Dorothy on a House Boat Part 28

Right below our feet lies--lies--"

"The treasures of Golconda!" suggested the irreverent Corny. In the past he had held faith in this same "buried treasure," but now to see so many other people so earnestly interested in it, changed the whole aspect for him.

But the doughty Captain, self-const.i.tuted master of ceremonies disdained to notice the "Ne'er-do-well" of the countryside and in stentorian tones, with his hands trumpet-wise before his mouth, he bellowed:

"Now, my hearties, dig! DIG!"

Each was armed with something to use, Jim had brought some of the engineering tools from the "Pad" and had distributed these among the boys. Ephraim had borrowed an old hoe from a farmer near by, Wicky had caught up a pick-axe from his own wagon--he had meant to leave it at his brother's cabin but forgot; Chloe had seized a carving knife, and the others had spoons, table knives, or whatever came handiest. Only the Colonel and the Captain were without implements of some sort. Even the jesting Corny had seized the fallen branch of a tree and broken its end into the semblance of a tool. It was he who first observed the idleness of the two men most interested, and slapping Cap'n Jack upon the shoulder, ordered:

"Dig, my hearty! DIG!"

"I--I'm a--a cripple!" answered the sailor, with offended dignity; "and don't you know, you Simple Simon, 't they always has to be a head to everything? Well, I 'low as how I'm the head to this here v'yage, an' I'll spend my energy officerin' this trip!"

Corny laughed. Now that all was well at his home in the fields he found the world the jolliest sort of place, and the "Lilies" the most interesting people in it. Then he turned upon the Colonel, sitting upon a soft hummock of weeds as near in shape to Billy's restful back as possible.

"But, Cunnel, how 'bout you? I thought the 'treasure' was yours--in part, anyway. Why aren't you up and at it? 'Findings are keepings', you know. Up, man, and dig!"

The Colonel lifted sorrowful eyes to the jester's face, and murmured in his tired voice:

"I cayn't. I never could. I shouldn't find it if I did. They ain't no use. I couldn't. They won't. n.o.body will. Not nigh _her_; not on My Lady Cecilia's Manor. I've known that all along. But I _had_ to come.

Something made me, I don't know what. But I had to. Corny Stillwell, do you know what day this is? Or ain't you no memory left in that rattle-pate o' you-all's? I don't suppose they is. n.o.body remembers nothin'. Ah! hum."

Corny's face had sobered and he held out his hand in sympathy.

"Shake, old fellow! and look-a-here, haven't you held on to your grudge long enough? The Doc's a fine man if he is a mite greedy for the almighty dollar. Land of love! Aren't we all? Else why are we acting like such a parcel of idiots this minute! Get up, Cunnel. Get some energy into your tired old body and see how 'twill feel. At present, you're about as inspiriting as a galvanized squash, and first you know your willing helpers'll quit. Come on. Let's strike off a bit deeper into the woods. Too many banging around the roots of that one old tree. First they know it'll be tumblin' over on 'em. Come on out of harm's way. You and I've been good friends ever since I used to go to the Manor House and flirt with--"

"Hold on! Don't you dare to say that name to me, Corny, you fool! you ain't wuth your salt but I'd ruther it had been you than him. You clear out my sight. I ain't got no thoughts, I ain't got no memories--I--I--ain't got no little girl no more!"

The man's emotion was real. Tears rose to his faded eyes and rolled down over his gaunt cheeks; leaving, it must be admitted, some clean streaks there. Big-hearted, idle Corny couldn't endure this sight and was now doubly glad he had wandered to this place that day. The Colonel was a gentleman, sadly discouraged and, in reality, almost heart-broken. His merry friend could remember him as something very different from now; when his attire was less careless, his face clean-shaven, the melancholy droop of his countenance less p.r.o.nounced.

He had always talked much as he did still but he had been, despite this fact, a proud and happy man. These strangers mustn't see the old planter weeping!

"Come."

The touch of the jester's hand was as gentle as Lucetta's own, as he now adroitly guided his old friend to a sheltered spot where none could see his face. Except--Well, Dorothy was quite near; harmlessly prodding away at the earth with Aunt Betty's best paperknife. Her digging was aimless, for her thoughts were no longer on her present task. They were so absorbed that she didn't hear the approach of the two men--nor of one other, yet unseen. Suddenly, the little steel blade of her implement struck with a ringing sound upon something metallic, and she paused in astonishment. Then bent to her work excitedly, wondering:

"Is it--can it be I've--found--it--IT! Oh!--"

An unfamiliar voice suddenly interrupted her task, demanding:

"Girl! Why are you despoiling my property, trampling my choicest ferns, trespa.s.sing upon my private park?"

The paperknife went one way, Dorothy's red Tam another, as she sprang up to confront the most masterful looking woman she had ever seen.

Tall as an Amazon, yet handsome as she was forbidding, she towered above the astonished child as if she would annihilate her.

"I--I couldn't do very much--with a paperknife, could I? I didn't know--I'm sorry, I'll plant them right back--I only did what the others said--n.o.body warned me--us--"

"_Us?_ Are there others then? Where? This is outrageous! Can't you read? Didn't you see the signs 'No Trespa.s.sing' everywhere? Where are the rest? This must be put a stop to--I wouldn't have had it happen for anything. My park--Eunice's precious playground, where she is safe and--Oh! I am so sorry, so sorry."

