A CLEW
As the Outdoor Girls were nearing camp Mollie finally broke the long
silence that had fallen upon them.
“Something’s got to be done for that old lady,” she said, explosively.
“She oughtn’t to live up there all alone. Didn’t you notice to-day how
queer she acted? It’s enough to drive anybody crazy, living alone like
that.”
“I think she has probably had a great deal of trouble----” began Amy.
“Humph,” grunted Mollie. “She has plenty of that now.”
“Yes, but I mean in her early life,” persisted Amy. “Do you notice that
every time she tries to tell us about something real connected with her
girlhood she brings herself up short----”
“And closes up like a clam?” Grace finished, adding, with a nod: “Yes,
I’ve noticed that.”
“I suppose if her past life hasn’t been pleasant,” said Betty, gently,
“she naturally wouldn’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s true, of course,” argued Mollie. “But she doesn’t have to be
so--so--secretive about it. She acts as though there were some mystery
that she was trying to conceal.”
“Well, it’s her mystery,” drawled Grace. “I suppose she has a perfect
right to conceal it if she wants to.”
“But we really ought to help her,” said Mollie, going back to her
original point. “She’s far too old and feeble to be living alone.”
They walked on for a while in silence and then Mollie asked suddenly:
“By the way, Betty--I meant to ask you before--has Allen said anything
about that case he was working on?”
“Not much,” answered Betty, “except that he’s still working on it. He
says he can’t really say anything about it yet.”
“There you go again,” said Mollie, feeling injured. “I believe he’s
just cooking up something, so as to make us curious.”
“Hardly,” laughed Betty, adding, reasonably: “It must be pretty serious
to keep him in town, you know, when he’s crazy to be here with us.
Well, what in the world----” she broke off to stare as they came out
into the open space before their camp.
Frank and Will had returned from their fishing trip and, unlike
Mollie and Grace, they had not returned empty-handed. No wonder the
girls stared. There were at least a dozen good-sized fish in the
pan, all cleaned and ready for cooking. Having got thus far in their
preparations, the boys had turned their attention to the making of a
fire good enough to do justice to the day’s catch.
When they espied the girls they beckoned to them gleefully.
“Come hither and look what we have brought,” called Frank, invitingly.
“We see it!” exclaimed Betty heartily. “You sure did have good luck!”
“Good luck nothing,” snorted Will. “That’s all the credit you ever get
for being a high-class sportsman.”
“I suppose,” said Mollie, with elaborate sarcasm, “that you simply
whistled to the innocent fish and they came running.”
“Swimming,” corrected Frank, gravely, at which nonsense they were
forced to laugh.
The delightful days passed one after another till it was almost time to
look for Allen and Roy again. They fished and hiked and took long rides
in the _Gem_ and generally and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
However, even in the height of their fun the girls never forgot Miss
Weeks, their little Old Maid of the Mountains. They even one day
enticed her down to their camp, taking the easiest and shortest way,
later giving her a ride in the motor boat.
Although the little old lady seemed to enjoy herself immensely, the
ride was never repeated. In spite of the girls’ attentions and the
wholesome food they continued to supply her with, the little old lady
grew paler day by day until she finally became so feeble it seemed as
though a strong wind might blow her away altogether.
And because the girls had taken a profound interest in the lonesome old
lady and had grown very fond of her they worried a good deal about her
condition and tried hard to think of some way in which they might help
her without hurting her pride.
But it seemed a problem that was almost impossible of solution and for
the present, at least, they were forced to give it up.
And then Allen and Roy were with them once more, Allen still grave and
thoughtful, but very, very glad to be with them, just the same.
He was relieved when the boys and girls told him there had been no sign
of the tramps during his absence and it might have been noticed that he
looked at Betty as though he thought it altogether too good to be true
that she was still safe and happy.
“You don’t know what I’ve been through,” he told her a little later
that same day. They had become separated from the others and, finding a
convenient stone wall, had hoisted themselves upon it, swinging their
feet and all ready for a good old “pow-wow.” “I’ve imagined all sorts
of awful things happening to you,” Allen went on, while Betty demurely
looked the other way. “I had you so much on my mind that I couldn’t
half attend to my work.”
“I’m sorry,” said Betty, still demurely. “I tried to behave myself.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Allen, banteringly. “I’ve never seen you do
it yet.”
“Well,” said Betty comfortably, “I don’t intend to argue about it. The
weather’s too warm, and, besides, we never do agree.”
“I think we do--sometimes--very well,” said Allen, and at his tone,
Betty hastily changed the subject.
“Tell me,” she said, “about what you have been doing in town. Have you
found out any more about what that poor old man had on his mind?”
“I know all about that,” said Allen, the puzzled frown growing on his
forehead which Betty had come to associate with any mention of the
case he was working on. “I know the old man and his motives from A to
Z. If I could only find his sister----”
“His sister!” Betty exclaimed, surprised, and Allen bit his lip.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, adding, abruptly: “Let’s talk of
something else.”
“I don’t know anything to talk about,” said Betty, a little coolly.
She did not like the way Allen shut her out of his confidence, even
if it was business. “We’ve been having lots of fun, but not very much
adventure.”
“Miss me?” he questioned, and immediately Betty became her old
tantalizing self once more. She smiled at him mysteriously and
murmured, with her face turned the other way: “Wouldn’t you like to
know?”
It was Allen’s turn to be put out. Since he said nothing, neither did
Betty, and for some time they sat staring before them, each busy with
his own thoughts.
It was Betty at last who broke the rather ridiculous silence by
speaking of the Old Maid of the Mountains. By Allen’s blank stare she
realized that this was the first mention he had heard of their little
old lady.
“Let’s get down and join the others,” said Betty, as she swung herself
to the ground, “and while we’re on the way I’ll tell you of our queer
little discovery.”
Betty had expected Allen to be rather mildly interested, but she was
not prepared for the sudden keen interest he showed when she mentioned
the exquisite needlework of the little old lady.
“What kind of embroidery does she do?” he queried, excitedly.
“Why,” said Betty, puzzled at his attitude, “she does all kinds----”
“Any special design, or pattern?” asked Allen, impatiently.
“Why,” returned Betty, “I do recall that she seemed to have a special
fancy for butterflies and roses. It’s Danish embroidery she does, very
elaborate and a great deal of open work. But why, Allen? Why are you so
anxious to know?”
Allen countered with another question.
“Can I--will it be possible--for me to see this old lady?” he asked,
almost feverishly.
“Allen,” said Betty, with a chuckle, “in just about a moment I’ll be
getting jealous!”