THE ECHO CAPTURED
FLORETTA had intended to hunt for treasure, hoping to get something more
valuable than the brass button that her mother had found.
She was not at all afraid of Jack Tiverton, but of those larger boys she
was not quite sure.
As she knelt beneath the window she could hear only the voices of the
boys that were nearest to the hut, and hearing only parts of their
conversation, she could not understand what the first speaker expected
to find.
"If I find it, I'll put it where it will be safe," he said.
There was a pause, and then a voice more distant replied.
She did not hear what it said, but she did hear the answer made by the
boy who had first spoken.
"If the ghost of the old hermit was in the hut, it might hear you."
"Yes, and what would he say about your hunting for things that may have
belonged to him?" said another, with a teasing laugh.
"Oh, I'm not afraid," was the careless answer.
"You're not?" jeered a laughing voice.
"I think we've poked around out here long enough without finding
anything," said Jack Tiverton, "let's hunt inside the house."
"Wait a minute," called a boy who had not yet spoken, "just till I've
looked into this hollow tree trunk."
"And _then_ what?" asked a merry voice.
"_Then_ hunt in the house, of course!" was the curt reply.
Floretta thought she saw a chance for fun.
Softly, yet quickly, she crept up the rickety little stairway, built
close against the wall, and leading to the tiny loft.
The loft was really little more than a space beneath the roof where the
old hermit might have stored a few provisions. She could not stand, or
even sit, erect, and she crouched upon the bit of dusty flooring.
She was none too soon, for in a few seconds the boys rushed in, and then
began a discussion as to whether it would be safe to take a plank up
from the floor to look beneath it for hidden treasure.
"You oughtn't to do that," said Jack Tiverton, "somebody might arrest
you, or all of us, if folks found out we did it."
"Arrest us for spoiling a floor in this old hut!" cried an older boy. "I
wonder you don't think the old hermit might holler if he heard us pull
up a plank!"
"Well," said Jack stoutly, "you'd be as scared as I would if he did
holler!"
"You're a small boy, Jack, and easily scared," was the taunting reply.
"Well, pull up a plank, and see what happens. I dare you to!" cried
Jack.
"Here goes then!" said the older boy, and catching hold of a plank that
had rotted at one end, he pulled it up.
"_Oh, let it alone!_" groaned a boy in a farther corner of the room, in
an attempt to imitate an old voice.
"_Oh, let it alone!_" came in exactly the same voice from the loft.
Sidney Cumston, the big boy, who had laughed at little Jack Tiverton,
dropped the plank, and turned pale, while not a boy spoke or moved.
"Come, come!" said Sidney, when he caught his breath, "we're a precious
pack of sillies! Help me lift this big board, will you?"
"Will you?" came from the loft, in the very manner in which he had said
it.
Again he dropped the plank.
"What does it mean?" cried Sidney.
"Mean?" came his last word repeated.
The boys were now thoroughly frightened.
"Come!" cried Sidney, "let's leave here!"
"Here!" came a repetition of his last word, and big as he was, he had
turned to run, when a faint ripple of smothered laughter came down from
the loft.
Immediately Sidney's pale face flushed red. It flashed through his mind
that these younger boys had seen that he was frightened.
He had been laughed at by the owner of the voice that had mocked him,
and the boys would _never_ stop laughing.
Quickly he mounted the steps, and roughly he dragged little Floretta
from her hiding place, half carrying her down the stairway, because it
was too narrow for two to descend.
"So you thought it was funny, just _funny_ to mock us, did you?" he
asked, when they reached the floor.
Floretta was not laughing now.
She was sullen, and at the same time frightened.
What would they do to her?
They crowded around her, frowning and making all sorts of wild
suggestions as to what should be done with her.
"Keep her mocking till she's got enough of it!" cried one.
"Put her back in the loft, and leave her there! She seemed to like
there," said another.
The big boy, whose hand was still on her shoulder, was more angry than
either of the others.
He was a bully, always ready to torment some one smaller than himself.
He had reason to be provoked with Floretta, and the fact that she was
only a little girl, made no impression upon him.
He would as willingly punish a girl, as a boy, and the fact that his
captive was smaller than he, only proved that the task would be an easy
one.
