PHŒBE HAS AN ADVENTURE
Perhaps no one was so greatly relieved by the advent of Cousin Judith
as Phœbe Daring. The girl had keenly felt her responsibilities
during the troubled months since her father’s death, and her days and
nights had been filled with anxieties. Now, however, she could cast all
worry to the winds, for the new head of the household, albeit gentle of
demeanor, low voiced and cheery, had nevertheless a reserve force and
power of command that inspired confidence, being in sharp contrast to
Phœbe’s own inexperience and lack of self reliance.
Aunt Hyacinth also felt relief. She had not worried much, at any time;
it wasn’t her way. But Phœbe’s girlish responsibilities were as
nothing compared to those of the black mammy whose tenderly reared
brood seemed, in these adverse times, to have become neglected and
forsaken by all the world. She hailed Miss Eliot’s coming with joy and
unfeigned gratitude, and when she understood that “Miss Judy,” as she
called her in the old days, was to take charge of the household, she
felt a great weight lifted from her brave old shoulders.
“I knows dem chill’ns ben runnin’ wild, Miss Judy,” she said earnestly,
“but I ain’t got de eddication, ner de arg’mentation to keep ’em toein’
de chalk mark. It needs mo’ brains ner Aunt Hy’cinth’s got.”
One night, when Phœbe had been asleep for some time, she was
roused by a peculiar sound in the next room--the room back of her
own--occupied by old Miss Halliday. It was a faint but persistent
sound, as of something sliding softly over a wooden surface, and now
and then it was accompanied by the crooning voice of the housekeeper.
She did not speak, at these times, but droned a long, sighing
“m-m-m-m-m” that denoted both ecstasy and intense excitement. The
sounds were all subdued and stealthy, but in the dead of night they
were clearly heard by the girl, who became half frightened, wondering
if old Elaine had gone mad.
While she lay in her bed listening, a sudden silence fell, followed
by several gentle thumps which she could not explain. Then a chair
was pushed back; Miss Halliday pattered softly across the floor--and
perfect silence ensued.
Phœbe lay a long time afterward listening for a recurrence of the
mysterious sounds, but they did not mature and presently the girl fell
asleep again.
Next morning the recollection of the occurrence was rather dim in her
mind. She remembered her midnight fears and considered them rather
soberly while dressing; but afterward, when she saw Miss Halliday
feeding her chickens and looking after the garden in her accustomed
manner, alert, composed and engrossed in her work, Phœbe dismissed
any idea of the old woman’s being insane and soon forgot all about the
incident.
This was commencement week, and Phil and Phœbe both graduated. The
twins were not on a par as far as scholarship was concerned, for the
girl barely passed her examinations. Phil was at the head of his class,
as he had hoped to be, but he was obliged to share that honor with one
other. Janet Ferguson had pressed him hard for first place all the
term, and at last she stood equal to Phil in all classes. With manly
generosity he was the first to congratulate her, for he liked Janet.
She was a modest, quiet girl who had a smile and a pleasant word for
everyone.
Old Judge Ferguson was mightily pleased. He slapped Phil on the back
and said approvingly: “If you can keep step with my Janet, Phil, you’ve
something to be proud of, I assure you.”
Phil _was_ proud, and so was Phœbe. She had not expected honors,
herself, but that her twin should do so well was certainly a source of
pride to her. She fairly reveled in her brother’s reflected glory.
Cousin Judith gave Phil a scarf pin from Paris and Phœbe an oriental
bracelet of unique design. Nor did she forget the daughter of her old
friend Judge Ferguson, for Janet received from her, as a graduation
gift, a silver brooch brought from Venice.
That evening was a joyous one in the Daring household. The younger
children realized that a long vacation was ahead of them. Phœbe was
now at liberty to begin life in earnest, and Phil was about to take his
place in Spaythe’s Bank. Aunt Hy, well knowing this to be a festive
occasion, prepared an elaborate supper, and afterward they all gathered
in an end of the big parlor, which Judith’s deft hand had by this time
rendered more cosy, and spent the evening listening to their Little
Mother’s fascinating stories of Italian life.
