As there was no one of their acquaintance whom they could suspect of
being the ghost, the trick was laid at the door of some unknown dweller
along the road with a fondness for horseplay. The girls spent the
morning working quietly in the garden, and in the afternoon they went to
the city in Gladys’s automobile, all but Sahwah, who wanted to work on a
waist she was making. Then, after the automobile was out of sight she
discovered that she did not have the right kind of thread and could not
work on it after all. With the prospect of a whole afternoon to herself,
she decided to take a long walk. The Bartlett farm was not very large
and she was soon at its boundary, and over on the Smalley property. In
contrast to their little orchard and garden and meadow, the Smalley farm
stretched out as far as she could see, with great corn and wheat fields,
and acres of timber land. Somewhere on the place Calvin Smalley was
working, and Sahwah made up her mind to find him and ask him over to
Onoway House that night. But the extent of the Smalley farm was
ninety-seven acres, and it was not so easy to find a person on it when
one had no definite knowledge of that person’s whereabouts. Sahwah
walked and walked and walked, up one field and down another, shading her
eyes with her hand to catch sight of the figure she was looking for. But
Calvin was somewhere near the center of the cornfield, stooping near the
ground, and the high stalks waved over his head and concealed him
completely. Sahwah passed by without discovering him and crossed an open
field that was lying fallow. Beyond this was a strip of marsh land which
was practically impassable. Under ordinary circumstances Sahwah would
have turned back, but being badly in want of something better to do she
tried to cross it. She had seen two boards lying in the field, and
securing these she laid them down on the treacherous mud, and by
standing on one and laying the other down in front of her and then
advancing to that one she actually got across in safety.
On the other side of the bog she spied a little clump of trees and
headed toward them, for the sun was very hot in the open and the thought
of a rest in the shade was attractive. When she came nearer she saw that
this little copse sheltered a cottage, old and weatherbeaten and
evidently deserted. Weeds grew around it, higher than the steps and the
floor of the porch, and the crumbling chimney, which ran up on the
outside of the house, was covered with a thick growth of Japanese ivy.
“It’s a regular House in the Woods,” said Sahwah to herself, “only there
are no dwarfs. I wonder what it’s like inside,” she went on in her
thoughts. “Maybe we could come here sometime and build a fire—there must
be a fireplace somewhere because there’s a chimney—and have a Ceremonial
Meeting or a picnic. How delightfully private it is!” The trees hid the
house from view until one almost stumbled upon it, and then the marsh
and the broad vacant field stretched between it and the farm, and behind
it was the river, its banks hidden by a thick growth of willows and
alders, so that the cottage was not visible to a person coming along the
river in a boat. There was not a sound to be heard anywhere except the
zig-a-zig of the grasshoppers in the field and the swish of the hidden
water as it flowed over the stones. “A grand place to have a secret
meeting of the Winnebagos,” said Sahwah to herself, “where we wouldn’t
always be interrupted by Ophelia pounding on the door and wanting to
come in. I wonder if it’s open?”
She stepped up on the porch and tried the door. It was locked. She
peered into the window. The room she saw was absolutely empty. She could
not see whether there was a fireplace or not. She was seized with a
desire to enter that cottage. It was deserted and tumble down and
fascinating. Whoever owned it—if anyone did, for she was not sure
whether it stood on the Smalley property or not—had evidently abandoned
it to the elements. There was no harm at all in trying to get in. She
pushed on the window. It apparently was also locked. But she pushed
again and this time she heard a crack. The rotten wood was splitting
away from the rusty catch. She pushed again and the window slid up. She
stepped over the sill into the room.
