Back Aa

Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays

Close

<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> <h3>STORMBOUND AT TANGLEWOOD</h3> Dorothy dropped the letter in her lap. She was awed, surprised, distressed. Then, Miss Brooks did not take the ring? And why should the woman detective do such a thing? For an instant only that thought occupied her. The next she pitied Miss Dearing. "Poor woman!" she sighed to herself. "After all, perhaps she is really a victim of circumstances. And what a letter! If I only could help her—see her before Christmas." A smile, unbidden, stole across Dorothy's face as she pictured all the tasks she had undertaken to accomplish "before Christmas." "Luckily there are a few days left," she concluded "One can crowd a great many things into two real, living days." She hurried upstairs to read the letter again in seclusion. The positive tone of sorrow in the missive touched her heart. There certainly did seem many things to do, but here was plainly an emergency case. If she could manage to go to the city, obtain Miss Dearing's address from the store, go to see her, and then stop at Dalton on her way back——" "I ought to be able to do that," she told herself. "And it would be such a joy to take away all Tavia's worry before Christmas Day." Then came the recollection that she really knew nothing to tell Squire Travers—she really did not know what Tavia's trouble was. All the girl's conversation on that point amounted to nothing more than inferences, vague and uncertain. "I am positive Tavia thinks I know all about it," concluded Dorothy, "and I have just a mind to ask her outright. It would be so much easier than beating about the bush this way." "Doro! Doro!" screamed Roger at her door. "Come on! Get ready! We're going out—for another—Christmas tree! Out to ghost park." "I—can't!" called back his sister, but the next moment Nat was beside her. "Come on," he ordered, "get on your togs. We've got to get a hospital tree. The ladies insist it shall be handpicked, and we've got to go to Tanglewood Park." "But do I really have to go?" begged Dorothy. "It's cold to ride, and I wanted to——?" "Put pink bows on red slippers! Oh, chuck it, Doro! I perfectly hate the smell of Christmas. Tom and Roland are going, and so is Tavia." He made a queer face as he said this—one of those indescribable boy illustrations quite beyond interpretation. "Is she?" asked Dorothy, not knowing anything better to say. "And Tom and Roland, I repeat. We are going to duck the kiddies. Too cold for little boys." "Oh, then I shan't go," declared Dorothy. "We've been promising Joe and Roger so long." "But they don't want to go," insisted Nat. "Sammy Blake is launching his iceboat." "Oh, I suppose that is a superior attraction even to ghosts," said Dorothy, laughing, "But why do we have to get a tree from the park? Couldn't we buy one?" "Just like a girl. We couldn't possibly buy trees last week, because—they would not be hand-picked. This week why can't we buy them and—hang the handpicked," he finished. "Now, do you understand, little girl, that the tree is to be in the near-infant ward in the hospital?" "Oh, I suppose there's no use arguing," decided Dorothy. "I may as well give in." "May better. Hurry along, now. We're to have a buffet lunch, and get gone directly after. It's time to eat now," and he glanced at his watch. Certainly the morning had passed—and the afternoon would no doubt be equally short. Dorothy hurried to get her warm wraps, called to Tavia, and was at the lunch-table before Nat had returned from the garage, whence he brought the Fire Bird. "If you do not get caught in a snowstorm this time," commented Major Dale, "I will begin to lose faith in my prophetic bones. They ache for heavy snow." "Put it off until to-morrow, Uncle Frank," advised Nat. "Then we may get the runners out." "No, it's not that long off," insisted the major, cringing perceptibly under the aches and pains for the coming storm. "I shouldn't wonder but it reached us by sundown." Ned was much better, able to sit near the window and wave to the departing ones. Tavia looked almost happy. Somehow, since she determined to "stick to Dorothy," much of her apparent trouble seemed to have disappeared. She was brighter than she had been for days, and even Nat threw off the restraint he had shown toward her lately. At The Elms they picked up Tom, with Roland's regrets, and with a dangerous-looking hatchet in hand—to bag the game with. "Roland had another dinner date," he explained. "I'm glad I'm not handsome." "But the ax?" asked Nat "For the little tree, you know," replied Tom. "I've tried to catch Christmas trees before." "Well, we are pretty well loaded up," added Nat, producing from his pocket a revolver. "Oh!" screamed Tavia; "for goodness' sake is this a murderous plot? I—want—my—mamma——" "There, there, little girl, don't cry," simpered Tom. "A gun is a fine thing in a jungle——" "Where ghosts scream," added Dorothy. "And buggies ride bugs," put in Nat, shifting the lever for more speed. "Well, it's up to us to get there first, and then we may shoot up the whole woods if we like. The girls may—may sit under a shady tree." The deep gloom of an approaching storm made this proposal sound quite ridiculous, and Dorothy declared she would prefer sitting in the Fire Bird at a safe distance from the shooting. Tavia threatened to crawl under the seat, and even vowed she would leave the car at once if the hatchet and revolver were not at once put away—"out of her sight!" "Well, I have made up my brilliant mind," said Nat, "that if that screaming thing is in the woods I am going to get it dead or alive," and he put up the pistol