THE WOOD NYMPH
Invited by guileful Patsy at luncheon that day to advance an opinion
regarding the “witch woman” of the morning’s adventure, Miss Martha
said precisely what her niece had prophesied she would say. She added
something, however, which Patsy had not anticipated.
“You girls should have known better than trespass on private property,”
she rebuked. “As for that woman, I should say she was mentally
unbalanced. Don’t any of you go near that cottage again. I will not
have you risking your lives in the vicinity of a lunatic. You had best
make inquiry about her, Robert,” she continued, turning to her brother.
“I intend to,” was the reply. “This new man, Crespo, may know her
history. Very likely she is one of those queer but harmless characters
that one happens on occasionally down here. I hardly think there is
any cause for alarm, Martha. Still, it will be just as well for the
girls to steer clear of her.”
“I know I don’t want to go near her again,” Mabel said with a slight
shudder. “She was positively savage.”
“One call is enough for me, thank you,” smiled Eleanor.
Patsy and Beatrice exchanged significant glances but said nothing.
Each knew the other’s thought. Both had a valiant hankering to try
their luck at a second interview with the witch woman. Unfortunately
for them, Miss Martha’s stern mandate forbade further venturesome
investigation.
Patsy’s carefully prepared question concerning the strange old woman
Miss Martha replied to with a touch of impatience:
“My dear child, you can hardly expect me to be able to find meaning in
the ravings of a lunatic. I have only one thing to say on the subject.
I have said it before and I repeat it. You are all to keep away from
that cottage.”
This emphatic repetition put a quietus to Patsy’s hopes of awakening
her aunt’s interest in what she and Bee had already decided was a real
mystery. Miss Martha’s one thought on the subject seemed to be that
the society of an insane woman should be shunned rather than courted.
“My little scheme turned out all wrong,” Patsy admitted ruefully to
Beatrice, as the two strolled into the patio after luncheon and seated
themselves on the edge of the fountain’s time-worn stone basin. “I
wanted to go to that cottage again, too.”
“So did I,” confessed Bee. “I was sure your aunt would say we mustn’t.”
“I’m going to make Dad take us there some day,” planned resourceful
Patsy. “He’ll be willing to, I know. Then Auntie can’t say a word.”
“Hey, there!” suddenly called a gay voice from the balcony.
Both Bee and Patsy cast a quick glance upward to see Mabel leaning over
the balcony rail.
“Are we going to the beach, or not?” she inquired. “If we are, you’d
better leave off languishing beside the fountain and hurry up. We ought
to start before sunset, you know,” she added satirically.
“It’s only one-thirty by my little watch,” calmly informed Patsy. “It’s
a long time yet until sunset, Mabsie. Didn’t you know that?”
“What about taking our bathing suits?” demanded Mabel, ignoring Patsy’s
playful thrust.
“Just as you like. If you and Nellie want to go bathing, then so do we.”
“I’d rather not,” returned Mabel. “I’d rather just poke around down on
the beach and in the boat house. I think it would be more fun to get up
early to-morrow morning and go bathing.”
“Those are golden words, my child,” grinned Patsy. “I was of the same
mind, but too polite to say so. We can prowl around the boat house
this afternoon and find out what we need to take down there in the
way of bathing comforts. Dad says we’ll have to add the final touches
ourselves. We’ll be up in a minute, Mabsie.”
“All right.”
Mabel promptly disappeared from the balcony. Patsy and Bee rose.
Leaving the patio they went upstairs to their room.
A few minutes later the Wayfarers and Mr. Carroll were swinging down
the oleander drive toward the highway. Miss Martha had declined to
join the expedition. Following the highway north for about an eighth
of a mile, they turned at last into a narrow white road hedged in by
vermilion hibiscus growing rank and wild for lack of care. The road
was shaded for some distance by double rows of palms, which had been
planted on each side. Presently it entered the stretch of jungle lying
above the beach and continued almost straight ahead through the bit of
wilderness.
“Some of the Feredas must have liked to go bathing or they never would
have had this dandy road cut through to the beach,” was Beatrice’s
opinion, as the party came at last to the end of the tropical road and
out onto the warm white sands.
