THE mysterious disappearance of Candace from the Stanhope house caused
nothing short of a panic. Herbert and his mother held hourly wrangles,
and frantically tried one thing and then another. Day after day the
responses came in from the advertisements they had caused to be put
forth. Everyone was hot-foot for the reward, but so far little of
encouragement had been brought out. More and more the young man was
fixing his mind on the idea that Candace had something to do with
Betty's disappearance, so he was leaving no stone unturned to find the
nurse as well as the girl. To this end he insisted on seeing personally
and cross-examining every person who came claiming to have a clue to the
lost girl.
That morning, at about the same hour when Candace walked into the office
of the McIntyre Brothers in Boston, James, the butler, much against his
dignity, was ushering a curious person into the presence of the son of
the house. James showed by every line of his noble figure that he
considered this duty beneath his dignity, and that it was only because
the occasion was unusual that he tolerated it for a moment, but the man
who ambled observantly behind him, stretching his neck to see everything
that was to be seen in this part of the great house, that he might tell
about it at the fire-house, failed to get the effect. He was wondering
why in thunder such rich people as these seemed to be, couldn't afford
carpets big enough to cover their whole floors, instead of just having
skimpy little bits of pieces dropped around here and there, that made
you liable to skid all over the place if you stepped on one of them
biasly.
Herbert Hutton lifted his head and watched Abijah Gage slouch into the
room. He measured him keenly and remained silent while Abijah opened up.
There had been many other applicants for that reward that day, with
stories cunningly woven, and facts, substantiated by witnesses, in one
case a whole family brought along to swear to the fabrication; but as
yet Herbert had not found a promising clue to his missing bride, and the
time was going by. In a few days it would be too late, and his
undisciplined spirit raged within him. It was not only his bride he
wanted, it was her fortune, which was worth any trouble he might take;
and every day, every hour, every minute now, it was slipping, slipping,
slipping from his eager grasp.
Abijah was a little overawed in the presence of this insolent man of the
world, but he felt he had, for almost the first time in his life, Truth
on his side, and he was strong in the power of it. With a cunning equal
to the one that matched him he dealt out his information bit by bit,
giving only enough at a time to make his victim sure it was the real
thing this time; and then he halted stubbornly and would say no more
until that five thousand dollars was signed and sealed over to him. They
had a long argument, but in the end Bi won, and was given certain
documents which he was satisfied would stand in court. A little later
the telephone in Reyburn's office rang sharply, and when Jimmie Ryan
responded a voice that he had never heard before asked for Mr. Warren
Reyburn.
"He's out of town," Jimmie replied.
"How soon will he be back?" The voice was like a snarl.
"I'm not quite sure. He's called to Boston on business," swelled Jimmie
loyally.
An oath ripped over the wire, and Jimmie raged within and quailed. Was
his idol then losing a great case?
"He might be back in a few hours," insinuated Jimmie. "Who shall I say
called up if he should have me over long distance?"
"You needn't say anybody! I'll call up again," growled the voice, and
the man hung up.
Jimmie sat for a long time in blissful reverie. "He's getting there!" he
whispered to himself. "He'll get the big cases yet, and I can keep my
first place. I must see Jane to-night and tell her."
Meanwhile, back at Tinsdale improvements had been going on at the
Carsons'. Bob, always handy with tools, had been putting in a tank over
the bathtub. They had one at the house on the hill, only it was run by a
windmill. Bob had a friend who was a plumber's son, and from him had
obtained some lengths of second-hand water-pipe and an old faucet. He
had conceived the idea of a tank on the roof, and his first plan had
been only a rainwater tank, but gradually as his vision widened he
included a force pump in the outfit of desires. He hung around the
plumber's until they unearthed an old force pump somewhat out of repair,
and for a few days' assisting the plumber Bob acquired it, together with
after-hour help to put it into operation. The next object was a tank,
which seemed at first to represent the impossible; but the grocer at
last offered a suggestion in the shape of several large empty hogsheads
which he readily accepted at the price of four Saturdays' work in the
store.
All Bob's extra time was put into these improvements, and he was as
excited every night when it grew dark and he was forced to come to
supper because he couldn't see any longer to work, as if he had been
building an airship.
