Both audience and players were treated to two surprises in the course of the evening. Bobby was responsible for one and, much to the astonishment of the school, Ada Nansen and Constance Howard for the other.
True to her promise, the dauntless Bobby had accepted the humble rôle of stage hand rather than have no part in the play, and she trundled scenery with right good will and acted as Miss Anderson’s right hand in a mood of unfailing good humor. There was not an atom of envy in Bobby’s character, and she thought Betty the most wonderful actress she had ever seen.
“You look lovely in that dress,” she said, as Betty stood awaiting her cue at the opening of the second act.
Betty smiled, took her cue and walked on the stage.
A ripple of laughter that grew to hilarity greeted her after the first puzzled moment.
“Oh, oh!” cried Madame hysterically, in the wings. “See, that Bobby! Some one call her! She is walking with the tree!”
The rather primitive arrangements of the background provided for the play called for a girl to stand behind each tree in the formal garden scene as support. In her admiration of Betty, Bobby had unconsciously edged after her to keep her in sight, and the startled audience saw the heroine being persistently pursued by a pretty boxwood tree. Bobby was recalled to herself, the tree became rooted in its place, and “The Violet Patchwork” proceeded smoothly.
Between the third and fourth acts, the lights went out at a signal and to the general surprise—for the players had known nothing of what was to come—a velvety voice rolled out in the darkness singing the words of “A Maid in a Garden Green,” a song a great singer had made popular that season.
“It’s Ada,” whispered the school with a rustle of delight. “No one else can sing like that.”
They encored her heartily, and she responded. Then the lights flared up and died down again for the last act.
“Constance got her to do it,” whispered Betty to Bobby. “I heard Miss Anderson telling Miss Sharpe. Ada’s face is so scratched she couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, show herself, and Constance said why not sing in the dark the way they do at the movies? That tickled Ada—who’d like to be a movie actress, Connie says—and she said she would.”
“Constance Howard has a way with her,” remarked Bobby sagely. “Any one that can persuade Ada Nansen to do anything nice is qualified to take a diplomatic post in Thibet.”
Soon after the play the weather turned colder and skating and coasting became popular topics of conversation. There was not much ice-skating, as a rule, in that section of the country, but snow was to be expected, and more than one girl had secret aspirations to go from the top of the hill back of the school as far as good fortune would take her.
“Coasting?” Ada Nansen had sniffed when the subject was mentioned to her. “Why, that’s for children! Girls of our ages don’t go coasting. Now at home, my brother has an ice-boat—that’s real sport.”
“Well, Ada, I suppose you think I’m old enough to be your grandmother,” said Miss Anderson, laughing. “I wonder what you’ll say when I tell you that I still enjoy a good coast? If you girls who think you are too old to play in the snow would only get outdoors more you wouldn’t complain of so many headaches.”
But Ada refused to be mollified, and she remained indifferent to the shrieks of delight that greeted the first powdering of snow. Thanksgiving morning saw the first flakes.
The holiday was happily celebrated at Shadyside, very few of the girls going home. Mrs. Eustice preferred to add the time to the Christmas vacation, and the girls had found that this plan added to their enjoyment. Aunt Nancy and her assistants fairly outdid themselves on the dinner, and that alone would have made the day memorable for those with good appetites, and where is the school girl who does not like to eat?
The Dramatic Club gave another play to which the Salsette boys were invited as a special treat, and a little dance followed the play.
“You’re a great little actress, Betty,” Bob told her when he came to claim the first dance. “I’m almost willing to let you steer the new bobsled the first time it snows.”
The bobsled, built by Bob and his chums, was an object of admiration to half of Salsette Academy. It was large and roomy and promised plenty of speed. The boys, of course, were wild to try it, and Betty and Bobby, who had been promised one of the first rides, joined them in earnestly wishing for snow. Betty had a sled of her own, too, a graceful, light affair her uncle had sent her.
