STRANGE DISCLOSURES
For a moment no one spoke--they were all so surprised.
"Hello!" called out Vita. "What's this? A party?" Her English was
perfect.
"No, it isn't Vita," Nora managed to answer. "I was almost scared to
death----"
"Let me tell her, Nora," interrupted Thistle, the leader.
"I'm not going in that house with her until Cousin Ted comes home,"
declared Nora. "Vita is always putting me off. She knows what that noise
up in the attic is."
"Have you heard it before?" asked Betta.
"Yes, a number of times----"
"Then, if the moaner did not die before, Nora, what makes you think the
present attack would be fatal?" Wyn came out from the bush to inquire.
"Land sakes, Wyn! Will you hush? Fun is all right in its place but this
is serious," warned Pell.
"Looks it," whispered the same Wyn, into Betta's unwilling ear.
"Nonsense, standing here like a----"
"Serenading party," finished Laddie. "Let's begin."
"Serenading?" An uncertain and feeble whistle followed, but in the dark
no one owned up to it.
"You coming in? No?" asked and answered Vita.
"No. We are not coming in," declared Nora, who had stepped up to the
door at which the spacious Vita stood. "We heard a noise up in the attic
and we were coming in to investigate, but we won't now."
The girls were audibly disappointed. They said so outright.
"Perhaps she doesn't know a thing about it," suggested Laddie. "Don't
you think, Nora, we ought to go in and look around?"
"No, I don't. She is in the plot, or secret or whatever it is," declared
Nora aside. "When I first came here I heard it----"
"Why didn't you tell us?" demanded Doro. The parade had come to a
useless halt.
"I don't know," murmured Nora. "You know I had queer ideas at first,"
she faltered, unconsciously smoothing down the pretty little velvet
knickers and slipping a nervous hand into an inadequate pocket.
"We know, but we all have--at first," admitted Laddie. "I used to think
I would love Thistle, and see what she has done to us with her old
bossing." The challenge went unanswered.
"Can't we go to the bench and talk it over?" suggested Betta, unwilling
to leave the scene thus unsatisfied.
"Oh, no, please don't," begged Nora. "I don't know just what I fear, but
actually, girls," she did whisper this, "I am as much afraid of Vita now
as I am of the thing up in the attic."
"Your nice, fat, good natured Vita?" asked Pell in surprise. The person
spoken of had gone indoors discreetly.
"I don't mean that I am afraid of her all the time," Nora hastened to
correct. "She is as good as gold, generally, and I am sure Vita is
honorable. But it is that attic affair--she is in some way connected
with that, and I am not going to take a chance of getting frightened
again tonight. You have no idea how I felt, up there all alone, in fact
I was all alone in the house when I heard that groan."
"Groan?" Wyn could not resist. "I thought it was a moan?"
But no one paid any attention to the remark. Betta suggested they agree
with Nora and all go back to camp.
"We can bring Nora back home about the time she expects her Cousin
Jerry," Betta's suggestion included. "There is no sense in subjecting
her to more terror with the Italian woman."
"For once I agree with you, Betta," answered Thistle. "March back to the
Chickadee, every Scout of you, and see that you don't wallow in that mud
puddle."
"But the prince?" inquired Wyn. "Is he to walk through ordinary mud
puddles?"
"No. Of course not. You and the other big girl, Treble by name, are to
carry him. Avaunt!" ordered the leader.
"Oh please----" protested Nora; but in vain. She was upon the shoulders
of Wyn and Treble before she had a chance to finish her useless appeal.
"Put your royal arms around me," chanted Treble.
"If you don't you may be dumped," warned the other slave.
"Listen!" ordered someone. "Here comes the whole camp! Are we out after
hours?"
"If we are we can plead emergency," explained Thistle. "How could we
wait for permission when someone was moaning to death?"
They took up the march in real earnest. As faithful Scouts they always
kept to regulations and found pleasure in doing so. Only Nora's call of
distress had lured them away as darkness was setting in.
