Peggy Raymond's Vacation Part 10

CHAPTER VII

THE COTTAGE BESIEGED

Peggy was in high spirits. Ever since her first meeting with Lucy Haines she had been haunted by a growing desire to find some practical way of showing her sympathy for the hard-working, ambitious girl. With Peggy the longing to be helpful was like hunger or thirst, a keen craving whose satisfaction brought a pleasure equally keen.

On the drive home after the picnic Peggy had questioned Lucy as to the price she received for her berries, and Lucy's answer had caused her to open her eyes. "Why, that's queer. We pay twice as much at home."

"Yes, I know. It's the same way with farmers' stuff. The commission men get a big part of the profits," Lucy explained.

"It doesn't seem fair when you have to stand hours in the hot sun picking, and all they have to do is to set the boxes where folks will see them, and they sell like hot cakes. Wouldn't it be nice--" Peggy stopped abruptly, and gave herself up to formulating a delightful, and as it seemed to her, a perfectly feasible plan, namely that a part of Lucy's berries at least, should be shipped directly to Friendly Terrace, and sold at the market price, Lucy to receive the entire proceeds less the expense of transportation.

Tired as she was after the exertions and excitement of that eventful picnic, Peggy could not sleep till she had written a letter to her mother describing her brilliant scheme in detail. Two days later, the Rural Free Delivery wagon brought encouraging news. d.i.c.k had canva.s.sed the houses on both sides the Terrace, and nearly every housekeeper had fallen in with Peggy's plan. Every one seemed pleased at the prospect of getting berries picked only the day before, and d.i.c.k, in spite of his responsibilities as first baseman for the Junior Giants, readily undertook to see that the fruit reached its various destinations safely.

But even now Peggy was not satisfied. "You see, girls," she explained to the interested circle around the supper-table, "it's just preserving time, and the Terrace folks will be glad to buy more berries than Lucy can possibly pick. Let's have a bee and help her out. She took a day off to drive us to the picnic, and it's only fair that we should take a day to work for her."

It was not necessary for Peggy to use her persuasive arts to induce the others to agree to the plan. Berry-picking as an occupation had lost its charm for most of them, but berry-picking with the generous purpose Peggy had suggested, was quite another matter. After they had calculated Lucy's probable profits for a single day, if she could be sure of five or six volunteer helpers, enthusiasm ran high. Claire's pensive hope, voiced with a sigh, that it wouldn't be too blisteringly hot, was pa.s.sed over without comment.

It was decided to carry a picnic luncheon to the berry pasture and have the hearty meal of the day after their return. Aunt Abigail though heartily approving the plan, begged off from joining the party. "Dorothy and I are not quite old enough yet to be of much a.s.sistance," she said with a funny little grimace. "We lack the patience that will come with years."

"But, Aunt Abigail," Ruth protested, "you couldn't stay here all by yourself. You'd be lonely."

Aunt Abigail's laugh indicated derision. "It'll be a pleasant sensation.

Why, you chatter-boxes keep things in such an uproar that I haven't had a chance for quiet, connected thought since I landed here. Go along. I shall be glad to be rid of you."

The season for the red raspberries was nearly over, but the blackberries were ripening fast. "My, but I'm glad they're not blueberries," Amy confided to Peggy. "Think of picking a six-quart pail full of shoe-b.u.t.tons, or what amounts to that. Now, blackberries count up."

The adage that many hands make light work was never better exemplified than on that July day in the berry pasture. Even Lucy lost a little of her air of stern resolution and found herself curiously observant of her surroundings, as if she were regarding them through the unaccustomed eyes of girls who were city bred. She even joined, though with all the awkwardness of a novice, in the gay chatter which went on about the laden bushes. Lucy had always looked on picking berries as a serious business, like life itself. She was a little astonished to see these girls turning it into play, leavening it with laughter. Lucy had been brought up on the saying, 'duty first, pleasure afterward,' though in her particular case, duty engrossed the day so completely that pleasure was of a necessity postponed to some indefinite future. It was a new idea to her that the two might be blended without injury to either.

Hobo who had insisted on joining the party against Claire's protests, for she rather boasted of the fact that she was afraid of dogs, divided his attention equally between Peggy and Dorothy. Peggy he adored, but he had an air of feeling responsible for Dorothy, and as she scampered about the pasture, Hobo followed her, not with any pretext of devotion, but much as a faithful nurse-maid might have done. The girls laughed at his conscientious air as they laughed at everything Dorothy said. It seemed to Lucy she had never seen people who found so many things to laugh about. She wondered how it would seem if gaiety were the habit of life instead of the rare exception.

But though the berry-picking went on with none of the relentless haste which would properly characterize contestants in a Marathon race, though blackened lips gave convincing testimony that all the berries had not found their way into the shining pails, though the incessant talk and almost incessant laughter were suggestive of a flock of blackbirds, and though luncheon turned into a protracted feast, which left only crumbs for the ants and squirrels, yet the pails filled up before Lucy's eyes.

And when the declining July sun intimated that he for one had done about enough for a day, the little group in the berry pasture had reason to be well satisfied with their efforts.

"Can't you smell the blackberry jam cooking on Friendly Terrace day after to-morrow?" demanded Peggy, as she stood beaming over the full pails. "Haven't we done splendidly?"

All the others were in a mood equally jubilant. Lucy Haines looked from one glowing face to another, and felt a queer tightening in the muscles of her throat. It was not so much their help that touched her. She had been helping other people all her life, in her grave, conscientious fashion. But she had always thought of sympathy as a rather sombre thing, extended when some one died in the family or on like sorrowful occasions. That day she saw it in a different guise, smiling, radiant, something for which one could not say thank you, but which warmed one's heart through and through, nevertheless. She almost forgot to count up what that berrying-bee would mean to her in dollars and cents, it had meant so much more in other things.

