GORDON’S DISCOVERY
The sun was streaming radiantly in at Bab Winters’ window when she
awoke. All her fears of the night before had vanished into a vague and
unreal mist.
With a bubbling sense of joy in life and the prospect of adventure, she
slipped noiselessly out of bed and went over to the window.
About her spread a gleaming, rain-washed world, trees and shrubs and
tangled weeds reflecting back the rays of the sun in myriad dazzling
rays of color.
The moist, sweet-scented breath of the wind fanned her cheeks and
brought the roses glowing to them.
Things were going to happen to-day, she felt it--wonderful, splendid
things!
The first of them was Gordon Seymour. She saw him just below her
window. He was clad in khaki breeches and puttees, and a scarlet
sweater atop this outfit gave a flare of color that, in some
mysterious way, added to the joy of Barbara’s mood.
Eyes dancing, she leaned from the window and called to him softly.
His mood seemed to match her own and he looked up quickly, beckoning to
her.
“We’ve the world to ourselves,” he called softly. “I have something to
show you.”
“Down in a minute!” Bab waved and disappeared.
It was all she could do to keep from singing as she jumped hastily into
her clothes--sturdy, low-heeled sport shoes, khaki skirt, white middy
and fluffy white sweater. She hesitated a minute and then, as an impish
afterthought, added a wider scarlet tie. It gave her a rakish, jaunty
look that caused her to chuckle softly under her breath.
“I’m stealing Gerry’s thunder,” she told her radiant reflection. “She
always looks like a naughty little gypsy in red.”
One glance at the bed to make sure that Gerry was still asleep, and Bab
was out the door and flying lightfootedly down the stairs.
No one heard her, and the next moment she stood poised in the doorway,
regarding Gordon with dancing eyes.
The boy came toward her with hands outstretched, unstinted admiration
in his eyes. Bab’s bright color became a little brighter and her eyes
fell to the gay hue of his sweater.
“You looked so sort of frivolous,” she chuckled, “that I thought I’d
put on something to match.”
“Well, if you knew how _you_ look!”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter how I look, Don. It’s how I feel that counts.”
With a little, unrestrained gesture she flung out her arms to the wild
beauty of the woodland about them.
“I’m going to make each day tell while we’re up here, Gordon. And who
knows what day--” She paused on a long-drawn breath and stared straight
before her, seeing, not the immediate future, but some inner vision of
her own.
The boy, watching her intently, took a step closer.
“You mean--the money, Bab?”
“The will, that queer codicil--the possibility of finding a fortune
here in this queer, terrible, old house. Of course I’m thinking of it!
How could I think of anything else? How could I?”
Gordon gave the girl a keen look, then drew her hand, big-brother
fashion, through his arm. Bab’s color was almost too high, he thought,
her eyes a trifle too bright.
“You’re going to think of something else, just the same--at least until
it’s time for breakfast,” he told her as he led her along an almost
invisible path up the hillside and into the woods.
“But where are we going?” asked Bab, submitting willingly enough.
It was nice to be alone with the boy next door in that early morning
world of sweet scents and rainbow hues. The days of their childhood
disputes seemed far in the past. They understood each other so well
these days, Bab and the boy next door, that there was seldom need of
explanations between them. Their comradeship was a very complete and
satisfactory thing.
“I’m taking you to my discovery,” said the boy, in answer to her
question. “Once you’ve seen it I’m much mistaken if I ever get you back
to the house in time for breakfast.”
“Your discovery will have to be pretty wonderful then,” Bab warned him.
“For I’ve an earnest appetite!”
Gordon’s discovery, when they came to it, proved to be a rather
unimpressive body of water. Even at flood times it could not have
seemed more than a good-sized creek. Now, in shallow places, the water
could not have been more than a few inches deep.
“It broadens out farther down, though,” Gordon explained. “And at one
place it looked deep enough for a swim.”
“Oh, it’s nice,” said Bab, for the music of the water, as it rippled
over the stones, was sweet to her ears. “I wish we didn’t have to wait.”