The desired snow did not come for several days. Instead the weather grew still and cold and the girls were glad to stay indoors and work on their lessons or on things they were making for Christmas gifts.
“You may not have much money to spend, Norma,” remarked Bobby one afternoon, “but then you don’t need it. Just look at the things you can do with a crochet hook and a knitting needle.”
Norma, bent over a pretty lace pattern, flushed a little.
“I’d like to be able to give grandma the things she needs far more than a lace collar,” she said quietly.
Betty knew that Mrs. Macklin was still in the Philadelphia hospital. Every letter from Glenside now meant “a spell of the blues” for Norma, who was beginning to have dark circles under her eyes. She looked as though she might lie awake at night and plan.
When the girls put away their books and their sewing to go down to dinner, a few uncertain feathery flakes were softly sifting down and late that night it began to snow in earnest, promising perfect coasting.
CHAPTER XXIV
BETTY GOES COASTING
It did seem a shame that lessons should be as exacting as ever when outside the trees bent beneath their white burden and eager eyes were fixed longingly on the hill back of the school.
“You can’t coast through the woods, anyway, Betty,” Libbie whispered in the French period. “You may be a wonder, but how can you go through the tree stumps?”
“Don’t intend to,” whispered back Betty. “There’s a cleared space in there—I’ll show you.”
“Young ladies, if you please—” suggested Madame politely, and the girls jerked their thoughts back to translation.
The moment lessons were over that afternoon, they dashed for their sleds. The eight who chummed together had four sleds between them which was enough for the enjoyment of all. Constance Howard had seen so little snow in her life spent in California that she was very much excited about it and had bought her sled in August to be ready for the first fall. Bobby had been to Edentown and bought a little toy affair, the best she could get there, and Frances Martin had sent home for her big, comfortable Vermont-made sled that made up in dependability what it lacked in varnish and polish. Counting Betty’s, this gave them four sleds.
There was a conventional hill half a mile away from the school, toward which most of the girls turned their steps. On the first afternoon it was crowded. The Salsette cadets had come coasting, too, for on their side of the lake there was not so much as a mound of earth, and whoever would coast must perforce cross the lake.
“We’ll go up to the woods,” announced Betty. “There will be more room, and it’s much more exciting to go down a steep hill.”
So it proved. The cleared space to which Betty had referred demanded careful steering, and Frances Martin at the first glance relinquished the control of her sled.
“I can’t judge distances,” she explained, touching her glasses, “and I’d be sure to steer straight for a tree. Libbie, you’ll have to be the skipper.”
So Libbie took Frances, Betty took Bobby, Constance took Norma on her sled, and Alice steered for Louise, using Bobby’s sled.
Such shrieks of laughter, such wild spills! If Ada Nansen had been there to see she would certainly have been confirmed in her statement that coasting was “for children.” They were coming down for the sixth time when Bob Henderson, the Tucker twins and Timothy Derby appeared.
“We thought we’d find you here!” was Bob’s greeting. “Trust Betty to pick out a mystic maze
for her coasting. It’s a wonder some of you girls haven’t shot down into Indian Chasm!”
“Well, I like a steep coast,” said Betty defensively. “I wouldn’t give a cent a hundred for a little short coast down a gentle slope. Want me to take you down on my sled, Bob?”
“I don’t believe I do, thank you just the same,” returned Bob politely. “Six of you can pile on the bob, though, and I’ll give you a thrilling ride, safety guaranteed. Who wants to come?”
It ended by all taking turns, and by that time it was half-past four and they must start back to school.
“I’m coming to-morrow,” declared Betty. “I think winter is the nicest time of the whole year.”
“You say that of every season,” criticised Bobby. “Besides, I think it will rain to-morrow; it is much warmer than when we came out.”
Bobby proved a good weather prophet for the next day was warmer and cloudy, and when lessons for the day were over at half-past two, a fine drizzle had begun to fall.