for the time being. Talk of the play, and of Ned's condition, occupied much of the remaining time consumed in the run to the woods, and when the tall chestnut trees of Tanglewood Park finally faced the strip of road the Fire Bird was covering, snowflakes were beginning to fall. And so fiercely did the winds blow, that presently Nat had all he could do to manage the machine. "No jollying about this," he made out to say, "I guess it's to the castle for ours, whether we want to hunt ghosts or owls." "Oh, will we really have to go in that dreadful place?" wailed Tavia. "I think I would as soon die of freezing as die——" "Of scaring," interrupted Tom, laughing. "Well, there is no immediate cause for alarm in either direction," he went on, "but I think it will be a good idea to get out of this gale as quickly as possible." It surely was a gale now, and the wind seemed so solidified with the biting specks of snow, that Dorothy and Tavia were quite satisfied to bury their frost-bitten faces deep in the fur of muffs and scarfs, while the young men turned up their overcoat collars and turned down the flaps of the heavy auto caps, none too heavy, however, to keep out the discomforts of the newly arrived blizzard. Straight for the drive to the castle Nat directed the machine, and by the time the old broken-down steps of the once spacious porch were reached, even Tavia was glad to jump out of the Fire Bird and get her breath in a secluded part of the old balcony. "Whew!" whistled Tom. "This is something worth while for Christmas! I never saw a storm develop any faster than this." "Looks bad," commented Nat anxiously, for an automobile in a snowstorm is not to be depended upon, "Hope it quits long enough for us to dash back home." "Well, we can't try it now, at any rate," replied Tom. "What do you say to exploring?" and he went to the great, old oak door. "Open! Well, that's luck," and as he spoke he pushed back the portal, although it seemed about to fall, rather than swing on the rusty hinges. The door opened, but no one attempted to enter the house. Nat looked in gingerly, but the girls drew back to the shadow of a post, fearing evidently some response to the intrusion. "Oh, come on," suggested Tom. "Nobody's in here, and it's better, a good sight, than being out in the storm." Nat followed Tom's lead, and soon both young men had disappeared within the old mansion. The girls waited almost breathless—there was something so uncanny about the place. But presently boyish shouts and merry calls from within assured them that no trouble had been encountered, and it was Dorothy who proposed that they follow and seek refuge from the winds, that found the girls' ears and noses, in spite of the shelter of the old porch and the protection of furs and wraps. "Come on," suggested Dorothy. "Everything must be all right or the boys would not be so jolly. I'm just dying to get indoors—anywhere." "But the screaming ghost," Tavia reminded her. "And the traveling lamp-post. I feel kind of scary——" But Dorothy had poked her head in, and now stepped within the old hallway, so that there was nothing left for Tavia to do but to follow. "Here we are!" called Tom in that queer tone of voice peculiar to empty houses. "And look at the gorgeousness," announced Nat. "Ever see finer wood, or better mantels? Why, I'll bet this was a regular castle, all right. Not so bad now." The young men were racing about from room to room, but the girls were not so keen on investigating. Dorothy did walk through the great long parlors and admire the handsome Italian marble mantels, and the library with inlaid floor was also explored, but Tavia kept as near as possible to the front door—ready to run, she explained. "Why, there's nothing to be afraid of," said Dorothy, now quite at ease. "The boys are in the very top of the house, over in the tower, and I am sure if there was anything to fear, they would have discovered it by this time." "But the cellar," objected Tavia, who was really never as much frightened as she pretended to be, for she had a way of "looking for trouble," as Nat expressed it. "When they come down I'll ask them to do the cellar," offered Dorothy, with a laugh. "Then will you make yourself comfortable?" Tavia sighed. "Oh, it's so spooky," she insisted. "I feel as if things are getting ready to spring at us from every corner. And did you ever see so many corners in one place in all your life?" "Oh, come up and see the gallery room," called Nat from the top of the stair-well. "If we don't bring the boys out here and have some doings! This is the swellest kind of a place. Come on up, girls. Nary a ghost nor a ghostie in the diggings." Tom was singing snatches of songs, and Nat would join in when he came to a "joining," so that the old house fairly rang with the echo of young voices and merry laughter. Ghost! What ghost could stand that? Tom Scott and Nat White singing coon songs! "Listen!" called Dorothy. "Tavia wants you to go down cellar to make sure," she called to the boys. "Oh, all right," agreed Tom. "We'll do the coal-bin and the wine cellar. Now, if we only could chance upon an old bottle of home-made grape juice!" He slid down the baluster rail in spite of Dorothy's protest, for the floor below was of mosaics, and the rail might not be safe. But Tom landed without accident, and presently was looking for a passageway to the cellar. With some difficulty the way was finally discovered, and Tom almost tumbled down the dark passage as the door, first obstinate, suddenly gave way to his pressure. It was dark in the cellar—too dark for even Tom's comfort, but after making a series of queer calls, and also supplying the answers, he returned to the first