THE EAGLE'S FEATHER
It took but a few days for the visitors to become so well acquainted in
their surroundings that even the generous assistance of Lalia and
Lucille was no longer necessary at "the steering wheel." The diversity
of scenery in Bellaire furnished such a contrast to that of Flosston
that every day unfolded new wonders, and more interesting exploits.
But it was the mystery of the queer little girl, who frightened Andy
MacMurry out of his race, and who had met the girls on their arrival in
Bellaire, that furnished the real peak to their mountain interest and
adventure. They were determined to hunt her out and unravel the
mystery.
"The strange part of it is," said Cleo, as she and her chums were
making a schedule for next day in the faithful little note books
provided by Madaline at the beginning of their trip, "the very queer
part of it is," she continued, "how the girl pops out of nowhere at
almost any time, and she seems to disappear just when one thinks she is
well within reach."
"Yes," added Grace, "I heard the drug store boy say this morning that a
girl named Mary from Second Mountain was getting medicines without
leaving any name, and under the new law some drugs, not poisons either,
have to be signed for. And Dave, that's the druggist's name, said he
supposed now she wouldn't come any more, because when he told her that,
she gave him a look like a scared owl. I guess he means an owl looks
without seeing, because that's the way our mystery girl looks."
"But she isn't blind," commented Cleo, "for I saw her look straight at
us the day we came."
"And now, because we are determined to run her down I suppose it will
be ages before we get a glimpse of her again," Grace complained,
impatient for the promised excitement. "I asked the druggist if he
knew her, and he laughed sort of queer, and said someone in the family
must be a root and herb fiend, for she bought the queerest old dried
roots and foreign herbs, that no one else ever called for. They even
had to send to New York to get some of her orders filled. What do you
suppose anyone wants old dried up roots for?"
"You can well guess that old Turkish woman, or whatever she is, can do
woozy things with 'yarbs,'" said Cleo, giving the provincial
pronunciation to the word "herbs." Then they noted the chime in the
hall calling the hour for lights out, and consequently folded their
note books to comply with the rules. "But just suppose she is feeding
them to Mary! Oh, maybe that's what's the matter with her!" and Cleo
bounced from the divan over to the desk to make one last note in the
day's records. "There! I shall be sure to remember it was I
who--originated that. I'm sure it is going to be part of our plot!"
"And I guess," ventured Grace, "that they get the roots--for--well, for
hair tonic," she floundered. "Roots ought to be good for bald heads!"
"Hair roots would be, of course," put in Madaline, excusing a yawn,
"but I never saw them advertised."
"When I go in business I shall advertise real hair roots, planted on
bald heads. Satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded," quoted Grace.
"Anyone may have marvelous hair by applying Madame Gracia's hair
roots," added Cleo. "Just rub it on and watch it sprout! Well, we
will go over Second Mountain to-morrow morning, as Aunt Audrey is away,
and we will be left entirely to ourselves. But I must not forget very
first thing to write to mother. You know she and dad are going West
next week, and I may spend the entire summer with Aunt Audrey. You
girls are to stay as long as you like, for Flosston Mill magnates,
including both your fathers, may have to come to New York for
headquarters, and then all our families will leave Pennsylvania."
"Isn't that glorious!" Grace exclaimed. "I think it's a perfectly
splendid idea to have all our dads in the one firm. They can't do
anything to separate us," and she gave Cleo an appreciative hug.
"Don't forget to dress in uniform to-morrow," Cleo reminded her chums.
"We have had enough vacation from scouting I think. I'm really sick
for my old, practical self."
"Well, I renew my pledge every day, of course," Madaline declared.
"But I do feel lonely for my nice, tidy uniform. Do you suppose we
shall attract attention around here?"
"No, indeed," answered Cleo. "I saw a group of girls yesterday in
scout uniform. I suppose there is a troop here. But we don't have to
look it up unless we get still more lonely. Well, good night, girlies.
I am going to try the new dream pillow. Isn't it darling?" and she
pressed her cheek to the tiny heart-shaped down pillow, with its
embroidered motto case, the latest remembrance from her loving mother.
"We might make them for gifts," remarked Grace. "I think them too
sweet for words!"
