CHAPTER XI
A CRY IN THE NIGHT
It was while Jennie served a dainty sherbet—an extra, considering ice cream and cake were a sufficiently delightful treat—that Cleo slipped out into the library where Mrs. Dunbar was writing letters. Grace and Madaline were outdoing each other in entertaining the guest, and altogether the evening was one of enjoyment, especially for Mary. Her eyes were now almost as bright as those of the girls who surrounded her, and had Reda been able to see her, she surely could not have honestly warned her against "being like other girls." Only that occasional shadow of fear that crossed her face, blotting the life out of her eyes, and glazing them with the ice of terror, did actually mark her as being "different." Even now this fear flitted into her gaze, and with it her slim, brown hands were seen to grasp tightly any object within their reach.
Cleo retold to her aunt that part of the evening's experience which Jennie had begun, but it was concerning the professor and his unprepared retreat to the Sanitarium that she particularly asked advice.
"Do you suppose he will be very anxious about Mary?" asked Cleo. "He does not know us, and when we left him he still seemed dazed from the fright."
"We might call Crow's Nest on the telephone and ask how he is," suggested Mrs. Dunbar. "I think we should do so. Do you want to ask Mary about it?"
Cleo bit her lip in serious consideration. For a little girl she was rather wise, as her aunt had before acknowledged.
"You see, Auntie," she finally said, "we three are trained Girl Scouts. Every day we renew our pledges to help others, and every evening we make a sort of survey of the day to be sure we are not allowing our delightful vacation to monopolize all our interests. We say, you know, that happiness was born a twin, and we know from experience we have lots better times when we share happiness with someone who needs it."
"Wonderful wisdom for such a little girl," replied the aunt with an embracing smile, absolutely devoid of ridicule, but plainly illumined with appreciation. "I know about your wonderful scout activities, and I have not so soon forgotten how you won your bronze cross——"
"Oh, I don't mean to attach any glory to myself," Cleo interrupted, somewhat embarrassed at the turn in the conversation.
"I understand, dear. You just want to be perfectly sure you are doing all you can for the case of Mary, as that has come your way in scouting?"
"Yes, that is our vacation case, we are sure, so of course I just had to insist on Jennie coming with us to-night. I am afraid she was awfully frightened."
"She was, but maybe you can convert her to your ranks. At any rate she was astonished at the way you carried things through. Now, about Mary. Shall we speak to her about phoning the Sanitarium?"
"I guess we had better not mention it to her until we find out if he is all right. If he were very ill do you think we need tell her to-night?" Cleo asked.
"You are right, Tody," the aunt replied, using the pet name given Cleo by her mother on special occasions. "Just go out with the others and shut the door while I phone."
There was no possibility of Mrs. Dunbar's voice being heard over the din of merry-making in the dining-room, for just then Grace was making a speech, and Madaline was applauding, while Cleo quickly fell in with the fun, by parading around the room with a table candle in each hand, and an upturned fruit basket on her head.
Mary sat back on the window seat, spellbound. Being a real girl in spite of her peculiarities, she would occasionally burst into the most musical ripple of laughter, then suddenly check herself, as if fearful of violating some obligation to be sad or melancholy.
Presently Mrs. Dunbar appeared at the door to suggest bed time, and when she gave no message to Mary from her telephone call Cleo surmised the news was not what they had hoped for. Passing by her aunt in the hall, Mrs. Dunbar whispered, "Sleeping," and Cleo knew Mary might take alarm at that report, for the dread fever she so often mentioned was always termed the "sleeping fever." But it was bed time and in the delicious process of undressing and donning gowns or pajamas the girls enjoyed the usual pranks that are ever unusual, and seem different every time they are indulged in. There were pillow fights, parades, sponge splashes, ghost dances, and other stunts "too numerous to mention," but it must be recorded that it required the combined persuasion of Jennie, with her two funny pig tails hanging over her voluminous night dress, and Mrs. Dunbar in the most fragile of negligees to induce the girls to turn out lights, and finally get settled for the night.
It had been possible to decide with whom Mary should sleep. Each bed would have held her in addition to its usual occupant, but on drawing straws the lot fell to Madaline, who had coveted it from the first, as her bed was really of double size.
"Mine is the only big, full grown straw!" declared Madaline proudly, waving the whisk that had been plucked from Jennie's broom, "and now, ladies, we bid you a fond farewell. Come on, Mary."
The exit was quite dramatic in character, for Madaline accidentally tripped over a fur rug, and was spilled rather rudely all over the hall floor, but a little thing like that had no effect on the delighted Madaline, who rather expected Mary would unfold her confidence once in the quiet of their own room.
"I hope dear Grandie is all right," Mary sort of sighed as they each took to their own side of the big roomy bed. "I have never been away from him before."
