The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

  “With a loud squawk he flapped his wings, and, bending and twisting as well as he could, managed to run his sharp beak into the fingers which grasped him. In the instant which was necessary for Gamona to get a fresh grip, Oliver struggled free; and you may believe that he lost no time in flying away from that dangerous spot. Instead of going right home, however, he went to see Glooscap, and tell him what had happened.

  “‘My eyes are so small, I can’t see very well,’ he complained, after he had told the whole story.

  “‘I’ll fix that,’ replied Glooscap, stroking the bird’s eyes until they became larger and larger and rounder and rounder. ‘Now you’ll be able to see her wherever you are. Keep faithful watch of her, and notify all the other creatures at night when she is near.’ So that is why the owl has such big eyes, and sits up in the trees crying ‘Who-o-o!’ all night long.

  “And now you must go to bed.”

  Leaving Priscilla to clear up and keep an eye on René, Jack and Desiré crossed to the grove to get things in order for the night. The tent was small, and after several unsuccessful attempts they succeeded in getting it up. Jack cut some balsam boughs for a mattress, and over them Desiré spread blankets, placing a couple of cushions for pillows. The floor of the nearby wagon was fixed in like manner for the two girls. René and Priscilla went to bed as soon as their quarters were ready for them, but Jack and Desiré, seated on a fallen log at the edge of the grove, lingered to watch the moon rising over the Bay and turning its smooth surface to silver. Fireflies flashed in the long grass at the edge of the grove, and deeper in the woods were mysterious little rustles and murmurs.

  “The old settlers,” said Jack softly, “thought the fireflies were evil spirits, and used to set out pails of milk to appease them, and thus keep themselves and their property from all harm.”

  “If they were as thick then as they are tonight,” laughed Desiré, “think how many pails they must have had. You know so many things, Jack”; adding, a moment later, something which had been on her mind all day.

  “Do you suppose that man will ever come back?”

  “You mean the one who disputed our rights?”

  Desiré nodded, burying her face on her brother’s shoulder, much as Priscilla might have done.

  “I hardly think so, dear,” replied Jack, stroking her curls. “He was pretty well subdued.”

  “But he might try to get even with you some way,” shuddered the girl.

  “We’ll keep a sharp lookout for him, but otherwise go on our way and try not to worry about mere possibilities, little sister,” decreed the boy firmly.

  “If we could only find out what the paper means,” she observed a little later, her eyes on the shining waters of the Bay.

  “What paper?” asked Jack suddenly, roused from serious thoughts of his own.

  “Why, the one nôtre père gave you; the mysterious one.”

  “We might stop in the center of each town, read it aloud, and ask the inhabitants to interpret it for us,” Jack suggested. “Or you and I could take turns standing on top of the wagon and shouting it as we go along.”

  Desiré laughed at his absurdities, as he intended she should.

  “I don’t care. I’m going to pretend that we’re going to find out what it means before the summer is over.”

  “Pretend as much as you like, as long as you won’t let yourself be overcome with disappointment if your day dream should turn out to be only a nightmare.”

  A crash behind them made them spring to their feet in sudden fright, and a child’s shrieks rang through the woods.

  CHAPTER X

  A NIGHT PROWLER

  “René!” gasped Desiré, darting back toward the tent.

  Jack outstripped her, and when she reached the scene, he was just pulling his small brother out from under a pile of canvas.

  “Not hurt,” he breathed with relief; “only badly frightened.”

  He put René in Desiré’s lap, and went to examine the wreckage.

  “One stake pulled right out,” he reported. “Wonder how that happened. I know I had it in tight, and there is practically no wind.”

  “Could he have done it in any way?” asked Desiré, motioning to the little boy.

  “René,” said Jack, stooping before the child, who was now quiet again, “did you do anything to the rope of the tent to make it fall?”

  René glanced up into his brother’s face upon which shone the rays of the full moon, and, turning, burrowed deep into Desiré’s arms.

  “Guilty, I guess. Tell me exactly what you did,” directed Jack.

