OFF TO THE FARM
The next morning Bessie was doomed to be disappointed. She had looked
forward confidently to seeing Zara's father, and had come to believe
that there was a good chance for her to clear away some of the mystery
that hung so heavily over Zara's affairs, even though she made no great
progress toward straightening out her own confused ideas regarding
herself and the reason for the disappearance of her parents. But,
instead of the telephone call to Jamieson's office, for which she had
waited with poorly concealed impatience from breakfast until nearly
noon, she had a visit from Jamieson himself. The lawyer looked
discouraged.
"Bad news, Bessie," he said, as soon as he saw her. She was waiting for
him on the porch, and her eyes lighted with eagerness as soon as she saw
him coming. "They've stolen a march on me."
"Why, how do you mean? Won't I be able to see Zara's father, after all?"
"Not just yet. Brack is cleverer than I thought. He's got a lot of
political pull, and he got hold of a judge I thought was above stooping
to anything wrong. So he was able to get this judge to sign an order
putting him in my place as lawyer for Zara's father. The only way you
can see the prisoner now is for Brack to give you permission, and if
I know Brack, that's the last thing he'll do."
Bessie showed her discouragement.
"I'm afraid you're right there," she said. "I saw him yesterday, after
I left you."
"You did? Whew! There's something queer here, Bessie. Now, try to
remember just what was said and tell me all about it."
It was not hard for Bessie, guided by a few questions from Jamieson,
to do that, and in a few moments she had supplied him with a complete
review of her interview with the shyster, Brack, He nodded approvingly
when she had finished.
"You did just right," he said, cheerfully. "I guess Mr. Brack won't get
much change out of you, Bessie. There's one thing sure, you managed to
acquire a lot of sense while you lived in Hedgeville. The sort we call
common sense, though I don't know why, because it's the rarest sort of
sense there is. Keep on acting just like that when people ask you
questions and try to get you to tell them things."
"Do you think anyone else is likely to do that, Mr. Jamieson?"
"You can't tell. I'm all in the dark, you see. This thing acts just like
a Chinese puzzle. They're simple enough when you know how to fit the
pieces together, and you wonder why they ever stumped you. But until you
do guess them--" He stopped, with a comical shrug of his shoulders to
indicate his helplessness and his bewilderment, and Bessie laughed.
Then Eleanor came out, and the story of Brack's shrewdness had to be
told to her.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked.
Jamieson threw up his hands with a laugh.
"Wait--and keep my eyes open," he said. "I'm going to act as if I'd lost
all interest in the case. That may fool Brack. Our best chance now, you
see, is to wait for the other side to make a mistake. They've made some
already; the chances are they'll do it again. Then we can nab them. What
I want to do is to make them think they're quite safe, that they needn't
be afraid of us any more."
"You won't need Bessie, then, right away?"
"No. Really, she worries me. I feel as if she weren't safe here. They
seem to be afraid of her, and I wouldn't put it past them to try to get
hold of her and keep her where she can't do any talking until they've
done what they want to do."
"But, Charlie, they must know that she's told us everything she knows
already. Why should they want to take her away now?"
"If I knew that I could answer a lot of other questions, too. But here's
a guess. Suppose she knows something without knowing at all what it
means, or how important it is? That might easily be. She might be able
to clear up the whole mystery with some single, seemingly unimportant
remark. They may have good reason to know she hasn't done it yet, but
they may also be afraid that, at any time, she will entirely by accident
give away their whole game. And I've got an idea that if their game ever
is exposed, someone will be in danger of going to jail. See? I'd like to
figure out some good safe place for Bessie, where she'd be out of the
way of all their tricks."
Eleanor clapped her hands.
"Then I've got the very place!" she said. "This business has upset the
plans I'd made, but now I'm going to take my Camp Fire Girls down to
dad's farm in Cheney County. You laughed at me when I was made a Camp
Fire Guardian, Charlie, but you're going to see now what a fine thing
the movement is."
"I didn't mean to laugh at you, Eleanor," he said, contritely. "And I
got over doing it long ago, anyhow. I used to think this Camp Fire thing
was a joke--just something got up to please a lot of girls who wanted to
wear khaki skirts and camp out because their brothers had joined the Boy
Scouts and told them what a good time they were having."
