Mr. Pat's Little Girl Part 30

"Why should he go if he wasn't a detective?" Belle demanded.

"Why not? He may be an agent, or a friend," Celia suggested, laughing.

A whistle in the distance left no time for argument. Belle flew back to the platform, where Maurice had joined Jack. Celia turned toward home.

She was more perplexed over Belle's story about the ring than she cared to own. Not for a moment did she think Morgan had taken it; and yet he was getting to be an old man and she recalled something she had heard her father say about a certain brain disease that first showed itself in acts wholly out of keeping with the character of its victim. Could this be the explanation?

It was a relief to know that it would soon be in Allan Whittredge's hands.

That he would do the kindest, wisest thing, she never thought of doubting.

She had heard with a sinking of heart that he had gone away, and she scorned herself for the sensation of relief when Belle added, it was only for a few days. Celia deeply regretted the way in which she had met his request to speak with her that night at Friendly Creek. Why could she not have listened quietly? In these days she was torn by conflicting feelings.

The spirit of the Forest was slowly tempering the bitterness in her heart, but it sometimes seemed to her that her loyalty to her father was weakening.

It was fortunate matters at home demanded her thoughts. Plans for the winter, getting the boys off to school, and the many small cares of the housekeeper left little time for brooding.

At the station Belle, in her eagerness to be the first to greet Rosalind, had to be dragged back out of harm's way by the baggage master, as the long train swept around the curve.

"You'll find yourself killed one of these days if you don't look out,"

remarked Jack, descending from the trunk.

But Belle gave small heed. "I am so glad you have come," she cried, seizing upon Rosalind almost before she had her foot on the ground. "Such lots of things have happened."

"Aren't you glad to see me too?" asked Mr. Whittredge.

"Yes, I am especially glad to see you, because I have something to tell you. Something I can't tell any one else."

"Bless me! this is interesting. Just wait till I find my checks, and we'll walk up town together."

Belle, however, was not destined to relate her story just then, for no sooner had they started out, she in front with Mr. Whittredge, and Rosalind and the boys following, than Mr. Molesworth joined them and began talking about the paper mills. There was nothing for her but to fall back with the others, and this was not without its compensation, for now she could have a share in telling Rosalind about the detective.

"It's all nonsense. I don't believe he was a detective at all, but it was fun taking his picture," said Jack.

"I'll have it to show you to-morrow," added Maurice.

"Why don't you ask Cousin Betty who he is?" suggested Rosalind.

Belle's deep sense of the mystery of things had kept her from thinking of this simple method of solving the problem.

"Of course we might," she acknowledged.

"I want to stop at Morgan's a moment," Allan looked back to say.

At the magician's corner Mr. Molesworth left them; but as it was only a step to the shop, the secret still remained untold.

Morgan seemed delighted beyond all reason at sight of them. He greeted Allan as if he had been away years instead of days; and tapping his own breast, he exclaimed, looking from one to another, "I am Morgan, the magician!" Then pointing to the nail where the children had hung the bra.s.s ring, he added, "I have broken the spell!" With this he disappeared for a moment into the back room, but he was with them again before they had recovered from their surprise at his strange manner; and now he held something in his hand which he waved aloft gleefully.

Belle began to understand that all her anxiety had been needless.

"What does this mean?" asked Allan, as Morgan put into his hand a little worn case.

The children crowded around him as he opened it and disclosed the long-lost, much talked of sapphire ring. In his delight the cabinet-maker almost danced a jig, and continued to repeat, "I'm a magician."

"It's found; it's found!" cried Rosalind.

"And I knew it," said Belle.

"h.e.l.lo!" exclaimed Jack. "Was this your secret? Did Morgan tell you?"

Belle tried to explain her discovery, but so great was the excitement n.o.body would listen. It was really beyond belief that Patricia's ring was actually in their hands. It was some time before they quieted down sufficiently to hear Morgan's story.

He had begun work on the spinet several days ago, he said, and upon removing the top had noticed something wedged in under the strings, which upon investigation he found to be the case containing the ring.

"But where is the other ring?" Rosalind asked.

The magician laughed and said that was another story, and he told how the evening before the real ring was found, Crisscross had been seized with a fit of unusual playfulness, and jumping up on the chest, above which the ring hung, had begun to move it to and fro with his paw, presently knocking it off and sending it rolling across the floor. He darted after it under tables and chairs but apparently never found it; nor could the magician, although he searched carefully.

"So the mystery is not ended yet. We do not know what became of the magic ring, nor how the real ring came to be in the spinet," Allan remarked.

"It is exactly like a sure enough fairy tale," added Belle; and then she whispered her part of the story, turning her back to the magician, for fear he might see what she was talking about.

"And how about the detective? Did you think he was coming to arrest Morgan?" asked Maurice.

Belle looked a little shamefaced. "I didn't know," she said.

Mr. Whittredge wanted to hear about the detective, and was much amused at her description of the taking of his picture.

Rosalind as she listened held the ring in her hand--Patricia's ring. She had thought a great deal about Patricia, and this seemed to bring her near and make her more real--the young girl who had looked like Aunt Genevieve, only more kind.

"Let's show the ring to Miss Betty! May we, Mr. Whittredge?" asked Belle.

Allan did not appear enthusiastic over the suggestion, but he did not refuse, and followed the children at a distance as they raced across the street.

"There's the detective now," cried Jack, at the gate.

"Where?" the others asked breathlessly.

"On the porch with Miss Betty."

Sure enough, partially shielded from view by the vines, in one of Miss Betty's comfortable chairs, sat the stranger.

"Why--" began Rosalind, stopping short, "it looks like--Why, Dr.

Hollingsworth! I didn't know you were here!"

At the same moment the gentleman started up, exclaiming, "Well, Rosalind, they said you were out of town. I am very glad to see you," and they met and clasped hands like warm friends.

"Children!" cried Rosalind, turning to her companions, "this is our president, Dr. Hollingsworth."

"And these are the young people who took my photograph yesterday," Dr.

Hollingsworth observed gravely. There was a twinkle in his eye, however.