BUTTERNUT LODGE
One afternoon, as Nathalie was preparing to take the children on a tramp
to Butternut Lodge, an old farmhouse on the opposite side of Garnet
Mountain, that had been fitted up for picnic parties by the proprietor
of a near-by hotel, her mother called her.
“Nathalie,” she said, as the girl appeared in answer to her call, “I
wish you would run over to the little red house and see Mrs. Carney. Sam
tells me she is ill, and that his wife, who generally looks after her,
is visiting some relatives. It would be only neighborly if you would
take her some fruit custard; there is plenty in the ice-box, left over
from dinner.”
“But mumsie,” pleaded the girl in an annoyed tone, “I can’t go this
afternoon, for I have promised to take the children to Butternut Lodge.
And then,” she added rebelliously, “I don’t want to go to see that
horrid old woman. Why, I thought that you had decided not to have
anything to do with her, after the disagreeable way she acted!”
“Yes, that is so, daughter,” replied Mrs. Page with a slight smile,
“but, like a good Christian, I changed my mind, a privilege I reserve to
myself when occasion warrants. When I heard from Sam that the poor
creature was alone in the world, I made up my mind to play the part of
the good Samaritan. We can well overlook the oddities of the aged, and
it must be trying to lie there all alone, with no one to give you a
helping hand or a comforting word.”
Nathalie was not conquered, as she had a stubborn will, and she had been
rudely repulsed so many times that she felt her duty did not require her
to accept any more humiliations. She was about to argue the case, when
suddenly the motto that she had vowed to make her own that summer,
flashed before her mental vision with a vivid distinctness.
Making no reply, she slowly walked out on the lawn, where the children
stood waiting for her. After explaining her reasons for giving up the
afternoon hike, she turned to hurry into the house, determined to get
the disagreeable task over as soon as possible. Halfway up the steps she
paused, her eyes lit up with an amused thought evidently, for, with a
half-laugh, she turned and hurried back to the group standing with
woe-begone faces, trying to think what they could do to ease their
disappointment. A moment later they were crowding about her, listening
eagerly as she talked, their faces keen and bright, as if with the
inspiration of a novel appeal.
Some time later, Nathalie, with a queer little smile dimpling the
corners of her mouth, knocked softly on the screen-door leading into the
little red house. As she heard a faint “Come in!” in answer, she gently
pushed the door open and entered. In her hands she carried a bowl, while
behind her, all cautiously tiptoeing, as if afraid of making the
slightest sound, came four small figures, each one carefully holding
something for the invalid, whom they found lying on a couch in the front
room.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Carney,” said Nathalie, and then, in a distressed
tone, “Oh, I’m afraid we have disturbed you, but Sam said you were not
feeling well, and mother sent me over with the boys, to see if we could
not help you in some way. We have brought you something, too, that may
possibly make you feel better.”
The girl was in the throes of despair, as no reply came from the
recumbent figure, only the slow-moving of a big fan. O dear! she
thought, perhaps her little ruse to relieve the awkwardness of a most
curious situation was not going to succeed.
But at this instant, Sheila came forward. Her sympathies had been
aroused on learning about the curious old lady, and on finding that
there was nothing for her to carry to the sick one, she had gone out to
the roadside and gathered a big bunch of wild flowers, to her a panacea
for every ill.
These she now thrust towards the figure on the couch, crying, in her
sweet childish treble, “I’m sorry, lady, you’re sick, but here’s some
flowers; I picked ’em for you.” The child spoke in a half-frightened
tone, somewhat at a loss to understand the silence beneath the
handkerchief-covered face.
Suddenly the handkerchief was withdrawn, and the old lady sat bolt
upright, with a startled exclamation, gazing in amazed wonder at the
four small figures, with their pleading eyes and offerings of sympathy,
standing in a row before her.
“Bless me!” she cried, a half smile dawning in her sharp eyes. “Where
did these children come from?”
“Oh—why—they’re my Liberty boys,” answered Nathalie quickly, with a
sudden flash of relief that at last the old lady’s silence was broken.
“Your Liberty boys?” she questioned with some bewilderment, as she
peered keenly at the slim young figure. “But you’re too young to have
these boys.”
