Instantly Frieda’s face cleared at Jean’s courageous attitude, though Olive looked considerably depressed. But at this minute Mr. Drummond, to divert everybody’s attention, turned toward Frieda. “Will somebody tell me, please, what is the trouble with the youngest Miss Ralston, for if two weeks at boarding school can affect her like this, What will a whole year do?”
Instinctively Frieda’s hand went up to her Psyche knot. “Don’t tell Jack and Ruth,” she begged, and then, tossing her blonde head: “Oh, tell away if you like, Peter Drummond. I haven’t any disease, if that’s what you mean; I am just not a baby any longer.”
Peter’s expression was a funny mixture of gravity and amusement. “If it’s old age that is afflicting you, Frieda,” he said pulling at his own heavy iron-gray hair, “then you’ve got about the worst disease in the world and the most incurable, but I didn’t really think it was apt to overtake one at fifteen.” Seeing that Frieda looked injured, he turned again to Olive and Jean. “The Harmons have been awfully nice to Jack and Ruth and they are coming out here to see you pretty soon. There is a queer old house in this neighborhood where an old relative of theirs lives. The house is supposed to be haunted, or at least there is some mystery about it. I wonder if you girls have seen it?”
“I have,” Olive answered quickly and Jean laughed.
“How on the face of the earth do you know you have seen the place Peter is describing, Olive?” Jean questioned, “for he hasn’t told you the name of it or what it looks like or anything to identify it.”
Olive looked puzzled. “Yes, I know it is funny, but it is a place called ‘The Towers,’ with a high tower at the top of it and a balcony and queer little windows.” Quite unconsciously Olive had closed her eyes, because for some strange reason she seemed to be able to recall the house she had seen on the morning of her early walk better with her eyes closed.
Mr. Drummond smiled at her. “Olive is right, the place is called ‘The Towers.’ I remember now,” he repeated. “I wonder if because Olive is perhaps a gypsy or an Indian, she is going to be a fortune teller.” But because Olive’s face had crimsoned at his speech his tone changed. “My dear Olive, suppose you are half Indian, why on earth should you care? There isn’t the least disgrace in it, is there?” And Olive noticed that Mr. Drummond’s speech ended with a question.
But he had now risen, picking up from the table near him a large box and a small one. The large box he handed to Jean. “You are please to conceal this from the powers that be, if it’s against boarding school laws to eat candy,” he said and then stood turning the smaller box about in his hand, surveying it thoughtfully. “This is a gift to you girls from Jack,” he remarked finally. “Miss Drew tells me it contains a great surprise, and as I haven’t the faintest idea what is inside of it, may I be present at its opening?”
The girls allowed Frieda to tear off the paper covering outside the parcel. Inside a white velvet box was revealed which opened with a spring. Instantly Frieda touched this spring there were three cries of “Oh,” followed by a moment’s silence. On the white satin lining of the box were three crescent-shaped pins as large in circumference as a quarter. The pins were composed of seven lovely jewels shading from red to pale violet. Each girl took her gift from the box, regarding it with characteristic expressions. Jean’s eyes were dancing with delight, the dimple showing at the corner of her mouth, Frieda’s blue eyes were bluer than ever and her cheeks pinker, while Olive’s eyes were overclouded and her face quivered with pleasure.
