The Girl Scouts at Bellaire Part 25

"Come, we must see who it can be."

"I am afraid it is Reda, my nurse," said Mary, now almost in tears.

"Oh, do you think she will perish? I was out but could not find her."

Hurried arrangements were made now to summon Michael, and as the storm had somewhat abated it was soon possible to go out with lanterns and search.

Clad in raincoats and rubbers, Mary, Jennie and Mrs. Dunbar went first along the path, toward the gate. Everything seemed quiet, except the late splashes of rain from the trees, and in spite of repeated calls no answer came, and no trace of the storm's victim could be found.

"n.o.body about," announced Michael, as if satisfied the search had been futile.

Then a stir in the hedge attracted Mary's attention.

"Listen!" she exclaimed. "Something stirred in here!"

"Fetch the lantern, Michael," commanded Mrs. Dunbar. "I do see the bushes moving."

He brought the light, and swung it into the thick hedge.

"Oh, Reda," cried Mary. "Reda, are you dead!" she screamed, throwing herself down by a huddled figure that lay ominously still in the deep, wet gra.s.s.

"Mary, wait," ordered Mrs. Dunbar kindly. "Here, Michael, give me the light so you can lift her. She may be just overcome."

But Mary was on her knees beside the old nurse, whose face, bared to the glare of the lantern, looked so death-like!

"Reda! Reda!" called Mary, pressing her young face down to the shriveled features. "Oh, speak to Mary. It is I, Maid Mary! See, I am with you."

But no sound came from the frozen lips, nor did the wrinkled hands answer Mary's warm grasp.

"She is likely stunned," said Mrs. Dunbar, encouragingly. "Michael, can you carry her?"

"Certainly I can," declared the stalwart man, and shouldering the inert burden, her arms brought over his strong chest, and her limbs fetched around under his own strong arms, he carried the unconscious woman up the steps into Cragsnook.

Speechless with terror, Mary followed, while Mrs. Dunbar led the way with the light, and Jennie had hurried on ahead to make ready, scarcely knowing where the gruesome burden was to be rested.

"On the couch in the library," ordered Mrs. Dunbar, "and, Jennie, telephone at once for Dr. Whitehead. I feel sure she is only stunned.

Mary dear, be brave," she continued. "We will surely bring your poor, old nurse back to you," she finished.

But Mary stood like one transfixed, gazing at the helpless figure huddled on the low, leather couch.

CHAPTER XXII

THE ORPHAN OF THE ORCHIDS

Anxious hours at Cragsnook followed that night's storm. Reda, who had been ill in New York, had somehow managed to make her way to Bellaire when she was overtaken by the cloud-burst and stunned from fright of lightning and thunder. But with the skillful work of Dr. Whitehead, a.s.sisted by Jennie, Kate Bergen (Michael's cousin who arrived after the shower), Mrs. Dunbar and the girls, the old nurse finally opened her eyes, and showed signs of life.

"Oh, I never knew how much I loved her until I saw her lying so deathlike," Mary murmured, when Mrs. Dunbar insisted the child should leave the bedside of Reda. "If she had died, and I had not found her in time----"

"Now, Mary-love," coaxed Grace, "you know you are a scout, and we never indulge in foolish fancies like that. Just think how fine it is that she has been saved, and think how good Mrs. Dunbar is."

"Oh, I know and think of that constantly," declared Mary. "This house is nothing short of an inst.i.tution since I came to it," she went on.

"And do you know, Cleo," turning to the one girl who had the right there of relations.h.i.+p to Mrs. Dunbar, "it all frightens me when I feel so much at home here, almost as if I too belonged at Cragsnook. It is presuming, and I can't account for that in me. I have always been so timid."

"You are cured, that's why," said Cleo, urging Mary to bed, for it was well past midnight. "A girl scout simply can't be timid, that is a really, truly good as gold scout girl, and we all know you are exactly that. But not one more word to-night. I have been appointed captain and it is my duty to sound taps, or, as Benny Philow or Mally Mack might say, 'douse the glim.' I think that's the cutest expression,"

and to demonstrate just how "cute" it was she snapped off the lights.

