The Camp Fire Girls at Onoway House Part 17

So there was no breaking up of the group before they all went home, with the exception of Ophelia, or rather Beatrice, as we will have to call her from now on, for, of course, she was to go with her mother.

"What must it be like, anyway," said Hinpoha, "not to have any last name until you're nine years old and then be introduced to yourself? To answer to the name of Ophelia one and 'Miss Beatrice Palmer' the next?

It must be rather confusing."

Little Beatrice went to Boston with her mother and father and uncle and aunt and Onoway House missed her rather sorely. Calvin Smalley also got a measure of happiness out of the restoration of the lost child, for Uncle Lynn was so beside himself with joy over the event that he was ready to bestow favors on anyone connected with Onoway House, and promised to see that Calvin got through school and college. He would give him a place to work in his office Sat.u.r.days and vacations.

For several days now there had been no sign of the mysterious visitor, and the well digger's ghost had also apparently been laid to rest. Then one morning they woke to the realization that the unseen agency had been at work again. Pinned on the front door was a piece of paper on which was scrawled,

"_If you folks know what's good for you you'll get out of that house._"

"We'll do no such thing!" said Migwan, with unexpected spirit "I've started out to earn money to go to college by canning tomatoes, and I'm going to stay here until they're canned; I don't care who likes it or doesn't."

"That's it, stand up for your rights," applauded Sahwah.

"But what possible motive could anyone have for wanting us to get out of the house?" asked Migwan. Of course, there was no answer to this.

"Do you suppose the house will be burned down as the tepee was?" asked Gladys, in rather a scared voice. This suggestion sent a s.h.i.+ver through them all.

"We must get the policeman back again to watch," said Mrs. Gardiner.

Accordingly, the redoubtable constable was brought on the scene again.

"Well, well, well," he said, fingering the mysterious note. "Thought he'd come back again now that the coast was clear, did he? You notice, though, that he didn't make no effort while I was here. You can bet your life he won't get busy again while I'm here now. You ladies just rest easy and go on with your peeling."

Scarcely had he finished speaking, when from the bowels of the earth and apparently under his very feet, there came the strange sound as of blows being struck on hard earth or stone. The expression on Dave Beeman's face was such a mixture of surprise and alarm that the girls could not keep from laughing, disturbed as they were at the return of the sounds.

"By gum," said the constable, looking furtively around, "this is certainly a queer business." He had heard the story of the well digger's ghost and it was very strong in his mind just now. "Maybe it's just as well not to meddle," he said under his breath.

Off and on through the day they heard the same sounds issuing from the ground, and at dusk the weird moaning began again. The constable showed strong signs of wis.h.i.+ng himself elsewhere. When darkness fell the noises ceased and were heard no more that night. But another sort of moaning had taken its place. This was the wind, which had been blowing strongly all day, and early in the evening increased to the proportions of a hurricane. With wise forethought Sahwah and Nyoda brought the raft and the rowboat up on land. Leaves, small twigs and thick dust filled the air. Windows rattled ominously; doors slammed with jarring crashes.

Migwan, foreseeing a devastating storm, set all the girls to picking tomatoes as fast as they could, whether they were ripe or not, to save them from being dashed to the ground. They could ripen off the vines later.

At last the sandstorm drove them into the house, blinded. Then there came such a wind as none of them had ever experienced. Trees in the yard broke like matches; the Balm of Gilead roared like an ocean in a tempest. There was a constant rattle of pebbles and small objects against the window panes; then one of the windows in the dining-room was broken by a branch being hurled against it, and let in a miniature tempest. Papers blew around the room in great confusion. Migwan rolled the high topped sideboard in front of the broken pane to keep the wind out of the room. At times it seemed as if the very house must be coming down on top of their heads, and they stood with frightened faces in the front hall ready to dash out at a moment's notice. A crash sounded on the roof and they thought the time had come, but in a moment they realized that it was only the chimney falling over. The bricks went sliding and b.u.mping down the slope of the roof and fell to the ground over the edge.

"I pity anybody who's caught in this out in the open," said Migwan. "I believe the wind is strong enough to blow a horse over. I wonder where Calvin is now." Calvin had gone to the city with Farmer Landsdowne on business and intended to remain all night.

"He's probably all right if he has reached those friends of the Landsdownes'," said Hinpoha.

"The Smalleys are out, too," said Sahwah. "I saw them drive past after dark, going toward town, just before it began to blow so terribly. Oh, listen! What do you suppose that was?" A crash in the yard told them that something had happened to the barn. Gladys was in great distress about the car, and had to be restrained forcibly from running out to see if it was all right. The wind continued the greater part of the night and n.o.body thought of going to bed. By morning it had spent its force.

Then they looked out on a scene of destruction. The garden was piled with branches and trunks of trees, and strewn with clothes that had been hanging on wash-lines somewhere along the road. Up against the porch lay a wicker chair which they recognized as belonging to a house some distance away. Everywhere around they could see the corn and wheat lying flat on the ground, as if trodden by some giant foot. The roof of the barn had been torn off on one side and reposed on the ground, more or less shattered. The car was uninjured except that it was covered with a thick coating of yellow dust. It was well that they had thought to pick the tomatoes, for the vines and the frames which supported them were demolished. All the telephone wires were down as far as they could see.