"You think it's smart to imitate, and it is. P'raps you think you're the
echo that's over in the mountain!" he sneered.
She made no answer. She was crying now.
"Say! Let her off!" cried Jack Tiverton. "She's only a girl!"
The smallest boy in the crowd, he saw Sidney's cowardice.
"Oh, are you sweet on Floretta?" jeered Sidney.
Jack drew back abashed. He did not like Floretta at all, but he did
think it mean for a big boy to frighten so small a girl.
"I ain't going to hurt you," said Sidney, "but I'm going to give you a
chance to play echo, till you're tired of it. I guess you'll get enough
of it before you get through!
"Come, fellows! Get some good long pieces of wild grape-vine! I'll
fasten Miss Echo where she can shout all day, and nobody'll stop her!"
"I won't go with you!" screamed Floretta, who had found her voice, "You
sha'n't tie me!"
"Oh, is that so?" said Sidney, in a teasing tone. "We'll tie you so you
can't get away!"
She pulled back.
"No, you don't!" said Sidney, grasping her arm with a firmer hold.
"Now, walk right along, or these other fellows will help me carry you!"
he added, and Floretta thought best to walk.
"Where'll you take her?" asked one.
"Right there," said Sidney. "That rock is just covered with vines that
cling fast to it. Hurry, now! Pull down some long, strong pieces! Here,
you scratch like a cat! Stop that!"
Floretta, half wild to get away, was attacking his hand in the manner of
a little wild animal.
"Let me go, then!" she screamed.
"Not much!" cried Sidney, and with the help of another boy, he dragged
her, screaming and kicking, all the way, until they reached the rocky
ledge.
"There, now! Hold on! You're showing too much temper!" cried a stout lad
who was helping to bind her.
"I won't stay! You sha'n't tie me!" she screamed, but without replying,
they drew the tough vines closer about her, lashing her into such a
network of stems and stout vines that it would be impossible for her to
escape.
"There!" cried Sidney, when he felt sure that she was securely made a
little prisoner, "You can shout till you're tired, and if you want to
mock any one, you can mock yourself! Good-afternoon, Miss Echo!"
He lifted his cap, with elaborate courtesy, and marched off whistling:
"The Girl I Left Behind Me."
They did not look back. Sidney marched boldly away, believing that he
had done a very smart thing, but the other boys felt less comfortable.
They had been angry with her, and they had wished to see her punished,
but they could not help thinking that she was a little girl, and they
were leaving her alone in the woods!
Jack Tiverton was, by far, the most uneasy.
He was the smallest of the party, and, while he had asked Sidney to let
Floretta go, he had known it was useless to do more.
The eight other boys were stronger than he, and any attempt upon his
part to free her would be worse than useless. They would not listen, but
instead, would pounce upon him.
The other boys talked, laughed, and whistled, to imply that they were
not thinking of what they had done, but all the way back to the
Cleverton, little Jack was wondering what he could do.
He dared not go straight to Floretta's mother, and tell her of her
little girl's plight.
He knew if he did that, the boys would soon learn who had played
"tell-tale," and then,--what would they do to _him_?
And yet, he was determined, in some way, to help Floretta.
How could he let a little girl stay out there in the woods all night?
Of course some one, walking through the woods might find her, but if no
one happened to?
Jack knew that the risk was too great. It was just before he reached the
Cleverton, that he thought of the best way that he could do it.
He would write a note to Mrs. Paxton. He would drop that note into the
mail box that hung at the side door. The letters were always distributed
at four, and Sidney Cumston, who had a fine watch, had just said that it
was three. He left the boys at the entrance to the Merlington, and
hurried on that he might have plenty of time for his note.
Mrs. Tiverton was out driving with a friend, and Jack had quite a hunt
before he could find pencil or paper for his note.
At last he found a blank book, and with a pencil he wrote this note.
"Deer Mrs. Paxton:--
"Yor litle girl is tied up in the woods opsite the
hermits hut. You better go get her real quick or
somethin may happen too her.
"Yors trooly."
He folded it, and, in place of the envelope that he could not find, he
tied around it a bit of string that he found in his pocket.