The beach itself curved inward like a new moon to meet the jungle which
surrounded it on three sides. At the left, near the water’s edge, stood
the once dilapidated boat house. It now looked very trim in its new
coat of white paint.
The jungle road ended almost at the middle of the new moon. Emerging
from it and walking a few steps across the sands, the Wayfarers paused,
by common consent, to gaze admiringly out on the glorious expanse of
dazzlingly blue sea that lay only the breadth of the curving beach
beyond them.
“This is the nicest bathing beach I ever saw!” exclaimed Patsy. “The
beauty of it is that it’s our very own. We’re sole proprietors of this
bit of sand and sea.”
“It’s the first one _I_ ever saw,” laughed Bee. “You must remember
that I never saw the Atlantic Ocean until I came down here. It seems
thrilling to be so near to it.”
“Wait until to-morrow morning and I’ll give you a good salt-water
ducking,” promised Patsy. “Won’t that be nice and thrilling?”
“Try it if you dare,” challenged Bee, “and see who gets the ducking.”
“I’m sorry now that we didn’t bring our bathing suits along,” lamented
Eleanor. “I’d love to have a swim in that nice blue water. It looks
fairly shallow, too.”
“At most of these lonely beaches along the coast, I imagine the water
must be too deep for safety. This place looks safe enough,” agreed
Mabel enthusiastically.
“We can’t tell much about it until we try it out for ourselves,”
returned Patsy. “Sometimes shallows stop all of a sudden and you get
into very deep water before you know it. I found that out once when we
were spending the summer at Wildwood. Our cottage was quite a way up
the beach. I started to wade into the surf one morning, and all at once
I felt myself going down, down, down. I had sense enough to strike out
and swim, or I wouldn’t be here now.”
“I don’t believe the water is very deep here.”
Mr. Carroll now broke into the conversation. He had been silently
listening to his charges, an amused smile touching his firm lips.
“You mustn’t venture too far out, though,” he cautioned. “Remember,
there are no guards about to keep tabs on you. Besides, the mists down
here often creep up very suddenly over the sea. If you happened to
venture too far out and were caught in one, your chance of regaining
the shore would be slim. I can’t always be depended upon to be on hand
to look out for you, so you’ll have to be good children and not run any
needless risks.”
“We’ll be as good as gold and as careful as can be,” lightly promised
Patsy. “Now take us over to the boat house. We’d like to see how it
looks inside.”
Conducted by Mr. Carroll to the trim little house, the Wayfarers
found it as completely renovated inside as out. Mr. Carroll had gone
to considerable pains to transform the former boat house into a
comfortable bath house. Wooden benches had been built along two sides
of it. Plenty of towel racks and hooks on which to hang clothing were
in evidence. A good-sized mirror had been hung on one of the end walls.
There was also a tall rack designed to hold wet bathing suits and
numerous other minor details had been added in the way of conveniences
for bathers.
“Why, it’s all ready for us!” exulted Patsy. “You’ve thought of almost
everything we’d need, Dad. You’re a dear.”
“I had it fixed up as nearly like the one we had at Wildwood as I could
recall,” returned her father. “You girls will have to add the finishing
touches. Sorry there isn’t a shower bath. I intend to put one in later
when I have time to see to the piping for it.”
“Oh, we can get along beautifully without it,” Patsy assured. “It’s
ever so much nicer than I thought it would be. You’ve done wonders to
get it ready for us on such short notice.”
The other three girls were quick to concur with Patsy in this opinion.
“Here’s the key.” Mr. Carroll handed it to his daughter. “I now declare
you Chief Custodian of the Bath!”
“I accept the high office. May I be ever faithful to my trust,”
declaimed Patsy merrily as she took the proffered key, a small brass
affair on a ring.
“The first thing we ought to do is to sit down and make a list of the
things we will have to bring from the house,” suggested practical
Beatrice. “I brought along a little memorandum pad and a pencil.”
Extracting them from the breast pocket of her white middy blouse, Bee
offered them to Patsy.
