REGGIE POSTS A LETTER
“I really think Bermuda is a rather jolly place, after all,” Reggie
Starr spoke in a tone of satisfaction, as he stretched himself
comfortably on the warm sand of the South Beach, and gazed lazily out
over the blue, blue water.
“It is pretty nice,” Bobby Campbell admitted, “especially the donkeys
and the swimming. The glass-bottomed boats are rather fun, too, but
still, I like the Adirondacks better, don’t you, Kathleen?”
It was Tuesday afternoon, and the two Campbells, Reggie and Nora, had
all come over to South Beach, chaperoned by Sarah, and Marie, the
nurse of Mrs. Allen’s two-year-old baby, who was also of the party.
Three donkey carts had been secured for the occasion, and the ride to
the beach had been a very pleasant one. And now they were comfortably
established on the sand, the donkeys having been tied in the shade to
await their return, while the drivers, three small Bermudian boys, went
for a swim. At Bobby’s question, Nora looked up with a start from the
sand fort she was building for the small Percy Allen, who had taken a
sudden and violent fancy to “Tathleen.”
“I don’t believe any place in the world can be nicer than this,” she
said, guardedly. “I never supposed anything could be quite so clear
and blue as that water, and there are so many interesting things to do
here.”
“I like the Adirondacks best, though,” maintained Bobby. “Don’t you
remember what fun we had that time Marjorie and I came to stay with you
at Big Moose?”
“Don’t talk to me just now,” said Nora, hoping that nobody would notice
her heightened color. “Percy and I are very busy; aren’t we, Percy?”
“’Es, us is,” responded Percy, who was an adorable baby, and a great
pet with both his cousins. “Don’t ’sturb us, Bobby; Tathleen’s ’musin’
me.”
Bobby laughed, and threw a handful of sand at his small cousin, but
in a minute he went on with his reminiscences, though this time not
directly addressing Nora.
“We did have fun that time at Big Moose. I sha’n’t forget the day I
caught that five-pound trout, or the time Kathleen went out in the
canoe by herself, and it tipped over. It was a lucky thing she could
swim.”
“Kathleen can’t swim,” said Reggie, pausing in the act of making a
comfortable sand pillow for himself. “She told me so on the boat.”
“Can’t swim!” cried Bobby, incredulously. “Why, she swims like a fish.
I never knew but one other girl who could swim as well as Kathleen, and
she went out too far one day, and nearly got drowned.”
Reggie cast a puzzled glance from Bobby to Nora, who was, to all
appearances, completely absorbed in her sand fort. Marjorie--who
was still feeling rather resentful, notwithstanding the olive
branch--tossed her head, and remarked sarcastically--
“Seems to me Kathleen told a good many fairy-tales on the boat. Perhaps
she was seasick, and it made her delirious.”
Reggie reddened. He liked the supposed Kathleen much better than he did
Marjorie, and he had no intention of getting his new friend into any
further trouble if he could prevent it.
“Maybe I was mistaken,” he said, carelessly. “Perhaps she said she
couldn’t swim. Wait a minute, Kathleen; I’m coming to help with that
fort.”
Nora said nothing, but the look she gave Reggie was a very grateful
one. She had been in Bermuda for nearly two days, and it seemed to her
as though her difficulties increased with every hour. So far she had
succeeded in keeping her secret, but she was in constant terror lest
some chance word or act might betray her, and the nervous strain was
beginning to tell on her. More than once she had caught Mr. Crawford’s
eyes fixed upon her with such a startled, troubled look in them, that
she felt sure she must have said or done something which had struck him
as strange or unusual. They had gone for a long drive that morning, and
she had scarcely dared open her lips, for fear of making some mistake.
Twice Mr. Crawford had asked her if she did not feel well, and she
had seen him talking very earnestly with Mrs. Carew after luncheon,
and felt an uncomfortable conviction that she had been the subject of
conversation. She had hailed the prospect of going with Reggie and the
Campbells to the beach as a great relief. At least for a couple of
hours, she would be free from the watchful anxiety of Kathleen’s daddy.
But this respite had its limitations, for even with the Campbells she
must be very careful.
But chief of all Nora’s worries was the fact that she had not yet been
able to procure the necessary postage stamp for her mother’s letter.
