“Where is she, Jonas?” Marjorie raised a cautioning finger. She hardly
breathed the question for fear of Miss Susanna’s proximity.
“She’s up in Mr. Brooke’s study, Miss Marjorie,” Jonas replied in
equally guarded tones. Miss Susanna’s faithful retainer of years, the
old man stood the center of the group of charming youthful visitors. He
was smiling his vivid, crinkled smile as though he was thoroughly
enjoying the invasion.
Contrary to expectation that Miss Susanna might be taking her accustomed
stroll about the grounds after tea, the callers had reached the house
without having seen sign of her. Jonas had answered their ring. He had
come down the wide, thick-carpeted hall to the open door in his slow
dignified fashion. His face had lighted beautifully at sight of the knot
of bright-faced girls peering laughingly at him through the screen.
It was for Marjorie, however, that his smile was kindest. He shared Miss
Susanna’s fondness for “our young lady.” The cordial handshake he gave
her came straight from his worshiping heart.
“She’s in the study quite a bit of late. _He_ would have liked that.”
The old man nodded with conviction.
“I’m sure he would have, Jonas,” Marjorie heartily agreed. Her chums
smiled concurrence. They still had much of the same reserve for the
courtly, silver-haired retainer that they experienced toward Miss
Susanna. “We’d love to steal in on her there,” she said with impulsive
eagerness. “Do you think she’d care to be surprised in that way?”
“I know she would. Miss Marjorie.” Jonas seemed very sure of this point.
A faintly mischievous expression had leaped into his keen blue eyes. He
surveyed her smilingly, as though debating something in his mind.
“What is it, Jonas?” Marjorie was quick to catch the change of
expression.
“There’s a sliding panel in Mr. Brooke’s study, Miss Marjorie. Miss
Susanna sits in Mr. Brooke’s chair always when she’s up there. Her back
is toward the panel. I can let you in that way, if you’d like it.”
“We’d _love_ to.” Marjorie grew radiant. She consulted her chums with
dancing eyes. They made genial signs of wholesale approval. “Are you
sure we won’t startle her?” she asked as a prudent afterthought.
“She’s not one to be startled,” Jonas proudly assured. “She’ll see you
as quick almost as you see her. She’s quick to see.”
“Suppose I were to steal up behind her and slip my hands over her eyes?
Perhaps I’d better not do that.” Marjorie grew doubtful.
“Please do. She’d think it the best kind of fun,” Jonas insisted. It was
as though Miss Susanna were a child for whom Jonas delighted to provide
entertainment. “She always says she likes adventure. She feels as though
she’d had a good many adventures since she’s known you and the young
ladies here.”
“We have had some real ones,” Marjorie assured the old man. “All right,
Jonas. We hereby appoint you as guide of this secret expedition. Lead
on. We’ll do our best to give Miss Susanna a wee little adventure. Not
so little, either. A secret panel; that sounds thrilling.”
“I’ll put it in the first play I write for Page and Dean this fall,”
Kathie promised.
Led by Jonas the secret expedition tiptoed silently down the broad hall
until they came to a lift. It was situated between the library and
dining room and opened onto the second floor within a few feet of the
study. It was seldom used by the energetic mistress of the Arms. Jonas
opened its door without a sound and the five girls crowded into it,
leaving him hardly enough space in which to operate it. At the second
floor the man stopped the cage with a faint click and the adventurers
stepped noiselessly, one after another, into the hall.
Jonas came last. He motioned the girls to follow him. Down the hall he
walked, past the study and on to a small, railed-in balcony. The balcony
adjoined the back wall of the study and formed a side of a little open
square over the library after the fashion of a patio. Exactly in the
middle of the balcony he stopped. The interested watchers saw him run a
practiced hand up and down the severely beautiful wainscoting.
Soundlessly, a smooth section of the wainscoting, between two raised
edges, and fairly wide apart, slid to the left and disappeared from
view. Its vanishment left an open space about three feet square.
Mutely peering into the study they saw Miss Susanna seated in Brooke
Hamilton’s chair. At the left of her, on the massive table lay a goodly
pile of papers, yellowish and time stained. In front of her reposed
another pile of official-looking papers and opened letters. She was too
deeply immersed in a study of them to be aware of anything outside of
them.
Jonas touched Marjorie’s arm. He made a motion toward the aperture. She
nodded in merry understanding. Stealthily she lifted first one foot,
then the other, over the lower up-standing part of the wainscoting.
Holding her breath she reached Miss Susanna’s chair in two noiseless
steps. Two soft hands found the old lady’s eyes and closed over them.
“Who-o-o-o!” Miss Susanna cried out like a small tree owl. Like a flash
her own sturdy hands readied up and caught Marjorie by the arm. “I know
this game! I can guess who it is!” she cried out like a jubilant child.
“Guess, then,” growled Marjorie in as gruff a voice as she could muster.
“Marvelous Manager,” came with delighted certainty. This particular
nickname for Marjorie seemed always most to amuse the old lady.
“Right-o! And who else?” Marjorie persisted, still keeping sight shut
off from the chuckling victim.
“That’s easy,” boasted Miss Susanna. “Leila and Vera—yes—and Robin Page.
Since you’re here, child, she must be here, too. And Kathie. She’s a
fixture on the campus. Now drop those hands and let me have a look at
you,” impatiently commanded the old lady.