The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

Jack talked on quietly about the house raising until he saw that his sister had recovered her composure. She was smiling bravely as he kissed her goodnight, but her sleep was broken by feverish dreams of the worn slip of paper, and a long journey.

  When Jack returned at dusk the following evening, after a long day’s work on André’s house, he found Desiré waiting for him with sparkling eyes, flushed face, and such an air of repressed excitement that he wondered what had happened while he had been away.

  It was necessary to wait until the children had gone to bed before he could question her. They had decided it was best to leave the younger ones out of discussions of ways and means. “Let them be carefree as long as they can,” Desiré had urged, and Jack had agreed.

  “Who do you suppose was here today?” she asked, perching on the arm of his chair as soon as they were alone.

  “Never could guess,” he replied, slipping his arm around her.

  “Old Simon.”

  “Starting his spring trip early, isn’t he?”

  “Rather. I made him stay to dinner, and we talked and talked.”

  Simon drove one of the big covered wagons which are common in Nova Scotia. They have double doors at the back, and are filled with all kinds of groceries and notions, a regular general store on wheels. Many parts of the country are so thinly settled that it would be impossible for people to obtain certain supplies without the existence of these interesting wagons. Some of them specialize in certain things, like ready-to-wear clothing, but most of them carry a little of everything.

  “Did he have anything interesting to tell?”

  The proprietors of these odd stores act as relayers of bits of news, as well as merchandise, and often bear messages from one part of the peninsula to the other.

  “Why—why—I don’t—really know,” faltered Desiré.

  “Don’t know?” repeated her brother, turning to look at her in surprise; for although she dearly loved her home, she was always eager for contacts with the outside world.

  “Well, you see, we talked business all the time.”

  “Business?” he queried, more and more puzzled.

  “Yes. Oh, Jack, let us get a wagon!”

  “Desiré, you must be crazy!” he exclaimed, startled out of his usual calm of manner and speech.

  “No, I’m not really. Just listen a minute,” telling off the points on her fingers. “We’d be all together. We’d be earning an honest living, and having a lot of fun, and seeing places; and it’s healthful to be out-of-doors, a lot; and—” she paused for breath.

  “But, Dissy,” protested her brother gently, “we couldn’t live in the wagon.”

  “Oh, yes, we could.”

  “All of us? Day and night?” asked the boy, troubled at this odd notion that had evidently so strongly taken possession of his hitherto sensible sister.

  “We could have a little tent for you and René at night. Prissy and I could easily sleep in the wagon. It would be no different from camping, Jack; and lots of people do that.”

  “What about winter?”

  “Well, of course we couldn’t live that way after it gets real cold, but winter’s a long way off. Maybe we’d make enough by then to rent a couple of rooms in some central place and take just day trips. Or perhaps we’ll find out what that paper means, and have—who knows what?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Seriously, Desiré, I don’t see how we can make a living from a traveling store. Simon does, of course; but there is only one of him, and four of us.”

  “But,” resumed the girl, after a short pause, “we have no place to go if Nicolas forecloses; we don’t know how else to support ourselves; so wouldn’t traveling around the country all summer give us a chance to see all kinds of places and people? Mightn’t we get in touch with possibilities for the future? Our living expenses would be small; for we could gather wild things to eat—”

  “A few bears, or owls, I suppose,” laughed her brother.

  “No, silly! Berries, and—and grapes, and things.”

  “Heavy diet.”

  “And fish,” concluded Desiré triumphantly.

  “Another thing,” continued Jack, resuming his gravity, “you wouldn’t want to spoil old Simon’s route by taking some of his customers.”

  “Of course not, but there certainly must be sections where there is no traveling store. We could take one of those.”

  Just then a heavy knock on the front door startled them both.

  CHAPTER III

  TWO CALLERS

  When Jack opened the door, Nicolas Bouchard stood frowning before him.

  “Oh, come in, Nicolas,” he urged hospitably.

