A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE
As they walked along the hard, glistening beach, Nann glanced over the
shimmering water at the gray, forbidding-looking island in the distance,
almost as though she thought that the Phantom Yacht might again be seen
sailing toward the place where the dock had been. “Poor Darlina,” she
said turning toward the others, “how I do hope that she is happy now.”
“Cain’t no one tell as to that, I reckon,” Gib commented, when Dories
asked: “Gibralter, how long ago did all this happen? How old would that
girl and boy be now?”
“Pa was speakin’ o’ that ’long about last week,” was the reply. “He
reckoned ’twas ten year since the Phantom Yacht sailed off agin with the
mother and the two little uns. That’d make the boy, Pa said, about
nineteen year old he cal’lated, an’ the wee girl about fifteen.”
“Then little Darlina would be about our age,” Dories commented.
“Why do you think that her name would be the same as her mother’s?” Nann
queried.
“O, just because it is odd and pretty,” was Dories’ reason. Then,
stepping more spryly, she said: “I do hope Aunt Jane has not been awake
long, fretting for her breakfast. We’ve been gone over two hours I do
believe.”
“Gee!” Gib exclaimed, looking around for his horse. “I’ll have ter gallop
as fast as the ol’ colonel did that thar night I was tellin’ yo’ about or
Pa’ll be in my wool. I’d ought to’ve had the milkin’ done this hour past.
So long!” he added, bolting suddenly between two of the boarded-up
cottages they were passing. “Thar’s my ol’ steed out by the marsh,” he
called back to them.
The girls entered the kitchen very quietly and tiptoed through the
living-room hoping that their elderly hostess had not yet awakened, but a
querulous voice was calling: “Dories, is that you? Why can’t you be more
quiet? I’ve heard you prowling around this house for the past hour. Going
up and down those outside stairs. I should think you would know that I
want quiet. I came here to rest my nerves. Bring my coffee at once.”
“Yes, Aunt Jane,” the girl meekly replied. Then, darting back to the
kitchen, she whispered, her eyes wide and startled, “Nann, somebody has
been in this house while we’ve been away. I do believe it was that—that
person we saw at midnight carrying a lantern. Aunt Jane has heard
footsteps creaking up and down the stairs to our room.”
Nann’s expression was very strange. Instead of replying she held out a
small piece of crumpled paper. “I just ran up to the loft to get my
apron,” she said, “and I found this lying in the middle of our bed.”
On the paper was written in small red letters: “In thirteen days you
shall know all.”
“I have nine minds to tell Aunt Jane that the cabin must be haunted and
that we ought to leave for Boston this very day,” Dories said, but her
companion detained her.
“Don’t, Dori,” she implored. “I’m sure that there is nothing that will
harm us, for pray, why should anyone want to? And I’m simply wild to
know, well, just ever so many things. Who prowls about at midnight
carrying a lighted lantern, what he is hunting for, who left this
crumpled paper on our bed, and what we are to know in thirteen days; but,
first of all, I want to find a way to enter that old ruin.”
Dories sank down on a kitchen chair. “Nann Sibbett,” she gasped, “I
believe that you are absolutely the only girl in this whole world who is
without fear. Well,” more resignedly, “if you aren’t afraid, I’ll try not
to be.” Then, springing up, she added, for the querulous voice had again
called: “Yes, Aunt Jane, I’ll bring your coffee soon.” Turning to Nann,
she added: “We ought to have a calendar so that we could count the days.”
“I guess we won’t need to.” Nann was making a fire in the stove as she
spoke. “More than likely the spook will count them for us. There, isn’t
that a jolly fire? Polly, put the kettle on, and we’ll soon have coffee.”
Dories, being the “Polly” her friend was addressing, announced that she
was ravenously hungry after their long walk and climb and that she was
going to have bacon and eggs. Nann said merrily, “Double the order.”
Then, while Dories was preparing the menu, she said softly: “Nann,
doesn’t it seem queer to you that Great-Aunt Jane can live on nothing but
toast and tea? Of course,” she amended, “this morning she wishes toast
and coffee, but she surely ought to eat more than that, shouldn’t you
think?”
“She would if she got out in this bracing sea air, but lying abed is
different. One doesn’t get so hungry.” Nann was setting the kitchen table
for two as she talked. After the old woman’s tray had been carried to her
bedside, Dories and Nann ate ravenously of the plain, but tempting, fare
which they had cooked for themselves. Nann laughed merrily. “This
certainly is a lark,” she exclaimed. “I never before had such a good
time. I’ve always been crazy to read mystery stories and here we are
living one.”
Dories shrugged. “I’m inclined to think that I’d rather read about spooks
than meet them,” she remarked as she rose and prepared to wash the
dishes.
When the kitchen had been tidied, the two girls went into the sun-flooded
living-room, and began to make it look more homelike. The dust covers
were removed from the comfortable wicker chairs and the pictures, that
had been turned to face the walls while the cabin was unoccupied, were
dusted and straightened.
