“Did you—did you say Oklahoma?” she ventured. “Why, how funny! I have an uncle out there in the oil fields. At least we think he is in the oil fields,” she added, a sudden look of worry flashing into her eyes. “It seems so funny that Bob should go away off there.”
The old man peered up at her shrewdly.
“Aye, aye, funny it may be,” he croaked. “But suppose I should tell you I advised the lad to go there? Would that seem funny, eh?”
Betty stared in complete bewilderment.
“Oh, it isn’t always in the story books, sometimes it happens to real boys,” he nodded exultantly. “Suppose I told you, in strictest confidence, young lady, for I think you’re a true friend to him, that he has relatives out there? His mother’s two sisters, both of ’em living on the old homestead? Neither of ’em married and without near kith or kin so far as they know? Suppose I tell you that the old farm, as I locate it, is in the oil section? Suppose the lad is entitled to his mother’s interest in the place? Eh? Suppose I tell you that?”
He made a question of each point, and emitted a dry cackle after every assertion.
“I told the lad to go out there, and if he had any trouble proving who he was to come back here to me,” said Hale importantly. “I can help him straighten out the tangles. I’ve untied many a knot for families more tangled up than this. So he may be back, he may be back. Drop in any day, and I’ll tell you whatever I know.”
Betty thanked him warmly and he followed the girls to the door, repeating that he would be glad to tell them everything he knew.
They were going to one of the large shops to do a few errands for Mrs. Littell, and since their visit to the bookstore had taken so long they agreed to separate and each do one or two commissions and then meet at the door within half an hour.
Betty’s mind was busy with the astonishing revelations Lockwood Hale had made, and as she deftly matched wool for a sweater, she turned the information over in her mind.
“I don’t believe Bob has gone so far West at all,” she said to herself firmly. “He wouldn’t have money enough, I’m sure. I suppose he has written to me, but my mail will go to the farm, of course, and Mr. Peabody would be the last person to forward it. I must write the postmaster to hold and redirect my mail—when I know where I am to be.”
Although she had promised herself not to worry, Betty was becoming very anxious to hear from her uncle. She had written to the Benders in Laurel Grove and to Norma Guerin at Glenside, explaining her situation and asking them to let her know as soon as the quarantine in Pineville should be lifted. She knew that she could visit friends there indefinitely. But that did not much lighten the burden. Anxiety for her uncle and growing fear that she might never again hear from him, it had already been so long a time since his last letter, at times oppressed her.
Their chopping finished, she and Bobby were reunited and were glad to enter the car and drive quietly home to luncheon. It was still raining, and they found the other girls impatient for their return.
“We know all about beaten biscuit,” boasted Esther. “And I stirred up a gold cake every bit myself.”
“Practising all done,” reported Louise. “And I’m just aching for a good lively game. No wedding stuff, Libbie, I warn you. I can see a romantic gleam in your eye.”
Libbie said nothing then, but after lunch when they were debating what to do, she had a suggestion.
“Let’s play hide-and-go-seek,” she said enthusiastically.
“Well, I didn’t know you had that much sense,” approved Bobby, who was blunt almost to a fault but undoubtedly fond of her younger cousin. “Come on, girls, we’ll have one more good game before the family begin to hint I’m too old for such hoydenish tricks. We’ll go up to the attic and make as much noise as we can.”
CHAPTER XVII
MORE SIGHTSEEING
Libbie waited till they were safely in the attic before she followed up her suggestion.
“I read the loveliest story last summer,” she said dreamily. “It was about a bride—”
A shout of laughter from the listening girls interrupted her.
“I knew there would be a bride in it somewhere,” rippled Bobby. “Now, Libbie, once and for all, this is hide-and-go-seek, not a mock wedding.”
“You might let me finish,” protested Libbie. “I only meant to say this story was about a bride who ran away from her wedding guests for fun and hid in a great carved chest; the chest had a spring lock and it closed tight when she pulled it down. Her husband and all the guests hunted and hunted, and they never found her. Years and years after, when they opened the chest, there were only some bones and the wedding dress and veil.”
