AUNT SALLY ADDS TO THE MYSTIFICATION
THE two girls walked home in a state bordering on stupefaction. Every
little while Phyllis would stop to ejaculate: "Who would have thought it!
The horrid little snob! I really can't believe yet that it is she,
Leslie--our 'mysterious she!' I'm sure there must be some mistake."
"Well, of course, it _may_ not be so," Leslie admitted, "but you must see
how many things point to it. The beads are identical. I stood so near her
that I had a fine chance to see them closely. Her name is the same as the
one on the envelop in the book--"
"Yes, but that isn't the name of the man who hired the bungalow,"
objected Phyllis.
"That's quite true, but even so, you can't tell what connection there may
be with the other name. It isn't exactly a common one, and that makes it
all the more likely that we may be right. And then, there's the fact of
her being so near here--right in the village. I have always imagined that
whoever it was had to come from quite a distance, and I've always
wondered how she managed it, so late at night."
"But Leslie, why on earth should she come to that bungalow in the dead of
night, in a storm, and hide that 'Dragon's Secret'? What mysterious
affair can she be mixed up with, anyway?"
Leslie, however, had no solution to offer to this poser, but she did have
a sudden idea that made her stop short in the road and gasp:
"Do you realize, Phyllis Kelvin, that we are doing a very
questionable--yes, a _wrong_ thing in keeping the 'Dragon's Secret,' when
it evidently belongs to this girl?"
"How do you _know_ it belongs to this girl?" countered Phyllis. "You only
_guess_ that it may, when all's said and done. You didn't see her hide it
there--you didn't even see _her_ at the bungalow. We may be way off the
track, for all you know, and we'd be a pretty pair of geese to go and
meekly hand it to her, shouldn't we! And do you know, even if I was
simply _positive_ it was hers, I just wouldn't give it to her, anyway,
for a while. I'd let her stew and fret for it for a good long
spell--after such hatefulness!"
Phyllis's manner was so vindictive that Leslie had to smile in spite of
herself.
"But oh, see here!" Phyllis went on. "_I_ have an idea--a glorious idea!
It may help to clear up a lot of things. I know Aunt Sally Blake very
well, and we'll go and see her--this very afternoon! Perhaps she can give
us more light on the subject."
"But wouldn't that seem too plainly like tracking down this--Miss
Ramsay?" objected Leslie, "especially as she doesn't appear to care for
our acquaintance!"
"Not a bit!" declared Phyllis, positively. "You don't realize how well
_I_ know Aunt Sally. Why, she's a regular village institution--everybody
knows her and thinks the world of her. She's a plump, jolly, delightful
old lady who lives in a delightful old house full of dear, old-fashioned
furniture. She keeps a lot of chickens and often sells them and the fresh
eggs, and she does a little sewing, and sometimes takes a boarder or two,
and goes out nursing occasionally--and oh, I don't know what all! But I
know that we couldn't get along at all around here without Aunt Sally.
We'll go down to her house this afternoon and call (I really haven't been
to see her since I came down this time), and I'll ask her if she has a
nice roasting chicken that I can have. That'll be a perfectly good
excuse. And if our polite young lady isn't around, I'll try and get her
to talk. Aunt Sally loves to talk, but she isn't a gossip like old Mrs.
Selby, and we'll have to go at it a little more carefully."
They solaced themselves with this thought, and awaited with more than a
little impatience the visit that afternoon. Surely Aunt Sally, if any
one, would be able to solve some of their mysteries!
By afternoon, the weather had turned warm, almost sultry, and they found
Aunt Sally sitting on her front porch, rocking gently and humming to
herself over her sewing. She was delighted to see Phyllis again and to
make the acquaintance of Leslie, whom Phyllis introduced as her neighbor
and very dear friend. When they had chatted about topics of common
interest for a while, Phyllis introduced the subject of the chicken.
"Bless your heart, dear!" cried Aunt Sally. "I'm so sorry, but I haven't
a roasting chicken just now in the whole yard--nothing but fowls. But I
can give you a couple of nice young broilers--and I've plenty of fresh
eggs."
Phyllis straightway arranged to have two broilers ready for her when she
called for them next day, and skilfully changed the subject.
"Oh, Aunt Sally! do show Leslie those begonias you've been raising all
summer. I do think they are the most beautiful things! You certainly are
very successful at making things grow!"
Highly flattered, Aunt Sally rose to lead the girls indoors to the sunny
room where she kept her plants. While they were admiring them, she asked
them to sit down and rest a while and talk--an invitation they accepted
with great alacrity. At length, after a detailed account of the health
and affairs of her entire family, Phyllis craftily led the conversation
back to Aunt Sally herself.