The window was so thick with dirt that the light seemed dim inside. At
one end of the room there was an open fireplace, long unused, with the
mortar falling out between the bricks. There was another door in the
wall opposite the front door, so evidently there was another room
beyond. This door was also locked, but the key was in the lock and it
turned readily under her hand and the door swung open. Sahwah stood
still in surprise. This room was as full of furniture as the other had
been empty. Around all four walls stood cabinets and bookcases, and
besides these there was a couch, a desk, a table and several chairs. The
table was covered with screws, little wheels and the works of clocks,
and before it sat an old man, busily working with them. He had on a
long, shabby grey dressing-gown and a high silk hat on his head. He did
not look up as she opened the door, but went right on working,
apparently oblivious to her presence. She stared at him in amazement for
a moment, and then, remembering her manners, realized that she had
deliberately walked into a gentleman’s room without knocking.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, in embarrassment, “I didn’t know there
was anyone here.”
The old man looked up and saw her standing in the doorway. “Come in,
come in,” he said, affably, in a deep voice. Sahwah took a step into the
room. The old man went back to his wheels and rods and took no more
notice of her.
“What is that you’re making?” asked Sahwah, curiously.
“It’s a long story,” said the man, taking off his hat, pulling a
handkerchief out of it and putting it back on his head, and then falling
to work again.
“Must be a genius,” thought Sahwah, “that’s what makes him act so
queerly.” She waited a few minutes in silence and then curiosity got the
better of her. “Is it too long to tell?” she asked.
“Eh? What’s that?” asked the man, turning toward her. He took off his
hat, put his handkerchief back in again and then put the hat back on his
head.
“I asked you,” said Sahwah, politely, “if the story of what you are
making is too long to tell.”
“Not at all, not at all,” said the man, and resumed his work without
another word.
“How impolite!” thought Sahwah. “To urge me to stay and then refuse to
answer my questions.” Her eyes strayed around the room at the bookcases
and cabinets. Every cabinet was filled with clocks or parts of clocks.
The books as far as she could see were all about machinery. One was a
book of such astounding width of binding that she leaned over to read
the title. The letters were so faded that they were hardly visible. “L,”
she read, “E, F, E——”
“It’s a machine for saving time,” said the man at the table, so suddenly
that Sahwah jumped.
“How interesting!” she said. “How does it work?”
The man fitted a rod into a wheel and apparently forgot her existence.
She sat silent a few minutes more and then decided she had better go
home. She rose softly to her feet. “It’s something like a clock,” said
the man, without looking up from his work.
“It’s coming after all,” she thought, and sat down again.
After a silence of about five minutes the man spoke again. “It measures
the time just like any clock,” he explained, “only, as the minutes are
ticked off, they are thrown into a little compartment at the side,—this
thing,” he said, holding up a little metal box. He lapsed into silence
again and after an interval resumed where he had left off. “This
compartment,” he said, “holds just an hour, and when it is full a bell
rings and the compartment opens automatically, throwing the block of
time, carefully wrapped to prevent leakage of seconds, out into this
basket.” He took off his hat, brought out his handkerchief, polished a
bit of glass with it, put it carefully back into the crown and replaced
the hat on his head.
It suddenly came over Sahwah that her ingenious host was not quite right
in his mind, so rising abruptly she hastened out of the room. The man
took no notice of her departure. She locked the door carefully after
her, and went out by the window whence she had entered the house,
pulling it shut from the outside. She did not undertake to cross the
marsh again, but made a wide detour around it. When she was once more in
the fallow field she looked back, but the house was invisible among the
trees and bushes which surrounded it. As she sped past the rows of
standing corn on her way home, Abner Smalley, bending low among them,
saw her and straightened up with a suspicious look in his eyes. He
glanced in the direction from which she had come. On one side was the
empty field bordered by the marsh and the woody copse, and on the other
was the path from the river which went in the direction of Onoway House.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The girl had come from the direction of
Onoway House, of course. The next day he put his bull to graze in the
empty field before the copse. Then, in different places along the rail
fence which enclosed this field he put signs reading: BEWARE THE BULL.
HE IS UGLY.
When the girls came back from town Sahwah told her discovery. “Nyoda,”
said Gladys, suddenly, “do you suppose it could have been this man who
threw the pepper at you?”
“Perhaps,” said Nyoda, and all the girls shuddered at the thought.