Calvin was not to return until night, and they felt no great anxiety about him, but often during the day a disquieting thought came to Migwan. This was about Uncle Peter, the man who lived in the cottage among the trees. Suppose something had happened to him? From Sahwah's report, the house was very old and frail. She watched the Red House closely for signs of life, but apparently the Smalleys had not returned.

The doors were shut and there was no smoke coming out of the kitchen chimney.

"Nyoda," said Migwan, finally, "I'm going over and see if that old man is all right. I can't rest until I know."

"All right," said Nyoda, "I'm going with you." Sahwah was over at Mrs.

Landsdowne's, but they remembered her description of the approach to the cottage, and made the detour around the field where the bull was and the marsh beyond it, coming up to the cottage from the other side. It was still standing, although the big tree beside it had been blown over and lay across the roof.

"Would you ever think," said Migwan, "that there was anyone living in there? I could pa.s.s it a dozen times and swear it was empty, if I didn't know about it."

"Well," said Nyoda, the house is still standing, "so I suppose the old man is all right."

"I wonder," said Migwan. "He may have been frightened sick, and he may have nothing to eat or drink, now that the Smalleys are kept away. We'd better have a look. He can't hurt us. If Sahwah spent the whole afternoon with him we needn't be afraid."

They tried the door, but, of course, found it locked, and were obliged to resort to the same means of entrance as Sahwah had employed. They saw the key in the other door just as Sahwah had and turned it and opened the door. The old man was sitting by the table in just the position Sahwah had described. Apparently he was neither frightened nor hurt. He looked up when he saw them in the doorway and motioned them to come in.

There was nothing extraordinary in his appearance; he was simply an old man with mild blue eyes. Obeying the same impulse of adventure which had led Sahwah across the threshold, they stepped in and sat down. The room was just as Sahwah had told them. The table was littered with wheels and rods which the old man was fitting together. As they expected, he worked away without taking any notice of them.

"Did you mind the storm?" asked Nyoda.

"Storm?" said the old man. "What storm?"

"He never noticed it!" said Migwan, in an aside to Nyoda.

"What are you making?" asked Migwan, wis.h.i.+ng to hear from his own lips the explanation he had given Sahwah.

After his customary interval he spoke. "It's a machine that reclaims wasted moments," he explained. "Every moment that isn't made good use of goes down through this little trap door, and when there are enough to make an hour they join hands and climb up on the face of the clock again."

Migwan and Nyoda exchanged glances. The ingenious imagination of the old man surpa.s.sed anything they had ever heard. They stayed awhile, amusing themselves by looking at the books and clocks in the cabinets, and then rose, intending to slip away quietly when he was absorbed in his work, as Sahwah had done. A dish of apples standing on one of the cabinets indicated that he was not without food and their minds were now at rest about his welfare. But when they moved toward the door he turned and looked at them.

"What do you think of it?" he asked.

By "it" they figured that he meant the machine he was working on. "It's a very good one indeed," said Nyoda, "very interesting."

"Do you want to buy the rights?" asked the old man, taking off his hat and putting it on again.

"He thinks he's talking to some capitalist!" whispered Migwan.

"We'll talk over the plans first among ourselves and let you know our decision," said Nyoda, not knowing what to say and wis.h.i.+ng to appear politely interested. This speech would give them an opportunity to get away. But to her surprise Uncle Peter drew a sheet of paper from among those on the table and gravely handed it to her.

"Here are the plans," he said. "Take them and look them over and let me know in a week." Then he fell to work and forgot their presence. Holding the paper in her hands Nyoda walked out of the room, followed by Migwan.

They left the house as they had entered it and returned by a roundabout way to Onoway House. Nyoda put the plans of the remarkable machine away in her room, intending to keep it as a curiosity. Soon afterward they saw the Smalleys driving into the yard of the Red House.

It took the girls most of the day to clear the garden of the rubbish which had been blown into it and tie up the prostrate plants on sticks.

Calvin came back at night safe and relieved the slight anxiety they had felt about him. As they sat on the porch after supper comparing notes about the storm they heard the m.u.f.fled sounds which told that the well digger's ghost was at work again. It continued throughout the evening.

"I'll be a wreck if this keeps up much longer," said Migwan. A perpetual air of uneasiness had fallen on Onoway House and it was impossible to get anything accomplished. How could they settle down to work or play with that dreadful thud, thud pounding in their ears every little while?

Dave Beeman had taken himself home after the storm to see what damage had been done and they were again without the protection of the law.

"Maybe it's some animal under the ground," suggested Calvin. "It certainly couldn't be a person down there." This seemed such an amazingly sensible solution of the mystery that the girls were inclined to accept it.

"I suppose imagination does help a lot," said Migwan, "and if we hadn't heard that story about the well digger we would never have thought of a man with a pickaxe. It's undoubtedly the movements of an animal we hear."

"But what animal lives underground without any air?" asked Sahwah.

"There's probably a hole somewhere, only we haven't found it," said Migwan, who seemed determined to believe the animal theory.

"But what about the note on the door and the lime on the tomatoes and the burning of the tepee?" asked Sahwah. "You can't blame that onto an animal, can you?"