"And are you alone now, Aunt Sally, or is your sister still with you? I
heard she was going back to Ohio."
"Yes, she's gone and I'm alone," sighed Aunt Sally; "at least,--I'm not
quite alone. I have a boarder at present."
"Oh, _have_ you!" exclaimed Phyllis, guilefully, as if it were all news
to her. "Why, that's very nice. I hope the boarder will stay a long
while. It will be some company for you."
"Well, I dunno how long she'll stay, and she ain't much company for _me_,
I must confess!" admitted Aunt Sally, with a somewhat worried air. "The
truth is, I can't exactly make her out."
This was precisely the line that Phyllis wished her to take, yet even now
caution must be observed or Aunt Sally might shy away from it.
"Oh, it's a lady then!" remarked the artful Phyllis.
"Well, no, it ain't exactly a lady--it's a young girl 'bout the age of
you two, I should guess."
"Still, I don't see why she shouldn't be company for you, even so,"
argued Phyllis, quite as if she were still completely in the dark as to
this new boarder.
"The reason she ain't much company," went on Aunt Sally, "is
because--well, I don't know as I ought to say it, but I guess she thinks
she's too sort of--high-toned to 'sociate with the person who keeps her
boarding-house!" Aunt Sally laughed, an amused, throaty little chuckle at
this, and then the worried frown came back.
"Why, she must be rather horrid, I think," commented Phyllis, with more
heartfelt reason than Aunt Sally could guess!
"No, I don't think she means to be horrid--she's just been brought up
that way, I guess. I wish she could be more friendly. I sort of feel a
responsibility about her. You see, she's here all alone. She was staying
at the hotel with her grandfather, and he suddenly took awful sick and
had to be taken to the hospital up at Branchville. She stayed on at the
hotel so's to be near him (she runs up there every day in her car), and
then the hotel had to close down for the season. The manager come to me
and asked me if I could take her in, 'cause he was kind of sorry for her,
her grandfather bein' so ill, an' she couldn't seem to find no other
place. So I did, but she worries me a lot, somehow. I don't like to see a
young girl like that with no one to look after her, and she running
around loose in that auto all the time. Why, she even took it out one
rainy night last week at ten o'clock. Said she was worried about her
grandfather, but I didn't approve of her running all the way up there to
Branchville in the rain."
Here Phyllis glanced significantly at Leslie and interjected a question.
"Did she and her grandfather have one of the bungalows on the beach this
summer, do you know, Aunt Sally?"
"Why, not that I know of. She said she'd been visiting some friends
somewhere in Maine, and then come on here to join her grandfather just a
few days before he was taken sick. I don't think it likely she ever
stayed in one of the bungalows. She didn't seem to know anything about
this region at first. And I'd likely have heard of it if she had. But,
laws! I got biscuits in the oven and I'm clean forgetting them!" And with
a whisk of skirts, Aunt Sally vanished for a moment into the kitchen.
"What did I tell you!" whispered Leslie. "Went out in the rain one night
last week about ten o'clock! I warrant she didn't go to the hospital, or,
if she did, it was after she'd visited Curlew's Nest!"
But Aunt Sally was back almost immediately, bearing some hot biscuits and
jam which she hospitably invited her guests to try. And while they were
partaking of this refreshment she sighed:
"My, how I have been gossiping about that poor girl! I sort of feel
conscience-stricken, for I could like her real well if she'd only let me.
She's a sort of lovable-looking child! I wish she knew you two girls. I
believe it would do her a lot of good to be around with you. There she is
now!"--she cried, as a car flashed past the window and up the driveway
toward the barn. "Just wait till she comes in and I'll introduce you--"
"No, no!" exclaimed Phyllis, hastily springing up. "Better not, Aunt
Sally. If she doesn't care for you, I'm sure she wouldn't for us.
Besides, we must go right away. Remember, we're both the _cooks_ in our
families, and even as it is, we won't be back very early. It's a long
walk. Good-by, and thank you, and I'll send for the broilers to-morrow!"
And with Leslie in tow, she hurried away, leaving a somewhat bewildered
Aunt Sally gazing after them.
"Well, I guess not! The idea of trying to get acquainted a second time
with that difficult young person!" Phyllis exploded, when they were out
of ear-shot.
"And yet," mused Leslie as they swung along, "unpleasant as the thought
of it is, I wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea--to get acquainted?"