Before Sahwah’s discovery they had agreed among themselves to say
nothing about the ghost episode to anyone outside the family, so that
the perpetrator of the joke, if he were one of the farmer boys living
near, would not have the satisfaction of knowing that they were wrought
up about it. In the meantime they would send Tom to get acquainted with
all the boys on the road and try to find out something about it from
them.
Calvin Smalley was over that evening and something was said about
Sahwah’s adventure of the afternoon. “Calvin,” said Nyoda, directly,
“who is the old man who lives in that house?”
Calvin looked very much distressed, and frightened too, it must be
admitted. Then he laughed, although to Nyoda his laugh seemed a trifle
forced, and said in his usual straightforward manner, “The man in the
old house among the trees? That is my great uncle Peter, grandfather’s
brother. He was something of an inventer and invented a time clock, but
the patent was stolen by another and he never got the credit for
inventing it. He worried about it until his mind became unbalanced. For
years he has worked around with wheels and things, making strange
contrivances for clocks. He is perfectly harmless and wouldn’t hurt a
fly. He will not live in a house with people and he will not leave the
cottage he lives in even for an hour, he is so afraid something will
happen to his machine while he is away. We don’t like to have people
know that he is there because they would say we ought to send him away,
but Uncle Abner won’t do that because Uncle Peter hates to be with folks
and he might not be allowed to play with his machine in an institution
the way he can here. So as long as he is happy what is the difference?
But you know how country people talk. So would it be asking a great deal
to request you not to say anything about this to anyone, not even the
Landsdownes? If Uncle Abner ever found out you knew he would be very
angry, and would sure think I told you. I don’t see how you ever got in,
anyway; the door is usually kept locked, and to all appearances the
house is empty.” Sahwah looked decidedly uncomfortable as she met the
eyes of several of the girls, but no one mentioned the manner in which
she had gained entrance. Inasmuch as she had pried into this secret she
felt it was no more than right to promise to keep it.
“All right, we won’t say anything,” she said, reassuringly. All the
others gave an equally solemn promise, and were glad that Ophelia had
heard none of the talk about the matter, for she had been over at the
Landsdowne’s since before Sahwah told her adventure. Little pitchers
have wide mouths as well as big ears.
The girls all looked at each other when Calvin asserted that his Uncle
Peter never left the house even for an hour. Clearly then, he had not
been the ghost.
Migwan had bad dreams that night. Just before going to bed she had been
reading a volume of Poe, which is not the most sleep producing
literature known. She dreamed that she was lying awake in her bed,
looking at a big square of moonlight on the floor, when suddenly a black
shadow fell across it, and the figure of a monkey appeared on the
windowsill, stood there a moment and then jumped into the room.
Shuddering with fright she woke up, and could hardly rid herself of the
impression of the dream, it had seemed so real. There was a big square
of moonlight on the floor. “I must have seen it in my sleep,” she
thought, “it’s exactly like the one in my dream.” She lay wondering if
it were possible to see things with your eyes closed, when all of a
sudden her heart began to thump madly. Into the moonlight there was
creeping a black shadow. It remained still for a few seconds, a
grotesque-shaped thing with a long tail, and then something came
hurtling through the window and landed on the floor beside the bed.
Migwan gave a scream that roused the house. Hinpoha, starting up wildly,
jumped from bed and landed squarely on the black specter on the floor.
The form struggled and squirmed and sent forth a long wailing ME-OW-W-W.
“What is the matter?” cried Nyoda and Gladys and Betty and Sahwah,
running to the rescue.
“It’s a cat!” said Migwan, faintly. “I thought it was a monkey!”
“Moral: Don’t read Poe before going to bed,” said Nyoda, while the rest
shouted with laughter at the cause of Migwan’s fright.
“It must have jumped in from the tree,” said Hinpoha. “I see our screen
has fallen out.”
