Betty Gordon at Mountain Camp; Or, The Mystery of Ida Bellethorne

by Alice B. Emerson

  BETTY GORDON AT MOUNTAIN CAMP

  Or, The Mystery of Ida Bellethorne

  by

  ALICE B. EMERSON

  Author of _Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm_, _Betty Gordon at BoardingSchool_, "Ruth Fielding Series," etc.

  Illustrated

  New YorkCupples & Leon CompanyPublishers

  Books for GirlsBy ALICE B. EMERSON12mo. Cloth. Illustrated

  BETTY GORDON SERIES

  BETTY GORDON AT BRAMBLE FARM BETTY GORDON IN WASHINGTON BETTY GORDON IN THE LAND OF OIL BETTY GORDON AT BOARDING SCHOOL BETTY GORDON AT MOUNTAIN CAMP

  RUTH FIELDING SERIES

  RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH RUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLAND RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM RUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIES RUTH FIELDING IN MOVING PICTURES RUTH FIELDING DOWN IN DIXIE RUTH FIELDING AT COLLEGE RUTH FIELDING IN THE SADDLE RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS RUTH FIELDING AT THE WAR FRONT RUTH FIELDING HOMEWARD BOUND RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST RUTH FIELDING IN THE GREAT NORTH-WEST RUTH FIELDING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE

  Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York1922

  THE WHOLE PARTY TURNED OUT GAILY."Betty Gordon at Mountain Camp."]

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I THE ORANGE SILK OVER-BLOUSE

  II THE FRUITS OF TANTALUS

  III OFF FOR A GALLOP

  IV A SECOND IDA BELLETHORNE

  V MEASLES

  VI A DISAPPEARANCE

  VII ALL MRS. STAPLES COULD SAY

  VIII UNCLE DICK MUST BE TOLD

  IX THE LIVE WIRE OCTETTE

  X BEAUTIFUL SNOW

  XI STALLED, AND WITHOUT A DOCTOR

  XII THE TUNNEL

  XIII AN ALARM

  XIV THE MOUNTAIN HUT

  XV THE LOST GIRL

  XVI THE CAMP ON THE OVERLOOK

  XVII OFF ON SNOWSHOES

  XVIII GREAT EXCITEMENT

  XIX THE EMERGENCY

  XX BETTY'S RIDE

  XXI BETTY COMES THROUGH

  XXII ON THE BRINK OF DISCOVERY

  XXIII CAN IT BE DONE?

  XXIV TWENTY MILES OF GRADE

  XXV ON THE DECK OF THE SAN SALVADOR

  CHAPTER I

  THE ORANGE SILK OVER-BLOUSE

  "This doesn't look like the street I came up through!" exclaimed BettyGordon. "These funny streets, with their dear old-fashioned houses, allseem, so much alike! And if there are any names stuck up at the cornersthey must hide around behind the post when I come by like squirrels in thewoods.

  "I declare, there is a queer little shop stuck right in there between twoof those refined-looking, if poverty-stricken, boarding-houses. Dear me!how many come-down-in-the-world families have to take 'paying guests' tohelp out. Not like the Peabodys, but really needy people. What is it Bobbycalls 'em? 'P.G.s'--'paying guests.'

  "I was a paying guest at Bramble Farm," ruminated Betty, still staring atthe little shop and the houses that flanked it on either side. "And Icertainly had a hard time there. Bobby says that these people inGeorgetown are the remains of Southern aristocracy that were cast up onthis beach as long ago as the Civil War. Unlike the castaways on cannibalislands that we read about, Bobby says these castaways live off the'P.G.s'--and that's what Joseph Peabody tried to do! He tried to live offme. There! I knew he was a cannibal.

  "Oh! Isn't that sweet?"

  Her sudden cry had no reference to the army of boarding-house keepers inthe neighborhood, nor to any signpost that pointed the way back to thelittle square where the soldiers' monument stood and where Betty was tomeet Carter, the Littells' chauffeur, and the big limousine. For she wasstill staring at the window of the little shop.

  "What a lovely orange color! And that starburst pattern on the front! It'slovely! What a surprising thing to see in a little neighborhood store likethis. I'm going to buy it if it fits me and I've money enough left in mypurse."

  Impetuous as usual, Betty Gordon marched at once to the door of the littleside-street shop. The most famous of such neighborhood shops, as describedby Hawthorne, Betty knew all about. She had studied it in her Englishreadings at Shadyside only the previous term. But there was noGingerbread Man in this shop window!

  In the middle of the display window, which was divided into four not verylarge panes, was arranged on a cross of bright metal a knitted over-blouseof the very newest burnt orange shade. The work was exquisitely done, asBetty could see even from outside the shop, and she did hope it would fither.

