THE ORPHAN OF THE ORCHIDS
Anxious hours at Cragsnook followed that night's storm. Reda, who had
been ill in New York, had somehow managed to make her way to Bellaire
when she was overtaken by the cloud-burst and stunned from fright of
lightning and thunder. But with the skillful work of Dr. Whitehead,
assisted by Jennie, Kate Bergen (Michael's cousin who arrived after the
shower), Mrs. Dunbar and the girls, the old nurse finally opened her
eyes, and showed signs of life.
"Oh, I never knew how much I loved her until I saw her lying so
deathlike," Mary murmured, when Mrs. Dunbar insisted the child should
leave the bedside of Reda. "If she had died, and I had not found her
in time----"
"Now, Mary-love," coaxed Grace, "you know you are a scout, and we never
indulge in foolish fancies like that. Just think how fine it is that
she has been saved, and think how good Mrs. Dunbar is."
"Oh, I know and think of that constantly," declared Mary. "This house
is nothing short of an institution since I came to it," she went on.
"And do you know, Cleo," turning to the one girl who had the right
there of relationship to Mrs. Dunbar, "it all frightens me when I feel
so much at home here, almost as if I too belonged at Cragsnook. It is
presuming, and I can't account for that in me. I have always been so
timid."
"You are cured, that's why," said Cleo, urging Mary to bed, for it was
well past midnight. "A girl scout simply can't be timid, that is a
really, truly good as gold scout girl, and we all know you are exactly
that. But not one more word to-night. I have been appointed captain
and it is my duty to sound taps, or, as Benny Philow or Mally Mack
might say, 'douse the glim.' I think that's the cutest expression,"
and to demonstrate just how "cute" it was she snapped off the lights.
Next day everything was in confusion, and excitement was too weak a
word with which to describe the conditions that existed at Cragsnook.
Reda had come to with all the strength characteristic of her sturdy
race, and nothing but main force kept her from running away. She was
frightened to death of the place, of the people around her, and nothing
that Mary could say would assure her no harm could come to anyone who
was within the hospitality of that generous home. And Reda had
explained to Mary it was the jewels she had hidden for the child that
had caused her most anxiety. She feared Janos would find them.
The advent of Katie Bergen, Michael's cousin, seemed nothing short of
providential, and to her was at once entrusted the care of the
obstreperous patient.
"I think, dear Mrs. Dunbar," said Mary rather timidly, "it would really
be much better to take Reda back to the studio. Once there she will
quiet down, and that may save her from higher fever."
"Perhaps you are right," Mrs. Dunbar agreed; "the doctor says she has
been a very sick woman, and her collapse was only natural, considering
what she went through. Has she told you why she was so eager to see
you?"
"Partly," Mary replied. "You see, she was sort of conscious
[Transcriber's note: conscience?] stricken that something would happen
to me, and she felt obliged to warn me. And she also wanted to give me
Loved One's jewels."
"But nothing did happen," blurted out Madaline, keen on the trail of
the mystery.
"Oh, do tell us, Mary," begged Grace. "It seems to me we will have so
much to find out all at once it will be rather overwhelming if we don't
start in."
"Well, you little scouts run along and enjoy your story," suggested
Mrs. Dunbar, "and I will see about having Reda sent up to the mountain.
I am sure, Mary, you are right. She may be saved a real relapse if we
agree with her. And, of course, Katie is going to be your housekeeper.
I would envy you if I hadn't such a treasure in Jennie. This is really
her house, and I am a guest, it seems to me," and it was hoped by every
little girl present that the delicious compliment floated out to
Jennie, who was busy in the breakfast room just at that moment.
"Please let _me_ tell you something first," begged Cleo, when the girls
were left to themselves. "I am fairly bursting with the news. You
know I wrote out the whole story to Uncle Guy. I wanted him to know
all about it when he came home and also, ahem"--and the perky little
head perked perceptibly--"I may as well admit, girls, I am ambitious to
keep the family honors up in the writing line, so I just wrote all this
glorious vacation to Uncle Guy, making it just like a summer story. I
sent our pictures----"
"Mercy me, Cleo!" interrupted Grace, "I guess you will be a story
writer. Just see how you have us all keyed up, and won't tell us what
happened. What did your Uncle Guy say?" she demanded.
Cleo laughed triumphantly. "There, I knew I would get you excited----"
"Cleo Harris!" shouted Madaline, almost forgetting the presence of a
sick person out on the enclosed side porch, where Reda was being fixed
up for her journey over the mountain. "Cleo," repeated Madaline, "you
tell us instantly what your Uncle Guy said!"
"Your commands are my pleasures," replied Cleo in mock dramatic
emphasis. "There, doesn't that sound like a book? Uncle Guy wrote to
me and to Aunt Audrey, and he merely said not to let a single kid
escape. That my letter had knocked him silly, and that his cousin,
whom he discovered out in the western camp, was coming home with him."
"Who is the cousin?" asked Grace.
