Billie, having unburdened her mind, felt much happier. The whole
situation had come about of course by her own careless words spoken in
anger, but after all she could hardly be called a responsible party to
the transaction, a phrase which sounded very legal to her. She
remembered once her father had playfully called her "a little accessory
before the fact," when she had induced him to take her on a foolish
excursion that had ended in disaster. Certainly it all sounded very much
like a romantic tale, and she did hope it would have a happy ending, but
no amount of hopefulness could keep that little entering-wedge of
anxiety from finding its way into her mind.
"Billie, is this the road to the left?" asked Edward Paxton, suddenly.
Billie had just time to say she thought it was the road, they had never
been over it but once and then at night, when Mary and Nancy pounced
upon her.
"We know the secret," they whispered, pointing to Edward.
"You've guessed," she replied, relieved that she was no longer burdened
with a secret she had longed to discuss with her friends. And they did
discuss it in low voices from every point of view. It was impossible to
explain Edward l'Estrange's mysterious telephone message. It did look
very much as though he had taken a mean advantage, but Billie believed
in him and so did the other two girls.
So absorbed were these young people in their whispered conversations,
Edward and Elinor on the front seat and the others on the back, that
they had not noticed that the road they had taken was rapidly
degenerating from a hard beaten highway into a sandy trail.
The land about them had a lonely, uninhabited look. The stillness was
oppressive. Almost imperceptibly, the few sparse palm trees and scraggy
pines which stood far apart like people on the outskirts of a crowd,
began to grow more closely together in little friendly groups. Then the
groups joined and became companies and the companies a multitude, and
the multitude a vast legion whose branches interlocked so closely as to
form a roof over their heads.
It was hard pulling along the deep sandy ruts, but the Comet uttered no
complaints until suddenly with a groan that was almost human, his wheels
sank hub-high in the sand and he could go no more.
"For heaven's sake," cried Billie, "this can't be the road to
Virginia's."
The motor had stopped whirring and the place was as still as death.
They climbed out of the car and Edward, with his hands in his pockets,
stood looking gravely at the half-sunken wheels.
"I'm afraid I've got you into a deuced lot of trouble," he exclaimed
remorsefully. "I ought to have been watching the road instead of
talking. I'm a poor chauffeur."
Billie secretly thought he was and she wished with all her heart that
she had run the car that morning. But chauffeurs, like professional
singers, are apt to criticise each other, and Billie had great
confidence in her powers as engineer of the Comet.
"Now we have relieved him of our weight, maybe he'll pull out," said
hopeful Mary, pointing to the motor. "Why don't you start him up and
see?"
"Crank him up, Edward," called Billie, jumping into her own particular
seat at the wheel. Somehow she never could feel at home in the other
seats.
The machinery began to whir and the poor Comet strained and tugged until
his one "all-seeing eye," as the girls had called it, was almost
starting from its socket and his loyal engine heart was nigh to bursting
its bonds.
"It's no good breaking a blood vessel, you poor old dear," exclaimed
Billie, patting the red cushion beside her as she stopped the motor.
"Just you wait and we'll see if we can't find another way out of this
hole."
The others laughed. It was always funny to hear their friend talk to her
machine as if a heart really did beat in his throbbing mechanism. But
after all, it wasn't a joking matter when they began to look about them.
It seemed as if the only thing to do was to abandon the Comet and walk
back to the main road. But Billie was not one to give up so easily, and
before she would consent to a general retreat, her friends knew she
would try everything she could think of to release the machine.
"I suppose we'll have to foot it," said Edward with a sigh, glancing at
his watch.
Billie flushed. Somehow this lazy boy irritated her. She had been
brought up by a man who thought nothing of spanning a great chasm with a
bridge or tunneling through mountains for his railroads. There was
something very like contempt in her heart for this young man who played
tunes on the piano and thought chiefly of his own health.
"Foot it, indeed!" she exclaimed, "and leave the Comet here to be
swallowed in quicksands?"
"But it isn't really that, you know," he answered. "Besides, what can we
do? We can't push the thing out and this sun is awfully hot."
"You don't mean to say you're going to give up without a struggle?"
cried Nancy.
Even Elinor, who was Edward's champion at all times, was not pleased.
"If you want to watch us work, you can," went on Billie, making a great
effort not to be too rude.
Edward's face fairly burned with shame.
"I--I didn't mean that," he answered. "Of course, I'll do anything you
say. I was only thinking of you."
"He was not," thought Billie. "He was thinking of his own delicate
constitution."
But she did not voice her thoughts and tried to swallow her indignation.
Never had she met anything in trousers so utterly lacking in spirit.
Having decided to remain and see the Comet through, the question was
what would they do? Billie sat down on the ground and began to think.