“Now, let’s take a run along the beach and gather a nice lot of drift
wood,” Nann suggested. “You know Gibralter told us that this is the time
of year when the first winter storm is likely to arrive.”
Dories shuddered. “I hope it won’t be like the one that wrecked Colonel
Wadbury’s house eight years ago. If it were, it might undermine all of
these cabins, and, how pray, could we escape if the road was under
water?”
“Oh, that isn’t likely to happen,” Nann said comfortingly. “Our beach is
higher than that lowland. It it does, we’d find a way out, but, Dories,
please don’t be imagining things. We have enough mystery to puzzle us
without conjuring up frightful catastrophes that probably never will
happen.”
Dories stopped at her aunt’s door to tell her their plans, but the old
woman was either asleep or feined slumber, and so, tiptoeing that she
might not disturb her, the girl went out on the beach, where Nann awaited
her. They were hatless, and as the sun had mounted higher, even the
bright colored sweater-coats had been discarded.
“It’s such a perfect Indian summer day,” Nann said. “I don’t even see a
tiny, misty cloud.” As she spoke, she shaded her eyes with one hand and
scanned the horizon.
“Isn’t the island clear? Even that fog bank that we saw early this
morning has melted away.” Then, whirling about, Dories inquired, “Nann,
if we should see something white coming around that bleak gray island,
what do you think it would be?”
“Why, the Phantom Yacht, of course.”
“What would you do, if it were?”
“I don’t know, Dori. I hadn’t even thought of the coming of that boat as
a possibility, and yet—” Nann turned a glowing face, “I don’t know why it
might not happen. That little woman, for the sake of her children, might
try a second time to win her father’s forgiveness. If she came, what a
desolate homecoming it would be; the old house in ruin and the fate of
her father unknown.”
For a moment the two girls stood silent. A gentle sea breeze blew their
sport skirts about them. They watched the island with shaded eyes as
though they really expected the yacht to appear. Then Nann laughed, and
leaping along the beach, she confessed: “I know that I’ll keep watching
for the return of the Phantom Yacht just all of the while. The first
thing in the morning and the last thing at night.” Then, as she picked up
a piece of whitening driftwood, she asked, “Dori, would you rather have
the glistening white yacht appear in the sunrise or in the moonlight?”
Dories had darted for another piece of wood higher up the warm beach,
but, on returning, she replied: “Oh, I don’t know; either way would make
a beautiful picture, I should think.” Then, after picking up another
piece, she added: “I’d like to meet that pretty gold and white girl,
wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe we will,” Nann commented, then sang out: “Do look, Dori, over by
the point of rocks, there is ever so much driftwood. I believe that will
be enough to fill our wood shed if we carry it all in. I’ve always heard
that there are such pretty colors in the flames when driftwood burns.”
The girls worked for a while carrying the wood to the shed; then they
climbed up on the rocks to rest, but not high enough to see the old ruin.
When at length the sun was at the zenith, they went indoors to prepare
lunch, and again the old woman asked only for toast and tea.
After a leisurely noon hour, the girls returned to their task; there
really being nothing else that they wanted to do, and, as Nann suggested,
if the rains came they would be well prepared. For a time they rested,
lying full length on the warm sand, and so it was not until late
afternoon that they had carried in all of the driftwood they could find.
“Goodness!” Dories exclaimed, shudderingly, as she looked down at her
last armful. “Doesn’t it make you feel queer to know that this wood is
probably the broken-up skeleton of a ship that has been wrecked at sea?”
“I suppose that is true,” was the thoughtful response. They had started
for the cabin, and a late afternoon fog was drifting in.
Suddenly Nann paused and stared at the one window in the loft that faced
the sea. Her expression was more puzzled than fearful. For one brief
second she had seen a white object pass that window. Dories turned to ask
why her friend had delayed. Nann, not wishing to frighten the more timid
girl, stooped to pick up a piece of driftwood that had slipped from her
arms.
“I’m coming, dear,” she said.
On reaching the cabin, Nann went at once to the room of the elderly
woman, who had told them in the morning that she intended to remain in
bed for one week and be waited on. There she was, her deeply-set dark
eyes watching the door when Nann opened it and instantly she began to
complain: “I do wish you girls wouldn’t go up and down those outside
stairs any oftener than you have to. They creaked so about ten minutes
ago, they woke me right up.” Then she added, “Please tell Dories to bring
me my tea at once.”
Nann returned to the kitchen truly puzzled. It was always when they were
away from the cabin that the aunt heard someone going up and down the
outside stairway. What could it mean? To Dories she said, in so calm a
voice that suspicion was not aroused in the heart of her friend, “While
you prepare the tea for your aunt, I’ll go up to the loft room and make
our bed before dark.”
Dories had said truly, Nann Sibbett seemed to be a girl without fear.