PUZZLING RHYMES
"As I was saying," continued Sinclair, "Mr. and Mrs. Hartley lived
happily at Cromarty Manor. Three beautiful children were born to them,
who have since grown to be the superior specimens of humanity you see
before you. I am the oldest, and, as I may modestly remark, the flower of
the family."
"Oh, I don't know," commented Patty, looking affectionately at Mabel.
"Well, anyway, as was only natural, the search for that hidden fortune
went on at times. Perhaps a visitor would stir up the interest afresh,
and attempts would be made to discover new meaning in Uncle Marmaduke's
last words. And it was my father who succeeded in doing this. He sat in
the library one day, looking over the old set of Dickens' works, which
always had a fascinating air of holding the secret. He had not lived here
long then, and was not very familiar with the books on the library
shelves, but looking about he discovered another set of Dickens, a much
newer set, and the volumes were bound in cloth, but almost entirely
covered by a gilded decoration. Wait, I'll show you one."
Sinclair rose, and going into the library, returned in a moment with a
copy of "Barnaby Rudge." It was bound in green cloth, but so ornate was
the gold tooling that little green could be seen.
"Dickens--gold----" murmured Patty, her eyes shining as she realised the
new meaning in the words.
"Yes; and, sure enough that was what Uncle Marmaduke meant. Just think!
For fifteen years that set of books had stood untouched on the shelves,
while people nearly wore out the older set, hunting for a clue to the
fortune!"
"It's great!" declared Patty; "go on!"
"Well, this set of Dickens proved extremely interesting. Between the
leaves of the books were papers of all sorts. Bills, deeds, banknotes,
memoranda, and even a will."
"Then you had the fortune, at last?"
"No such luck. The banknotes and the few securities in the books amounted
to a fair sum, which was gratefully appreciated by my parents, but as to
the bulk of the fortune, it only made matters more tantalising than
ever."
"Why?" asked Patty.
"One of the papers was a will, properly executed and witnessed, leaving
all the fortune of which Uncle Marmaduke died possessed, to my mother.
Then, instead of a definite statement of where this money was deposited,
were some foolish jingles hinting where to find it. These rhymes would be
interesting as an old legend, or in a story book, but to find them
instead of a heap of money, was, to say the least, disappointing."
"And did you never find the money?"
"Never. And, of course, now we never will. Remember all this happened
twenty years ago. I mean the discovery of the papers. Of course, the
money was hidden more than thirty-five years ago."
"And do you mean to say that you people are living here, in your own
house, and your own money is hidden here somewhere, and you can't find
it?"
"Exactly as you state it."
"Well! _I'd_ find it, if I had to tear the whole house down."
"Wait a minute, Miss Impetuosity. We don't think it's in the house."
"Oh, out of doors?"
"You're good at puzzles, I know, but just wait until you hear the
directions that came with the package, and I think you'll admit it's a
hopeless problem."
"May she see them, Mother?" said Mabel. "Will you get them out for us?"
"Not to-night, dear. I'll show the old papers to Patty, some other time;
but now Sinclair can tell her the lines just as well."
"Of all the papers in the books," Sinclair went on, "only two seemed to
be directions for finding the money, although others vaguely hinted that
the fortune was concealed. And still others gave the impression that
Uncle Marmaduke meant to tell mother all about it; but as his death came
upon him so suddenly, of course he could not do this. On these two papers
are rhymes, which we children have known by heart all our lives. One is:
"'Great treasure lieth in the poke
Between the fir trees and the oak.'
"You see uncle was a true poet."
"What does the poke mean?" asked Patty.
"Oh, a poke is a pocket; or a hiding-place of any sort. Of course, this
information sent father to digging around every fir tree and oak tree on
the place. As you know, there are hundreds of both kinds of trees, so the
directions can't be called explicit."
"But," said Patty, wrinkling her brow, "it says 'between the fir trees
and the oak,' as if it meant a clump of firs and only one big oak."
"Yes; that's what has been surmised. And many a separate oak tree that
stands near a group of firs has been thoroughly investigated. But wait;
there's another clue. On a separate paper these words are written:
"'Above the stair, across the hall,
Between the bedhead and the wall,
A careful searching will reveal
The noble fortune I conceal.'
"There, could anything be plainer than that?"
"Then the money is _in_ the house!" exclaimed Patty.
"Take your choice. There are the two declarations. It may be he concealed
the money in one place, and then transferred it to another. Or it may be
he put part in the ground, and part in the house."
