THE MYSTERY DISCLOSED.
[Illustration]
Winnie's romance of the cabinet pleased us all, but Adelaide was sure
that Madame would not allow it to be read without certain changes,
especially the reference to the robbery in the school, and the
"lovering" parts.
"You need not imagine," said Milly, "that because you object to
lovering, all the rest of the world does. Why, even Miss Noakes has a
softer heart than Adelaide's. But really and truly, Winnie, how much of
that is true? Was Raphael really engaged?"
"Most certainly, my dear."
"And did Leo X love her too? You made me ever so sorry for the poor old
pope."
"Well, no, that part is the only one for which I have no warrant in
history. That is, I have no doubt that Leo X really did love some one
before he took the irrevocable vows. He was what Browning calls
'Sworn fast and tonsured pate, plain heaven's celibate,
And yet earth's clear accepted servitor,
A courtly, spiritual Cupid,
And fit companion for the like of you;
Your gay Abati with the well turned leg,
And rose i' the hat rim. Canon's cross at neck,
And silk mask in the pocket of the gown.'"
"The cabinet is such an uncanny old thing," said Milly, "that I begin
almost to believe that you have divined the truth, and that an uneasy
spirit really haunts its vicinity."
"Perhaps the fact that we now only keep school books in the cabinet is
the reason the ghost has been so very quiet of late," said Winnie. "Or,
perhaps it has repented its evil deeds and my essay has given it the
peace of conscience which only comes through confession. If it were an
unrepenting spirit it would, as Milly suggests, be very unwilling that
I should publish its evil deeds by reading this essay. I believe that I
will give it an opportunity of showing whether it approves of my reading
its confessions. Here, Tib, take everything else off your shelf, and I
will lay my essay there and call on the spirit to make away with it, if,
indeed, he is able and wicked enough to do it."
Adelaide, Milly, and I watched the incantation with much amusement.
"Guilty ghost," exclaimed Winnie, striking an attitude, "if you have
repented of your crimes, and the reading of this essay will allow you
henceforth to rest in peace, I hereby exorcise you, and command you to
affix some seal of your approval to this paper--either the print of a
bloody hand or at least X your mark." Hereupon Winnie, with a flourish,
laid her essay on my shelf and closed the cabinet door. "If, guilty
ghost," she continued, "you are still up to your tricks, and having
taken the money which Tib confided to her shelf, are determined to go on
in your evil ways, I hereby dare you to steal that essay within the next
half hour, we keeping watch and ward in this room!"
"I think it is no fair test," I said, "unless you leave it there
overnight. Both of the other robberies were committed just at midnight.
This ghost may be of a bashful disposition, or possibly not good-natured
enough to walk at your call in broad daylight."
"Well, if he doesn't appear within a half hour I'll give him another
chance, 'in the dead vast and middle of the night,' 'when churchyards
yawn,' et-cetera. Here, Milly, lend me your watch, that I may time our
visitor."
We all sat for a few moments silently watching the cabinet, but
presently Adelaide tired of this mummery and exclaimed:
"Really, this is too absurd! I have my Latin prose composition to write,
and cannot spend any more time in such nonsense, Winnie."
"Write your exercise in this room. We will all keep still, and I must
have all the Amen Corner as witnesses of my little experiment."
Winnie pulled out the writing shelf, and Adelaide seated herself at the
cabinet and wrote steadily until Winnie cried, "Time's up."
Milly and I approached the cabinet, and Winnie made a few magical passes
in the air and repeated an ancient hocus-pocus:
"There was a frog lived in a well,
To a rigstram boney mite kimeo.
And Mistress Mouse she kept the mill,
To a karro karro, delto karro,
Rigstram pummiddle arry boney rigstram
Rigstram boney mitte kimeo,
Keemo kimo darrow wa,
Munri, munro, munrum stump,
Pummididle, nip cat periwinkle,
Sing song, kitchee wunchee kimeo."
Adelaide pushed in the writing shelf and stepped aside, and Winnie threw
open the cabinet door. We could hardly believe our eyes--the essay had
disappeared.
Milly gave a shriek of dismay. "It must have been a ghost. How else
could it have vanished with all of us on the watch?"
"Have you been playing a trick on me, Adelaide?" Winnie asked. "Did you
manage to slip it out while we were not looking?"
Adelaide disclaimed any such action, and Milly and I confirmed her
assertion, for we had been watching the door all the time.
Winnie wheeled the cabinet away from the wall, almost expecting to find
a concealed door opening into Cynthia's room. But the wall was perfectly
solid, there was not even a mouse hole in the base-board, while the
back of the cabinet was not a sliding panel. We banged it, and pushed
it, and examined it with a magnifying glass for concealed springs or
hinges. It was simply an honest piece of work, a secure, heavy back,
conspicuously fastened in its place with wooden pegs, a construction to
which cabinet makers give the term dowelling, and to make assurance
doubly sure, the edges had been glued with a cement which had turned
black with age, but had not cracked. There was no possible way in which
the cabinet could have been opened from behind.