It was late when they retired for the night, and Phœbe was tired.
She was soon in bed, but the day’s excitement was yet upon her and she
could not readily compose herself to sleep. Thoughts of the future and
her ambitious plans for it obtruded themselves persistently, and she
was wide-eyed when the ormolu clock, in Cousin Judith’s room opposite,
chimed the hour of midnight.
Soon after her ear caught another sound--the gentle, stealthy
sliding--sliding--sliding of some hard substance across a table-top. It
came from Miss Halliday’s room, and was exactly the same sound she had
heard several nights before.
Presently the old woman began her droning again: “M-m-m-m-m!”--a croon
of the most beatific joy and exaltation. She evidently desired to
suppress the murmur, for fear of being overheard, so that at first it
barely reached Phœbe’s listening ears. But now and then her ecstasy
led her to forget caution and raise the croon to a higher key.
It was all so uncanny, so strange and inexplicable, that the girl
was more startled than she had been before. Yet she did not feel so
alarmed, this time, as she was curious.
Softly throwing back the coverlet she tiptoed to the connecting door
and crouched down to look through the keyhole. Only blackness rewarded
the attempt. Then she placed her ear to the panel, but found she could
not hear much more distinctly than when lying in bed. Shivering a
little in the night air Phœbe was about to retreat when suddenly the
thumps began, and between them Elaine spoke.
“Mine!” she said, muttered low but quite distinct. Then came a thump.
“Mine!” she repeated. Another thump. “Mine!” she said, again; and so
the word and the thump followed each other several times. Afterward, a
brief silence and shuffle of the woman’s feet across the room. Then, as
before, all sounds ceased.
Phœbe went back to bed thoughtful and perplexed. Surely there was
some mystery about this queer performance. She remembered how unwilling
Miss Halliday had been to have any of the Darings occupy the hall
bedrooms, and it seemed there must be some connection between this
reluctance and the strange sounds she had twice heard.
For some indefinite reason which she could not have explained Phœbe
said nothing about these experiences, either to the Little Mother or
to her brothers or sisters. The girl was inclined, at times, to dream
wonderful daydreams when those about her thought her absorbed in humble
occupations. Looking upon the world with clear, calm eyes, Phœbe
found it essentially practical and commonplace, and accepted it as she
found it, striving to do her duty at all times. But the fascinating
dreams would not be denied, and one of her secret pleasures was to
allow them full play in her mind when her hands were engaged in some
unimportant matter. She never confided them even to her beloved twin;
they were sacred to herself alone, and any exposure of them would have
shamed her terribly.
They were healthy dreams, if inherently romantic and unreal. There was
nothing morbid about Phœbe, although it must be admitted she had
some queer characteristics that might be called faults. Cousin Judith
thought she was more like her mother than any of the other children,
yet her shrewd eyes marked the girl’s frequent abstraction and knew her
thoughts were often far away from her material surroundings.
Phœbe scented a mystery. That old Miss Halliday possessed some
secret which she dreaded to have revealed was quite evident to her,
judging from what she had overheard. It would be difficult to explain
to others, those peculiar sounds. Perhaps, she would be laughed at if
she attempted it. She resolved, therefore, to keep her own counsel and
watch Elaine carefully. If she discovered the secret it would then be
time enough to make it known; meantime, she could enjoy the suggestion
of a mystery without interference.
Practical, everyday life is apt to dispel visionary dreams. Phœbe
leaned from her window the next morning and watched Cousin Judith
bargaining with Miss Halliday for a dozen of fresh eggs.
“The Randolphs, across the road, pay me twenty cents a dozen,” said
Elaine, gruffly. “You can buy eggs from the grocer for eighteen.
There’s no need to waste your money on me.”
“Do the Randolphs take all you have?” asked Judith.
“Yes; and cry for more.”
“Then I will not urge you,” replied Miss Eliot, “although I would be
willing to pay you twenty cents, myself. I know your eggs are quite
fresh, which is not always the case with those obtained from the
grocer.”
“I don’t want your money,” observed the woman, in a disagreeable tone.
“I won’t touch your money. Mr. Eliot allows you house room out of
charity, but he desires no communication, of any sort, between the two
families.”