"But, 'between the bedhead and the wall,' is so definite. There are not
so very many bedrooms, you know."
"True enough. And of course, when my father found that paper, he went
directly upstairs, crossed the hall, and so reached Uncle Marmaduke's own
bedroom. The furniture had been moved about, but Grandy remembered where
the head of the bed stood in Uncle's time. They searched thoroughly, took
up flooring, took down wainscoting, and all that, to no avail."
"Of course, they tried other 'bedheads'?"
"Yes, tell her about it, Grandy."
"Yes," said Mrs. Cromarty, placidly. "All the bedrooms in the house, even
the servants' rooms, were subjected to most careful scrutiny. Although so
many years had elapsed, I could remember where the various beds stood
when Marmaduke was with us. Behind each, we had the walls sounded, and in
some cases, broken into. We even looked for pockets or receptacles of
some sort on the backs of the headboards themselves, but never a trace of
anything could we find."
"It's very exciting!" said Patty; "how can you all be so calm about it? I
should think you'd be searching every minute!"
"You must remember, dear," said Mrs. Hartley, "it's an old story to us.
At first, we were indeed excited. For several years we searched almost
continuously. Then hope began to fail, and our investigations became
intermittent. Every now and then we would make a fresh attempt, but
invariably repeated failures dampened our enthusiasm."
"It's _so_ interesting," sighed Patty. "Can't we get up a little of the
old enthusiasm, and do some searching while I'm here?"
"Indeed, we can," cried Bob. "Would you prefer an excavating party, with
picks and spades, or an indoor performance in the old bedrooms?"
"Both," declared Patty. "Of course I know how absurd it is to go over the
ground that has already been worn threadbare, but--but, oh! if we _could_
find it!"
Grandma Cromarty smiled.
"Forgive me, dearie," she said, "but I've heard those sentiments from all
my guests to whom we have told the story, for the past thirty-five years;
and though I don't want to seem ungrateful for your interest, I feel it
my duty to warn you there is no hope."
"Oh, yes there is _hope_, Grandy," said Sinclair, "but there is nothing
else. There's no probability, scarcely a possibility, but we'll _never_
give up hope."
"Never!" agreed Bob; but Mabel's expression plainly showed that she
hadn't the faintest glimmering of a hope.
"It does seem so strange," said Patty, thoughtfully, "to have the two
directions, and both so explicit. No, not explicit, they're not that, but
both so definite."
"Hardly definite, either," said Bob, "except that they seem to reveal the
fact that there _is_ a fortune concealed about the place. Oh! it makes me
frantic! I feel so helpless."
"There's no use storming about it, Bob, my boy," said his mother. "And,
Patty, you mustn't set us down as too mercenary in this matter. But I
think you know that we, as a family, long for the means which would
enable us to keep up this dear old place as it should be, and not let its
beautiful parks and gardens go uncared for and neglected."
"I do know!" cried Patty; "and it makes me furious to think that the
money--your own money--is perhaps within your reach, and yet--you can't
get it! Oh, why didn't Mr. Marmaduke say just where he put it!"
"He did," said Bob, smiling.
"Yes, so he did. Well, I'd tear up every square foot of ground on the
whole estate, then."
"Remember, Patty," said Sinclair, in his quiet way, "there are nearly ten
thousand acres in all; and except for meadowlands and water, there are
oaks and firs on nearly every acre. The fortune itself would scarcely pay
for all that labour."
"Well, then, I'd tear the house to pieces."
"Oh, no you wouldn't," said Mrs. Hartley; "and beside, that has almost
been done. My husband had so much of the woodwork and plaster removed,
that I almost feared he would bring the house down about our ears. And it
is such a big, rambling old place, it is hopeless to think of examining
it really thoroughly."
Patty glanced around at the great hall she was in. The groined ceiling,
with its intricate carvings at the intersections; the cornice carved in
deep relief, with heraldic bosses, and massive patterns; the tall columns
and pilasters; all seemed part of an old monument which it would be
desecration to break into.
"I wonder where it is," she said; "indoors or out."
"I think it's out of doors," said Sinclair. "I think uncle hid it in the
house first, and then wrote his exquisite poem about the poke. Perhaps it
was merely a pocket of leather or canvas, that hung behind the headboard
of his own bed. In that case all prying into the walls would mean
nothing. Then, I think, as that was only a temporary hiding-place, he
later buried it in the ground between some special oak tree and fir tree,
or trees. I think, too, he left, or meant to leave some more of his
poetry to tell which trees, but owing to his sudden taking off, he didn't
do this."
