THE _Myra_ BRINGS VISITORS
We had hardly dared to hope the _Myra_ would be back promptly at the
end of four weeks, remembering that long, anxious delay on her former
voyage, but she surprised us by showing her top-sails over the blue
horizon-line three full days before we had dreamed of her being due.
Of course we were all clustered in mad excitement on the beach, waving
frantically, when she slipped through the break in the barrier reef and
into the smooth, transparent water of our little lagoon, where she came
to anchor. Uncle Joe was in the dinghy when it pulled ashore, and with
him we saw an elderly couple--neither of whose faces we knew--the lady
being dressed in deep mourning.
Naturally enough the first greetings were for Uncle Joe, but a moment
later he shook us aside, something the way a big, playful bear might
have done to a lot of bothering cubs, and turned to the little
black-gowned old lady beside him.
“First,” he said, in the deep, hearty voice we had learned to love the
sound of, “you must meet the finest and dearest sister a wandering
sailor ever possessed. Mollie dear, I have brought you as visitors the
former owners of Sunset Island, Monsieur and Madame Carreau.”
Aunt Mollie took the little frail looking old lady’s hands--which
were trembling pitifully--in both hers and then, somewhat to my
astonishment, because Aunt Mollie’s not usually demonstrative with
outsiders--she bent over impulsively and kissed Madame Carreau.
“Welcome home, Madame,” she said warmly. “I feel as if we had been your
very happy, grateful guests all these months. How nice to be able to
enjoy this beautiful old house with you! How did Joe happen to find you
both? He told me he had seen you last in India.”
She was shaking hands now with Monsieur Carreau, who looked almost
as frail and tired as his wife, I thought. Then Uncle Charles was
introduced, and finally Andrée and the boys and I. We were half
dying of smothered excitement and curiosity, by the time it came our
turn, over the advent of visitors--particularly visitors about whose
identity we had speculated as often and heatedly as we had on the
former owners of our Island.
“It was the luckiest chance you ever heard of, my meeting these good
friends again,” Uncle Joe spoke up promptly. “It seems they’d got
homesick for the Island, and decided that somehow they must find me
and win my permission to come back--as if _that_ were necessary, of
course it’s their home still!” Here Uncle Joe laughed and blew his nose
loudly, to cover up his real sympathy I guessed. “Anyhow,” he went on,
“they thought they were getting along in years, and that the world had
been a pretty rough place of late, and they wanted nothing so much as
to come home to Sunset Island and end their days here peacefully, with
their memories of their son, Raoul, and the happiness of that time when
he was alive and the plantation prosperous.”
I saw Aunt Mollie’s arm go quietly about Madame Carreau’s thin little
shoulder and draw her nearer.
“Yes, that was it,” Monsieur Carreau broke in, his voice trembling. “We
thought never to return to this island where so much of sorrow came
to us. But in the end, one desires always to go home. We can remember
better here, as our good friend Monsieur le Capitaine says, the times
when we were very happy and Raoul was young.”
“And by the merest chance we found each other in New York,” Uncle Joe
took up the story cheerfully. “They had been inquiring for me at a sort
of sea-faring club they knew I used to belong to, but which I haven’t
been near in ten years or more. The secretary of the club, however, who
follows the shipping news, had seen the arrival of the _Myra_ listed,
and got word to me. And of course the moment I found out how they felt,
I bundled Monsieur and Madame aboard the schooner, hardly giving them
time to send for their luggage. And here we are!”
“We have been protesting all the way down,” Madame said in her soft,
gentle little voice, “about being inflicted on strangers in this
fashion. We did not know the Capitaine’s family were living on the
Island. We hoped perhaps we could have been of service in overseeing
the plantation for its new owner.”
“But that’s just what you can do--better than anyone else,” Aunt Mollie
said quickly. “To speak in the American slang of my sons, you and
Monsieur, here, ‘know the ropes,’ and can help us to many short-cuts we
would otherwise have to work out for ourselves. Besides, think of the
company you will be for us all!”
“And perhaps,” I was bold enough to say excitedly, thinking of that
chest in the storeroom with the fascinating old clothes and Rosemary’s
diary, and all the rest of it, that had helped to make our stay on
Sunset Island so like a book. “Perhaps when you’re rested, Madame,
you’ll tell us stories sometimes, about the history of the Island.
And--and about Rosemary. You see we found her diary, and some of her
lovely clothes and--and Morgan’s map--but we’ve lost _that_!--We’ll
save that part to tell you later, when things are quieter--Uncle Joe
will have to hear it too.”
The smile she gave me was so sort of grateful and pleased, it actually
made the tears come to my eyes, and I’m not the kind of girl that cries
easily either.
“You dear child,” she half whispered, and patted me on the cheek, as if
I were five instead of fifteen--only I didn’t mind that.
“Jean,” she said, turning to her husband, her big, sad looking dark
eyes bright and excited, “she wants to know about Rosemary--and the
treasure.”
Monsieur nodded, almost as excited and eager as she was. “They are like
Raoul,” he murmured. “He was always hunting for Morgan’s doubloons.”
