PRISONERS
Elizabeth and Betsy were left in possession. Even Electra had the
afternoon and evening off on Thanksgiving Day. Elizabeth’s big brother,
Dick, with his chum, Hal Tyson, Betsy’s brother, had gone to a football
game, taking Kathie and one of her girl friends. Mr. and Mrs. Hollins
had determined upon a drive, after the hearty Thanksgiving dinner, and
had taken Babs with them to see some relatives five miles distant,
while Bert had been allowed to go to the game, too.
“I don’t know about leaving you two little girls all alone,” said Mrs.
Hollins doubtfully, as she was putting on her hat. “Don’t you think
you’d better come with us? We can take the surrey just as well as the
buggy, and then there will be plenty of room.”
“Oh, dearest love-mother, we don’t want to go,” replied Elizabeth.
“We’d so much rather stay here and play by ourselves. We will not get
into any mischief, I solemnly asseverate. We’re going to play up in my
playroom and the attic and we will be right there when you come back.
We’ve eaten so much dinner that we shall not want to descend to the
nether regions for any food and we will be as safe as crickets under a
big stone.”
“You ridiculous child, I hope you will be safe. I will see that the
outside doors and windows are fastened and we will take the latch-key.
If you promise to play in the attic and not to do anything with matches
or fire, I think I can trust you.”
“We won’t have a single sentiment of fire or matches and we will be
just as good as pie,--as the pumpkin pie we had for dinner. I’ll tell
you what we’re going to play, mother. It is very much according to the
day, a historical sort of entertainment: we’re going to play Mayflower
and Plymouth Rock and Indians. I’ve thought it all out. The big chest
is to be Plymouth Rock and the old rocking-chair the Mayflower. You
won’t mind our hitching the chair along the floor a little so as to
make it more like sailing. I haven’t decided whether I shall be John
Alden or Myles Standish; maybe I can be both. Betsy is going to be
Priscilla, and we are going to be very historical and thankful, so you
see we shall not have any chance of getting into mischief.”
“Then if that is the case I can leave you. There are ginger-snaps in
the stone jar in the pantry, if you get hungry.”
“Oh, but I don’t believe the Pilgrims had ginger-snaps, do you? Perhaps
they had plum-duff. I don’t know what that is exactly, but it sounds
Englishy and old-fashioned. But if our muscles need refreshment after
our arduous journey we will seek the stone jar, mother.”
“Betsy will stay with you till someone comes, I suppose.”
“Oh yes, for Dick is coming home after the football game and of course
Hal will come, too, and one of them can take Betsy home. Besides, Bert
will be back before the rest because he has gone on his wheel to the
game.”
“Very well, then I think I need not worry about you. I see your father
coming with the buggy, so I must go.”
“Good-bye, then, dearest mother Alden. Kiss me farewell, for your son
John is going on a long journey across seas to a new country. Ye good
ship Mayflower bears him away.”
“Good-bye, son John,” returned Mrs. Hollins, falling into Elizabeth’s
make-believe. “I hope your journey will be all you expect. We shall try
to be back by dark,” and, responding to Babs’ vociferous call, Mrs.
Hollins went out.
“Now then,” said Elizabeth, not waiting to see her parents off, “we
will hie to the ship, Priscilla.”
They rushed off upstairs, a corner of which was given over to Elizabeth
for a playroom. Here she kept her favorite books, her dolls, her
treasures of various kinds. But the girls did not settle down in this
usually favored place; instead they took possession of the middle
of the attic, pulling a huge, old-timey rocking-chair to the point
opposite a big chest. Betsy, with a handkerchief tied over head
and a cheesecloth dust-cloth used as a kerchief for her shoulders,
established herself in the chair, while Elizabeth hunted up a
wide-brimmed felt hat of her brother Dick’s and a Norfolk jacket that
she might be properly attired. By dint of mighty rockings they managed
to hitch along the chair towards its destination, although it was slow
work.
“Do not be cast down, Priscilla,” said the would-be John. “We shall
reach our haven in good time. Methinks I see a faint upheaval yonder
which has a degree of permeance not like the restless sea.” She shaded
her eyes with one hand and peered forwards. “Aha!” she cried, “I am
right. It is a mighty rock, and to it we will strive to make our way.
Art glad, Priscilla?”
“Truly I am and very thankful,” responded Betsy. “I like not these
buffeting waves.”
“Marry, neither do I!” replied Elizabeth. “It is a long and wearisome
voyage we have made, but there is land at last.” She climbed to the
seat of the chair and waved her hat vigorously, crying, “Land! Land!”
But her violent demonstrations were too much for the clumsy craft, for
it lurched backwards and the two voyagers were spilled out. They were
not hurt, however, but scrambled up laughing and rubbing their elbows.