"There goes my pet theory," said Winnie, in an aggrieved tone. "It would
have been just like Cynthia to have removed things from the back of the
cabinet, if we could only have discovered a concealed door in the
partition behind it. You see the cabinet backs so conveniently against
her room."
But there was no possibility of any door having ever existed here. The
partition wall was not of boards, which might have been sawed through
and removed. It was clean white plaster which had never been papered,
and would have betrayed the least scratch, and Winnie was obliged to
relinquish this romantic method of access to the cabinet.
"I shall always think," said Adelaide, "that the first robbery was
committed by that individual we saw through the studio transom in
Professor Waite's great Rembrandt hat."
Winnie laughed heartily. "Girls, I may as well confess," she exclaimed,
"that was your humble servant."
"You, Winnie?"
"Yes, I, Winnie. Don't you remember that I was not in the parlor when
the head appeared? I was in the studio, and it struck me that it would
be rather a good joke to pretend to be Professor Waite, tramping up and
down before that door, tormented by a consuming passion for Adelaide.
Wait, I will put the hat on again and let you see." Winnie dashed into
the studio and returned wearing the Rembrandt hat, and we all laughed at
her cavalier appearance.
"But, girls," she exclaimed, throwing the hat on the floor, "this is
really no laughing matter. Do you realize that my essay is gone? My
essay that I am to read next week. And how I am ever to find time to
write it over again, with examinations and all that I have to do between
now and then, is more than I know. Just see how wickedly Giovanni de'
Medici leers at me!" and Winnie pointed to the carved head which
adorned the centre of the cabinet door. "Oh! what shall I do? what shall
I do?"
Winnie soon answered that question for herself, by writing another
essay, and improving it in the process. But the disappearance of the
Florentine letters was a nine days' wonder. We searched the room
thoroughly and even stepped out on the fire-escape and looked up and
down for some bird of heaven that might have carried them away. "I shall
always maintain," said Milly, "that it is no real thief at all. Of
course, none of us really believe in the ghost theory, though it is
almost enough to make one turn spiritualist to be made the victim of
such a trick. I believe that in the end it will be found that somebody's
little pet poodle has found his way in here, and like Old Mother
Hubbard's dog has a weakness for cupboards, and has chewed up everything
that he has found. Sometime Nemesis will overtake that little poodle and
he will be laid upon the dissecting table, and all of the money and
Winnie's essay will be found in his little gizzard."
It was an absurd suggestion, but nothing seemed to explain the mystery,
and we finally all gave it up. All but Winnie. She continued to worry
about it. She laid many traps for her ghost, baiting them with edibles
under the supposition that the thief might be an animal; and with money,
tying silken threads around the cabinet, fastening the handle of the
door to a bell in her own room, but they were all unavailing; the robber
came no more.
The cadets' prize declamation came before our graduation, and we all
attended the exercises.
Stacey did not take a prize, but, as he laughingly told Milly, his coat
did, and that was honour enough.
Woodpecker was the honour man that day, and as Woodpecker was a poor
man's son, he had no dress suit, and Stacey lent him his coat to appear
in while he delivered his oration--Stacey sitting in his shirt sleeves
behind the scenes meantime. Woodpecker's long arms soared and the
stitches in the back cracked, but he spoke with fire, and the committee
unanimously awarded his "Description of a Chariot Race" the first prize,
while Buttertub's sonorous voice and grandiloquent manner secured the
second for his "Philosophy of Socrates," and Stacey's "Athletic Games of
Greece" came off with an "honourable mention" only. There was a good
deal of what Jim called "kicking" at this decision. The drum corps, to
a man, felt that Stacey ought to have had the first prize, and there
was not a boy in the school, not excepting Buttertub, who did not
think Stacey's essay infinitely more entertaining than the Socratic
philosophy. The Commodore, fortunately, was of this opinion. Stacey's
stock had risen rapidly in his father's estimate. The essay interested
the Commodore, and it made no difference to him that the committee did
not agree with him; in his opinion Stacey was the brightest boy in the
school. We girls shared this feeling. Stacey's bouquets proclaimed him
the most popular fellow in the class. The usher kept bringing them up,
and it was impossible for Stacey to carry all his floral tributes from
the stage at one time.
Woodpecker enjoyed the popularity of his friend more than his own
honors. He had laid a wager with Ricos that Stacey would carry off the
first prize, promising that if he did not, he, Woodpecker, would trundle
a wheelbarrow down Fifth Avenue. Having lost the wager by his own
triumph Woodpecker gaily proceeded to pay the penalty by carrying
Stacey's bouquets in a light wheelbarrow to the Buckingham Hotel--where
Commodore and Mrs. Fitz Simmons had taken rooms--immediately after the
exercises.
Stacey himself did not overestimate this expression of his friend's
regard, but it helped soften his disappointment at not obtaining the
first prize. He was not embittered as at his failure at the games, but
humbled in a salutary way. He saw his true position: a talented
fellow, who until recently had not tried to make the best use of his
opportunities, and who could not reasonably hope for the highest
rewards after such brief effort. But something within him whispered,
"You can do it yet. You can be something more than a dude and a good
fellow," and he resolved to devote his vacation to serious training in
his studies.