Boldly he addressed it, in very large letters, and sneaking down the
stairway, and around on the piazza toward the side door, watched his
chance, and slipped it into the mail box.
There was much excitement on the front piazza, because the guests had
arrived in the barge but a few moments before, and Mrs. Paxton had given
a maid a generous "tip" to go over to the Merlington, and bring Floretta
back with her.
"She returned with the party that came from the Merlington, and I don't
wish her to remain there. I want her to come right back to me," said
Mrs. Paxton.
"Very well, ma'am," the maid had replied, and with the coins in her
hand, had started off at once toward the other hotel.
When little Jack Tiverton ran around to the front piazza, the maid had
just returned.
"If you please, Mrs. Paxton, your little girl isn't over to the
Merlington, and hasn't been there, and a lady that was with the party
that came home from the mountain trip, says the child wasn't in their
barge at all. I asked her if she was _sure_, and she said, she couldn't
help being sure, because there wasn't _any_ child in their barge."
Of course excitement reigned supreme. Mrs. Paxton seemed half wild, and
every one shared her anxiety.
The fact that Floretta was not a favorite made no difference. No one
liked to think of a little girl out there alone on the mountain path, or
in the woods, especially as it was already late afternoon.
"What a dreadful thing!" cried Mrs. Paxton, wringing her hands, and
walking up and down the piazza.
"Who will go with me? I cannot go alone, and where, _where_ shall we
look first? Who saw her last?"
At this moment a man-servant came out from the hall with a tray of
letters that he began to distribute.
"One for you, Mrs. Paxton," said the man, as he touched her arm gently.
"Oh, I can't think of letters now," she said, but something about the
note seemed so unusual that she looked at it.
She drew off the string that had been loosely tied, and read the hastily
scrawled lines.
She screamed, and Aunt Charlotte, who was standing near her, put her arm
around her and supported her, or she would have fallen.
Many of those who gathered around Mrs. Paxton were inclined to think the
note a hoax, but Mrs. Dainty, coming forward, lifted her handsome head,
and looking at the men who were lounging comfortably in the large
rockers, or sitting upon the piazza railing, spoke the word that spurred
them to action.
"Is it safe to _guess_ that this is a joke? True, it is written in a
boyish hand, and while it _may_ be a boy's joke, may it not be a boy's
means of telling us what has actually happened? I would not, were I a
man, take the responsibility or chance, of leaving Floretta out there,
because I would go to the place, and thus learn, not guess, if this
information be true."
She had scarcely finished speaking when a number of men rose, and one,
who chose to lead the party, lifted his hat to Mrs. Dainty, saying:
"We are off, madam. We only needed an inspiration to move us to
endeavor."
She bowed and smiled, as she said:
"One thing I ask of you. Go as quickly as possible, for the sake of the
frightened child, and the anxious mother."
"In all possible haste," was the quick reply, and she turned to offer
what comfort she might to the woman who seemed nearly distracted.
* * * * *
And all this time, what had been happening in the wood? For a long time
Floretta had cried, screamed, and shouted, hoping that the boys would
come back and release her.
Then, when she knew that they must be too far away to hear her, she tore
at the clasping bonds, trying in every way to free herself. With feet
and hands she strove to loosen the tough, wiry vines, kicking and
trampling with her restless feet, beating and bending with her little
hands, until they were torn and bleeding, and the tormenting vines
seemed only to hold her with a firmer grasp, as if to prove how useless
was her struggle.
[Illustration: WITH FEET AND HANDS SHE STROVE TO LOOSEN THE TOUGH, WIRY
VINES.--_Page 119_.]
She had cried until she could cry no more, and the sturdy vines had cut
and bruised her.
So firmly was she bound that she could not sink to the grass to rest,
and she had only the hard, rocky ledge to lean against.
How still the woodland seemed! Sometimes a twig would snap, or a buzzing
insect would pause, as if to look at her, but no one came to set her
free.
She waited for a moment to regain her breath, and then again she fought
and struggled with those tough, sturdy vines.
She tried to wrench them apart, to break, to tear them from her, but
they only yielded enough to bend, and then snap back into the very
place that she had pushed them from.
Not a vine broke, not a stem gave way, and she set her lips tightly for
yet greater effort!