The Unknown Owner
Madge and Cara felt certain their presence in the garden had been noted,
but to their relief, the man looked away again. He rested briefly, then
picked up his spade and resumed digging.
“Now!” Madge whispered the instant his back had turned.
They moved noiselessly along the vine-covered wall until they were hidden
behind the house.
“I surely thought we were caught that time,” Cara said nervously. “What
can he be after anyway?”
“I wish I knew. Just our luck to have to rush home at the exciting time!
He may not come here again.”
The front gate had been locked with padlock and chain, but the girls
found a small opening in the side fence and slipped through. They
breathed easier as they emerged on the street. It was after eleven
o’clock so they ran nearly all the way to their homes.
Madge did not see her friend the following day which was Sunday. In spite
of her vigorous protest, she was herded into a neighbor’s car and taken
on a picnic which Mr. and Mrs. Brady had promised to attend earlier in
the week. School opened as usual on Monday, but Cara failed to appear,
and upon calling at the Wayne home that evening, Madge found her ill in
bed with a cold.
“I must have caught it from sitting so long on the ground at the Swenster
Mansion,” Cara declared. “I hope you’re not going there again tonight.”
Madge had thought that she might, but with Cara unable to accompany her,
it scarcely seemed fair. Then too, the old house at night was not the
most pleasant place to be alone. She readily promised her friend the
little adventure would be postponed.
Cara came to school the following day but her cold had left her in no
mood to expose herself to chilling night air. As several days elapsed,
Madge’s own interest in the mansion waned.
And then on Saturday morning as she was walking to the store for a pound
of sugar which Mrs. Brady had forgotten to order, she was startled to
observe that the front gate of the Swenster Mansion stood ajar.
“That padlock didn’t come off by itself,” she thought alertly.
The temptation to investigate was too great to resist. She paused at the
gate and looked inside the grounds. To her further amazement, she saw the
front door open and a workman was removing boards from the downstairs
windows.
“Good morning!” said a pleasant voice.
Madge jumped. Turning, she saw a middle-aged, white-haired lady, standing
by a mock orange bush slightly to the left of the gate. She was regarding
Madge with a kindly smile.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the latter apologized in embarrassment. “I
didn’t know anyone was at home. I—”
“I don’t wonder at your interest in the place,” the lady came quickly to
her rescue. “The house has been closed for so many years that it must be
a town curiosity. Won’t you come in?”
“Oh, I think not,” Madge murmured, yet aching to do that very thing. “I
don’t like to intrude.”
“It will be no intrusion I assure you,” the other responded warmly. “I
was wishing only a moment ago that someone would drop in to visit me. I
suppose all my old friends are gone by this time.”
She sighed, and Madge saw an expression akin to sorrow cross her face.
Immediately she smiled again and opened the gate wider.
“Do come in. The house and grounds are in frightful condition but within
a few days I hope to have them in better shape. Perhaps you will help me
with suggestions?”
Madge could not resist such an appeal. Actually, she desired nothing more
than an opportunity to talk with the woman, perhaps learning what had
brought her to Claymore.
“I’d love to come in,” she smiled, passing through the gate, “but I’m not
very good at suggestions about gardening. You’re—you’re the owner, aren’t
you?”
“Yes, I am Agatha Swenster.”
Madge introduced herself. Miss Swenster knew how to place her at ease,
and soon she lost all feeling of embarrassment. They wandered slowly
about the ruined garden. Mrs. Swenster pointed out various things which
she planned to have done.
“It must seem nice to be coming back to your old home,” Madge commented
politely.
“Yes, in a way it does. A great many memories are associated with this
house—some very pleasant, others less so. Now that I am here again I
should like to remain. However, I fear it is impossible. I am merely
putting the place in order before I sell it.”
Madge’s face disclosed her disappointment. She could not imagine the old
mansion in the hands of a ruthless, modern owner who might tear down the
shutters, do away with the old-fashioned garden and relandscape the
grounds. It was definitely a house of the past, and Miss Swenster fitted
perfectly into the picture.
“I’m not anxious to sell,” the owner confessed, “but I have no choice. I
plan to hold an auction sale in a few weeks. The house is furnished with
really lovely pieces of furniture. I should like to have you see my
dishes sometime before the sale.”
“What a shame to auction off such valued possessions,” Madge said with
honest regret. “Aren’t you holding anything back?”
“Very little. You see, I must raise money and this house is all I have
left.”
Apparently realizing that she had paraded her personal affairs, Miss
Swenster quickly changed the subject. They continued their tour of the
garden, pausing near the sundial. Madge ventured to ask if it had been
manufactured special for the Swenster Mansion.
“No, we made it ourselves,” she explained. “Father worked out the plans
before his death, and an old Negro servant did the actual work later.”
She moved hurriedly on, as though not wishing to dwell upon a subject
which brought back unhappy associations.
It had occurred to Madge to speak of the recent excavations which had
been going on in the garden but after a moment’s consideration she
decided to allow the matter to go unmentioned.
She was eager to learn if the man Miss Swenster had engaged to assist
with the outside work was the same person she and Cara had observed
during their prior visit to the mansion. As Miss Swenster paused to issue
orders in regard to trimming the hedge, she had ample opportunity to
study the workman’s face. She was certain he was not the man she had seen
digging in the garden.
“The plot thickens,” she thought with quickening interest. “I’ll wager
Miss Swenster doesn’t know any more about that digging than I do. Perhaps
if I get a little better acquainted, I’ll ask her about it.”
Madge readily accepted an invitation to view the inside of the house.
Nothing was in order and dust was everywhere. Miss Swenster lifted
several white sheets to disclose that they protected really fine mahogany
and oak pieces. She did not offer to show Madge the upstairs.
“You see, I have my work cut out for me,” she smiled. “I must go over
everything, sort out the pieces I mean to keep, and get things generally
in order before the auction.”
“If you need a woman to help you, I know of an excellent one,” Madge
offered. “She did work for Aunt Maude.”
She noticed Miss Swenster’s embarrassed face and realized that she had
been tactless.
“I’d like to hire help but I’m afraid I can’t afford it,” Miss Swenster
said quietly. “I am quite strong and will be able to manage alone.”
Madge thought Miss Swenster looked frail and scarcely able to do heavy
housework. She was tempted to offer her own services gratis but realized
that unless she were very diplomatic, Miss Swenster would be certain to
refuse.
“I’ll find some way to help her with the work,” she told herself as she
departed a few minutes later. “I know Cara will be glad to do what she
can too. And if we should happen to learn something pertaining to the
lost Swenster pearls—well, there’s no harm in killing two birds with one
stone!”