CHAPTER XIX
A DESERTED TRYST
Nora was disconsolate. For two days the dainties left for Lucia hadremained untouched. The bread box which Vita had given her to play with,and into which the food was deposited for Lucia, stood upon the treestump with the sliced lamb, the piece of cake, and the big orange whichcomprised the last installment offered by the sympathetic Nora, just asshe had left it.
"Can anything have happened to her?" Nora asked herself. She was almosttoo disappointed to sit down and rest in the cool, quiet shade. Capsniffed the box but did not put a paw up to beg, and even the big noisyblue-jay scorned a few crumbs that lay on a fallen leaf.
"Suppose he--murdered her!"
It was not unusual for a girl like Nora to think the very worst first,in fact the normal, childish mind is very apt to leap at a sensation,but only the high spot is sensed, the detail is always conspicuouslylacking.
"Of course she is deadly sick. Oh, why didn't she let me know where shelived," Nora wailed secretly. "I could visit her and bring her all sortsof lovely things----"
She lifted the paper napkin that covered the food offering.
"What's this?" she exclaimed. A stiff little green leaf made of veryshiny paper appeared, and with it, Nora found, was an old fashionednose-gay, the sort beloved by the Italians and the Polish peasantry.Nora picked up the spray. It was tied with a green ribbon and somehowgave Nora a distinct shock.
"Oh! She's dead, this is what they--have at funerals!"
Tears welled up into the blue eyes, and hands holding the silent messagetrembled. Nora sat down and Cap nosed up to her; he knew something wasthe matter.
Such a pathetic little bouquet! One stiff pink rose, one yellow daisy,two bright red carnations and three very stiff green leaves, all made ofa sort of oil-cloth paper.
A tear fell into the heart of the rose. If it were not really a flowerit was at least a good picture of one, just as a photograph can sovividly remind one of the original.
Nora went back to the box. "When can she have put it here?" shewondered. It was under the paper plate.
Then she recalled that this last donation had been hastily deposited inthe box, for it was late and Nora had to hurry back to get ready for herown tea at the time she placed it there.
"I must have it put right on her flowers," she pondered. "Poor, abused,little Lucia!"
Picking up the untouched food Nora discovered a slip of soiled paperbeneath it. There was writing on it, a scrawl of some kind. She carriedit to the light out from under the dense trees.
"Yes, it's a note," murmured Nora, as if Cap, her only companion,understood. And it just says "'Goodbye, with love.'"
Nora read and reread the scribble. It was written, she decided, inLucia's hand, for it was such a crooked, uneven scrawl. The paper was aleaf torn from a book, and this assured Nora that at some time Luciamust have gone to school.
"After all my joy, the party, the enrollment and everything, this has tocome," thought the discouraged girl. "I hoped today I could induce herto come over and see Ted and Jerry."
It was too disappointing. For the first few days Nora had felt it wassafer to allow Lucia to have her way, and when she waited and waited,until the Italian girl appeared, then coaxed and urged that she comeover to the cottage, Lucia showed signs of real fright. She would haverun from the tree-tent and never returned, if Nora had not promised toagree to her secrecy. After that the benefactor brought the food but wasnever able to get more than a fleeting glimpse of Lucia, as she scurriedoff like a little black rabbit with her precious food and her strangesecret. And now she was really gone and had said goodbye.
"Why didn't I tell Alma?" sighed Nora, regretfully. "She might haveknown a better way to have helped her."
Too late to reason thus, Nora with a heavy heart again covered the tinbox, hoping something would bring Lucia back; then she took the quaintfloral token and started for the Nest.
Her plans to help Lucia had included everything from a change of home toa complete change of identity, for Nora felt the stranger must have beenin sore need, and why couldn't she induce Cousin Ted to adopt such apretty, forlorn child?
It was characteristic of Nora to decide on the most dramatic course, forsuch a possibility as a mother, father, or family in the background ofLucia's life was not thought of.