  “Can’t; it’s too late; but saw you were still up, and wanted to tell you that I just had a message from Yves and he wants to take possession of this place at once. Think you could be out by this day week?”

  “How do you know we aren’t going to pay off the mortgage?” flashed Desiré, annoyed at the man for taking things so for granted.

  Nicolas gave a grunt. “What with? Don’t get mad. We all know you haven’t got any money. Glad to have you pay if you could, for you’ve always been good neighbors; but a man’s got to take care of his pennies. They’re not so plentiful now as they were when I took that mortgage.”

  “Certainly, Nicolas,” said Jack, quietly laying a restraining hand on Desiré’s arm. “You may have the house a week from today.”

  The man lingered rather awkwardly.

  “Felice said she’d be willing to keep the two little ones, so as you and this girl could go to Boston, and find work—”

  Desiré started to speak, but Jack’s hold on her arm tightened.

  “They pay good wages there, I’m told,” the man went on. “Or, if you could find some place for the rest, Yves said he’d be glad to have you stay on here and help him farm.”

  “We are indeed grateful for the kindness of our friends,” replied Jack; “but we have decided that we must all stick together, some way.”

  Nicolas turned without another word, and strode down the shell-bordered path to the road, and Jack closed the door. In silent dismay the brother and sister faced each other; then the girl’s courage reasserted itself.

  “Never mind, dear,” she cried, putting both arms around him. “We’ll surely find something. As nôtre mère used to say so often, ‘let’s sleep on it.’ Things always look lots brighter in the morning.”

  “You’re such a good little pal, Dissy. We’ll say an extra prayer tonight for help, and tomorrow we’ll try to decide upon something definite.”

  Late the following afternoon Desiré stood on the doorstep, watching Priscilla hopping down the dusty road to see a little friend. Early that morning Jack had gone to Meteghan to settle up affairs with Nicolas and Yves, and, to please Desiré, to price an outfit for a traveling store. The sisters, greatly hindered by René, had spent the day going over keepsakes and household belongings of all kinds, trying to decide what they would keep and what they must dispose of.

  “Are you going to sell all our things, Dissy? Even Mother’s chair?”

  “I’m afraid so, dear. You see we can’t carry furniture around with us when we don’t know where or how we are going to live. You have her little silver locket for a keepsake, and I have her prayerbook. We really don’t need anything to remember her by.”

  “No; and Jack has nôtre père’s watch. But, oh, I—I wish we weren’t going. I’m sort of afraid!”

  “Afraid!” chided Desiré, although her own heart was filled with the nameless dread which often accompanies a contemplated change. “With dear old Jack to take care of us? I’m ashamed of you! We’re going to have just lots of good times together. Try not to let Jack know that you mind. Remember, Prissy, it’s far harder on him to be obliged to give up all his own plans and hopes to take care of us, than it is for you and me to make some little sacrifices and pretend we like them.”

  “Ye-es,” agreed Priscilla slowly, trying to measure up to wh
at was expected of her.

  “What’s the matter with Prissy?” demanded René, deserting his play and coming to stand in front of them. “Has she got a pain?”

  “A kind of one,” replied Desiré gently, “but it’s getting better now; so go on with what you were doing, darling.”

  The child returned to the corner of the room where he had been making a wagon from spools and a pasteboard box, while Priscilla murmured, “I’ll try not to fuss about things.”

  “That’s a brave girl,” commended her sister. “Now, you’ve been in all day; so suppose you run down to see Felice for a little while. Maybe you’ll meet Jack on the way home, but don’t wait for him later than half past five.”

  The little girl was almost out of sight when Desiré’s attention was diverted to the opposite direction by the sound of an automobile, apparently coming from Digby. Motor cars were still sufficiently new in Nova Scotia to excuse her waiting to see it pass. Only the well-to-do people owned them, and she had never even had a ride in one. There were rumors that possibly that very summer a bus line would be run to the various interesting parts of the country for the convenience of tourists from the States. Then she might be able to ride a little way, if it didn’t cost too much, just to see how it felt.

