CHAPTER XX
STORMBOUND ON THE WAY
BOB would not have dismissed his misgivings so contentedly had he beenable to see Betty just at that moment.
When she shook the dust of Bramble Farm from her feet, which shedid literally at the boundary line on the main road, to the greatdelight of two curious robins and a puzzled chipmunk, she said firmlythat it was forever. As she tramped along the road she kept lookingback, hoping to hear the rattle of wheels and to see Bob and thesorrel coming after her. But she reached the crossroads without beingovertaken.
Years ago some thoughtful person had taken the trouble to build arude little seat around the four sides of the guidepost where theroad to Laurel Grove and Glenside crossed, and in a nearby field wasa boarded-up spring of ice-cold water, so that travelers, on foot andin motor-cars and wagons, made it a point to rest for a few minutesand refresh themselves there. Betty was a trifle embarrassed to find agroup of men loitering about the guide-post when she came up to it.They were all strangers to her, but with the ready friendliness of thecountry, they nodded respectfully.
"Want to sit down a minute, Miss?" asked a gray-haired man civilly,standing up to make room for her. "Didn't expect to see so many idlefarmers about on a clear morning, did you?"
Betty shook her head, smiling.
"I won't sit down, thank you," she said in her clear girlish voice."I'll just get a drink of water and go on; I want to reach Glensidebefore noon."
"Glenside road's closed," announced one of the younger men, shortly.
"Closed!" echoed Betty. "Oh, no! I have to get there, I tell you."
Her quick, frightened glance fell on the man who had first spoken toher, and she appealed to him.
"The road isn't closed, is it?" she asked breathlessly. "That isn't whyyou're all here?"
"Now, now, there's nothing to worry your head about," answered thegray-haired farmer soothingly. "Jerry, here, is always a bit abruptwith his tongue. As a matter of fact, the road is closed; but if youdon't mind a longer walk, you can make a detour and get to Glensideeasily enough."
Betty gazed at him uncertainly.
"You see," he explained, "King Charles, the prize bull at Greenfields,the big dairy farm, got out this morning, and we suppose he is roamingup and down between here and Glenside. He's worth a mint of money,so they don't want to shoot him, and the dairy has offered a goodreward for his safe return. He's got a famous temper, and no one woulddeliberately set out to meet him unarmed; so we're posted here to warnfolks. A few automobiles took a chance and went on, but the horses andwagons and foot passengers take the road to Laurel Grove. You turn offto the left at the first road and follow that and it brings you intoGlenside at the north end of town. You'll be all right."
"A girl shouldn't try to make it alone," objected another one of thegroup. "You take my advice, Sis, and wait till your father or brothercan take you over in the buggy. Suppose you met a camp of Gypsies?"
"Oh, I'm not afraid," Betty assured him. "That is, not of people. But Idon't know what in the world I should do if I met an angry bull. I'lltake the detour, and everything will be all right. I'm used to walking."
The men repeated the directions again, to make sure she understoodclearly. Then Betty drank a cup of the fresh, cold spring water, andbravely set off on the new road.
The gray-haired man came running after her.
"If it should storm," he cried, coming up with her, "don't run undera tree. Better stay out in the rain till you reach a house. You'll besafe in any farmhouse."
He meant safe as far as the kind of people she would meet wereconcerned, but Betty, who had never in her life feared any one, thoughthe referred to protection from the elements. She thanked him, andtrudged on.
"I certainly am hungry," she said, after a half hour of tramping. "NowI know how Bob feels without a cent in his pocket. I'll have to askDoctor Guerin for some money. I can't get along without a nickel. UncleDick must be awfully busy, or else he's sick. Otherwise he would surelylet me hear from him."
When she came to an old apple orchard where the trees drooped over acrumbling stone wall, Betty had no scruples about filling the pocketsand sleeves of her sweater with the apples that lay on the ground. Bobhad told her that portions of trees that grew over the roadside werepublic property, and she intended to explain to the farmer, if she methim, how she had come to carry off some of his fruit. But she met noone and saw no house, and presently the rumble of distant thunder putall thoughts of apples out of her mind.
"My goodness!" She looked at the mountain of white clouds piling upwith something like panic. "I haven't even come to the road that turns,and I just know this will be a hard thunderstorm. Mrs. Peabody saidlast week that the August storms are terrors. I'll run, and perhapsI'll come to a house."
Holding her sweater stuffed with apples in her arms, and jammingher hat firmly on her head, Betty flew down the road, bouncing overstones, jumping over, without a shudder, a mashed black-snake flattenedout in the road by some passing car, and, in defiance of all speedregulations, refusing to slow up at a sharp turn in the road ahead. Shetook it at top speed, and as she rounded the curve the first drops ofrain splashed her nose. But her flight was rewarded.
