UP TO MISCHIEF
Once more a flood of moonlight and a night or two when "Old
Fiddlestrings" wandered up and down the road playing the "Serenade" and
then the first of September was blazoned on the calendar and on the
fields of Rainbow Hill. The summer was virtually over.
Jack went away hilariously for a brief fishing trip with his father
before the Eastshore schools should open; and to the delight of his
mother and sisters, Doctor Hugh came out to stay till they were ready
to go back with him, a matter of ten days or so, for school would be in
session by the middle of the month.
Finding Sarah in a sad state from violent crying on his arrival the day
of Bony's departure, Doctor Hugh was soon in possession of the Gays'
story; and he not only succeeded in persuading Louisa and Alec to
accept the money Sarah's sacrifice had obtained, but he also managed to
give them a more wholesome outlook on the world in general. Although
Alec and Louisa were naturally reluctant to accept Sarah's money, when
they were finally persuaded, their relief was plain. Now they had
enough cash in hand to meet the dreaded interest payment. Alec
insisted that the money from Sarah was to be regarded as a loan and
Doctor Hugh agreed to this.
"All right," said Sarah when this arrangement was explained to her,
"but I don't want to see Bony--not ever any more."
Alec had told her that the pig would probably be brought to the farm to
spend the winter and had offered to drive to Eastshore some day and
bring her back to see her pet. Sarah's refusal was unmistakable; the
parting once made, she was not minded to harrow her feelings again.
Rosemary found Louisa a diligent pupil and the knitted spread was soon
under way. Louisa's pet ambition was to buy a good flock of hens and
raise chickens. The money earned from the spread, or spreads she might
make, she confided to Rosemary, was to be saved toward this venture.
"We haven't had our picnic yet," said Doctor Hugh one morning at the
breakfast table. "We must have one before we go back to town. Let's
ask the Gays and the Hildreths and Warren and Richard--next week will
be a good time."
And then for a few days a round of emergency calls kept him so busy he
forgot that such things as picnics were ever held.
Bringing the car around a few mornings later, intending to take his
mother and Winnie in to look at the remodeled house, he found Sarah and
Shirley placidly seated behind the wheel when he came out from
breakfast.
"You can't go this time--there isn't room," he informed them
pleasantly. "Hop out--here come Mother and Winnie."
"You said we could go next time and this is next time," insisted Sarah.
There were tears of disappointment in Shirley's eyes, but she climbed
out of the car in response to a second look from Doctor Hugh. Sarah,
however, clung to the wheel and had to be lifted out bodily.
"You're too old to act like this," said her brother sternly. "It is
important that Mother and Winnie go with me this morning--they were
going yesterday and then I had to put them off to go in to the
hospital; suppose Mother scowled the way you do, Sarah, when things
didn't go to suit her."
Rosemary came out to see them off and Mrs. Willis and Winnie waved as
though nothing had happened. Doctor Hugh suddenly swooped down upon
Sarah, lifted her high in his arms and kissed her. With another swift
kiss for Shirley, he was back in the car before the angry Sarah could
recover from her astonishment. The car rolled down the road and left
her standing glaring after it.
Sarah was exceedingly put out and she did not attempt to disguise her
state of mind. Rosemary, finding it impossible to win her to a more
reasonable point of view, went indoors to finish the odds and ends of
work Winnie had had to leave undone. This left Shirley to Sarah, and
Sarah was like the disgruntled sailor who deliberately incites mutiny.
"I want to be _bad_!" she told Shirley passionately. "Let's think of
something awful and go do it!"
Shirley could not think of anything, unfortunately, that is
unfortunately from Sarah's point of view.
"I know!" cried that small sinner, after a moment's thought. "We can
go in the tool house."
Sarah had remembered what Warren had said when they first came to the
farm--that the tool house was forbidden ground. He had also warned
them against going into the windmill.
"Come on, Shirley," cried the naughty Sarah. "We'll look at the old
tools--we won't hurt 'em."
She found she had reckoned without the canny Mr. Hildreth, when she
reached the tool house. It was securely locked and no amount of
tampering could make any impression on the stout padlock.
"Come on, we'll go up in the windmill," said Sarah, not to be balked.
She would have found it hard to explain what satisfaction disobeying
Mr. Hildreth and Warren gave her, when her anger was really directed
toward her brother. However, she may have reasoned that doing
something she knew was wrong was one sure way to plague Doctor Hugh.