It gave him a thrill of pleasure, strangely mingled with humility, to
see the Commodore's delight, just as he was handing Mrs. Fitz Simmons
into the carriage, at hearing the old cry from the drum corps, who had
been lined up in front of the barracks by Buttertub for that purpose,
and gave it with a will--Jim's shrill voice joining in the final cheer:
"Who's Fitz Simmons?"
"First in peace, first in war,
He'll be there again, as he's been there before,
First in the hearts of his own drum corps,
That's Fitz Simmons!"
The Roseveldts were coming down the steps, and Milly heard it too, and
waved her handkerchief, and Stacey opened the carriage door and waved
his hat to her--though the drum corps thought it was in acknowledgment
of their salute, and closing round Woodpecker and his wheelbarrow
escorted him down the Avenue.
There were tears in Mrs. Fitz Simmons's eyes as she pressed her
husband's hand, and the Commodore, not wishing to show his satisfaction
too plainly, asked who that pretty girl was who waved her handkerchief
so enthusiastically.
"You don't deserve it, you young dog," he asserted. "Now if she had
smiled in that way at me I would have cared more for it than for all the
hullabaloo those young rascals are making."
"Perhaps I do," was the reply on Stacey's lips, but it was uttered so
quietly that only his mother heard it, and understood as mothers always
do.
And then through the days that followed, Stacey buckled down to hard
work again, and won, as such work is sure to win, its reward.
"Passed his examinations, admitted to Harvard! Why, of course," said the
Commodore. "There never was any doubt of it." But Stacey knew that there
had been great doubt, and that the expression of esteem by which he was
held by his classmates, which had pleased his father so much, was a very
slight thing compared to this quiet victory, gained through hours of
unregarded toil and for which no cheers were shouted or flowers borne
after him in noisy triumph.
The opening of the college gates was the entering of a better race for
Stacey. He felt that he was now indeed a man, and must put away childish
things.
We of the Amen Corner had been chatting together, the evening before our
commencement, of what we intended to do during vacation. "First of all,"
said Adelaide, "I want some home life. I want to get acquainted with my
own mother. I feel now that we can be companionable. I am not very
learned, it is true, but I am certainly more mature than when we were
together last. I ought to be not only a help to her, but a sort of
comrade. She has kept herself young at heart, and her society will
recompense me in part for the loss of yours. We are going to study music
seriously together. She plays my accompaniments very nicely. Indeed, I
think she has more talent than I have, only she is out of practice, and
her repertoire is a little old-fashioned, but it will be very easy for
her to put herself in touch with modern requirements. Then father has
planned a delightful occupation for me. You know how fond I am of
practical architecture. Well, he has purchased a delightful old colonial
mansion in Deerfield, a charming village in western Massachusetts. It is
an old homestead which has fallen into disrepair from having been long
unoccupied, for the family which once inhabited it have all died. The
one distant relative who owns the place lives in the West, and has sold
it to father. I am to have the direction of all the repairs and
restorations, and I mean to truly restore the old house to its original
condition. We will board in the village while the changes are being
made. It will be just the place for Jim to grow strong in. Father writes
that it has the loveliest elm-shaded street, and a hundred different
drives over the hills and along its three rivers."
"You need not tell us anything about Deerfield," Winnie interrupted.
"Tib and I drove through the old town on our coaching trip. It is the
most charming spot that I ever saw. I congratulate you on having such a
delightful prospect before you."
"And I hereby invite you all to come to the hanging of the crane when
my restorations are finished," Adelaide continued cordially. "That
will be in September, I think, for they will take all summer at least,
and you've no idea how I shall enjoy planning everything and directing
the workmen. Jim and I are going to carve some of the woodwork
ourselves. We will have a portico like that at Mount Vernon, with
Ionic columns, and the windows will have tiny panes and broad seats,
and there are to be china closets with glass doors, and fan work
carved over the mantelpieces, and a raftered ceiling with a great
'summer-tree' in the 'keeping room.' I shall enjoy it more than I can
make you understand. I don't mean so much the possession of the house
when it is done, as altering it, for I love architecture, and wish I
could be an architect. So much for my plans. What are yours, Tib?"
"Work," I replied; "solid work."
"I knew you would say that," Adelaide answered. "I have felt
dissatisfied all this year with Madame's course of instruction. If
it were not that I really must see my mother and have some home life,
I would go to Bryn Mawr. I positively crave some good solid study.
Madame's curriculum makes me think of the course of study Aurora Leigh
pursued." Adelaide took down her favourite blue and gold volume from its
companions in the "poets' corner,"--a set of shelves,--and read with
comments:
"I learnt a little algebra, a little
Of the mathematics; brushed with extreme flounce
The circle of the sciences, because
She misliked women who are frivolous.
