That they had a hiding-place of some sort, where they held meetings and ate the generous lunches they carried with them, all the boys outside the nine felt sure; but none of the Mystics ever answered any questions concerning it, and threw out vague but impressive warnings as to the terrible fate that would befall any one whose curiosity led him to seek to penetrate the secret they guarded so closely.
Davy stumbled upon it quite by chance. Following the trail of a bird with a wounded wing, he found himself in a part of the wood he had never been in before, and came suddenly upon a great pile of brush a dozen feet high, behind which was the entrance to a deep cave in a rocky hillside.
He entered, and found it well furnished with rough blankets, a table, an oil stove, and many other things necessary to the comfort and convenience of nine boys. A large window in the roof, which was carefully covered with brush, afforded a means to obtain light, when that given by the mouth of the cave did not prove sufficient, or when bad weather made it necessary to drop the canvas which did duty as a door.
Davy, afraid of getting into trouble, kept his discovery to himself, but he made frequent stolen trips to the cave, and resolved that some day he would use his knowledge for the purpose of obtaining his revenge.
He had a vague plan in his head to guide about fifty of the roughest boys in the village to the cave, and thus give the secret to every one, and he fully determined to let this be his form of revenge, when, being called upon to read in class, he was forced to use the wet, soiled books.
His thoughts were directed so much to this subject that his lessons were recited even worse than usual, and as a result he was kept in to study for an hour after the close of school.
When he was at last free to go home, and left the school-house, he found that poor old Sim was in the hands of his enemies. The Mystic Nine had placed him in his own dilapidated hand-cart, and were wheeling him down one of the side streets as fast as they could go, shouting and laughing at his frenzied cries of distress and the ludicrous picture he presented, as he clung to the side of the cart, the brim of his torn straw hat flapping in the wind, and an old scarf of bright scarlet silk, which he cherished as his dearest earthly possession, streaming out behind.
Davy felt very sorry for the old man,
but did not dare interfere. He could only wait until the boys, becoming wearied of their sport, ran the cart into a shallow pond and went off to seek other diversion.
Old Sim was almost helpless with fright and exhaustion, and when Davy waded into the pond and pushed the cart out on dry land again, he threw his arms about the boy’s neck, and clung to him, sobbing and moaning like a child.