NEWS
For years Chester F. Poole had been taking the money of other persons
to line his own pockets. The savings of the simple people, his
neighbors,--lumbermen, fishermen, farmers and the widows of poor
sailors--had gone into his bank, because they trusted him. And out
of this bank he had built his fine houses and paid for his expensive
living. Now he was found out; and being a coward he had run away. If
the law could catch him he would have to go to prison. But the money
was gone and spent; nobody could pay back those too-trusting men and
women and little children whom he had ruined. And what was to become
of them?
This, in a few words, was what had filled the newspapers with gossip
the day before, but which only Tante, Hugh and Victor had happened
to see. But after the wild night at the fire it was no longer a
secret to anyone. Round Robin was an excited camp the next morning,
with so much to talk over. And because Anne was not there they could
talk freely, about both the fire and the bank failure. But it was
about Anne herself that they were most concerned. Poor Anne! Could
anything be more dreadful than to be the daughter of such a man? Poor
little Golden Girl, whose gold had all worn off, because it was only
cheap gilt after all!
“What will become of Anne, Tante?” asked Norma. “If Mr. Poole has
lost every cent and must go to prison besides, what will his wife and
children do?”
Tante shook her head. “His wife has relatives of her own, I believe,”
she said. “But, of course, they are not Anne’s relatives. Mrs. Poole
is her stepmother. It is too soon yet to know what Anne will do.
Maybe it will not be as bad as it seems now.” Nobody could guess what
Tante meant, but her words seemed to make things a little better.
It had taken some time to make Gilda understand what all the fuss
was about. But when she did realize, she was filled with horror at
this terribly unjust thing which had happened in her beloved America.
“Why, he is a Hun!” she exclaimed with her eyes blazing.
“There are selfish people everywhere, Gilda,” said Tante sadly, “even
in America. Their motto is not ‘get together’ but ‘get everything for
yourself!’”
“But zis is worse zan to be an orphan!” said Gilda tragically. “My
fazzer died, one brave soldier. My mozzer died of ze frightful
journey, when we were driven out by ze Huns. I am poor, and I _was_
friendless. But I was never ashamed.” Her eyes were full of tears for
Anne.
“It is not Anne’s fault,” said Tante. “And when she comes back we
must not seem to pity her. That would be hardest of all for her
to bear. I think she will be brave, and that is better than being
_golden_!”
“Anne is a brick!” volunteered Beverly unexpectedly. “And I know she
will be brave. I don’t care what her father was. I like Anne!”
“So do we!” chorused the Club. And then, without any suggestion at
all from their Captain, they broke into the Club yell, “Heia! Hoia!
Together! Get together!”
Nelly Sackett heard the shout as she approached the camp, and she did
not know what to make of it. She found them all on the piazza, just
ready for the morning swim. They all rushed at her. “How is Anne?”
they cried, and Nelly was pleased to see how eager and affectionate
they all were. She herself looked grave and her cheeks were flushed,
but she did not seem unhappy. Far from it. “Anne is all right, I
guess,” she said. “I have come to get a few things for her, if Tante
will let her stay another night with us?”
“Of course!” Tante nodded.
“Uncle took her out for a long sail this morning,” Nelly explained.
“He said the sea would do her good, and calm her down.”
“Has he explained things to her?” asked Tante, looking earnestly at
Nelly.
“I think so,” said Nelly. “I think he has told her _everything_. But
of course I haven’t talked to her, yet. Only Uncle seems to know just
what to say.”
“Of course,” said Tante, again.
“At first she cried,” said Nelly, “when she came from the fire.
I thought she would make herself ill. But since the sail she has
cheered up. She--she smiled at me!” Nelly was too shy to tell that
Anne had kissed her.
She said that Anne was having a nap now, to make up for the lost
hours of the night before. Nancy asked if they had found out who set
the fire, and Nelly said that they suspected the Indian woman. Cap’n
Sackett had caught her wandering about the place while the fire was
going on. And some boys had found her canoe beached below Idlewild,
but quite empty. Somebody had got into Mr. Poole’s cellar, where
there was a store of liquor. She was held in arrest on suspicion,
Nelly said; but that was not so uncomfortable as it sounded.
“I don’t believe Sal Seguin set the fire. Never in the world!” cried
Beverly, championing her dusky friend. “Why should she do it?”
“She hated the white men,” said Norma, “I remember that.”
“She tried to tell something,” said Nelly, “but she gets so excited
nobody can understand her gibberish. She keeps saying ‘No, no, no!’
when anybody asks her questions. But she glowered and grumbled when
she caught sight of Anne last night. That looks suspicious, doesn’t
it?”
“Too suspicious,” declared Beverly. “Sal wouldn’t give herself away
like that, if she had really set the fire. She is not so foolish. She
had a grudge against Anne for something Anne said when she first came
down here. But Sal wouldn’t burn Idlewild for that! I don’t believe
any woman did it,” said Beverly, loyally.
“But what was she doing there in the middle of the night?” asked
Nancy. “You know we saw her once prowling around at midnight, and
several times since then the boys have spied her near Idlewild.”
“I am going to find out, if I can,” said Beverly. “I’ll go to see
her.”
“Come back with me,” suggested Nelly.
“All right,” said Beverly, “but I won’t bother Anne.”