“That was a mighty wave indeed,” cried Elizabeth. “A little more and
we had been drowned, Priscilla. We must now wade ashore and reach the
rock.” With much pretended effort they managed to do this, clambering
to the top of the chest and falling upon their knees in thankfulness.
The next thing was to build themselves a house, which they did from
some broken chairs and discarded umbrellas. But it was too tame a
matter to sit there for very long, and Elizabeth rushed off to hunt
game, returning breathless and reporting the meeting of a fierce
savage. Leaving their house behind them, they escaped to the house of a
neighbor, where, for no reason at all, they declared themselves safer,
and where suddenly John Alden changed into Myles Standish, to go forth
doughtily and fight the Indians. Priscilla was also transformed into a
man, electing to be William Bradford.
However, they soon tired of battling with Indians and decided that
something more sentimental would be to their liking. “I’ll tell you
what,” said Elizabeth; “there’s an old spinning-wheel somewhere about;
we can get that and you can be Priscilla and say, ‘Why don’t you speak
for yourself, John?’ You can be sitting at the wheel and be singing
the hymn we had at school yesterday, and I will come in. I think there
is an old hymn-book in the store closet where mother packs away the
winter clothes. It is locked, but the key is hanging right by the door.”
They dragged forth the old spinning-wheel, after Priscilla had resumed
her maidenly dress, and then they went to hunt up the dilapidated
hymn-book which Elizabeth remembered having seen on the shelf of the
locked closet. It was a Yale lock, but easily opened, and in a few
moments they were inside the closet, which was really like a little
room and was lighted by a small window high in the side. Elizabeth
rummaged around and at last found the book.
“Here it is,” she announced. “Now we will see if the same hymn is in
it.”
They sat down together on a box and began looking over the book. “What
a queer smell this room has,” said Betsy.
“It is the camphor balls,” Elizabeth told her. “Mother has been
unpacking some of the clothes for winter and I came across a paper box
of the balls while I was looking for the book. Here’s the hymn all
right, Betsy. Now, come, let’s go back.”
But this was easier said than done, for, upon trying the door, they
found it had swung to and was locked, the key being still on the
outside.
“Now we’ve done it,” cried Elizabeth. “We are prisoners, Betsy, for
there is no possible way of getting out.”
“What shall we do?” cried Betsy, looking distressed.
“We can’t do anything till the family come home. We shall just have
to stay here and amuse ourselves the best we can; it won’t be so very
long. They will miss us and will come up to look, then when we hear
them we will bang on the door and call to them.”
“But it may not be for ever so long after they get back.”
“Oh yes, it will, for they will know we don’t want to stay up here in
the dark. We can really play just as well in here even if it is smelly.
We can pretend we are prisoners taken by the Indians, or that we are
hiding from them and don’t dare to come out.”
Somewhat comforted, Betsy accepted the situation with a good grace,
though they did not find playing prisoner a particularly exciting game
and soon wearied of it. In the face of bare walls and not much space
Elizabeth’s imagination failed her and they sat down rather crestfallen
to wait rescuers.
They had been silent for about five minutes when suddenly Elizabeth
jumped up, saying, “I know what we can do; we can play jacks with the
moth balls.”
“That is an idea,” Betsy said in a pleased voice. “It will be much
better than sitting still doing nothing.”
Elizabeth lifted the box of moth balls from the shelf. They cleared a
space on the top of the box where they had been sitting, and, squatting
down upon the floor, they began the game. The novelty of their
playthings lasted till dark began to set in and they could no longer
see to play. The little room was so dimly lighted that it was really
not so late as it seemed, even on this November afternoon. They were
not uncomfortable for there were parcels of blankets and such things
wrapped in paper and piled up on the floor; these they leaned against,
taking various positions as they became restless.
“It isn’t so very warm, is it?” said Betsy, after a long silence.
“No, but we can easily get out something to wrap ourselves up in. I
think if we were to lie down we might be more comfortable. We can make
a bed of some of these big packages; it won’t hurt, and I will get out
a blanket to put over us.”
This was a new arrangement and they laughingly prepared to lie down,
cuddling under a heavy blanket and feeling quite satisfied to wait
events. It grew darker and darker. It was very still in the house and
very still in the little room; only the sound of gentle breathing came
from the pallet on the floor.
In course of time the various members of the family returned. First
came Bert, who, finding that the door was locked, did not attempt to
get in, but went off to Patsy McGonigle’s to see how he had fared upon
Thanksgiving Day. Next came a merry party of young people. Dick had a
latch-key and let in the crowd. They went into the parlor and began to
sing college songs, then Neal Paine proposed that all go over to his
house.
