SPIRIT OF THE FOREST
"It is perfectly incredible!" exclaimed Miss Sallie.
She and Bab were discussing Mollie's adventure the next morning at
breakfast.
"The more I try to reason out the whole thing, the more in the dark I
am," Bab answered.
"Have you talked with Mollie?" Miss Sallie inquired.
Bab nodded, and replied thoughtfully: "The truth of the matter is, Mollie
knows less on the subject than the rest of us. All that she can tell is
that she was sitting quietly at the bottom of the ravine, when suddenly a
shower of leaves fell over her head, and she heard the noise of feet
running along the bank above her. Determined to discover what had
startled her, Mollie climbed up the ravine and kept on with her pursuit
until she was completely lost. She must have wandered around all day.
Finally she was so tired she sat down to rest. When she awoke Ruth and I
had found her."
"But Grace's sweater! Where did it come from?" asked Miss Sallie weakly.
Ceally who entered the room at this moment, with her arms full of logs
for the fire, caught the end of the conversation. She looked about her
cautiously. Naki, her husband, was some distance away, cutting down the
underbrush which was growing too high near their cabin.
"Miss," whispered Ceally cautiously, "they do say there is a ghost up on
that mountain. It must have been a ghost that led Miss Mollie on that
lost trail. Once you strike that trail, there ain't no way of finding
your way back again, unless you follow some such clue as Miss Ruth's bits
of paper."
"Ghosts! Utter nonsense, Ceally!" scolded Miss Sallie. But under her
breath she confessed to herself: "If anything in this world could bring
me to believe in ghosts it would be this mysterious occurrence."
Ruth flew in at the door.
"Aunt Sallie," she cried, "here is a man on horseback, with a note from
Mr. Latham. He wants us to come down and spend the afternoon with him. He
says he will send for us in a carriage that can come almost all the way
up the hill, so we need only walk a little way. Do let's go! Want to,
Bab?" Ruth finished.
Miss Sallie looked dubious. "It is a good deal of a task, child, to go
down this hill, except when we mean to stay down," she protested.
"Oh, no, Aunt Sallie!" Ruth begged. "You know Naki goes down the hill
every day, on some errand or other. I have been to Lenox twice myself and
to Pittsfield once. I won't give you and Bab these letters, unless you
promise to accept. One is for Bab, from her mother; the other is for you,
from father."
Miss Stuart was reading Mr. Latham's note.
"My sister-in-law is with me," it read. "She joins her entreaties to
Reginald's and mine to beg our hillside fairies to come down to the earth
and have afternoon tea with us. We are to have no other guests, except a
few young people whom I am sure your girls will like to meet. Later on,
when you condescend to spend a few weeks in Lenox, it may be a pleasure
for you to know them. Certainly it will be a pleasure for them to know
you."
"The man is waiting outside for your answer," proclaimed Ruth, dancing
first on one foot and then on the other. "Here are pen and paper. Do
write and let me take the note out to him."
Miss Stuart allowed herself to be persuaded into accepting Mr. Latham's
invitation. Life on the hill was growing a bit dull for Miss Sallie. She
dreaded the long trip, but Mr. Latham's place lay between their hill and
the town of Lenox.
Mollie came into the room as Ruth ran out to deliver the note of
acceptance. "Who is out there?" she inquired languidly. The little girl
was not yet rested from her experience of the day before.
"We are invited to the Latham place this afternoon, Molliekins!" Bab
explained.
"Are you going, Miss Sallie?" Mollie asked.
Miss Stuart nodded. "Yes, I think so, child," she declared. "It is a
dreadfully long journey, but Ruth is determined to go, and I am as wax in
her hands."
"Aunt Sallie Stuart, you are no such thing!" Ruth laughed, as she
returned to the little group. "I am the most obedient niece in the world.
You know you liked Mr. Latham. And he has a marvelous place, with a
wonderful fish pond on it. From his veranda he says you can see over into
four states, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts and Vermont!"
"Well, girls, we will start promptly after an early lunch," Miss Stuart
remarked.
"Miss Sallie," interrupted Mollie gently, "remember I am in the guard
house for the next twenty-four hours. I broke all camp regulations by
being lost yesterday. So I can't go with the party to Mr. Latham's."
"Nonsense, Mollie!" said Miss Stuart kindly. "I was only joking when I
threatened to establish military discipline in my camp. Besides, if you
were disobedient, you were well enough punished for it. Don't you wish to
come with us?"