Shirley obediently trotted after her sister to the graceful red
shingled tower that enclosed the iron framework of the windmill. Alas,
for once in his busy life, Mr. Hildreth had inspected the pump and left
the door unlocked. Sarah had merely to open it and fold it back and
the interior of the mill was revealed to her.
"We'll play it's a robbers' cave, Shirley," suggested Sarah. "It's
nice and dark."
She was minded to climb the enticing iron ladder, but fearful lest
Shirley develop an obstinate streak and refuse, she had decided to
begin with a milder amusement.
"I'll be the robber chief, Shirley," she went on--Sarah had a fondness
for such plays and her brother often said that she would have had a
wonderful time as a boy. "I'll be the robber chief," she repeated,
"and you drag in the loot."
"What's loot?" asked Shirley hopefully, having a vague idea that it was
something one ate.
"Loot is what we steal from the noble lords and ladies," Sarah asserted
with a faint memory of old firelight stories.
"But where do we get it?" the literal-minded Shirley demanded.
"Oh, we go out and hunt for it," said Sarah. "Don't let anybody see
you--remember we're robbers."
And she opened the windmill door cautiously and peered out.
There was no one in sight and the two little girls crept out and sped
to the nearest tree with a delicious sense of excitement. If they had
turned around and seen someone chasing them, they would not have been
surprised.
"Take a stone," said Sarah. "Take a stone for loot. A little one,
Shirley--that one by your foot."
Shirley picked it up and dropped it immediately with a little cry.
"Did you drop it on your foot?" asked Sarah.
"What's the matter?"
"Horrid, nasty little bugs under that," Shirley announced, pointing
with a dainty pink forefinger at the stone she had sent crashing back
to earth.
"Well, a few bugs never hurt anyone," proclaimed Sarah. "I only hope
you haven't mashed any; when will you learn not to be afraid of bugs,
Shirley?"
Shirley refused to look as Sarah carefully turned the stone over.
There were numerous little crawling creatures beneath it and several
white slugs.
"I suppose you've murdered a hundred, but I can't see them," Sarah
reported. "If I had something to scrape them up with, I could save
some."
"Don't play with bugs, Sarah," pleaded Shirley, who knew too well the
fatal attraction of all creeping and crawling things for her sister.
"I don't like bugs. Leave them alone."
"All right, I will," said Sarah with surprising amiability. "We'll go
back to the cave; I'll take this stone and you needn't take any."
Back to the windmill they went and nothing would please Sarah but
closing the door again. She liked the dark, she said.
"What's that?" cried Shirley, starting. "I heard a noise, Sarah."
Sarah had heard it, too.
"It's the clanking chains," she declared with relish.
"What clanking chains?" whispered Shirley fearfully.
"The chains we put on our prisoners," said Sarah whose imagination was
stimulated by the dark pit in which she found herself.
"What prisoners?" asked Shirley, fascinated in spite of herself.
"Prisoners we robbed," said Sarah solemnly. "We put long chains on
them and they have to walk up and down and they can't get out."
"Oh--Oh--I don't like them to have on long chains," Shirley wailed. "I
want you to take them off, Sarah. Please, Sarah."
"Well," Sarah considered. "Perhaps I will. We might as well let the
prisoners go, anyway. They make too much noise. Now the chains are
off, Shirley."
Just as she said that, the noise sounded louder than before.
"Clank! Clank! Clank!"
"You said you took 'em off!" wept Shirley. "You said so, Sarah."
"I thought I did," admitted Sarah. "Wait till I get the door open and
I'll see what made that last noise."
She had latched the door of the windmill and in the darkness it took
her some time to find it. At last she got it open and the light
streamed in, showing Shirley's face streaked with tears.
"I see what made the noise!" proclaimed Sarah triumphantly. "It's the
jigger-thing pumping up and down."
The wings of the mill had turned lazily and the iron rods, jerked up
and down, had made the clanking noise.
"I don't want to play that any more," said Shirley with more decision
than she usually showed.
"We'll play we are firemen and climb the ladder," said Sarah, pointing
to the narrow iron ladder that led to the top of the mill.
And she actually helped the confiding Shirley to start the long upward
climb and followed close behind her.
