CHAPTER XXI THE SECRET OF THE GREAT STUMP
It was two hours before the beginning of Christmas festivities, when thetree trimming came to an end.
"Let's take a walk," Speed suggested to Mary. "This is enchanted land.Think of it, Christmas Eve in Eskimo-land."
"Yes, let's walk," Mary agreed.
"Boo! Such a coldness!" she exclaimed as they stepped outside.
"Snow fog's drifted in too," Speed surveyed the landscape. "Two hundredfoot ceiling and growing less. Good thing we're in."
They had walked over the half mile of ice-covered beach to the foot ofthe mountain and had turned back when Speed, stopping dead in his tracks,exclaimed:
"Listen!"
Mary, listening with all her ears, at last caught a faint drumming sound.
"An airplane!" she looked at Speed.
"Sure is! In such a place and such a time! Mountain there. Sea overthere! All I can say is, I wish them a happy landing."
For a full quarter hour, all unmindful of the cold, of the dinner thatawaited, and of the glowing Christmas tree, they stood there listening tothe drone of the motor that now rose in volume and now faded away.
"They're lost," was Speed's decision. "Looking for a landing." Once, whenthe echo of the motor's roar was thrown back as from the mountain, hegripped the girl's arm hard. What was he waiting for? A crash? It did notcome. Instead, the motor sounded out a mad burst of speed, then beganagain that slow droning.
"Well," Speed shuddered, "they know where the mountain is now."
"Listen!" a moment later he gripped her arm once more. "They--they'regoing to try for a landing. Who knows where? We'd better--"
If he had any notion of flight, it was futile, for at that instant, fardown the line, not twenty yards from the schoolhouse, a gray mass emergedfrom the snow-fog.
"Good boy! He'll make it!" Speed exclaimed.
Calmly they awaited the coming of the plane as it bumped, bumped again,then taxied slowly forward.
"Mary! Look at that plane!" Speed became greatly excited. "Did you eversee it before?"
Mary made no answer. Perhaps she was too excited to hear. One thing wassure, her heart gave a great leap when, as the plane came to astandstill, a large girl dressed in a fur parka jumped from the plane.
"Florence!" she cried. "What are you doing here?"
"Mary!" Florence stood staring at her as if she were a ghost.
"To tell the truth," Dave Breen, the pilot, who now climbed from hisplace, said, "we don't quite know why we're here. We don't know where weare, but we're mighty glad we have arrived." At this they all laughed.
The story of Florence and her party was soon told. After completing theirwork at the mine, they had packed their belongings, including threemoose-hide sacks of gold, in the plane and had sailed away.
"We got caught in a snow-fog," Dave Breen concluded. "We flew for hourslooking for a landing. At last, in desperation, we took a chance and herewe are. But tell me, where are we?"
"Cape Prince of Wales, the very heart of Eskimo-land," was Mary's happyreply. "And this is Christmas Eve. What could be finer?"
At that moment Florence caught the sound of many Eskimo voices. Then thechorus ceased and she heard the familiar voice of Mr. Il-ay-ok. Hecontinued alone. He was speaking slowly, earnestly. Florence saw a soberlook come over each face. In the end, when Mr. Il-ay-ok had finished,they exclaimed in a low chorus: "Ke-ke! (go ahead) All right. All right.We bring 'em."
"What was he saying?" Florence asked the teacher, who arrived at thatmoment.
"Il-ay-ok is telling of his airplane ride and how much it was going tocost," he explained. "They are really quite business-like, these Eskimos.Il-ay-ok told them, since their reindeer had been saved, they mustcontribute one silver fox, three cross foxes or four white foxes each."
"And will they?" Florence was interested.
"Sure. Didn't you hear them say, 'All right'?"
"But truly there is no need." Florence was struck with a sudden thought."There is money in the bank at Nome, enough I am sure. It's the partearned by Il-ay-ok's team when I won the dog race. Tell them about it,will you?"
There was little need of telling them in Eskimo, not a man of them butunderstood about money, even when told in English. But, like every otherpeople, Eskimo love to be told in their own language. So the teacher toldthem.
If Florence needed any reward for her honesty and fair dealing, it cameto her from the change of looks and the sudden exclamations of thenatives as they heard the rare news.
"Mat-na! Ah-ne-ca!" they exulted. Then, "Na-goo-va-ruk Along-meet!" (Goodfor the white one) rose like a grandstand cheer.
"It's all right," Florence laughed. "I had my share and a lot of funbesides. And Merry Christmas to you all."
"Il-a-can-a-muck! Il-a-can-a-muck!" (Thank you! Thank you!) they shoutedin a chorus.
It goes without saying that the entire party attended the Christmas treefestival and all enjoyed it to the full. Surely nothing could have beenmore delightful than the privilege of watching the eyes of a hundredEskimo children as they saw the tree for the first time.
"See!" Mary heard little No-wad-luk exclaim to her small friend. "See!There are all the little people who can walk and talk and go to sleep."
"Didn't I tell you?" was Kud-lucy's proud reply. "They _did_ come. They_did_ walk all the way miles and miles. And they _did_ get here just intime."
Florence and Mary were scarcely expecting presents. They got them all thesame. They were long, slim socks made of fur taken from the legs of aspotted reindeer fawn and they were filled with gold nuggets. OnFlorence's was a tag saying "From a long-lost grandfather," and on Mary's"To little Miss Santa Claus." Never, I am sure, had there been a merrierChristmas Eve than this.
