SOMETHING AHEAD
Pearl Harrod was now busily talking with Carrie Poole again; she had
probably forgotten about Rosa Wildwood for the time being. But Ruth
stopped at her seat—the seat directly behind that occupied by the two
strangers.
“You asked about Rosa, Pearl?” said Ruth, speaking loudly enough, she
was sure, for the girl in front to hear.
“Oh, hello! don’t spill that water again, Ruthie,” laughed Pearl.
“Yes. I asked if she were coming down to the Cove!”
“Yes. Rosa Wildwood expects to come next week. I am going to find her
a boarding place.”
Ruth spoke very distinctly, and she kept her eyes fastened upon the
back of the strange girl’s head. But the latter gave no sign of having
heard—at least, she appeared not to be interested in the name which
had before so startled her.
“I don’t see how the poor girl can afford it,” Carrie Poole said, not
unkindly. “They say she and her father are very poor.”
“Mr. Bob Wildwood works regularly. He doesn’t drink any more,” Ruth
explained, intentionally speaking so that those in the forward seat
could hear if they wished to listen.
“Rosa is an awfully sweet girl,” said Carrie.
“I love that little Southern drawl of hers!” cried Pearl. “She says
‘Ah reckon so’ in just the _cunningest_ way!”
“She is very frail,” Ruth continued, clearly. “I was afraid she would
break down before the school term closed. Now it has been arranged for
her to stay at Pleasant Cove until she gains strength. Dr. Forsythe
says it will do her a world of good.”
“We’ll give her a good time, all right,” declared Pearl. “Wish we
could have her with us——”
“Not at the bungalow,” said Ruth. “Nor at the hotel. We want a quiet
place for her. I shall find it.”
Not a sign did the girl in front give that she heard any of this
conversation. Yet Ruth believed there was a curious intentness in her
manner—she held her head very still as though she were secretly
listening, while apparently giving all her attention to what the train
passed.
“What does your uncle call his bungalow—where we shall stop?” asked
Ruth of Pearl.
“Why, the Spoondrift—don’t you remember? It’s at this end of the
cove, near the river, and we have bathing rights on the shore. It’s a
fine place. You’ll _love_ it, Ruth Kenway.”
“I expect to,” said Ruth, seriously. “And you were very kind to ask me
to stay two whole weeks with you,” and Ruth passed on.
She had intentionally said enough so that, if the strange girl _were_
listening, she would learn just where Ruth could be found at Pleasant
Cove.
For the Corner House girl felt that the dark beauty with the Gypsy
woman held some keen interest in Rosa Wildwood. Of course—right at
the start—the story of Rosa’s lost sister, June, had come into Ruth’s
mind.
Yet, as the Corner House girl looked at the stranger, she could not
say truthfully that it was Rosa of whom _this_ girl reminded her. Ruth
conjured before her mind’s eye the fair, delicate beauty of Bob
Wildwood’s daughter; the two girls possessed no feature in common—and
in complexion they were, of course, diametrically opposed.
This girl was dark enough and savage enough looking to be a Gypsy.
Ruth scouted the idea that she might be Juniper Wildwood, who had run
away with a traveling “medicine man” and his wife.
Nevertheless, Ruth believed that the strange girl must know something
about the lost June Wildwood. She had been startled when Rosa’s name
was mentioned. The Corner House girl was deeply interested in the
affair; but at present she did not want to take anybody into her
confidence about it—not even Agnes.
The girls did not remain quietly in their seats, by any manner of
means. First there was a crowd blocking the aisle in one part of the
car, then in another. Agnes was in and out of her seat half a dozen
times between stations. The heat and dust was ignored as the girls
shouted pleasantries back and forth; the air was vibrant with
laughter.
“I’m just as anxious to see the ocean as I can be,” declared Lucy
Poole who, like the Corner House girls, had never been to Pleasant
Cove before.
“Oh, dear me!” scoffed her cousin Carrie. “It’s only a big, big pond!
Our frog pond at home looks like a piece of the ocean—when it’s
calm.”
The others laughed and Pearl said: “Guess Lucy wants to see Old Ocean
in its might, eh? Big storm, whales, great ships——”
“A sea serpent!” cried Agnes.
