THE IMP MAKES A LAST DISCOVERY
A burning August sun shone down pitilessly on the parched brown grass
and dusty roads about Paradise Green. The great elms stood absolutely
motionless in the stifling air. Into this merciless atmosphere, quite
early in the morning of August 12, emerged three girls, bound for the
home of Louis Durant.
"Isn't it awful!" moaned Carol, perspiration streaming down her face, as
they plodded on in the blazing sun. "This terrific heat has lasted a
week, and there isn't a sign of let-up yet!"
"And to think that poor Miss Yvonne has to tear up the house and pack at
such a time as this!" echoed Sue. "She isn't a bit well, either. I'm
awfully glad she's letting us help her. I never supposed she would, but
she must be kind of desperate, with their servant gone. She's fine to
have let her go, though, for the servant said her son had to join the
army, and she might never see him again, if she didn't leave for France
at once."
"Yes, it is great of Miss Yvonne to struggle through this alone," put in
the Imp, "but I still don't see why Monsieur didn't want her to get help
from the village, except that he didn't wish strangers to pry around and
ask questions at this time, I suppose."
They reached the gate and turned into the yard. Monsieur was sitting
under a tree, reading a paper and striving to imagine that he was as
cool as possible in its shade. Louis was in the house, helping Miss
Yvonne.
"Come in, girls!" he called through an open window. "We are precious
glad to see you. Can you help us pack these books?"
The tone strove to be his usual, careless, care-free one, but it was
patently anything but that. Not one of the girls but realized the effort
he was making.
They entered the room, donned dust-caps and aprons that they had
brought with them, and entered on the work with assumed zest. They were
in Miss Yvonne's room on the ground floor, and the dismantling process
had begun to be complete. The bed was taken down, the bookshelves
emptied and their contents piled on the floor, and the furniture was
shrouded in sacking. Little remained to be packed, except the contents
of a big closet built into one wall. Miss Yvonne was elsewhere, so the
young folks had the room to themselves.
"Isn't the weather awful!" groaned Carol, for the second time in ten
minutes.
"The news in the paper is worse!" commented Louis.
"Oh, what is it?" chorused the girls. "None of us have had time to read
the paper to-day."
"The Germans are demolishing Belgium. They've entered France at several
points and are bound straight for Calais and Paris. It seems as if
nothing could stop them. They're walking away with everything. They're
hideously prepared for this, and not one of the other nations is. It
makes my blood boil! Oh, if I could only _do_ something, instead of just
going over to France and watching the show! But I suppose Monsieur
wouldn't hear of it."
"Louis, you mustn't get into this fight. You're too young!" exclaimed
Sue.
"Yes, that's what he says," muttered Louis, viciously scrubbing a book
with a dust-cloth. "But I'm seventeen; and I don't agree with him. I've
lost all interest in life, anyhow. Why shouldn't I go in and smash a few
of the enemy's heads?"
The three girls shuddered, but did not answer.
"There!" cried the Imp, glad to change the subject. "I've finished these
books. Now what else is there to do here, Louis?"
"Aunt Yvonne said that closet was to be emptied and all the things piled
on the floor."
The Imp straightway dived into the closet, calling back:
"I'll hand the things out, and you all put them where they are to go."
She began hurling out packages and bundles in an endless stream, for it
seemed as if the closet had been used for years as a storage-place, and
that the contents had seldom been moved.
"My, but there are a lot of them!" coughed the Imp, choking with dust.
"Yes, Aunt Yvonne said she was rather ashamed of this closet," said
Louis. "She's used it as a catch-all for years, and most of these
bundles are things she never has any use for, yet won't under any
circumstances give or throw away."
"We have the same kind of a closet at home," remarked Carol. "Mother
says she doesn't know how she'd get along without it,--I mean the kind
of place where you stow things away that you hardly expect to touch
again."
"So have we," echoed Sue.