  On pushing open the door a silvery bell--not an annoying, janglingbell--played a very lively tune to attract the attention of a girl who satat the back of the shop, her head bent close above the work on which shewas engaged. Although the bell stopped quivering when Betty closed thedoor, the girl did not look up from her work.

  Sharp-eyed Betty saw that the stranger was knitting, and she seemed to beengaged upon another over-blouse like that in the window, save that thesilk in her lap was of a pretty dark blue shade. Betty saw her full, redlips move placidly. The girl was counting over her work and she actuallywas so deeply immersed in the knitting that she had not heard the bell orrealized that a possible customer had entered.

  "Ahem!" coughed Betty.

  "And that's twenty-four, and--cross--and two--and four----" The girl wascounting aloud.

  "Why," murmured Betty Gordon, her eyes dancing, "she's like LibbieLittell when she is somnambulating--I guess that is the right word.Anyway, when Libbie walks in her sleep she talks just like that----

  "_Ahem!_"

  This time Betty almost shouted the announcement of her presence in theshop and finally startled the other girl out of her abstraction. Thelatter looked up, winked her eyes very fast, and began to roll up her workin a clean towel. Betty noticed that her eyes were very blue and wereshaded by dark lashes.

  "I beg your pardon," said the shopgirl. "Have you been waiting long?" Shecame forward quickly and with an air of assurance. Her look was not ahappy one, however, and Betty wondered at her sadness. "What can I showyou?" asked the shopgirl.

  She was not much older than Betty herself, but she was more self-possessedand seemed much more experienced than even Betty, much as the latter hadtraveled and varied as her adventures had been during the previous yearand a half. But now the stranger's questions brought Betty to a renewedcomprehension of what she had actually entered the shop for.

  "I'm just crazy about that blouse in the window--the orange one," shecried. "I know you must have made it yourself, for you are knittinganother, I see, and that is going to be pretty, too. But I want thisorange one--if it doesn't cost too much."

  "The price is twelve dollars. I hope it is not too much," said theshopgirl timidly. "I sold one for all of that before I left Liverpool."

  Betty was as much interested now in the other girl as she was in theorange silk over-blouse.

  "Why!" she exclaimed, "you are English, aren't you? And you and yourfamily can't long have been over here."

  "I have been here only two months," said the girl quietly.

  There was a certain dignity in her manner that impressed Betty. She hadvery dark, smoothly arranged hair and a beautiful complexion. She wasplump and strongly made, and she walked gracefully. Betty had noted thatfact when she came forward from the back of the shop.

  "But you didn't c
ome over from England all alone?" asked the curious youngcustomer, neglecting the blouse for her interest in the girl who spreadout its gossamer body for approval.

  "It took only seven days from Liverpool to New York," said the other girl,looking at Betty steadily, still with that lack of animation in her face."I might have come alone; but it was better for me to travel withsomebody, owing to the emigration laws of your country. I traveled asnursemaid to a family of Americans. But I separated from them in New Yorkand came here."

  "Oh!" Betty exclaimed, not meaning to be impertinent. "You had friendshere in Georgetown?"

  "I thought I had a relative in Washington. I had heard so. I failed tofind her so--so I found this shop, kept by a woman who came from mycounty, and she gave me a chance to wait shop," said the English girlwearily.

  "Mrs. Staples lets me knit these blouses to help out, for she cannot paylarge wages. The trade isn't much, you see. This one, I am sure, will looklovely on you. I hope the price is not too much?"

  "Not a bit, if it will fit me and I have that much money in my purse,"replied Betty, who for a girl of her age had a good deal of money to spendquite as she pleased.

  She opened her bag hastily and took out her purse. The purse was made ofcut steel beads and, as Betty often said, "everything stuck to it!"Something clung to it now as she drew it forth, but neither Betty nor theshopgirl saw the dangling twist of tissue paper.

  "And I'll buy that other one you are knitting," Betty hurried to say asshe shook the purse and dug into it for the silver as well as the billsshe had left after her morning's shopping. "I know that pretty blue willjust look dear on a friend of mine."

  She was busy with her money, and the English girl looked on hopefully. Soneither saw the twist of tissue paper fly off the dangling fringe of beadsand land with a soft little "plump" on the floor by the counter.

  "Dear me!" breathed the shopgirl, in reply to Betty's promise, "I shalllike that. It will help a good bit--and everything so high in thiscountry. A dollar, as you say, goes hardly anywhere! And this one will fityou beautifully. You can see yourself."

  "Of course it will. Do it up at once," cried the excited Betty. "Here isthe money. Twelve dollars. I was afraid I didn't have enough. And be sureand keep that blue one for my friend. Maybe she will come for it herself,so give me a card or something so she can find the place. Shall she askfor you?"