She was still carrying it in her pocket, and it was already Tuesday
afternoon. So it was only natural that her thoughts should wander more
than once from little Percy’s sand fort, and that Bobby’s remark about
Kathleen’s swimming should have added another to her many causes for
anxiety.
When the fort was completed, and Reggie and Bobby had joined in a
romp with the baby, in response to that young man’s peremptory
demand--Marjorie, who considered herself too old for romps, had closed
her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Nora strolled slowly away from
the others, and began idly picking up shells. The shells were very
pretty, but Nora scarcely noticed them. She was wondering what Mummy
and Kathleen were doing at this very moment. But she had not gone far
when she was recalled to her present surroundings by the voice of the
faithful Sarah.
“Where are you going, Miss Kathleen?”
“Nowhere in particular,” said Nora, coming to a sudden halt. “I thought
I would just take a little walk. I won’t go far.”
“Come right back and sit down,” commanded Sarah. “Your papa told me not
to let you out of my sight. I can’t tramp in this sand; it tires my
feet, and you can just as well stay here with Miss Marjorie.”
With a sigh, Nora returned to her seat, her hands full of the shells
she had gathered. Marjorie yawned and opened her eyes.
“Oh, what lovely shells!” she exclaimed, admiringly, as Nora spread out
her treasures on the sand. “I’d like to gather some, too, but it’s too
hot to move.”
“Would you like these?” inquired Nora, eagerly. “If you would I’ll sell
them to you--I’ll sell them for five cents.”
Marjorie’s eyes grew round with astonishment.
“Sell them!” she repeated incredulously; “sell those old shells!
Kathleen Crawford, I really think you must be crazy. What in the world
do you want to sell anything for?”
“Why, because I want the money, of course,” faltered Nora, blushing.
“There isn’t any harm in selling things, is there? I only want five
cents.”
Marjorie burst into a peal of such genuine laughter that both the boys
paused in their storming of the sand fort to inquire what was so funny.
“It’s Kathleen,” said Marjorie; “she wants to sell her shells for five
cents, and she has a bigger allowance than all the rest of us put
together.”
“I haven’t,” protested Nora; “at least--at least I mean I haven’t any
money to-day, and I want five cents very much indeed. I don’t like to
borrow money, but I thought perhaps I could sell----”
“Oh, don’t be a goose, Kathleen,” interrupted Marjorie, impatiently.
“You always were a queer girl in some ways, but you’ve been positively
weird since you came down here. If you want five cents why in the world
don’t you ask your father for it? You never had any trouble about
asking him for things before.”
“Then you won’t buy the shells?” said Nora, with a catch in her voice.
“Of course I won’t; I never heard of anything quite so silly. I don’t
want your old shells; I can get plenty for myself.”
[Illustration: “I WOULDN’T MIND BUYING THEM MYSELF, BUT FIVE CENTS IS
TOO CHEAP.”--_Page 175._]
There were tears in Nora’s eyes, but she said nothing, and sat gazing
down at the little pile of shells in her lap. Marjorie closed her eyes
again, and for a few minutes nothing happened. Then little Percy, tired
of being “stormed,” was rescued by his nurse, and Reggie and Bobby
returned to their former places in the sand.
“I say! those are pretty shells,” remarked Reggie, in a tone of
would-be enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t mind buying them myself, but five
cents is too cheap. Won’t you take a quarter?”
Nora’s cheeks were crimson, but the look she gave Reggie said more than
words could have done.
“You are very kind,” she said, “but I won’t take more than five cents.
If you’ll take the shells for that, I shall be ever so much obliged.”
“What in the world do you want to do with that five cents?” demanded
Marjorie, suddenly opening her eyes, and sitting up. Curiosity was
getting the better of injured dignity.
“I want to buy a postage stamp,” said Nora, simply.
“A postage stamp!” shrieked Marjorie, in a tone of such utter scorn and
disbelief that more tears started to poor Nora’s eyes. There was no use
trying to explain; every word she uttered seemed only to make matters
worse. But she had not counted on Reggie’s championship.
“Oh, do shut up, Marjorie,” he burst out, indignantly. “Suppose
Kathleen does want five cents to buy a postage stamp with, I don’t see
that it’s any of our business. People don’t always have to tell things
they don’t choose to. Come along, Kathleen, let’s go and look for some
more shells.”
Nora scrambled to her feet, hastily wrapping the shells in her
handkerchief. Speech would not have been easy at that moment, but
fortunately, it was unnecessary, for Reggie announced his intentions to
Sarah.