"That's just like a man," said Eleanor, quietly triumphant. "None of you
think girls can do anything worth while on their own account. The Camp
Fire Girls didn't imitate the Boy Scouts, and they're not a bit like
them, really. We haven't anything against the Boy Scouts, but we think
we're going to do better work among girls than even the Scout movement
does among boys. Well, anyhow, we're going down to the farm, and Bessie
shall go along. If anyone tries to kidnap her while she's with the
girls, they'll have a hard time. We stick together, let me tell you, and
Wohelo means something."
"You needn't preach to me, Eleanor," said the lawyer, laughing. "You
converted me long ago. I'll stand for anything you do, anyhow. You're
all right--you've got more sense than most men. It's a pity there aren't
more girls like you."
"That's rank flattery, and it isn't true, anyhow," laughed Eleanor. "But
if I am any better than I used to be, it's because I've learned not to
think of myself first all the time. That's what the Camp Fire teaches
us, you see. Work, and Health, and Love, that's what Wohelo means. And
it means to work for others, and to love others, and to bring health to
others as well as to yourself. Come down to the farm while we're there,
and you'll see how it works out."
Jamieson got up.
"I probably will," he said, smiling as he held out his hand in farewell.
"I'll have to come down to consult my client, you see."
"And you'll let us know if there's any news of Zara, Mr. Jamieson, won't
you?" said Bessie. "I love the idea of going to the farm, but I rather
hate to leave the city when I don't know what may be happening to Zara."
"You can't help her by staying here," said the lawyer, earnestly. "I'm
quite sure of that. And I really think she's all right, and that she's
being properly treated. After all, it's pretty hard to carry a girl like
Zara off and keep her a prisoner against her will. It would be much
better policy to treat her well, and keep her contented. It's quite
plain that she thought she was going with friends when she went, or she
would have made some sort of a row. And their best policy is to keep her
quiet."
"But they didn't act that way before we got away from Hedgeville--clear
away, I mean," said Bessie. "Farmer Weeks caught her in the road, you
know, and locked her in that room the time that I followed her and
helped her to get away through the woods."
"Yes, but that was a very different matter, Bessie. In that state
Weeks had the law on his side. The court was ready to name him as her
guardian, and to bind her over to him until she was twenty-one. In this
state neither he nor anyone else, except her father, has any more right
to keep her from going where she likes than they have to tell me what I
must do--as long as we obey the law and don't do anything that is
wrong."
"Then you think she's well and happy?"
"I'm quite sure of it," said Jamieson heartily. "This isn't some foreign
country. It's America, where there are plenty of people to notice
anything that seems wrong or out of the ordinary; And if they were
treating Zara badly, she'd be pretty sure to find someone who would help
her to get away."
"Yes, this is America," said Bessie, thoughtfully. "But you see, Zara
has lived in countries where things are very different. And maybe she
doesn't know her rights. After all, you know, she thinks her father
hasn't done anything wrong, and still she's seen him put in prison and
kept there. What I'm afraid of is that she'll get to think that this is
just like the countries she knows best, and be afraid to do anything, or
try to get help, no matter what they do."
"Well, we mustn't borrow trouble," said Jamieson, frowning slightly at
the thoughts Bessie's words suggested to him. "We can't do anything more
now, that's sure. Have a good time, and stop worrying. That's the best
legal advice I can give you right now."
Once her mind was made up, Eleanor acted quickly. The outing at her
father's farm, which was not at all like the Hoover farm in Hedgeville
of which Bessie King had such unpleasant memories, was one that had long
been promised to her girls, and she herself had been looking forward to
going there. The troubles of Bessie and Zara had almost led her to
abandon the idea of going there herself, and she had arranged for a
friend to take her place as Guardian for a time. Now, however, she sent
word to all her girls, and that very evening they met at the station and
took the train for Deer Crossing, the little station that was nearest to
the farm.
"They'll meet us in the farm wagons," said Eleanor, when the girls were
all aboard. "So we'll have a ride through the moonlight to the farm--the
moon rises early to-night, you know."