Finally Edward approached her almost timidly and volunteered a
suggestion.
"I saw an ox cart stalled in some mud once, in England, and they got it
out with some boards and a cross log. I think we could manage this if we
could find the boards."
"But where can we get any boards?" asked Elinor hopelessly.
No one could answer this difficult question, and they were beginning to
think that after all, they would have to submit to the easiest way and
foot it back to the main road, several miles away.
"A road is obliged to lead somewhere," said Mary Price at last. "Else
how did it happen to be at all? Why not 'foot it,' as Edward calls it,
down this path a bit and see what we come to?"
Billie, already ashamed of the temper she had just displayed for the
second time in her acquaintance with Edward, jumped up.
"Wise little Mary," she exclaimed, "I think that would be a splendid
idea."
"We'll probably be eaten up by boa constrictors," said Nancy with a
groan, "but come ahead. They'd be just as vicious here as farther on, I
suppose."
"And tarantulas and scorpions," said Elinor, following the others.
As they ran along, they noticed the trail gradually narrowed into a path
as if a wagon were in the habit of coming to a sudden stop and the
driver got out and walked the rest of the way.
The outskirts of the forest had been as still as the entrance to a tomb.
The interior was filled with noises. The songs of the wild birds, the
humming of insects, all kinds of inexplicable cracklings and creakings,
as if unseen things were creeping about.
"Ugh," exclaimed Nancy. "I'm frightened. Please let's go back."
"Oh, oh, oh!" shrieked Elinor, wringing her hands.
A long green snake had wriggled across the path almost over the toe of
her shoe in its haste to hide itself in the undergrowth.
"Oh, Elinor," said Billie, filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry. I
remember now how you loathe snakes. Do let's go back."
"Haloo-o-o," called Edward, who had run on ahead, "you were right, Mary.
Roads must lead to something."
Filled with curiosity, in spite of their horror of the creeping,
crawling things they felt sure the forest was alive with, they hastened
down the path which turned abruptly to the right, where a clearing had
been made, in the middle of which stood a little wooden shack of the
most primitive character, but still with a certain individual look as if
the one who had erected it must have put into it some of his own
personality.
And why was it that this crude little hut in the forest should have
reminded Edward of an English cottage?
The door opened straight on the ground and from under the low
overhanging roof peeped one little window. A jasmine vine had been
trained against the wall of the house and a hedge of acacia bushes
formed a sort of peaceful barrier between the clearing and the advancing
hosts of giant pine trees.
The door was open and they walked in boldly.
Inside were a few pieces of furniture, a cot, an old table and a chair.
"This must be a hermit's house," said Edward, who had forgotten all
about himself in the excitement and interest of the adventure.
"He must be dead or something, then," observed Nancy, looking about the
room curiously. "Because I can see with half an eye that no one has
lived here for some time."
"It's a snug little place," said Elinor. "It's almost cosy with this
solid wall of green around it. Now, who do you suppose lived here and
why did he do it?"
"He must have had some very good reason for hiding himself in this
forest," put in Billie, "but I hope if he is still living, he won't
begrudge us a few planks from his dwelling, and if he's dead his spirit
won't rise up and haunt us for disturbing his earthly dwelling place."
"Look," cried Mary, who had been standing in the doorway.
"What is it?" demanded the others.
"I'm almost sure I saw some one. It was a man. He stood out against the
green just for an instant. There was something white on his head like a
bandage or a handkerchief."
"Which way?" they asked, hurrying into the yard and scanning the green
wall on all sides.
"He seemed to be over there, but I am not sure. Perhaps I just imagined
it after all."
"Looking through the woods like this I could imagine I saw almost
anything," said Billie, making a frame of her hands and peering into the
forest. "People and animals and things."
Here and there a golden sunbeam, slanting through the foliage, cast a
flickering, dancing shadow on the trunks of the trees.
"They do look like people," said Mary thoughtfully, gazing at the
multitude of trees which seemed to be elbowing and jostling each other
for first place. Standing aloof among them was that slim dandy, the
magnolia, his black trunk gleaming richly, like a gentleman's frock
coat. Next came the rusty gray trunk of the vagabond pine which wanders
like a Gypsy into all lands; and beside him, like a good-natured
comrade, grew the palm, spreading his fan-shaped leaves in every
direction, like so many friendly hands outstretched in welcome.
Suddenly a bird, flying quite low, came so close to Elinor's face that
she almost fell backwards. Perched on a corner of the roof he regarded
them with two bright beady eyes, as a singer standing behind the
footlights might take stock of his audience. Then swelling out his
little bosom and throwing back his head, he began to sing.
"It's Dick, the mocking bird," whispered Elinor. "I'm certain of it. You
see, he's almost tame."