“Kathleen and I are going for a little walk. I’ll take care of her.”
“Mind you don’t go too far,” warned Sarah. “Mr. Crawford’s orders were
that I wasn’t to let Miss Kathleen get overheated, or tired.”
Reggie promised not to go far, and the two children sauntered slowly
away together. Marjorie, now fully awake, gazed after them, with a
startled expression in her eyes.
“Bobby,” she said in a low tone to her brother, as the other two passed
out of ear-shot, “I believe there’s something queer the matter with
Kathleen. I’m rather scared about her.”
“What is there to be scared about?” inquired Bobby. “She always was
rather spoiled, you know. I don’t see that she’s much queerer than
usual.”
“I do,” said Marjorie, solemnly; “she isn’t the least bit like herself.
If she wants a postage stamp, why in the world doesn’t she ask her
father or Sarah for it? And it isn’t only that; she’s been queer about
lots of things ever since she came here. I asked her this morning if
she had seen Sylvia Seymour since we came away, and she looked so
queer, almost as if she didn’t know what I was talking about. I asked
her what the matter was, and she said nothing was the matter, and
she hadn’t seen ‘that girl,’ but her face was so red, and she looked
dreadfully embarrassed. Think of her speaking of Sylvia as ‘that girl,’
when she’s known her as long as I have. Do you suppose--it seems an
awful thing to say, but do you suppose she can be losing her mind?”
“Bosh!” said Bobby, “of course she isn’t. Maybe she’s just pretending
to be queer on purpose to get us excited about her.”
Marjorie shook her head.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Kathleen is spoiled, and rather hard to
get on with sometimes, but she wouldn’t do a thing like that. There was
a girl at school who studied so hard that it affected her brain. She
had to have a trained nurse, and go to a sanitarium.”
“What became of her afterwards?” Bobby asked.
“She died,” said Marjorie, solemnly. “Oh, Bobby,” she added, her voice
beginning to tremble, “wouldn’t it be awful if anything like that
happened to Kathleen? I really am fond of her, you know, and the more
I think of it, the more sure I feel she would never have told Reggie
Starr she didn’t know us if she’d been in her right mind. I’m going
to tell Auntie Ruth about what I think, the minute I get back to the
hotel, and she can tell Mr. Crawford if she thinks he ought to know.”
“Well, perhaps it would be a good plan,” agreed Bobby, “and, I say,
Marjorie, let’s be nice to Kathleen, no matter what she says. We’d feel
so mean afterwards, you know, if we found she couldn’t help it.”
Meanwhile Nora and Reggie had walked some distance in silence. Nora
was having trouble with her eyes, and Reggie, too polite to appear to
notice, was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. He hated to see a girl
cry. Kathleen was certainly the queerest girl he had ever met, but they
had had some good times together on the boat, and he was genuinely
sorry for her. It was Nora who was the first to speak.
“It was awfully good of you to offer to buy those shells,” she said,
gratefully. “I’m afraid they’re not really worth five cents, but you
have no idea how much I want that stamp.”
Reggie stood digging his toes into the sand for a moment in silence;
then he blurted out abruptly--
“I suppose you’re in a scrape, and don’t want your father or Sarah to
see some letter you’ve written.”
“Yes, that’s it; that’s just it!” cried Nora. “Oh, Reggie, I am in an
awful scrape. I’d give anything in the world to be able to tell you
about it, but I can’t. If I told it would get somebody I love very much
into dreadful trouble, and I would rather die than do that.”
“You mustn’t tell if it’s as bad as that,” said Reggie, choking down
his own curiosity with difficulty. “Is the person you’re afraid of
getting into trouble all right?”
“She’s the loveliest person in the world,” declared Nora. “She never
did anything wrong; never since she was born, and I love her--oh, I
can’t tell you how much I love her. It’s all my fault, and it wouldn’t
ever have happened if I hadn’t done something wrong in the first place.
I disobeyed, and that was the beginning of all the trouble.”
“I see,” said Reggie, thoughtfully; “then of course you can’t tell. I
wish you’d tell me just one thing, though. What made you say you didn’t
know the Campbells when you did?”
Nora looked very much distressed.
“I wish I could explain,” she said, hopelessly, “but I can’t, not
without telling the rest. I know you must all think me terribly queer,
and the worst of it is, I shall never be able to explain anything.”