"And that perfume is--orchid, isn't it?" asked Madaline. "It is too
delicate for anything else."
"Yes, momsey likes orchid, and dad buys it, so I guess that's her
sachet. Good-night again, girls, and to-morrow we go hunting our
wood-nymph; and, girls," with a premonitory perk of her shapely head,
"be sure to lock your window because it is right off the porch roof,
and with Aunt Audrey away, we can't be sure of old Michael's police
ability."
"Oh, Cleo," gulped Madaline, who, being dimply, always seemed the baby
of the trio, "do you think anyone would climb up the post poles?"
"No, certainly not, silly," replied Cleo with a show of scorn, "but you
see, I must share the responsibility when Aunt Audrey is away, and it
is always best to keep windows directly off low roofs locked. Then, if
anyone should try to get in we would be sure to hear them. Run away
now, and try on your new Billie Burkes. Maybe I'll come in and inspect
them when I get myself ready."
The low mountain house presently echoed with the girls' laughter, for
indulging in their usual propensity to prolong recreation, a
dressing-up contest was crowded in the hour of undressing. Billie
Burks and boudoir caps, under long capes and wild draperies, furnished
equipment adequate and ridiculous, so that even Jennie, who was dragged
from her mending out to the second hall to serve as audience, found
herself laughing foolishly at the girl scouts' antics.
Cleo impersonated "Walla-Hoola," with a string of twenty neckties
(borrowed from Uncle Guy's room) dangling around her waist, over a
combination of pink crêpe and bluebird pajamas. At the back of her
neck, in savage glee, was propped the piano feather duster, the same
being somewhat supported by another necktie of Kelly green hue, that
banded her classic brow.
Madaline "tried on" Circe, all swathed up in a billowy white mosquito
netting, that might never again be used as a bed canopy. She found her
"rock" on a third floor landing, and clung frantically to the stairs
post, while the wild sea of perfectly good oak steps dashed savagely at
her uncovered toes. She also pink-pinked Cleo's ukelele, according to
Circean traditions.
Grace rolled around the floor in the ocean waves--the lost soul who was
to be saved by someone, anyone would do, so far as Grace was concerned.
All she had to worry about apparently was the roll. Had she been a
little older, and just a little more rotund, one might have suspected
her indulging in a treatment; but it required, finally, the combined
strength of Cleo and Jennie to extricate the "lost soul" from the
meshes into which that roll and a couple of fine silkoline quilts had
engulfed her.
"Mrs. Dunbar wouldn't like to have the quilts soiled," interposed
Jennie wisely, "and now, girls, dear, do run along to bed. You've had
a fine time, and I enjoyed the show first rate."
"Thank you, Jennie!" panted Grace, crawling out of her cocoon like a
human caterpillar. "We had a lovely time also. And, Jennie, will you
please be sure to leave your door open? Michael may be a very sound
sleeper, and you know we all have to be on guard to-night."
"Indeed, Grace, not a step could come up that gravel path, or through
the grass itself, but I would hear it"--Jennie was proud of her
nocturnally acute sense of sound, or suspicion of mere noises--"and you
may sleep sound as Michael himself, for nothing will come near this
lodge unbeknownst to Jennie Marlow."
"That's a good Jennie," Cleo patted the trusted servant, "and if I hear
even the tiniest bit of a noise, like a chipmunk, or a tree toad, you
can expect me to come pouncing into your nice big feather bed."
"And leave us!" protested Madaline, who was no longer the entrancing
Circe.
"There'll be room for all of you, crosswise, like our old buckboard,"
Jennie assured them once more, and this time the "good-night" was
allowed to take effect.
A half hour later Cragsnook was snuggled in the stillness of a
beautifully soft night, pillowed against the Jersey mountains, and
cradled in the sweet scented foliage of giant tulip trees and ambitious
beeches. The trees at night seemed unfathomable, and this denseness
increased the darkness and magnified the shadows.
But the three girl scouts under Jennie Marlow's protection, slept and
dreamed of their next day's quest in search of Mary, the phantom wood
nymph, or Mary the fleet-footed maid of Second Mountain.
She must surely live somewhere between Bellaire and that mountain,
beyond which the girls had no definite idea of territory. A pretty
lake formed the boundary, and up to that line they had planned their
search.