"Sevenoaks" was the name of Mr. Moore's great farm, which covered acres
and acres of fertile plain; called so because of seven great oak trees
which shaded the circular drive girdling the front lawn. They were fine
old trees, and much care had been taken to preserve them in order to
preserve the significance of the name.
"If I were Evelyn," Nancy was thinking, as she stood next morning on the
piazza scanning the storm-washed landscape now fast drying under the
heat of the sun, "I should think it would be rather nice to be mistress
of this beautiful place."
But Evelyn's name had not been mentioned again, and the name of the
aviator also had never been introduced. The girls had waited, hoping
there might be some explanation, but there was none, and they did not
care to be accused of another act of curiosity.
What he could have been doing in that house, where he came from out of
the storm and whither he went, they could not even guess. It was like a
dream, a sudden vision flashed before them in the lightning and then
gone.
They had been driven over the farm that morning by the master himself;
had seen, with the other fine horses, Pocohontas pawing the ground with
her small forefoot, while a groom rubbed her smooth, satin coat with a
piece of chamois. And now the Comet stood under the center tree of the
seven oaks, waiting to carry them on their journey.
One Japanese servant was strapping on the suit cases in the back while
the other was storing a hamper of lunch and a box of provisions in the
motor.
While Billie was waiting for the others to settle themselves in the
motor, Daniel Moore handed her a letter.
"The name and address are on it," he said; "but promise me one thing:
Don't deliver it if you feel any fear or hesitation. All I can say is,
that if you do, you will probably be making two people happy forever,
because I can't seem to get at her in any other way, and I have a
conviction they have made her believe I have given her up. If you should
ever need me," he added, "telegraph me to this address."
Then, with a last hand-shake and nods and smiles of farewell and waving
of handkerchiefs, the red motor car shot down the avenue and they were
off.
The handsome, kindly face of the owner of Sevenoaks with his genial
blue-gray eyes and his pleasant smile seemed to float after them like a
good genie along the way.
They lunched on the roadside that day under a big mulberry tree. A
spring rippled near-by on purpose for Elinor's tea and they sat on
cushions on the ground, picnic fashion. It was great fun, and there was
much to talk about. Billie drew out the letter and showed it to the
girls. "Miss Evelyn Stone, No. 6 ---- Street, Salt Lake City, Utah."
Before delivering the letter the girls realized that they must obtain
Miss Campbell's consent, and they had been putting their heads together
to devise a scheme by which their sprightly little chaperone should be
won over to the cause of the lovers.
"Cousin Helen," began Billie, "did you notice anything peculiar about
Mr. Moore?"
"Peculiar? No. I thought he was one of the most normal, well set-up,
well-bred young men I had ever met."
"So did we," echoed the girls. "We liked him so much."
"But didn't you notice how sad he was, cousin."
"On the contrary, I thought he seemed very gay."
"He told us he was sad, at any rate. His heart is almost breaking."
"Tut, tut!" said Miss Campbell, "he has much too good a circulation for
such nonsense."
"But he's in love, Miss Campbell," cried Elinor.
"Deeply, hopelessly in love," added Mary.
"With a beautiful girl," went on Billie.
"Who has a cruel father----"
"Who is a Mormon----"
"And won't let her marry any one but Mormons----"
"Mormons," cried Miss Campbell. "She can have only one at a time,
child----"
"And Mr. Moore is not a Mormon. He's a Kentuckian," finished Nancy.
"Dear, dear," ejaculated Miss Campbell. "So that's the way the ground
lies, is it? Poor fellow! Poor unhappy soul. I'm sure I feel very sorry
for him indeed!"
"He is unhappy, dearest cousin, and he can't reach her without breaking
down the door," went on Billie. "Her father reads all her mail and Mr.
Moore simply can't get at her."
"Has the girl no mother to take her side? I don't wish to preach
disobedience, but why doesn't she run away? She might look the wide
world over and never find a nicer husband than that fine young man."
"That's what he can't understand," said Billie. "His letters have all
been returned and he thinks they have told her something about him."
"He says if he could only get one more message to her----"
"Just a line----"
"Just a word----"
"And we----"
"And we've got the word," finished Billie in great excitement,
flourishing the letter. "We are not to deliver it if we feel that it
would be dangerous, but if we can manage to slip it to her it will make
two people very happy."
"But how can it be done? It sounds like a very risky adventure to me."
The girls exchanged sly glances while Billie related the plan. Many a
time had they won Miss Campbell over to their schemes by touching her
romantic heart.
"It's quite simple, you see, Cousin Helen. The mention of Fontainebleau
will explain everything to Evelyn. You see, they met in Paris, and spent
one beautiful day together at Fontainebleau."
There was a long pause while Miss Campbell considered the situation.
"I don't think any harm would be done," she said at last. "He has been
very kind to us, and if we could help him along a little, bring two
loving souls together----"
She paused and looked into the eager, interested faces of the four young
girls. Could she refuse to help two lovers?
"I've always heard those Mormons were a very revengeful race of people;
but we'll take the risk, dear children. I don't see that there will be
much danger in it for us. Billie can write a perfectly non-committal
note saying that she is in Salt Lake City for a few days, and would like
to see Miss Evelyn, and it would do no harm, I'm sure, to add, 'Have you
forgotten the beautiful time at Fontainebleau?'"