“Oh, but they’re not mine! I’m not married.” exclaimed Nathalie, a merry
note in her voice. “Why, I’ve just adopted them for the summer, so I
call them my boys. I suppose they’re what you call Fresh-Air-Funders;
that is, they live on the East Side in New York, and I’m afraid the poor
things wouldn’t have had any outing if I hadn’t brought them up here to
get a breath of this mountain air, and—”
But at this point, Jean, scrupulously faithful to Nathalie’s drilling,
took a step forward, and, holding out his plate of fruit, in his fright
forgetting the little English he knew, cried, “Voici du fruit!”
The woman peered at the boy, and then, with a slight cry as she saw the
little empty sleeve, drew him to her, as she took the plate of fruit
carefully from his hand. “Why, you poor lad!” she exclaimed in sudden
tenderness. “So you have some fruit for me. Is he a refugee?” she
queried softly, turning inquiringly towards Nathalie.
As the girl nodded dumbly, Tony pushed forward his offering, a covered
dish of milk toast. Quickly removing the cover, he smacked his lips with
gusto, while his velvety eyes glanced in a smile, as if to say, “Here’s
something nice for you, too!”
By this time Nathalie saw that the atmosphere had cleared, and after she
and Danny had proffered their gifts,—some chicken soup and
custard,—with the help of the boys she drew a table to the side of the
couch. Deftly unfolding a napkin for a covering, she spread out the
toothsome dainties before her hostess, while Sheila, in childish
prattle, entertained her new friend by telling about the fairies, whom
she insisted lived in the flowers.
As the old lady partook of the edibles that had been prepared for her,
the children, won by her seeming interest, with childish confidence told
her about their lives in the city, how they liked the beautiful
mountains, all about their many battles down at the old stone ledge, and
how they were all learning to be Sons of Liberty. This drew Nathalie
into the conversation, and she was soon animatedly telling how she
happened to become a Liberty Girl, and how she was not only trying to
carry out her plans in regard to liberty up there in the mountains, but
was anxious to help the children know what it meant to become good
Americans, and to understand why our nation had sent soldiers across the
sea to fight the Hun.
Tony needed but one invitation, and the violin was brought forth from
under his arm,—he always carried it,—and presently he was playing some
little Italian airs, after which Jean sang Belgium’s national anthem, at
Mrs. Carney’s request, and Danny recited a war-poem that Janet had
taught him. Even Sheila contributed her quota to the impromptu
entertainment and recited “Betsy’s Battle Flag,” as she, too, was a
pupil of Janet’s, that young lady having become so interested in the
children that she had not only helped her friend to teach them to sing,
but had taught them to recite.
But now it was time to go, as Nathalie did not want to weary Mrs.
Carney, although, to the girl’s surprise, that lady insisted that her
sick headache had disappeared, cured, she laughingly confessed, by the
young visitors, who had entertained her so charmingly.
With the promise to call again with her charges, Nathalie hurried them
away, happily content that she had followed her mother’s suggestion and
tried to be helpful and kind to her seemingly odd little neighbor. “It
pays to be pleasant with people,” she remarked sagely, as she related
the results of the visit. “For even if you don’t like them it gives you
a pleasant feeling to think that you have done ‘your bit’ in keeping the
chain of brotherly love well oiled.”
Mrs. Page sat knitting on the veranda the following morning when
Nathalie came hurrying out of the house with an angry light in her eyes.
“Oh, mother, what do you think?” she exclaimed irritably. “Cynthia has
set the children all looking for that _mystery thing_. Did you ever hear
of anything so absurd? And they have gone wild about it, and are running
around the attic and the upper floors, pulling things about in a most
disorderly fashion. Oh, I do think she is the limit!”
Mrs. Page looked at Nathalie in silence for a moment, and then said,
with some amusement in her eyes, “It is absurd, but don’t get wrought up
about it. Cynthia hasn’t stopped to think. She is so anxious to find it
that it has become an obsession with her. But it won’t do to let the
children get mixed up in anything of that kind.” Her face sobered, and
for a space the only sound was the clicking of her knitting-needles,
while Nathalie, with a frown on her face, pondered how she was going to
undo the mischief that Cynthia had wrought, keenly realizing what would
follow if the children were not stopped in looking for something that
she knew they would never find.
“Go and tell the children to come here, Nathalie,” said her mother, “and
we’ll have a little talk.” The girl, with a brighter face, complied, as
she always felt greatly relieved, when anything went wrong with her
boys, to have her mother straighten things out.
In a moment they were on the veranda, looking very much bedraggled and
dust-begrimed, as, with faces eagerly alert, they told what they had
been doing, after a little adroit questioning on the part of Mrs. Page.