  A ramshackle Ford jerked to a sudden halt right in front of the house, and a tall, thin man backed carefully out from the driver’s seat and ambled up the path toward her.

  “Mademoiselle Wistmore?” he inquired, bashfully removing his blue woolen cap and thrusting it under his arm.

  “Oui, Monsieur.”

  “My name’s Pierre Boisdeau,” he drawled, taking the cap out from under his arm and rolling it nervously between his two big hands.

  “Yes?” replied Desiré encouragingly.

  “I have a message for you,” pushing the long-suffering cap into his pocket as he spoke.

  The girl seated herself upon the broad stone step, and with a gesture invited the stranger to do the same; but he merely placed one foot upon the scraper beside the step, and began in halting embarrassed fashion to deliver his message.

  After he had gone, Desiré fairly raced through preparations for supper; then went to look up the road again. If Jack would only come! René trudged around from the back of the house where he had been playing, and announced that he was hungry; so she took him in, gave him his supper, and put him to bed. Before she had finished, Priscilla returned.

  “Jack must have been delayed somewhere. We might as well eat, and I’ll get his supper when he comes,” decided the older girl.

  While they ate, Priscilla chattered on and on about her playmates, while Desiré said “Yes” and “No” rather absent-mindedly. Where could Jack be?

  “I’m going to bed,” yawned Priscilla, about seven o’clock. “We ran so much, I’m tired.”

  “All right, dear.”

  “Where are you going?” inquired the child, stopping on the stairs as she caught sight of her sister throwing a shawl around her shoulders.

  “Only out to the road to watch for Jack.”

  “You won’t go any farther, and leave us?”

  “Of course not. Have I ever left you alone at night?”

  “No-o-o.”

  “Run along to bed then,” reaching up to pat the brown hand which grasped the stair railing.

  What was keeping Jack?

  For half an hour Desiré shifted her weight from one foot to the other, watching the darkening road. As soon as she spied his tall form, she ran to meet him and fell into step at his side.

  “You must be nearly starved, dear,” she began.

  “Not a bit. I happened to be at Henry Simard’s at about supper time, and nothing would do but I must stay and eat with them. I hope you weren’t worried,” looking down at Desiré anxiously.

  “I tried not to be; for I thought perhaps you had gone farther than you intended.”

  “Nicolas was ready when I got to his house, and Yves met us in Meteghan; so we fixed everything up successfully. The money which came to us I put into the bank for emergencies; for—I’m awfully sorry to have to tell you—there isn’t enough to buy and stock up a wagon, even if we decided to adopt that way of living. So I looked around a bit for some kind of a job.”

  “Did you find anything?” asked Desiré, a bit breathlessly.

  “Not yet; but I shall. We could—”

  “Now that I’ve heard your news,” interrupted the girl eagerly, “just listen to mine. A man named Pierre Boisdeau came in an auto from Digby this afternoon with a message for us. Oh, Jack, the most wonderful thing! When he took some salmon down to Yarmouth the other day, they told him at the docks that old Simon had sent word to be sure to have anyone from up this way go to see him. So he went, and found the poor old man all crippled up with rheumatism. He will have to stay at his daughter’s house all summer. So he won’t be able to peddle. And Jack! He wants us to take his wagon! Isn’t that just glorious? He said that if we won’t take it and keep the route for him until he is well again, he’ll likely have to sell out. He doesn’t want to do that. Isn’t it just providential? This will give us a chance to try the experiment without much expense, and will provide for us for several months.”

  “We are indeed very fortunate,” replied Jack gravely. “We could hardly take such an offer from anyone else, but Simon is such an old friend that he would feel hurt if we refused. As you say, it will give us a chance to find a place to settle in permanently. In the meantime, we shall be holding the route for him.”