Half way up, the inky darkness--for the narrow windows were few and far
between, frightened Shirley and she begged to go back. Sarah cajoled
and bullied her into continuing and the two children managed to make
the steep climb and reach the platform at the top of the mill. As they
stepped out on the boards a gust of wind caught the big fan-like sails
and the pump began to sound with a loud clanking noise. This and the
sensation of being high among the clouds terrified Shirley and she
clung to Sarah, screaming.
Sarah would have liked to scream too. Her face was quite white under
the tan and she grasped the framework tightly. As she looked far
across the fields and felt the dizzy sensation of floating with the
clouds that seemed near enough for her hand to touch, one awful thought
came to her--"How are we to get back?" She was sure they could never
go down that narrow ladder--it had been hard enough to climb up and
going down would be impossible.
She sat down, close to the frame, and Shirley hid her face on her
shoulder. And there Rosemary found them--having heard from Mrs.
Hildreth that they had been seen going down to the brook. The quickest
way to reach the brook was past the windmill.
Rosemary called as she came through the field and Sarah heard her. She
stood up and shouted and, because the wind had died down and it was
very quiet and still, Rosemary, too, heard. Kneeling down, Sarah could
see her sister through a knot hole in the platform.
Rosemary's first impulse was to run and get help--someone to bring the
girls down, but Sarah implored her "not to tell."
"Everyone will scold and tell Hugh," said Sarah, shouting her plea.
"You come get us, Rosemary--please don't tell."
Both she and Shirley were confident that Rosemary could rescue them
alone and unaided. As the older, Rosemary was accustomed to helping
Sarah out of tight places and, it must be confessed, shielding her from
the consequences of her own wrong-doing. She promised not to tell
"this time."
Setting her teeth, Rosemary began the climb and accomplished it with
fair ease. Her nerves were steady and she was strong and vigorous.
But when it came to getting Shirley down, all her powers of endurance
were taxed to the utmost.
Shirley was rigid with fright. She wanted to hang on to Rosemary and
it was necessary to force her to face the ladder and come down step by
step, Rosemary just below her steadying her with a light touch and
constant words of encouragement. Shirley cried piteously, she stopped
often and refused to take another step. Rosemary had to plead, to
scold, to stimulate, everything but pity--that would have been fatal.
Long before they reached the floor of the mill, Rosemary's face and
hands were dripping with cold perspiration.
Shirley safe on the ground at last. Rosemary detached her clutching
little fingers and went back for Sarah. Gone was Sarah's bravado, lost
her courage completely. She hung back and cried and only started the
descent when Rosemary threatened to leave her. Twice Sarah lost her
footing and shrieked and Rosemary's heart raced madly. The climb
seemed interminable and all the time, down in the darkness below, they
could hear Shirley crying to herself.
A great wave of thankfulness surged over Rosemary as she felt her foot
touch the ground and lifted Sarah from the ladder. They were safe!
"Come away, quick!" said Rosemary, her voice sounding hoarse and
unnatural in her own ears. "Don't ever come here again!"
They stumbled over the doorsill, the strong sunlight blinding their
eyes after the darkness of the windmill interior. So it happened that
none of them saw Warren till he was close to them.
"Rosemary!" he cried in quick alarm. "Is anything the matter? You're
as white as a sheet!"
Rosemary tried to smile, but she swayed as she stood. He put an arm
around her and led her to an overturned tomato crate under a tree.
"Sit down," he said commandingly. "Do you feel faint?"
"I'm not!" Indignation sent the color flying back to Rosemary's
cheeks. "I'm never faint."
But to her disgust, she began to tremble uncontrollably. She shook
from head to foot and her lips were blue.
"I was afraid!" she whispered. "So afraid--" and then she could have
bitten her tongue.
Sarah and Shirley were dismayed--never had they seen Rosemary like
this. They crept close to her and she leaned her head against Sarah,
closing her eyes. All the horror of the dizzy climb and descent
pressed in upon her, tenfold stronger.
Warren's quick eyes went from face to face. All three were white and
strained. Plainly something had happened. Sarah and Shirley had torn
their dresses and there were great dust and oil stains on Rosemary's
white skirt.
Warren wheeled and looked back. The windmill door swung slowly in the
breeze.
"Rosemary!" he spoke so sharply that she jumped. "Rosemary, have you
been in the windmill? Have you been hurt?"