“What for?” queried Gordon.
“Our swim! Oh, dear!”
Bab Winters sat down disconsolately on an old, moss-covered stump. Her
face expressed such utter dismay that Gordon was alarmed.
“Now what is it?” with a glance over his shoulder. “See a wildcat or a
bear?”
“No,” said Bab mournfully. “But if I had a mirror I’d see an idiot.”
“A good looking one, anyway,” suggested Gordon.
But Bab refused to be consoled.
“It isn’t a joking matter,” she assured him reproachfully. “Do you
realize that with all this beautiful water and everything, we haven’t a
bathing suit among us?”
“Speak for yourself, young woman,” said Gordon, pegging stones into
the water with aggravating unconcern. “Do you think I’d go away to
the country for the summer without packing the trusty old suit away
somewhere among my belongings? I wouldn’t be such a sap!”
“Oh,” sighed Bab, addressing a small gray squirrel who peeped at her
curiously from about the trunk of a tree, “now I suppose he’s calling
me names!”
Gordon glanced at her sideways, grinned, relented and flung himself on
the ground at her feet.
“You and Gerry can probably get one at the village store----”
“One wouldn’t do.”
“Two then,” he went on, with admirable patience. “They usually have a
general store in these little towns where they sell everything from
buns to bathing suits.”
“They’d surely be too long, or short, or old-fashioned, or something.”
“You could probably sew them up,” soothed Gordon, with characteristic
masculine vagueness. “They’d be better than nothing, anyway.”
There was a short silence while Gordon pegged stones and Bab stared
contentedly out over the water.
“We’ll need some sort of a boat,” she said after a while. “Do you
suppose we can buy that at the village store too?”
Gordon grinned.
“Shouldn’t wonder. But if we can’t we’ll make something, if it’s only a
Robinson Crusoe raft,” he promised. “With all the good material around
here, I’d feel sorry for us if we couldn’t knock together something
that would float. We’ll set Charlie to work,” he added, with a chuckle.
It was only when they had started back to the house that the
mysterious events of the day before crowded again into Barbara’s mind.
Impulsively she told Gordon about the experience in the library. When
she had finished the boy regarded her with mingled amazement and
indignation.
“But why didn’t you tell us before?” he demanded. “What was the idea of
being so secret?”
“Then you think it’s really important--about the footsteps?” she asked
eagerly.
“Important! I should say so! Provided you are sure you really heard
anything,” he added dubiously.
“We could hardly be mistaken.” Bab was sure about this. “We both heard
the same thing.”
“Might have been mice or rats.”
Bab sniffed.
“I’ve heard mice and rats before,” she said. “If this was a mouse, then
I’m a parrot!”
When they reached the house they found it impossible to satisfy
Gordon’s eager curiosity and go at once to the library.
Gerry and Charlie Seymour, dressed and eager for the day’s fun, were
just starting in search of them as they came up on the porch. Mrs.
Fenwick was fluttering like a distracted hen who has lost two of her
chicks and Rosa Lee was grumbling in the kitchen because the breakfast
was getting cold.
By this time, with Mrs. Fenwick’s aid, Rosa Lee had scraped at least
a nodding acquaintance with the oil stove; the result being that the
bacon and eggs, while not up to her usual standard of perfection, were
very savory as well as plentiful.
However, there were at least two in the room who were not sorry when
the meal was over, good as it was. They were free at last to escape
into the library without rousing the suspicions of the cook.
Bab and Gordon were speedily followed by the others. In the intimacy of
the book-lined room, Bab repeated, for Charlie’s benefit, the story she
had told Gordon earlier that morning.
But Charlie was inclined to hoot.
“Sounds like a lot of buncombe to me,” he yawned. “Just a woolly ghost
story.”
Bab flushed and started to speak, but Gerry stopped her with a quick
gesture.
“Keep still!” she cried. “Listen!”
At the moment, so distinct as to defy all skepticism, came the soft
rush of something behind them!