floor, "intact," as Dorothy announced. But Tom whispered something to Nat—when the girls were not near enough to observe him. "Things down there!" he said. "I could even smell them, and they did not seem musty, either. Besides, look at everything. Nothing cut up or damaged, like an old, deserted place. Some one may hang out here." "The ghost," admitted Nat. "Let's see what it looks like outdoors." Nat put his hand on the pocket, from which his diminutive revolver could be seen to be outlined, and when the front door was opened a gust of wind and snow forced him, as well as Tom, back into shelter. "Rough," commented Tom, "and almost dark." "Fierce!" exclaimed Nat in pardonable disgust. "How in the world are we to get back?" "Oh, can't we go now?" came from Dorothy. "It seems to be getting worse, and if we don't get out of here before dark——" "Oh, let us go!" pleaded Tavia. "I am just scared to death. This sort of thing is all right for a page or two, but when it gets into a serial——" "Not very interesting after the first glance, I'll admit," replied Tom; "but the nearest house must be half a mile away." "Suppose we run the machine into the shed and start off to walk?" suggested Nat, now rather uncomfortable because of Tom's hint about the cellar. "It will be better for the girls, at any rate. There's a farmhouse at the turn into Glendale." It did not take long for the party to follow out this proposal, and in spite of the wind and snow the four young people started bravely off, Nat supporting Dorothy, while Tom put his strong arm about the uncertain Tavia—uncertain because she not only slipped continually, but threatened to do so in between the actual occurrences. "Awful!" called back Nat, who was somewhat in advance. "And can't see even the path," yelled Tom, "This snow must have fallen all in one piece." "If it only would not get dark so quickly," Tavia sobbed, for, indeed, the girl was almost crying—the matter had become very serious—darkness, snowdrifts and wilderness. "Wait!" called Tom, feeling that Tavia might not be so alarmed if all were closer together. Nat and Dorothy stood until the others came up. Then all four trudged on again. However, could they cover a half mile at that rate? "We ought to have brought an auto lamp," said Nat. No sooner had he uttered the words than he slipped, Dorothy fell with him, Tom and Tavia tumbled, full drive, after them, and all were plunged into a hole deep enough to terrify the girls and even to alarm the boys. "Well," exclaimed Tom, as quickly as he could get speech, "that hole was covered up with a light blanket." Tavia and Dorothy succeeded in getting to their feet almost as promptly as did the boys, but the shock and the heavy snow had now almost exhausted both. "Oh," sighed Dorothy, "I don't see how we can ever walk a half mile in this?" "Nor I," answered Nat "We've got to turn back. We can have shelter, at least, in the castle, and there's likely to be some food in the machine. Norah always pokes a bundle in for a trip like this." Weary, depressed and bitterly cold, they made their way back to the old mansion. Many a slip marked the way, and many a stifled cry escaped from the girls in spite of their determination to be brave. Nat hurried to the Fire Bird, and was not disappointed in his quest, for he brought back to the waiting ones a bundle of such food as the thoughtful Norah made a practice of slipping into the car when the young folks went for a long run. "Well, that's lucky," commented Tom. "And let us get right at it. Nothing better to ward off cold than a good feed." "Where?" asked Tavia, referring to the place to eat, not to the location of a possible cold. Nat brought the machine lamps and placed one on either corner of the broad, low mantel in the dining-room. It was not difficult to know this room from the others, for frescoed mottoes, still clear enough to be made out, invited all strangers, as well as those who roofed therein, to "eat, drink and be merry," and otherwise. "We must imagine ourselves a jolly hunting party," said Dorothy, "just brought in from a sudden storm. The young lord has invited us, of course." "An awful stretch," remarked Nat. "I would not be particular about the lord's age if he would only make good just about now." "And are we really here—for—the night?" gasped Tavia, swallowing a morsel of the sandwich Nat handed her. "Oh, we may get out," answered Tom, none too hopefully. "But if we don't we must make the best of it. It's too bad for you girls, though." "Yes," added Nat, his tone following Tom's in its unmistaken note of regret. "I was a fool not to listen to Uncle Frank's knee." The joke brought forth a very feeble laugh, but even that was better than the groans Tavia had been indulging in. Perhaps an hour passed while our friends were trying to "make the best of it," and then, after putting by the remnants of the lunch for future use, the boys fairly exhausted themselves doing "stunts" calculated to amuse the girls and make them forget the terrors around them. "Now, I'll just tell you," declared Nat. "There's a sort of couch under each of those posts in the parlor. Tavia take one and Dorothy the other, Tom and I will stand guard. You may as well rest, even if you cannot sleep, for even in the morning it's going to be heavy traveling." At first the girls declared they, too, would stand guard, but when Tom added his reasoning to that of Nat's and the tired ones realised that if they had to walk through the snow in the morning they surely would have to rest their weary muscles, they finally consented to "stretch out" on the low seat that marked the archway from parlor to parlor. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2