“Just the same I’m going,” persisted Betty, pulling on her rubbers and struggling into a heavier sweater. “The snow hasn’t all melted, and there will be enough for a good coast. I think you’re a lazy bunch to want to stay cooped up in here and knit. A little fresh air would be good for you, Norma.”
“I’ve a cold,” said Norma, in explanation of her red eyes. “Anyway, I don’t feel like playing around outdoors. And Alice has gone to bed with a headache and I’d rather not leave her.”
Some had studying to do and others refused to be moved from their fancy work, so Betty and her sled finally set off alone. She knew, of course, that Norma’s red eyes were the result of crying, as was Alice’s headache. They had definitely decided the night before that they would not return to Shadyside after the Christmas holidays.
“I think this is a funny world,” scolded Betty to herself, as she reached her favorite hill and put her sled in position. “Here are Norma and Alice, the kind of girls Mrs. Eustice is proud to have represent the school, and they can’t afford to take a full course and graduate. And Ada Nansen, who is everything the ideals of Shadyside try to combat, has oceans of money and every prospect of staying. She’ll probably take a P.G. course!”
A wild ride through the slushy snow made Betty feel better, and when, as she dragged the sled up again, Bob’s whistle sounded, the last trace of her resentment vanished.
“Something told me you’d be out hunting a sore throat today,” declared Bob, in mock-disapproval. “The fellows all said there wouldn’t be enough snow to hold up a sparrow.”
“Silly things!” dimpled Betty. “There’s plenty of snow for a good coast. Take me, Bob?”
“Well, if you’ll come on over where there’s a decent hill,” Bob assented. “With only two on the bob, we want to get some grade. Here, I’ll stick your sled in between these two trees and you can get it when we come back.”
Together they pulled the heavy bobsled up the hill and crossed over the hollow, taking a wagon trail that led up over another hill.
“It’s a long walk,” admitted Bob, panting. “But wait till you see the ride we’re going to get.”
They reached the top of Pudding Hill presently, and Betty looked down over a rolling expanse of white country covered closely by a lowering gray sky that looked, she said to herself, like the lid of a soup kettle.
“Bully coast!” exclaimed Bob with satisfaction, swinging the bodsled into position. “All ready, Betsey?”
“Just a minute,” begged Betty, with a delightful little shiver of excitement as she tucked in her skirts and pulled her soft hat further over her eyes. “Ye-s, now I guess I’m fixed.”
They started. The wind sang in their ears and sharp particles of snow flew up to sting their faces. Zip! they had taken one hill, and the gallant bobsled gathered momentum. Betty clung tightly to Bob.
“All right?” he shouted, without turning his head.
“It’s fine!” shrieked Betty. “It takes my breath away, but I love it!”
The bobsled seemed fairly to leap the series of gentle slopes that lay at the foot of the long hill, and for every rise Betty and Bob received a bump that would have jarred the bones of less enthusiastic sportsmen. Then, suddenly, they were in the hollow, and the next thing they knew Betty lay breathless in a soft snow bank and Bob found himself flat on his back a few feet away. The sled had overturned with them.
“Betty! are you hurt?” cried Bob, scrambling to his feet. “Here, don’t struggle! I’ll have you out in a jiffy.”
He pulled her from the bank of snow and helped her shake her garments free from the white flakes.
“I’m not hurt a bit, not even scratched,” she assured him. “Wasn’t that a spill, though? The first thing I knew I was sailing through space, and I’m thankful I landed in soft snow. Where’s the sled? Oh, over there!”
“Want to quit?” asked Bob, as she began to help him right the overturned sled. “We can walk over to where we left your sled, you know, Betty.”
“And miss the coast?” said Betty scornfully. “Well, not much, Bob Henderson. It takes more than one upset to make me give up coasting.”
She seated herself behind Bob again, and with a touch of his foot they began the descent of the second hill. The snow had melted more here, and in some spots the covering was very thin. Bob found the task of steering really difficult.