"Oh, he will have the very best of attention at that retreat," Madaline declared, although she knew absolutely nothing of the place. "Has he money with him?" she ventured.
"Oh, yes. He always has his check book and his deposits are all in a good New York bank," returned Mary without offense, realizing the question was plainly one made out of simple kindness.
She had donned the white night dress, the girls reasoned she would prefer it to the colored crêpe pajamas, and Madaline, watching her shake out all the glory usually bound in those two heavy braids of chestnut hair, was lost in admiration.
"However did your hair grow so beautifully long and thick?" she inquired, lifting the cloak of many tresses in both her hands.
"Loved One had wonderful hair," replied Mary, "and I guess hot countries are supposed to be best for the growth also," she added. Then, as if unhappy thoughts would torment her, she sighed a little.
"Are you lonely?" Madaline asked gently.
"Oh no," brightening up with a correct sense of politeness. "I was just thinking how Reda blames my hair for what she thinks is a symptom of the fever. You know her people have such tight kinky hair, they cannot understand ours. Those who do grow longer hair are of a different race, and they have that very straight, stiff Indian kind. But daddy told Grandie mine should never be cut, so Reda didn't dare to cut it, as she has often wanted to. Madaline," Mary suddenly exclaimed, a certain timid appeal in her voice, "did you notice the little basket I brought with me?"
"Oh yes, where did you put it?" eagerly inquired the girl on the other side of the bed.
"I put it out on a little porch I saw back of the dining-room. Do you think it will be all right?"
"Oh, yes, but why did you set it outside?"
"It's better in the air," replied Mary, and Madaline had not the courage to ask if "it" were alive, and why it should need air. Instead she hurried her preparation, and both were soon ready, so the light was snapped out. Madaline thrilled as she recalled what happened when she touched the button of another light a few hours earlier.
In less than an hour every tousled head was buried deep in its fragrant pillow, and even we are not permitted to "tap the tank of dreams." Surely a girl scout and her visitor may dream her own dreams; why should outsiders pry into their secrets?
Mrs. Dunbar, however, had not retired as early as did her young guests. In fact she phoned again to the Sanitarium to find out, if possible, how Professor Benson seemed, then whether his sleep was natural, his respiration normal, and to obtain such other information as might indicate the man's condition.
Word came back over the wire that his sleep did not seem natural, although he showed no fever, but he called constantly for protection, as if in fear of someone harming him. Mrs. Dunbar gave orders that everything possible be done for his comfort, and she promised to call the next day personally to look after him. As everyone in Bellaire knew Mrs. Guy Dunbar, her wishes were sure to be respected, and no doubt her interest obtained for the sick man all possible "special attention."
A little later even the lights in the study and Mrs. Dunbar's room were extinguished, and the tranquillity of slumber fell softly over the sloped roof of Cragsnook.
It must have been past midnight—no one had at the moment any thought of time—when something aroused the household!
Cleo jumped out of bed and rushed to her aunt's door! Mrs. Dunbar heard her step, and the door was opened when she reached it.
"Oh, what was that?" gasped Cleo.
"I don't know, but it sounded like a cry! Listen!"
A low, moaning wail, almost like wind through the attic chimney, sounded again.
"There! That's someone calling," replied Mrs. Dunbar. She snatched a small revolver from under her pillow, threw on a dressing gown, stuck her feet into her slippers, all at the same moment. Cleo threw around her own shoulders a cape she found over a chair and both were ready now to investigate.
Down the hall pattering feet told of the other girls' alarm.
"Oh, Cleo," begged Grace, "where are you? What is that dreadful noise?"
"Come in," answered Mrs. Dunbar, "and just don't be too alarmed. I am able to fight anything that groans that way. Come along, Cleo. You're not afraid, are you?"
"I would be if I stood still and listened to that," replied the little scout. "Here, girls, get some weapon. These old swords are all right," springing to a chair and bringing down from their hanging place at the hall door two glittering Turkish blades. "You won't have to use them, but it's best to be armed," insisted Cleo. "Where's Mary?"
"Oh, I forgot all about her!" gasped Madaline.
"We must look for her," said Mrs. Dunbar promptly, and leading the way, she, with the revolver, Cleo, Grace and Madaline with swords, and also carrying an East Indian spear each, they made their way down the hall to Madaline's room.
Cleo pushed open the door.
The bed was empty!
"She's gone!" exclaimed Cleo excitedly.
"And the screen is out of the window. Look!" cried Grace.
Beyond the bed the low latticed window was flung wide open, its screen lay where it had fallen, and the pretty draperies were almost torn from their hangings.
"Oh!" gasped Madaline. "Someone has stolen her!"
But Mrs. Dunbar thoughtfully shook her head.