"Yes, yes; that is exactly the thing to say," cried the others, and they
began to count the days and weeks before they could reach Salt Lake City
beyond the great wall of the Rocky Mountains.
They were still chatting in close conversation when a voice behind them
startled them. A deep, sonorous voice that had an ominous ring like
distant thunder, and yet the words spoken were commonplace enough:
"Ladies, do you wish to buy any shoestrings, jewelry, handkerchiefs,
pins and combs?"
They looked up quickly.
A peddler had approached and was now about to open his pack. From his
coarse dark skin and black hair, long enough to show underneath his
slouch hat, they judged he was at least half-Indian, and he stood over
them, a silent, statuesque figure, his narrow eyes becoming slits of
blackness as he regarded them.
"I am very sorry," said Miss Campbell politely,
"I'm afraid we don't need any of those things. We are already well
provided."
This courteous lady was always apologetic when she couldn't accommodate
persons of a wandering character.
"Maybe the lady would like something better than shoestrings," continued
the man, slipping his pack to the ground and opening a lower secret
compartment from which he drew a long, narrow box.
Spreading a square of dark green cotton material on the ground, the
halfbreed emptied out a double handful of beautiful opals.
"These opals I found in Mexico," he said, letting the stones drip
through his fingers like glorified drops of milk. "They are very perfect
ones. This one would make you a beautiful ring, madam. And this young
lady would look well in a necklace of opals. I will sell them to you for
half their value."
The girls looked at the stones with grave interest, but nobody wanted an
unset opal, and at the beginning of this long journey they had no
intention of buying jewels.
"I am exceedingly sorry, my good man," said Miss Campbell, "but we do
not wish to buy anything, especially opals, because they are unlucky
stones."
"Only for those, lady, who are not born in October. Now, I should say
that this young lady was born in that month," he added, pointing to
Billie.
"I was," said Billie, somewhat startled, "but how could you tell?"
"Lady, those who sleep under the stars are sometimes gifted in that way.
Since you were born in October, you should have an opal.
"'October's child will not be blest
Who wears no opal on her breast.'"
"But I have one," protested Billie, "only I left it at home."
"Then you will not buy one of these stones!" exclaimed the halfbreed
darkly.
"No," replied Miss Campbell, gently but firmly, "we wish nothing
whatever. I think we must be going now, girls," she added, rising.
The man began to put away his wares sulkily while the girls gathered
their belongings together and started for the automobile.
When he had fastened the pack to his back he walked over to the Comet in
which they were already seated, while Billie cranked up the machine.
"Yesterday afternoon, in front of the place called Sevenoaks, a man in
an automobile was struck by lightning and killed," he said. "Only a
little while before his master had refused to buy from me. And I cursed
them for their meanness. I was poor and they had money, but they refused
to buy. And now I curse you. I curse you and your country and your
parents and your grandparents. I curse the machine which carries you.
May your way be hard and full of dangers. May the lightning play about
you and the thunder smite you. May you be lost in the mountains and
starve in the desert and sleep without a roof over your heads. Curses be
upon you and yours."
Having delivered himself of his burden of hatred, he strode down the
road, a very figure of vengeance and enmity.
"Great heavens! the dreadful creature," exclaimed Miss Campbell,
cowering in her seat fearfully.
"Don't notice him, Cousin Helen," said Billie over her shoulder. She had
started the car and they were speeding along at a rapid rate. "He is
insane, of course, and I'm glad we got rid of him so easily."
"Dear, dear, I hope we won't meet any more persons like that. He seems
to be just a vessel of bitterness, as poor dear grandmamma used to say."
They rode along silently for some time in the bright sunshine without
speaking. At last Elinor and Billie burst out simultaneously, as if they
had both been pursuing the identical train of thought and at the same
moment had reached an exciting conclusion.
"The man struck by lightning," they cried.
"Must have been Peter Van Vechten's chauffeur," went on Elinor.
"And that was why Peter Van Vechten rushed into the house yesterday in
the storm," pursued Billie.
"Then the poor chauffeur must have been in the house with us all night,"
said Mary, shuddering.
"And that was why Mr. Moore was gone so long, and then wouldn't tell us
what was the matter. He was afraid it would frighten us," added Elinor.
"It's very strange, but I believe you are right," observed Miss
Campbell, shivering at the thought that there had been death and
destruction about her while she slept all unconscious in the big leather
chair by the fire.
That night they crossed the border line and slept in comfortable beds in
a fine hotel in Omaha, Nebraska.
"Billie," said Nancy, with the covers drawn well about her head, so as
to shut out the memory of that revengeful individual who had cursed them
in such round terms, "Billie."
"Yes," replied her friend sleepily.
"Did that peddler's face remind you of anyone?"
"I can't say it did," she answered, almost slipping off into the region
of dreams.
"Not Miss Hawkes, who was so fond of dates?" asked Nancy.
"There was a faint likeness," answered Billie, making an effort to pull
herself out of the deep pit into which she was fast sinking, and falling
back again helplessly, like a prisoner shackled with too many chains to
escape.
"Do you suppose she could have had Indian blood?" asked Nancy.
But there was no reply. Billie was sleeping deeply.