  “Woke up. Played I was a gull; rope was my string. Hung on it; old thing came down. Bang!”

  “René,” said Jack, taking the child’s face between his hands, and forcing him to meet his eyes, “you must never, never pull on the ropes of a tent, or meddle with any part of it. If you do, you can’t sleep in it with me, but will have to stay in the wagon with the girls.”

  He picked him up and set him on a nearby stump.

  “Now sit right here and think about what I have just said, while Desiré and I put the tent up again. Don’t move from the place, and watch how much extra work you have made for us when we are all so tired.”

  After the tent was once more in place, Jack returned to René.

  “Well, are you going to sleep in the tent or in the wagon?”

  “In the tent. I won’t touch no ropes, nor nothin’ again, Jack,” promised the child, holding up his arms. “An’ I’m sorry ’bout making you and Dissy work when you’re all tired, ’n’ everything—”

  “That’s a good boy,” replied his brother, carrying him off to bed for a second time.

  “Goodnight, Desiré,” he said, returning to kiss her after René was disposed of. “If you’re timid, call me.”

  “Yes, but, Jack dear, please don’t lie awake to take care of us. We’ll be safe.”

  Soon the grove was quiet. The moon rose higher and higher, and throughout the night kept benevolent watch over the four children sleeping heavily among the protective trunks of the old balsam trees. Little creatures of the night moved noiselessly over the dried needles on the forest floor so as not to waken the strangers within their midst; and a gentle breeze stole quietly in from the Bay to waft its pungent coolness over the tired travelers.

  A couple of hours passed, the moon had left the woods partly in shadow. A dark figure was stealing carefully among the tree trunks, stopping every few minutes to listen.

  Beyond a band of moonlight stood the little tent from which could be heard Jack’s loud breathing. Nearby was the wagon where all was silent, and from a dark spot beyond it the horses stamped restlessly. Skirting the habitations of the human beings, the figure made its way silently toward the animals. Then Dapple’s loud whinny sounded through the quiet wood, answered immediately by that of his mate.

  “Get away from our horses!” shrilled Priscilla’s voice from the back of the wagon.

  “What’s the matter?” shouted Jack, roused at once by the child’s cry.

  “Prissy!” cried Desiré; “you—”

  “Somebody’s bothering Dolly and Dapple, Jack!” called Priscilla.

  By that time Jack had lighted a couple of lanterns, and he and Desiré were out in the open.

  “Stay here and hold one of these,” he directed, “while I see what is wrong.”

  The horses were straining at their tethers when he reached them, but quieted at once under familiar hands. Following an impulse, Jack presently led them out of the woods and into the little clearing where the wagon and tent were placed.

  “Will they disturb you if I fasten them to this tree?” he asked Desiré.

  “Not a bit—I—”

  “Did you find anyone?” demanded Priscilla.

  “Not a single person. I looked all around before I brought the horses out.”

  “You had a bad dream, dear,” began Desiré, “and—”

  “But I didn’t. I heard Dapple and Dolly holle
r just as plain, and they never do that unless somebody goes near ’em.”

  Desiré looked questioningly at her brother, but he was busy tying the animals.

  “Now,” he said firmly, when he had finished his task, “we’ll all go back to bed and right to sleep.”

  He turned briskly into the tent where René still slept peacefully, and quietness once more descended upon the forest. Jack, however, looped up the flap of the tent and lay watching over his little family until the soft grey light of the early morning began to filter through the trees.

  CHAPTER XI

  THE BLUE-COVERED BOOK

  Several days later, one beautiful sunny morning, Dapple and Dolly were trotting briskly along the Shore Road toward Digby. For more than two miles this road winds along the shore of Digby Basin, formed by the Bay of Fundy waters flowing through a mile wide break in the North Mountain Range.

  “That,” said Jack, pointing to the opening between the mountains, “is Digby Gap, or, as the natives call it, ‘Digby Gut.’ In olden days all the fishing boats used to stop there on their way home long enough for the fishermen to clean their fish, and throw all the ‘guts’ or insides into the water.”