“Of course—if there is such a thing,” admitted Lucy. “A sea serpent
must be an awfully interesting sight.”
“There aren’t any more,” said Pearl. “Father Neptune’s all out of
stock.”
“I guess the sea serpent is something like the _snakes_ alcoholic
victims think they see,” proposed Carrie.
“Oh, no,” proclaimed Agnes. “Here’s what I read about the sea serpent:
“‘The old sea serpent used to rave
And fiercely roam about;
He hit a prohibition wave,
And that’s what knocked him out.’”
“‘Perils of the Deep!’” laughed Ruth. “But even if we don’t see
serpents in the ocean, I expect we’ll have plenty of adventures down
there at the shore.”
Which prophecy was strangely fulfilled.
The train reached Bloomingsburg about one o’clock, and was immediately
shifted to the single-tracked branch line that connected that small
city with Pleasant Cove. The speed of the train after leaving
Bloomingsburg was not great, for it was often held up for trains
coming from the shore to pass.
The adult passengers grew impatient and wearied. There were many
complaints, and the babies began to fret and cry. But our friends in
the last coach remained in a jolly and—for the most part—kindly
mood.
Trix Severn had taken her crowd into a forward coach. Her father
owning one of the big hotels at the Cove, the railroad company had
presented him with a sheaf of chair coupons. So, as Pearl Harrod
laughingly said, “Trix’s party was as swell as a wet sponge.”
“I don’t suppose any of that crowd at the Overlook House will talk to
_us_,” said Pearl. “Just the same, I guess I can show you girls a good
time at Spoondrift. Uncle always lets us do just as we like. He’s the
_dearest_ man.”
The train rattled on and on. The alternate pine forests and swamp
lands seemed interminable. Now and then they went through a cut, the
railroad bisecting a hickory ridge.
But soon there was a change in the air. When the cinders and dust did
not sift into the windows, there was a smell of salt marsh. The air
seemed suddenly cleaner. At one station where they stopped, a salt
creek came in, and there was a dock, and boats, and barrels of clams
and fish piled on the platform ready for the next up-train.
“Regular maritime smell——whew!” sighed Carrie Poole, holding her
nose delicately.
“Oh! The _whole_ of Pleasant Cove doesn’t smell like this, does it?”
demanded her cousin.
“Only the old part of it—the old village.”
“Well! that’s lucky,” said Lucy. “If this odor prevailed I should say
the place ought to be called _Un_-pleasant Cove.”
“How far are we from the jumping-off place?” demanded Agnes. “I’d like
to get out and run.”
Pearl stooped to look out under one of the drawn shades. “Why!” she
said, “there are only two more stops before we reach the Cove station.
It’s a winding way the railroad follows. But if we got off about here
and went right through those woods yonder, we’d reach the Spoondrift
bungalow in an hour. I’ve walked over here to Jumpertown many a time.”
“Jumpertown?”
“Yes. That’s what they called it before the real estate speculators
gave it the fancy name of ‘Ridgedale Station.’”
At that moment the train suddenly slowed down. The brakes grated upon
the wheels and everybody clung to the seats for support. One of the
brakemen ran through from the front and the girls clamored to know the
cause of the stoppage.
“Bridge down up front,” said the railroad employee. “Tide rose last
night and loosened the supports. We’ve got to wait.”
“Oh, dear me!” was the general wail. When they could get hold of the
conductor the girls demanded to know the length of time they would be
delayed.
“Can’t tell you, young ladies,” declared the man of the punch.
“There’s a repair gang at work on it now.”
“An hour?” demanded Pearl Harrod.
“Oh, longer than that,” the conductor assured her.
“But what shall we do? We want to get to the bungalow and air the
bedclothes, and all that, before dark,” she cried.
“Guess you’ll have to walk, then,” said the conductor, laughing, and
went away.
“That’s just what we’ll do,” Pearl said to her friends. “Can the
children walk three miles, Ruth?”
“Surely they can!” Agnes cried. “If they can’t, we’ll carry them.”
Ruth was doubtful of the wisdom of the move, but her opinion was not
asked.
“Come on! let’s get out quietly. We’ll fool all these other folks,”
said Pearl. “We’ll get to Pleasant Cove long before they do.”