A STRANGE GIRL
“Now that it’s all over, and we can think without a guide,” said
Dorothy, coming out from the luncheon table, “we really ought to
consider Urania--we ought to consult Aunt Winnie about her, and see
what would be best to do. She must not run away and be left out in the
world alone.”
“My sentiments exactly,” spoke up Ned, who had taken from the table a
few crackers just to show the pigeons he was glad to have them home
again. “Come along down to the ‘enclosure’ and when we have interviewed
the prodigals on their adventures in the wild west show that ‘busted’
up in a shooting match, then we may be able to ‘get cases’ on Urania. I
notice she had not yet found her way out of the kitchen.”
“The poor child was famished,” said Dorothy. “I never saw any one eat
with such relish.”
“The only real way to eat,” declared Ned. “I believe it would be a good
thing for us all to get starved once in a while--when cook is in good
humor.”
“Well, I feel better at any rate,” declared Nat. “It’s all very well
to travel with a show, but I do like to stop off long enough to get
acquainted with my digestive organs.”
“The proper caper,” agreed Tavia. “I now feel able to discuss anything
from girls to gullies.”
“Girls have it,” declared Nat. “Girls to the bat!”
“Now please don’t waste time,” cautioned Dorothy. “You know what a
sudden sort of affair Urania is. She is just as apt to disappear before
we have a chance to talk to her, as she is to come over to thank us for
her luncheon. I am making a study of her sort of sentiment--I believe
it is more solid and more sincere than any we can work up.”
“Hurrah!” called Nat. “Studying sentiment! That’s better than studying
French. Because sentiment we have always with us, and French only comes
around on the Exams. Dorothy, you are growing older every minute.”
“And you--”
“Handsomer,” he interrupted Tavia. “Tavia I know exactly how you regard
me, but don’t let’s give it away all at once.”
Thus thrown entirely off her guard Tavia had nothing better left to do
than to chase Nat down to the enclosure, where together they fed the
returned birds the crackers that Nat had pilfered from the lunch table.
“Dorothy,” began Tavia, handing out the last crumbs, “certainly is a--”
“Brick!” finished the young man, who had a most satisfactory way of
finishing things generally. “Yes, I agree with you. She certainly went
some in that cave. Jimminnie! But that was creepy!”
“I should say so! I nearly collapsed on the outside. And now she is
going to try to straighten Urania out.”
“And likely she’ll do it too. If I do say so Dorothy has made good use
of the fact that she is a first cousin to Nat White.”
“Of all the conceits!” cried Tavia, and then Dorothy and Ned appeared.
“I’ve been talking to Aunt Winnie,” began Dorothy, in her usual prompt
way, “and she thinks we really ought to do something for Urania. The
girl declares she will never go back to camp, and I really do believe
she has a notion of following us to Glenwood. You know her folks camped
in the mountains there last year.”
“Take her along, take her along,” spoke up Nat, foolishly, “the more
the merrier.”
“Not exactly,” objected Dorothy. “Urania would scarcely enjoy the
regime at Glenwood. But, all the same, there ought to be some place
where she would fit in.”
“And if there is no such place then we will make one,” went on Nat,
still half joking,--but he was the other half in downright earnest.
All this time John and the village constables were searching for the
runaway men, who were suspected of being the actual robbers, although
Urania declared they were not. It was true, as the gypsy girl said, the
men taken into custody were the men she had seen enter the cave, and
those who were seen later in the swamp were members of the same gang,
but were strangers to the cave and the hidden property. Just how Urania
came into possession of the facts was not altogether plain, but likely
her habit of sleeping under trees, at some distance from the tents,
made it possible for her to hear queer conversations, when all in the
dense wood was supposed to be wrapt in the mantle of night.
Her father took no part in the doings of the other gypsies, neither did
he know anything of the robbery, beyond that which was already public
gossip. When therefore he heard his daughter’s name mentioned so
conspicuously in the robbery talk, his wrath was intense, and his anger
almost dangerous.
The whole place was in a commotion, and it was well that Urania kept
away from the swamp and surrounding camp sites for the time being.