  “What a horrid name!” was Priscilla’s comment.

  “It’s lovely here, though,” observed Desiré, gazing across the sparkling water to the hazy blue sides of the two big mountains opposite, and back again to the forested slopes beside the wagon.

  “We must look out for the little shop the man told us about,” remarked Priscilla, to whom the scenery meant very little.

  “Well, you watch for it, Prissy,” directed Jack. Then, turning to Desiré, “Didn’t we get a royal welcome in Sissiboo?”

  “Yes; in spite of their disapproval, our old friends were wonderful to us; between the sales we made, and their generous donations, we certainly fared well.”

  “Oh, Jack, there’s a bus!” cried Desiré delightedly a few minutes later. A big blue monster bore down upon them, and they had a glimpse of well-dressed people through its windows; then it was gone in a cloud of dust.

  “Must be coming from the hotel,” commented her brother. “I understand there’s a big one up here somewhere above the town.”

  “I’d love to ride in one of those,” said Priscilla, gazing longingly down the road after the now distant bus. “Wouldn’t you, Desiré?”

  “Yes, I should. Perhaps some time we’ll be able to, but not now.”

  They drove into the little town, and soon spied the shop of which they were in search.

  “You go in and give the lady the message, Desiré,” said Jack, pulling up the team.

  Desiré was inclined to be rather too retiring with strangers, and her brother thought she should begin to overcome her diffidence.

  “Oh, Jack,” she cried, running out again a couple of minutes later, after delivering her message. “Who do you suppose keeps the shop? The lady who helped me find René on the steamer! It’s the most interesting place. Do come in and see it. She says we can look around as much as we wish.”

  “I was going on for some more stock—we’re all out of crackers and a few other things—but you stay, if you wish; I’ll come back for you.”

  “Don’t you need me?” she asked doubtfully.

  “No; so look at as many things as you can before I get back.”

  Desiré, with a happy “Thanks a lot,” ran back into the quaint little shop, while Jack drove on, thinking how sweet she was and how little time she had for herself or her own interests.

  The morning was not a busy one at the shop; so the proprietress, a well-groomed New England woman, was free to devote her time to Desiré, to whom she had taken a fancy. Pleased to see that the girl was more interested in the pictures and books than in the foolish toys made to attract tourist trade, she took pains to call her attention to the best that the little store possessed.

  “This is an interesting little account of the early history of this country and some of its settlers,” said Miss Robin, who was a teacher of history in one of the Boston schools, and whose mind naturally centered on her subject.

  Desiré took the small blue-bound book in her hands and carefully turned its pages, reading bits here and there.

  “Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed aloud.

  “What is it?” inquired Miss Robin, looking up from a pile of picture postcards she was putting in order.

  “The story of our own ancestors is told here.”

  Miss Robin came to look over her shoulder and read:

  “In the year 1744 when the question of Acadian loyalty to England resulted in the Expulsion, Jean Godet with Marie, his wife, and Desiré, his little daughter, were driven as exiles from Wolfville to the States. They settled near Boston, and some years later Desiré married one John Wistmore, a descendant of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins. When the Revolutionary War broke out, being loyal Royalists, they returned to Nova Scotia and took up farming in Wilmot, later removing to Sissiboo.”

  “I have heard my father tell that same story so many, many times,” said Desiré, looking up at Miss Robin.

  “They were really your ancestors, then?” asked that lady. “How very interesting.”

  “But this last part he never told us,” continued the girl, indicating the closing words of the article.

  “The ruins of the old Godet house near Wolfville may still be seen; for the site was never occupied for any length of time after the family was deported.”

  “You must look it up if you ever go to Wolfville,” said Miss Robin.

  “Oh, yes, indeed. We expect to get up there some time before winter comes, and I’ll surely hunt for the place.”

  “Keep the little book,” urged Miss Robin, when Desiré, catching sight of Jack, laid the volume on the counter; “and if you come back before I go home, stop and tell me what success you had.”