A long, low, comfortable-looking farmhouse sat back in an overgrowngarden on one side of the road.
"D. Smith," read Betty on the mail box at the gate. "Well, Mrs. D.Smith, I hope you're at home, and I hope you'll ask me to come in andrest till the storm's over. Shall I knock at the back or the frontdoor?"
A vivid flash of lightning sent her scurrying across the road and upthe garden path. As she lifted the black iron knocker on the front doora peal of thunder rattled the loose casements of the windows.
Betty lifted the knocker and let it fall three times before she decidedthat either Mrs. D. Smith did not welcome callers at the front of herhouse, or else she could not hear the knocker from where she was. But aprolonged rat-a-tat-tat on the back door produced no further results.
"She may be out getting the poultry in," said Betty to herself,recalling how hard Mrs. Peabody worked every time a storm came up."Wonder where the poultry yard is?"
The rain was driving now, and the thunder irritatingly incessant. Bettywalked to the end of the back porch and stood on her tiptoes trying tosee the outbuildings. Then, for the first time, she noticed what shewould surely have seen in one glance at a less exciting time.
There were no outbuildings, only burned and blackened holes in theground! A few loose bricks marked the site of masonry-work, and acharred beam or two fallen across the gaps showed only too plainly whathad been the fate of barns and crib houses.
Betty ran impulsively to a window, and, holding up her hands to shutout the light, peered in. Cobwebs, dust and dirt and a few empty tinsin the sink were the only furniture of the kitchen.
"It's empty!" gasped Betty. "No one lives here! Oh, gracious!"
A great fork of lightning shot across the sky, followed at once by adeafening crash of thunder. Far across the field, on the other side ofthe road, Betty saw a tall oak split and fall.
"I'm going in out of this," she decided, "if I have to break a windowor a lock!"
She leaned her sturdy weight against the wooden door, automaticallyturning the knob without thought of result. The door swung easilyopen--there had been nothing to hinder her walking in--and she tumbledin so suddenly that she had difficulty in keeping her feet.
Betty closed the door and looked about her.
The storm shut out, she immediately felt a sense of security, thougha hasty survey of the three rooms on one side of the hall failedto reveal any materials for a fire or a meal, two comforts she wasbeginning to crave. She took an apple from her sweater pocket, and,munching that, set out to explore the rooms on the other side of thehall.
A curious, yet familiar, noise drew her attention to the front room,probably in happier days the parlor of the farmhouse. Peering inthrough the partly open folding doors, Betty saw seven crates ofchickens!
"Why--how funny!" She was puzzled. "Where could they have come from?And what are they doing here? Even if they saved them from the fire,they wouldn't be left after all the furniture was moved out."
She went up to the crates and examined them more closely.
"That black rooster is the living image of Mrs. Peabody's," shethought, "And the White Leghorns look like hers, too. But, then, Isuppose all chickens look alike. I never could see how their henmothers told them apart."
Still carrying her sweater with the apples, she wandered upstairs,trying to people the vacant, dusty rooms and wondering what hadhappened to those who had dwelt here and where they had gone.
"I wonder if the fire was at night and whether they were terriblyfrightened," she mused. "I should say they were mighty lucky to savethe house, though perhaps the barns are the most necessary buildings ona farm. Why didn't they build them up again, instead of moving out? Iwould."
She was standing in one of the back rooms, and from the window shecould look down and see what had once been the garden. The drenchedrosebushes still showed a late blossom or two, and there was a faintoutline of orderly paths and a tangle of brilliant color where flowers,self-sown, struggled to force their way through the choking weeds.The drip, drip of the rain sounded dolefully on the tin roof, and acascade ran off at one corner of the house showing where a leader wasbroken. Toward the west the clouds were lifting, though the thunderstill grumbled angrily.
Betty went through the rather narrow hall and entered a pleasant,prettily papered room where a low white rocking chair and a pink sockon the floor spoke mutely of the baby whose kingdom had been bounded bythe wide bay window.
"They forgot the rocker," said Betty, drawing it up to the window andresting her elbows on the narrow window ledge. "I hope he was a fat,pretty baby," she went on, picking up the sock and holding it in herhand. "Is that some one coming down the road?"
It was--two people in fact; and as they drew nearer Betty's eyes almostpopped out with astonishment. The pair talking together so earnestly,completely oblivious of the rain, were Lieson and Wapley, the two menwho had worked for Mr Peabody! And they were turning in at the pathguarded by the mail box inscribed "D. Smith."
Betty flew to the door of the room where she sat and drew the bolt.
Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm; Or, The Mystery of a Nobody Page 20