Mollie shook her head. "If you don't mind, Miss Sallie, I would rather
not," she replied. "I am a little tired and I would rather stay quietly
up here. You can count on my promise this time. I won't go more than a
yard from the cabin. Naki and Ceally will both be here to look after me."
"I will stay with Mollie," spoke up Bab. "I prefer not to leave her
alone."
Mollie protested energetically. "Bab, you must not stay behind with me.
If you insist on doing it, I shall go with you, no matter how tired I
feel. You know you are the one original lady rescuer of an airship yet on
record! I was only the legs of the rescue, as I ran after Naki and
Ceally. You were the brains of the whole business. Besides, you know you
are simply dying to see Reginald Latham's airship models, as well as
their beautiful house and grounds. Make her go, Miss Sallie!" Mollie
ended.
"I see no reason, Bab, why you shouldn't accompany us." Miss Sallie
declared. "Naki and Ceally will look after Mollie, and an afternoon's
rest will be much better for the child than a long, fatiguing excursion."
Mollie walked to the edge of the hill to see Miss Sallie and her charges
start off on their excursion to Mr. Latham's. Then she thankfully crept
home to the little cabin and stretched herself out on her cot, with the
eider down comfort drawn up to her head. The child, who was not so
vigorous as Bab, was worn out from her fright and exposure. An hour later
she awakened, feeling bright and rested as though she had never been lost
in a strange woods.
It was a lovely, bright afternoon. Mollie could hear the leaves rustling
outside, as the wind stirred them and they fluttered to the ground. The
little girl had read that a swan sings a wonderful song just as he is
about to die. She walked out on the porch with an odd fancy in her head.
She stopped and listened again to the sound the autumn leaves made, as
they swirled from the trees to the earth.
"I believe," Mollie smiled to herself, "that the autumn leaves sing their
swan song, too." She pointed to a beautiful, golden maple leaf, that was
fluttering in the air. "See, there is a leaf! It is singing its good-bye
song to the tree, which has borne it all summer! The little leaf is
traveling to an unknown land down under the ground."
Mollie laughed at her own idea. It was difficult for her to keep her eyes
turned away from her ravine. She glanced up the hill. Surely she saw a
figure moving there. It was a slight young creature, no larger than
Mollie herself. Was it a boy or girl? It was impossible to tell, though
the figure was drawing toward her.
The little girl watched with fascinated eyes. Down the ravine crept a
thin, brown body. Now it looked this way, then that. Hardly touching the
earth, it flew from one high rock to the other. Then it dipped into the
hollow between the two hills and was gone.
This time Mollie did not stir from her veranda, but through her brain
flashed the thought--the ghost at last!
In another moment she saw a black head rise up on a level with her eyes.
Mollie gave a gasp of surprise, then was silent. A thin, brown creature
moved softly toward her on velvet feet. Mollie hardly breathed. Never in
her life had she beheld so odd, so exquisite a figure.
A girl about her own age stood before her. Her hair hung over her
shoulders, black and straight. Her cheeks were a deep carmine. Her
complexion was too dark to be olive, yet it was neither brown nor red.
She was dressed in a thin, soft garment that fitted her closely from her
bare neck to her ankles. Around her waist she had knotted a crimson
scarf. On her head she wore a fantastic wreath of scarlet autumn leaves.
The newcomer stared at Mollie. Once, like a startled fawn, she turned to
flee. But Mollie was too wise to speak or to move. Reassured, the quaint
visitor drew nearer.
Mollie smiled at her quietly. "Are you afraid of me?" she asked gently.
"Come here, I shall not hurt you."
Suddenly the stranger's dark, sad little face burst into a smile. "I am
not afraid," she insisted. "I am never afraid. But is it well with you?"
She spoke English, but with a strange guttural note Mollie had never
heard before.
"Why should it not be well with me?" asked Mollie in surprise.
"Because," the wood sprite answered, "you were lost yesterday in the
hills."
"How did you know?" Mollie demanded.
"How did I know?" The girl lifted her head proudly. "I know all things
that take place in the woods," she replied. "The woods are my home."
Mollie looked thoughtful; then she spoke in a firm voice: "You know for
other reasons, as well. You know I was lost because you led me away
yesterday."
The girl's brown face crimsoned, her eyes flashed. Then she lifted her
head proudly. "I led you nowhere!" she declared. "You would follow me. No
one can run as I do, or capture me when they hunt."
"Who are you?" Mollie asked her.
"I am nobody," the young girl replied. It seemed to Mollie she spoke
sadly. But she dropped down on the steps of the porch and waited until
Mollie joined her there.