It was a jolly, happy ride in the train, and Bessie, renewing her
acquaintance with the Camp Fire Girls, who had seemed to her and Zara,
when they had first seen them, like creatures from another world, felt
her depression wearing off. They had a car to themselves, thanks to the
conductor, who had known Eleanor Mercer since she was a little girl, and
as the train sped through the country scenes that were so familiar to
Bessie, the girls laughed and talked and sang songs of the Camp Fire,
and made happy plans for walks and tramps in the country about the farm.
"It's just like the country around Hedgeville, Miss Eleanor," said
Bessie, as the Guardian stopped beside the seat she shared with her
first chum among the Camp Fire Girls, Minnehaha. "The houses look the
same, and the stone fences, and--oh, everything!"
"I wonder if you aren't a little bit homesick, down in your heart,
Bessie?" laughed Miss Mercer. "Come, now, confess!"
"Perhaps I am," said Bessie, wonderingly. "I never thought of that. But
it's just for the country, and the cows and the animals, and all the
things I'm used to seeing. I wouldn't go back to Maw Hoover's for
anything."
"You shan't, Bessie. I was only joking," said Eleanor, quickly. "I know
just how you feel. I've been that way myself. When you get away from a
place you begin very quickly to forget everything that was disagreeable
that happened there, and you only remember the good times you had.
That's why you're homesick."
"We'll be able to take walks and go for straw rides here, won't we,
Wanaka?" asked Minnehaha. She used Eleanor's fire name, Wanaka, just as
Minnehaha was her fire name; her own was Margery Burton.
"You'll have to, if you expect to be in fashion," laughed the Guardian.
"And you shall learn to milk cows and find eggs and do all sorts of farm
work, too. I expect Bessie will want to laugh often at you girls. You
see, she knows all about that sort of thing, and you'll all be terrible
greenhorns, I think."
"I ought to know about a farm," said Bessie. "I lived on one long
enough. And I don't see why I should laugh at the rest of the girls.
They know more about the city now than I ever will know. I've been there
long enough to find that out, anyhow."
Just then the conductor put his head inside the door, and called "Deer
Crossing!"
As the train slowed up, all the girls made a rush for their bags and
bundles, and five minutes later they were standing and watching the
disappearing train, waving to the amused conductor and trainmen, who
were all on the platform of the last car. Then the train disappeared
around a curve, and they had a chance to devote their attention to the
two big farm wagons that were waiting near the station, each with its
team of big Percherons and its smiling driver. The drivers were country
boys, with fair, tousled hair, and both wore neat black suits. At the
sight of them Eleanor burst into a laugh.
"Why, Sid Harris--and you, too, Walter Stubbs!" she cried. "This isn't
Sunday! What are you doing in your store clothes, just as if you were on
your way to church?"
Both the boys flushed and neither of them had a word to say.
"Did you get mixed up on the days of the week!" Eleanor went on,
pitilessly.
All the girls were enjoying their confusion, and black-eyed Dolly
Ransom, the tease of the party, laughed aloud.
"I bet they never saw so many girls together before, Miss Eleanor," she
said, with a toss of her pretty head. "That's why they're so quiet! They
probably don't have girls in the country."
"Don't they, just!" said Eleanor, laughing back at her. "Wait until you
see them, Dolly. They'll put your nose out of joint, the girls around
here. If you think you're going to have it all your own way with the
boys out here, the way you do so much at home, you're mistaken."
Dolly tossed her head again. She looked at the confused, blushing boys
on the wagons, who could hardly be expected to understand that Dolly was
only teasing them, and wanted nothing better than a perfectly harmless
flirtation.
"They're welcome to boys like those," she said airily. "I'll wait until
I get home, Miss Eleanor."
Then she turned away, and Eleanor, her face serious for a moment, turned
to Bessie.
"She'll wait until she's grown up, too, if I've got anything to say
about it," she said. "Bessie, when Zara comes back, of course you'll be
with her mostly. But I wish you'd make a friend of Dolly Ransom,--a real
friend. Her mother's dead, and she has no sisters."
"I hope I can," said Bessie, simply. "I like her ever so much."