CATCHING A TRAIN.
Late that night Marion, lying awake to worry over the letter she had
read, heard the heavy rumble of the circus vans on their way out of
town to the distant place where their next public appearance was to
be made. All her trouble ended with the welcome sound, for now there
would be no meeting with the sphinx, and Elfie would not be tempted to
go outside the gates; so the honest eyes closed in sleep that lasted
undisturbed till the “wake-up” bell resounded through the halls.
Candace had again succumbed to the rheumatism, so Marion dressed Elfie
and took her down to breakfast and kept her by her side till the
prayer-bell rang. Then Katie pounced upon her, it being her week, and
Marion did not see her again except across the school-room.
At twelve o’clock recess began, at one the girls dined, and at two
o’clock school began again, and lasted till half past three. The
hour before dinner was devoted, in rainy weather, to gymnastics in
the large garret fitted up with various mechanical contrivances for
physical culture, but in pleasant weather the girls walked, ran, or
played either in the grove behind the house, the meadow on the left,
or the tennis-court and croquet-ground on the other side. Beyond the
fence which defined these ample grounds no one was allowed to go
without permission, even though, as sometimes happened, grace-hoop,
shuttlecock, or ball perversely flew over the fence.
On this day Mrs. Abbott called Marion to her immediately after the
twelve-o’clock bell rang.
“My dear,” she said, “I shall have to ask you to do me a favor. I have
here a check for fifty dollars which I need to have cashed immediately.
Will you take it for me to the bank at the village and bring me the
money? It is a long walk, but I know you don’t mind that. To save time
and insure your getting back in time for dinner I would send you in the
phaeton, but my pony has lamed himself. But I will have your dinner
kept warm for you.”
“O, that is nothing,” said Marion. “I’d as lief go without any dinner,
and, if you don’t mind, I’ll go through the back gate, it’s so much
shorter.”
“Yes, you may do so. The key to the padlock hangs, as usual, behind the
hat-rack.”
The carriage road to the village led past the front of the house and
twisted and turned several ways, most obligingly winding by various
farm-houses, but a shorter cut across the fields could be reached
by going through a little gate at the end of the thick grove behind
the house. The road thus gained led to the station and then on to
the village, but a path across the fields avoided the station and
intersected the road again further on.
“I’d be fidgety now if the circus had stayed over to-day, for, with
Candace sick, there’d be no one to keep Elfie from going out with the
girls to get their fortunes told,” thought Marion.
But the circus had gone and she went on gayly, rather pleased with the
errand and thinking nothing of the two-miles’ walk to the village.
Just beyond the path that led off from the road stood a carriage with
two showy young women in it talking with a young man who had apparently
just met them as Marion came in sight. There was something odd about
their appearance, and the girl had curiosity enough to watch them for a
moment as she stood sheltered behind a screen of wild grape-vine that
almost hid the entrance to the path. The party were whispering, so
there was nothing for her to hear even had she been nearer; but their
presence in that quiet place seemed strange.
In a moment the women jumped out of the carriage and the young man
took a seat in it, saying in a raised voice, probably for the driver’s
benefit:
“Well, don’t stay long with your old friend, or you’ll miss the 1:15
train, and there’s no other till 6:35. We’ll drive around a while and
be waiting for you here. Now, look sharp and keep your wits about you.”
Perhaps they were going to see the servants at Mrs. Abbott’s, Marion
thought, as she walked on, feeling troubled she hardly knew why; but
if so, why not have driven around to the front gate, from which the
kitchen was reached by a side path; but, after all, it was none of her
business, she told herself as she trudged along.
There was not much delay at the bank, and Marion, feeling rather
important, and somewhat anxious about the safety of the roll of bills,
started for home. It would be so terrible to have any thing happen
to such a lot of money that she hardly knew what to do with it. Mrs.
Abbott had given her an old purse to put it in, but she thought as she
went along of all the stories she had heard of highway robbery, so she
took it out of her purse and tucked it into the bosom of her dress.
