DOROTHY HAS ANOTHER SECRET
The inquirer went away with "a bee in his bonnet," as the saying goes;
and he promptly reported to Oliver Sands that he had been dismissed from
Skyrie as one who had gone there on a fool's errand.
"Say they haven't sold me that south meadow, do they, friend? Well, they
are mistaken. Report to me again in one week from this day and I will
give thee further directions. I am a just man. I will pay thee and thy
assistant for the time thee has wasted, but the surveying will yet be
done," returned the miller, quietly.
He even smiled, sitting comfortably in his great rocker upon his shaded
veranda; and he opened and closed his fat hands with a suggestive
gesture, as of one squeezing something soft and yielding. It was a
gesture habitual to him while transacting certain kinds of business, as
foreclosing a mortgage against some helpless person; and to keen
observers--Seth Winters, for one--seemed most significant. Friend Oliver
was in no wise disturbed by the indignant statement of the Chesters to
the surveyor. He was perfectly contented to bide his time, remembering
that adage: "All things come to him who waits."
But valiant as their denial, the Chesters watched the surveyors depart
with sore misgivings. The bold falsity of the matter roused, at length,
even Martha's suspicions that Friend Oliver Sands was not as benign as
he appeared; and for the rest of that week she went about so silent and
sad that neither father John nor Dorothy dared intrude upon her reserve.
Yet to the latter came a new trouble of her own: and knowing that she
must confide in somebody old and wise enough to counsel her, she went to
Seth Winters. She could not have done better. With almost the opening
sentence of her story about the surveyors' visit he seemed to understand
the whole matter, "body and bones" as Jim would say.
"I am thankful you came to me, little Dorothy. We'll outwit that man by
meeting him on his own terms. I'm going to give you something to take
care of till the time comes for you to use it. We'll have what Herbert
calls a regular lark; and may I be there to see! Three hundred dollars,
'payable on demand, with interest from date.' Do you remember that date?
No? Never mind. I'll put the time sufficiently far back to make
everything secure, and I misjudge our floury Friend if he will object to
a little more than his due. Watch, scholar, and see if I figure right."
Fetching pen and paper, the blacksmith made a rapid computation of what
would be due Oliver at any time within the next month. Then he went to a
cupboard in his room above the "office" and took from a small safe there
the amount of cash which should satisfy even the "just" holder of the
Chesters' "note." He gave the money into Dorothy's hands with a smile,
saying:
"This is yours, your very own. It is no gift nor loan of mine. It was
intrusted to me by a law firm in Baltimore, the business managers of
Mrs. Calvert's property. Kidder & Kidder are the gentlemen. Well,
what?"
"I've heard, I know about them. Why, Mr. Winters, I've _seen_ that old
Mr. Kidder!" cried Dorothy, eagerly.
"I'm glad of it. Well, I cannot explain much to you; only I can and do
say that somebody related to you by blood, somebody of your own family
that you never knew, left this money and a little more with these
gentlemen; to be used by, or for, you whenever a case of real necessity
occurred. They are my own lawyers, too, as well as Mrs. Cecil's; so
after you moved to Skyrie, knowing I was such a near neighbor, they
wrote and asked me to take care of the small fund for you. I wasn't to
mention it until that case of need I spoke of, and that has now surely
arrived. Hurray! Three cheers for the climax! I can picture your
face--all your faces--when 'payment on demand' _is_ demanded, and you so
calmly--it must be very calmly, Dolly dear!--come forward with that
'payment' in hand. One word of advice to you, more. Try to persuade your
parents to hold on to south meadow. Things are stirring nowadays, and
that very 'Folly' may yet show old Simon's wisdom, by proving the most
valuable spot on Skyrie farm or any other land 'up-mounting.' Keep the
fact of your having the money a secret till the right time comes. Then,
hurray!"
For a few moments the astonished girl could do no more than turn over
and over the fat wallet which Seth had thrust into her hands; and she
was so enraptured by the thought that it was she, she herself, who
should come to her parents' relief that she could only smile and smile.
She could not even join in this boyish old fellow's hurraying; yet
looking on her happy face, he was quite satisfied.
However, amid all her joy one dark word had fastened on her
consciousness: "Secret." She had come in part to confide her own dread
secret of the Ghost to this kind man, who would, she was sure, neither
deride her fear nor fail to help her. Seth Winters helped everybody
worthy of his help. All the mountain folk said so and trusted him.
"Mr. Winters, that story about there being a ghost at Skyrie is--_is
true_. I suppose you've heard it, haven't you?"
"Oh, yes! I've heard."
