Helen in the Editor's Chair Part 16

With the wind whispering through the trees and the steady lap, lap, lap of the waves on the sh.o.r.e, it was the hour for stories and they settled back from the fire to listen to Miss Carver, whose reputation as a story teller was unexcelled.

"It was a night like this," she started, "and a cla.s.s something like this one was on a picnic. After supper they sat down at the fire to tell ghost stories, each one trying to outdo the other in the horror of the things they told."

From somewhere through the night came a long drawn out cry rising from a soft note to a high crescendo that sent s.h.i.+vers running up and down the back of everyone at the fireside.

Helen laughed.

"It's only the whistle of a freight train," she a.s.sured the others, but they all moved closer to the fire.

"While they told stories," went on Miss Carver, "the blackness of the night increased, the stars faded and over all there was a canopy of such darkness as had never been seen before. The wind moaned dismally like a lost soul and the waters of the lake, white-capped by the breeze, chattered against the rocky beach. The last ghost story was being told by one of the boys. He told how people disappeared as if by magic, leaving no trace behind them, uttering no sound. Some of the other stories had been surprising, but this one gave the cla.s.s the creeps and everyone turned to see if the others were there."

Involuntarily Helen reached out to clasp Margaret's hand and when she failed to find it, turned to the spot where Margaret had been sitting beside her a few minutes before.

Margaret had disappeared!

CHAPTER IX _Rescue on Lake Dubar_

Helen stared hard at the place where her friend should have been. Had the magic of Miss Carver's story been so strong that she was imagining things? She rubbed her eyes and looked again. There was no mistake.

Margaret had disappeared!

Helen's cry caught the attention of the other members of the cla.s.s and Miss Carver stopped her story.

"What's the matter, Helen?" the teacher asked.

"Look," cried Helen dazedly, pointing to the spot where Margaret had been sitting, "Margaret's gone!"

Miss Carver's eyes widened and she gave a little shudder. Then she smiled to rea.s.sure Helen and the other members of the cla.s.s.

"Probably Margaret slipped away and is hiding just to add a thrill to my ghost story. I'll call her."

"Margaret, oh, Margaret!" The teacher's voice rang through the night. She cupped her hands and called again when there was no response to her first one. Once more she called but still there was no answer from the ma.s.sed maples behind them or the dark waters of the lake.

"This is more than a joke," muttered Ned Burns, the cla.s.s president.

"We'd better get out and have a look around."

He stepped toward the fire, threw on an armful of fresh, dry sticks, and the flames leaped higher, throwing their reflection further into the night.

"We'll take a look into the woods," he told Miss Carver, "and you and the girls hunt along the lake sh.o.r.e. Margaret might have fallen and hurt herself."

Miss Carver agreed and the girls gathered around her. There was a queer tightness in Helen's throat and a tugging at her heart that unnerved her--a vague, pressing fear that something was decidedly wrong with Margaret.

The boys disappeared into the shadows of the timber and the girls turned toward the lake sh.o.r.e.

They had just started their search when Miss Carver made an important discovery.

"Girls," she cried, "One of the rowboats we rented this afternoon is missing!"

Helen ran toward the spot, the other girls crowding around her. They could make out the marks of the boat's keel in the sand and a girl's footprints.

"Those prints were made by Margaret's shoes," said Helen. "You can see the marks of the heel plates she has on her oxfords."

"We'll call the boys," said Miss Carver, and Helen thought she detected a real note of alarm in the teacher's voice although Miss Carver was making every possible effort to appear calm.

When the boys arrived, Miss Carver told them of their discovery and Ned Burns took charge of the situation.

"We'll get in the other rowboat," he said, "and start looking for Margaret. In the meantime, someone must go up to Linder's farmhouse and telephone town. Margaret's father ought to know she's out on the lake in the boat. Also call Jim Preston and if he hasn't started down with the _Liberty_, have him come at once."

"I'll go to the farm," volunteered Helen.

"O. K.," nodded Ned as he selected two other boys to accompany him in the rowboat. They pushed off the sandy beach, dropped the oars in the locks, and splashed away into the night.

"Don't you want someone to go to the farmhouse with you?" Miss Carver asked Helen.

But Helen shook her head and ran up the beach. She didn't want anyone with her; she wanted to be alone. The other girls didn't realize the seriousness of the situation. She could understand what Margaret had done. Realizing that Miss Carver would tell them a first rate thriller of a ghost story, Margaret had decided to add an extra thrill by disappearing for a few minutes. But something had gone wrong and she hadn't been able to get back.

Helen paused and looked over the black, mysterious waters of Lake Dubar.

What secret were they keeping from her? Thoughts of what might have happened to Margaret brought the queer, choky sobs again and she ran on toward Linder's where the welcome glow of light showed through the windows of the farmhouse.

Old Mr. Linder came to the door in answer to Helen's quick, insistent knocks.

"What's the matter, young Lady?" he asked, peering at her through the mellow radiance of the kerosene lamp which he held in one hand.

"I'm Helen Blair," she explained, "and one of my cla.s.smates has disappeared from our picnic party down the beach. One of the boats we rented from you is missing and we're sure Margaret is adrift on the lake and unable to get back. I'd like to use your telephone to let her father know and to call Jim Preston."

"Why, certainly," said Mr. Linder, "I don't wonder at your hurry. Come right in and use the phone. Who did you say the girl was?"

"Margaret Stevens," Helen replied.

"Must be Doctor Stevens' daughter," said the farmer.

"She is," Helen replied, as she reached the telephone in the hallway.

While Helen was ringing for the operator at Rolfe, Mr. Linder stuck his head in the living room.

"Mother," he said, "Doctor Stevens' daughter is adrift somewhere on the lake in one of our boats. I'm going down and see if I can help find her."

Mrs. Linder came into the hall and Helen heard her husband telling her what had happened. Then the Rolfe operator answered and Helen gave her the number of Doctor Stevens' office.

The doctor answered almost instantly and Helen, phrasing her sentences as tactfully as possible so as not to unduly alarm the doctor, told him what had happened.

"Sounds just like Margaret," he snorted. "I'll be right down. Now don't worry too much, Helen," he added.

"I won't, Doctor Stevens," promised Helen with a shaky attempt at cheerfulness.