They worked for a time in silence. At last the Imp, dusty and cobwebby,
tossed out a final bundle, with the remark:
"That's the last, I guess, except some scraps of wrapping-paper and so
on. I'll just look among these to see that there's nothing more."
They heard her grubbing about for a moment or two, and then came a
stifled exclamation.
"What's the matter?" cried every one simultaneously.
"Somebody bring a candle!" commanded the Imp. "There's something queer
here!"
Louis rushed away to get one, and was back in a jiffy.
"Here it is," he said, handing it in to the Imp. While she lit it the
three crowded into the doorway to see whatever was to be revealed.
"It's this hole," explained the Imp, holding the candle to a space about
six inches in diameter, near the base of the wall. "It was back of a
pile of bundles, and I guess it must have been made by mice or rats, for
the gnawed bits are lying all around. It must be rather recent, too, for
it looks so. My hand slipped into it a moment ago, and the boarding came
loose as I was trying to get it out. I think it must be because it was
so old and rotten. Anyhow, it pulled away, and I just caught a glimpse
of something behind it that seemed strange."
Louis crowded into the closet at this, and gave the board a wrench. It
fell away, disclosing a sight that made the four stare with surprise.
"Why, it's a _fireplace_!" cried the Imp, poking her head in as Louis
pulled away another board. "A great, immense fireplace, even bigger than
the one in your living-room."
It was nothing less. Each girl took a turn at poking her head into the
open space, and all were amazed at the breadth of the great
chimney-place, which still contained the andirons and curious old hooks
and cranes of bygone years.
"I must tell the others!" cried Louis. "I'm sure they'll be interested
in this." And he rushed away to inform them.
While he was gone, the Imp suddenly emerged from the closet in great
excitement.
"I have an idea," she whispered to the others. "I may be crazy, but I
believe we're on the track of the hiding-place of those papers. Don't
you remember what Monsieur said about a _chimney_?"
The two girls looked startled. Before they could discuss the matter,
however, back came Louis with Monsieur and the Meadows couple behind
him.
"It's perfectly clear to me," Louis was explaining to them, "that at
some time or other, pretty far back, some one had the great 'long
kitchen' in this house made into two rooms, and the original walls and
fireplace were entirely boarded-up and concealed. I always thought it
rather strange that this house, which is exactly the same build and
design as the old Caswell place, for instance, or a dozen others around
here, should be entirely without that immense 'long kitchen,' as they
call it, that all the rest have. You know it's the original kitchen of
the former New Englanders. They used it as kitchen and dining-room and
everything. The fireplace is the biggest in the house, for often they
would have an ox drag into the room a great log that would entirely fill
the chimney-place. Somebody has evidently had that room made into two
smaller ones, with no fireplace at all. Queer thing to do. I wonder why
they did it?"
In his interest in this explanation, Louis had not appeared to notice
the evident excitement of Monsieur and old John Meadows and Miss Yvonne.
Now he was thunderstruck when Monsieur asked him if it was possible to
pull down the boarding around the fireplace.
"Why, of course," exclaimed Louis, much astonished. "I have some tools I
could use, and it wouldn't take much strength, but what's the use of
demolishing it now? It will make an awful mess, and there probably isn't
much beyond what we've already seen, anyhow. It would be a good thing,
perhaps, to have this fine old room restored while we're away, but I
don't see any use in beginning it now."
The marquis, trembling so that he was forced to support himself by
leaning on a packing-case, spoke with more decision than his hearers had
ever heard before:
"Tear down the woodwork, Louis. It is my wish. There may be an
excellent reason." Without further protest, Louis went to work.
The noontide sun grew hotter and hotter, but the company in that
curiously littered room did not notice it. Not a word was spoken as they
watched Louis, but a breathless suspense gripped them all,--all, that
is, except Louis. To him it was only a useless whim of Monsieur's that
he was obeying, and he was secretly rather irritated. He found, during
the course of his labor, that the chimney-place ran clear behind the
walls into the next room, which was that of old Mr. Meadows, but even
this did not daunt the marquis.