"Please let me walk," begged Nora. "I know you must get back as quickly
as you can, and I am sure I have given you enough trouble."
"We love to carry you," insisted Wyn. "Besides, we know it's our last
chance. Alma will be unconscious in the throes of love from this on,"
she finished with a lurch that brought the erstwhile prince to "his"
feet in spite of their intentions.
A few more accidents, minor and major, according to the way said
accidents were accepted, and the squad arrived at Chickadee. Nora was
now more embarrassed than ever. How could she again go in among all
those sensibly-clad girls in that ridiculous costume? Besides, now she
was bound to tell the whole miserable story.
"Where have you girls been?" began Becky, who stood waiting. "Did you
not know this was story night?"
"We have been out scouting, and we did," replied Thistle in her most
docile tone. "Becky, love, we have the bravest thrill of our entire
career to unfold."
"Begin, please, by explaining the infraction of hours," said Miss
Beckwith, although her manner belied her demand, and the summer twilight
lasted.
"The thrill is none other than someone, anyone, dying of moans," said
Wyn. "We have with us tonight----"
At this she craned her neck over the tallest of them to locate little
Nora. But she, the guest of honor, was hiding behind Treble.
"When you hear the whole wonderful tale," promised Pell, "you will only
be sorry you were not along. We have been out gunning for attic ghosts."
After more talk of this variety Nora was dragged forth.
How pretty she looked in the camp light! A glow from the fire that had
been lighted for stories, surrounded the little prince, and, as the
picturesque figure stood in the center of the group of admiring eyes,
even the glory of the modern Scout uniform was threatened with eclipse.
In the late twilight the effect was entrancing.
"Isn't she darling?"
"Just look at those--panties?"
"Oh, don't you remember----"
"Sweet Alice Ben Bolt."
"No, not Alice, but the night we fought over those bloomers," recalled
Treble.
"They're not bloomers. They're rompers."
Then began that whole foolish debate which ended up by Thistle declaring
they might be overalls for all it mattered, if only the girls would let
Nora tell her story. Pell and Treble agreed. The introduction was
briefly outlined for Becky's benefit, then Nora was allowed to tell it
as it appeared to her--that is, she was allowed to begin to tell it that
way, but what with the interruptions, the suggestions, the questions,
and the qualifying clauses, it was small wonder the willing culprit made
poor headway.
As the story took the shape of a confession Nora seemed to be the
culprit, but judging from the approval voiced by the multitude they all
had little regard for _her_ brand of "crime." In other words, Nora only
imagined she had offended, the entire detail made a most interesting
story as it was told around the campfire blaze of Chickadee Patrol.
She admitted frankly that her early notions were anything but practical,
she bravely recounted her weakness for fancy things, including ivory
bureau sets and pink ribbons, to which more than one Chickadee added her
own little admission, in fact, Pell said she always did and always would
love pink; brown khaki and smoked pearl buttons to the contrary
notwithstanding.
The telling of her attempt at attic tenancy brought forth peal after
peal of laughter, in which Nora joined. Then she told all about her
disguise as the fabled and famous prince.
"I think it is all too jolly for words," insisted Laddie, "and what do
you say, girls, to our adopting Prince Adorable for our mascot?"
This precipitated more trouble. Nora was put on the table, that long box
used when weather was pleasant and drenched when weather was wet, and
from that grandstand, or throne, she was called upon to make silly
speeches, prompted by Wyn and interrupted by Betta.
Alma objected. She insisted Nora had hinted to her something she ought
to tell the others. And she further maintained it was a matter serious
enough to put a stop to all nonsense, and "if the girls aren't willing
to listen quietly, I shall take Nora over to the other tent, where she
can tell Becky in peace," threatened Alma.
This put a soft pedal on all unnecessary sounds: even Wyn desisted.
"Tell us, Nora, please do tell," begged Wyn. "We have had fun enough to
give our poor jaws a rest. Mine are aching from laughing."
So Nora began.