MARY'S MYSTERIOUS PET
The morning dawned on Cragsnook quite as complaisantly as if the night
had shed nothing but joy. And quite as indifferently did the girls
take up the fun where they left off past midnight, when sheer fatigue
had put an end to their tireless pranks. Kicking themselves happily
into the new day, vague remembrances of the wild excitement forging
through more welcome emotions, the Scouts and their visitor were
actually ready for breakfast when Jennie chimed the gong.
Madaline, secretly cherishing the mystery of "something alive" being in
Mary's hidden away basket, could scarcely wait for the meal to end
before asking Mary about it.
But there were a number of interruptions. Mrs. Dunbar was called twice
from the table to answer the telephone, and her monologue hinted the
police might be anxious to make an investigation at Cragsnook. Always
affable, especially to officials, the last answer given simply was:
"Very well, as early as you please."
That was but a few minutes ago, and now a car was rumbling up the drive.
"You girls may run off and show Mary the grounds," suggested the
hostess. "I have to attend to some business with these men."
Mary still wore the white dress, of some open wrought material, like
drawn work, and not usually made up into frocks. It was soft and
clinging, and her velvet ribbon wound around the waist fell in an
artistic sash clear to the end of her full skirt. Her braids were
unbound and finished in their own natural curls, this tendency to
really curl having been hailed by the girls as worthy of an entirely
different mode of hair dressing.
Ginghams for mornings, as customary, gave the other girls quite a
different appearance, and in a stolen moment, while dressing, Cleo
managed to show Mary a scout uniform. The simple khaki outfit seemed
to Mary the most remarkable "rig" she had ever seen, even books had not
given her such an idea of a practical girl's uniform.
The polite dismissal of Mrs. Dunbar's followed just as two very
business-like men stepped into the oaken hall.
"Do you remember about your basket?" Madaline asked. She was wildly
wondering if the live thing had crawled away.
"Oh, yes, indeed. I am going to it directly. Come on, girls, till I
show you my pet."
Everyone thought of snakes, varied with a pretty baby bunnie, or
perhaps a bird's nest of helpless fledglings, but Mary's pet was none
of these.
Out on the small window nook, just off the breakfast room, she found
the basket quite as she had left it. The girls watched her eagerly as
she first drew out a soft white covering. It was now becoming apparent
that this self-same Mary possessed an entirely undeveloped sense of
humor, for as she watched the eager faces crowding about her she was
surely, deliberately delaying the process of displaying her "pet."
"Guess!" she asked naïvely.
"A snake!" from Grace.
"A-a--new bird!" from Madaline
"A baby bunnie!" from Cleo.
"I thought you would all say a doll," she replied, "for I had one old
doll I never could quite give up. But I didn't bring her, and none of
you have guessed. I am afraid you are going to be dreadfully
disappointed."
Without further ado she drew from the basket nothing more than a small
ordinary looking plant!
"Oh!" sighed Madaline, betraying her chagrin. "Only a flower!"
"That's all," admitted Mary, "but I don't believe you ever saw just
this kind," and her voice was as soft and crooning as if she had been
petting a real baby.
Cleo and Grace exchanged significant glances. Was the girl queer after
all? they were asking.
The little plant looked like nothing more than the ordinary
Jack-in-the-Pulpit, but Mary's tenderness in handling the beautifully
wrought brass jar, in which the plant was growing, betokened something
much more precious than our wood friend Jack.
"He's hungry," went on the child, and at this Grace burst into
laughter. Cleo was tittering, and Madaline all but pouting her
disappointment.
"I know what you think," Mary said with a good natured smile, "but this
little flower really eats--and for his breakfast I must find a fly or
spider."
"Oh mercy!" shrieked Grace. "Mary, what are you talking about?"
"Well, you just wait and see. There, catch that little fly or just
shoo it over this way."
Becoming serious now, serious enough to see the fun out at any rate,
the girls waved hands and handkerchiefs around some perfectly innocent
little flies, and presently they made for the plant which Mary had
again deposited on the window box. For a minute or two the insects
buzzed around, then made for the flower of the plant.
"Mercy!" screamed Grace.
"Land sakes!" added Cleo.
"Oh!" ejaculated Madaline.