The day the hogsheads were marshaled and connected and the force pump
sent its first stream into them was a great occasion. The family
assembled in the yard, with Elise Hathaway, who had been allowed to come
over for a few minutes with Betty. Bob and his plumber friend pumped,
and Emily climbed to the attic window, which overlooked the row of
hogsheads, ranged so that the water would flow from one to the other,
and acted as pilot to the new enterprise. As the first stream from the
force pump, which Bob had lavishly painted red, crept its way up the
pipes and began to wet the bottom of the first and highest hogshead
Emily gave a little squeal of delight and shouted "It's come! It's come!
The water's come!" and the family below fairly held their breath with
the wonder of it. Not that such a thing could be, but that their own
freckled, grinning Bob should have been able to achieve it.
There was an elaborate system of tin conductors which conveyed the waste
water from the bathtub out through a hole in the wall of the little
laundry bathroom, and distributed it along the garden beds wherever its
controller desired to irrigate. Thus the system became practical as well
as a luxury. There was also an arrangement of gutter pipes for carrying
off any surplus water from the hogsheads, so saving the Carson house
from possible inundation at any time of heavy storms.
After the plumbing was finished Bob painted the laundry neatly inside
with beautiful white paint and robin's-egg blue for the ceiling, and
Betty told him it almost made one think of going swimming in the ocean.
Next he began to talk about a shower bath. Betty told him what one was
like and he began to spend more days down at the plumber's asking
questions and picking up odd bits of pipe, making measurements, and
doing queer things to an old colander for experiment's sake. The day
that Warren Reyburn came for the first time Bob had the shower part
finished and ready to erect, and the next day saw it complete with a rod
for the rubber curtain that Betty had promised to make for him. He and
she were planning how they would make further improvements on the house
before Jane and Nellie should come home for their summer vacation week.
Betty had thoroughly entered into the life of the little household now,
and was a part of it. She saved her own small wages, and grudged all
she had to spend for necessary clothes, that she might contribute
further to the comfort and beauty of the general home.
After Warren Reyburn's visit the last barrier between Betty and Ma
seemed to be broken down. As soon as she had closed the door she flew
into the other room and flung her arms around Ma's neck, bursting into
soft weeping on her motherly shoulder. Ma had done a rapid turning act
when she heard her coming, for in truth she had been peeping behind the
green window-shade to watch the handsome stranger go down the street,
but she would have dropped the iron on her foot and pretended to be
picking it up rather than let Betty suspect her interest in the visitor.
"Oh, mother," she murmured in Mrs. Carson's willing ear, "I have been so
frightened----"
"I know, dearie!" soothed the mother, quite as if she had been her own.
"I know!"
"But he was very kind," she said lifting her head with an April effect
of tears. "He's going to try to fix things for me so that I don't need
ever to be afraid of any one making trouble for me any more. You see, I
sort of ran away. There was somebody I was afraid of who troubled me a
great deal."
"Yes, dearie, I thought as much," said Ma. "Jane kind of gave me to
understand there was something like that. I'm real glad there's
somebody goin' to look into your affairs an' fix things right for you. I
knew you was restless an' worried. Now it'll get all straightened out.
He's got a nice face. I trusted him first off. He's a church member, an'
that's somethin'. They ain't all spiritual, but they're mostly clean an'
just an' kindly, when they're anythin' at all but just plain hypocrites,
which, thank the Lord, there ain't so many as some would have us
believe. Now wash your face, dearie, an' run back to your place so you
can come home early, for we're goin' to have the old hen with dumplin's
for supper to celebrate."
That was one charming thing about that household: they celebrated every
blessed little trifle that came into their lives, so that living with
them was like a procession of beautiful thanksgivings.
It was while Betty was eating the gala "hen," delicious in its festive
gravy and dumplings, that she looked off across the little dining-room
to the dark window with its twinkling village lights in the distance and
thought of the stranger. A dark fear flashed across her sweet face and
sparkled in the depths of her eyes for just an instant. Was it perhaps
the distant bay of the hounds on her trail, coming nearer every moment?
Then she remembered the heavenly Father and her new-found faith, and
turned back to the cheery little room and the children's pleasant
clatter, resolved to forget the fear and to trust all to Him who cared
for her. Perhaps he had sent the pleasant stranger, and the thought
brought a quiet little smile to settle about her lips. She laughed with
Bob and Emily at how they had got wet with a sudden unexpected shower
from the new bath while they were arranging the curtain on the rod, and
Emily had turned the faucet on without knowing it. The patient-eyed
mother watched them all and was satisfied.
