The Girl Scouts at Bellaire Part 19

"Hurrah! Hurrah! for our new Tenderfoot. Let's put her through an initiation, girls!" suggested Cleo. "Mary, don't forget where you left off, and we'll take a recess. Come on. First you must slide down that pole. Look out for Michael; he has a pail of water he might like to see you slide into."

Romping and racketing took the place of serious reminiscences for the time, and if Mary felt inclined to be sorrowful at her revived memories the True Treds quickly vanquished the gloom foe, until tiring of the very vigorous exercise, they settled down again for a last word before closing the meeting.

"Was Reda with you all the time?" Cleo asked Mary when they were finally quieted to rational speech. Somehow Cleo seemed to sense a solution to the mystery Mary was so cautiously unfolding.

"She left the island with us. We must have been very near the equator off of Central America, and when the fever broke out all the English left. We came on a very miserable s.h.i.+p, but we were very glad to escape."

"And those men Reda knows," went on Cleo, like a little inquisitor, "did you meet them on the s.h.i.+p?"

"I don't really know, but I have heard Grandie declare to Reda that they followed us. I blame them for most of our trouble, of course."

"And I would, too," declared Grace. "Good thing you scared them off with your flare-up, Madaline. Will you ever forget that movie scene, with all the lights!"

"But, girls," insisted Mary, serious again, "you know I do not feel I should stay here, as I am staying, any longer than I actually have to. I know you are all perfectly lovely, and Mrs. Dunbar is like a--young woman who lives in a shoe, with so many children and so forth, but I also know something about propriety, and it seems an imposition for me to bother you so much."

"There, now," wailed Cleo, "just when everything is being so beautifully fixed. Mary-love, I have a real scheme, but it's a secret. Can't I have a secret same as you?" Cleo twisted her head characteristically. "At any rate," she continued, "we haven't any idea of letting out Peterina Panna (that's my feminine for Peter Pan); we haven't any idea of letting her escape. She must stay right here until all this delicious mystery is cleared up. You see, Peterina Panna, we are only beginning to know your fairyland story, and now I for one am determined to put all the pieces together and make a beautiful real dream out of it, only, of course, the dream must be true."

"Yes, and I just wrote home begging an extension of time, so I could be in the fairy play at the end," declared Madaline, "for I am going to have you worked into a princess or something beautiful like that," decided romantic little Madaline.

"I know you are all sincere," Mary said gently, "and of course it would be difficult to arrange about going away just now, with Grandie not strong. But he suggested that I ask Mrs. Dunbar's advice on a boarding school."

"Don't you dare!" cried Cleo. "She might just pack us all off, and of course we couldn't blame her, for we have turned Cragsnook into a regular inst.i.tution for noisy girls. But, hark ye! Aunt Audrey loves it that way, and she is planning more noise for Uncle Guy's return. And wait until you see him! You will love him. But please to remember he is especially _my_ uncle. And now, scouts, I am going to call this meeting adjourned. I can smell harvest apples all the way up here. Is there anything better than those juicy early apples!"

The girls made that opinion unanimous, and what was left of Michael's apples fifteen minutes later would not even make pickings for Jennie's pet gray hen.

CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE SHADOWS

"Cleo, come here," Grace beckoned her chum, as Mary and Madaline started for a fis.h.i.+ng trip to the little brook that capered through the Cragsnook lands, at the foot of an ambitious group of hills. "I am just so anxious to talk to you," Grace almost implored.

"And I am just dying to talk to you," declared Cleo, "so we ought to have a lovely time. Come on for a walk down to the stone bridge. No one is going that way at this hour."

"Because lovers are scarce around here, I suppose," Grace guessed, "for twilight, lovers and stone bridges are always combined in the movies."

"Then we will be the lovers," proposed Cleo. "Come along, darling,"

and she twined her arm around the shoulders of her friend, in sincere affection, if in pretended affectation.

"I know what you are going to say," Grace began. "It's about Mary's secret."

"Of course," admitted Cleo. "I have been breathless with excitement since she told us. Grace, do you see what may have happened? Just what _may_ have, of course."

"You mean she may belong to people in America who would love to know about her?"

"Yes, that is an easy guess. But why should Professor Benson deny her ident.i.ty?"

"He is also denying his own. Why does he do that?"

"And there is not the slightest possibility he could ever have committed a crime. No man with his personality is ever a criminal."