After a few minutes the dread came that some tramp might demand her
money or her life, and then there’d be a scuffle, and in the scuffle
her dress might be torn to pieces and the bills fall out; so back
into her pocket they went, then into her dress waist again. Then an
inspiration seized her and she divided the bundle of bills, of which
there were six fives and two tens, and wound them around each ankle
under her stockings. There they seemed quite safely concealed even
if they detracted from the symmetry of the ankles, and Marion walked
comfortably on with the empty purse held conspicuously in her hand,
having a little plan in her mind of flinging it far from her in the
event of an attack from highway robbers, and, while they were dashing
after it, taking to her heels and escaping with her stocking-protected
treasure.
There never had been a highway robbery in the neighborhood, but a
course of promiscuous reading had given Marion a realization that such
things could happen, and she went on with almost an expectation of some
adventure.
As she neared the point where the path struck into the carriage road
she heard a sound of rapid wheels, and, running to the vine-covered
tree and peering through the leaves, she saw, as she thought probable,
the carriage she had seen as she went upon her errand. The driver was
not there, but the young man who promised to wait for the women sat
upon the front seat and was urging the horses to their utmost speed.
One of the women was by his side; the other sat upon the back seat with
a child in her arms.
It was Elfie!
How she could have recognized her in that one quick glance through the
leaves Marion could not have told, but she was sure of it. It flashed
upon her then that these people must have been employed to steal her,
and now they had succeeded!
Where were they going? To the station to catch the 1:15 express.
Perhaps she could get there in time to stop them; any body would assist
her, for Mrs. Abbott was well known.
Fences and rough places were no obstacles to a sturdy little
mountaineer; so, straight as a bird flies, Marion tore across country,
leaving bits of her dress upon the strong cat-briers, and not stopping
to pick up her hat when it dropped from her head as she half jumped,
half tumbled over a fence. She forgot her anxiety about the money as
she flew along, panting and half crying, but still gasping over and
over a fervent prayer:
“O, Lord, help me to save Elfie! Help me, help me!”
The platform and station buildings were on the other side of the track,
and as Marion flew along over a hill she caught a glimpse of the
carriage whirling across the track and driving behind the building. The
sight made her run faster, if that were possible, but the chase seemed
hopeless, for even then the whistle sounded and the engine came in
sight around the curve, slowing up as it neared its stopping-place.
But even though she thought it too late she ran on, the prayer again
bursting in agony from her lips, and love and fear seemed almost to
give her wings. Without pausing to listen, she heard all the familiar
sounds that attend a train’s arrival and departure. Just after an “all
aboard” from the conductor the long train began to push slowly off,
gaining speed as it moved till, as she burst from a thicket and plunged
through a narrow run of waste water that followed the track for a few
rods, the last car was spinning by her.
Without a breath of hesitation she seized the iron rod at the end in
her strong little grasp and flung herself against the steps, bruising
herself sadly, but clinging on.
After a few moments spent in collecting herself and recovering from
her efforts the brave girl drew herself up from the car-steps to the
platform, and, gazing back at the woods which seemed to close behind
them as they sped along, tried to form some plan of action. No one at
the station could have seen her spring upon the cars; so there would
be no one to tell Mrs. Abbott what had become of her. Then, after all,
what certainty had she that Elfie was upon the cars? Perhaps hers
had been a wild-goose chase. She was positive that Elfie was in the
carriage, but perhaps they had not taken her on the cars. They might
have been afraid and left her at the station, or they might be still
waiting there for the down-train which went through half an hour later.
Then the horrible thought came that if Elfie was safe, and no one knew
what had become of her, wouldn’t Mrs. Abbott think she had run away
with the fifty dollars?
The agony of that idea was too dreadful. Poor Marion threw herself down
on the platform, and, burying her scratched, flaming face in her hands,
sobbed dolefully.