How good it is that we cannot hear all the noises of the earth at the
same time, nor know of every danger that lurks near as we are passing
by! We grumble a great deal that God does not send us as much as we
think he might, but we give scarce a thought to our escape from the many
perils, lying close as our very breath, of which we never even dream.
At that moment, as they sat quietly eating their happy meal, a deadly
particular peril was headed straight for Tinsdale.
Abijah Gage and Herbert Hutton boarded the evening train for Tinsdale
together and entered the sleeper. Abijah shuffled behind, carrying the
bags, a most extraordinary and humiliating position for him. He had
never been known to carry anything, not even himself if he could help
it, since the day his mother died and ceased to force him to carry in
wood and water for her at the end of a hickory switch. He glanced
uneasily round with a slight cackle of dismay as he arrived in the
unaccustomed plush surroundings and tried to find some place to dump his
load. But the well-groomed Herbert strode down the long aisle unnoticing
and took possession of the section he had secured as if he owned the
road.
"You can sit there!" he ordered Bi with a condescending motion, dropping
into his own seat and opening a newspaper.
Bi sat down on the edge of the seat, and held on to the arm in a
gingerly way as if he were afraid to trust himself to anything so
different. He looked furtively up and down the car, eyed the porter, who
ignored him contemptuously and finally came back and demanded his
sleeper ticket with a lordliness that Bi did not feel he could take from
a negro. But somehow the ticket got tangled in his pocket, and Bi had a
hard time finding it, which deepened his indignation at the porter.
"I ain't takin' no sass from no one. My seat's paid fer all right," he
said distinctly for the enlightenment of the other passengers, and
Herbert Hutton reached out a discreet arm and dropped something in the
porter's hand which sent him on his way and left Bi snorting audibly
after him.
"You'd better shut up!" growled the dictator to Bi. "We don't want to be
conspicuous, you know. If you can't hold your tongue and act as if you
had ever traveled before, I'll get off this train at the next station
and you can whistle for your reward. Do you understand?"
Bi dropped his toothless lower jaw a trifle and his little eyes grew
narrow. This was no way to manage affable Bi. He loved a good visit, and
he had counted on one all the way to Tinsdale. He had no idea of sitting
silent.
"I understand," he drawled, "an' I'll be gormed ef I'll agree. I ain't
told you yet where we get off, an' I don't have to ef I don't wantta. Ef
you can't treat me like a gen'l'man you know where you can get off, an'
I ain't havin' to state it."
Herbert Hutton drew his arrogant brows in a frown of annoyance, and
whirled around to placate his guide:
"Now see here, you old popinjay, what's got into you?"
"No, sir, I ain't nobody's papa," babbled Bi, seeing he had scored a
point. "I have enough to do to support myself without any family."
"That's all right, have it your own way, only shut up or we'll have
somebody listening. Have a cigar. Take two. But you can't smoke 'em in
here, you'll have to go to the smoking-room. Wait! I'll see if we can
get the drawing-room."
The porter appeared and the change was effected, to the great
disappointment of Bi, who kept continually poking his head out to get a
glimpse of the fine ladies. He would much have preferred staying out in
the main car and getting acquainted with people. His cunning had
departed with the need. He had put things in the hands of this surly
companion, and now he meant to have a good time and something to tell
the gang about when he got home.
About midnight the train drew into a station and Herbert Hutton roused
himself and looked out of the window. Bi, whose cunning had returned,
followed his example. Suddenly he leaned forward excitedly and tapped
the glass with a long finger:
"That's him! That's the guy," he whispered excitedly as another train
drew in and passengers began to hurry down the platform and across to
the waiting sleeper.
"Are you sure?"
"Sartin!"
"You mean the one with the coat over his arm, and the two men behind?"
He stopped short with an exclamation.
Bi looked up cunningly. Now what was up? He saw a thunder-cloud on the
face of his companion.
With embellishments Herbert Hutton asked if Bi had ever seen the two
tall gray-haired men who were walking with their prey.
Bi narrowed his eyes and denied any knowledge, but perceived there were
more sides than two to the enigma. Now, what could he figure out of
those two guys? Were there more rewards to be offered? If so, he was a
candidate. He wondered what chance there was of getting away from H. H.
and sauntering through the train. He found, however, a sudden
willingness on the part of his companion to vanish and let him do the
scout work for the rest of the night.
