THE REAL BURIED TREASURE
It had been a very dull day indeed for Genevieve. Had she been able to
communicate her feelings adequately, she would have said she was
heartily sick and tired of the program she had been obliged to follow.
As she sat solitary on the porch of Miss Camilla's tiny abode, thumb in
mouth and tugging at the lock of hair with her other hand, she thought
it all over resentfully.
Why should she be commanded to sit here all by herself, in a spot that
offered no attractions whatever, told, nay, _commanded_ not to move from
the location, when she was bored beyond expression by the entire
proceeding? True, they had left her eatables in generous quantities, but
she had already disposed of these, and as for the picture-books of many
attractive descriptions, given her to while away the weary hours, they
were an old story now, and the afternoon was growing late. She longed to
go down to the shore and play in the rowboat, and dabble her bare toes
in the water, and indulge in the eternally fascinating experiment of
catching crabs with a piece of meat tied to a string and her father's
old crab-net. What was the use of living when one was doomed to drag out
a wonderful afternoon on a tiny, hopelessly uninteresting porch out in
the backwoods? Existence was nothing but a burden.
True, the morning had not been without its pleasant moments. They had
rowed up the river to their usual landing-place, a trip she always
enjoyed, though it had been somewhat marred by the fear that she might
be again compelled to burrow into the earth like a mole, forsaking the
glory of sunshine and sparkling water for the dismal dampness of that
unspeakable hole in the ground. But, to her immense relief, this
sacrifice was not required of her. Instead, they had made at once
through the woods and across the fields to Miss Camilla's, albeit
burdened with many strange and, to her mind, useless tools and other
impedimenta.
Miss Camilla's house offered attractions not a few, chiefly in the way
of unlimited cookies and other eatables. But her enjoyment of the
cookies was tempered by the fact that the whole party suddenly took it
into their heads to proceed to the cellar and, what was even worse, to
attempt again the loathsome undertaking of scrambling through the narrow
place in the wall and the journey beyond. She herself accompanied them
as far as the cellar, but further than that she refused to budge. So
they left her in the cellar with a candle and a seat conveniently near a
barrel of apples.
It amazed her, moreover, that a person of Miss Camilla's years and sense
should engage in this foolish escapade. She had learned to expect
nothing better of Sally and "Dowis," but that Miss Camilla herself
should descend enthusiastically to so senseless a performance, caused
her somewhat of a shock. She had not expected it of Miss Camilla.
It transpired, however, that they did not proceed far into the tunnel.
She could hear them talking and exclaiming excitedly, and discussing
whether "this was really twenty-seven," and "hadn't we better count
again," and "shall we saw it out," and other equally pointless remarks
of a similar nature. Wearying of listening to such idle chatter, and
replete with cookies and russet apples, she had finally put her head
down on the edge of the barrel and had fallen fast asleep.
When she had awakened, it was to find them all back in the cellar, and
Miss Camilla making the pleasant announcement that "they would have
luncheon now and get to work in earnest afterward." A soul-satisfying
interval followed, the only really bright spot in the day for Genevieve.
But gloom had settled down upon her once more when they had risen from
the table. Solemnly they had taken her on their laps (at least Miss
Camilla had!) and ominously Sally had warned her:
"Now, Genevieve, we've got something awfully important to do this
afternoon. You don't like to go down in that dark place, so we've
decided not to take you with us. You'd rather stay up here in the
sunshine, wouldn't you?" And she had nodded vigorously an unqualified
assent to that proposition. "Well, then," Sally had continued, "you stay
right on this porch or in the sitting-room, and don't you dare venture a
foot away from it. Will you promise?" Again Genevieve had nodded.
"Nothing will hurt you if you mind what we say, and by and by we'll come
back and show you something awfully nice." Genevieve had seriously
doubted the possibility of this latter statement, but she was helpless
in their hands.
"And here's plenty of cookies and a glass of jam," Miss Camilla had
supplemented, "and we'll come back to you soon, you blessed baby!" Then
they had all hugged and kissed her and departed.
Well, they had not kept their word. She had heard the little clock in
the room within, strike and strike and strike, sometimes just one
bell-like tone, sometimes two and three and four. She could not yet
"tell the time" but she knew enough about a clock to realize that this
indicated the passing of the moments. And still there had been no sign
of return on the part of the exploring three.
