"My Dear Miss Campbell:
Do you think your nice young charge would be bored by a visit to our
lonely old home in the country? Percival has set his heart on giving a
Hallowe'en house party for some of his particular friends, and I find
Wilhelmina's name the very first on the list. I shall promise to look
after her in every way exactly as if she were my own child, guard her
from draughts, see that she has plenty of covering on her bed and that
she wears her overshoes if the ground is damp.
My boy would be quite inconsolable, and I should too, my dear friend, if
she is not to be among our guests. I cannot offer many inducements
except the pleasure which young people always bring to a house, but I
candidly believe that Percival would give up the idea if she should not
be able to come.
Most cordially yours,
Antoinette Juliana St. Clair."
Miss Campbell smiled as she handed the note to Billie one morning at the
breakfast table. The two fanciful names of the good-natured, cordial
widow always amused her.
"The lonely old home in the country," so modestly referred to, was one
of the finest places in the county, and nothing was more coveted by the
young people in West Haven than an invitation to one of Percival's house
parties, where everything that the widow and her son could devise was
done for the amusement of the guests.
"Of course you must go, dear. I wouldn't have you miss it for worlds.
The change will do you good. I have been troubled about you lately, my
child, and if this invitation had not come, I was going to insist on
your seeing the doctor. I don't think your liver has been behaving
itself. You have been so out of sorts. But perhaps a little amusement
will be better for you than a calomel pill."
"Oh, I am quite well, Cousin Helen," exclaimed Billie. "It's
mathematics, I suppose, that affects my liver."
But Billie was more eager than she would admit to accept Mrs. St.
Clair's invitation. The truth is, the young girl's conscience had not
been easy lately. She felt that she had done something which would have
grieved and displeased her father and she could not be perfectly happy
until she had confessed her sins and been forgiven.
You perhaps have guessed already that the ten new five-dollar bills
which Mary Price had consigned to Miss Gray's care the morning after the
robbery in the school room, was Billie's money.
"You shall take it, Mary," she insisted. "Aren't we exactly the same as
sisters? I don't want the money, and I know papa would be glad if he
knew."
Billie had finally agreed with Mary that it would only make matters more
complicated to tell Miss Gray that fifty dollars some one had placed in
Mary's desk, no doubt to tempt or catch her, as in the case of the
twenty dollars, had been stolen by a robber almost immediately.
Older and wiser people would have told Billie that this was a very poor
piece of advice, and the deed was no sooner accomplished than the two
girls themselves realized that they had made a mistake. Miss Gray's
manner to Mary was cold and formal and the situation was not in the
least relieved. The unhappy girl had hoped that the principal would
speak to her again about the money, but the subject was never mentioned.
"It was all my fault, Mary. I advised you and forced you to do it. It
was not exactly dishonest, but it wasn't sincere, and I am beginning to
think Miss Gray is suspicious of me, too."
Another thing had happened which made Billie uncomfortably and extremely
ill at ease in her mind. Burglars had broken into Mrs. Price's home, but
they had only succeeded in giving Mary and her mother a great fright,
and had taken nothing.
In her heart Billie knew what the robbers really wanted. It was the box
of jewels locked up in Mrs. Price's safe.
"I have done wrong," she kept saying to herself. "Papa always said that
my heart ruled my head and that I had no judgment. I should never have
burdened Mary and Mrs. Price with that wretched box. I am almost
superstitious about it, because it brings so much bad luck on people.
After the house party, I shall take it away."
As a matter of fact, everything was postponed until after the house
party, and the world for eight young people seemed to stand still. The
English nation could not look forward with greater eagerness to the
Coronation than our four Motor Maids and their friends to Percy's
Hallowe'en house party. It was only a part of the good fortune which
always followed Percy that Hallowe'en that year fell on Friday, and that
the weather was perfect.
They were to have three evenings of fun and frolic with the Hallowe'en
ball on Friday night.
In the joy of anticipation and preparation, Billie and Mary lost sight
of their troubles. Nancy was bubbling over with delight and Elinor
forgot her usual sense of dignity and gave an indecorous exhibition of
happiness by doing a Dutch twirl all by herself.
"Of course, we shall all go in 'The Comet,'" announced Billie. "It will
be lots more fun than driving behind those poky old carriage horses that
bring Percy and Mrs. St. Clair in to church every Sunday."
"Of course," echoed the others.
There was, indeed, only one flaw in their happiness. Mrs. St. Clair, who
was intimate with the Rogers family, had insisted on inviting Belle
Rogers.
"Who cares?" exclaimed Billie. "She can't interfere with our good time
and we certainly won't interfere with hers."
The St. Clair place was eight miles outside of West Haven on the main
road. A long avenue bordered with immense pine trees led up to the
commodious, comfortable old house which seemed to reflect from its
shining windows the cheerful and hospitable character of its mistress.
And when the red motor pulled up in front of "Pine Lodge," as the place
was called, there was the mistress herself smiling in the doorway,
making the most delightful picture of welcome Billie had ever seen.
"Think of going to a real house party at last," exclaimed Billie, with a
sigh of pleasure.
Percival rushed down to help them out; two colored men servants carried
in their luggage, and presently they found themselves standing before a
glowing fire in the hall, which was quite big enough and broad enough to
be a room itself.
