The Girl Scouts at Rocky Ledge Part 27

Her plans to help Lucia had included everything from a change of home to a complete change of ident.i.ty, for Nora felt the stranger must have been in sore need, and why couldn't she induce Cousin Ted to adopt such a pretty, forlorn child?

It was characteristic of Nora to decide on the most dramatic course, for such a possibility as a mother, father, or family in the background of Lucia's life was not thought of.

And was this to be the end of her precious secret? She squeezed the paper bouquet until the humble ribbon wrinkled into a sad bit of stuff, and then decided to put the token away with her most precious belongings. Maybe Lucia would come back, and if she ever did Nora decided positively she would then tell someone about the child, even tell Cousin Ted if need be, and, certainly, Alma.

"And now I must go to my letter box," she told Cap, the faithful.

Looking up and down, in and out, far and near, to make sure no one saw her, Nora followed the trail to the bent willow--the hiding place of Alma's correspondence with the fabled prince.

She had been there, the moss was a shade lighter where feet had pressed the velvet nap, and the leaves of the bushes were still "inside out"

from a hasty brushing made to clear a path to the bent willow.

Under the stone, as directed, Alma had placed her answer to the prince's letter, and finding it there she quickly hid the envelope in her deepest blouse pocket. She would read it in more comfort, enjoy it more at home, with the door locked.

"What an exciting vacation I am having, really!" she reflected. "When I came all I could think of was pretty things."

Had she been that Nora once so filled with foolish fancies that life, brief as it had been to her, seemed too full of nonsense to admit of real joys with girl companions, and any number of adventures?

"A real vacation indeed," concluded the girl in khaki, holding close Lucia's flowers and Alma's letter. She was sorely tempted to peek into the latter, but that would spoil the delicious secret reading, which to be complete would have to be made in solitude.

It had been days since she went out "on location" with the cousins--Jerry always called surveying "doing location," as the moving picture folks termed their work, but so many other things claimed her attention it seemed difficult to get them all in. Cousin Ted was very busy herself, but had managed to write Nora's mother. A glowing account of the Scout interests was surely given in that letter, and Jerry was disappointed when Ted refused to ask permission for Nora to stay during the winter. To this, woman-like, Mrs. Jerry Manton had not agreed, because to go to school in the wilderness is always more picturesque than practical.

But Nora had endeared herself to those generous hearts, and even the thought of that real mother with an unreal name did not thrill her as did the knowledge that she had "made good" with these devoted friends.

Home now--that is to the Nest, Nora rushed up to her room to devour Alma's letter. She ignored Vita's appeal to come see the wonderful flowers sent from some one for Mrs. Manton. She must read the letter before going down to dinner.

In the biggest chair by the open window beyond locked doors she unfolded the precious page.

"She writes a pretty hand," was the first comment. Then she read:

"'Camp Chickadee.

"'My dear Prince:

"'How wonderful to get a letter from you! As you have guessed I did think of you ever since. Please tell me who you are and where you live? We Scouts would love to know you and perhaps we can tell you some interesting things about America, if, as I surmise, you are a visitor here.'"

"Oh mercy," gasped Nora. "I have only made matters worse. She actually believes I am a prince. What ever shall I do?"

The letter lay mute and yet accusing. Nora had written Alma a first letter to prepare her for the second. True, she did not explain--but she fancied somehow Alma would come to the tree, and then perhaps they would meet and settle the whole troublesome business.

"But it's worse, heaps worse," sighed Nora. The call from down stairs was unanswered, for she must plan something else and that quickly.

First she thought of writing another letter with a complete and full confession, but she dreaded it, shrank from it and finally abandoned the idea.

"If it only were not Alma," she sighed. "I would almost enjoy the joke on some of the others, but Alma!"

Nothing could be worse than this nagging at her conscience. She must conquer it. And here was the new trouble about Lucia!

"I always thought secrets were such fun, and yet these are positively--tragic," she thought. "If only I could tell Alma about Lucia, at least that would be a comfort."

Another call from Vita. Cousin Ted and Cousin Jerry were in now. The cheery whistle and the joyful "Whoo-hoo!" must be answered.

"Oh, dear me!" sighed Nora. "I suppose things always happen that way."

She gave Lucia's flowers an affectionate squeeze, dropped them into her ivory box, slipped Alma's letter under the cushion and went down to dinner.

CHAPTER XX

THE WORST FRIGHT OF ALL

It was growing dusk--the sunset seemed in a great hurry to get away, and day time was evidently going to the same party. The Mantons failed to induce Nora to accompany them on a "bug hunt," Jerry's term for Ted's moth expedition. Vita too seemed in haste to get somewhere, and altogether the evening was especially popular to make escapes in.

Nora was going over to camp, she announced, and would be there long before dark. The girls would come home with her, she had a.s.sured the prudent Ted.

So everything was settled and the Nest would be unoccupied, with Cap as guard, for that evening.

Not a smile broke the serious look on Nora's face. It was evident the program for the evening included something very important.

"Goodbye," called out Ted. "Be sure to go over to camp, right away, or the dark will--catch you."

"Yes'm," echoed Jerry, "and Mr. Dark knows no distinctions at Wildwoods.

He throws a big black blanket over the whole kaboodle."

Nora replied, but even the joke did not cheer her. A few minutes later she stood at the foot of the attic stairs, drew a long breath; then dashed up.

Over to the chest that contained the costumes long ignored, she literally dashed, yanked up the lid and dragged out the Lord Fauntleroy outfit.

She counted the pieces, waist, jacket, knickers, sash--where was the cap?

Nervously she fumbled over the tangle of garments, but did not find it.

"I had better dress first," she decided, "and come up again for the cap.

I am--so--nervous----"

No need to make the confession, for even her hands, young and usually steady, actually dropped the velvet coat right on the dusty attic floor.

No time for looking in the mirror. The knickers were kept up with round garters now, a Scout acquisition, and the thin white blouse that went under the jacket, went under very quickly--fullness and strings jabbed in wherever s.p.a.ce allowed.

In a remarkably short time she was inside the entire outfit. One glimpse in the gla.s.s a.s.sured her she was again garbed as the fickle prince. Then for the cap.

"I have time to run and get it," she a.s.sured herself. "Of course, I must have that cap."

Back to the attic, now a shade darker, and then again into the mysteries of the costume chest, she rummaged.

"Oh, dear," she sighed. "I'll be--here it is! Thank goodness!" She just jabbed it on her head. A sound startled her. She stood still, every sense alert.