Betty Gordon at Mountain Camp Part 26

"How about walking back?" asked the other boy promptly, grinning.

Letters and papers were distributed. There was at least one letter for everybody but Ida, and Betty squeezed her hand under the table in a comforting way.

When they all retired from the table and gathered in groups in the big living room where the log fire roared Uncle d.i.c.k beckoned Betty to him. He put a letter from Mrs. Eustice into the girl's hand and at one glance she "knew the worst."

"Oh Betty!" gasped Louise, "what's the matter?"

For Betty had emitted a squeal of despair. She shook the paper before their eyes.

"Come on, Betty!" cried Bob. "Get it out--if it's a fishbone."

"It's all over!" wailed Betty. "Measles don't last as long as we thought they did. Shadyside opens two days from to-morrow, and we have got to be there. That's Monday. Oh, dear, dear, dear!"

"Say a couple more for me, Betty," growled Teddy Tucker. "I suppose Salsette will open too. Back to Major Pater and others too murderous to mention."

"And the Major's got it in for you Tucker twins," Bob reminded him wickedly.

"That's Tom's fault," grumbled Teddy. "If he hadn't sprung that s...o...b..ll stunt--Oh, well! What's the use?"

"Life, Ted believes," said Louise, "is just one misfortune after another.

But I do hate to leave here just as we have got nicely settled. My goodness! what's the matter with Ida? Something's happened to her, too."

Ida had sprung to her feet with one of the recently arrived New York papers in her hand. Actually she was pale, and it was no wonder the company stared at her when her cheeks were usually so ruddy.

"What is the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Canary.

Betty went to the English girl at once and put an arm about her shoulders.

"Did you see something in the paper that frightened you, Ida?" she asked.

"It doesn't frighten me," replied the girl, with trembling lips. "See.

Read it. This time I am sure it is my aunt. See!"

Uncle d.i.c.k joined the group about the excited girl. Her color had come back into her cheeks now and her eyes shone. She was usually so self-contained and quiet that Mr. Gordon now thought perhaps they had not really appreciated how much the hope of joining her aunt meant to Ida.

"Read it aloud, Betty," said her uncle quietly.

"Oh! Here's her name! It must be right this time!" cried Betty; and then she obeyed her uncle's request:

"'The Toscanelli Opera Company, Salvatore Toscanelli manager, which has made a very favorable impression among the music lovers of the East and Middle West during the last few months, will sail for Rio Janeiro on Sunday on the _San Salvador_ of the Blue Star Line. The company has been augmented by the engagement of several soloists, among them Madam Ida Bellethorne, the English soprano, who has made many friends here during the past few years.'"

"Day after to-morrow!" exclaimed Bobby, the first to speak. "Why! maybe if you can go to New York you will see her, Ida."

"Day after to-morrow," repeated Ida, anxiously. "Can I get to New York by that time? I--I have a little money----"

"Don't worry about the money, honey," Betty broke in. "You will have to start early in the morning, won't she, Uncle d.i.c.k?"

"If she is to reach the steamer in time, yes," said the gentleman rather doubtfully.

"Oh! if I don't get there what shall I do?" cried Ida. "Rio Janeiro, why, that is in South America! It would cost hundreds of your dollars to pay my pa.s.sage there. I must get to Aunt Ida before she sails. I must!"

"Now, now!" put in Mrs. Canary soothingly. "Don't worry about it, child.

That will not help. We will get you to the train to-morrow----"

"If we can," interrupted her husband softly.

He beckoned Uncle d.i.c.k away and they went out through the hall to look at the weather, leaving the young folks and Mrs. Canary to encourage the English girl.

Outside the two men did not find much in the appearance of the weather to encourage them. It was raining softly, for there was no wind; and it was freezing as fast as it fell.

"And that old shack-a-bones I keep here during the winter isn't sharpened.

Ought to be, I know. But he isn't," grumbled Jonathan Canary.

"No use to think of snowshoes if it freezes, Jack," rejoined Mr. Gordon.

"It is too far to the railroad anyway. I doubt if these children get to school on time."

"Telephone wires are down again. I just tried to get Cliffdale before dinner. This is a wilderness up here, d.i.c.k."

"I am sorry for that young English girl," mused Mr. Gordon. "She is fairly eaten up with the idea of getting in touch with her aunt. Good reason, too. She has told me all about it. She carries a letter from her dead father to the woman and he begged the girl to be sure to put it into his sister's hands. Family troubles, Jack."

"Well, come on in. You're here without your hat. Want to get your death of cold?" growled Mr. Canary.

The young folks did not dream at this time that nature was doing her best to make it impossible for Ida Bellethorne to reach New York by Sunday morning when the steams.h.i.+p _San Salvador_ would leave her dock. It was, however, the general topic of conversation during the evening. When bed-time came they went gaily to bed, not even Betty doubting the feasibility of their getting to the train on the morrow.

Her uncle, however, put his head out of the door again when the others had gone chamberward and seeing the s.h.i.+ning, icy waste of the Overlook, muttered with growing anxiety:

"Can it be done?"

CHAPTER XXIV

TWENTY MILES OF GRADE

Ida slept in the room with Betty and Bobby that night. Betty had confided to her chum, as well as to Uncle d.i.c.k, the outcome of the mystery of her locket. Because of Ida's information, Uncle d.i.c.k had a.s.sured his niece they would recover the trinket.

"If Mrs. Staples is not a dishonest woman, she shades that character pretty closely. There are people like that--people who think that a found article is their own unless absolutely claimed by the victim of the loss.

A rather prejudiced brand of honesty to say the least."

The two Shadyside girls made much of Ida Bellethorne on this evening after they had fore-gathered in the bedroom. Just think! her Aunt Ida might take her to South America. Ida already had traveled by boat much farther than even Betty had journeyed by train.

"Although I am not at all sure how my aunt will meet me," the English girl said. "She was very angry with my father. She wasn't fair to him. She is impulsive and proud, and maybe she will think no better of me. But I must give her father's letter and see what comes of it."

The main difficulty was to get to New York in time to deliver the letter before the _San Salvador_ sailed. When the girls awoke very early and saw a sliver of moon s.h.i.+ning low in the sky, they bounced up with glad if m.u.f.fled cries, believing that everything was all right. The storm had ceased. And when they pushed up the window a little more to stick their heads out they immediately discovered something else.

"Goodness me!" gasped Bobby. "It's one glare of ice--everything! And so-o cold! Ugh!" and she s.h.i.+vered, bundled as she was in a blanket robe.