Genevieve whimpered a little and wiped her eyes, sad to say, on her
sleeve. Then she thrust her hand, for the fortieth time into the
cooky-jar. But it was empty. And then, in sheer boredom and despair, she
put her head down on the arm of her chair, tucked her thumb into her
mouth and closed her eyes to shut out the tiresome scene before her. In
this position she had remained what seemed a long, long time, and the
clock had sounded another bell-like stroke, when she was suddenly
aroused by a sound quite different.
At first she did not give it much thought, but it came again louder this
time, and she sat up with a jerk. Was some one calling her? It was a
strange, muffled sound, and it seemed as if it were like a voice trying
to pronounce her name.
"Genev--! Genev--!" That was all she could distinguish. Did they want
her, possibly to go down into the horrible cellar and hole? She went to
the door giving on the cellar steps and listened. But, though she stood
there fully five minutes, she heard not so much as a breath. No, it
could not be that. She would go out doors again.
But, no sooner had she stepped onto the porch than she heard it again,
fainter this time, but undeniable. Where _could_ it come from? They had
commanded her not to venture a step from the porch but surely, if they
were calling her she ought to try and find them. So she stepped down
from the veranda and ran around to the back of the house. This time she
was rewarded. The sound came clearer and more forcefully:
"Genevieve!--Genev--ieve!" But where, still, could it come from? There
was not a soul in sight. The garden (for it was Miss Camilla's vegetable
garden) was absolutely deserted of human occupation. But Genevieve
wisely decided to follow the sound, so she began to pick her way
gingerly between the rows of beans, climbing on quite a forest of tall
poles. It was when she had passed these that she came upon something
that caused her a veritable shock.
The ground in Miss Camilla's cucumber patch, for the space of ten or
twelve feet square, had sunk down into a strange hole, as if in a sudden
earthquake. What did it all mean? And, as Genevieve hesitated on its
brink, she was startled almost out of her little shoes to hear her name
called faintly and in a muffled voice from its depths.
"Genev--ieve!" It was the voice of Doris, though she could see not the
slightest vestige of her.
"Here I am!" answered Genevieve quaveringly. "What do you want, Dowis?"
"Oh, thank God!" came the reply. "Go get--some one. Quick. We're--buried
alive! It--caved in. Hurry--baby!"
"Who s'all I get?" demanded Genevieve. And well she might ask, for as
far as any one knew, there was not a soul within a mile of them.
"Oh--I don't--know!" came the answering voice. "Go find--someone.
Anyone. We'll die--here--if you--don't!" Genevieve was not sure she knew
just what that last remark meant, but it evidently indicated something
serious.
"All right!" she responded. "I will twy!" And she trotted off to the
front of the house.
Here, however, she stopped to consider. Where _was_ she to go to find
any one? She could not go back home,--she did not know the way. She
could not go back to the river,--the way was full of pitfalls in the
shape of thorny vines that scratched her face and tripped her feet, and
besides, Sally had particularly warned her not to venture in that
direction--ever. After all, the most likely place to find any one was
surely along the road, for she had, very rarely when sitting on Miss
Camilla's porch, observed a wagon driven past. She would walk along the
road and see if she could find anybody.
Had Genevieve been older and with a little more understanding, she would
have comprehended the desperate plight that had befallen her sister and
Doris and Miss Camilla. And she would have lent wings to her feet and
scurried to the nearest dwelling as fast as those feet would carry her.
But she was scarcely more than a baby. The situation, though peculiar,
did not strike her as so much a matter for haste as for patient waiting
till the person required should happen along. As she didn't see any one
approaching in either direction, she decided to return to the house and
keep a strict eye on the road.
And so she returned, seated herself on the porch steps, tucked her thumb
in her mouth--and waited. There was no further calling from the curious
hole in the back garden and nothing happened for a long, long time.
Genevieve had just about decided to go back and inquire of Doris what
else to do, when suddenly the afternoon stillness was broken by the
"chug-chug" of a motor car and the honking of its horn. And before
Genevieve could jump to her feet, a big automobile had come plowing down
the sandy road and stopped right in front of the gate.