Beverly found Sal Seguin squatting on the floor of Cap’n Sackett’s
barn. The Captain himself sat in the doorway, whittling gravely,
apparently acting as guard of the prisoner, while the door remained
open. “I thought the poor thing would be more comfortable here than
in the lockup at the Harbor,” he explained. “Seems hard to shut
up an Injun that’s had the run of the woods; even if she may be a
fire-bug,” he looked at her doubtfully. “I can’t see what she done it
for,” he said. “She hadn’t any spite against Poole, like the rest of
’em. She hadn’t any money to get away. If she had, maybe he’d a tried
to get that too!” He whittled angrily. “She might have been after the
liquor, of course. But she hadn’t been drinkin’.”
Sal Seguin greeted Beverly with a grunt that might mean pleasure or
the opposite, and immediately began to gesticulate and to jabber,
as Nelly had said. “She is trying to tell me that she didn’t do
it,” said Beverly. But Cap’n Sackett could make as good a guess as
that. “I can’t understand half her words,” said Beverly, listening
patiently to the queer mixture of syllables, part English and part
of at least one other tongue. “But I do seem to gather what she
means, in a way. Isn’t it queer? I suppose it’s because I had an
Indian ancestor once.” But it was more likely that she understood
because she was so eager to help. There is nothing that quickens
understanding so much as sympathy; as anyone knows who has had a pet
animal that other persons call “dumb.”
“Not set fire! No! No! No!” cried the old woman.
“Anybody can understand that, whether it’s true or not,” said Cap’n
Sackett. “But what else, eh? What was she doin’ up at Idlewild?
That’s what I want to know.”
The squaw made strange motions with her hands, up and down, mumbling
as she did so, words of which Beverly finally made out the meaning.
“Oh, I see!” she cried. “She is trying to say that she was cutting
something--with a knife--oh yes, in the garden.”
“Ugh!” grunted the squaw, satisfied at last and nodding her head
violently. “Garden, ugh!”
“But there’s nothin’ in the garden,” said the Captain incredulously.
“It’s all dried up, except Anne’s flower-bed. She can’t pretend she
came to get vegetables. And I guess she didn’t want Anne’s flowers,
did she?” He grinned at the joke.
The old squaw listened, with sharp little eyes first on Beverly’s
then on the old man’s face. “Ugh, no!” she grunted with a frown. “Not
flowers; good-smell-things; make sick folks well; medicine-plants.”
She fumbled in her pocket and finally drew out a few stalks of
withered herbs, which she held to Beverly’s nose.
“Why, it’s sage,” said the girl, “or marjoram; I can’t quite tell
which.”
[Illustration: why its sage]
“Yes, yes!” grunted the Indian eagerly. “Make medicine, take home
to sick Indians.” An idea came into the Captain’s head. “Wall, I
vum!” he exclaimed. “She was after the yarbs out of Anne’s little
yarb garden. Ask if that’s what she’s been comin’ for right along?”
The old woman seemed to understand him, and began nodding assent.
“Come two-three-four times, up there. Bad man’s house; nobody home.
Medicine plants grow all alone. No white man want ’em. Me pick for
sick Indian. Not thief, me!” She drew herself up proudly.
“That’s what I said,” Beverly nodded at her, smiling. “I was sure you
weren’t doing anything really wrong.” But the Captain still seemed
unsatisfied.
“All very well,” he said, “if that’s all. But she must have been
there just at the time the fire started. Didn’t she see anybody?
Can’t she tell anything? What about the cellar?”
“Me see! Me tell!” grunted Sal. “Not set fire. No! No! No!”
“No,” Beverly soothed her. “I understand. But what did you see, Sal?
Tell me. Was somebody setting a fire?”
“Ugh!” grunted Sal. “Two men.” And she made the sign of measuring
someone tall and someone short. “Big man, so! Little man, so! Bad
men burn up bad man’s house. Bring out jugs,” she made the sign of
drinking. “Run away when see me.”
This was all Beverly could get out of her. But it was enough to set
them thinking. “I wish I had understood this before!” cried the
Captain jumping to his feet. “We must look into this! I wonder where
the men went to?”
It needed Anne or Dick to give the final clue. And even while they
talked Anne appeared in the doorway of the barn, a little pale, but
quite herself. It was the frowning look on the old squaw’s face that
caused the others to turn and see Anne there.
Beverly jumped to her feet and ran forward. “Oh Anne!” she cried.
She had promised Tante not to bother Anne. But when she spied
her tent-mate standing there, she couldn’t help giving her a big
affectionate hug. Tears came into Anne’s eyes. So one of her friends
at least did not despise her for being the daughter of a thief!
She put her arm through Beverly’s and stood facing the Captain. “I
think I know who did it!” she cried. “It wasn’t she, it was the two
moonshiners.”
“Moonshiners!” The Captain stared. “What do you mean, Anne? What do
you know about moonshiners?”
“I haven’t had time to tell you yet,” said Anne. “They have a camp on
the mountain, and a cave on the shore, not far away. Ask Dick. We saw
them. ‘P. Leveen’ is one, and F--Mr. Poole writes to him. They must
have had the key of the cellar; for they had been taking back their
jugs and things.”
“Ugh,” grunted Sal Seguin. “So!”
“I think they burned up Idlewild to punish me for telling,” Anne went
on. “They will probably do worse now. But I am not afraid any more,”
she smiled at the Captain, “now you know all about it!”
Here Aunt Polly appeared and led Anne back to her room. “You got to
rest,” she warned, with a nod to the Captain.
“Ask Dick. He can tell you all about it,” said Anne over her shoulder
as she was led away.
“Well!” said the Captain. “It’s a queer story, if it’s true. Maybe
Anne ain’t quite herself and imagines it all. I must find Dick. Then,
if it’s so, I must get two or three men and we will go after those
moonshiners. _P. Leveen_; I don’t know that name.”