They beamed at each other so delightedly that I was glad I’d mentioned
the map, guessing that the reference to it had brought back the
happiest time in their lives, and broken the ice of formality between
us.
Then Aunt Mollie insisted that further conversation must be left until
our new visitors had been installed in their old bedroom in Planter’s
House, and we all clamored to go along as escort.
Monsieur and Madame Carreau protested anxiously, in the same breath,
that they would on no account consent to dislodging anyone who might
now be occupying their room. That they knew and loved all the rooms in
the house, and would be comfortable and at home in any that was vacant.
Fortunately it turned out that theirs was the room we had saved for our
“guest room”--wondering at the time, when we’d ever have guests to put
in it; so everyone was satisfied.
Uncle Joe had two of the sailors from the _Myra_ carry up the one
shabby trunk the Carreaus had brought to the Island, and Andrée and I,
at our earnest request, were allowed by Madame to unpack it, and hang
the clothes in the two big closets in the room, under her direction.
Of course we didn’t comment to each other, either then or later, on
the shabbiness and old-fashioned cut of both Monsieur’s and Madame’s
wardrobes, but we couldn’t help noticing and guessing at the struggle
they’d had, not only with their sorrow for their dead son, but with
poverty as well.
I certainly did feel glad we’d got them safely on Sunset Island, where
we could try to make up to them for all the bad times that had gone
before. Naturally it would have been rude to venture to refer to their
troubles, but I tried sort of stumblingly, to tell her how happy we
were that she and Monsieur had come back to the Island, and Andy came
to my help with a pretty little speech such as she can be counted on to
make when the occasion requires it. I’ve always envied her the positive
genius she has for saying the right, graceful thing at the right time.
Madame blushed like a girl. She had a soft, delicate white skin that
showed every little fluttering change of color.
“You’re dear children,” she told us, and reaching up laid one of those
wrinkled, blue-veined gentle old hands of hers against my cheek, and
the other under Andy’s chin, and drew us both down to kiss us.
“So you are interested in finding that treasure, _mes enfants, n’est-ce
pas_?” she asked us, smiling. “So was my Raoul. Always he talked about
the great Morgan’s hiding place. And when he was a little boy--about
so tall--” she measured off three feet from the floor--“he would
make _maman_ to hunt with him. I will show you all the places, _mes
chéries_. Perhaps--perhaps after all, one day we find that treasure,
_non_?”
“Uncle Joe doesn’t believe it’s on the Island at all,” I said
doubtfully. “He thinks the old sailor who copied the chart made a
mistake in copying the latitude, or the longitude--I never know which
is which. The figures are so blurred, you know. They might be almost
anything. And besides, there’s no inlet on the Island, like the one
marked ‘Dead Men’s Inlet’ on the map.”
Andy looked anxiously from me to Madame, her eyes sparkling. I’d never
thought before she was quite as keen as the rest of us on the treasure
hunt, but suddenly I felt a little ashamed to realize that perhaps I
hadn’t bothered to find out just what this particular young cousin of
mine was thinking and feeling. Andy had a way of keeping her thoughts
to herself, but that wasn’t any real excuse for leaving her out of
things as maybe Syd and I had been doing unconsciously.
“But I never believed that there was a mistake in that map.” Madame
answered my last remark very emphatically. She nodded her head with
great assurance at each word. “It has always been the--how do you
say--_tradition_, that it was here on the Island Morgan made his
_cache_. Let us not consult those wise persons, children, like my
husband and Monsieur your _oncle_. Let us make our own hunt for the
treasure.”
She thought a moment, and then added:
“There may be another way of reading that map--well, we shall see.
And--here is a secret--I have sometimes thought what if the little
plateau on top of the high ground--You have not hunted there yet? I
thought not. The other search parties always claimed it was too far
from the beach.”
Andy and I looked at each other, our breath coming faster. I had often
wanted to explore that jungly patch of high ground, but it was such
hard going we’d kept putting it off, before. Of course probably Uncle
Joe was right; he usually was; but another treasure hunt would be a
glorious lark, whether we found anything to reward us or not.
When the unpacking was finished, we persuaded Madame to lie down for a
little nap, and Andy and I hurried downstairs to find Uncle Joe.
We both wanted to be present when he heard about Captain Rawson’s visit
and the theft of the map. To our disappointment we discovered we were
too late for that, but the whole family, including Monsieur Carreau,
were gathered in the hall, still talking the matter over.
Uncle Joe, though of course he was a good deal surprised by the
news, was the calmest of us all--But that’s the way Uncle Joe is. He
never loses his head, and just because of that very calmness, and
self-assurance of his the people round him begin to feel pretty sure
that everything’s quite all right after all--and that even if it’s not,
Uncle Joe’s able to make it so.
Syd says that is the quality that makes great leaders, and I guess
he’s right. I know Uncle Joe’s crew on the _Myra_ adore him, and would
follow him into any danger, sure he’d find a way to bring them safely
through.
In a different fashion, Aunt Mollie’s the same. The whole family has
always turned to her instinctively when we’re in any trouble.
Almost the first question Uncle Joe asked when the story had been told,
was addressed to Martin.
