THE SECRET DRAWER
Instead of a one o’clock luncheon that day the Wayfarers sat down to
a one o’clock breakfast. It was noon before they awoke from the sound
sleep they were so much in need of after their all-night vigil.
That day there was a new face at the breakfast table. It was a vividly
beautiful face lighted by a pair of soulful, dark eyes. Dolores, the
wood nymph, had been transformed over night into Dolores, the young
woman. Dressed in one of Patsy’s white morning frocks, her heavy black
hair rolled into a graceful knot at the nape of her neck, Dolores bore
small resemblance to the ragged, bare-footed waif of the night before.
Now those small bare feet which had sped so swiftly through the
darkness for help were for the first time in years covered by
slippers and stockings. Though Dolores was too shy to say it this
one particular feature of the transformation seemed to her the most
wonderful of all. “To go always with the feet bare” had been her
greatest cross.
Seated between Bee and Patsy at table her gaze wandered questioningly
from one to another of the Wayfarers, as though unable to credit the
evidence of her own eyes. She could hardly believe that she was in the
midst of reality. It all seemed like a dear dream from which she would
soon awaken, only to find again the old life of poverty, harsh words
and blows.
Naturally, the Wayfarers had a good deal to say. They were still
brimming over with the excitement of the night’s events, the final
touch of melodrama having been furnished by the finding of the knife on
the floor of Patsy’s and Bee’s room.
Recovered from the momentary shock sight of the murderous weapon had
given them, the finders had agreed that there was no use in exhibiting
it to the others just then and stirring up fresh excitement.
Patsy reserved it as a breakfast surprise. She created not a little
commotion when she produced it at the table for her companions’
inspection, coolly announcing that Rosita had left her a keepsake.
The weapon went the round of the table to the tune of much horrified
exclamation, as its formidable, razor-like double edge was shudderingly
noted.
“I can’t imagine why your father hasn’t returned, Patsy,” remarked Miss
Carroll for the fifth time since they had sat down to breakfast. “I am
beginning to feel very uneasy over his continued absence.”
“I don’t believe we’ll see him until evening,” returned Patsy. “It must
have been daylight before he got through with Rosita’s case. He had two
business engagements in Miami to-day. Don’t you remember? He mentioned
them to us at dinner last night?”
“I had forgotten that,” admitted Miss Carroll. “It’s hardly to be
wondered at. I wish he would come home. I am all at sea about what we
ought to do. Now that this horrible lunatic has been removed from here
and her villainous grandson has decamped, it is just possible we may
have a little peace and quiet. Do you think this rascal Carlos meant
what he said to you, Dolores?”
“Yes, Señora Martha. He will never return,” Dolores assured. “He will
sell the cottage which old Manuel gave to Rosita and never come here
more. I am glad. Now I shall go myself soon to Miami and find the work
to do. I am strong and not afraid of the work.”
“My dear child, you will do nothing of the sort,” contradicted Miss
Carroll. “You will stay with us for the present.”
“And when we go north, Dolores, you’re going too,” broke in Patsy. “You
haven’t any folks now, except us, so you’ve just got to be good and
hang around with the crowd.”
“It is too much,” Dolores protested. “I will stay for a little because
you wish it. I wish it, also,” she added with shy honesty. “Soon I must
go away. I am not the burden.”
“Of course you aren’t. You don’t look a bit like a burden,” gaily
retorted Patsy. “Let’s not talk about your going away. Let’s talk about
the treasure of Las Golondrinas. Do you suppose there really _is_ a
treasure?”
“_Quien sabe?_” shrugged Dolores.
“That means literally, ‘Who knows?’” translated Mabel, smiling at
Dolores. “But _you_ really mean, ‘I doubt it.’”
“I have little belief,” confessed Dolores. “Many Feredas have searched
but never found. Perhaps, then, there is none to find.”
“I wish we knew something of its history,” sighed Bee. “What do you
suppose old Manuel did with the letter and the paper that Rosita took
from him while he was asleep?”
“Very likely he put them in the secret drawer,” chuckled Eleanor,
casting a teasing glance at Mabel.
“Well, he might have,” stoutly defended Mabel. “I guess I’ll have
another try at the old desk this afternoon. If there’s a treasure in
this house we must do our best to find it.”
“You girls had best stay quietly indoors to-day.” admonished Miss
Carroll. “None of you are half rested from last night.”
“Señora Martha, I have the wish to go to the cottage,” requested
Dolores timidly. “I have there the few things which were my father’s. I
desire them. When I have them I will go to that cottage no more.”