I learnt: The internal laws
Of the Burmese Empire; by how many feet
Mount Chimborazo outsoars Himmeleh.
I learnt much music, such as would have been
As quite impossible in Johnson's day
As still it might be wished--fine sleights of hand
And unimagined fingering, shuffling off
The hearers' soul through hurricanes of notes
To a noisy Tophet."
"And here you are, Tib."
"And I drew costumes
From French engravings, nereides neatly draped,
With smirks of simpering godship. I washed in
From nature, landscapes (rather say washed out),
Spun glass, stuffed birds, and modelled flowers in wax,
Because she liked accomplishments in girls."
"No," I interrupted, "I will not have you malign Professor Waite. His
teaching at least has been thorough, and I feel that I have received
very valuable training in my art."
"Then I suppose that by solid work you mean that you will devote
yourself to art this summer, and camp under a sketching umbrella in
front of every picturesque nook you can find."
"Art will have to wait until winter," I replied. "I mean that I shall
cook for the farm hands during haying season, and let mother go off for
a visit to her sisters in Northfield, where she can attend the Moody
meetings, and I shall get all the preserving done before she returns,
too."
"You are just lovely, Tib," Milly replied, giving me a hug. "And now
won't you be surprised when you hear what I am going to do. Father says
he is going to superintend my education for a while. He sent me a squib
from one of the papers about the sweet girl graduate:
'She talks with tears about her mates and quotes from ancient lore.
She says the Past is left behind, the Future is before.
Her gown is simply stunning, but she can't subtract or add,
Oh, what an awful humbug is the Sweet Girl Grad!'
Father is going through practical business arithmetic with me, and says
he means to teach me how to take care of money, and even fit me to take
a position in his bank."
"I pity your father," said Winnie. "But seriously, Milly, it is the best
thing you could do."
"There is something else," Milly said, with a painful blush, "which
father says is the foundation of business, and in which I have already
had one lesson, and that is honesty. He says that all the sad failures,
embezzlements, and defalcations come from borrowing money that does not
belong to one--using money for one purpose that was intended for
another; and he means to go over a great many such cases with me to show
me on what a terrible precipice I have been playing. But indeed he need
not say another word, for I have been severely punished, and I think I
would rather put my hand into fire than go into debt one dollar, or
spend a penny for marsh-mellows that father had given me for chocolate
creams."
Winnie turned and kissed Milly. "I would trust you with millions," she
said; "but Adelaide is the only one in the Corner who knows anything
about business."
"I am sure, Winnie," I replied, "that the way you have managed the Home
finances disproves that modest assertion. What are you going to do
during the summer?"
"I have no mother, you know," Winnie said gravely, "but I am going to my
father, and shall try to make his life a little less lonely for him. He
writes that his eyes have been troubling him. Perhaps he can dictate to
me and I can be his amanuensis. I shall take my paint-box with me, and
mean to daub a little all summer. Professor Waite has no faith in my
genius, but I intend to astonish that gentleman one of these days. He
admits that I have an eye for colour, and the rest can be learned. If
father can spare me for a week I shall accept your invitation, Adelaide,
and when I appear you must give me the interior of a room to decorate.
It will be startling, I tell you. I have a good deal of King's Daughter
work to do, too. You know we have not raised the money for the Manger,
and the Home must have it, for they have been receiving the babies,
though they have no good nursery. Now in the summer we all do more or
less fancy work, and I am going to write to all the circles of King's
Daughters with whom we are in correspondence, and ask them to work for
a fair, which we will hold in New York in the autumn. I have had a talk
with Madame and she favors the idea. She even suggested that each circle
should be invited to send a delegate who should assist in selling the
articles at the tables, and very generously offered to entertain them
here for three days during the continuance of the fair. You see, the
school is never full at the beginning of the term, and perhaps she
thinks it will be a good advertisement of her institution, to have girls
from all over the county meet here, though there is really no need of
imputing such mercenary motives to her. I have spoken about it at the
Home to Emma Jane, and she will see that the proposition is made at the
next meeting of the Board of Managers."
"Well, you certainly have your hands full," Milly remarked, "but I think
I can help you after our tennis tournament is over. I will get the
girls at the Pier to make fancy work for you if I can get any time from
my arithmetic. Where will you hold the fair?"
"I haven't planned as far as that."
"I think the new armory at the barracks will be a splendid place," Milly
suggested. "I will get Stacey to ask Colonel Grey if we can use it, and
then perhaps the cadets will be interested to do something to assist in
the entertainment. They might act a play or furnish the music at least."
"I will drum up the two circles of King's Daughters at Scup Harbor," I
said, "and we will have a useful table, with holders and aprons and
dish-wipers; pickles, honey, butter, and preserves. Why, certainly,
home-made preserves. While I'm about it this summer I will make you some
currant jelly and pickled peaches."
"You had better paint something," Adelaide said; "and you must take
charge of the art department."
"If I can come to town," I said. "And I will start the movement before I
go by asking Professor Waite to get contributions from his artist
friends before he goes abroad."
