CHAPTER XIII
MARY'S MYSTERIOUS PET
The morning dawned on Cragsnook quite as complaisantly as if the night had shed nothing but joy. And quite as indifferently did the girls take up the fun where they left off past midnight, when sheer fatigue had put an end to their tireless pranks. Kicking themselves happily into the new day, vague remembrances of the wild excitement forging through more welcome emotions, the Scouts and their visitor were actually ready for breakfast when Jennie chimed the gong.
Madaline, secretly cherishing the mystery of "something alive" being in Mary's hidden away basket, could scarcely wait for the meal to end before asking Mary about it.
But there were a number of interruptions. Mrs. Dunbar was called twice from the table to answer the telephone, and her monologue hinted the police might be anxious to make an investigation at Cragsnook. Always affable, especially to officials, the last answer given simply was:
"Very well, as early as you please."
That was but a few minutes ago, and now a car was rumbling up the drive.
"You girls may run off and show Mary the grounds," suggested the hostess. "I have to attend to some business with these men."
Mary still wore the white dress, of some open wrought material, like drawn work, and not usually made up into frocks. It was soft and clinging, and her velvet ribbon wound around the waist fell in an artistic sash clear to the end of her full skirt. Her braids were unbound and finished in their own natural curls, this tendency to really curl having been hailed by the girls as worthy of an entirely different mode of hair dressing.
Ginghams for mornings, as customary, gave the other girls quite a different appearance, and in a stolen moment, while dressing, Cleo managed to show Mary a scout uniform. The simple khaki outfit seemed to Mary the most remarkable "rig" she had ever seen, even books had not given her such an idea of a practical girl's uniform.
The polite dismissal of Mrs. Dunbar's followed just as two very business-like men stepped into the oaken hall.
"Do you remember about your basket?" Madaline asked. She was wildly wondering if the live thing had crawled away.
"Oh, yes, indeed. I am going to it directly. Come on, girls, till I show you my pet."
Everyone thought of snakes, varied with a pretty baby bunnie, or perhaps a bird's nest of helpless fledglings, but Mary's pet was none of these.
Out on the small window nook, just off the breakfast room, she found the basket quite as she had left it. The girls watched her eagerly as she first drew out a soft white covering. It was now becoming apparent that this self-same Mary possessed an entirely undeveloped sense of humor, for as she watched the eager faces crowding about her she was surely, deliberately delaying the process of displaying her "pet."
"Guess!" she asked naïvely.
"A snake!" from Grace.
"A-a—new bird!" from Madaline
"A baby bunnie!" from Cleo.
"I thought you would all say a doll," she replied, "for I had one old doll I never could quite give up. But I didn't bring her, and none of you have guessed. I am afraid you are going to be dreadfully disappointed."
Without further ado she drew from the basket nothing more than a small ordinary looking plant!
"Oh!" sighed Madaline, betraying her chagrin. "Only a flower!"
"That's all," admitted Mary, "but I don't believe you ever saw just this kind," and her voice was as soft and crooning as if she had been petting a real baby.
Cleo and Grace exchanged significant glances. Was the girl queer after all? they were asking.
The little plant looked like nothing more than the ordinary Jack-in-the-Pulpit, but Mary's tenderness in handling the beautifully wrought brass jar, in which the plant was growing, betokened something much more precious than our wood friend Jack.
"He's hungry," went on the child, and at this Grace burst into laughter. Cleo was tittering, and Madaline all but pouting her disappointment.
"I know what you think," Mary said with a good natured smile, "but this little flower really eats—and for his breakfast I must find a fly or spider."
"Oh mercy!" shrieked Grace. "Mary, what are you talking about?"
"Well, you just wait and see. There, catch that little fly or just shoo it over this way."
Becoming serious now, serious enough to see the fun out at any rate, the girls waved hands and handkerchiefs around some perfectly innocent little flies, and presently they made for the plant which Mary had again deposited on the window box. For a minute or two the insects buzzed around, then made for the flower of the plant.
"Mercy!" screamed Grace.
"Land sakes!" added Cleo.
"Oh!" ejaculated Madaline.