"Here's the place!" called out the chauffeur, and jumping down, walked
around to open the door at the side for its occupants to get out. A
pleasant-looking man descended and gave his hand to the lady beside him.
And, to Genevieve's great astonishment, the lady proved to be none other
than the mother of "Dowis."
"Well, where's every one?" inquired the gentleman. "I don't see a soul
but this wee tot sitting on the steps."
"Why, there's Genevieve!" cried Mrs. Craig, who had seen the baby many
times before. "How are you, dear? Where are the others? Inside?"
"No," answered Genevieve. "In de garden. Dowis she said come. Find some
one."
"Oh, they're in the garden, are they? Well, we'll go around there and
give them a surprise, Henry. Doris will simply be bowled over to see her
'daddy' here so unexpectedly! And I'm very anxious to meet this Miss
Camilla she has talked so much about. Come and show us the way,
Genevieve."
The baby obediently took her hand and led her around to the back of the
house, the gentleman following.
"But I don't see any one here!" he exclaimed when they had reached the
back. "Aren't you mistaken, honey?" This to Genevieve.
"No, they in big hole," she announced gravely. The remark aroused
considerable surprise and amused curiosity.
"Well, lead us to the 'big hole,'" commanded Mrs. Craig laughingly. "Big
hole, indeed! I've been wondering what in the world Doris was up to
lately, but I never dreamed she was excavating!"
Genevieve still gravely led the way through the forest of bean-poles to
the edge of the newly sunk depression.
"What's all this?" suddenly demanded Mr. Craig. "It looks as if there
had been a landslide here. Where are the others, little girl? They've
probably forsaken this and gone elsewhere."
But Genevieve was not to be moved from her original statement. "They in
dere!" she insisted, pointing downward. "Dowis called. She say 'Go find
some one.'" The baby's persistence was not to be questioned.
Mr. Craig looked grave and his wife grew pale and frightened. "Oh,
Henry, what do you suppose can be the matter?" she quavered. "I do
believe Genevieve is telling the truth."
"There's something mighty queer about it," he answered hastily. "I can't
understand how in the world it has come about, but if that child is
right, there's been a landslide or a cave-in of some sort here and Doris
and the rest are caught in it. Good heavens! If that's so, we can't act
too quickly!" and he ran round to the front of the house shouting to the
chauffeur, who had remained in the car:
"There's been an accident. Drive like mad to the nearest house and get
men and ropes and spades,--anything to help dig out some people from a
cave-in!" The car had shot down the road almost before he had ceased
speaking, and he hurried back to the garden.
The next hour was a period of indescribable suspense and terror to all
concerned,--all, at least, save Genevieve, who sat placidly on Mrs.
Craig's lap (Mr. Craig had brought out a chair from Miss Camilla's
kitchen) and, thumb in mouth, watched the men furiously hurling the soil
in great shovelfuls from the curious "hole." She could not understand
why Mrs. Craig should sob softly, at intervals, under her breath, nor
why the strange gentleman should pace back and forth so restlessly and
give such sharp, hurried orders. And when he jumped into the hole, with
a startled exclamation, and seized the end of a heavy plank, she
wondered at the unnecessary excitement.
It took the united efforts of every man present to move that plank, and
when they had forced it aside, Mr. Craig stooped down with a smothered
cry.
And the next thing Genevieve knew, they had lifted out some one and laid
her on the ground, inert, lifeless and so covered with dirt and sand as
to be scarcely recognizable. But from the light, golden hair, Genevieve
knew it to be Doris. Before she knew where she was, Genevieve found
herself cascaded from Mrs. Craig's lap, and that lady bending
distractedly over the prostrate form.
Again the men emerged from the pit, carrying between them another form
which they laid beside Doris. And, with a howl of anguish, Genevieve
recognized the red-bronze pig-tail of her sister, Sally.
By the time Miss Camilla had been extricated from the debris as lifeless
and inert as the other two, the chauffeur had returned at mad speed from
the village, bringing with him a doctor and many strange appliances for
resuscitation. A pulmotor was put into immediate action, and another
period of heartbreaking suspense ensued.