It did not take the good lady long to make it clear to the
mystery-seekers that this _valuable thing_ that they had been searching
for was something that only concerned Nathalie and her cousins.
She now made it clear to them that the searching was undoubtedly a whim
on the part of the former inmate of Seven Pillars, and that the finding
of it simply meant a reward to the one of the three girls who had proved
the most industrious in looking for it. She ended by saying that it
would not likely be of any great value, adding, “And, children, it would
not be yours even if you found it.”
“Oh, but we’re going to give it to Miss Natty!” came a chorus of
determined little voices. “And Miss Cynthia said it was something awful
rich,” added Sheila, “and I just guess that it must be a great big
jewel, or a pot of gold.” “Sure, and we want Miss Natty to have it,”
ended Danny, with big, disappointed eyes.
This was not the first time that Mrs. Page had had to do away with a
seeming mystery connected with Mrs. Renwick’s peculiar instructions. For
the mystery-room had proved a source of morbid curiosity to the
children, as they questioned as to what was behind that great, dark red
curtain. They would scurry by the door with bated breath and big,
excited eyes, in whose depths lurked a latent fear of some unknown
terror, until Mrs. Page had ordered the curtain down, declaring that the
door simply closed, and barred, would end the mystery.
Fortunately the children’s attention was now turned to other matters,
but Nathalie, somehow, could not put the incident from her mind. She had
a vague, conscience-stricken feeling that _she_ would never gain the
reward for being industrious, for although she had not failed to make an
entry in her diary, she _had failed_ to search as diligently as she
should have done. Whereupon, with a silent vow that she would put aside
an hour every day for this disagreeable task, she hastened upstairs to
put her plan in execution.
Nathalie was lying in the hammock in the moonlight a few evenings later,
half-drowsing. She was more than usually tired, for they had spent the
day at Butternut Lodge. It had been an all-day hike, setting forth in
the forenoon with a climb up old Garnet, starting in at the log
gate-posts opposite Peckett’s flower-garden.
Ascending a grassy incline studded with rocks, where mountain-sheep and
a gray donkey meandered, nibbling the coarse grass, they entered the
cool damp of the forest gloom, where hundreds of trees confronted them.
Age-ringed and gnarled, their limbs twisted in eerie contortion to
grotesque shapes, they stood in the dim cathedral light bristling with
shadows, a battalion of ghoulish-looking sentinels, guarding the
rock-crowned heights.
But on they climbed, up the pine-needled path, stepping from
lichen-covered rocks to gnarled tree-roots, or clambering deftly over
blackened, flame-licked tree-trunks, that barred their way like yawning
chasms. Every now and then they would stop to gather some tiny wood posy
peeping coquettishly from the crevice of a broken crag, or a
crimson-dyed leaf on a mossy patch, or to brush aside the black loam to
burrow among dead leaves for feathery ferns, or one of the tiny
umbrellas, as Sheila called the many-colored toadstools that grew by the
path. But when the little maid spied a _fleur des fées_, a
daintily-colored anemone, her delight was beyond bounds.
Sometimes they would pause to listen to the mountain-wind as it swayed
the tops of long rows of trees, that, with the daring recklessness of
new life, stretched their bare-limbed trunks upward to catch the golden
sunlight on their glossy leaves. But the sweetest melody, perhaps, was
the wind that swept in solemn-toned harmony through the twisted boughs
of the old mountain-guard.
But the wind was not the only musician that sunny morning up there in
the stilled hush of the green wood, for sometimes it was the soft note
of a belated bird’s warble, coming with a haunting sweetness from the
dim recesses of the shadowed gloom, or the hammer of a woodpecker as he
plied his tool of trade.
But feathered songsters and musical wind were forgotten when the
children struck the Red Trail,—splashes of red paint smeared at
intervals on the bark of the trees to keep travelers in the path. The
boys, as they scurried ahead, soon discovered a Yellow Trail, and then a
Blue Trail, sign-posts to the lone woodchopper, perhaps, as he comes
down the woodland path in the deep snows of winter. The Yellow Trail,
they discovered, led down the mountain, coming out on the road near
Lovers’ Lane, the wooded path opposite Seven Pillars. Nathalie now
showed them how to blaze a trail that belonged exclusively to the Girl
Pioneers, and their interest became tense with excitement as she became
their leader and deftly bent the twigs in the shapes that meant so many
things to the Pioneers.
