GOLIATH MAKES ANOTHER DISCOVERY
"Oh, Cynthia!" gasped Joy at length, "isn't it too comical! We're just
as far from it all as ever!" And they both fell to chuckling again.
They were certainly no nearer the solution of their problem. For, facing
the room once more, the mysterious picture looked forth--the portrait of
_two babies_! They were plump, placid babies, aged probably about two or
three years, and they appeared precisely alike. It took no great stretch
of imagination to conjecture what they were--twins--and evidently
brother and sister, for one youngster's dress, being a trifle severe in
style, indicated that it was doubtless a boy. These two cherubic infants
had both big brown eyes, fat red cheeks, and adorable, fluffy golden
curls. They were pictured as sitting, hand in hand, on a green bank
under a huge spreading tree and gazing solemnly toward a distant church
steeple.
"The poor little things!" cried Cynthia. "Think of them having been
turned to the wall all these years! Now what was the sense of it,--two
innocent babies like that!" But Joyce had not been listening. All at
once she put down her candle on the table and faced her companion.
"I've got it!" she announced. "It came to me all of a sudden. Of course
those babies are twins, brother and sister. Any one can tell that! Well,
don't you see, one of them--the girl--was our Lovely Lady. The other was
her twin brother. It's all as clear as day! The twin brother did
something she didn't like, and she turned his picture to the wall. Hers
happened to be in the same frame too, but she evidently didn't care
about that. Now what have you to say, Cynthia Sprague?"
"You must be right," admitted Cynthia. "I thought we were 'stumped'
again when I first saw that picture, but it's been of some use, after
all. Do you suppose the miniature was a copy of the same thing?"
"It may have been, or perhaps it was just the brother alone when he was
older. We can't tell about that." All this while Cynthia had been
standing, candle in one hand and dust-cloth in the other. At that point
she put the candlestick on the table and stood gazing intently at the
dust-cloth. Presently she spoke:
"Joyce, _do_ you think there would be any harm in my doing something
I've longed to do ever since we first entered this house?"
"What in the world is that?" queried Joyce.
"Why, I want to _dust_ this place, and clear out of the way some of the
dirt and cobwebs! They worry me terribly. And, besides, I'd like to see
what this lovely furniture looks like without such quantities of dust
all over it."
"Good scheme, Cyn!" cried Joyce, instantly delighted with the new idea.
"I'll tell you what! We'll come in here this afternoon with old clothes
on, and have a regular _house-cleaning_! It can't hurt anything, I'm
sure, for we won't disturb things at all. I'll bring a dust-cloth, too,
and an old broom. But let's go and finish our studying now, and get that
out of the way. Hurrah for house-cleaning, this afternoon!"
Filled with fresh enthusiasm, the two girls rushed out to hurry through
the necessary studies before the anticipated picnic of the afternoon. If
their respective mothers had requested them to perform so arduous a task
as this at home, they would, without doubt, have been instantly plunged
into deep despair. But because they were to execute the work in an old
deserted mansion saturated with mystery, no pleasure they could think of
was to be compared with it. This thought, however, did not enter the
heads of the enthusiastic pair.
* * * * *
Smuggling the house-cleaning paraphernalia into the cellar window,
unobserved, that afternoon, proved no easy task, for Cynthia had added a
whisk-broom and dust-pan to the outfit. Joyce came to the fray with an
old broom and a dust-cloth, which latter she thought she had carefully
concealed under her sweater. But a long end soon worked out and trailed
behind her unnoticed, till Goliath, basking on the veranda steps, spied
it. The lure proved too much for him, and he came sporting after it, as
friskily as a young kitten, much to Cynthia's delight when she caught
sight of him.
"Oh, let him come along!" she urged. "I do love to see him about that
old house. He makes it sort of cozier. And, besides, he seems to belong
to it, anyway. You know he discovered it first!" And so Goliath followed
into the Boarded-up House.
They began on the drawing-room. Before they had been at work very long,
they found that they had "let themselves in" for a bigger task than they
had dreamed. Added to that, performing it by dim candle-light did not
lessen its difficulties, but rather increased them tenfold. First they
took turns sweeping, as best they could, with a very ancient and frowsy
broom, the thick, moth-eaten carpet. When they had gone over it once,
and taken up what seemed like a small cart-load of dust, they found
that, after all, there remained almost as much as ever on the floor.
Cynthia was for going over it again.
"Oh, never mind it!" sighed Joyce. "My arms ache and so do yours. We'll
do it again another time. Now let's dust the furniture and pictures."
And they fell to work with whisk-broom and dust-cloths. Half an hour
later, exhausted and grimy, they dropped into chairs and surveyed the
results. It was, of course, as but a drop in the bucket, in comparison
with all the scrubbing and cleaning that was needed. Yet, little as it
was, it had already made a vast difference in the aspect of the room.