It was Doris who first moaned her way back to life and at the
physician's orders was carried back into the house for further
ministrations. Sally was the next to show signs of recovery, but over
poor Miss Camilla they had to work hard and long, for, in addition to
having been almost smothered, her foot had been caught by the falling
plank and badly injured. But she came back to consciousness at last,
and her first words on opening her eyes were:
"Do you think we can get that Spode dinner-set out all right?" A remark
which greatly bewildered Mr. Craig, who happened to be the only one to
hear it!
* * * * *
"But how on earth did you and Mother happen to be there, Father, just in
the nick of time?" marveled Doris from the depths of several pillows
with which she was propped up in bed.
She had been detailing to her parents, at great length, the whole story
of Sally and the cave and the tunnel and Miss Camilla and the hazardous
treasure-hunt that had ended her adventure. And now it was her turn to
be enlightened.
"Well," returned her father, smiling whimsically, "it was a good deal
like what they call 'the long arm of coincidence' in story-books, and
yet it was very simple, after all! I'd been disappointed so many times
in my plans to get down here to see you and your mother, and at last
the chance came, the other day, when I could make at least a flying
trip, but I hadn't even time to let you know I was coming. I arrived at
the hotel about lunch-time and gave your mother the surprise of her life
by walking in on her unexpectedly. But I was quite disgusted not to find
you anywhere about. Your mother told me how you had gone off for the day
with your bosom pal, Sally, to visit a mysterious Miss Camilla, and I
suggested that we take the car and go to hunt you up. As she was
agreeable to the excursion we started forth, inquiring our way as we
went. It was a merciful providence that got us there not a moment too
soon, and if it hadn't been for that little cherubic Genevieve we would
have been many minutes too late. If it hadn't been that two or three old
planks had been bent over you and protected you from the worst of the
earth and debris on top, and also gave you a slight space for air, I
don't believe any of you would have been alive now to tell the tale! So
the next time you go treasure-hunting, young lady, kindly allow your
useless and insignificant dad to accompany you!" And he gave her ear a
playful tweak.
"Daddy, it was awful,--simply awful when that old plank gave way and the
earth came sliding down on us!" she confided to him, snuggling down in
the arm he had placed around her. "At first we didn't think it would
amount to much. But more and more earth came pouring down and then
another plank loosened and Miss Camilla lost her footing and fell, and
we couldn't make our way out past it, either direction, and still the
dirt poured in all around us, and Sally and I tried to struggle up
through the top, but we couldn't make any progress. And at last that
third plank bent over and shut us in so we couldn't budge, and Sally and
Miss Camilla didn't answer when I spoke to them, and I knew they'd
fainted, and I felt as if I was going to faint too. But I called and
called Genevieve and at last she answered me. And after that I didn't
remember anything more!" She shuddered and hid her face in her father's
sleeve. It had been a very horrible experience.
"Don't think of it any more, honey. It turned out all right, in the end.
Do you know that Sally is around as well as ever, now, and came up to
the hotel to inquire for you this morning? She's as strong as a little
ox, that child!"
"But where is Miss Camilla?" suddenly inquired Doris. "She hurt her
foot, didn't she?"
"She certainly did, but she insisted on remaining in her own home, and
Sally begged her mother to be allowed to stay also with the
un-detachable Genevieve, of course, and take care of her and wait on
her. So there they are, and there you will proceed in the automobile,
this afternoon, if you feel well enough to make the visit."
"But what about the treasure?" demanded Doris, her eyes beginning to
sparkle.
"If you refer to the trunks and chests full of articles that Miss
Camilla insisted that we continue to excavate from that interesting hole
in her garden, you do well to speak of it as 'treasure'!" answered her
father laughingly. "For beside some valuable old family silver and
quite rare articles of antique jewelry, she had there a collection of
china and porcelain that would send a specialist on that subject into an
absolute spasm of joy. I really would not care to predict what it would
be worth to any one interested in the subject.
"And you can tell your friend, Sally, of the adventurous spirit, that
she's got 'Treasure Island' licked a mile (to use a very inelegant
expression) and right here on her own native territory, too. I take off
my hat to you both. You've done better than a couple of boys who have
been playing at and hunting for pirates all their youthful days.
Henceforth, when I yearn for blood-curdling adventures and hair-breadth
escapes, I'll come to you two to lead the way!"
But, under all his banter, Doris knew that her father was serious in the
deep interest he entertained in her strange adventure and all that it
had led to.