  They entered the house and dropped down beside the table, still covered with dishes, to finish their talk.

  “Simon wants an answer as soon as possible; for he hates to think of all his customers being deserted for so long. You’d better write to him tonight.”

  “I wonder,” said Jack slowly, after a few minutes’ consideration during which his sister scanned his serious, thoughtful face rather anxiously. “I wonder if it would be better for me to go down alone to get the wagon and pick you up on the way back; or, for all of us to ride to Yarmouth on the train, and start the route from there. Which should you like better?”

  “To go to Yarmouth, of course; but won’t it cost a lot more?”

  “Some, but—”

  “I can prepare enough food for us to carry two meals, and there must be some place where we could camp just outside of the city.”

  “Anxious to get started?”

  “Yes. I hate goodbyes. I’d like to steal out right away, without anybody knowing it.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t leave our good neighbors like that. They have known us all our lives; and think how hurt they would feel.”

  “I suppose so; but they all want us to do something different, and criticize nôtre père for trying to educate us.”

  “They don’t understand, but they mean well and have been very kind to us.”

  “I know, and I do appreciate it; but—couldn’t we start soon?”

  “Day after tomorrow, I should think. I’m afraid one trunk and the box in the store room will be all we can take on our travels. Shall you be able to manage that way?”

  “I’ll try to; but what shall I do with the furniture?”

  “Give it away, or leave it for Yves. We’ll just have to stifle all sentimental affection for our household gods.”

  “We’ll have a house of our own again some day, and get new household gods.”

  * * * *

  Intense excitement prevailed in the Clare District on Wednesday afternoon. Little groups of women and children were hurrying along the dusty road. On every doorstep a man or woman too old, or a child too young, to join the procession was sitting waiting to wave farewell to the travelers when they passed. These good people were much disturbed at the departure of the little Wistmore family. It was almost unheard of for any of the Acadian families voluntarily to leave that peaceful section and wander among strangers in unfamiliar parts of the country. Occasionally, within their knowledge, an individual or two had decid
ed to seek his fortune elsewhere; but never before a whole family, and the Wistmores at that! The neighbors had done their best, one and all, to dissuade the children from following such a course; but since their words of advice and warning had proved of no avail, they were now on their way, bearing little gifts of good will, to bid the adventurers Godspeed.

  When Jack drove up with André Comeau who was going to take them to the station, three miles away, the yard was filled with little groups of neighbors; and inside the house still others were saying their reluctant farewells. Shaking the hands held out to him on every side, Jack gently pushed through the crowd; and, with André’s help, loaded their one trunk and box onto the wagon. Then he detached Desiré and the children from the weeping women, and helped them up to the seats which had been made of rough planks laid across the wagon box. The crowd drew back, and amid a chorus of “Bon jour!” “Au revoir!” the travelers started on their journey.

  Desiré and Priscilla, with tears rolling down their faces, waved as long as they could see their old friends, and answered salutations from many a doorstep; but Jack, with set face, did not look back at all. Even René was unusually quiet, hardly knowing what to make of it all. The train pulled into the tiny station just as they reached the platform, and there was no time to be lost. Before the children, to whom a railroad was a novelty, had time hardly to glance at the long train, its freight cars placed ahead of the coaches, as is common in Nova Scotia, they were hustled on board, the bell rang, and they were off.

  CHAPTER IV

  OUT TO SEA

  The little party was very quiet during the ride, which took two hours. The older members were occupied with their own thoughts, very serious ones, and the young pair engrossed in looking out of the window.

  Rolling rocky land; woods where sombre and stately pines and firs made a fitting background for the graceful slender white trunks of the birch trees; miles of ferns close to the tracks; tiny stations; glimpses, between the trees, of rustic dwellings and a few more pretentious summer homes; flashes of wild flowers; rivers, down whose red mud banks still trickled threads of water, although the tide was out; grey farm buildings; all flowed rapidly past. Then—Yarmouth!