There was no scorn in his expression. The same gentle gravity rested
upon his features that had inspired the confidences of so many troubled
souls and now won hers. All the boyish hilarity he had manifested over
the outwitting of Oliver Sands had vanished, and with a fatherly
tenderness he drew Dorothy to him and listened intently as she said:
"Yes, Mr. Winters, it--is--true. I didn't believe Alfaretta when she
told about it. I thought there were no such things. But there _is_ a
ghost haunts Skyrie and--_I--have--seen--it_. I have to believe my own
eyes, haven't I?"
"Most assuredly, my dear. And I, too, know it is true. I, too, have seen
it."
"_You--have?_"
"Often and often. A most beneficent and harmless ghost. One to be
cherished and not feared. One that has suffered much evil and done much
good. A ghost I pity and almost love."
"Why, Mr. Winters! You make me feel as if--as if I could hardly breathe.
Could any ghost be _good_? Any ghost be _harmless_?"
"This one is good, I told you. As for harm--has he harmed your garden
by his presence? Have the weeds grown faster or the vegetables less,
because of his nightly visitations to it? 'By their fruits ye shall know
them.' Eh? What?"
"Why, you amaze me more and more. How did you know that about the garden
and the night-time? I hadn't told you yet, though I was going to, in a
minute."
"Well, easily. I've seen the garden and I know that all ghosts prefer
the night. Not this one because his deeds are evil but because they are
good. A person may learn a lot of things, little maid, by merely keeping
his eyes open and putting two-and-two together."
"Oh! of course; but do you really think I shouldn't fear this one at
all? I've been too afraid almost to live, and I've not dared to tell my
father or mother, because she's so nervous she wouldn't stay at Skyrie
even to get my father cured, and he must be. _He must be_--no matter
what happens. It must not be that a man so good, so kind, so altogether
faithful to us all should be an invalid forever. O Mr. Winters! You
don't at all know how brave he is! How he makes fun for mother and me
when his own heart aches. It seems to me as if he took hold of
everything, every little thing that happens, and turns it over and over,
till he finds out some humor in it. Then he points out to us that humor
which we'd never have discovered for ourselves. Why, I fancy he'd think
there was something funny even about that dreadful ghost!"
"A brave and beautiful nature is poor John Chester's, little Dolly. I am
proud to know him, to have him call me friend. Nor should I have called
him 'poor' but rich. I would rather have his present poverty and his
wholesome, sweet outlook upon life than all the money owned by the
master of the Towers. By the way, he's not such a bad sort, either! come
to know him well enough to see beneath that crust of greed and arrogance
that he wears as if it were a coat. As for that fairy-faced daughter of
his, I'm wholly in love with her, since you've put your own hand to the
task of remodeling her into the simple, kindly creature God meant her to
be when He fashioned her. Pity! when that other good gift of too much
money buries beneath it the better side of the person to whom it is
given!"
"Oh! Helena is sweet, Mr. Winters. It's not true at all that she is
haughty and 'stuck-up,' as folks say. She's just been petted at home,
and praised and sheltered so much, that she didn't have a chance to show
what she really was. Even to know it herself. But I love her. I love her
dearly. She's the nicest girl friend I ever had."
"That's good! That's excellent! For if a certain scheme of our friend
Herbert's materializes it would be most important that there should be
love between you and Helena. By the way, neither of you young ladies
have invited me to your picnic!"
Dorothy opened her eyes in surprise. "Why, Mr. Winters! How did you know
we were going to have one? I hadn't told that yet, either, and I do
believe you must be a witch--a gentleman witch--to guess at things the
way you do!"
"I hope I'm a 'gentleman' witch if I'm any sort. I shouldn't like to be
a 'lady,' one that's always pictured as bestriding a broomstick. That
would be most uncomfortable. I prefer a horse. Well, am I to come to
your picnic, or am I not, Miss Dorothy Chester?"
"O Mr. Winters! Will you? If you will, your coming will make us both so
happy. I'd rather have you than anybody I know, even young folks----"
"As if I were not that! Thank you for your cordial 'bid.' I will be most
happy to accept the invitation I've had fairly to worm out of you. What
am I expected to provide as my share of the entertainment?"
"Oh! you love to tease me, don't you? Nothing. Of course, you are to
provide nothing. Only come, and don't disappoint us."
"I will surely come. But I hope to do my share, as I said; and if I
succeed in obtaining what I hope for, it will be a novelty in picnics!"
"Now you've made me curious! I love novelties! What will yours be?"
asked Dorothy, eagerly, and rising to leave, since some men had arrived
with horses to be shod and her host must attend to business.