"No, indeed," vouched Grace, quite unconscious of posing as an expert on character.

"It's very mysterious," went on Cleo, "and when Mary mentioned the name Dunbar to him he seemed to recall it somehow. I asked him if he ever knew anyone named Dunbar, and he pa.s.sed it off on his brain playing queer tricks on him. But all the same he did seem to have a memory of it."

"Now, Cleo Harris, don't you dare go getting Mary in your family,"

ordered Grace, jokingly. "It would be just Cleoistic to have it turn out that way. No, Mary is going to be a princess, to suit Madaline this time. Let's sit down here on the bridge and try to figure it all out," she proposed.

The broad stone coping over the little stream offered an attractive resting place for the self-appointed delegates, and the twilight hour a most opportune time for their conference.

"I am going to do two things first----" began Cleo.

"Oh, I wouldn't," mocked Grace. "I would do one thing first, the other way would be woozy."

"Now you know what I mean, and this isn't a grammar test," pouted Cleo.

"Well, then, first, I am going to write to Uncle Guy. He knows so much about detective work--all writers do, you know, and I feel he could help us solve the mystery. I am going to send him that picture we took the other day, so he can see what Mary looks like."

"I think that is really a brilliant idea, Cleo," said Grace, seriously.

"There might be some reason for Professor Benson noticing the name Dunbar. Even if I do take the risk of you getting in a claim, still, I have to be fair," and she squeezed the arm that lay over her own. "I think the pictures are splendid. I sent one to Margaret. Somehow I feel a little lonely for Margaret, don't you?"

"Yes, it would have been lovely for her to share all this, but perhaps they may come to New York before the season is over. Let us hope so.

Now, for my second big idea: I am going to make inquiries at the New York museum about exploring parties. They may have records of the scientific men who went to the tropics for orchids, and I may be able to solve some of the mystery that way."

"Say, Cleo," said Grace, dimpling and making pretty faces at the slanting rays dipping into the brook from the early nightfall, "I do believe you are related to your Uncle Guy, the writer, for you have such original ideas. However did you think of that?"

"Oh, it is not original, really, Grace. I saw an account of a report of such an expedition in one of Uncle Guy's magazines, and that gave me the idea."

"But it wouldn't give me such an idea in a thousand years," admitted Grace. "However would you go about it?"

"I'll try to get some dates and other facts from Mary, and then I'll just write a letter. Maybe I will ask you to do the writing, as your hand is much better than mine."

"Oh, I'll be glad to help out even as your secretary, but suppose we accidentally betray Mary's secret--then what would happen?"

"I have thought of that," Cleo reflected, "and I have decided, since Professor Benson and Mary are both so good, nothing but good can eventually be discovered about them. Even a lot of mistakes can't be really held against one, and I am hoping there won't even be mistakes, but glories to unfold. Isn't it exciting! Aunt Audrey is just fascinated with Mary, and is going to paint her as soon as things straighten out, and I for one can feel the tangles putting out into a straight line right now. Here they come, with their fish poles. Don't they both look like a picture? Mary is so quaint, and Madaline is such an adorable baby. Come on, and see the fish they didn't catch."

"We did, too, catch something," declared Madaline, when all four girls met on the bridge. "We caught a lovely big fat turtle. Just see!"

It was indeed a lovely turtle she set down on the rough country walk, and, perhaps scenting the damp gra.s.s near the brook, Mr. Turtle promptly crawled off to possible seclusion and hoped for safety. Even turtles have preferences, and do not always appreciate the personal attention of Girl Scouts. They seem to prefer the company of hop toads and toad stools.

"Oh, I'll lose him!" cried Madaline; "and I wanted him for Michael's garden. He would chase all the other little eating bugs and worms, wouldn't he, Mary?" and down the side of the bank, running to the brook, Madaline pursued the recalcitrant reptile. But the hill was very steep, the stones loose, and the sand slippery, and Madaline began to slide.

"Oh, look out, Madie!" yelled Grace. "You'll slide right in the brook!"

But it was too late. Madaline had no chance to "look out." All she could do was to slide, and that she kept at, rolling stones and tossing sand down in a perfect avalanche.

"Oh! oh! oh!" screamed Mary, digging her heels deep in the loose bank in an attempt to follow the sliding figure ahead. "You'll go right in the brook and it's deep. We're so near the dam!"