AN ALARM
"I will go to Lamberton this afternoon," declared Mrs. Lewis, after
having conferred with Cora and Jack. "I know a man there who was a
great friend of my husband. He told me to come to him any time I
needed advice, and he is a prominent lawyer. I have never troubled
him--had no good cause to until now."
"I think that would be a good plan," Jack agreed. "I fancy as soon as
we come down on those fellows good and hard, they will be forced to
show their hand."
So it was arranged that Mrs. Lewis should go to the town, some
twenty-five miles away.
"And Freda," she said, "don't worry if I am not back until the last
train, for if he should happen to be in New York I will wait for him."
"Be careful of that cut in the old road," Freda warned. "Mother, you
know it is always dark through there, even in broad daylight, and
after dark it is pitchy."
"I can't get any train until one o'clock," went on Mrs. Lewis, "so,
Freda, we will hurry back to the bungalow and leave everything ready
for tea. We can prepare things while the girls are lunching."
"Now, you needn't do anything of the kind," objected Cora, "we girls
can well enough take care of ourselves once in a while. Why, Mrs.
Lewis, you have us all spoiled. We are supposed to do most of our own
housekeeping in Summer camp, you know."
"Indeed, you do that now," returned Mrs. Lewis, who was more than
grateful for the opportunity for work that Cora had afforded to her.
"I like housekeeping when there is someone to keep for."
"You had Freda," Jack reminded her.
"And she wouldn't let me do enough to keep in practice," replied Mrs.
Lewis. "Here we are, and the young ladies are stringing beans!"
"Now that is what I call sweet of you," Jack observed as he greeted
the four girls, all seated around a low porch table with knives and
beans plying from basket to pan. "Who told you we were coming to
dine?"
"You positively are not, Brother Jack," Cora declared. "You boys think
our place is an elastic delicatessen. Why, we never know whether we
are going to have enough for another meal or not, and we can't go to
the point again to-day."
"All right, Little Sister. If you have the heart to eat good string
beans from old Henry's garden, and know that your brother is starving
for a single spoonful, just go ahead. They will rest heavy on your
heart, though. I warn you."
"You may help!" offered Lottie. "Just take that paper bag and scoop up
the ends. Bess spilled them."
"I absolutely refuse," replied Jack, haughtily, "to be a scraper-up
for such mean people. No, sir! I have just been manicured," and he
gazed lovingly at his much-neglected hands.
"It does seem as if all we do is to get ready to eat and then eat,"
said Belle with a sigh. "I would never keep house for myself if I
starved. At least, I would manage on fewer meals. We have only been to
the point since breakfast and now it is time to eat again."
Cora had gone in with Freda and Mrs. Lewis and very soon afterward
luncheon was announced--the beans were laid over for the evening meal.
Jack stayed, of course, and wondered (so he said) why the other
fellows did not come in search of him.
An hour or two later Mrs. Lewis hurried off to the little station,
after promising Freda that she would be most careful of the dark road
known as the "Cut."
"For, Mother dear," warned Freda, "I do believe those land sharks
would do almost anything to scare the information out of us. They have
threatened to have it at any cost, you know."
"Oh! I am surprised at you being so nervous, dear," replied the
mother, kissing Freda reassuringly. "I never felt less nervous. In
fact, I think now things will soon be righted. Good-bye, dear. And
have a good time with your friends."
Freda watched the little woman step lightly away over the white path.
Then, with a sigh, she turned back to the bungalow.
"Freda! Freda!" called Bess. "You have not eaten yet, and I'm to do
the dishes. Hurry this minute and just fill up! I must be finished in
time for a nap, for I am nearly dead."
Freda did eat, though somehow she felt unusually depressed. Even
Cora's encouraging words, given into Freda's ear when no one else was
at hand, did not seem to cheer her.
"Just come down to the bay and go out with me," urged Cora. "I want to
try the boat with the new control, and I don't want to go out alone!"
"Of course I will go with you," assented Freda. "I have only to change
my blouse."
The motor trip was delightful. The _Chelton_ seemed to have missed the
guiding hand of its fair owner, for while the new piece of mechanism
was being put in Cora had not been using the boat.
"How different from the one we rode in this morning," Freda remarked.
"I always feel as if something were going to explode when I sit near a
noise such as that old engine made. I wonder that a big house like the
Laurel can keep such a tub."
"Guests are always glad to get on the water," answered Cora, "and I
suppose they are not particular as long as they do not have to pay
extra for the sail. Most of the hotels down here hire out their
launches, I believe."
They headed straight for the island, and then ran around it to come
back on the east shore. In many of the passing boats were young
friends of Cora, and all sorts of messages were shouted back and
forth.
"I guess I had better go in early," Cora remarked, "as we really have
not decided on this evening's plans. Some want the hop and others want
the sail."
"And I have a lot to do, too," Freda said. "Mother and I have to take
so much time from what we would like to do for you girls."