A little log cabin nestling beneath a clump of pine trees, on the edge
of a slope, just below Agassiz’s Rock, tempted the children to wander
from the beaten path. But they soon returned, and, in wide-eyed wonder,
declared that they had seen a pair of shoes by the door. Sheila was
quite insistent that some fairy godmother lived there, whereupon she was
rudely told by the boys that fairies never wore shoes. The children,
however, were loth to leave the spot, curiously wondering as to who
lived in the log hut.
But as no one was to be seen, either within or without the cabin, they
followed Nathalie, and were soon standing on a jagged rock on Garnet’s
top, in a wonderland of views that made them feel that they were indeed
birds of the air, skimming swiftly through a dim, mystical atmosphere.
With hushed breath and wide-seeing eyes they gazed down upon low-lying
valleys,—dabs of green between craggy rocks and lofty steeps, gemmed
with silver water, yellow corn-fields, and brown pasture-land. And above
all, in picturesque grandeur, towered a rim of battlemented crests and
ridges, silhouetted against curtains of crystalline blue, where sweeps
of white cloud drifted in gossamer veils.
On the wide green slopes surrounding the farmhouse the children reveled
in a summer-land of daisies and buttercups, that jeweled the softly
creeping grass. While Sheila wove a wreath of mountain posies Nathalie
told how, some years before, a bag of gold had been found in a log of
wood in the old farmhouse. This added a new glory to the scene, and
there were many surmises in regard to this find, while the Girl Pioneer
plied her craft and showed them how to make leaf-impressions in their
little note-books, as each one had gathered a leaf from many trees on
their way up the mountain.
After Danny had made a camp-fire and they had had a hike lunch of
frankfurters, roasted potatoes, and many toothsome edibles found in
their lunchboxes, they hurried back to the old farmhouse, and while the
children peeped into the old-fashioned brick ovens in search of another
pot of gold, Janet played on the yellow-keyed piano. Then came a stroll
to a weather-beaten barn, where an old coach was stored, which had once
been the mountain’s only method of conveyance, some decades ago, and on
which was the name “Goodnow House.” Of course they all had to mount the
rickety steps and crawl inside on the wide leather-cushioned seat, large
enough to hold almost a dozen children. Danny and Tony, however, soon
clambered out and mounted still higher, up to the two-step-driver’s
seat, where they pretended they were driving a tally-ho, with Sheila and
Jean sitting back, within the railed top, as outside passengers, while
Nathalie and Janet, on the wide old seat within, acted the part of
tourists traveling to the top of Mount Washington.
Wearying of these childish sports, Nathalie and Janet hied themselves
back to the farmhouse, where, after resisting the inclination to drowse,
induced by the lulling hum of the bees as they darted busily about in
the sweet-scented, sunny air, they sat down on the little porch and took
out their knitting.
Suddenly the deep silence that they had drifted into, lured to thought
by their active fingers, was broken by loud squeals, mingled with boyish
shouts of laughter. And then a thrill came, as Nathalie suddenly
perceived the old stage-coach, drawn by Danny and Tony as horses, while
Jean, as the driver, was exultantly happy, perched up in the driver’s
high seat. Sheila, meanwhile, bewreathed and betwined with wild posies,
sat within the coach, posing as a beautiful white princess who had been
captured by bandits.
Nathalie’s heart swung in wild leaps as she saw the one-armed boy’s
perilous position, as the ramshackle, clumsy coach rocked like a cradle,
and realized what it would mean if anything happened to it, as it was a
most valuable relic to the proprietor of the hotel.
With a sudden cry she jumped to her feet, and a moment later was
excitedly explaining to the would-be bandits the wrong they had
committed. In disappointed silence Jean was helped down from the top of
the coach, and Sheila, in whimpering protest, was hauled out. Then, amid
a profound and tragic stillness to the children, they managed, with the
help of the two girls, to get the stage back in the barn. Whereupon,
Nathalie closed the door and marched her charges off in another
direction, while pondering how to amuse them, for she had learned that
their active brains and nimble fingers must be kept busy or mischief
would brew.
A low cry from Sheila roused her, to see a few feet away, on the
outskirts of the wood, a baby deer, gazing at them with mild eyes of
wonder. But the cries from the boys caused it to leap wildly into the
woods.
Such had been the events of the day.