"Tear down the wall between, if you can. Knock it down, break it down,
somehow. I do not care, so long as we free the chimney!"
Before Louis was finished, the place looked as if it had suddenly been
subjected to an air-raid and earthquake combined, but no one cared. By
that time even Louis had begun to feel a vague suspicion that they were
on the track of something. When the fireplace at last stood free amid
the surrounding débris, he stepped aside, remarking:
"There! That's about all I can do, I think. That was a clever piece of
work--the way this other room has been entirely concealed. Not one of us
has ever suspected that it was here, though I suppose if we'd been any
sort of architects, we might have done so."
"Oh, here are the old Dutch ovens!" cried the Imp, rushing forward to
examine the curious little iron doorways in the sides of the
chimney-place. "I saw the same thing in the Caswell house. They used to
bake bread in those, when the chimney became good and hot."
She pulled open one of them and thrust in her hand.
"Gracious! There's something in here!" she almost shouted, hauling out a
small iron box covered with the rust and dust and cobwebs of what must
have been a century in hiding.
"Give it to me! Give it to me!" cried old John Meadows, striding
forward and fairly snatching it from her grasp. "It is the one, the very
one my grandfather spoke of, and in the _chimney_, just as I have always
thought he said."
With tears of excitement in his eyes, he took the box and placed it in
the hands of the marquis. Miss Yvonne, sobbing quietly in the intensity
of her relief, sat down on a small packing-case and hid her face in her
hands. The three girls, understanding something of this strange
discovery, stood by, breathless in their excitement and interest. Only
Louis, to whom the whole proceeding was a dark mystery, stared at them
all, open-mouthed and questioning.
Monsieur took the box and placed it in Louis's hands.
"Can you open it for us?" he asked. "I suppose we might find the key, if
we hunted long enough, but I cannot wait for that. Open it without a
key, if that is possible."
"I suppose I could get it open with an ax," remarked Louis, examining
the box carefully, "or even with a hammer and chisel, if you're not
afraid that the contents may be hurt."
"It will not harm it, I am sure," replied Monsieur, and Louis brought
the necessary tools.
It took a long while to break the lock, for the workmanship was stout
and strong. But at last this was accomplished, and Louis handed the box
to Monsieur for further investigation. They all pressed around him
eagerly, as he opened the lid. It contained nothing but a paper, folded,
tied, and sealed--a paper so faded, stained, and tender that they
scarcely dared touch it, lest it fall apart. Monsieur took it out with
extreme care, broke the seal, and handed the unread document to Louis.
"Read it," he said. "It concerns you, and you alone. It is your right to
have the first reading of it. It is a sacred message, transmitted to you
through the years by your great-grandfather, the lost dauphin."
"Shall I read it aloud?" inquired Louis, in a voice of hushed awe.
"If it pleases you to do so," replied the marquis.
[Illustration: Louis began to read aloud, stopping often to decipher a
word]
Louis cleared his throat nervously, and began to read aloud in French,
stopping often to decipher a word that was blurred by the stains of
time. As the two girls, Carol and Sue, could understand little or
nothing of what he read, they could only watch curiously the expression
on the faces of the other auditors. But before Louis had read far, that
expression became singularly different on each of those five eager
countenances. Miss Yvonne leaned forward from her packing-box, her eyes
startled and unbelieving. Old John Meadows ruffled his white hair
distractedly with his hands and muttered, "What? what?" in English, and
other expressions in French. The Imp's big blue eyes fairly danced with
amazement, and pleased amazement, at that. Monsieur stood listening, his
hands clenched, his head thrust forward, his eagle-like gaze intent,
unbelieving, stricken. Only Louis read on stolidly, as if the content
had not yet registered itself on his mind.
Suddenly he threw down the paper and shouted, "Hurrah! hurrah!" and
then more solemnly, "Oh, thank God! I'm so glad."