“You may do the writing, Bee.” Patsy declined the proffered pad
and pencil. “I’ll tell you what we’ll have to have. Any valuable
suggestions from the illustrious Perry sisters will be respectfully
received.”
“While this important consultation is in full swing, I believe I’ll
take a walk up the beach,” announced Mr. Carroll. “My black boys tell
me there’s an old fisherman living not far above here who owns several
boats. I’m anxious to get in touch with him and, if possible, arrange a
fishing trip for us while we’re here.”
“Go ahead, Dad. You have my permission,” saucily replied Patsy. “After
we’ve made our list, we’ll lock up the bath house and play around on
the beach until you come back.”
The list having been finally completed, to the Wayfarers’ mutual
satisfaction, the quartette left the bath house. Up and down the white
stretch of beach they strolled for a little, enjoying the fresh sea
breeze. Finally they seated themselves on the warm sands to talk and
watch the incoming tide, interestedly trying to calculate how long it
would be before they would have to move further back to escape its slow
but steady advance.
“It’s coming nearer and nearer,” remarked Bee, as she fascinatedly
watched the endless succession of waves break on the sand, each a
trifle higher up the beach than the preceding one.
“I move that we move.”
Eleanor rose, shaking the sand from her white linen skirt. Patsy and
Beatrice also got to their feet.
“I hate to move. I’m so comfy.”
Stretched at full length in the sand, Mabel made no attempt to follow
her companions’ example.
“Stay where you are then and get your feet wet,” laughed Eleanor.
“There’s a good-sized wave heading straight for you now.”
This information caused Mabel hastily to draw up her feet. Next moment
she was standing erect beside Eleanor.
“Dad ought to be back before long.”
Patsy stood gazing up the beach in the direction Mr. Carroll had taken.
“Oh, look!”
The sudden ringing cry issued from Beatrice’s lips. Her back to the
sea, she had been dreamily staring into the green depths of the jungle.
Now she was pointing excitedly toward a tangled thicket of briar
bushes and flowering vines.
“Where? I don’t see anything! What is it, Bee?” instantly went up from
Mabel.
“She’s gone.” Bee’s arm dropped to her side. “We scared her away. She
ducked and ran.”
“Who ducked and ran? What are you talking about, Bee?”
It was Patsy who now impatiently put these questions.
“A wood nymph,” smiled Beatrice. “I was looking at that thicket up
there and all of a sudden I saw her. She stood between two bushes
watching us. Such a pretty little thing, with big black eyes and long
black hair hanging about her face. I had just caught a glimpse of her
when I called out to you. The minute she knew I’d seen her she turned
and ran off through the green. I saw her black head bobbing in and out
among the bushes; then I lost sight of her.”
“You certainly saw more than we did,” Patsy said ruefully. “I didn’t
see anyone. Was she--well--a white person, Bee?”
“Oh, yes. As white as you or I, and about as tall as Mab, I think,”
replied Beatrice. “She had a beautiful little face. She was wearing a
faded brown dress or apron. I couldn’t tell which. It startled me to
see her there, all of a sudden. She looked so wild and shy and pretty.
Exactly like a wood nymph. I couldn’t help calling out.”
“Too bad we missed seeing her,” deplored Eleanor. “Maybe we’ll run
across her some other day. She must live in this vicinity or she
wouldn’t have been roaming around in the jungle. She certainly can’t be
afraid of snakes. I wouldn’t care to go dashing recklessly through that
wilderness.”
“That’s only because you’re not used to the idea,” declared Patsy. “By
the time we’ve been here a couple of weeks, we’ll probably go tramping
around in that bit of jungle without being in the least afraid of
snakes.”
“Never,” was Mabel’s discouraging ultimatum.
The appearance of Mr. Carroll some distance up the beach diverted the
minds of the quartette from the shy little apparition Beatrice had
seen. With one accord the four set off on the run to meet him.
Nor had the Wayfarers the remotest idea that, from a concealing
thicket of living green, a few yards above the spot where they had
been standing, a pair of bright, black eyes wistfully and wonderingly
watched them as they scampered across the sands toward Mr. Carroll.