The Girl from Sunset Ranch Part 26

"Goodness me! _You_ can't help me with algebra. What do I want to know higher mathematics for? I'll never have use for such knowledge."

"I don't suppose we can ever learn _too_ much," said Helen, quietly.

"Huh! Lots you know about it. You never were driven to school against your will."

"No. Whenever I got a chance to go I was glad."

"Maybe I'd be glad, too, if I lived on a ranch," returned Flossie, scornfully.

Helen came nearer to the desk and sat down beside her.

"You don't look a bit pretty with your eyes all red and hot. Crying isn't going to help," she said, smiling.

"I suppose not," grumbled Flossie, ungrateful of tone.

"Come, let me get some water and cologne and bathe your face." Helen jumped up and went to the tiny bathroom. "Now, I'll play maid for you, Flossie."

"Oh, all right," said the younger girl. "I suppose, as you say, crying isn't going to help."

"Not at all. No amount of tears will solve a problem in algebra. And you let me see the questions. You see," added Helen, slowly, beginning to bathe her cousin's forehead and swollen eyes, "we once had a very fine school-teacher at the ranch. He was a college professor. But he had weak lungs and he came out there to Montana to rest."

"That's good!" murmured Flossie, meaning bathing process, for she was not listening much to Helen's remarks.

"I knew it would make you feel better. But now, let me see these algebra problems. I took it up a little when--when Professor Payton was at the ranch."

"You didn't!" cried Flossie, in wonder.

"Let me see them," pursued her cousin, nodding.

She had told the truth--as far as she went. After Professor Payton had left the ranch and Helen had gone to Denver to school, she had showed a marked taste for mathematics and had been allowed to go far ahead of her fellow-pupils in that study.

Now, at a glance, she saw what was the matter with Flossie's attempts to solve the problems. She slipped into a seat beside the younger girl again and, in a few minutes, showed Flossie just how to solve them.

"Why, Helen! I didn't suppose you knew so much," said Flossie, in surprise.

"You see, _that_ is something I had a chance to learn between times--when I wasn't roping cows or breaking ponies," said Helen, drily.

"Humph! I don't believe you did either of those vulgar things," declared Flossie, suddenly.

"You are mistaken. I do them both, and do them well," returned Helen, gravely. "But they are _not_ vulgar. No more vulgar than your sister Belle's golf. It is outdoor exercise, and living outdoors as much as one can is a sort of religion in the West."

"Well," said Flossie, who had recovered her breath now. "I don't care what you do outdoors. You can do algebra in the house! And I'm real thankful to you, Cousin Helen."

"You are welcome, Flossie," returned the other, gravely; but then she went her way to her own room at the top of the house. Flossie did not ask her to remain after she had done all she could for her.

But Helen had found plenty of reading matter in the house. Her cousins and uncle might ignore her as they pleased. With a good book in her hand she could forget all her troubles.

Now she slipped into her kimono, propped herself up in bed, turned the gas-jet high, and lost herself in the adventures of her favorite heroine.

The little clock on the mantel ticked on unheeded. The house grew still.

The maids came up to bed chattering. But still Helen read on.

She had forgotten the sounds she had heard in the old house at night. Mrs.

Olstrom had mentioned that there were "queer stories" about the Starkweather mansion. But Helen would not have thought of them at this time, had something not rattled her doork.n.o.b and startled her.

"Somebody wants to come in," was the girl's first thought, and she hopped out of bed and ran to unlock it.

Then she halted, with her hand upon the k.n.o.b. A sound outside had arrested her. But it was not the sound of somebody trying the latch.

Instead she plainly heard the mysterious "step--put; step--put" again. Was it descending the stairs? It seemed to grow fainter as she listened.

At length the girl--somewhat shaken--reached for the key of her door again, and turned it. Then she opened it and peered out.

The corridor was faintly illuminated. The stairway itself was quite dark, for there was no light in the short pa.s.sage below called "the ghost-walk."

The girl, in her slippers, crept to the head of the flight. There she could hear the steady, ghostly footstep from below. No other sound within the great mansion reached her ears. It _was_ queer.

To and fro the odd step went. It apparently drew nearer, then receded--again and again.

Helen could not see any of the corridor from the top of the flight. So she began to creep down, determined to know for sure if there really was something or somebody there.

Nor was she entirely unafraid now. The mysterious sounds had got upon her nerves. Whether they were supernatural, or natural, she was determined to solve the mystery here and now.

Half-way down the stair she halted. The sound of the ghostly step was at the far end of the hall. But it would now return, and the girl could see (her eyes having become used to the dim light) more than half of the pa.s.sage.

There was the usual rustling sound at the end of the pa.s.sage. Then the steady "step--put" approached.

CHAPTER XVI

FORGOTTEN

From the stair-well some little light streamed up into the darkness of the ghost-walk. And into this dim radiance came a little old lady--her old-fashioned crimped hair an aureole of beautiful gray--leaning lightly on an ebony crutch, which in turn tapped the floor in accompaniment to her clicking step--

"Step--put; step--put; step--put."

Then she was out of the range of Helen's vision again. But she turned and came back--her silken skirts rustling, her crutch tapping in perfect time.

This was no ghost. Although slender--ethereal--almost bird-like in her motions--the little old lady was very human indeed. She had a pink flush in her cheeks, and her skin was as soft as velvet. Of course there were wrinkles; but they were beautiful wrinkles, Helen thought.

She wore black half-mitts of lace, and her old-fashioned gown was of delightfully soft, yet rich silk. The silk was brown--not many old ladies could have worn that shade of brown and found it becoming. Her eyes were bright--the unseen girl saw them sparkle as she turned her head, in that bird-like manner, from side to side.

She was a dear, doll-like old lady! Helen longed to hurry down the remaining steps and take her in her arms.

But, instead, she crept softly back to the head of the stairs, and slipped into her own room again. _This_ was the mystery of the Starkweather mansion. The nightly exercise of this mysterious old lady was the foundation for the "ghost-walk." The maids of the household feared the supernatural; therefore they easily found a legend to explain the rustling step of the old lady with the crutch.