Nathalie stirred uneasily, as a ray of moonshine fell athwart her face.
She rubbed her eyes, and then sat up in the hammock, staring about in a
bewildered, sleepy fashion. “Why, I must have been dreaming,” she
thought, vaguely conscious that she had been living over again the long
day with its many adventures.
“But it must be late; the children should be in bed.” She could hear
Danny and Tony down on the lawn, their voices in loud and excited
argument. O dear! she hoped they were not going to fight again, and then
she gave a hurried “Tru-al-lee!”
At the familiar call the boys came hurrying across the lawn, when, to
her surprise, she saw that Sheila was not with them. As she questioned
them sharply as to her whereabouts, they insisted that they supposed
that she was with her. The girl, somewhat alarmed, for the little lady
was inclined to wander off by herself, instituted a search. The barn,
grounds, Lovers’ Lane opposite, and even the little red house were
peeped into, but all to no purpose.
As Sam was in Littleton for the night, the boys were dispatched to Sugar
Hill village to make inquiries, while she and Janet, who had just
returned from a stroll in the moonlight with Mrs. Page, started to look
on the road leading to “The Echoes.” Some time later the searchers
returned to Seven Pillars to report that no clews as to the child’s
whereabouts had been discovered. Suddenly distracted,
conscience-stricken, Nathalie gave a low wail.
“Oh, I do believe she has gone to the top of Garnet Mountain!” The girl
had suddenly remembered that for several days Sheila had been telling
how one of the boarders at Peckett’s—a lady as white as snow—had told
her that every moonlight night at twelve o’clock the fairies came out of
the woods and danced on the top of Garnet. She had even suggested that
if Sheila could see them, she might be rewarded by receiving some of the
beautiful garnets that were hidden in the rocks, and which only the
fairies knew where to find.
There was a grim silence at Nathalie’s cry, as each one stared at the
other with a white, dismayed face, while Nathalie, with clasped hands,
nervously swayed herself to and fro.
A sudden scuffle of small feet caused them all to swing about, to see
Danny hurrying towards the door.
“Oh, where are you going, Dan?” cried Nathalie in a choked voice,
staring at the lad with bewildered eyes.
“I’m going to find my sister—Sheila—” came in a strangled sob from the
boy.
“But don’t go alone. I will go with you,” exclaimed Nathalie, quickly
springing to his side, as he stood with his face buried in his elbow,
while his slim body heaved convulsively.
It was soon decided that Janet and Dan would climb the mountain-trail
that came out near Lovers’ Lane, Mrs. Page and Tony would hurry in the
direction of Hildreth’s farm, while Nathalie and Jean would follow the
Red Trail of the mountain, opposite Peckett’s hotel.
Twenty minutes later Nathalie and Jean, breathless from their hurried
climb, paused for a moment by a big tree that stood ghoulishly somber by
the path. As the girl, still panting, leaned against it, a ray of
moonlight filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead showed that it
was the Seat Tree, as they had named it on their climb that morning, on
account of its singular formation.
By some freak of nature, from its main trunk, a short space from the
ground, another trunk had sprung, giving it the appearance of two trees
in one, and in this hollow some kindly-intentioned person had placed a
seat. As the girl perceived the seat she sat down, and feeling Jean’s
soft breath come puffing against her cheek, drew the tired boy down on
her lap. Tige, the yellow terrier, crouched at their feet, his red
tongue hanging out of his mouth like a signal-light in the weird
darkness.
Fortunately the darkness of the ascent had been lightened at intervals
by the moon, which was at its full, so that the girl had not been
compelled to use her flashlight except in the deeply shadowed places.
When they had begun to climb, Jean had whistled, his customary way of
calling Sheila, while Nathalie had not only called the child by name,
but had given her Pioneer call of “_Tru-al-lee_.”
But these calls had only re-echoed through the cathedral arches with
such a dismal, dirge-like sound that they had desisted. Feeling sure
that the child would keep near the path, Nathalie had kept her eyes busy
peering on all sides of her, thinking that she could easily discern
Sheila’s white dress if she was anywhere near.
All at once a low cry escaped the girl, as, with a convulsive clutch of
Jean’s slight body, she bent forward, and peered through the eerie
tree-shadows to a dim, flickering light that shone some distance beyond
in the deep recesses of the forest. As the boy’s eyes followed her
glance, in a tense whisper he cried, “Oh, Mademoiselle! see, there is a
man digging in the ground!”