"I have been greatly touched by one thing," said Winnie. "The interest
which the Terwilligers have taken in this scheme. I happened to mention
it to Polo, and the entire family have risen to the occasion. Mrs.
Terwilliger sent word that she wouldn't consider it too much if she
worked for us to her dying day, considering the way her young ones had
been 'done for' while she was sick. She has been collecting scraps of
silk for a long time past to make a crazy quilt, and she intends to
donate it to us. I fear me it will be a horror; but it shows her
good-will all the same. Terwilliger, the trainer, says he means to
collect sticks from noted places during Mr. Van Silver's coaching tour,
to be made into canes and other souvenirs for us. Polo will not have
time to work for the fair, for she must sew with Miss Billings this
summer. I wish she could go to the country instead."
"I am going to invite her to Deerfield for August," said Adelaide. "The
Home children ought to be able to do something for the fair. Have you
thought of them, Winnie?"
"Emma Jane will see that they manufacture a quantity of little articles
in their sewing class," Winnie replied. "They can hem towels and make
bibs and bags and useful articles. I am really sorry that we cannot have
the reception at the Home, for I would like to have people see those
nice, fat babies."
"They shall see them," Milly replied. "I've an idea. We will devote one
afternoon at the fair to a baby show. Do you remember the bicycle drill?
Well, I will get Stacey to lend me his artillery tactics, and I will get
up some manoeuvres with baby carriages. We will call it the infantry
brigade. The older children shall wheel the carriages. I will drill them
without the babies at first. And then we will have them well strapped
in, and then there will be a triumphal procession by twos and fours, and
I'll deploy them in line and draw them up in a hollow square, and make
them 'present arms,' and 'carry' and 'shoulder arms,' and double quick
and charge. It will be lots of fun; and one baby carriage shall have a
flag fastened to it, for that baby must be the colour bearer, and we'll
have music, of course, and medals for all the babies. Then when people
see what a lot of children we have, with no annex to put them in, they
will rise to the occasion and contribute."[3]
[3] The Messiah Home for Children, 4 Rutherford Place, New York
City, the actual analogue of the Home in which the girls of the
Amen Corner was interested, is greatly assisted in its good work
by circles of King's Daughters in different parts of the United
States. These circles intend to unite in a fair to be given in New
York City immediately before the holidays, and they invite other
circles of King's Daughters, and any nimble-fingered, warm-hearted
girl to whom this greeting may come, to aid them in this
enterprise. Any donations may be sent to the Home in care of the
matron, Miss Weaver.
"I think something of the kind might really be arranged," Winnie
replied. "The Hornets are sure to be equally fertile in expedients. I
foresee that the plan will be a great success, and it has one admirable
feature--it will reunite us all in New York next winter for a week at
least, and I wonder what will happen after that."
"I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me,"
said Adelaide softly, quoting from "Lead, Kindly Light," her favorite
hymn. There was something strangely vibrant in her tone. I knew without
looking that Adelaide was on the point of tears, but I was at a loss to
understand the reason.
The rest of us had had our fits of hysterical weeping at the idea of
parting from one another, but Adelaide was always so superior to any
weakness of that sort. What could be the matter?
Our great, last school day, so paradoxically called commencement, came
at last. The exercises were in the evening, and we of the Amen Corner
and many others of the girls would not leave the school until the
following morning.
We received our diplomas in the school chapel, which had been
beautifully decorated for the occasion. Buttertub's father, who was a
friend of Madame's, addressed us at some length as we stood before him
on the platform. I remember that Adelaide never looked more peerless,
nor Milly more bewitching; and that Winnie, mischievous as ever, found
a rose bug on her bouquet and could not forbear dropping it on
Commodore Fitz Simmons's bald head. The Commodore was in full uniform
and had been shown to a front seat just beneath the platform. I think
Winnie really meant to snap the rose bug at Stacey, but the projectile
fell short of its aim. Then the sweet girl graduates in clouds of mull
and chiffon, drifted into the school parlours, and there was a
reception, and Adelaide and Milly were besieged by battalions of
friends, but I was quite lonely and awkward, and held my bouquet and
rolled diploma stiffly, until Winnie caught me about the waist and
whirled me off for a little dance, for Madame had permitted this.
After the dance there were refreshments in the dining-room, and we all
went down, with the exception of Adelaide, who was on the reception
committee, and had been stationed in the front parlour to receive any
tardy guest. I met Professor Waite bringing up an ice as I went down
the stairs, and Milly drew me into a corner, her eyes dancing with
mischief as I entered the supper-room.
"Something is going to happen," she said to me mysteriously. "I have
given Professor Waite his opportunity, and if he doesn't seize it and
propose I shall never forgive him. I saw him moving around here, looking
bored to death, and I asked him to please take an ice to Adelaide, who,
I happened to mention, was all alone in the parlour. He seized the idea
and the ice simultaneously. I saw resolve in his eye, and now we must
keep people down here as long as we can."
