Among the other books at Onoway House there was a Manual of the
Woodcraft Indians which belonged to Sahwah, and which she was very fond
of quoting and reading to the other girls when they were inclined to
hang back at some of the expeditions she proposed. One night she read
aloud the chapter about “dancing the sun dance,” that is, becoming
sunburned from head to foot without blistering. On a day not long after
this Ophelia might have been seen standing beside the river clad only in
a thin, white slip. Stepping from the bank, she immersed herself in the
water, then stood in the sun, holding out her arms and turning up her
face to its glare. When the blazing August sunlight began to feel
uncomfortably warm on her body she plunged into the cooling flood and
then came up to stand on the bank again. She did this straight through
for two hours, and then began to investigate the result. Her arms were a
beautiful brilliant red, and the length of leg that extended out from
the slip was the same shade. She felt wonderfully pleased, and dipped in
the water again and again to cool off and then returned to the burning
process. When the dinner bell rang she returned to the house, eager to
show her achievement. But she did not feel so enthusiastic now as when
she first beheld her scarlet appearance. Something was wrong. It seemed
as if she were on fire from head to foot. She looked at her arms. They
were no longer such a pretty red; they had swelled up in large, white
blisters. So had her legs. She could hardly see out of her eyes.
“Ophelia!” gasped the girls, when she came into the house. “What has
happened? Have you been scalded?”
“I’ve been doing your old Sun Dance,” said Ophelia, painfully.
Never in all their lives had they seen such a case of sunburn. Every
inch of her body was covered with blisters as big as a hand. The sun had
burned right through the flimsy garment she wore. There was a pattern
around her neck where the embroidery had left its trace. She screamed
every time they tried to touch her. Nyoda worked quickly and deftly and
the luckless sun dancer was wrapped from head to foot in soft linen
bandages until she looked like a mummy.
Sahwah sought Nyoda in tribulation. “Was it my fault,” she asked, “for
reading her that book? She never would have thought of it if I hadn’t
given her the idea.”
“No,” answered Nyoda, “it wasn’t your fault. It said emphatically in the
book that the coat of tan should be acquired gradually. You couldn’t
foresee that she would stand in the sun that way. So don’t worry about
it any longer.”
“Still, I feel in a measure responsible,” said Sahwah, “and I ought to
be the one to take care of her. Let me sleep in the room with her
to-night and get up if she wants anything.” Sahwah’s desire to help was
so sincere that she insisted upon being allowed to do it, and took upon
herself all the care of the sunburned Ophelia, which was no small job,
for the pain from the blisters made her frightfully cross.
Nyoda was surprised to see Sahwah keeping at it with such persistent
good nature and apparent success, for as a rule she was not a good one
to take care of the sick; she was in too much of a hurry. She would
generally spill the water when she was trying to give a drink to her
patient, or fall over the rug, or drop dishes; and the effect she
produced was irritating rather than soothing. But in this case she
seemed to be making a desperate effort to do things correctly so she
would be allowed to continue, and fetched and carried all the afternoon
in obedience to Ophelia’s whims. She read her stories to while away the
painful hours and when supper time came made her a wonderful egg salad
in the form of a water lily, and cut sandwiches into odd shapes to
beguile her into eating them. When evening came and Ophelia was restless
and could not go to sleep she sang to her in her clear, high voice,
songs of camp and firelight. One by one the Winnebagos drifted in and
joined their voices to hers in a beautifully blended chorus.
“Gee, that’s what it must be like in heaven,” sighed the child of the
streets, as she listened to them. The Winnebagos smiled tenderly and
sang on until she dropped off to sleep.
Sahwah slept with one eye open listening for a call from Ophelia. She
heard her stirring restlessly in the night and went over and sat beside
her. “Can’t you sleep?” she asked.
“No,” complained Ophelia. “Say, will you tell me that story again?”
Sahwah began, “Once upon a time there was a little girl and she had a
fairy godmother——”
“What’s a fairy godmother?” interrupted Ophelia.
“Oh,” said Sahwah, “it’s somebody who looks after you especially and is
very good to you and grants all your wishes, and always comes when
you’re in trouble——”
“Who’s my fairy godmother?” demanded Ophelia.
“I don’t know,” said Sahwah.