Christmas morning broke bright and clear. After bidding their new-foundfriends good-bye and listening to the Eskimos' "A-lin-a-muck" (Good-bye)and "Il-a-can-a-muck" (We thank you) the happy party sailed away forNome, where they enjoyed a late evening feast of roast venison, wildcranberry sauce, plum pudding and all the trimmings.
Three days later Mary and Florence were back in the rustic cabin onRainbow Farm. Florence had urged her grandfather to accompany her to thevalley. He had refused, one airplane ride had been quite enough, andthen, when one has lived in the far north thirty-five years--ah, well,perhaps next spring he would come down on the boat and they would buy aclaim in her happy valley, who could tell? So she had left him, happy inthe realization that his dream of a lifetime had at last come true.
And now since they had used up their tickets to adventure, a long winterin a peaceful valley lay before them.
But there was still Madam Chicaski to wonder about.
On a wintry morning, three days after her last happy landing, chancing tolook out of the kitchen window, Florence, to her unbounded surprise, sawthe powerful Madam Chicaski wielding Bill's pick in a most surprisingmanner. What was more surprising still, she was executing a vigorousattack upon the great stump over which bright flowers had cascaded allsummer long.
"Stop! Stop! Don't do that!" These words were on her lips. She did notsay them. Something appeared to hold her back.
A moment more and she was glad they had not been spoken, for after onepowerful swing of the pick, a dark spot had appeared beneath the stump.
"A cavity!" she whispered breathlessly. "A hollow place beneath thestump."
Then, like a flash it came to her. This tree had not grown there. Thestump had been hauled there, probably on a stone-boat, for the purpose ofconcealing something. But what did it conceal?
Fascinated, the girl continued to stare as the woman picked untiringly atthe base of the great stump. When at last the Russian woman seized astout pole, and using it as a pry, tipped the stump on its side touncover a broad, deep cavity, the girl's curiosity got the better of herand she ran into the yard to exclaim:
"Madam! Madam! What _are_ you doing?"
"See!" On the woman's f
ace was a glorious smile. "See! All my beautifulthings! All safe after these long years."
Florence did see and her astonishment grew. The great copper kettle wasthere and the seven golden--well, perhaps they were only goldplated--candlesticks, and many other things as well. A curious old copperteakettle, a set of beautiful blue dishes which, by instinct, the girlknew were very old and valuable, and many other things were there.
Slowly, carefully, they removed each piece. Then, quite overcome withemotion, the aged woman sat down upon the ground.
"This," she said after a long silence, pointing a thumb at the hole inthe ground, "was our cellar. The ground is always frozen there. It keepseverything cool, everything. Ivan, my husband, hauled down the stump tomake a place for my flowers. When we left we said, 'We will hideeverything in the cellar,' it was a secret cellar, no one knew. 'Then wewill put on the stump. No one will guess.'"
"And no one ever did." Florence laughed gaily, happy for the other'ssake.
The final chapter to this little mystery was, if anything, stranger, morehappy than all the rest. Both Mary and her mother had always loved fineand truly rare china. Massive copper pots and pans had always fascinatedthem as well.
That night, as supper time approached, Madam Chicaski insisted thatcandles should be put in the golden candlesticks and that they should beset, all flickering and alight, three upon the mantel and four upon thetable.
"Just as Ivan and I used to do," she added with a happy sigh.
Supper was to be cooked in her copper pots and pans and served upon thebeautiful blue dishes that made Florence tremble every time she touchedone of them, lest she drop it.
It was a memorable meal. A little Indian girl had, that very afternoon,brought in a great salmon and had received for it a sack of potatoes. Thebaked salmon rested on a blue platter. It was surrounded by golden-brownpotatoes, sweet butter and tall heaps of biscuits fresh from the oven.
When this repast was over, the Russian woman sat for a long time staringat the flickering candles and the marvelous blue dishes.
"No," she murmured at last, "they shall not go. They have been here long.They shall remain forever, all these beautiful things. You all are good.You have been kind to an old woman whom you did not know. I am not afairy godmother," she laughed. "I am not God. I am only an old woman,Madam Chicaski. And this was my home. Yes, you shall have all these. Theybelong here. Even dishes and copper pots may be happy. They will be happywith you."
Mary heard her every word. Yet she could not believe in their great goodfortune. All these beautiful dishes, those rare pieces of copper, theseven golden candlesticks to remain in their humble cabin? Impossible.
Then came another wave of emotion that brought her to her feet.
"But, Madam!" she protested. "You will need them!"
"I need them?" Madam laughed again. "Did I not tell you? But no. I havenot told. We are rich, Ivan and I. Ivan's uncle died. He left all toIvan. That is why we went away so fast. That is why we never came back.
"Tomorrow," her tone changed, "I shall go back to Ivan. He is not strong,Ivan. He could not come. But I--" she sighed. "It was necessary that Icome to see once more. Now I have come. I have seen. And I am, oh, sovery happy!" She heaved a great sigh of joy, then moving to her placebeside the fire, took up, perhaps for the last time, her peaceful dreamsof those days that had passed, never to return. Next day, after biddingthem farewell, she was to go trudging away toward the railway station.
"Well," Florence whispered to herself as she crept beneath the covers inher loft-bed that night, "life can be strange and beautiful. It can bepeaceful as well. Here in this happy valley one might find peace. But doI want peace? Mystery, adventure, the, long, long trail." At that shefell asleep.
Did she accept peace or did she again take up the long, long trail? Youwill find the answer to that in the book called _Third Warning_.
Transcriber's Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, italic text is delimited by _underscores_.
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