The Girl Scouts at Bellaire Part 6

"No, indeed, Madie dear. You just suit your sweet self, and have a good time. That's the very best way for us all to be sure of enjoying ourselves. But look out for pinching beetles in the vines. They bite, you know."

When Grace returned with Lalia, the three, including Cleo, lost little time to taking up the mountain trail towards the Twin Chestnuts, indicated by Maid Mary as marking the spot where she and her mysterious grandfather, as well as the picturesque Reda, occupied some sort of cottage--just what kind even Lalia did not pretend to know.

"We rarely go into Second Mountain," she explained as they started off, "except for dogwood berries in the fall. We do go then in cla.s.ses from school, for the hills are perfectly beautiful with the red dogwood and the dark blue 'bread and b.u.t.ter' vines. The berries make lovely decorations. And the milk weed pods, too--I have some still from last year."

"It must be glorious in autumn," Cleo answered. "If mother and father get back from their tour in time we might take a house out here, instead of a New York apartment."

"Let's cut through the golf links, then we will be up near the mountain house and we can stop in the observatory. Have you taken in the view yet?" asked Lalia.

"No, but we would love to," answered Cleo. "Auntie told us we should take her field gla.s.ses for it though."

"It would be better to look through the gla.s.ses, of course, but even with the naked eye you get a wonderful view. What's the matter, Grace?

Getting too warm?"

Grace had taken off her neckerchief, and was carrying her hat, and puffing audibly.

"Yes, I am warm. Your mountains are lovely to look at, but a little hard to tread even for us True Treds. Either that or we are going to have a shower!" surmised Grace.

"Both!" declared Lalia, "just look at that cloud! It's swooping down like a big black blanket. Now we have got to hurry. We must get to the mountain house or we will be drenched. There's no other possible shelter."

"Away up there?" inquired Cleo, pointing to the hotel on top of the hill. "I don't believe we can ever get there before your blanket dumps its contents. See, it threatens to burst now!"

At that moment a vivid flash of lightning cut from one black hill in the clouds and buried itself behind another. As if piercing the fathomless blanket and renting holes in its inky cover, a downpour of rain broke through, and even before reaching the earth it could now be seen descending in a heavy mist at the hill top.

"There we are!" shouted Lalia, "and here we are--all dressed up and no place to duck! We can't reach the Mountain House. Let's make for that rock! It may afford some shelter."

Without thought of dissent Cleo and Grace followed their leader through the now pouring shower. The rain seemed almost solid, its sheets were so dense in the downfall, and the terrific peals of thunder, that echoed and rolled over the hills, gave such monstrous volumes of sound as only the big canyons between solid rocks emit. It seemed the stones themselves would be torn out from their pits in the frightful vibrations.

Already thoroughly drenched, the girls in scout uniform seemed scarcely better off than Lalia in her pretty gingham, the summer weight khaki of the skirts, and the soisette blouses shedding the heavy rain more readily, only because of the uniform straight lines and absence of frilly pockets to catch the "buckets'" spill. As for hats--the girls were utilizing these as shields, holding them at ever-swerving angles, to keep the blinding rain out of their eyes.

The big black rock with torrents of water how gushing down its furrows and rills, was reached at last and to the delight of the wayfarers it did offer shelter.

"Why, just see here!" exclaimed Grace, the first to reach port, "here is a cave. We said there ought to be caves in these mountains. And we can all fit in out of the storm. Isn't this wonderful?"

"Port haven in our story, surely," quoth Lalia, "I thought I knew these parts, but I never before discovered these Monte Cristo apartments.

Shall we ring for the janitor?"

"Pray do not," replied Cleo, swishing her reservoir hat around to empty its contents. "Let us woo the wooseys undisturbed. I should like to dump the mud out of my boots!"

The rain on the uncovered rocks was still splashing, and a strong wind howling through the trees added to the din. Only at close range could the girls make their voices intelligible. But it was so good to be within shelter. Welcome indeed is any port in a storm.

"There must be more dugouts in this rock," Cleo said, attempting to survey the curved bowlder that formed a huge support for the cedars growing from its top, in a great swerving hedge, clear up into Second Mountain.

"But one is enough for us," Grace reminded her. Then a sound penetrated the now ceasing roar of the torrent. Voices surely, somewhere!

"Hark!" All three girls uttered the exclamation simultaneously.

"It's at the other side!" whispered Cleo, "and it's a woman's voice."

They listened, scarcely breathing.

"That's Mary!" suddenly exclaimed Grace, in the same subdued voice. "I know it is."

They waited a few seconds, listening. The first voice was now answered by another. It was plainly that of the old woman Reda, for the queer, rapid flow of language was not English.

"Reda!" whispered Cleo. "Is that Spanish?"

"Who's Reda?" repeated Lalia.

"The queer old woman with the little girl Mary," replied Cleo. "Are you afraid of her?"

"No," answered Lalia with something of a sneer. "I guess we three could manage her if we had to. Shall we peek?"

"Listen!" commanded Cleo.

Came a small voice through the jagged rocks: "But I will not, Reda, I am not asleep. I saw other girls just like me, and I know I have not the sleeping fever. You always try to make me afraid!" This was Mary.

The angered tones of the old woman that followed this mild outburst of defiance could not be understood except through their accents and emphasis, for the dialect was part Spanish and part West Indian, such as might be used by natives of Central America.

"She's awfully mad!" warned Grace. "We better stay hiding!"

The other girls apparently held the same view of the situation, for while keeping necks craned and ears attentive to the intermittent voices, all were careful not to allow so much as the edge of a skirt to flutter out from behind the hiding rock.

"I do not believe grandpa has it at all," came the decided tones of Mary's round voice. "It is lost forever, and we shall never find it.

And next time Janos comes I shall tell him I will not stay here. I am not a baby, and I feel strong and able--to--to go!" she finished, throwing a dramatic quiver into these last words, thereby proving the intensity of her emotion.

Almost a shriek from the old woman followed the declaration, and for a few seconds the girls felt as if something dreadful might happen to the child. Then, like some wild, reckless creature, the girl Mary was seen to dash out from her shelter in the rock, unmindful of the rain still falling, and before the eavesdroppers realized it, she was speeding down the hill, the long braids dangling over her shoulders, and her perpetual white dress soon climbing like a veritable swaddling cloth about her lithe form.

As if delighted with the play of the rain drops, she would toss up her face to defy them as she ran; then flop her arms up and down in a flying motion, not really unlike a wild mountain bird.

While the girls watched spellbound, they saw presently the old woman trudge along after her, still muttering the unintelligible gibberish, easily translatable into wrath and fury, whatever its peculiar language.

"Can we go now?" ventured Cleo.

"It's almost stopped raining," replied Lalia, and as they left the cave a sense of disappointment threw its shadow over all three.

They could not go to the Twin Chestnuts that afternoon, but they felt more positive than ever that Maid Mary was in danger, and their enforced delay in her rescue only served to heighten its purpose.

After explaining to Lalia as much as seemed due in point of politeness, the three girls stopped to arrange their disordered attire in the path, before taking the main thoroughfare through the village. As they adjusted their hats and straightened skirts, they were suddenly conscious of being watched--had that feeling of eyes questioning them.

All three turned suddenly as if answering a voice. As they did so they faced a man--actually confronted him, almost brushing against him.

"Oh!" exclaimed Grace involuntarily.

"Pardon, miss," spoke the man in a distinctly foreign accent, "but were you not with the child, the Maid Mary? Have you seen her to-day? Yes?

No?"

Cleo was the first to realize the possible significance of this seemingly inoffensive query, and her look to the other girls signaled them to be cautious.