. She insisted
it ought to be ours, since we had found it. But finally we managed to
convince her that she was its rightful owner, and told her that Mr.
Cameron would get it from the safe at the hotel and bring it over to
her the next day."
"But why do you suppose Alison never told her about it?" interrupted
Jess.
"That's just what we all couldn't fathom for a while, till at last Mrs.
Jewell explained it in this way. Of course, when Alison was shipwrecked
and rescued, she naturally supposed her trunk went down to the bottom
of the ocean with the wreck. She told her grandmother that they had had
to cling to the decks for several days, and never dared to go down to
the cabins, for most of them were full of water. So she couldn't get at
her trunk to take out anything. We think that when she realized that
the signet was lost forever, and after her grandfather had forgiven her
for everything (including that, no doubt), she just forgot all about
the matter and either didn't think of it again, or else didn't want
to. What troubled her most was the fear that the second half of her
journal would sometime be discovered and deciphered, and she, perhaps,
be considered a traitor for twice giving aid to Washington.
"But now listen to the best part of the story, which comes last! We had
asked Mrs. Jewell to say nothing just yet about what we'd told her, and
when the housekeeper came back for us, the old lady bade us good-by as
calmly as though we hadn't just given her the surprise of her life.
But on the drive to the hotel we asked a few questions about her and
found out, to our astonishment, that old Mrs. Jewell was really in
very straitened circumstances. For years she had supported herself by
doing the most beautiful lacework, and had earned enough to live on.
But since her blindness came, her money had gradually disappeared, and
she had had to borrow on the farm and the lovely old furniture. The
housekeeper said she was afraid it wouldn't be long before she would
lose everything. Every one was so sorry for her and wanted to help, but
she was very proud and would accept nothing from them. No one could
imagine what she would do when she was homeless.
"It set us thinking hard, of course, and we told Mr. Cameron about
it that night. He only said we must leave it to him, and he'd think
out a scheme. Next day we three drove over there with the signet, and
placed it in old Mrs. Jewell's hands. And right then and there Mr.
Cameron told her that, if she cared to sell it to him, he'd be only
too delighted to buy it. And he offered her enough to keep her living
comfortably for the rest of her days.
"You should have seen that poor old lady's face! She begged and
protested that he should not give so much, that she could not accept
it. But he assured her that he knew positively it was the real value of
the signet, and to prove it, read her a letter he'd received from some
authority in such things. She gave in at last, and we left her with
that big, fat check in her hands—the happiest woman in all Bermuda!"
"But what has become of the sapphire signet?" demanded her listeners,
as Margaret paused.
"Here it is!" said Corinne, quietly, and she pulled from under the
neck of her dress a thin golden chain. There on the end dangled the
wonderful sapphire signet, more beautiful than ever since it had been
cleaned and polished.
"Father has given it to me, and I'm going to keep it always, in memory
of the long-ago Alison and the strange way we stumbled on her mystery.
I shall not wear it all the time, for it's too rare and valuable to
run the risk of losing. But I put it on to-day in honor of the most
satisfactory meeting the Antiquarian Club ever held!"
It was about noon of a day a week or two later that Corinne and
Margaret stood together at the open window of the Charlton Street
parlor. A light breeze flapped the awnings to and fro, a warm midday
sun shone on the pavements outside, and the droning sound of busy
Varick Street came distantly to them as they stood looking out. The
twins were still at high school, but Corinne had not returned there,
as she was expecting to study up during the summer and in the autumn
pass the examinations she was now missing. So, during these idle days,
she spent the greater part of her time with Margaret. Since their long
Bermuda weeks together, they had grown into even closer intimacy, and
sisters could not have loved each other with deeper devotion.
Leaning on her crutches, Margaret idly plucked the dead leaves from
a geranium in the window-box, and Corinne stood twisting one of the
younger girl's dark curls around her finger. Presently she said:
"Father had a letter from old Mrs. Jewell this morning. She says words
would be impossible to describe how happy she is. She thinks it just
marvelous that we girls were led to do what we did, for she was in
desperate straits when we first came. She declares she would never have
accepted it as a charity, but it was really help from her own dead
kindred sent through us. She considers it an absolute _miracle_!"
"Isn't it strange!" began Margaret. "That's the exact word Mother used
last night when we were talking it over. She said it all seemed like a
miracle to her—the way you came into our lives, and walked straight to
the heart of the mystery that very first day; the way we worked it all
out and restored what was her own to Alison's granddaughter just in the
nick of time; and best of all, what's happened to me!"
"Well, I wasn't left out in the miracle way, either," laughed Corinne;
"for I've had the loveliest adventure imaginable, and made the very
dearest friend of all my life!" She squeezed Margaret's hand, and the
two girls looked for one long, understanding moment into each other's
eyes. After a quiet interval Corinne spoke again:
"Margaret, there's something I never told you! No one but Father knows
it. But I'm going to tell you now. Do you know what I plan to be when I
am older?"
Margaret looked up at her in quick interest, and said: "No! Tell me!"
"Well, it's my ambition to be a writer. Father says I have some gift in
that direction, and I am constantly practising at it. But, after I've
learned how and can really write what people might like to read, the
first story I'm going to tell is the one about Alison Trenham and the
wonderful way she helped to rescue Washington at the time he was in
such danger!"
"Oh, that's perfectly splendid!" cried Margaret. "I wish I could do
something like that, but I'm afraid it isn't in me. Shall I tell you
_my_ chief ambition, Corinne? I want to get so strong that I can join a
basket-ball team—and beat the twins at it!"
"Bless your heart, Honey!" exclaimed Corinne, "you're going to be the
_captain_ of that team, I'll be willing to wager!"
Just at that moment Alexander came swinging down the street on his
way home to luncheon, whistling the tune that had come to be such a
momentous one in their lives. Margaret smiled as she heard it, and
suddenly turned to her friend:
"Corinne, I want you to promise me something! When you come to write
the story of Alison, I want you to call it 'The Lass of Richmond Hill'!
I think that would be the most appropriate title for it. Will you?"
Corinne thought it over a moment, then she said, slowly: "Yes, I think
you 're right! I promise to call it—'The Lass of Richmond Hill'!"
THE END
Transcriber's Note
Apparent typographical errors have been repaired.
Pg. 78: ‗He‗ symbolizes a double-underline.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Sapphire Signet, by Augusta Huiell Seaman