But the little fly was gone. The plant had actually eaten it up!
Swallowed it whole!
The girls looked at Mary now, as if she were almost uncannily wise, or
in some way magical. She expected their attitude, evidently, for her
own low musical laugh followed.
"I know you think it is very queer, girls," she explained, "but in the
country I come from this is a common plant. Grandie calls it by a long
name, but most people call it the Pitcher Plant. You see, it is filled
with something that attracts insects, and when they go in for the
nectar they can't get out. This kind is rare, and I have watched it
lest Janos would get it. In New York he could sell it and I know he
would have taken it, but I have kept it hidden for a long time. See
how pretty its colors are, and how wonderfully it is shaped and formed?"
"Oh, I remember now," said Cleo. "I have heard Daddy talk of such
plants, but of course I never saw one. It is something of an orchid,
isn't it?"
All three were now examining Mary's "Pet" closely, getting innocent
little flies in line for the scent, which might attract them, and
otherwise enjoying the novelty.
"Is it valuable?" asked Madaline, noting the rare crimson color inside
the cup.
"Yes, I think this one is, but I like it more than any of the others
because I raised it myself. But when you come to our place I will show
you our wonders," she offered.
"Is that why you always gather roots?" asked Cleo.
"Not exactly," Mary replied, just a trace of her cloud threatening to
darken her face. "But I can't talk about all of it now. I am sure it
must be time to go visit Grandie. Do you suppose we may go soon?"
This question was addressed to Cleo.
"I'll see if Auntie has finished," Cleo answered, running back to the
house. Mary arranged a safer place for her pitcher plant, out where
insects might find its fatal honey. Then, gathering up the basket,
she, with the others, hurried back to the veranda. They found the
three men just leaving, and as Mrs. Dunbar smiled frankly it was easy
to guess the result of their interview had not been altogether
unpleasant.
Michael had also been in the conference, and he delayed a moment to
speak privately with Mrs. Dunbar.
"How is Shep?" she asked aside, so that her voice could not reach the
girls.
"Coming around all right," replied the man, gladly. And he brought in
a clew to his enemy. "Step inside and look at this." He took from his
pocket a handkerchief. It was yellow in color, silk in texture, and
was bordered with drawn work. Mrs. Dunbar examined it closely.
"Foreign, of course," she replied. "Those people seem to be pretty
well organized. Take care of that, Michael; we may easily match it up
later. Now I have to see what we are going to do about Professor
Benson. The girls seem to need very little assistance, but we must
watch closely to see they make no mistakes. This is more of a plot
than I supposed, but our police are glad to get on the track of these
men. Here are the children. If they ask for Shep make some reasonable
excuse."
The wonderful story of the pitcher plant, of how it ate breakfast of
flies and bugs, also what especial value it was--this and much more was
poured into the ears of Mrs. Dunbar before she had a chance to grasp
the meaning of the newest excitement.
"Wonderful! wonderful!" replied the hostess, really deeply interested
in the "fly catcher." "I have always wanted to see one of those plants
act."
"I am going to give you this one--please, Mrs. Dunbar," said Mary,
timidly. "Janos, that is Reda's brother, has been watching for it. He
said a New York woman had offered him a lot of money for one. That is
why I brought this one with me. Will you--accept it?"
"Oh gladly, Mary dear. It is a real curiosity, and when Mr. Dunbar
comes home he too will be delighted with it. But now I have such good
news about Professor Benson. He is getting much stronger. The doctor
saw him this morning, and thinks he has been suffering from shock and
fear. He advised, however, that we leave him quiet this morning. I
knew that would be a disappointment to you, Mary dear, but you wouldn't
want to delay his progress."
"Oh, no indeed," and the two hands clasped excitedly. "If only he can
recall--get back his memory," Mary corrected hurriedly, "perhaps after
all it might all come back."
"You will be able to help the doctors in a day or two, I am sure,"
suggested Mrs. Dunbar. "It appears to be a case of stagnated memory.
Something registered in his brain as extremely important is simply
clogged there. When he is stronger, then suggestion may be the key to
open that congested memory valve."
"I know--yes--I know," replied Mary, and the far-away look in her own
eyes gave the girls a hint which they were sure to follow promptly.
They immediately changed the subject.