“Didn’t know the ship, did you, Martin? Get a look at her name?”
Martin tried to nod his head and shake it, both at the same time in
answer, and he was so in earnest none of us saw anything funny in the
way he did it.
“I didn’t see her name, sir,” he said. “That was one point made me kind
o’ suspicious things weren’t all clear and aboveboard. She was a sloppy
lookin’ craft--not in her lines, which was pretty as you could ask.
Somebody’s racin’ yacht she’s been, once upon a time, sir, if you ask
me. There’s real class to her, an’ no mistake. But, say, it’d have made
any yacht owner’s heart real sick, to look at the way that crew kept
her. Things layin’ ’round on her deck, an’ a long tarpaulin trailin’
over her stern so it hid her name plate entirely--’Course it might have
been an accident, but she didn’t have no name on her for’ard, and no
name on the dinghy neither. Still an’ all, I kind o’ got a feelin’ I’ve
seen her before but I can’t rightly say just where nor when.”
Uncle Joe thought this over carefully for a full minute.
“You think she’s a rum-runner, eh?” he asked then. “Sounds as if she
might be some kind of tough customer, judging by her Captain’s actions.
Poor Reddy! Well, maybe we’ll find out more about her antecedents and
mission later on.”
At this Syd gave me a significant look. So Uncle Joe expected our
modern pirates back again, too! I felt pretty thankful that if they
were really coming they’d been considerate enough to wait till Uncle
Joe was at the helm.
But here Uncle Charles changed the subject by asking a question about
the result of the trip north, and Uncle Joe had so many interesting
things to tell of the arrangements he had made in New York for
disposing of our oranges, and the various tools, stores, etc., he
had brought back for the plantation in the _Myra_, that we forgot
all about Captain Rawson for the time being, and when Madame Carreau
came downstairs an hour later, looking rested, and bright, we forgot
entirely to tell her anything about the map being lost.
Later we were all glad of this, because Monsieur, seizing a moment when
Madame had left the room for something, asked us very earnestly not to
mention the subject before her.
He told us she had always had a weak heart, and it had been his
particular care, as it had been their son’s also while he lived, to
keep all worry and anxiety from her as far as it lay in their power.
Of course, it wasn’t the theft of the map that would worry
her--Monsieur Carreau expressed his belief, proudly, that his wife
would be entirely able to draw that map line for line, from memory--but
the apprehension connected with the possibility of a return visit from
Captain Rawson’s vessel, might prey on her imagination. For his part
he added, he very much doubted whether we should ever see anything of
those ill-mannered gentry again. But I think we all felt he was only
saying this because he wanted to believe it--not because he really did.
Naturally, we all promised solemnly we wouldn’t mention the matter
before Madame.
“But suppose she asks to see the map,” Andy reminded us suddenly.
“She’s awfully interested in the whole idea of a new treasure hunt, so
she probably will want the map to study over--don’t you think so, Gay?”
I had to admit that after what she had said to us upstairs, it seemed
very likely.
Monsieur Carreau frowned in a troubled fashion. Then his face cleared.
“But I heard Mademoiselle Gay tell her, down on the beach when we
arrived, that the map was lost,” he exclaimed triumphantly. “We can
tell her just that. She will think it mislaid somewhere. That will not
be a lie, my friends. It is lost--quite thoroughly, I should say. My
wife is too polite, I hope, ever to ask impertinent questions as to
_how_ you contrived to lose it.”
It was beautiful to see how proud of her, and careful and considerate
for her he was, even in the smallest details. But then, somehow, I
couldn’t have imagined anyone who had lived in the same house with
Madame Carreau for long, being anything but devoted to her.
It was just as well Monsieur Carreau had warned us when he did, for
as soon as the shadows began to lengthen out on the terrace, Madame
brought out some exquisite embroidery she was working on, and asked
Andy and me to draw up chairs beside her.
“How pleasant it is to be home again,” she said softly, with a little
half sigh. “There is just one thing I want to see, to make me feel
natural, _mes enfants_, and that is Morgan’s map. Raoul and I were
forever puzzling over it.” There were sudden tears in her eyes, which
Andy and I pretended politely not to see.
Andy spoke quickly and sort of carelessly, while I was still wondering
how to begin.
“We’re awfully ashamed, Madame, to have to tell you that we’ve managed
very stupidly to lose your map--yes, of course it’s really yours. It
was poor little Reddy--he took it out of the escritoire one day about a
week ago, without permission, and now he doesn’t know where it is.”
Every word of which was literally true, but I resented her blaming it
on Reddy’s supposed carelessness. Of course, he shouldn’t have shown
the map to Captain Rawson, but he hadn’t just carelessly mislaid it, as
her version of the affair seemed to imply. However, I couldn’t think of
anything to improve the story without coming out with all the facts, so
I kept still.
To our surprise and relief Madame took the loss matter-of-factly.
“That is too bad, but it will turn up somewhere. Lost things always
do,” she said smilingly. “I hope you didn’t scold the poor little
fellow. All boys adore a treasure map. And at any rate it can’t have
got off the Island.” Little did she guess how far off the Island it had
gone.