“I bet I haven’t got any!” said Ophelia, suspiciously. “I didn’t have a
father and mother like the rest of the kids and I bet I haven’t got any
fairy godmother either.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” said Sahwah to soothe her, “you have one only you
haven’t seen her yet. Wait and she’ll appear.” But Ophelia lay with her
face to the wall and said no more. “Would you like me to bring you a
drink?” asked Sahwah, a few minutes later. Ophelia replied with a nod
and Sahwah went down to the kitchen. There was no drinking water in
sight and Sahwah hesitated about going out to the well at that time of
the night. Then she remembered that a pail of well water had been taken
down cellar that evening to keep cool. Taking a light she descended the
cellar stairs. When she was nearly to the bottom she heard a subdued
crash, like a basket of something being thrown over, followed by a
series of small bumping sounds. She stood stock still, afraid to move
off the step.
Then, summoning her voice, she cried, “Who is down there?” No answer
came from the darkness below. After that first crash there was not
another sound. Sahwah was not naturally timid, and her one explanation
for all night noises in a house was rats. Besides, she had started after
water for Ophelia, and she meant to get it. She went down stairs and
looked all around with her light. She soon found the thing which had
made the noise. It was a basket of potatoes which had fallen over and as
the potatoes rolled out on the cement floor they had made those odd
little after noises which had puzzled her. Satisfied that nobody was in
the house she took her pail of water and went up-stairs, glad that she
had not roused the house and brought out a laugh against herself.
She gave Ophelia the drink, and being feverish she drank it eagerly and
murmured gratefully, “I guess you’re my fairy godmother.” As Sahwah
turned to go to bed Ophelia thrust out a bandaged hand and caught hold
of her gown. “Stay with me,” she said, and Sahwah sat down again beside
the bed until Ophelia fell asleep. Sahwah felt pleased and elated at
being chosen by Ophelia as the one she wanted near her. It was not often
that a child singled Sahwah out from the group as an object of
affection; they usually went to Gladys or Hinpoha. So she responded
quickly to the advances made by Ophelia and thenceforth made a special
pet of her, taking her part on all occasions.
Soon after Ophelia’s experience with sunburn a rainy spell set in which
lasted a week. Every day they were greeted by grey skies and a steady
downpour, fine for the parched garden, but hard on amusements. They
played card games until they were weary of the sight of a card; they
played every other game they knew until it palled on them, and on the
fifth day of rain they surrounded Nyoda and clamored for something new
to do. Nyoda scratched her head thoughtfully and asked if they would
like to play Thieves’ Market.
“Play what?” asked Gladys.
“Thieves’ Market,” said Nyoda. “You know in Mexico there is an
institution known as the Thieves’ Market, where stolen goods are sold to
the public. We will not discuss the moral aspect of the business, but I
thought we could make a game out of it. Let’s each get a hold of some
possession of each one of the others’ without being seen and put a price
on it. The price will not be a money value, of course, but a stunt. The
owner of the article will have first chance at the stunt and if she
fails the thing will go to whoever can buy it. If anyone fails to get a
possession from each one of the rest to add to the collection she can’t
play, and if she is seen by the owner while ‘stealing’ it she will have
to put it back. We’ll hold the Thieves’ Market to-night after supper in
the parlor and I’ll be storekeeper.”
The Winnebagos, always on the lookout for something novel and
entertaining, seized on the idea with rapture. The rain was forgotten
that afternoon as they scurried around the house trying to seize upon
articles belonging to the others, and at the same time trying valiantly
to guard their own possessions. It was not hard to get Sahwah’s things,
for she had a habit of leaving them lying all over the house. Her red
hat had fallen a victim the first thing; likewise her shoes and tennis
racket. It was harder to get anything away from Nyoda, for she seemed to
be Argus eyed; but providentially she was called to the telephone, and
while she was talking they made their raid.
When opened, the Thieves’ Market presented such a conglomeration of
articles that at first the girls could only stand and wonder how those
things had ever been taken away from them without their knowing it, for
many of them were possessions which were usually hidden from sight while
the owners fondly believed that their existence was unknown. Migwan gave
a cry of dismay when she beheld her “Autobiography,” which she was
carefully keeping a secret from the rest, out in full view on the table.
“How did you ever find it?” she gasped. “It was folded up in my
clothes.”