Cora protested against this, of course, declaring that the girls never
had such help before, and regretting that Freda should take the matter
so seriously.
"I cannot get over the attempt to rob Denny," Cora went on, as they
neared the bungalow. "I am glad they chose a time when he was not
around, for he would certainly fight. He thinks he has the same
strength he enjoyed years ago, and I hate to think what might have
happened had he met those fellows."
"Wasn't it awful?" commented Freda. "And to think that it must have
been on our account, for I am convinced that those men were searching
for papers they believe Denny has."
"No doubt about it," said Cora. "But he has none; has he?"
"He has never mentioned such a thing, and with us worrying as we are,
I am sure that if he had any of our papers he would show them to
mother. I know my grandfather trusted him more than he even trusted my
father, his own son; but that is easy to understand, for Denny had
settled for life here, near the property, while father was likely to
go to any part of the world, had he lived. He always wanted to
travel."
"This is a splendid afternoon to write letters," Cora remarked, "and I
owe a very long one to mother. That, at least, I will get off on the
last mail."
"I have some to write, too," Freda rejoined. "I had that very task in
mind. I have to write to those 'in-laws' I interviewed last week. They
will think I am very ungrateful not to have written since my return.
So long," she called out cheerily. "I hope when mother comes back we
will all have cause to rejoice. That friend of father's is a very good
lawyer."
"But he may not be able to say much until he has had a chance to look
into the case," said prudent Cora. "We must not expect results so
soon."
"Oh, I do," persisted Freda. "I know when he hears all that mother has
to tell him he will be able to say something quite definite."
So the girls parted, Cora to go to her letter writing, and Freda to
hers. It seemed the entire household at the Mote was very busy that
afternoon, some resting for the evening, others arranging the fussy
trifles so important to young girls.
It was getting dark when Freda came out at the side porch and looked
anxiously down the road.
"Mother should have come on that train," she told herself. Then she
waited to hear the train pass at the second crossing. "She would be on
her way up now if she came," Freda reflected, "I'll get my things on
and go to meet her."
Coming down the stairs she called Cora, but receiving no reply she did
not wait to find her. She expected to be gone only a few minutes and
it was not worth while to wait to tell Cora where she was going.
The dusk came down quickly. Even as Freda passed under the big elm
tree she could not see the moss at its trunk.
She hastened on, and was almost startled into a scream as she heard a
noise. It was but the tinkle of a bell.
"Someone on a bicycle!" exclaimed Freda, in relief.
The bell tinkled again, and through an opening in the trees she caught
a glimpse of the messenger boy from the railroad station. He saw her
and called:
"A message for you!"
"A message for me?" she repeated in surprise. "Who can it be from?" At
once she thought of her mother.
"I don't know," answered the lad. "Mr. Burke, at the station, took it
over the telephone, and wrote it out. Here it is," and he held up an
envelope. "It's all paid, and you don't have to sign the book; it
isn't a regular telegram."
With trembling fingers Freda tore open the envelope. There was a
single slip of paper inside and on it was written in the hand of the
station agent:
"If you would do your mother a service come to Wickford Junction at
once."
* * * * *
"Wickford Junction!" gasped Freda, as the messenger boy rode away.
"Why, how did mother get there? That's in the opposite direction from
Lamberton. Oh, there must have been some accident, and she has been
taken there! I must go to her!"
Hastily Freda looked in her purse. She had barely money enough for the
ticket, but she would go. On eager and anxious feet she sped toward
the railroad depot. It was getting much darker.
"Oh, Mr. Burke!" Freda gasped, when she saw the agent behind his
little wicket gate, "I've got to go to Wickford Junction. Mother is
there."
"She is, Freda? Why I sold her a ticket to Lamberton this morning."
"I know. But there must have been some accident. I just got a message
from Wickford Junction."
"I know, for I wrote it down. The person wouldn't give any name, but
I'm sure it wasn't your mother."
"No, it couldn't have been! She's hurt!"
"Hurt?"
"Well, of course I'm not sure, but I fear she is. She must have told
someone to send it. I've got to go. How much is a ticket?"
"Eighty-five cents. The train's due now. There she comes," he added,
as a distant whistle sounded.
Freda had barely time to get her ticket and hurry aboard.
"Don't worry," the agent called out to her. "There hasn't been any
accident, or I'd have heard of it."
But Freda did worry. All the way in the train she was a prey to
nervous fears, and when the Junction was finally reached she was
hardly able to keep up.
But there was no sign of an accident, and her mother was not there
when she alighted--the only passenger to get off.
Wickford Junction was hardly more than a flag station, and there was
an agent there only part of the time. He was not there now, but in the
dingy waiting room, where Freda went to make inquiries, she found a
shabbily dressed woman.
"Are you Freda Lewis?" the latter asked, starting forward.
"Yes, I am. But how did you know? Where is my mother? Did you send me
a message? Oh, tell me quickly, please!"