"It is sweet of you to come out and cheer up two lonely country people,
my dears," Mrs. St. Clair was saying, as she kissed them all around
twice. "You are really the nicest children. You must promise to tell me
whatever you want, or if you are not warm enough. You know how draughty
country houses are. Or if you are the least hungry or your beds are not
comfortable or the water isn't hot enough for your baths, or you wish
any particular thing to eat----"
"Dear me," laughed Billie, looking around her, "you make us feel like
four visiting princesses, Mrs. St. Clair. I am sure we could never want
for anything in this cheerful, lovely house."
"Now, Mrs. St. Clair," put in Elinor, "we all know perfectly well that
all the chairs at Pine Lodge are easy and the beds are famous for being
the most comfortable in the county."
Mrs. St. Clair blushed with pleasure. Next to saying nice things to
people herself, she loved to have them say nice things to her.
"Percival, my darling, where are the others?" she demanded presently.
"Isn't Belle coming and what is the name of that little foreign girl she
asked to bring with her?"
Percy grinned at his friends good-naturedly, when Merry seized a cushion
from one of the long settees and began to rock it on his knees, and
Charlie gave a silent imitation of a baby's face in the act of crying.
But he was used to these endearing names his mother heaped upon him, and
he only replied:
"Give them time, mother; give them time. Remember they didn't ride on a
comet the same as this dashing company did. The foreign girl is Fannie
Alta."
"So it was, and it was sweet and thoughtful of Belle to want to bring
her along. She described the poor little thing as being lonely and
strange in West Haven."
The girls exchanged astonished glances at this piece of news. Was it
possible that Belle Rogers and the crafty little Spanish girl whom they
instinctively distrusted were so intimate as this?
"Here comes Roly Poly McLane," cried Percy, laughing, as he peered
through a side light of the front door. "She's as jolly and fat as a
clown elephant in the circus."
"Percy, my love," remonstrated his mother, which slight show of
disapproval was about as near as she ever got in her life to scolding
him.
The boys raced down the hall to help Rosomond McLane out of the high
trap in which she had driven over to Pine Lodge from her home a few
miles away.
"Wait, Roly Poly, until Percy gets a derrick. It's the only safe way to
unload heavy bales," cried Merry.
"Roly Poly," said Percy, bowing politely, "these three noble friends
have volunteered with me to help you get out. I offered to do it alone,
but mother was afraid my young life would be crushed out of me, if
anything should happen, you know, and----"
"Percival, my darling!" cried Mrs. St. Clair.
"Help me, indeed," exclaimed Rosomond, with a jolly laugh that always
started an echo of other jolly laughs. "Get out of my way all of you,"
and she gave a flying leap from the trap and bounced as she hit the
ground like a rubber ball.
"My dear Rosomond," cried the widow, running down the steps to meet her,
"don't take any notice of these foolish boys. You wouldn't seem the same
dear, delightful Rosomond if you weighed a pound less."
"Oh, I don't mind them, Mrs. St. Clair. I'm used to it, you know. Father
always calls me 'Baby Elephant' and 'Jumbo,' and the girls at school
call me 'Roly Poly,' and Uncle Jim calls me 'Fatty.'"
Several more boys appeared just then and the company followed Mrs. St.
Clair into what she called the sitting room, a gay apartment with chintz
curtains at the windows and chintz covered cushions in the deep wicker
chairs. Here they had tea and chocolate and hot-buttered toast.
"You must eat plenty of food, you know," Percy's mother had admonished
them, "because I warn you that you will need all your strength to put up
with the fearful ordeals Percy has planned for to-night----"
"Mother," broke in Percy, "you mustn't tell. You will spoil all the
fun."
"I'm not telling, dear. I'm only warning. But you know those things that
jump at you from behind----"
"Stop her quick, somebody," cried her son, pretending to gag her mouth
with a napkin.
It was all very gay and the room buzzed with talk and laughter when the
door opened and a servant admitted Belle Rogers and Fannie Alta.
Mrs. St. Clair greeted the new visitors as hospitably as she had the
others. She even kissed Fannie's dark, foreign little face and called
her "dear" and drew the girl down beside her on the sofa.
"I want you to feel perfectly at home," she said. "It was so good of you
to have come with Belle."
She was really the most delightful, beaming, good-natured creature
imaginable, but all her efforts could not disguise the change which
seemed suddenly to have taken place in the behavior of the others.
Somehow the laughter was less free, the talk less gay and jolly than it
had been, and presently our four particular Motor Maids were glad for an
excuse to go away with Percy and see the conservatories, while Belle and
Fannie drank their tea with Mrs. St. Clair.
After that it was time to dress for dinner. A neat little maid had
unpacked their bags and laid their best party dresses on the beds. They
were very simple dresses indeed, and Nancy, at least, thought of
floating blue chiffon draperies with a slight sigh of regret.
"Do you know, girls," said Billie, as she tied a pink bow around Nancy's
bunch of curls, "I think we should all take lessons in cheerfulness from
Mrs. St. Clair. She's so happy because she always sees the best side of
everything. Just see how nice she is to Belle and Fannie Alta, for
instance."
"With this beautiful house and all her money and such a nice,
good-natured pink-cheeked boy for a son, I think I could even admire
Belle Rogers and Fannie Alta," observed Mary.
Then Billie remembered that Mary and her mother were always troubled
about money, and that Mrs. Price was the gentlest, sweetest woman she
had ever known. She wondered if Mrs. St. Clair could ever be ruffled by
disappointment and bad luck, or if everything were not exactly as it
should be, if she would be the same placid, good-natured soul.