“And you call that a lovely story!” Bobby’s scorn was immeasurable. “Well, I think it’s gruesome. And what kind of housecleaning did they have in those days? My mother opens every chest and trunk and box in the house at least twice a year.”
The game started merrily, and, forewarned by Libbie’s story, the girls knew exactly where to find her when she hid from them and unerringly pulled her out of every chest into which she hopefully squeezed her plump self.
“You never should have mentioned ‘chest’ to us,” laughed Betty, when Libbie was “it” for the third time. “We know your line of reasoning now, you see.”
Libbie good-naturedly began her counting, and Betty looked about for a good place to hide. The attic was long and wide and a splendid place to play. It was rather too well lighted for hide-and-seek, but the trunks and boxes arranged neatly around the walls offered a fair chance to escape detection. A peculiar fan-shaped box near a window attracted Betty’s attention, apparently being a built-in box.
“I’ll hide there,” she resolved, running lightly over to it.
Louise and Esther and Bobby were already stowed away in various corners, and Betty slipped into the box noiselessly. Libbie ceased counting.
The three Littell girls reached “home” without being detected, and then perched merrily on an old trunk to watch Libbie prowl about after Betty. A five-minute search failed to reveal her, and Libby gave up.
“All safe, you may come in!” they called in unison.
No Betty appeared, and they shouted again.
“Well, if that isn’t queer!” Louise looked at Bobby in doubt. “Where do you suppose she is hiding?”
Bobby, a furrow of anxiety between her eyes, searched the attic with level glances, her sisters and cousin watching her apprehensively.
“Something must have happened to her,” Louise was beginning, when Bobby gave a cry and raced for the door.
“I’ll bet I know where she went,” she flung over her shoulder. “Haven’t time—to stop—don’t bother me—” She flew down the stairs, the others after her at top speed.
Down, down, down, through the third, second and first floors, the four girls fled like a whirlwind, down, always following flying Bobby, to the laundry in the basement where modern electric equipment made washing clothes a scientific process.
Bobby brought up her mad flight before a tall cupboard in one corner, turning the catch on the door, opened it and out tumbled—Betty!
“Are you hurt?” demanded Bobby, helping her to her feet. “Oh, Betty, darling, do say you’re all right! It’s a wonder you weren’t suffocated or didn’t break any bones.”
“I’m all right,” said Betty, smoothing out her skirts. “But I’m still a bit dazed. It was such a sudden drop. What have I done that I shouldn’t, Bobby?”
Libbie, too, was bewildered, and stared at the disheveled Betty with puzzled wonder.
“Why, my dear child,” explained Bobby, with a funny maternal manner, “you fell down the laundry shoot. It opens into the attic for good ventilation. I’m glad there were some soiled clothes at the bottom for you to land on, otherwise you might have had a bad bump. Sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, indeed,” insisted Betty. “I thought I was climbing into a box and went in feet first without looking. Instead of hitting th
e floor, I slid gently on and on. I hadn’t any breath to scream with I went so fast. Anyway, there wasn’t time to scream. I just sat here for a time after I landed. And I was wondering where I was and how I could get out when you opened the door for me.”
That ended the game for the day, and the rest of the afternoon the girls were content to spend quietly, Betty in writing a long letter to Mrs. Arnold, one of her mother’s old friends who had moved to California, and the others with books and sewing.
The next morning was fair and sunny, and before breakfast Bobby had it planned that they should spend the day at Mount Vernon. Of course Betty and Libbie were very anxious to see the famous place, and the three sisters were glad to have the opportunity to take them for the first time.
“It’s never the same again,” explained Louise, obligingly tying Esther’s hair-bow for her. “There’s a wonderful thrill you get when you see the things that really were Washington’s and were handled by him that never comes again. Though we love to go there and never tire of looking at the rooms.”