And was this to be the end of her precious secret? She squeezed thepaper bouquet until the humble ribbon wrinkled into a sad bit of stuff,and then decided to put the token away with her most preciousbelongings. Maybe Lucia would come back, and if she ever did Noradecided positively she would then tell someone about the child, eventell Cousin Ted if need be, and, certainly, Alma.
"And now I must go to my letter box," she told Cap, the faithful.
Looking up and down, in and out, far and near, to make sure no one sawher, Nora followed the trail to the bent willow--the hiding place ofAlma's correspondence with the fabled prince.
She had been there, the moss was a shade lighter where feet had pressedthe velvet nap, and the leaves of the bushes were still "inside out"from a hasty brushing made to clear a path to the bent willow.
Under the stone, as directed, Alma had placed her answer to the prince'sletter, and finding it there she quickly hid the envelope in her deepestblouse pocket. She would read it in more comfort, enjoy it more at home,with the door locked.
"What an exciting vacation I am having, really!" she reflected. "When Icame all I could think of was pretty things."
Had she been that Nora once so filled with foolish fancies that life,brief as it had been to her, seemed too full of nonsense to admit ofreal joys with girl companions, and any number of adventures?
"A real vacation indeed," concluded the girl in khaki, holding closeLucia's flowers and Alma's letter. She was sorely tempted to peek intothe latter, but that would spoil the delicious secret reading, which tobe complete would have to be made in solitude.
It had been days since she went out "on location" with thecousins--Jerry always called surveying "doing location," as the movingpicture folks termed their work, but so many other things claimed herattention it seemed difficult to get them all in. Cousin Ted was verybusy herself, but had managed to write Nora's mother. A glowing accountof the Scout interests was surely given in that letter, and Jerry wasdisappointed when Ted refused to ask permission for Nora to stay duringthe winter. To this, woman-like, Mrs. Jerry Manton had not agreed,because to go to school in the wilderness is always more picturesquethan practical.
But Nora had endeared herself to those generous hearts, and even thethought of that real mother with an unreal name did not thrill her asdid the knowledge that she had "made good" with these devoted friends.
Home now--that is to the Nest, Nora rushed up to her room to devourAlma's letter. She ignored Vita's appeal to come see the wonderfulflowers sent from some one for Mrs. Manton. She must read the letterbefore going down to dinner.
In the biggest chair by the open window beyond locked doors she unfoldedthe precious page.
"She writes a pretty hand," was the first comment. Then she read:
"'Camp Chickadee.
"'My dear Prince:
"'How wonderful to get a letter from you! As you have guessed I did think of you ever since. Please tell me who you are and where you live? We Scouts would love to know you and perhaps we can tell you some interesting things about America, if, as I surmise, you are a visitor here.'"
"Oh mercy," gasped Nora. "I have only made matters worse. She actuallybelieves I am a prince. What ever shall I do?"
The letter lay mute and yet accusing. Nora had written Alma a firstletter to prepare her for the second. True, she did not explain--but shefancied somehow Alma would come to the tree, and then perhaps they wouldmeet and settle the whole troublesome business.
"But it's worse, heaps worse," sighed Nora. The call from down stairswas unanswered, for she must plan something else and that quickly.
First she thought of writing another lett
er with a complete and fullconfession, but she dreaded it, shrank from it and finally abandoned theidea.
"If it only were not Alma," she sighed. "I would almost enjoy the jokeon some of the others, but Alma!"
Nothing could be worse than this nagging at her conscience. She mustconquer it. And here was the new trouble about Lucia!
"I always thought secrets were such fun, and yet these arepositively--tragic," she thought. "If only I could tell Alma aboutLucia, at least that would be a comfort."
Another call from Vita. Cousin Ted and Cousin Jerry were in now. Thecheery whistle and the joyful "Whoo-hoo!" must be answered.
"Oh, dear me!" sighed Nora. "I suppose things always happen that way."She gave Lucia's flowers an affectionate squeeze, dropped them into herivory box, slipped Alma's letter under the cushion and went down todinner.