Surface dust at least had been removed, and the fine old furniture gave
a hint of its real elegance and polish. Joyce glanced at the big hanging
candelabrum and sighed with weariness. Then she suddenly remarked:
"Cynthia, we have the _dimmest_ light here with only those two candles!
Why not have some more burning?"
"We've only three left," commented Cynthia, practical as ever. "And my
pocket-money is getting low again, and you haven't any left, as usual.
So we'd better economize till allowance day!"
"Tell you what!" cried Joyce, freshly inspired. "I've the loveliest
idea! Don't you just long to know what this room would look like with
that big candelabrum going? I do. They say illumination by candle-light
is the prettiest in the world. Sometime I'm going to buy enough wax
candles to fill that whole chandelier--or candelabrum rather--and we'll
light it just once and see how it makes things look. What do you say?"
"It'll cost you a good deal more than a dollar," remarked Cynthia, after
an interval spent in calculation. "Of course I'd like to see it too, so
I'll go halves with you on the expense. And I don't believe we can get
nice _wax_ candles, only penny tallow ones. But they'll have to do. I
wonder, though, if people could see the light from the street, through
any chinks in the boarding?"
"Of course not," said Joyce. "Don't you see how all the inside shutters
are closed and the velvet curtains drawn? It isn't possible. Then we'll
have the illumination for a treat, sometime, and I'll begin to save up
for it. And I hope before that time we'll have puzzled out this mystery.
I'm afraid we aren't very good detectives, or we'd have done it long
before this. Sherlock Holmes would have!"
"But remember," suggested Cynthia, "that those Sherlock Holmes mysteries
were usually solved very soon after the thing happened. This took place
years and years ago. I reckon we're doing pretty nearly as well as
Sherlock, when you come to think of it."
"Perhaps that's so," admitted Joyce, thoughtfully. "It's not so easy
after goodness knows how many years! But I'm rested now. Come and see
what we can do with the library. I'm wild to look at the Lovely Lady
again. I really think I _love_ that picture!" And so, in the adjoining
room, they stood a while with elevated candles, gazing fascinated at the
portrait of the beautiful woman.
"She's lovely, lovely, lovely!" sighed Joyce. "Oh, wouldn't I like to
have known her! And do you notice, Cynthia, she has the same big brown
eyes of the girl-baby in the parlor. There isn't a doubt but what that
baby was she."
They tore themselves away from the portrait after a time, and commenced
digging at the dust and cobwebs of the library. But they were thoroughly
tired after their heroic struggles with the drawing-room, and made, on
the whole, but little progress. Added to this, their enthusiasm for
cleaning-up had waned considerably.
"I guess we'll have to leave this for another day," groaned Joyce at
last. "I'm just dog-tired!"
"All right," assented Cynthia, in muffled tones, her head being under a
great desk in the corner. "But wait till I finish sweeping out under
here. _Mercy!_ what's that? I just touched something soft!" On the
instant, Joyce was at her side with the candle.
"Why, it's Goliath as usual!" they both cried, peering in. "Isn't he the
greatest for getting into odd corners!" Far at the back sat Goliath,
curled into a comfortable ball, his front paws tucked under, and purring
loudly.
"He's sitting on an old newspaper, I think," said Joyce. "He always does
that if he can find one, because they're warm." Suddenly she snatched at
the paper so violently that Goliath went tobogganing off with a
protesting "meouw."
"Look, look, Cynthia!" she exclaimed, brushing off a cloud of dust with
the whisk-broom, and pointing to the top of the sheet. "Here's one of
the biggest discoveries yet!" And Cynthia, following her index-finger,
read aloud:
"'Tuesday, April 16, 1861.'"
"Which proves," added Joyce, "that whatever happened here didn't take
place much _earlier_ than this date, or the paper wouldn't be here. What
we want to do now is hunt around and see if there are any newspapers of
a _later_ date. Let's do it this minute!"
Forgetting all their weariness, they seized their candles and scurried
through the house, finding an occasional paper tucked away in some odd
corner. But upon examination these all proved to be of earlier date than
that of their first discovery. And when it was clear that there were no
more to be found, Joyce announced:
"Well, I'm convinced that the Boarded-up House mystery happened not
earlier than April 16, 1861, and probably not much later. That's over
forty years ago, for this is 1905! Just think, Cynthia, of this place
standing shut up and untouched and lonely all that time! It's
wonderful!" But Cynthia had turned and snatched up Goliath.
"You precious cat!" she crooned to him as he struggled unappreciatively
in her embrace. "You're the best detective of us all! We ought to change
your name to 'Sherlock Holmes'!"