Next day everything was in confusion, and excitement was too weak a word with which to describe the conditions that existed at Cragsnook.

Reda had come to with all the strength characteristic of her st.u.r.dy race, and nothing but main force kept her from running away. She was frightened to death of the place, of the people around her, and nothing that Mary could say would a.s.sure her no harm could come to anyone who was within the hospitality of that generous home. And Reda had explained to Mary it was the jewels she had hidden for the child that had caused her most anxiety. She feared Janos would find them.

The advent of Katie Bergen, Michael's cousin, seemed nothing short of providential, and to her was at once entrusted the care of the obstreperous patient.

"I think, dear Mrs. Dunbar," said Mary rather timidly, "it would really be much better to take Reda back to the studio. Once there she will quiet down, and that may save her from higher fever."

"Perhaps you are right," Mrs. Dunbar agreed; "the doctor says she has been a very sick woman, and her collapse was only natural, considering what she went through. Has she told you why she was so eager to see you?"

"Partly," Mary replied. "You see, she was sort of conscious [Transcriber's note: conscience?] stricken that something would happen to me, and she felt obliged to warn me. And she also wanted to give me Loved One's jewels."

"But nothing did happen," blurted out Madaline, keen on the trail of the mystery.

"Oh, do tell us, Mary," begged Grace. "It seems to me we will have so much to find out all at once it will be rather overwhelming if we don't start in."

"Well, you little scouts run along and enjoy your story," suggested Mrs. Dunbar, "and I will see about having Reda sent up to the mountain.

I am sure, Mary, you are right. She may be saved a real relapse if we agree with her. And, of course, Katie is going to be your housekeeper.

I would envy you if I hadn't such a treasure in Jennie. This is really her house, and I am a guest, it seems to me," and it was hoped by every little girl present that the delicious compliment floated out to Jennie, who was busy in the breakfast room just at that moment.

"Please let _me_ tell you something first," begged Cleo, when the girls were left to themselves. "I am fairly bursting with the news. You know I wrote out the whole story to Uncle Guy. I wanted him to know all about it when he came home and also, ahem"--and the perky little head perked perceptibly--"I may as well admit, girls, I am ambitious to keep the family honors up in the writing line, so I just wrote all this glorious vacation to Uncle Guy, making it just like a summer story. I sent our pictures----"

"Mercy me, Cleo!" interrupted Grace, "I guess you will be a story writer. Just see how you have us all keyed up, and won't tell us what happened. What did your Uncle Guy say?" she demanded.

Cleo laughed triumphantly. "There, I knew I would get you excited----"

"Cleo Harris!" shouted Madaline, almost forgetting the presence of a sick person out on the enclosed side porch, where Reda was being fixed up for her journey over the mountain. "Cleo," repeated Madaline, "you tell us instantly what your Uncle Guy said!"

"Your commands are my pleasures," replied Cleo in mock dramatic emphasis. "There, doesn't that sound like a book? Uncle Guy wrote to me and to Aunt Audrey, and he merely said not to let a single kid escape. That my letter had knocked him silly, and that his cousin, whom he discovered out in the western camp, was coming home with him."

"Who is the cousin?" asked Grace.

"A man, a lovely man, just like Uncle Guy. He was an explorer, or still is, and has been away for some years," she glanced rather anxiously at Mary, but the latter never changed her serious expression.

Then Cleo said pointedly, "Mary, your father was an explorer, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he went away in search of orchids," faltered Mary, "and you know he never came back from the sea, when the men took him out to the ocean to cool him in that frightful fever."

"And you left the island with the professor a few days after?" pressed Cleo.

"Yes, oh yes. We had to get away. Grandie was getting sick, you know; that is how he lost--his memory."

"Yes," said Cleo, simply, but Grace and Madaline had "seen a light,"