"Take care of that parcel, child. Tell nobody of it, not even the father
and mother, till the right moment comes. You'll recognize it when it
does, and what shall I bring? Let me see--I think I will bring a GHOST!"
It was a very happy girl who returned to Skyrie, carrying safely hid in
her pocket that which should "at the right time" release her beloved
parents from the power of debt, held over them by even so "generous" a
man as miller Sands. It was almost impossible for her to keep this new
and splendid "secret" from their knowledge. At times she felt she must,
she certainly must, break her promise to Seth Winters and disclose it;
but she had never knowingly broken her word and she would not let
herself begin to do so now. Besides, if she had been able to keep that
other, dreadful "secret" about the "ghost" she surely could keep this
happy one of the money. She had made it her business to bestow this in a
place of safety, although her frequent visits to the spot would have
betrayed her interest in it had the elder Chesters been at all
suspicious.
The days sped by till the end of the week and that beautiful summer
Saturday appointed for Helena's picnic. They had been busy and peaceful
days at Skyrie. No further demands had been made upon the elder Chesters
by Mr. Oliver Sands. That most industrious of "ghosts" had not
reappeared nor nervous mother Martha so much as suspected his existence;
though rumors concerning him were rife in all Riverside. These rumors
had been freshly set afloat by the Babcocks. Dorothy had admitted to
Alfaretta that there "_might_ be some truth" in the story of a spooky
visitant, and Alfy had promptly stated that there _was_. Pa Babcock
affirmed the tale and declared that this was why he had left off working
on the haunted farm. "It had got upon my nerves to the extent of
interfering with my orations," he had explained, to whoever would
listen. Until then, nobody had credited Pa with possessing "nerves" of
any sort; but even such an absurd statement found credence with some.
More than with the "spook," however, was the public mind agitated by
other rumors which touched upon "south meadow." The "Folly" was a word
often on men's lips, yet, as often happens, the persons most nearly
concerned in the subject were the last to hear of it.
The promised saddle for Portia had been sent home and found to be a
delightful change from the bareback riding which ambitious Dorothy had
been practicing. So delightful, indeed, was it and so eager was she to
have all her own friends enjoy it with her that she decided:
"I'm going to put the saddle in the phaeton along with the baskets when
we drive to the 'meadow.' The 'Bee' people fixed the bars to it so
nicely, we can drive along the road till we come to the field and then
through the bar-way into it. I'll take Portia out of the shafts and
saddle her, or the boys will do it for me. Then all the girls that wish
can take a ride, turn and turn about. It will add ever so much to our
fun--everybody I know simply loves and envies me my darling 'calico'
pony! I'll come back for you first, though, mother and father, for you
must be there. A picnic, or anything nice, wouldn't seem perfect without
you two. Dear Mr. Winters is sure to come. He said so and he's going to
bring--My! I almost let the cat out of the bag!"
Dorothy's sudden pause and startled expression provoked no comment from
her parents other than mother Martha's protesting:
"Cat! I wouldn't take Lady Rosalind, if I were you, Dolly dear. It would
only be a worry to you. Those little Babcocks are sure to come, invited
or not, and as surely would plague the life out of her. Why, Rosalind
runs under the lounge the very minute any Babcock, big or small, sets
foot inside the door. Don't take the cat."
"It wasn't--it wasn't--that kind of a cat! and I haven't let it
out--yet!" laughed the girl, with a gayety that seemed exaggerated for
so humdrum a remark.
"You're a queer child, Dorothy C. But--but I hope you'll have a happy
day," answered her mother, slipping an arm about the girl's shoulders
and lightly caressing the flushed young cheek; while Dolly answered,
trustfully:
"I'm certain to! Mrs. Calvert is coming and says she _cannot_ unless Jim
Barlow brings her and waits upon her! That settles Jim and his refusals!
She's made it a point of 'duty' and that boy was never yet known to turn
his back on his duty--even when it led him into having a good time
himself at a picnic! Good-by, now. I'm off!"
It did prove the happiest sort of a gathering. Everybody came who was
invited and some appeared who were not. But there were food and room and
fun enough for all. Portia did ample service in the cause; trotting
patiently around and around the smoother portions of the meadow,
carrying various small maidens on her back but, at length, being given a
chance to nibble her own dinner from that plentiful pasture. She was
still saddled and bridled, the smallest Babcock having testified by
screaming that she was still unsatisfied with her share of the exercise,
and being promised "one more ride after dinner."
Never a Babcock screamed more wisely. But for that scream Portia would
have been unsaddled and but for Portia--a life might have been lost.