But Migwan’s embarrassment was nothing compared to Nyoda’s when she
caught sight of a certain photograph. She blushed scarlet while the
girls teased her unmercifully. It was a picture of Sherry, the serenader
of the camp the summer before. Until they found the photograph the girls
did not know that Nyoda was corresponding with him. And the prices on
the various things were the funniest of all. The girls had come down
that evening dressed in their middies and bloomers for they had a
suspicion that there would be some acrobatic stunts taking place, and it
was well that they did. To redeem her hat Sahwah had to stand on her
head and to get her bedroom slippers Gladys had to jump through a hoop
from a chair. Hinpoha had to wrestle with Nyoda for the possession of
her paint box, and the price of Betty’s shoes was to throw them over her
shoulder into a basket. At the first throw she knocked a vase off the
table, but luckily it did not break, and she was warned that another
accident would result in her going shoeless. Migwan tremblingly
approached the Autobiography to find out the price. It was “Read one
chapter aloud.” “I won’t do it,” said Migwan, flatly.
“Next customer,” cried Nyoda, pounding with her hammer. “For the simple
price of reading aloud one chapter I will sell this complete
autobiography of a pious life, profusely illustrated by the author.”
Sahwah hastened up to “buy” the book, but Migwan headed her off in a
hurry and read the first chapter with as good grace as she could, amid
the cheers and applause of the other customers. Sahwah made a grimace
when she had to polish the shoes of everyone present to get her shoe
brush back.
Thus the various articles in the Thieves’ Market were disposed of amid
much laughter and merry-making, until there remained but one article, a
cold chisel. Nyoda went through the usual formula, offering it for sale,
but no one came to claim it. She redoubled her pleas, but with the same
result. “For the third and last time I offer this great bargain in a
cold chisel for the simple price of jumping over three chairs in
succession,” she said, with a flourish. Nobody appeared to be anxious to
redeem their property. “Whose is it?” she asked, mystified.
It apparently belonged to no one. “It’s yours, Gladys,” said Sahwah, “I
stole it from you.”
“Mine?” asked Gladys, in surprise. “I don’t own any chisel. Where did
you get it from?”
“Out of the automobile,” answered Sahwah.
“But it doesn’t belong there,” said Gladys. “There’s no chisel among the
tools. You’re joking, you found it somewhere else.”
“No, really,” said Sahwah, “I found it in the car this afternoon.”
“Mother,” called Migwan, “were there any tools left in the barn by Mr.
Mitchell?”
“Nothing but the garden tools,” answered her mother. Tom also denied any
knowledge of the chisel.
“Girls,” said Nyoda, seriously, “there is something going on here that I
do not understand. First Migwan thought she heard footsteps in the
attic; then a ghost appeared to me in the tepee; one night we saw a man
running out of the barn, and later on that night Migwan claims to have
run into a man in the garden. Soon afterward Hinpoha was sure she heard
footsteps in the attic, and when we went up we found the window broken.
Just a few nights ago a basket of potatoes was mysteriously knocked over
in the cellar in the middle of the night, and now we find a chisel in
the automobile which does not belong to us. It looks for all the world
as if somebody were trying to break into this house, in fact, has broken
in on a number of occasions.”
Migwan shrieked and covered up her ears. “A mystery!” said Sahwah,
theatrically. “How thrilling!” The interest in the Thieves’ Market died
out before this new and alarming idea.
“It may be only a remarkable series of co-incidences,” said Nyoda,
seeing the fright of the girls, “but it certainly looks suspicious. That
window may possibly have been broken by the wind during the storm, and
the footsteps may have been rats or Mrs. Waterhouse’s ghost, and the
ghost in the tepee may have been a practical joker, but baskets of
potatoes do not fall over of their own accord in the middle of the night
and cold chisels don’t grow in automobiles. There’s something wrong and
we ought to find out what it is.”
“Oh, I’ll never go up-stairs alone again,” shuddered Migwan. “Sahwah,
how did you ever dare go down cellar in the dark after you heard that
noise?” And she shivered violently at the very thought.
“Tom, can you handle a gun?” asked Nyoda.
“Yes,” answered Tom.
“I’m going to buy a little automatic pistol to-morrow,” said Nyoda, “and
teach everyone of you girls how to shoot it.”
“I wonder if we hadn’t better try to get Calvin Smalley to sleep in the
house,” said Migwan.
“I can take care of you,” said Tom, proudly. Nothing else was talked of
for the remainder of the evening and when bed time came there was a
general reluctance to become separated from the rest of the household.