“I don’t think much of this,” he began to say, but at the second word the bobsled struck a huge root, the riders were pitched forward, and for one desperate moment they clung to the scrubby undergrowth that bordered what they supposed was the side of the road.
Then their hold loosened and they fell.
Slipping, sliding, tumbling, rolling, a confused sound of Bob’s shouts in her ears, Betty closed her eyes and only opened them when she found that she was stationary again. She had no idea of where she was, nor of how far she had fallen.
“Bob?” she called timidly at first, and then in terror. “Bob!”
“Look behind you,” said Bob’s familiar voice.
Betty turned her head, and there was Bob, grinning at her placidly. His cap was gone and several buttons were ripped bodily from his mackinaw, but he did not seem to be injured and when he pulled Betty to her feet, that young person found that she, too, was unhurt.
“What happened?” she asked. “Where are we?”
“The bobsled balked,” explained Bob cheerfully. “Guess it knew where we were heading for better than I did. Anyway, you and I took a double header that was a beauty. If you want to see where we came down, just look up there.”
Betty followed the direction of his finger and saw a trail gashed in the snow, a trail that twisted and turned down the steep, forbidding sides of a frowning gorge. Was it possible that they had fallen so far and escaped injury?
“Know where you are?” asked Bob, watching her.
Betty shook her head.
“I must have been away off the road,” explained Bob. “Betsey, you and I are standing at the bottom of Indian Chasm.”
CHAPTER XXV
THE TREASURE
Indian Chasm!
Betty stared at Bob in dismay. Afterward she confessed that her first thought was of Indians who might capture them.
“Indian Chasm,” repeated Bob firmly. “Come on, Betty, we mustn’t stand here. If you once get cold, there’s no way to warm you up. We must walk, and try to find a way out.”
Betty stumbled after him, her mind a bewildered maze. She could not yet grasp the explanation that Bob, turned about by their spill in the hollow, had followed an old trail instead of the hill road. The trail had led straight to the border of the chasm.
Bob ploughed along, head bent, a heavy sense of responsibility keeping him silent. He knew better than Betty the difficulties that in all probability lay before them.
He glanced back at Betty, wearily toiling after him.
“Want to rest a moment?” he suggested. “Sit on that rock till you begin to feel chilly.”
>
Betty accepted the suggestion gratefully. She was very tired and she was hungry. Her rubbers had been torn on the stones she had encountered in her fall and her shoes were damp.
“What a funny rock,” she said idly.
It was a huge slab that had once been a part of another huge rock which still stood upright. Some force of nature had slit the two like a piece of paper—from the looks of it, the break was a recent one—and had forced a section outward, making it look like a wall about to topple over.
Rested a little, Betty rose and walked around to the other side of the rock on which she sat, moved by an impulse of curiosity. She went close to the rock that stood upright like a sentinel.
“What’s the matter?” called Bob as she started back.
“I—I thought I kicked against something,” answered Betty. “There, did you hear that?”
“Something clinked,” admitted Bob. “Wait, I’ll help you look.”
He ran around to her and together they began to dig in the snow and dead leaves.
“Bob! Bob!” Betty’s voice rose in delight. “Look!”
She held up a small rusty iron box that, as she tilted it, yawned to disgorge a shower of gold coins.
“The Macklin treasure! We’ve found it!” cried Betty, beginning to dig like an excited terrier. “Help me hunt, Bob! It must be Mrs. Macklin’s treasure, mustn’t it?”
“Looks that way,” admitted Bob.
As he spoke he drew something from under the shadow of the rock that settled the question immediately. Something that sparkled and glittered and slipped through his cold red fingers like glass.
“The emeralds!” breathed Betty. “Oh, Bob, aren’t they beautiful!”
“Look, Betty! That slab was forced outward not long ago. Before that this treasure was concealed in a narrow crack between the two rocks. That’s why no one was able to find it when the search was made soon after the loss! Isn’t it great that we have found it?”
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 237