“My dear, you must feel that you are free to go and come as you
choose,” returned Miss Carroll, “except that I would prefer, while you
are here with us, that you let me know beforehand where you intend to
go. I wish you to feel that I have the same interest in you that I have
in Patsy’s friends, Bee, Mabel and Eleanor. If you were to go away
without telling anyone where you were going we would be uneasy until
you returned.”
“I _desire_ to give the obedience to you, Señora Martha! It will be
most beautiful,” Dolores made fervent response.
“I wish others felt the same about it,” commented Miss Carroll
pointedly, yet with a smile, as she rose from the table.
Patsy merely laughed, though she colored slightly at the roundabout
rebuke.
“It’s too late for regrets, Auntie,” she declared. “I promise to do
better in future. May Bee and I go to the cottage with Dolores?”
Miss Martha, having demurred a little, finally gave a reluctant
consent. Patsy and Bee ran upstairs for their hats. Having gone hatless
for years, Dolores had declined Patsy’s offer of one of her own.
Presently the three girls left the house and took the path to the
orange groves through which they must pass in order to reach old
Rosita’s cottage.
Coming at last to the cottage, they saw that the door stood wide open.
The two Wayfarers experienced a sense of dread as they followed Dolores
across the stone threshold into a big, cheerless room which occupied
the greater part of the ground floor. Both had an uncomfortable
feeling that Rosita might suddenly appear and pounce upon them. They
were surprised to find extreme neatness where they had expected to
view disorder. The floor was immaculately clean and the few pieces of
old-fashioned furniture stood stiffly in place.
“I had an idea we’d find everything upside down,” Patsy remarked.
“Rosita was a good housekeeper even if she was crazy.”
“Ah, but it was I who must do the work,” sighed Dolores. “All must
be clean save the windows. These Rosita purposely kept dark with the
cobwebs so that strangers might not see into the room. Of herself she
did nothing, yet she made me to do all. She was indeed mad for long.
Always she feared strangers, but none ever came. It is past. I am glad.
Wait here for me. I must go up the stairs to the place where I slept.
There I have the few things I wish to take away.”
With this Dolores disappeared up a short staircase which opened into
the rear wall of the room and led to a loft. As there was nothing in
the ugly bare-walled room to attract their interest, Bee and Patsy
presently sat down on a wooden bench outside the house to await
Dolores’ return.
She soon appeared, carrying an antiquated canvas telescope which she
proudly assured them had belonged to her father.
“When we return to Las Golondrinas I will show you the picture of my
father,” she promised. “He was the good man and loved me much. Now we
shall leave this place. I have the hope never to enter it again.”
Dolores raised her hand in a solemn gesture toward the sky.
“The God in the Heaven heard me pray,” she said, then reverently
crossed herself. “He has given me the freedom.”
The trio were rather silent on the walk back to Las Golondrinas.
Dolores’ thoughts were upon the great change that had come to her.
Patsy and Bee had been deeply impressed by her little act of reverence
and divine faith toward the Almighty. In consequence, they, too, were
absorbed in thought.
Accompanying Dolores to the room which Miss Martha had that day given
the little girl for her own, they watched her unpack the satchel and
showed kindly interest in the few keepsakes she possessed, which had
belonged to her father. Viewing the faded photograph of the latter,
they could trace in Dolores’ beautiful face a distinct likeness to the
handsome photographed features.
“Old Rosita could teach us a lesson in neatness,” Patsy said to Bee as
they entered their own room. “Emily was so busy, I told her we’d fix up
our room to-day. We might as well move the table back to the center of
the room. The ghost won’t walk ever again.”
“Come on, then. I’ll help you.”
Tossing her hat on the bed, Bee crossed the room and took hold with
both hands of one end of the heavy mahogany center table. As she stood
waiting for Patsy to come to her, her hands played absently along the
table’s edge.
“Coming in a minute,” called Patsy, who had stopped to retie her white
buckskin Oxford.
“Oh!”
Bee gave a sharp little scream. She had felt the wood move under her
straying fingers. Something suddenly shot out from the table end. Sheer
surprise caused her to take a stumbling backward step.
“Patsy, look here!” she cried out shrilly.
Instantly Patsy left off tying her shoelace and obeyed the call in a
hurry. What she saw was sufficiently amazing to warrant her haste.
While Mabel had spent long hours of patient search for a secret drawer
in the old desk, Bee had come upon one unawares.