With a sense of being on a vacation and a chance at catching big fish Bi
swung out through the train. Bumping down among the now curtained
berths, adjusting his long form to the motion of the express, lurching
to right and to left as they went round a curve, falling over an
occasional pair of shoes and bringing down lofty reproaches from the
sleepy porter, he penetrated to the day coaches and at last located his
quarry.
They were sitting in a double seat, the younger man facing the two older
ones, and had evidently been unable to get sleepers. Bi hung around the
water-cooler at the far end of the car until he had laid out his plans;
then he sauntered up to the vacant seat behind the three men and dropped
noiselessly into its depths, drawing his hat down well over his face,
and apparently falling into instant slumber, with a fair sample of
Tinsdale snoring brought in at moderate distances.
The conversation was earnest, in well-modulated voices, and hard to
follow connectedly, for the men knew how to talk without seeming to the
outside world to be saying anything intelligible. Occasionally a
sentence would come out clear cut in an interval of the rhythm of the
train, but for the most part Bi could make little or nothing of it.
"In all the years we've been trustees of that estate we haven't seen her
but twice," said one of the older men; "once at her father's second
marriage, and again at his funeral. Then we only saw her at a distance.
Her stepmother said she was too grief-stricken to speak with any one,
and it was by the utmost effort she could be present at the service."
"She looked very frail and young," said the other old man; "and her
hair--I remember her hair!"
Bi changed his position cautiously and tried to peer over the back of
his seat, but the voices were crowded together now, and the younger man
was talking earnestly. He could not catch a syllable. "Trustees!" That
word stayed with him. "Estate" was another promising one, and the fact
that her hair had been remembered. He nodded his old head sagaciously,
and later when the three men settled back in their seats more
comfortably with their eyes closed he slid back to the water-cooler and
so on through the sleeper to the drawing-room.
Hutton was sleeping the sleep of the unjust, which means that he woke at
the slightest breath, and Bi's breath was something to wake a heavier
sleeper. So they sat and planned as the train rushed on through the
night. Now and again Bi took a pilgrimage up to the day coach and back
to report the three travelers still asleep.
About six o'clock in the morning the train slowed down, and finally came
to a thrashing halt, waking the sleepers uncomfortably and making them
conscious of crunching feet in the cinders outside, and consulting
voices of trainmen busy with a hammer underneath the car somewhere. Then
they drowsed off to sleep again and the voices and hammering blended
comfortably into their dreams.
The passengers in the day coach roused, looked at their watches,
stretched their cramped limbs, squinted out to see if anything serious
was the matter, and settled into a new position to sleep once more.
Bi, stretched for the nonce upon the long couch of the drawing-room
while his superior occupied the more comfortable berth, roused to
instant action, slipped out to the platform and took his bearings. He
had lived in that part of the country all his life and he knew where
they ought to be by that time. Yes, there was the old saw mill down by
Hague's Crossing, and the steeple over by the soft maple grove just
beyond Fox Glove. It would not be a long walk, and they had a garage at
Fox Glove!
He sauntered along the cinder path; discovered that the trouble with the
engine was somewhat serious, requiring to wait for help, took a glimpse
into the day coach ahead to assure himself that the three men were still
safely asleep, and sauntered back to the drawing-room.
His entrance roused the sleeper, who was on the alert instantly.
"Say, we got a hot box an' a broken engyne!" Bi announced. "It'll take
us some time. We ain't fur from Fox Glove. We could santer over an' git
a car an' beat 'em to it!"
"We could?" said Hutton. "You sure? No chances, mind you!"
"Do it easy. Those guys are asleep. They won't get to the Junction 'fore
ten o'clock, mebbe later, an' they can't possibly get to our place 'fore
'leven."
"Lead the way!" ordered Hutton, cramming himself into his coat and hat.
"Better slide down on the other side," whispered Bi as they reached the
platform. "We kin go back round the train an' nobody'll notice."
As if they were only come out to see what was the matter they idled
along the length of the train around out of sight, slid down the bank,
took a shortcut across a meadow to a road, and were soon well on their
way to Fox Glove in the early cool of the spring morning, a strangely
mated couple bent on mischief.
Back on the cinder track the express waited, dreamily indifferent, with
a flagman ahead and behind to guard its safety, and while men slept the
enemy took wings and flew down the white morning road to Tinsdale, but
no one ran ahead with a little red flag to the gray cottage where slept
Betty, to warn her, though perchance an angel with a flaming sword stood
invisibly to guard the way.