“Never!” exclaimed Reggie, incredulously. “You mean we won’t ever
understand?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Nora. “I’m afraid you’ll always have to go on
thinking me queer, and--and--oh, I’m so dreadfully sorry!” And the poor
child covered her face with her hands, and burst into a perfect tempest
of crying.
Reggie was very much distressed. He longed to comfort Nora, but all he
could think of to say was--
“Oh, do stop crying. There isn’t any use, you know. I don’t want to
hear anything you can’t tell, so let’s come along and look for some
more shells. Oh, by the way, here’s that five cents you wanted.” And
embarrassed Reggie plunged a hand into his trousers pocket.
Nora clasped the precious coin as if it had been gold instead of
copper, and having hastily transferred it to her own pocket, she
checked her sobs, dried her eyes, and, with a mighty effort, plunged
into the interesting occupation of looking for shells.
When Nora and Reggie rejoined the Campbells, some fifteen minutes
later, they were both surprised by the decided change in the
atmosphere. Marjorie greeted Nora affectionately, even slipping an arm
round her, as they sat side by side on the sand, and Bobby asked to
look at the shells.
“They are beauties,” remarked Marjorie, amiably, as Nora spread out her
treasures. “I wish we had shells like that at home.”
“Reggie says he has some wonderful things that he picked up in Egypt,”
said Nora, who was feeling immensely relieved, now that the certainty
of being able to post her letter was assured. “Did he ever tell you
about the time he and a little English girl got lost on the desert?”
The Campbells had heard the story, but did not appear averse to hearing
it again, and Reggie acceded readily to Marjorie’s request to relate
his exciting experience. Reggie was rather proud of that Egyptian
episode, and told his story well, ending with the dramatic appearance
on the scene of the father of his little English friend.
“Now you tell us a story, Kathleen,” said Reggie, when he had brought
his own tale to a satisfactory conclusion. “You tell splendid stories.”
“Do you, Kathleen?” inquired Marjorie, in surprise, “I never heard you
tell a story.”
“She told me some first-rate ones on the boat,” maintained Reggie. “She
makes them up as she goes along, don’t you, Kathleen?”
“Sometimes I do,” said Nora, modestly.
“Make up one now,” urged Marjorie, who, to tell the truth, was rather
sceptical of her friend’s powers of invention. “It’s too hot to do
anything else, and we might as well sit here till we go back to the
hotel.”
Nora hesitated for a moment, and then she began in a rather dreamy
voice:
“Once upon a time there were a father and mother who had two twin baby
girls. The babies were so exactly alike that nobody in the world could
tell them apart except their mother. The father and mother loved their
babies dearly, but they were very poor. The father was terribly clever,
and wrote beautiful poetry and plays, but most people didn’t appreciate
his things, so the publishers wouldn’t take them, and he couldn’t make
any money. At last he was taken ill, and the poor little mother had to
take care of them all, and work very hard to earn enough money to keep
them from being hungry.
“One day a fairy came to the flat where they were living, and she said:
‘I know of a king and queen who live in a beautiful palace, and have
everything they want in the world to make them happy, except just one;
they want a baby girl. I have promised to find a baby for them, and I
want you to let me have one of your twins.’
“The father and mother were very angry at first, and said they would
never, never part with one of their children, but things kept getting
worse and worse, and the poor father was so ill that the doctor said
if he couldn’t have medicines and nourishing food he would surely die.
And the fairy kept on coming, and trying to persuade them. So at last
one day, when the father was very ill indeed, and there wasn’t anything
in the house to eat, the little mother went to church, and prayed for
a long time, and when she came home she told the father that she had
decided to give the fairy one of her babies for the king and queen. Her
heart was almost broken, but she knew it was the only thing to do. So
they sent for the fairy.
“The fairy was delighted, and she came right away in a cab.”
“I didn’t know fairies ever rode in cabs,” laughed Marjorie.
Nora blushed.
“This was a very modern fairy,” she said. “When she was ready to take
the baby away, the mother couldn’t make up her mind which of her twins
to part with, so she made the father go into the room where they were
both asleep, and he chose one, but he couldn’t tell which it was.”
“What were the babies’ names?” inquired Bobby, who liked detail.
“Their names were--were--oh, suppose we call them Violet and Lilybell.