But, although they listened for footsteps in the attic they heard
nothing, and the night passed away peacefully.
The next night the ghost became active again. Whether it was the same
one or a different one they did not find out, however, for they did not
see it this time, only heard it. Just about bed time it was, a strange,
weird moaning sound that filled the house and echoed through the big
halls. Whether it proceeded from the basement or the attic they were
unable to make out; it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
Migwan clung close to her mother and trembled. The sound rang out again,
more weird than before. It was bloodcurdling. Nyoda opened the window
and fired several shots into the air. The moaning sound stopped abruptly
and was heard no more that night, but sleep was out of the question. The
girls were too excited and fearful. The next day Mrs. Gardiner advised
everybody to hide their valuables away. The peaceful life at Onoway
House was broken up. The household lived in momentary expectation of
something happening. “And this is the quiet of the country,” sighed
Migwan, “where I was to grow fat and strong. I’m worn to a frazzle
worrying about this mystery.”
“So’m I,” said Gladys.
“And I’m getting thin,” said Hinpoha, which brought out a general laugh.
“Not so you could notice it,” said Sahwah. Whereupon Hinpoha tried to
smother her with a pillow and the two rolled over on the bed,
struggling.
As if worrying about a burglar were not enough, Sahwah and Gladys had
another exciting experience one day that week. If we were to stretch a
point and trace things back to their beginnings it was the fault of the
Winnebagos themselves, for if they hadn’t gone horseback riding that
day—— Well, Farmer Landsdowne came over in the morning and said he had a
pair of horses which were not working and if they wanted to go horseback
riding now was their chance. The girls were delighted with the idea and
flew to don bloomers. None of them had ever ridden before and excitement
ran high. Naturally there were no saddles, for Farmer Landsdowne’s
horses were not ridden as a general rule, and the girls had to ride
bareback.
“It feels like trying to straddle a table,” said Migwan, marveling at
the width of the horse she was on. “My legs aren’t half long enough.”
She clung desperately to his mane as he began to trot and she began to
slide all over him. “He’s so slippery I can’t stick on,” she gasped. The
horse stopped abruptly as she jerked on the reins and she slid off as if
he had been greased, and landed in the soft grass beside the road.
“Here, let me try,” said Sahwah, impatient for her turn. “He isn’t
either slippery,” she said, when she got on, “he’s bony, horribly bony.
He’s just like knives.” She jolted up and down a few times on his hip
bones and an idea jolted into her head. Getting off she ran into the
house and came out again with a sofa pillow, which she proceeded to tie
on his back. Then she rode in comparative comfort, amid the laughter of
the girls.
Calvin Smalley, who happened to be working out in front and saw her ride
past, doubled up with laughter over his vegetable bed. “What next?” he
chuckled. “What next?” He was still thinking about this and laughing
over it when he went through the empty field which Sahwah had crossed
the time she had discovered the house among the trees, and where Abner
Smalley now pastured his bull. So absorbed was he in the memory of that
ridiculous pillow tied on the horse that he was not careful in putting
up the bars behind him when he left the field, and later in the
afternoon the bull wandered over in that direction and came through into
the next field. He found the river road and followed it and began to
graze in one of the unploughed fields belonging to Onoway House.
Sahwah, wearing her big, red hat, was bending low over the ground,
digging up some ferns which grew there, when all of a sudden she heard a
loud snort and looked up to see the bull charging down upon her. She
looked wildly around for a place of safety. Nothing was nearer than the
far-off hedge that surrounded the cultivated garden patch. Not a tree,
not a fence, in sight. Quick as light she bounded off toward the hedge,
although she knew it would be impossible for her to reach it before the
bull would be upon her.
Gladys, coming along the road in the automobile, heard a shriek and
looked up to see Sahwah tearing across the open field with the bull hard
after her. Without a moment’s hesitation Gladys turned the car into the
field and started after the bull at full speed. She let the car out
every notch and it whizzed dizzily over the hard turf. She sounded the
horn again and again with the hope of attracting the attention of the
bull, but he did not pause. Like lightning she bore down upon him,
passed to one side and slowed down for a second beside Sahwah, who
jumped on the running-board and was borne away to safety.
“This hum-drum, uneventful life,” said Sahwah, as she sat on the porch
half an hour afterward and tried to catch her breath, while the rest
fanned her with palm leaf fans, “is getting a little too much for me!”