The lady was in riding habit. A little way off stood a horse and beside it a tiny pony with a child upon its back. A groom was at the pony's side, apparently holding its small rider safe. The child's face peered out from a ma.s.s of waving hair, frail and very lovely, though now frightened by her own mother's loud tones.

These tones had roused others also. Wheeling about the lady faced Corny and the Colonel, slowly rising from the log where they had been resting. A moment she stared as if doubting the evidence of her own eyes, then her whole expression changed and springing forward she threw her strong arms about the trembling Colonel and drew his tired face to her shoulder.

"Oh! Daddy, Daddy! You have come home--you have come home at last. And on my wedding day! To make it a glorious day, indeed! Ten years since I have had a chance to kiss your dear old face, ten years lost out of a lifetime just because I married--_Jabb_!"

But now her strong, yet cultured voice, rang out in mirth, and Dorothy looked at her in amazement, almost believing she had found a crazy woman in these woods. Then Mr. Corny, as she called him, came to where she stood, observing, and gently pushed her back again upon the heap of ferns.

"Best not to notice. Best keep right on diggin'. That's Josie--I mean Josephine--Dillingham--Jabb! Her father intended her to marry into one of our oldest Maryland 'families' and she rebelled. Took up with Jabb, a son of the poorest white trash in the county, not a cent to his name--that's bad enough!--but more brains 'an all the 'first families'

put together ever had. Made his way right straight up the ladder.

Has a reputation greater outside Annyrunnell than in it. Only fault--likes money. Says he'll make a fortune yet will beat the 'aristocrats' into being proud of him. Says if he does have to leave his daughter the humble name of Jabb he'll pile money enough on top of it to make the world forget what's underneath. Says when she marries she shall never discard that name but always be 'of J'. Poor little child! Her parents adore her but all her father's skill and pride is powerless to straighten her poor little body. She's a hunchback, and though she doesn't mind that for herself she grieves over it for them.

Oh! but this is a grand day! The Colonel will just idolize little Eunice--I want to fling up my hat and hurra!"

All this information had been given in a whisper while Dorothy snuggled in the great fronds, and Mr. Stillwell crouched beside her, idly digging with the paperknife he had picked up, and trying to keep his presence hidden from these two chief actors in this unexpected scene.

"Do you suppose it was really to find the 'buried treasure' the Colonel came? Or to--to make up friends with his daughter?" asked Dolly, softly.

"Well--both, maybe. No matter why nor how--he's here. They've met, and at heart are just as loving as they always were. It is a good day, the best anniversary Josie Dillingham ever had. Hark! What's doing? Peep and see."

"The lady has motioned that groom to lead the horses this way. Ah!

isn't that sweet? The little thing is holding out her arms to the Colonel as if she knew him and loved him already!"

"Reckon Josie's taught her that. Joe always was a brick! Liked to rule the roost but with a heart as big as her body. She told my Lucetty 't she should teach little Eunice to know she had a grandpa somewhere and that he was the very best, dearest man alive; so that when they met, if they ever did, she wouldn't be afraid but would take to him right away. Reckon her plan's succeeded. Won't Lucetty be glad about this!"

The groom was now leading the two horses through the woods, toward the Copse and the Water Lily. Both saddles were empty for little Eunice was in her grandfather's arms and he stepping as proudly, almost as firmly, as the woman walking beside him.

"They--why--why--what have you done? Broken Aunt Betty's paperknife of real Damascus steel! She says she knows it's that because she bought it there herself, once when she went on a 'round the world' tour. She says it mayn't be any better than other steel--reckon it isn't, or it wouldn't have broken that way. I ought not to have taken it but I was so excited, everybody was, I didn't stop to think. What makes you look so queer, Mr. Corny? Aunt Betty won't care, or she'll blame me only.

You--you most scare me!"

Indeed, her companion was looking very "queer," as she said. His eyes were glittering, his face was pale, his lips nervously working, and he was rapidly enlarging the hole her knife had made by using his bare hands.

Dorothy sprang to a little distance and then watched, fascinated. A suspicion of the truth set her own eyes s.h.i.+ning and now she was scarcely surprised when the man stood up, holding a muddy box in his hand, and shouting in hilarious delight:

"Found! Found! After all, that old yarn was true! It's the 'buried treasure', as sure as I'm alive! Hurra!"

Away he sped carrying the big box above his head and summoning all his fellow searchers to join him at the house-boat and behold.

Half-dazed by this success Dorothy picked up the discarded fragments of the paper cutter, and followed him. But even as she did so she wondered:

"Odd! That he can carry it so, on the very tips of his fingers, and so high up! I thought 'buried treasure' was always gold, and a box full of gold would be terrible heavy. Even two, three hundred dollars that Mr. Ford let me lift, out in California, weighed a lot!"

But she shared to the full the excitement of all the company who now threw down their own tools to follow Corny with his joyous shouts:

"Come on! Come on, all! The 'treasure' is found!"

CHAPTER XVI.

WHEN THE MONKEYS' CAGE WAS CLEANED.