THE WORST FRIGHT OF ALL
It was growing dusk--the sunset seemed in a great hurry to get away, and
day time was evidently going to the same party. The Mantons failed to
induce Nora to accompany them on a "bug hunt," Jerry's term for Ted's
moth expedition. Vita too seemed in haste to get somewhere, and
altogether the evening was especially popular to make escapes in.
Nora was going over to camp, she announced, and would be there long
before dark. The girls would come home with her, she had assured the
prudent Ted.
So everything was settled and the Nest would be unoccupied, with Cap as
guard, for that evening.
Not a smile broke the serious look on Nora's face. It was evident the
program for the evening included something very important.
"Goodbye," called out Ted. "Be sure to go over to camp, right away, or
the dark will--catch you."
"Yes'm," echoed Jerry, "and Mr. Dark knows no distinctions at Wildwoods.
He throws a big black blanket over the whole kaboodle."
Nora replied, but even the joke did not cheer her. A few minutes later
she stood at the foot of the attic stairs, drew a long breath; then
dashed up.
Over to the chest that contained the costumes long ignored, she
literally dashed, yanked up the lid and dragged out the Lord Fauntleroy
outfit.
She counted the pieces, waist, jacket, knickers, sash--where was the
cap?
Nervously she fumbled over the tangle of garments, but did not find it.
"I had better dress first," she decided, "and come up again for the cap.
I am--so--nervous----"
No need to make the confession, for even her hands, young and usually
steady, actually dropped the velvet coat right on the dusty attic floor.
No time for looking in the mirror. The knickers were kept up with round
garters now, a Scout acquisition, and the thin white blouse that went
under the jacket, went under very quickly--fullness and strings jabbed
in wherever space allowed.
In a remarkably short time she was inside the entire outfit. One glimpse
in the glass assured her she was again garbed as the fickle prince. Then
for the cap.
"I have time to run and get it," she assured herself. "Of course, I must
have that cap."
Back to the attic, now a shade darker, and then again into the mysteries
of the costume chest, she rummaged.
"Oh, dear," she sighed. "I'll be--here it is! Thank goodness!" She just
jabbed it on her head. A sound startled her. She stood still, every
sense alert.
"What was it?" she instinctively asked.
Again. It--was--a low--moan!
Pausing only long enough to make sure her nerves were not fooling her,
Nora heard again, distinctly, a sound, a human or inhuman moan! Then she
rushed down the stairs, kept on rushing until she reached the street
door, and realizing no person was upon the premises, ran down the road,
straight for Chickadee Camp.
No thought of her appearance concerned her; she must get the girls to
come back and find out what was in the attic!
Only once she stopped, just to make sure the cap was not going to fall
off her yellow head.
Voices and laughter came to meet her. That was Thistle and Wyn----
Gulping back a choking, nervous gasp, she rushed on. The next minute she
dashed into Chickadee Camp and stood before an amazed group of Scouts.
"The prince!" went up a shout.
"My prince!" corrected Alma.
"Why, it's Nora----"
"Girls!" gasped the intruder. "Listen, please, I am no prince----"
"You are indeed. Just look at the dandy outfit. Alma, we most humbly
apologize----"
"Wyn," shouted Thistle, "please listen! Can't you see there is something
the matter?"
"Oh, there is really, girls," panted Nora. "Come quick! There is
someone--dying in our--attic!"
"Dying?"
"I was up there--getting these things, and I--heard the awfulest
moans----"
"Maybe it was Cap," suggested Treble. Her eyes had not wandered from the
surprising spectacle.
"Oh, no, he was outside," said Nora, "and no one is home, not even Vita.
Oh, please do come! I know someone is in agony," and her voice trailed
off into agony of her own.
"I'll lead," volunteered Thistle. "Come along, every one. Alma, you can
take care of your--prince," she could not resist injecting.
"Oh Alma," sighed Nora. "I was planning to come to explain to you----"
"You don't need to," and a most affectionate and all encompassing look
went from Alma to Nora. "I know all--about it now, and you are my
prince, just the same."
"Come along, you two lovers," ordered Thistle the leader. "You had a
'crush' on Nora from the first, Alma. Now we all know why. Fall in
there, Betta. No need to wait for guns----"
"I am not going without some weapon of defense," declared Betta. "Nora
knows her own attic, and she knows when someone is moaning. It may be a
lunatic. There is always an asylum in a pretty place like this."
"Oh, is there?" cried Nora. "I would be afraid to face a--lunatic in
that big, dark, attic----"
"I should think you would, lunatic or just plain, human being," agreed
Laddie. "You look delectable enough for anyone to just eat you up----"
"Can't you girls realize this is an emergency, not a debate?" snapped
Thistle. "We don't suppose Nora is dying of fright just for fun. Betta,
run over and tell Becky."
"Oh, don't let's have her along," interrupted Treble, bent on making the
most of the adventure. "You know she would have to do something we
wouldn't."
"Right," agreed Wyn. "Come along Scouts! 'Jeuty' calls us."
They had been "coming along" all the time. These expressions merely gave
vent to pent up energy.
Nora, although thoroughly frightened, was thankful that the dark helped
hide her dismay. Alma had her arm, and Alma was thinking in terms of
"prince," even the pretender was conscious of that.
The girls giggled and talked, as they always did, and as Betta took time
to remark, "they would be apt to do it at their own funerals." There was
no suppressing Wyn, and Treble fell but a peg below in volubility.
"Look out there!" called Thistle.
Everyone halted.
"What?" demanded Wyn.
"A puddle," replied the heartless leader. "And I'm responsible for the
shine on your shoes, lunatic or no lunatic," she declared loudly.
"When my turn comes to lead for a week I'll have that wretched girl up
every day at dawn," threatened Betta. "She has the cruelest way of
raising one's hopes."
"Had you hopes for the lunatic in the mud puddle?" demanded Laddie.
"You had better get your sense valve working," suggested Doro. "We are
almost there."
"Right," added Treble. "I can see the gate light now."
"How ever will we go up there in the dark?" Nora asked Alma. "I will be
afraid to go into the house."
"Don't you worry, dear," Alma was still under the influence. "We will
all go in together, and Thistle isn't afraid of man or beast."
Arrived at the Nest Nora was confronted with a light at the back of the
house.
"Someone home?" suggested Thistle.
"There shouldn't be," declared Nora. "Everyone is out for the evening."
"Where is Vita?" asked the same leader. They had stopped at the natural
hedge, and now stood under the picturesque, homemade arc light--Jerry's
lantern with the red globe.
"Vita went out somewhere. She often does, and you see I was going over
to camp, so there was, really, no one at home."
"Your dying princess has come down stairs to die," suggested the
irrepressible Wyn.
"Princess?" scoffed Nora.
"Or was it merely a maid in waiting--excuse me, your _man_ in waiting."
"Wyn," shouted Laddie, "can't you see you are making yourself ridiculous
at a time like this?"
She probably couldn't for she went off into a gale of laughter and had
to go behind a bush to enjoy it.
"There is someone in the kitchen," declared Treble. "Here she comes!"
She did; she came right out and greeted them.
It was Vita!