"What shall we do with Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong and Jim?" I asked. "They
are all so proud of Adelaide they will be with her in a moment."
"Winnie is in the plot and has special care of them. Jim thinks there
never was quite so jolly a girl as Winnie. They are discussing the
cabinet now. Mrs. Armstrong thinks that some one of us may be a
somnambulist and have hidden the things in our sleep."
"What a strategic little girl you are, Milly! What made you think of
this opportunity for Professor Waite?"
"Oh! that was the way Stacey found his chance, you know. Speak of
angels----How nice of you, Stacey, to bring me that salad. I am
positively dying for something to eat. Wasn't the Bishop too longsome
for anything? I thought I should expire, and I was wild to get across
the stage at Winnie, whose back hair was coming down. No, I shall not
tell you what we were saying about you. Do get me some chicken salad. I
can't endure lobster;" and as the obedient Stacey ambled briskly away,
Milly confided to me: "Do you know, Tib, Adelaide is beginning to care
for Professor Waite? What makes me think so? Oh, I know the symptoms.
She was packing so late last night that I nearly fell asleep, but not
quite, for just as I was dozing off I saw her drop on her knees before
her trunk with her face in a great white handkerchief, and while I was
wondering where she ever got such a great sheet of a thing, it suddenly
dawned upon me that it was the silk muffler which Professor Waite
wrapped around her burned hands the night of our Halloween scrape.
Suddenly it seemed to occur to her that I might be looking, and she
turned to look at me, but I had my eyes shut and was snoring like an
angel. Of course angels snore, Stacey Fitz Simmons. Did you ever catch
an angel asleep? and if not what right have you to make fun of me? Dear
me, there is the Bishop starting to go upstairs, and they don't need him
a bit--as yet."
Milly darted across the room, planted herself squarely in the Bishop's
way, and exerted her powers of entertainment to such effect that Stacey
became blindly jealous, though Buttertub had not come with his father,
apparently having had quite enough of Madame's young ladies and their
entertainments.
And meantime, how was Professor Waite thriving with his wooing? Adelaide
told me long afterward, so long that it was too late for any word of
mine to set all right, and filled my heart with pity, not alone for the
Professor, but, alas! for Adelaide also.
Professor Waite offered her the ice, which she took and thanked him very
sweetly, though he had dripped it awkwardly upon her dress. Then, as
Adelaide began to eat it, he inconsistently took it away from her,
saying, "Don't eat now, I have something important to say to you, and I
want your entire attention."
"Oh! certainly. What is it?" Adelaide replied, knowing exactly what he
wished to say, and determined to prevent his saying it.
"Miss Adelaide, I began to say what was on my mind last Halloween----"
"Oh! yes, and pardon me for interrupting you, but you remind me that I
must return your muffler, which I have kept all this time. I will get it
now," and Adelaide tried to slip by him and out of the door.
"No, you must not get it now," the Professor exclaimed, barring her way
with his extended hand in which he still held the dish of ice-cream. "I
must speak to you, Miss Adelaide. I may never have another opportunity."
"In that case do set down that ice-cream, for you are spilling it over
everything."
The Professor obeyed her.
"See," she added pathetically, "you have nearly ruined the front of my
gown----"
"But that is nothing," he asserted, "and you must not try to divert me
from my purpose by calling my attention to such a trifle. These little
subterfuges are unworthy of you, Adelaide. You know what it is that I
wish to say and you must hear me."
Thus driven into a corner Adelaide looked him squarely in the eyes, and
braced herself for the attack.
"You know that I love you, Adelaide?"
"Yes, I know it."
"That I have loved you from the first moment that I saw you--desperately,
hopelessly?"
"Thank you for saying that, Professor Waite; it would have been wicked
in me to have given you hope. I never meant to do so. I am glad that
you have not misunderstood me. And since you give me credit for not
encouraging you, rather for striving to keep you from this avowal, why
have you spoken? I would so gladly have spared you the pain, the
humiliation of a refusal."
"You have not allowed me to finish what I was saying. I loved you at
first hopelessly for I saw that you scorned me; but lately you have not
scorned me. You have pitied me; you have been very kind and considerate;
your manner has wholly changed, and I believed that your feelings had
changed also."
Something in Adelaide's honest eyes flamed up as he spoke. She could not
even look a lie, though she tried hard to do so.
"I am right," he cried triumphantly, "you have changed! You love me?
Adelaide, you love me!"
His arms were almost about her, but she kept him off.
"It is impossible, Professor Waite. It can never be," she replied
solemnly.
"Never is a long day. I will not urge you, or hasten you. I will be
patient and wait, for you have changed, and you will love me wholly by
and by. It is our destiny. God meant us for each other. I cannot
Make thee glorious by my pen
And famous by my sword,
but I can do it with my brush, and I will spend my life painting you,
Adelaide. Art and Love! It is too much for mortal man to possess and
live."
"Be content with art," Adelaide replied gently. "It is a great gift, and
must console you, for I cannot be your wife."
"Cannot? Why not?"