But the little fly was gone. The plant had actually eaten it up!
Swallowed it whole!
The girls looked at Mary now, as if she were almost uncannily wise, or in some way magical. She expected their attitude, evidently, for her own low musical laugh followed.
"I know you think it is very queer, girls," she explained, "but in the country I come from this is a common plant. Grandie calls it by a long name, but most people call it the Pitcher Plant. You see, it is filled with something that attracts insects, and when they go in for the nectar they can't get out. This kind is rare, and I have watched it lest Janos would get it. In New York he could sell it and I know he would have taken it, but I have kept it hidden for a long time. See how pretty its colors are, and how wonderfully it is shaped and formed?"
"Oh, I remember now," said Cleo. "I have heard Daddy talk of such plants, but of course I never saw one. It is something of an orchid, isn't it?"
All three were now examining Mary's "Pet" closely, getting innocent little flies in line for the scent, which might attract them, and otherwise enjoying the novelty.
"Is it valuable?" asked Madaline, noting the rare crimson color inside the cup.
"Yes, I think this one is, but I like it more than any of the others because I raised it myself. But when you come to our place I will show you our wonders," she offered.
"Is that why you always gather roots?" asked Cleo.
"Not exactly," Mary replied, just a trace of her cloud threatening to darken her face. "But I can't talk about all of it now. I am sure it must be time to go visit Grandie. Do you suppose we may go soon?" This question was addressed to Cleo.
"I'll see if Auntie has finished," Cleo answered, running back to the house. Mary arranged a safer place for her pitcher plant, out where insects might find its fatal honey. Then, gathering up the basket, she, with the others, hurried back to the veranda. They found the three men just leaving, and as Mrs. Dunbar smiled frankly it was easy to guess the result of their interview had not been altogether unpleasant.
Michael had also been in the conference, and he delayed a moment to speak privately with Mrs. Dunbar.
"How is Shep?" she asked aside, so that her voice could not reach the girls.
"Coming around all right," replied the man, gladly. And he brought in a clew to his enemy. "Step inside and look at this." He took from his pocket a handkerchief. It was yellow in color, silk in texture, and was bordered with drawn work. Mrs. Dunbar examined it closely.
"Foreign, of course," she replied. "Those people seem to be pretty well organized. Take care of that, Michael; we may easily match it up later. Now I have to see what we are going to do about Professor Benson. The girls seem to need very little assistance, but we must watch closely to see they make no mistakes. This is more of a plot than I supposed, but our police are glad to get on the track of these men. Here are the children. If they ask for Shep make some reasonable excuse."
The wonderful story of the pitcher plant, of how it ate breakfast of flies and bugs, also what especial value it was—this and much more was poured into the ears of Mrs. Dunbar before she had a chance to grasp the meaning of the newest excitement.
"Wonderful! wonderful!" replied the hostess, really deeply interested in the "fly catcher." "I have always wanted to see one of those plants act."
"I am going to give you this one—please, Mrs. Dunbar," said Mary, timidly. "Janos, that is Reda's brother, has been watching for it. He said a New York woman had offered him a lot of money for one. That is why I brought this one with me. Will you—accept it?"
"Oh gladly, Mary dear. It is a real curiosity, and when Mr. Dunbar comes home he too will be delighted with it. But now I have such good news about Professor Benson. He is getting much stronger. The doctor saw him this morning, and thinks he has been suffering from shock and fear. He advised, however, that we leave him quiet this morning. I knew that would be a disappointment to you, Mary dear, but you wouldn't want to delay his progress."
"Oh, no indeed," and the two hands clasped excitedly. "If only he can recall—get back his memory," Mary corrected hurriedly, "perhaps after all it might all come back."
"You will be able to help the doctors in a day or two, I am sure," suggested Mrs. Dunbar. "It appears to be a case of stagnated memory. Something registered in his brain as extremely important is simply clogged there. When he is stronger, then suggestion may be the key to open that congested memory valve."
"I know—yes—I know," replied Mary, and the far-away look in her own eyes gave the girls a hint which they were sure to follow promptly.
They immediately changed the subject.