“How do you know that?” inquired Judith, looking at the old servant,
steadily.
“He has told me so.”
“You know very well that he is incapable of speech.”
“Do I? That shows your ignorance, Judith Eliot. Your uncle can speak
when he wants to, and speak to some purpose. His mind isn’t paralyzed,
I assure you, and he is competent to direct his own affairs.”
“I cannot believe it,” persisted Judith.
The woman looked at her defiantly.
“Call in the law, if you want to,” she said; “I’d be glad to have you
do it. Mr. Eliot can prove his mental condition in court, and his right
to manage his own property. But if you put him to that trouble he’ll
turn out the whole tribe of you, as sure as my name’s Elaine Halliday!”
Judith turned away without further remark. The shrewdness of the woman
astonished and perplexed her. Possibly old Elaine was right, and could,
if she chose, induce Uncle Eliot to speak. Otherwise she would scarcely
have dared to thus defy all interference with her autocratic whims. It
was also possible that the paralytic old man was so completely under
Elaine’s influence that he would readily follow her suggestions.
Jonathan Eliot had always been a hard, stubborn man, even to his
sweet, beautiful daughter Molly. As Judith remembered him, sitting
stolidly in his chair that morning when she had forced herself upon his
presence, he appeared a living mummy, lost to all recognition of his
surroundings. Yet, if Elaine could arouse him at will, and his mind
retained its natural poise, there was really danger that he might turn
the Darings out of their refuge. Judith would not employ the law; she
dared not; but she resolved to consult Judge Ferguson.
Acting upon this determination she at once put on her hat and started
for the lawyer’s office.
Phœbe, seeing Miss Halliday busy in the hen-house, left her window
and turned to examine the mysterious connecting door between her room
and that of the housekeeper. In broad daylight it did not appear
especially interesting. It was a heavy, old-fashioned door with a big
keyhole in the lock. But when Phœbe stooped down she discovered a
thick cloth had been placed on the opposite side, which effectually
prevented her from examining the next room. She pushed a long hat-pin
through the hole but failed to dislodge the cloth.
Next, she turned her attention to the transom above the door. It had
once been made to swing open, but was now tightly nailed shut. Over the
glass had been nailed a thin board, which fully covered it; but it was
nailed to Phœbe’s side of the transom and the girl at once decided
that here might be a way to discover what those mysterious midnight
sounds meant.
She went into Phil’s room and searched in his tool chest for some
instrument with which to remove the board from the transom. Just then
Cousin Judith passed out of the front gate on her way down town, and
Phœbe was all alone in the upper part of the house--except, of
course, gran’pa, who could not interfere.
She selected a chisel and a hammer, and returned to her room. She drew
her stand before the door and by means of a chair mounted to its top.
From this elevation her head almost reached the ceiling, and she was
able to work comfortably. Quickly prying the nails from the board with
the chisel, Phœbe removed it and found a pane of clear glass behind.
It was dingy with dust; but by rubbing clear one corner she found
herself looking into Elaine’s room.
It was much like her own room, yet even more poorly furnished. A big,
broad oaken table stood in the center--a heavily constructed affair
that seemed out of place in a bedchamber. It was bare of even a cloth.
A small dresser stood at one side; a bed was in the opposite corner;
two stiff chairs and a rag carpet completed the furniture of the room,
which denoted extreme neatness and cleanliness. Really, there was
nothing here pertaining to the mysterious or unusual.
But Phœbe was not satisfied. Those sliding sounds, the old woman’s
ecstatic murmurings, must be explained. After a moment’s thought, the
girl climbed down from the table and with the chisel managed to cut a
square corner out of the thin board. Then she replaced it as it had
been before, putting one nail loosely into the corner she had removed,
so that while the board over the transom appeared to be intact and
undisturbed she could easily slide the corner from its place and so
obtain a “peephole.”
Observing her work critically from the floor she decided no one would
ever notice that the board had been tampered with. So she returned the
tools to Phil’s chest, rearranged her room, and with the complacent
idea that she had accomplished a clever feat awaited the moment when
she might make an important discovery.