  “Maybe,” began Desiré, then stopped abruptly—she’d keep that to herself; so she merely thanked Miss Robin warmly, and ran out to the wagon.

  “I thought we’d have dinner at one of the little restaurants here,” said Jack, after she had displayed her treasure, “and then push on.”

  From the counter of the lunchroom which they selected, they could see the long government pier with the lighthouse at the end; and beside it was moored one of the steamers which cross the Bay of Fundy to St. John, New Brunswick. René was greatly disappointed because they were not going aboard.

  “The child’s passion for boats is rivaled only by his passion for Indians,” observed Desiré, as they left the lunchroom.

  “He’ll see plenty of the latter at Bear River.”

  Desiré looked questioningly at her brother.

  “That is,” he replied, “if we get there in time for the Cherry Festival, day after tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Jack, can we?”

  “Going to try hard to make it.”

  Clouds had been slowly gathering since noon, and about five o’clock great drops of rain hit the dusty road with little “plops.”

  “Big drops; won’t last long,” prophesied Desiré; but Jack let down the curtains at the side of the seat, and drew out a rubber blanket to spread over their laps. Before they had covered two miles, the rain was coming down in earnest, and Jack turned off the road into the pine woods.

  “Wonder if we can keep dry here,” he said, half to himself. “Can’t possibly get to the next town tonight.”

  “We’ll have supper right away before the rain begins to come through the trees,” decided Desiré, jumping out.

  The pine-covered ground was still dry, and it was very cosy under the thick boughs of the tall trees. The persistent patter of the rain and the murmuring of a brisk little breeze in the tree tops added to their sense of comfort and security.

  “If it doesn’t rain any harder than this, we should be able to manage pretty well,” said Desiré encouragingly, as Jack peered anxiously skyward every little while.

  Conversation turned upon the book Miss Robin had given Desiré, a
nd then drifted to Nova Scotian history.

  “I’m awfully stupid; but it seems to me such a hopeless jumble,” sighed Desiré.

  “Maybe I can straighten it out for you by taking bare facts, and not going into detail at all,” said Jack. “Just think of it this way,” he went on. “About the year 1000 a man called Leif the Lucky came here from Iceland, found the country in the possession of the Micmac Indians, and left it to them.

  “John Cabot touched here in 1497, and claimed the land for England. In 1606 Samuel de Champlain and some other Frenchman settled at Annapolis Royal, which they called Port Royal. A few years later the English destroyed it, and some of the inhabitants fled to the shores of the Basin of Minas and built the village of Grand Pré.”

  “Oh, where Evangeline lived!” interrupted Priscilla.

  “Yes, and where they all lived until 1747, that is, the French who were driven out of Port Royal.”

  “And what made the English drive those people away from their homes?” inquired Priscilla. “I don’t mean from Port Royal, but from Grand Pré, like Longfellow tells about in Evangeline?”

  “They thought the French people were not loyal to the British government; for the country then belonged to England. To go back to our story, in 1629 the King of Scotland gave the entire country to a friend of his, and the name was changed from Acadia to Nova Scotia, which means New Scotland. From that time until 1710 the land was claimed by both France and England, and was in possession of first one and then the other. Finally Great Britain secured it for good. Is it any clearer now?”

  “Oh, yes, lots; you make everything so plain, I wish I knew as much as you do,” sighed Desiré admiringly.

  “I hope some day you will know lots more,” smiled Jack, adding, “I’m afraid we’re in for a wetting. I have felt several splashes of rain. The trees are getting so heavy with water that it will shower down upon us before long.”

  “Then you simply can’t sleep in the tent,” said Desiré decidedly.

  “Nothing else for it; there’s no room in the wagon.”

  “Let me think a minute,” said Desiré. “I have it! We’ll push the trunk and box side by side and put René on them, at our feet; and you can sleep on the wagon seat. You’ll have to double up, but it will be better than getting so damp in the tent.”