“What a chatter-box you are, child!” expostulated her mother, who had come up to tell them breakfast was ready. Indeed the gong had sounded fully fifteen minutes before. “How nice you look, all of you! I’ll be proud to take five girls to Mount Vernon. We’re going today, aren’t we?”
Dear Mrs. Littell! Betty already loved her dearly, as indeed did every member of the household. She was so unaffected, so affectionate and generous, and she allowed money to change her simple, happy nature not at all. The Littells had not always been wealthy, and the mistress of the beautiful mansion did not hesitate to tell of the days when she had done all of her own housework and taken care of two babies.
Soon after breakfast the party started, the plan to go by motor being abandoned in favor of the trip down the river. It was decided that Carter should come down later with the car and bring a basket luncheon, taking them home in the afternoon.
Mount Vernon is sixteen miles below Washington, and the sail down the Potomac was delightful in the cool of the morning, and Betty thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than the deep greens of the trees and grass on either bank. By common consent the boatload of chattering people became silent as they came in sight of Mount Vernon, and as the glimmer of the house showed white between the trees. Betty’s heart contracted suddenly. Louise, who was watching her, squeezed her arm sympathetically.
“I know how you feel,” she whispered. “Mother told me that the first time she went abroad and dad took her to see the Colosseum she cried. You’re not crying, are you, Betty?”
Betty shook her head, but her eyelashes were suspiciously damp.
Libbie was staring in unaffected enjoyment at the scene before her and fairly dancing with impatience to be off the boat.
“I do want to see Martha Washington’s things,” she confided, as they went ashore. “Her ivory fan and her dishes and the lovely colonial mahogany furniture.”
“George Washington’s swords for mine,” announced Bobby inelegantly. “I’ve seen ’em every time I’ve been here, and I’d give anything to have one to hang in my room.”
“Bobby should have been a boy,” remarked Mrs. Littell indulgently. “You’re mother’s only son, aren’t you, dear?”
“Well, my name is as near as I’ll ever come to it,” mourned Bobby. “However, I manage to have a pretty good time if I am only a girl.”
Mrs. Littell led them first to the tomb of Washington. The plain brick building was directly at the head of the path leading from the landing, and a reverent group stood, the men with bared heads, for a few moments before the resting place of the Father of his Country.
High above the river, overlooking the land he loved, stands the Mount Vernon mansion. From the tomb the Littell party went directly to the house.
Each of the girls, although interested in the whole, showed her personality distinctly in her choice of special relics.
It was Betty who lingered longest in the library, fascinated by the autographed letters of Washington, his tripod used in surveying, and his family Bible. Bobby had to be torn bodily from the room which contained the four swords. Esther spent her happiest hour in the old kitchen, admiring the huge fireplace and the andirons and turnspit.
Louise and Mrs. Littell were able to go into raptures over the old furniture in Martha Washington’s bedroom and sitting room, though they, of course, had seen it all many times before.
Mrs. Littell herself had a collection of antique furniture of which she was justly proud, and mahogany furniture was sure of her intelligent appreciation. Strange to say, Libbie remained cool toward the very things she had voiced a desire to see, and in the middle of the morning they missed her.
They were on their way to the barn Washington’s father had built, and Betty volunteered to run back and see if the missing girl had stayed behind in the house.
CHAPTER XVIII
BETTY UNDERSTANDS
Betty hurried back and began a hasty inspection of the rooms. She recollected seeing Libbie upstairs at the door of Washington’s room the last time she had definitely noticed her, and she ran upstairs to see if she might not be there.
No Libbie was in any of the rooms.
Downstairs she searched hurriedly, peeping under people’s elbows, trying not to annoy others and yet to make a thorough hunt in a short time so as not to keep the others waiting. Then in the music room, or East Parlor, as it is often called, she found the truant, gazing with rapt eyes at the quaint old harpsichord which had belonged to Nellie Custis.