The father happened to choose Violet, but he didn’t know it till
afterwards.
“The fairy took little Violet to the marble palace, and the king and
queen were delighted with her. They dressed her in satins and laces,
and when she was old enough to play with toys, they bought her the
most expensive things they could find. She used to play in a beautiful
garden, and sometimes her mother and Lilybell would come and peep at
her through the railings. They never could speak to Violet, or let her
know they were there, because the mother had promised the fairy never
to bother the king and queen, or to let Violet know they were not her
real father and mother. It made the poor mother very sad never to be
able to speak to her own little girl, and Lilybell used to wish and
wish that she could do something about it.
“At last, when the twins were about twelve years old, it happened
that Lilybell went alone one day to look through the railings into
the beautiful garden. While she was standing there a wonderful thing
happened. One of the palace servants came along, and thought Lilybell
was Violet, because you see the twins were still so much alike nobody
could possibly tell them apart. At first Lilybell tried to explain to
the servant, and then, all at once, she had a great temptation. She had
always wanted to get inside that palace more than to do anything else
in the world. So she stopped talking, and just let the maid push her
through the garden gate and straight into the palace. Then the servant
went away, thinking everything was all right, and Lilybell was left
alone. There weren’t any people about, and she went on up the marble
stairs to a beautiful room and there, sitting writing a letter, she
found Violet.
“Of course Violet was very much astonished to see another girl so
exactly like herself, and she began asking questions, and before
Lilybell realized the dreadful thing she was doing, she had told her
the whole story, about her mother, and the fairy, and the king and
queen. Then Violet grew very much excited, and said she must know her
own mother, who loved her so dearly, and at last she persuaded Lilybell
to change clothes with her, and take her place in the palace, while she
went to see her own mother.
“At first it all seemed quite easy, and the twins thought they would
be able to change back again the very next day, but that night the
king suddenly decided to go away on a long journey and take Violet
with him. Poor Lilybell was terribly frightened, but she was afraid to
tell any one what had happened, for fear her mother might be punished
for letting Violet stay with her all night, so she had to keep on
pretending and pretending, and it got harder and harder, and----”
“Come, children, time to go home,” called Sarah’s peremptory voice.
“The boys say they must get their donkeys back to the hotel before six.”
“Oh, bother!” exclaimed Reggie, impatiently; “there isn’t any hurry.
Finish the story first, Kathleen.” But Nora was already on her feet.
“I can’t,” she said. “We’ve got to go. Anyhow, I don’t know the end
yet.”
“It’s a rather silly story,” remarked Marjorie. “Of course such a thing
could never really happen, and I don’t care much for fairy-tales any
more. I’m beginning to read Dickens and Scott, you know.”
“I’d like to know what happened when the king and queen found out,”
said Reggie, who had not outgrown his love of stories. “Can’t you hurry
and make up the rest, Kathleen?”
But Nora was saved the necessity of a reply, for at that moment she
was seized upon by the small Percy Allen, who had just wakened from
a nap in his nurse’s lap, and now desired to “do home in de tart wis
Tathleen.” So Nora--who adored babies--was relegated to the donkey cart
with Percy and Marie, and Marjorie, Sarah and the two boys, took their
places in the other carts.
It was not until they were entering the hotel that Nora found an
opportunity for a private word with Reggie, but then she managed to
drop behind Sarah long enough to whisper to her friend:
“Will you do something for me, Reggie?”
“You bet I will!” was Reggie’s hearty assurance.
Nora hastily drew something from her pocket, and thrust it into his
hand.
“Buy a stamp and post this letter,” she whispered. “Here’s your five
cents back. Sarah won’t let me go to the office by myself, and she’s
always around. It’s a terribly important letter. Will you be sure it
gets off on the steamer to-morrow morning?”
“Sure,” promised Reggie, with a confident nod, and then Sarah turned to
see why her charge was lingering behind, and there was no time for more
conversation.
Five minutes later the precious letter was safely deposited in the
mail-box, and Reggie was on his way to his own room. He was more than
a little curious, but, being a gentleman, he felt he had no right to
bother his friend with questions, and he had been careful not to look
at the address on the letter.
“She’s all right, I know she is,” he told himself confidently. “People
do get into awful scrapes sometimes, and their friends ought to help
them out. I rather like her, too, but I wish she hadn’t told that fib
about not knowing the Campbells.”