by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER IX JEANNE PLANS AN ADVENTURE
The dinner served in Sandy's honor at the artist's studio was an occasionlong to be remembered. Jeanne had chanced to speak of her gypsystep-father, Bihari.
"And is he now in America?" Miss Mabee asked with sudden interest.
"Yes. In Chicago!" Jeanne replied joyously.
"Then we must have him at our party tonight. Perhaps I might like topaint his picture."
"Oh, you are sure to!" Jeanne cried. "There is no one in the world likeBihari."
So Bihari was sent for. Tum Morrow too had been invited and, to help theaffair along, had volunteered to bring three boon companions, alldestitute musicians, and all glad to provide music in exchange forJeanne's gypsy-style chicken dinner.
When the hour arrived all were there; so too were the great steamingplatters of chicken with dumplings and gravy. And such a feast as thatwas! Bihari had persuaded two good cooks of his own race to prepare thefeast. And, because of their love for Bihari and Jeanne, they had sparedneither time nor labor.
"That," said Sandy, as at last the final toast of delicious fruit juicehad been drunk, "is the finest feast I have ever known."
"And now," he said to Jeanne, "tell us about this magic isle I am tovisit, this Isle Royale."
"You?" Jeanne looked at him in surprise. "You are going to Isle Royale?In winter?"
"Yes. In an airplane."
"In an airplane?" The look of surprise and longing on Jeanne's face was awonderful thing to behold. Her own Dragonfly was stored away, but neverwould she forget those golden days when she had gone gliding through theair. Nor would she forget the glorious days she had spent on the shoresof the "Magic Isle."
"You are going to Isle Royale in an airplane," she repeated slowly. "ThenI shall tell you all about it--but on one condition!"
"Name it." Sandy smiled.
"That you take me with you."
A little cry of surprise ran round the room. For a space of seconds Sandywas silent. Then, with a look of sudden decision on his face, he said,"It's a go!"
"And now, Jeanne," Miss Mabee arose, "when our good friend Tum has putanother log on the fire and we have all drawn up our chairs, suppose youtell us all about this very wonderful isle."
So there, with the lights turned out, with the glow of the fire playingover her bewitching face, Jeanne told them of Isle Royale. She spoke ofthe deep, dark waters where lake trout gleam like silver; of the rockyshore where at times the waters of old Lake Superior come thundering in,and of the little lakes that lay gleaming among the dark green forests.
She told of wild moose that come down to the shores at sunset to diptheir noses in the bluest of waters, then to lift their antlers high andsend a challenge echoing away across the ridges. She told of the bushwolves who answered that challenge, then of the slow settling down ofnight that turned this whole little world to a pitchy black.
"And then," she whispered, "the moon comes rolling like a golden chariotwheel over the ridge to paint a path of gold across those black waters.And you, not to be outdone by a mere moon, touch a match to your campfireand it blazes high to meet the stars.
"That," she exclaimed, springing to her feet and executing a wild dancebefore the fire, "that is summer! What must it be in winter? All thosetall spruce trees decorated with snow, all those little lakes gleaminglike mirrors. And tracks through the snow--tracks of moose, bush wolves,lynx and beaver, mysterious tracks that wind on and on over the ridge. Tothink," she cried, "we are to see all this!
"But Sandy!" Her mood changed. "You said they were trapping moose. Whyshould they trap any wild thing? That--why that's like trapping a gypsy!"
"Some gypsies should be trapped." Sandy laughed, seizing her handteasingly. "But as for the moose of Isle Royale, they have become toonumerous for the island. They are trapping them and taming them a little.In the spring they are to be taken to game sanctuaries on the mainlandwhere there is an abundance of food. But look!" he exclaimed. "We aretaking up all the time raving about this island. What about ourmusicians? Let's have a tune."
His words were greeted with hand-clapping. Tum Morrow and his companionstuned up and for the next half hour the studio walls echoed to many amelody. Some were of today, modern and rhythmical, and some of yesterdaywith all their tuneful old melodies.