"What is it? what is it?" cried Sue and Carol, simultaneously. "_Please_
tell us! We haven't understood a word of it."
"You poor things!" he exclaimed gaily. "Listen! I'll translate it for
you. It's very short." And he went on to translate from the ancient
paper as follows:
I who write this am the Dauphin of France, who should have been
Louis XVII. I escaped from the Temple Tower in my tenth year by
means which I shall not attempt to explain here. All that is known
to others who could make it public to the world if I so wished. I
do not, however, wish it. My only desire is to remain forever
hidden. Should there, however, arise at any future time a cause or
reason for making descendants of mine aware of the truth of their
real ancestry, I wish to make this statement. _I have no
descendants._ The boy whom Jean Mettot supposes to be my son is no
flesh-and-blood heir of mine. The boy is the son of my wife by her
former husband. He was a young child, less than two years old, when
I married her, and so fond did I become of him that I felt no
difference and wished to feel no more difference than if he were
truly my own. But no Bourbon blood runs in his veins, praise God,
and heirs of his may never inherit the throne of France. I am ill
and weak, when writing this, and I feel that death is not far away.
Only Jean Mettot knows the hiding-place I have designed for this
document. I pray God there may never be need to disclose it.
LOUIS CHARLES.
"But--but," stammered Sue, when Louis had finished, "what does this
mean?"
"It means," cried Louis, "that I haven't a drop of Bourbon blood in me!
It means that I'm a plain, _American_ boy, after all!"
He threw his cap into the air exultantly and shouted another hurrah.
Strangely enough, it was Sue who first gave a thought to the marquis.
Glancing suddenly toward him, she exclaimed in a low voice:
"O Monsieur!"
He was still standing in the same tense attitude, his expression dazed
and unbelieving. Not one of them but expected that this news, so happy
to Louis, so tragic to him, might cause an attack, possibly a fatal one,
of his physical ailment. But the marquis was made of sterner stuff than
they knew. With a sudden squaring of his shoulders, he walked over to
the window and stood staring out, his back toward them all, his hands
clenched behind him.
So long did he remain thus, that the tense silence became almost
unbearable. It was Louis at last, with his head up and the kindest
expression the girls had ever seen in his eyes, who walked over to
Monsieur and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Will you forgive me, sir," he said very quietly, "for my beastly
expressions of joy? I ought to have realized what a blow this news would
be to you,--whatever it may mean to me."
The marquis turned and looked deep into his eyes.
"My boy," he spoke in a husky voice, "you are worthy to be the lineal
descendant of a king, even if fate has willed that you are not."
He could say no more at that moment, and Louis went on:
"I want you to know I feel, sir, that my obligation to you remains
precisely the same, even though conditions are changed. I owe you
everything I have. You undoubtedly will no longer contemplate taking me
for your adopted son. There isn't the slightest reason for it now. But I
want to give you and the country you love the very best that is in me. I
am an American of the Americans, and I'm prouder of it than ever. But I
want to 'do my bit' for France and for you. Will you allow me, sir, to
go with you to France and join the French Flying Corps? It is the only
way that I can repay you."
The marquis was still gazing straight into the boy's eyes. Now he laid
both hands on his shoulders.
"You shall have your wish, my boy," he said, still huskily. "I now see
that I should never have striven to restrain you. But, king or no king,
an adopted son of mine you shall be, if you yourself will consent to it.
I love you for yourself. What matters any other reason? But, before God,
I promise you that in no way will I put the slightest obstacle in the
path you have chosen for yourself. France will yet be as proud of you
as I am. Louis Charles, will you be my son?"
"I never knew any parents," answered Louis, in a shaky, unsteady voice,
"and I've--I've missed them horribly. Will you be--my father?"
When the girls looked around, they found that old Mr. Meadows and his
daughter had vanished from the room. At Sue's beckoning finger, the
three girls tiptoed out after them.