Mollie put out her own soft, white hand and took the other girl's brown
fingers in her own. The hands were slender and long, with hard muscles
trained to the work of the woods.
"Well," said Mollie gently, "if I _would_ follow you, perhaps my getting
lost was my own fault. But was it quite fair of you to come each morning
to our windows, and then fly away again before anyone could see you?"
Mollie was only guessing at this; but it was easy to see her guess had
struck home.
Her visitor turned a deeper crimson and dropped her eyes.
"I am sure you meant no harm by your morning calls," continued Mollie
smilingly. "But, if you didn't lead me away into the woods, there is one
thing I feel very sure of; you did show my friends how to find me."
"Hush, hush!" cried the wood nymph, rising to her feet and looking around
in terror, her slender body poised for flight. "Promise me," she pleaded,
"that you will not tell you have seen me, nor that I ever came here to
you." The girl dropped on her knees at Mollie's feet. "I am an Indian
girl," she explained. "I live on Lost Man's Mountain, but I know no one,
and no one knows me. Only Naki your guide has seen me. But he, too, has
Indian blood. He will not betray me. My name is Eunice. I have no other
name."
"But you cannot live alone," Mollie protested.
The Indian girl shook her head without answering. "If I tell you," she
implored, "will you promise me by the stars never to betray me? Promise,
promise, or I shall disappear and you will see me never again."
"Oh," Mollie answered thoughtlessly, "I promise."
A swift change swept over the Indian girl's face. She leaned confidingly
toward Mollie, who realized for the first time what her promise meant.
She was already dying to tell Bab and the other girls of her afternoon's
experience, but she vowed to herself to keep the child's secret.
"I do not live alone," Eunice declared. "I have a grandmother, who is an
old, old Indian woman. Our hut is far back in the hills. All day I have
watched and waited by your cabin, until the others went away. I wanted to
see that all was right with you. I trust you with my secret. Now, I must
be far away."
"But won't you come again, Eunice?" begged Mollie. "Why not come and see
all of us? We are only other girls like you. My sister and her friends
have only gone away for a visit to the Lathams'."
Eunice started and shook her black hair. "Latham! You must not speak the
name to me!" she cried fiercely. "My grandmother says it is an evil name,
and will work harm to me."
Mollie laughed at her. "The name of Latham is nothing to you, Eunice,"
she protested. "But won't you let me thank you for leading my sister to
me? You must have been the will-o'-the-wisp with the dark lantern. You
must have made the fire, and--and--you must even have put Grace's sweater
over my shoulders as I lay asleep. You are my ghost!"
The Indian girl drew herself up proudly, but her dark face turned
curiously white. "Yes," she muttered, "I took the red cloak away. My
grandmother says that I stole it, and Indians of royal blood do not
steal. I am no ghost, I am a princess!" Eunice looked at Mollie with
haughty grace.
"I did not know I was stealing," she insisted. "I saw the soft, red
thing. I did not think. I love the scarlet colors in the world." She
touched the crimson leaves in her hair. "When I found that I had stolen I
meant to bring the cloak back. Then I saw you asleep in the woods. You
looked so cold and white that I put the cloak over your shoulders to keep
you warm. Now you have your own again."
"But, Eunice," Mollie inquired, more and more puzzled by the girl's
appearance and conversation, "are you a pure-blooded Indian? You do not
look like one. Your eyes are as big and brown as my sister Bab's, only a
little darker. And your features are so fine and pretty. Then you speak
such good English and your name is Eunice. Have you ever been to school?"
Eunice shook her head. "A long time a woman stayed in the tent with my
grandmother and me. She taught me to speak and to read books. She comes
again each winter with the snows. My teacher is part Indian and part
white. My grandmother says that an Indian princess must know, these days,
all that the white race knows, and she must have the knowledge of her own
people as well. But I go now. You will not tell you have seen me. Then,
some day when you are alone, I may return."
"Wait a second, Eunice?" begged Mollie and disappeared inside their
cabin. She came out with a lovely red silk scarf in her hand. "Take this,
Eunice, it is for you!" she explained.
Eunice shook her head. "An Indian princess does not accept gifts," she
demurred.
"Oh," laughed Mollie, throwing her gift over Eunice's brown shoulder,
"you are a proud little goose! I am sure it is a small enough gift. I
want to thank you for the service you did for me in the woods."
Ceally was stirring about in the kitchen. Like a flash the Indian girl
was gone. Mollie sat on the veranda steps rubbing her eyes. Had her
visitor been a real girl, or was Mollie bewitched by a brown elf?