"I will tell you. You think you love me, but it will pass. I regard you
very highly, but not above duty. The feeling which I have for you,
Professor Waite, cannot be love, since it is perfectly easy for me now
to give you up----"
"No," he assented; "if that is true you do not love me."
"Listen! The reason that it is easy for me, is not that I do not respect
and admire you; not that I am not grateful to you, and do not suffer in
giving you pain; not that I might not come to care still more for you,
but because I know that a far tenderer heart than mine is wholly yours;
that some one else, who richly deserves your affection, loves you with
an utter self-abnegation of which I am incapable----"
"I know of whom you speak," he cried impatiently, "but she is a child,
and will outgrow this fancy. God knows that I am innocent, Adelaide, of
having ever deluded her foolish little heart."
"All too innocent; you might have treated her more kindly!"
"What! When I can never love her?"
"Never is a long day. You have said so. You are going away. Try to
forget me and to love her, and when you return again two years hence to
America----"
"When I return she will be married; she will, at least, have outgrown
this silly dream."
Adelaide shook her head. "Promise me that you will do as I ask; that you
will go and ask her when you come again."
"And if she refuses me, as she certainly will, may I come to you for the
reward of my obedience?"
Again the tell-tale light flashed in Adelaide's eyes, but she only said:
"She will not refuse you." And in the hall Milly's voice was heard in a
high key, with the best of intentions, announcing the return of the
guests from the dining-room, as she replied to some banter of Stacey's:
"Indeed, Stacey Fitz Simmons, I never change my mind--never."
"Good-by," said Adelaide.
Professor Waite raised the _portiere_ for her to pass. "You are very
cruel," he murmured.
"You will thank me for this some day," she said, and the curtain of an
impenetrable fate fell between them.
Milly seized my arm a few moments later. "I don't understand it at all,"
she said, "but Adelaide has certainly refused Professor Waite. I met
him just now in the hall, and he glared at me like a maniac. I was
positively afraid of him. I ran in to speak to Adelaide, but others had
entered before me, and she only took my hand and squeezed it tight,
while she talked with the Bishop. And Tib, she was as white as a sheet."
While making allowances for Milly's exaggerations, it seemed probable to
me that her deductions were correct. Something unusual had happened, for
when we went to our rooms we found that Adelaide had already retired for
the night, and had taken Cynthia's empty room, leaving a note for Milly
saying that she had a headache and would rather be alone.
If we had known, Milly and I, that Adelaide had put from her a love
whose dearness she only realized after its sacrifice, we might have
saved her years of heroic self-abnegation, and so have frustrated God's
plan for making her a resolute, generous, and noble character.
But we did not know it, and the two girls who loved each other so dearly
looked into each other's eyes at parting, and thought that they read
each other's souls there, and yet misunderstood the reading as
completely as if they had been utter strangers.
It was fortunate, shall we not say providential, that Adelaide occupied
Cynthia's room that night, and that she was so disturbed that she could
not sleep? for toward morning she noticed a bright light shining through
the transom over the door. Her first thought was that the thief was at
work at the cabinet, and stealing cautiously from her bed she peered
through the key-hole. There was no one near the cabinet, and throwing on
a wrapper she softly opened the door. The room was vacant and the light
which she had noticed streamed in from the window. On looking out what
was her horror to see that the rear of the house was in flames. The fire
had originated in the kitchen, and was making its way toward the front
of the building. Her presence of mind did not desert her. She stepped to
Milly's room, wakened her gently and told her what was the matter, and
then her clear voice rang out, "Fire, fire!" as she hastened to Madame's
room, sounding the telegraphic alarm in the corridor as she went. How
differently people behave during a crisis like this! With the exception
of Adelaide, I think we all lost our wits to a certain extent. Milly,
although wakened so gently, was quite frightened out of hers. She
dressed herself with extreme deliberation, heating her curling irons
in the gas jet and crimping her bangs very prettily. She put on one
high-buttoned boot and one Louis Seize slipper, but was particular about
her gloves--fastening every button--and came to me to be helped with her
graduation dress, which laced in the back.
Winnie was also greatly excited. She donned a diminutive blazer tennis
jacket over her nightgown, and seeming to consider herself in full
dress, rushed off to awaken Miss Noakes, carrying a small pitcher of
ice-water in her hand with which to help extinguish the fire. Having
forcibly entered Miss Noakes's room, she emptied her pitcher in the face
of that indignant woman. I was not much better. Possessed with the idea
that I must save things, I dragged "the commissary" from under my bed,
and filled it with an absurd collection of useless articles--old school
books, empty pickle jars, the tidies from the chairs, all the soap from
the wash-stand, a soap stone which my mother had insisted on my having
as a remedy for cold feet; this I carefully wrapped in my flannel
petticoat to avoid breakage. I then tossed in the globes from the gas
fixtures, and finding that the cover of the trunk would not go down,
sat upon it, crushing the frail glass globes to atoms. It was at this
juncture that Milly came out to have her dress laced, and I was so dazed
that I obeyed her. Adelaide entered a few moments later, and, spreading
a blanket on the floor, opened the door leading into the studio for the
first time since our initial escapade of the school year. Her intensity
of feeling gave her the strength required to push the heavy chest aside,
and she hastily collected all of Professor Waite's sketches and studies,
wrapped them in the blanket, and descended the turret stairs with them.