“Every one is waiting for you,” announced Betty, pulling her gently by the sleeve. “Come on, Libbie, we’re all going. We’ve seen the whole house.”
Libbie followed in a sort of daze, and when they rejoined the others she seemed to be still in a brown study.
“For goodness sake,” prodded Bobby impatiently, “what were you doing back there? We nearly went off and left you. Where did you find her, Betty?”
“I was in the music room,” announced Libbie with dignity. “I wanted to see the harpsichord. Say, girls, did you know Washington gave that to Nellie Custis when she was married? He wore his uniform when he gave her away, and—”
“Well, for pity’s sake!” Bobby’s disgust was ludicrous. “Trust Libbie to dig up a romance wherever she goes. What else did you find connected with weddings, Lib?”
Libbie was inclined to be ruffled, but Mrs. Littell soothed the troubled waters by telling them that the old barn, which they had reached by this time, was built in 1733 by Washington’s father and that the bricks were supposed to have been imported from England.
The beautiful old formal garden further mellowed their tempers, for it was impossible to say sharp things walking along the very paths which George Washington had often trod and between the rows of box brushed by the silken skirts of Mrs. Washington. Where her rose bushes used to be are planted others, and Mrs. Littell assured the girls that it was one of the great pleasures of the First Lady of the Land to gather rose leaves for her potpourri jars and to make a perfumed unguent for which she was famous among her friends.
“She was a wonderful housekeeper,” added Mrs. Littell, smiling at Libbie, whose momentary resentment had quickly faded, “and a very fine manager. We are told that she was thoroughly domestic in her tastes and that she made her husband ideally happy.”
Presently Carter came with a hamper of luncheon and their appetites did full justice to Mammy Lou’s dainties. Betty wondered, sitting on the grass, the Potomac flowing lazily several feet below, whether she was dreaming and might not wake up to find herself at Bramble Farm with Mr. Peabody scolding vigorously because something had not gone to suit him. She often had this odd feeling that her present happiness could not be real.
This, too, brought the thought of her uncle to her mind, and again she wondered if she would ever hear from him—if something dreadful had not happened to him, leaving her almost as much alone in the world as Bob Henderson. She shivered a littl
e, then resolutely threw herself into the chatter of the other girls and soon forgot all but the present pleasure and excitement.
After rambling about the grounds another hour or so, the party from Fairfield was ready to go, and they all found it restful to lean back in the comfortable car and spin back to the city.
“If you’re not too tired I think we might drive down Pennsylvania Avenue,” suggested Mrs. Littell. “Our guests haven’t seen the White House yet, have they?”
Neither Betty nor Libbie had, and as the car turned into the famous thoroughfare both girls sat up alertly so as not to miss a single sight of interest. Carter slowed down as they approached a high iron fence, and at the first glimpse of the white mansion separated from the fence and street by a wide stretch of lawn, Libbie shouted joyfully.
“The White House!”
“Well, you needn’t tell everybody,” cautioned Bobby. “Think of the weddings they’ve held in there, Libbie!”
“I imagine any one who has ever seen a picture of the White House recognizes it instantly,” said Betty, fearing a resumption of cousinly hostilities. “How beautiful the grounds are.”
“You must go through it some day soon,” said Mrs. Littell. “And now we’ll drive to the Capitol. Day after to-morrow would be a good time for you to take the girls to the Capitol, Bobby.”
The Capitol reminded Libbie of a pin tray she had at home, and awoke recollection in Betty’s mind of a bronze plaque that had been one of Mrs. Arnold’s treasures in the stiff little parlor of the Pineville house. All good Americans know the White House and the Capitol long before they make a pilgrimage to Washington.
On their arrival at Fairfields they found Mr. Littell playing solitaire, and something in his undisguised relief at seeing them made Betty wonder if time did not hang heavily on his hands.
After dinner Bobby proposed that they turn on the phonograph and have a little dance among themselves.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 207