“I’m jolly hungry myself, after that long ride,” he said, “and we’ve a
barrel of oysters sent up for Thanksgiving, so what’s the matter with
going over, all of us, and having an oyster roast?”
“First-rate,” agreed Hal.
“So say we all of us,” Dick seconded him. So out they all rushed across
the street, leaving the house to silence though not to utter darkness.
Not long after this the wheels of the buggy crunched up the driveway.
Mrs. Hollins and Babs alighted and Mr. Hollins drove off to the barn.
“By the looks of things I should say that Dick and the rest had
returned,” remarked Mrs. Hollins as she entered the lighted room. “I
wonder where the little girls are. Perhaps Elizabeth has walked home
with Hal and Betsy,” and, leisurely taking off her coat and hat, she
sat down to unfasten Babs’s wraps.
Presently Mr. Hollins came in. “Where are the youngsters?” he asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Hollins. “The boys have evidently
been here. I haven’t been upstairs, but I imagine that Elizabeth has
walked home with Betsy and Hal; perhaps they all went off together,
though Elizabeth promised to be here when I returned. Suppose you call
up and see if she is at the Tysons’s.”
Mr. Hollins went to the ’phone, returning in a few minutes with the
report that there was no response to the call. “They’re all away, I
suppose,” he said. “I noticed that the house was quite dark as we came
by. Perhaps the girls have gone to Bess Ferguson’s. I’ll try there.”
The reply to his query was that neither of the girls was there and had
not been since early in the day.
“I will go upstairs and hunt around,” said Mrs. Hollins; “perhaps they
are in the house after all.” Leaving Babs with her father, Mrs. Hollins
mounted the stairs and searched through all the rooms on the next
floor, then she took a lamp and went up into the attic. Here were signs
of the late presence of Elizabeth and her friend, Betsy. The big chair
still lay where it had been overturned, the spinning-wheel loomed up
dimly before the window, a bow and arrow of Bert’s lay on the floor,
garments were strewn around. “Elizabeth will have to come up tomorrow
and set things to rights,” murmured Mrs. Hollins, as she looked around
with a half smile. Then she called softly, “Elizabeth, Elizabeth!” But
there was no answer. After waiting a moment Mrs. Hollins went slowly
downstairs to rejoin her husband. “I can’t find them anywhere,” she
told him. “I’ve been all over the house. Where do you suppose they can
be?”
“Here comes Bert,” said Mr. Hollins, “perhaps he can give us some light
on the subject.”
Bert came whistling up on the porch and in a moment came in. “Hallo,”
he said, “you’ve got back, haven’t you? Gee! but it was a fine game.”
“Have you seen anything of your sister Elizabeth?” inquired his mother.
“Not a sign. When I got back the house was all locked up so I went
over to see Patsy. The McGonigles had roast pork and sweet corn and
potatoes, and they were just as thankful as anything.” Bert never lost
an opportunity of bringing to light the virtues of the McGonigles.
“Never mind what the McGonigles had,” said Mr. Hollins; “what we are
more interested in is the whereabouts of your sister.”
“I’ll bet she is hiding somewhere just to give us a scare,” declared
Bert.
“Then you can go and find her,” suggested his father.
Upstairs and down tramped Bert, storming at last into the attic whose
shadows and dark corners were rather disheartening to even an older
person. Bert did not advance very far into the dim recesses, but,
standing in the doorway, shouted stentoriously, “’Lizbeth! I say,
’Lizbeth, where are you?”
Then something happened. Mrs. Hollins appeared with a lamp. “I have
just thought,” she murmured, and went straight to the door of the
closet. She saw the key sticking in the lock, turned it and looked in
to see an auburn head closely snuggled by the side of a dark brown one.
Bert peered around his mother’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll be switched if
they’re not asleep,” he exclaimed.
Betsy sat up and rubbed her eyes. “It’s very smelly in here,” she
remarked.
Bert went off into shouts of laughter which awakened his sister.
“You’ve come at last,” said Elizabeth, scrambling from her improvised
couch. “We thought you never would come.”
“How long do you think I have been looking for you?” asked her mother,
with a smile. “A full half hour. How did you happen to choose such a
place for a nap?”
“We didn’t choose it,” answered Elizabeth. “It chose us. We came in
here to get a hymn-book and the door had to go and close itself, so we
were locked in; we’ve been here for ages.”
“Then you’d better come out as quickly as you can and get some fresh
air. I don’t wonder you fell asleep in that stuffy place.”
The girls were only too glad to obey, and at Mrs. Hollins’s suggestion
ran up and down the porch ten times to get their lungs full of fresh
air; then they were ready for ginger-snaps and such things, their
Pilgrim days being over.