It was a noisy, talkative file of girls who having escorted Lucy to her home, and left the back doorstep covered with berry pails, turned their faces toward Dolittle Cottage. The day spent in the open air had made them hungry. Peggy was invited to divulge her intentions concerning supper and her proposed _menu_ aroused enthusiasm.

"I wonder if Aunt Abigail has missed us?" remarked Ruth, who hated above all things to be left alone for five minutes, so that her thoughts had invested Aunt Abigail's solitude with a pathos which the independent old lady would have instantly resented.

Amy took it on herself to answer. "No, indeed. That's the best thing about Aunt Abigail. She likes people and she's always happy in a crowd, but she's never lonely when she's by herself. If there's something around to read she wouldn't mind if she didn't have anybody to speak to for a week."

Dolittle Cottage was in sight by now. The girls' eyes scanned the porch for a lounging figure absorbed in a book or magazine. "She isn't outside, is she?" remarked Peggy. "I hope she isn't trying to get supper."

"I hope so, too," agreed Amy fervently. "I've tried Aunt Abigail's cooking once or twice." Whether it was due to the hope of arresting Aunt Abigail's supper preparations, before they had gone too far, or because of some other undefined anxiety, the line advanced on the double-quick.

As they drew nearer the cottage, something peculiar in its appearance gradually became evident. It had a forsaken look, such as it had presented on the day of their arrival. Peggy was the first to discover the explanation of the mysterious change.

"Why, she's got all the shutters closed!"

Peggy was not mistaken. As a rule, every door and window in the cottage stood wide open, except during heavy storms. Now its tightly shuttered windows and closed doors gave it the look of being unoccupied.

Surprise, and perhaps a vague, unformulated anxiety, had quickened the lagging feet of the girls, so that when they came up the gravel walk leading to the door of the cottage, they were almost running. Peggy who was a little in the lead, was the first to reach the door. She turned the k.n.o.b quickly, pushed till she was red in the face, gave the door a sharp shake and then stood staring blankly. "It's locked!" she exclaimed.

"I'll try the back door." Amy started for the rear of the cottage, but the nimble Priscilla was ahead of her, and when Amy came panting to the back doorstep, met her with the startling news, "This is locked, too. Do you suppose she's gone away?"

"I don't know where she'd go unless it was to borrow something of Mrs.

Snooks," Amy though puzzled was not really anxious, as she was only too familiar with Aunt Abigail's eccentric possibilities. "We'll knock as hard as we can," she suggested. "Maybe she lay down to take a nap and overslept."

A vigorous tattoo began forthwith on the back door, to be reinforced presently by the ringing of the front door bell. Had Aunt Abigail been a rival of the celebrated Seven Sleepers the combined tumult would have been pretty sure to arouse her. Priscilla and Amy at length desisted, and returning to the front of the house, met the other girls coming to the rear. By this time every face was anxious.

"There's just a chance that the woodshed door is open," said Peggy.

"Though she's locked everything up so carefully that I don't think it's likely." A moment's investigation showed that this door, too, was firmly bolted, and Peggy returned to the sober girls grouped under the dining-room window. "She must have gone somewhere," Peggy said. "Do you suppose she could have got tired of staying here all day by herself, and tried to find us in the pasture and lost her way?"

The suggestion struck a little chill through the listeners. The locked house, the setting sun, the mystery of Aunt Abigail's disappearance had all combined to dissipate their previous cheerfulness. In addition to their anxiety about Aunt Abigail, certain unformulated doubts regarding their chances for supper and bed, weighed upon their spirits.

"Look!" cried Amy suddenly. "Look!" and pointed a directing finger upward. The shutter of one of the bedroom windows was conducting itself very strangely, now opening a trifle, and then slamming to as if it had suddenly changed its mind. But presently it opened sufficiently wide to give the watchers below a glimpse of snowy hair, arranged in a rather elaborate combination of coils and puffs.

"Aunt Abigail!" Amy shrieked, "oh, Aunt Abigail!" Her cry was echoed by the voices of the others, Dorothy's treble sounding clearly above the rest. The shutter opened again, and an unmistakable Aunt Abigail looked down.

"Who's there?"

"Why, it's us!" Grammatical accuracy ceases to be important when people are tired and hungry, and, if the truth must be confessed, a little out of temper. "Do come down, and let us in."

"Are you sure there's n.o.body else."

The girls looked over their shoulders. The gathering dark began to seem unfriendly. Dorothy hid her face in Peggy's skirts.

"Why, of course there is n.o.body else here." It was Amy who gave the answer, though her statement ended in an interrogative upward note as if it asked a question.

"Then come to the front door." Aunt Abigail's head disappeared and the shutter closed. A minute or two later the front door opened just far enough to admit one girl at a time, and when a subdued procession had filed in, it closed sharply, and was locked and bolted without an instant's delay.

Every one realized that the situation was serious. "What's happened?"

exclaimed several voices with anxious unanimity, while Peggy hurried to light the lamp, the dreariness of the shuttered house proving depressing to the spirits, as well as a practical inconvenience.

"Girls!" Aunt Abigail spoke with the air of one who realizes the importance of what she has to tell. "I have had a very singular experience this afternoon. I am not a timid woman, but I must confess I feel quite upset."

"Oh, dear! I felt all the time as though we shouldn't go off and leave you by yourself," cried Ruth, and the old lady patted her hand as if grateful for the impulsive outburst.

"I got along very well the early part of the day. I found some interesting books in the garret and read till nearly two. Then I made myself a cup of tea, and after luncheon I thought I would take a nap.

The screened doors were shut and hasped, but the windows were all open.

Any one could have entered without difficulty."