MORE MYSTERIES
"I know what we'll do," decided Grace as the three young scouts
discussed the secret correspondence with the man o' the woods. "We must
tell Margaret Slowden. She knows best and Margy wonders what we are
whispering about all the time."
"Yes," promptly agreed Madaline. "I think that is the best plan.
Margaret said the other day we were acting as if we had a troop of our
own instead of being True Treds."
"We would be perfectly safe in telling Margaret," Cleo followed. "And
she can help us best because she has already received a merit badge."
"And lost it," added Grace.
"Received another," amended Madaline.
"I feel a little timid about all the woodsy part," admitted Cleo,
"because we haven't any way of finding out about our cave man except
spying on him, and that would be so risky it would demerit instead of
meriting us. You know we all had to promise to be prudent," she
finished.
"But we won't tell the twins," Grace restricted, "that would spoil the
whole secret."
So it was arranged that Margaret Slowden should be admitted to the
inner circle, and after school that afternoon the marvelous story was
told.
Margaret finally gasped. She swallowed something like a tiny bug with
the intake. The girls were all squatted in the little tepee made from
the school-house shutters, and Margaret always chewed clovers and sweet
grass. After a coughing fit she was able to hear the remainder of the
weird story of Grace and her man o' the woods.
"And why couldn't you see him?" demanded Margaret.
"Why!" exclaimed the indignant Grace. "Do you think you would be able
to take notes on appearances with a coil of rope in one hand and a big
slip knot ready to work off in the other, when you had to run around a
tree without waking the man!"
"But what did he look like?" demanded the inquisitor.
"All I could see was feet--no, it was shoes--and a hat pulled down."
"All movie men have their hats pulled down," interrupted Margaret.
"Maybe some one was working a camera on the other side of a tree."
"You're just horrid, Margaret," Grace pouted, "and I won't tell you
another word about it!"
"Why, Grace, I'm not teasing! You know, all big things like that turn
out to be movie stunts--making the pictures, you know. Although, of
course, your mystery may be real. But what are you going to do about
it?"
"We planned to send the scout book just as, he asked, and then wait,
also as he asked, until something happens we don't know what. Then we
expect he will reveal his identity," and this last clause had a very
dignified tone to the girlish ears.
"That seems perfectly all right," Margaret rendered her verdict, "and
none of our rules in any way could oppose that. The only thing is, we
girls would be obliged to shun the woods because we are ordered, you
know, to avoid unnecessary danger, and cave men are supposed to be very
wild and woozy."
Details were all finally arranged, and Hal Crane was to pay one more
trip to the woods, there to deposit the small blue book of scout data
in the big hollow of the charmed rock.
"Suppose he turns out to be some great man who might give us a new park
or something like that," ventured Madaline rather hazily, "then we
would all come in for honors, wouldn't we?"
"I would rather come in for the park," Cleo inserted. "We need a few
more if we are going to do much drilling this summer."
"That man might be a writer, camping out there, who wants material,"
speculated Margaret. "You know, the River Bend Wood is considered very
romantic. An artist painted the falls once."
"Too snaky for camping, though," objected Cleo. "Well, at any rate,
girls, we have got to practice wig-wagging this afternoon, so let's
wiggle along. Have you heard all about the Venture Troop, of Franklin?
That awfully pretty little blonde girl, who was at our meeting one
night, you know, is a patrol leader, and they have wonderful things
planned."
"I heard something the other day that gave me the creeps," confessed
Margaret. "I wasn't going to say anything about it, but since you all
have mysteries, I might as well share mine."
"Oh, what's it about? Scout stuff?" demanded Grace, her cheeks toning
up to the excitement key.
"Yes, of course. You all remember the night I lost my precious badge?
Well, that was the same night two girls ran away from Flosston. Mother
offered all sorts of rewards for the return of my badge, for I did
prize it so," and the brown eyes glinted topaz gleams at the memory.
"Oh, yes. We called it your D. S. C. because you got it for guarding
the cloakroom the night your brother received his decoration," recalled
Cleo.
"Yes, and it was very strange in this town, where every one knew all
about it, that I never heard from it since," went on Margaret with a
show of considerable importance. "Now here is my mystery. One day last
week I received an anonymous letter, just two lines long. It said,
'Don't give up. You will get your badge back some day soon.' Now, why,
do you suppose, anyone who has it is holding it?"
"Maybe some of the boys just playing a joke," suggested Grace.
"Oh, no, the boys wouldn't wait all this time for their joke; besides,
there's no fun in that," analyzed Margaret. "Please don't say anything
about it, girls, but since you told me your secret, I thought I ought
to tell you mine. There come the other girls. Come on for the
wig-wagging. I just love to stand up on the library steps and wave.
Hope Captain Clark gives me that place," and the quartette were off to
join forces with others of the True Treds, with their signal flags of
red and white.
It was usual to have spectators on wig-wagging practice days, and this
afternoon an unusual number seemed to take time to stop and notice the
picturesque scouts. The troop girls had worn their uniforms, to school
that afternoon, so as to be ready for an early start, and in the
glorious sunshine, striking in golden rays through the deep green elms
for which the village was noted, the troop girls, with their signal
flags, made an attractive picture.
Captain Clark stood far off on a mound of green, waving her
"questions," and each girl answered the code as the messages were
relayed and transmitted. The younger girls were promptly qualifying,
and it was very evident the coming tests for higher degrees would find
our especial little friends ready to advance.
Coming down from the terraces where they had been stationed, Grace and
Cleo observed a handsome limousine drawn up to the curb where the
occupants could have viewed the wig-wagging to advantage.
"Oh, there's that lovely girl that was in the wheel-chair!" exclaimed
Madaline.
"I believe she would speak to us if she were near enough," commented
Cleo.
"What a stunning car!" added Madaline. "What a pity the little girl
cannot walk."
"That's about the way generally," finished Cleo vaguely. "But run!
There go Margaret and Winnie McKay," and the bright-eyed, pink-cheeked
child, so eagerly watching the girl scouts through the open window of
the big gray car, was soon forgotten in the more urgent demands of the
wig-wag report.
The lesson had been noted "Satisfactory" and Captain Clark had good
reason to be proud of her True Treds.