Beauty That Dazzled
“How perfectly beautiful!” exclaimed Arden. “What is it?”
“It is a snuffbox that once belonged to the Russian Czar. It is of great
value. A fortune almost.” He held it so they could all see it. “Now
watch.”
With his thumb he pushed down a section of the golden side. This
uncovered a small compartment in which rested a little key. He took out
the key and turned the box upside down. Then they saw that the under side
was as elaborately designed as the top. Daintily painted miniature
woodland scenes with birds and a bounding deer. He inserted the key in a
tiny hole and gave it a few turns, then very carefully placed the box on
a near-by table.
The beautiful medallion in the center of the box showed a brightly
plumaged bird on a tropical tree, and around the medallion, like a frame,
was a row of marvelous diamonds and rubies. The box suddenly opened, as
the group watched, and a tiny bird, not much over a half inch in height,
sprang up, turned his little head from side to side, and moved his wee
feathered wings up and down magically. As they waited, awe-struck, the
tinkle of a song was heard, and it seemed as though the little feathered
creature was actually singing. Then in a flash the fairy songster ceased
his song, folded up his wings, and the medallion snapped shut, leaving
the golden and bejeweled box as the cage of the little wizard.
“Oh!” gasped Arden, the first to speak. “It is so lovely it almost makes
me feel like crying,” she stammered. “Could you make him do it again?”
“Of course,” Dimitri replied. “Did you see this little watch in the side
and the real feathers on the little bird?”
“I have never seen anything like it!” exclaimed Mrs. Landry. “It must be
worth a fortune.”
“It is,” solemnly answered Dimitri. “It is the only really valuable
possession I have left except——” He turned aside without finishing the
sentence. Again he wound the spring, and once more the remarkable
performance was repeated. The artist let them each examine the treasure,
and at last taking it from Arden he looked at it fondly and very
deliberately carried it back to its hiding place. When he returned he
remarked:
“I could not bear to lose it, and perhaps it is childish of me to keep it
with me instead of in some deep bank vault, but it belonged to my mother,
and I like to have it near me to look at when I become discouraged.”
The girls were still spellbound, while Mrs. Landry assured him that it
was the natural thing to do and hoped it would be quite safe in his
affectionate keeping.
“I have hidden it well, I hope, and I need not tell you why I have
trusted you all.”
There was something so pathetically frank about the artist’s proud
display of his treasure that even the girls, who had joked and speculated
upon the mysterious man, were now profoundly impressed.
“We will never violate your confidence.” Mrs. Landry spoke for the group,
but even that polite assurance seemed unnecessary.
Somehow the artist knew he could trust them; and he had!
“And now, will you try some tea, Russian style?”
The girls agreed all at once and wanted to help, but he waved them aside
and served them quite as though he were accustomed to having four guests
every day in the week on this wobbly old houseboat.
They sat, sipping from glasses the clear amber liquid though Dimitri, as
a concession to their American tastes, offered them cream as well as
sliced lemon. He sweetened his own clear tea liberally.
The houseboat, for all the masculine untidiness, was a bright pleasant
place, and the little party chatted like old friends until Mrs. Landry
announced they must go.
“We must not wear out our welcome, you know,” she said lightly, “and
perhaps you will come and have dinner with us some time, Mr. Uzlov.”
“Thank you, I would be pleased to,” he suavely answered.
Then, saying good-bye, they left, a smiling, happy foursome, and started
away in the old rowboat over to the Landry landing.
As Terry pushed out in the boat they heard a light step, surely a girl’s
step, and a few seconds later they saw Melissa rowing quickly away from
the side of the houseboat.
“There’s Melissa,” Sim exclaimed needlessly, for they had all seen her.
“No need to worry about her comings and goings.”
“She’s always around from one place to another. I suppose she doesn’t
know what to do with herself all day,” Terry answered between strokes,
taking it all very casually.
“Where is her home, Terry? Is it near here?” Arden asked.
“Not very. It’s clear across the bay; two or three miles, anyway, isn’t
it, Mother?”
“Every bit of that,” Mrs. Landry replied. “Poor creature! She doesn’t
lead a very happy life. I hope you girls will be kind to her if you can.”
“Of course we will, Mrs. Landry,” Sim assured her, and then in another
mood she asked, “Wasn’t that a knockout snuffbox? Imagine keeping nasty
old snuff in it.”
“Dimitri doesn’t keep _anything_ in it. He loves it because it’s so
beautiful,” Arden announced. “There’s a true artist for you.” She was
very much in earnest.
“You like him a little, don’t you, Arden?” Terry asked whimsically.
“Don’t be silly, Terry! You like him, too,” Arden snapped back.
“We all do, even Mrs. Landry, don’t you?” Sim wanted to know, joining in
the complimentary chorus.
Terry’s mother smiled and nodded.
“Well, I think it’s strange, just the same,” Arden said almost to
herself, “very strange.”
“What, the box?” Sim inquired.
“No; but I mean the way he spoke about Olga, and the way he keeps that
picture covered,” Arden answered. “And a lot of things not really—well,
not exactly wordy things but _queer_ things,” she wound up vaguely.
“Melissa is odd too. Why do you suppose Olga took her riding and gave her
money?” Terry asked, adding more interest to the mystifying questions.
“I can’t imagine. It’s strange the way she always pops up,” Arden added.
“I mean Melissa, not Olga.”
“I don’t like her father, either,” Terry went on. “He’s the meanest man I
ever saw, and I don’t believe a word he says!”
“Now, Terry,” Mrs. Landry rebuked, “you know nothing about him. He’s just
not like the city people we’re used to, and you probably misjudge him.”
“But he seems so cruel and crafty. I wonder if he punished Melissa for
staying away the other night? The night she stayed in the garage.”
“Oh, he couldn’t!” Arden exclaimed. “I’ll ask Melissa the next time I see
her. I wonder where she went just now? I don’t see her boat anywhere. She
seems to have disappeared all of a sudden.”
“Playing hide and seek with us, maybe,” Terry suggested. “Hope we don’t
catch any of this queer business,” she finished, easing a little to look
at her burning hand.
“I think this whole place is queer,” Sim said, looking over the
untroubled bay. “I don’t like that Olga, nor George Clayton, either, and
I’m sure he’s up to some shady business—not to say dark and dangerous.”
“Now, Sim,” Mrs. Landry said gently, “you mustn’t make a mystery out of
everything. He’s probably just an ordinary crabber and fisherman with a
difficult daughter to look out for, and in these wild places girls cannot
be allowed to run wild, you know.”
They were almost home, and everyone seemed willing to think a little and
stop talking. “Buckingham Palace” stood out with reassuring friendliness
against the late afternoon sky and looked decidedly more inviting than
the moldy houseboat.
“You may be right, Mother,” Terry said, pulling the oars gently as they
drifted up to their little dock. “But there’s something going on, I’m
sure. Something we don’t know anything about—yet,” she ended
significantly.
And no one there was to say “nay” to that possibility.