"Now, dearie, don't get excited," soothed the woman in accents that
only made Freda worry more. "It will be all right. I sent for you to
come here because I wanted to have a chance to talk to you alone. Now
if you'll sit down----"
"What do you mean?" asked Freda, quickly. "I don't know you. What do
you want?"
"Just to have a little talk with you. I thought it better to take this
means than to go to your house. Sit down. You and your mother are
trying to establish a claim to some property; aren't you?"
"Yes, that is well known. But what do you----"
"Never mind about that. I will tell you all in due time. Have you any
papers to prove your claim?"
"Any papers?" asked Freda, suspiciously.
"Yes--deeds, mortgages or the like. I have studied law, and I may be
able to help you. I have had experience in many disputed claims."
"We don't know where----" Freda was about to say that they did not
know where the papers were, when she thought better of it. Was it
right to confide thus in a stranger?
"Now, dearie, tell me everything," said the woman. "You can trust me.
Or, better still, if you will come with me to the country hotel where
I am stopping we will not be disturbed. Better come with me," and in
her eagerness she caught Freda by the arm.
"No, no! I'll not go!" gasped the girl. "I want to find my mother. Who
are you, and why do you ask me these questions? Did you send me that
false message? What was your purpose in so deceiving me?"
"I did not deceive you!" replied the woman, sharply. "It was for the
good of your mother that I asked you to meet me here. I will explain
all to you later, but not here. I can do you good. Only trust me. Come
with me. I have a carriage waiting outside."
Again she caught Freda's arm.
Then the harassed and nervous girl burst into tears. A kindly-faced
hack driver, waiting outside in the hope of having some belated
traveler hire him, heard. Dick Bently was a benevolent sort of chap,
with daughters of his own. Hearing a girl crying he went into the
depot.
"What's the matter, Miss?" he asked, and his tone was reassuring.
"Oh, it's my mother!" gasped Freda. "She isn't here, and this--this
person sent me a message----"
"It was for your good, my dear," interrupted the strange woman, with
an evil smile. "I'm trying to settle that property matter for you, my
dearie!"
"Who are you, anyhow?" asked Dick belligerently. He did not like the
appearance of the woman, nor her tone.
"It is not necessary for me to tell you anything," she replied, with
assumed dignity. "If I am not wanted, I will go."
"Maybe it would be better," said the hackman. "Now, can I help you,
young lady?" he asked kindly, as the woman hurried off.
"I only want to go home to Crystal Bay, and to my mother," said Freda,
and she briefly explained the circumstances.
"Well, it's too bad, but I'm afraid you can't get back to Crystal Bay
to-night," declared the hackman. "The last train has gone."
"The last train gone!" gasped Freda. "Oh, what am I to do?"
"Now don't you worry a mite," replied Dick. "I'll just take you home
to my wife, and she'll look after you. Don't you worry," and, after
some persuasion he prevailed on Freda to go in his ramshackle rig to
his home, where she was kindly received by his wife.
"I'll go back to the station to meet the express that sometimes stops
at the Junction," explained Dick, "and, Miss, if there come any
inquiries for you I'll tell where you are. But you'll have to stay
with us till mornin', I reckon."
Freda's mind was easier now, but she could not imagine what had been
the object of the strange woman, nor why she had sent the telegram.
Meanwhile, back in the bungalow, there was much alarm when Freda was
missed. And when her mother came home safely, and found her daughter
gone, she almost collapsed.
"Where can she have gone?" she wailed.
Hasty inquiries were made, and one of the boatmen told of having seen
Freda start out through the woods, and meet the station messenger boy.
After that it was easy to trace her.
Mr. Burke told of the 'phone message, and of having seen Freda board
the train for the Junction.
And then a new difficulty arose. There was no train to the Junction
that night; but Mrs. Lewis was in such a state that nothing short of a
visit to the place would satisfy her. There was no telephone available
then, the Junction station being closed.
Cora solved the trouble.
"We can go to Hartford in our boat," she said, "and from there it is
only a short trip to the Junction. We could hire an auto."
This was done. In the _Chelton_, the motor girls and the boys went to
Hartford, making good time in getting there. A neighbor came over to
the bungalow to stay with Mrs. Lewis, who grew more alarmed as the
night deepened.
The trip by auto, which was taken only by Jack, Cora and the
chauffeur, was marked by the mishap of a blown-out tire, but that was
all. When the Junction was finally reached, there, true to his
promise, was the hackman, and to Cora's excited inquiries he gave
reassuring answers.
Yes, Freda was all right, and safe at his house. He directed Jack and
Cora there, and soon all were reunited. Then explanations were
offered, Freda's fears about her mother were quieted, and the trip
back to Hartford made, where the motor boat party was anxiously
waiting.
"And now for the bungalow!" sighed Cora, as she took her place at the
familiar wheel. A little later it was reached, and mother and daughter
were together again telling their stories, and speculating much about
Freda's strange message and the mysterious woman. But the puzzle could
not be solved.