"A man, a lovely man, just like Uncle Guy. He was an explorer, or
still is, and has been away for some years," she glanced rather
anxiously at Mary, but the latter never changed her serious expression.
Then Cleo said pointedly, "Mary, your father was an explorer, wasn't
he?"
"Yes, he went away in search of orchids," faltered Mary, "and you know
he never came back from the sea, when the men took him out to the ocean
to cool him in that frightful fever."
"And you left the island with the professor a few days after?" pressed
Cleo.
"Yes, oh yes. We had to get away. Grandie was getting sick, you know;
that is how he lost--his memory."
"Yes," said Cleo, simply, but Grace and Madaline had "seen a light,"
which Mary still appeared blind to.
Mrs. Dunbar was very busy arranging for the removal of Reda, but in a
moment of cessation she was heard talking to Crow's Nest over the
phone. She gave orders to the sanitarium that Professor Benson should
be brought down to Cragsnook for a ride late that afternoon, as the
girls would not go up there that day. Besides, Mrs. Dunbar was
declaring, the ride would do him good.
"Oh, won't that be lovely!" and Mary almost danced out of her glumps.
"Just think of Grandie here!"
"Now, Mary-love, you promised some of Reda's news. Do tell us before
something else happens to put off all our delicious mysteries,"
implored Madaline, quite as if the telling would give the same joy to
Mary as the news would furnish to herself.
"What did she want to warn you of?" prompted Grace.
"Oh, Janos and his men. They were coming out here to take all
Grandie's orchids away. And they brought the monkey to scare him. He
was dreadfully frightened of a monkey once in the tropics, and Janos
knew it, so he just planned that awful trick on him----"
"With our lovely little Boxer! How perfectly absurd," exclaimed Grace,
at the risk of spoiling all the thrilling story Mary had undertaken to
tell them.
"Yes," went on Mary, "and the night you girls came, that first night,
you remember?"
"Yes, when I turned on the lights," inserted Madaline.
"That was the night they first planned to scare Grandie's secret from
him. They were all three out in that orchid room, just waiting to
break in and--oh, I can't say what they were going to do to get
Grandie's secret from him." She was now on the verge of sobbing, and
the girls had no idea of letting any such thing occur.
"But Madaline turned the tables," Cleo said cheerily, "and she shooed
off the--desperate thieves!" and Cleo again reverted to type as a
fiction fixer.
"And the really cruel part of it all was," continued Mary, "Grandie did
not know and does not know yet what became of the treasure they are all
seeking. He lost it with his memory," she said almost in a whisper.
"And it was daddy's just as I was his. I was to be given mother's
family with the treasure as a peace offering."
"What was it?" asked Cleo. "Can you tell us now, Mary-love?" she asked
gently.
"Yes, Grandie said I might tell you now, for he does not fear things as
he did before he went to the sanitarium. He has recovered courage,
which was simply clogged up in his congested mind. Yes, he said I
might tell you now that he lost the most famous orchid in the world,
the 'Spiranthes Corale.' That means coral lady tresses. It was in
search of that daddy and the expedition went out. Daddy found it. It
was almost beyond price. Then Loved One died, dear daddy was stricken,
and all the papers and this wonderful bulb were given Grandie. He lost
them! Do you wonder he almost went crazy?"
For a few minutes the girls did not speak. It seemed rather
disappointing that the whole mystery should center around the bulb of
an orchid.
"Oh, I know," exclaimed Cleo presently. "I have read of the famous
orchid hunts and the fabulous sums of money offered for the most rare
species. Of course that was the sort of expedition your folks were on,
Mary-love. And, of course--why, girls, that's just what our newspaper
clipping was all about. The one we found wrapped around the old stick
in Mary's big clock!"
"Get it! Get it!" cried Madaline, who literally tumbled after Grace,
in haste to reach the old bit of newspaper that had been carefully
stored away in the scouts' desk, for they had been assigned one general
and especial desk in Cragsnook.
"And the precious bulb was never found?" Cleo said to Mary, seeming to
embrace her with a look, so filled was her expression with genuine
affection.
"No, it has gone, and with it the one hope of Loved One's last word to
me, that the famous orchid which was to be given to her mother in this
country would unite me with her family, and prove daddy a real
explorer."
"And don't you know who her family are?" asked Cleo, unable to suppress
her increasing excitement.
"Not exactly, for Grandie begged me not to ask until he had recovered
the bulb. He always felt his memory must come back. Now, of course,
it is months, and we have given up hope. But I don't care any more,
for I have found so many other darling loves in life." She threw her
arms around Cleo, and if the latter had ever given in to tears she
might have been pardoned a few just then--the kind that come with too
much joy.
"Mary!" she said gently, "now I know why Professor Benson once called
you the orphan of the orchids, but suppose, suppose your daddy didn't
die?" she ventured.
"I have often thought of that," said the child. "But even if he lived
he could never find me, for he would think I died with so many others,
and I suppose I could not even look for him, until I grow up like Loved
One, and go off again to search among the orchids. I wouldn't fear
that fever when the goal might mean daddy!"