Managing--how, she never knew--to burst open the door at the foot, and
to carry the heavy package through the crowd which had now collected
across the park to the Home of the Elder Brother, where Emma Jane
received them. Winnie meantime had returned from her life-saving
expedition, and assisted me in tumbling the commissary out of the
window, following it with every other piece of furniture in the room.
We had some difficulty with the cabinet, but finally our united efforts
succeeded in toppling it over the balcony, narrowly missing crushing a
fireman who was coming up the escape to order us to stop throwing out
the furniture, as the fire had been extinguished.
"How provoking!" was Winnie's first exclamation. "All this excitement
for nothing!" The fire had merely burned out the interior woodwork of
the kitchen; but had it not been for Adelaide's prompt alarm, it was
impossible to tell how much damage or even loss of life might have
ensued. On ascertaining that there was no longer any danger, Adelaide
attempted to carry back the pictures, but found herself quite unable to
do so, and a procession of four of the Home boys was formed to bring
them.
Adelaide begged us all to promise not to tell Professor Waite of her
attempt to rescue his property, and as we were all very much mortified
by our own absurd performances, we readily complied with her request.
It was late in the morning when we bethought ourselves of picking up
our shattered property, which Winnie and I had tossed into the yard.
Fortunately, our trunks of clothing had been so heavily packed that
they had not shared this fate. We descended and viewed the heap of
wreckage with dismay. Cerberus came out to aid us, and, removing the
broken lounge and table, discovered the old oak cabinet an almost
unrecognizable jumble of carved panels, for after it had fallen the
lounge had descended upon it with the force of a catapult.
Winnie and I picked up the panels, lamenting loudly over the mischief
which we had done.
"No great harm, after all," said Adelaide consolingly. "The panels are
only separated at the joints; the wood is so hard that they have not
really broken," and then she gave a little cry: "Winnie, what does this
mean? Here is your essay!"
"Has Giovanni de' Medici returned it?" I asked.
"It would seem so," Winnie replied, in great excitement. "See, girls,
here is every bit of the stolen money! The ghost has kept his word, and
has returned it after his confession was read publicly."
"Where did you find it?" I asked, utterly mystified.
"Right here, in the drawer to which we had lost the key, just under the
upper part of the cabinet. You remember it has been locked since the
very first day of school."
"But is the money all there?"
"Yes; your forty-seven dollars, and the sixty from the Catacomb Party
for the Home."
"How did it ever come there?"
"That is what I am trying to find out. You know it is my mystery; and,
girls, I have it! This sliding writing shelf which we pulled out to
write upon is really the floor of the cabinet, on which Tib deposited
her treasures. When you pull it out you rake everything upon it into the
drawer below."
"It must be," said Adelaide, "that some one pulled out that writing
shelf before each of those mysterious disappearances." And when we came
to review the circumstances, we remembered that it had been so in every
instance. The lost money and essay had simply been dropped into the
drawer below. All that had seemed so inexplicable was now made plain,
and in our very last hour together--for, as we carried the fragments
around to the turret door, we saw that the express man had come for our
trunks, and noticed the Roseveldt carriage waiting behind a hansom,
which had just driven up to the main entrance. On the steps Madame was
parting tenderly from Miss Noakes, who was in travelling costume, and
Mr. Mudge sprang from the interior of the hansom to assist her to a
place beside him. Catching sight of his well-known features, Winnie
impulsively waved the drawer of the cabinet and darted across the lawn.
"No wonder I could not discover the thief," he exclaimed testily, as
Winnie showed the mechanism of the sliding shelf. "The cleverest
detective could not have done that when there was no thief to discover.
But, my dear young lady, pray do not detain us; Miss Noakes and I have a
particular engagement for this very minute at the Church of the Blessed
Unity." As he spoke he dodged an old shoe which the astute Polo
projected from the studio window, and springing into the hansom drove
rapidly away.
If there had been any doubt as to these indications we would have been
fully enlightened on finding the announcement of their marriage in our
next mail; but the truth was evident to all.
Madame listened to us with a smile. "It was kind of you, Winnie," she
said, "not to solve your mystery earlier and so take away the excuse for
Mr. Mudge's frequent calls."
"I shall have the dear old cabinet put in order again," Adelaide said,
"and I shall keep your essay in the drawer, Winnie, for I shall always
believe that you were right, and that there was a ghost."
And so with tears and embraces, and with vows never to forget, and to
meet again, and to write often, the old delightful school life and Witch
Winnie's Mystery came to an end together.
THE END.
Transcriber's Notes: Obvious printer's errors have been silently
corrected. Otherwise spelling, hyphenation, interpunction and
grammar have been preserved as in the original.