During this musical interlude Florence, seated in a dark corner, gaveherself over to reflections concerning the amusing, mysterious andsometimes threatening events of the days just past.
"It is all so strange, so intriguing, so rather terrible!" she wasthinking to herself. "This Madame Zaran, is she truly a genius at crystalgazing? How could she fail to be? Did I not, myself, see a vision in thecrystal ball? And that girl June, who could doubt but that she sawherself as she was when a child, with her father? And yet--" the wholeaffair was terribly disturbing. They had compelled the girl, a merechild, to pay two hundred dollars for this vision. How much for the next?They had promised to reveal her father's whereabouts, tell her when hewould return. Could they do that? "Ten years!" she whispered. "One istempted to believe him dead. And yet--"
Then there was the voodoo priestess, she with the black goat. They wereto visit her on the morrow. "And I have an appointment with Madame Zarantoo. A busy day!"
She thought, with a new feeling of alarm, of Jeanne's experience on thatday. "Wish I hadn't told her of that thieving gypsy fortune teller. Gether into no end of trouble. Dangerous, those gypsies!" Then, at a suddenremembrance, she smiled. It was good that Jeanne had won the dancingcontest; good, too, that she had helped that gypsy child of the brightshawl. Jeanne had "cast bread upon the waters." It would return.
Then of a sudden as the music stopped, she gave a start. Before her eyesthere appeared to float a shadow, a curiously frightening shadow. It wasthe shadow of a face she had seen on the midnight blue of Madame Zaran'sstudio, a face that had somehow reminded her of Satan. "My dear old auntused to say Satan had a hand in all fortune telling," she whispered. Butthen, aunts were almost always old-fashioned and sometimes a littlefoolish.
Now the music played so well by Tum Morrow and his companions came to anend. There was instant applause, and Florence was wakened from herdisturbing day dream.
"Can you play one of Liszt's rhapsodies?" Miss Mabee asked.
"I'm sorry," Tum said regretfully, "I have never studied them."
"But yes!" Bihari, the gypsy blacksmith, sprang up. "Let me show you! Thebest one it goes like this. Every gypsy knows it."
Taking the violin from Tum Morrow's hand, he began drawing forth ateasing, bewitching melody. "Come!" he exclaimed, nodding his head at theother musicians. "You know this one. Surely you must!"
They did. Soon piano, cello, clarinet and violin were doing full justiceto this glorious gypsy music written down for the world by a mastercomposer.
A perfect silence fell over the room. When the violin dropped to awhisper and was heard alone, there was not another sound.
As for Jeanne, while Bihari played she was far, far away beside a hedgewhere the grass was green and the midnight blue of the sky was sprinkledwith golden stars. Again, with her fellow wanderers she breathed thesweet free air of night, listened to the call of the whippoorwill and thewail of the violin.
"Wonderful!" Miss Mabee exclaimed as the music ended. "You almost make mewant to be a gypsy. And Bihari, you shall make me famous. I shall paintyour picture. You shall be seated on your anvil, playing Liszt's rhapsodyto a group of ragged children. In the background shall be a dozen poorlyclad women holding their pots and pans to be mended, but all carried awayby that glorious music. Ah, what a picture! Shall I have it?"
"If you wish it," Bihari replied humbly.
"Tomorrow?"
"If you wish."
"Done!" the artist exclaimed. "And all the ones with ragged shawls andleaky pans shall be well paid.
"And now, Tum, my dear boy," she turned to the boy musician. "You give usa goodnight lullaby, and we shall be
off to pleasant dreams."
A half hour later Miss Mabee and Florence sat before the fire. Florencehad just told of her experience as a crystal-gazer.
"You were day-dreaming, my dear," Miss Mabee laughed lightly. "Had youbeen looking dreamily at a spot of light or a blank wall, you would haveseen the same thing. You are fond of the wide out-of-doors and our bitsof American wilderness. Day-dreaming is our most wonderful indoor sport.Were it not for our day-dreams, there are many who would go quite mad inthese troublous times. But when life is too hard, off we drift on ourmagic carpet of dreams, and all is well."