There was little sleep in the house the rest of the night. During the
time when the screen was out of the window the room had filled with
mosquitoes, which soon found their way to the rest of the rooms. “If you
offered me the choice of sleeping in a room with a monkey or a swarm of
mosquitoes, I believe I’d take the monkey,” said Nyoda, slapping
viciously. Altogether it was a heavy-eyed group that came down to
breakfast the next morning.
“What are we going to do to-day?” asked Gladys.
“The usual thing,” said Migwan, “pull weeds. That is, I am. You girls
don’t need to help all the time. I don’t want you to think of my garden
as merely a lot of weeds to be forever pulled. I want you to remember
only the beautiful part of it.”
“We don’t mind pulling weeds,” cried the girls, stoutly, “it’s fun when
we all do it together,” and they fell to work with a will.
“I declare,” said Migwan, “I have become so zealous in the pursuit of
weeds that I mechanically start to pull them along the roadside. I
actually believe that if a weed grew on my grave I’d rise up and
eradicate it. I little thought when I proudly won an honor last summer
for identifying ten different weeds that they’d get to haunting my
dreams the way they do now. Now I know what people mean when they say
‘meaner than pusley.’ It’s the meanest thing I’ve ever dealt with. I cut
off and pull up every trace of it one day and the next day there it is
again, just as flourishing as ever.”
“I don’t call that meanness,” said Nyoda, “that’s just cheerful
persistence. Think what a success we’d all be in life if we got ahead in
the face of obstacles in that way. If I didn’t already have a perfectly
good symbol I’d take pusley for mine. If it were edible I think I’d use
it as an exclusive article of diet for a time and see if I couldn’t
absorb some of its characteristics.”
While she was talking Ophelia came along with a frog on a shovel, which
she proceeded to throw over the fence. “Come back with that frog,” said
Migwan, “I need him in my business. Don’t you know that frogs eat the
insects off the plants and we have that many less to kill?” Ophelia was
standing in the strong sunlight, and Nyoda noticed that the circle of
light hair on her head was still golden clear to the roots, although the
ringlets were visibly growing.
“It must be a freak of Nature,” she concluded, “for it certainly isn’t
bleached.”
Rest at Onoway House was again doomed to be broken that night. Nyoda had
been peacefully sleeping for some time when she woke up at the touch of
something cold upon her face. She started up and the feeling
disappeared. She went to sleep again, thinking she had been dreaming.
Soon the feeling came again, as of something cold lying on her forehead.
She put up her hand and encountered a cold and knobby object. At her
touch the thing—whatever it was—jumped away. She sprang out of bed and
lit the lamp. The sight that met her eyes as she looked around the room
made her pinch herself to see if she were really awake and not in the
midst of some nightmare. All over the floor, chairs, table, beds, bureau
and wash-stand sat frogs; big frogs, little frogs, medium-sized frogs;
all goggling solemnly at her in the lamplight. She stared open mouthed
at the apparition. Could this be another Plague of Frogs, she asked
herself, such as was visited upon Pharaoh? At her horrified exclamation
Gladys woke up, gave one look around the room and dove under the
bedclothes with a wild yell. To her excited eyes it looked as if there
were a million frogs in the room.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ophelia, sitting up in bed and staring around
her sleepily.
“Don’t you see the frogs?” cried Nyoda.
“Sure I see them,” said Ophelia. “Aren’t you glad I got so many?”
“Ophelia!” gasped Nyoda, “did you bring those frogs in here?”
“Betcher I did,” said Ophelia, with pride, “and it took me most all
afternoon to catch the whole sackful, too. What’s wrong?” she asked, as
she saw the expression on Nyoda’s face. “Yer said they’d eat the bugs
and yer made such a fuss about the mosquitoes last night that I brought
the toads to eat them while we slept.” Nyoda dropped limply into a
chair. The inspirations of Ophelia surpassed anything she had ever read
in fiction.
If anybody has ever tried to catch a roomful of frogs that were not
anxious to be caught they can appreciate the chase that went on at
Onoway House that night. The first faint streaks of dawn were appearing
in the sky before the family finally retired once more. Sufficient to
say that Ophelia never set up another mosquito trap made of frogs.