BAB REGAINS HER INHERITANCE
When the young folks could force themselves to think coherently again,
it was decided that the boys should wait beside Bab’s miraculously
revealed fortune, guarding it there in its hiding place, while the
girls went back to the sheriff’s house and commandeered a horse and
wagon from his farm.
Bab had just turned from her treasure reluctantly and with many a
backward glance when there was a quick rush from the shadows behind
her. A small, furry animal jumped for the girl’s arm, caught it, and
swung himself up to her shoulder. The sapajou!
“Oh!” cried Bab, hugging the little creature close enough to have
killed a less hardy young sapajou. “Where have you been hiding, you bad
little thing? And all the time I thought you were dead!”
“Why, this is his regular hide-out, Bab,” said Gerry, as they all
crowded about to pet the little creature and make much of it. “I
suppose the monkey was down here all the time the house burned merrily
overhead.”
“I suppose this is where you took all the things that disappeared when
we first came here,” said Bab, frowning at the sapajou, who blinked and
chattered in response. “Gerry’s hairbrush, for instance.”
“We’ll look for the hairbrush while you’re gone,” suggested Charlie,
and Gerry threw him a laughing glance.
“I suppose that means you want to get rid of us,” she said. “All right,
we were going, anyway!”
During the walk back to the Rawsons’ home, the sapajou clung to Bab,
his funny little face pressed close to her radiant one. Bab never could
remember the particulars of that walk, for she was in an ecstatic daze
of happiness.
“I can’t believe it yet,” she said over and over again. “I keep
thinking that I’ll have to wake up and find it all a dream.”
“Want me to prove it isn’t a dream?” asked Gerry.
“No, thanks!” Bab dimpled. “You keep your distance, Gerry Thompson, or
I’ll sic the sapajou on you!”
When they reached the Rawson house they were surprised by the sound
of a motor horn close by. When Gerry would have rushed forward, Bab
stopped her with a warning gesture.
“Wait a minute,” she cried eagerly. “Those are Barbara Winthrop’s
parents, I think----”
“Her father and mother come to take her away,” breathed Gerry.
“Look!” cried Bab. “There’s Barbara on the porch.”
But before she had finished the sentence, Barbara was not on the porch.
She was flying down the steps toward an automobile from which a man and
a woman were hastily descending.
“Mother! Father!” sobbed the girl. “Don’t look like that! Don’t cry,
dearests. I’m all right now, truly I am. Don’t cry, Mother!”
But the man and the woman knelt in the dust of the road, their
arms about the girl. The woman had flung off her hat and tears were
streaming down her face. From where they stood, Bab and Gerry could
hear the man’s whisper, half-groan, half-prayer:
“God is good!”
Wet-eyed, the girls turned away, but in Bab’s full heart was a reverent
echo of that cry.
“Oh, God _is_ good,” she said.
* * * * *
Sheriff Rawson readily agreed to send a wagon and a team of horses to
the ruined house for the battered chest containing Bab’s fortune.
He stared open-mouthed as the girls gave an excited, incoherent account
of their wonderful adventure.
“To think Jeremiah Dare had all that and all the time livin’ as if he
hadn’t one cent to lay atop another! Well, it sure does beat all!” he
exclaimed.
Rosa Lee’s comment was characteristic.
“Well, all Ah has to say is dat de ole gene’lman might have left his
money in de bank an’ saved yo’-all a heap o’ trouble gettin’ it, honey.”
“And done us out of a heap of fun, too, Rosa Lee,” cried Gerry, eyes
dancing. “Don’t forget that part of it!”
“We wouldn’t have missed this party for worlds,” added Bab.
“Mebbe not,” grumbled Rosa Lee, unconvinced. “But it’s mah private
opinion dat dat ole Jeremiah Dare, he was jest a li’l bit touched in de
haid--yassir, dat’s mah opinion, an’ Ah sticks to it.”
“Why, it sounds like a story out of a book,” was Mrs. Fenwick’s
comment. “What a strange miser he must have been! But I am awfully glad
you found this wealth, Bab. I trust you will get great comfort out of
it--you and your grandparents.”
“You girls had better stay here and rest while Mr. Rawson goes for the
boys and the strong box,” suggested the sheriff’s wife. “You had an
exciting night and have been on the go all day. You’ll be worn out.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Gerry. “We want to go along! It was hard enough to
take our eyes off that chest long enough to come here to ask for the
wagon.”
“You can go, Miss Gerry,” interposed Rosa Lee. “But mah chile is goin’
to stay right here ’longside o’ me. Dat box’ll git here all right
widout you.”
Bab laughingly agreed to stay with Rosa Lee, and Gerry, saying it would
be “no fun” to go without her chum, also remained behind.
The sheriff set out with team and wagon for the ruins of the old house
in the glen and returned a short time later with the chest and the
boys--the latter sitting triumphantly upon the lid of the strong box.
Bab’s fortune was borne ceremoniously into the Rawson living room, to
be stared at incredulously by the sheriff and his family.
Gordon went over to Bab, who was petting the sapajou and looking on at
the scene with shining eyes, and dumped a pile of articles in her lap.
She cried out in amazement, and Gerry rushed over to her.
“Look!” cried Bab. “Your hairbrush, Gerry! And here’s your gold pin,
Charlie, that you mourned so----”
“And Gordon’s silver pencil--and Charlie’s penknife!” came from Gerry.
“Sure, we found the sapajou’s cache under a loose brick in the darkest
corner of the subcellar!” explained Gordon.
“Oh, you wicked little beast!” cried Bab, making believe to cuff the
monkey’s ear. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“We found crusts of bread, too,” laughed Charlie, “and the remains of
one of Rosa Lee’s doughnuts.”
“Ah said from the beginning dat monkey was de debbil’s own chile!” said
Rosa Lee, shaking her head. “Yo’-all should ’a’ let me take a rollin’
pin to him when Ah fust had a mind to--yassir, dat’s what you should
’a’ done!”