"Sinclair," said Bob, "as our American friend, Mr. Dooley, says, 'Yer
opinions is inthrestin', but not convincin'.' As opinions, they're fine;
but I wish I had some facts. If uncle had only left a cryptogram or a
cipher, I'd like it better than all that rhymed foolishness."
"Perhaps it isn't foolishness," said Patty; "I think, with Sinclair, it's
likely Mr. Marmaduke wrote the indoor one first, and then changed the
hiding-place and wrote the other. But how could he do all this hiding and
rehiding without being seen?"
"I went up to London every season," said Mrs. Cromarty; "and, of course,
took Emmeline with me. Marmaduke always stayed here, and thus had ample
opportunity to do what he would. Indeed, he usually had great goings-on
while we were away. One year, he had the Italian garden laid out. Another
year, he had a new porter's lodge built. This was done the last year of
his life, and as he had masons around so much at that time, repairing the
cellars and all that, we thought later, that he might have had a
hiding-place arranged in the wall behind the head of his bed. But, if so,
we never could find it."
"And have you dug under the trees much?" persisted Patty, who could not
accept the hopelessness of the others.
"Dug!" exclaimed Bob, "I've blistered my hands by the hour. I've viewed
fir trees and oaks, until I know every one on the place by heart. I've
trudged a line from oaks to firs, and starting in the middle, I've dug
both ways. But I'm nearly ready to give up. Not quite, though. I'm making
a thorough search of all the books in the library, on the chance of
finding some other message. But there are such a lot of books! I've been
at it for three years now, off and on, and I'm only three-quarters way
round. And not a paper yet, except a few old letters and bills."
"I'll help you, Bob," said Patty; "oh, I'd love to do something toward
the search, even if I don't find a thing. I'll begin to-morrow. You tell
me what books you've done."
"I will, indeed. I'll be jolly glad to have help. And you can do as much
as you like, before your young enthusiasm wears off."
"I'll do it, gladly," said Patty, and then they discovered that the
evening had flown away, and it was bedtime.
As they went upstairs, Mabel followed Patty to her room and sat down for
a little good-night chat.
Patty's eyes were shining with excitement, and as she took off her hair
ribbon, and folded it round her hand, she said:
"Even if we don't find anything, you'll be no worse off, and it's such
fun to hunt."
"They didn't tell you all, Patty," said Mabel, in a pathetic tone, and
Patty turned quickly to her friend.
"Why, what do you mean?"
"I mean this. Of course, we've never been rich, and we've never been able
to do for the place what ought to be done for it; but we have been able
to live here. And now--now, if we can't get any more money, we--we can't
stay here! Oh, Patty!"
Patty's arms went round Mabel, as the poor child burst into tears.
"Yes," she said, sobbing, "some of mother's business interests have
failed--it's all come on lately, I don't entirely understand it--but,
anyway, we may soon have to leave Cromarty, and oh, Patty, how _could_ we
live anywhere else? and what's worse, how _could_ we have any one else
living here?"
"Leave Cromarty Manor! Where you've all lived so long--I mean your
ancestors and all! Why, Mabel, you can't do that!"
"But we'll have to. We haven't money enough to pay the servants--or, at
least, we won't have, soon."
"Are you sure of all this, dear? Does Mrs. Cromarty expect to go away?"
"It's all uncertain. We don't know. But mother's lawyer thinks we'd
better sell or let the place. Of course we won't sell it, but it would be
almost as bad to let it. Think of strangers here!"
"I can't think of such a thing! It seems impossible. But perhaps matters
may turn out better than you think. Perhaps you won't have to go."
"That's what Sinclair says--and mother. But I'm sure the worst will
happen."
"Now, Mabel, stop that! I won't let you look on the dark side. And,
anyway, you're not to think any more about it to-night. You won't sleep a
wink if you get nervous and worried. Now put it out of your mind, and
let's talk about the croquet party to-morrow at Grace Meredith's. How are
we going over?"
"You and I are to drive in the pony cart, and the others will go in the
carriage."
"That will be lovely. Now, what shall we wear?"
Thus, tactfully, Patty led Mabel's thoughts away from her troubles, for
the time, at least, and when the two friends parted for the night, they
both went healthily and happily to sleep.