  "If you please," and the English girl ran to write a card. She brought itback with the neatly made parcel of the over-blouse and slipped it intoBetty Gordon's hand. The latter thanked her and looked swiftly at the namethe other had written.

  "Good-bye, Ida Bellethorne," she said, smiling. "What a fine name! I hopeI can sell some more blouses for you. I'll try."

  The shopgirl made a little bow and the silvery bell jangled again as Bettyopened the door. Betty looked back at the English girl, and the latterlooked after Betty. They were both interested, much interested, the one inthe other, and for reasons that neither suspected. Ida Bellethorne was notmuch like the girls Betty knew. She seemed even more sedate than theseniors at Shadyside where Betty had attended school with the Littellgirls since the term had opened in September.

  Ida Bellethorne was not, however, in any such happy condition as the girlsBetty Gordon knew. She might have told the warm-hearted customer who hadbought the over-blouse a story that would indeed have spurred Betty'sinterest to an even greater degree. But the English girl was naturally ofa secretive disposition, and she was among strangers.

  She turned back into the store when Betty had gone and the door, swingingshut, set the bell above it jingling again. A door opened at the end ofthe room and a tall, aggressive woman in a long, straight, gingham frockstrode into the room. She had very black, heavy brows that met over hernose and this, with the thick spectacles she wore, gave her a very sternexpression.

  "What's the matter with that bell, Ida?" she demanded, in a sharp voice."It seems to ring enough, but it doesn't ring any money into mycash-drawer as I can see."

  "I sold my over-blouse out of the window, Mrs. Staples," said the girl.

  "Humph! What else?"

  "Er--what else? Why--why, she said she might come back for the one I ammaking."

  "Humph!" ejaculated Mrs. Staples a second time. "I don't see as that willfill my cellar with coal. Couldn't you sell her anything else out of theshop?"

  "She didn't say she wanted anything else," said Ida timidly.

  "Oh! She didn't? You'll never make a sales-woman till you learn to sell'em things they don't want but that the shop wants to sell. And I wasfoolish enough to tell you that you could have all you could make out ofthose blouses. Oh, well! I'm always being foolishly generous. Come! What'sthat on the floor? Pick it up."

  Mrs. Staples was very near-sighted, yet nothing seemed to escape herobservation. She pointed to the twist of white tissue paper on the floorwhich had been twitched out of Betty Gordon's bag. Ida stooped as she wascommanded and got the paper. She was about to toss it into thewaste-basket behind the counter when she realized that there was some hardobject wrapped in the paper.

  "What is it?" asked Mrs. Staples, in her quick, stern way, as she saw Idaopen the twist of paper.

  "Why, I--Oh, Mrs. Staples! look what this is, will you?"

  She held out in the palm of her hand a little, heart-shaped platinumlocket with a tiny but very beautiful diamond set in the center of itsface, and when she turned it over on the back was engraved the intertwinedletters "E.G."

  "For the land's sake!" ejaculated Mrs. Staples, coming nearer and grabbingthe locket out of Ida's hand. "Where did you get this?"

  "Why, Mrs. Staples, you saw me pick it up."

  "But how did it come there?"

  "Oh, I know!" Ida Bellethorne cried, with sudden animation. "That girlstood right there. She opened her bag to get out her purse and she musthave flirted it out to the floor."

  "Humph!" said the storekeeper doubtfully.

  "Give it to me, Mrs. Staples, and I'll run after her," cried the Englishgirl anxiously.

  "Humph!" This was Mrs. Staples' stock ejaculation and expressed a varietyof emotions. Just now it expressed doubt. "And then you'd come back andtell me how thankful she was to get it, while maybe it doesn't belong toher at all. No," said Mrs. Staples, "let her come looking for it if shelost it."

  "Oh!" murmured Ida Bellethorne doubtfully.

  "Perhaps she will never guess she dropped it here."

  "That's no skin off your nose," declared the vulgar shopwoman. "You've norights in this thing, anyway. What's found on the floor of my shop is justas much mine as what's on the counter or in the trays behind the counter.I know my rights. Until whoever lost this thing comes in and provesproperty, it's mine."

  "Oh, Mrs. Staples!" cried her employee. "Is that the law in this country?It doesn't seem honest."

  "Humph! It's honest enough for me. And who are you, I'd like to know, agreenhorn fresh from the old country, trying to tell me what's honest andwhat ain't? If that girl comes back----"

  "Yes, Mrs. Staples?"

  "You sell her that other blouse if you want to, or anything else out ofthe shop. But you keep your mouth shut about this locket unless she asksfor it. Understand? I won't have no tattle-tales about me; and if youdon't learn when to keep your mouth open and when to keep it shut, I'llhave no use at all for you in my shop. Remember that now!"