The Daring Twins

Phœbe hesitated a moment. She wanted a certain sum in bills, and another in gold, but it would be dangerous to count the money there. So she took several packets of bills and ran with them to her room. Returning quickly, she pushed the mantel into place and proceeded to pull up a section of the rag carpet. A small iron ring enabled her to lift the trap, and a moment later she had carried a sack of gold through the connecting doorway and dumped it upon her bed.

A swift look through the window showed that Elaine was preparing to ascend the stairs again; so Phœbe ran into the housekeeper’s chamber, let down the trap and rearranged the carpet. Then she softly retreated and closed the door after her.

She breathed more freely now, but her task was not yet accomplished and the family might return from church at any moment.

Opening the packets of bills she began carefully counting them. The first lot proved of small denominations and totalled so insignificant a sum that the girl was panic-stricken for fear there would not be enough paper money for her purpose. But the next packet proved to be all fifties and one-hundreds, and less than half its bulk sufficed to make up the amount of bills that Eric had abstracted from the safe.

She counted out the gold next, and as this sack chanced to contain only pieces of twenty dollars each there was much more than she required. At the bank, while Phil was discovering the extent of Eric’s theft – when the vague idea of saving him first began to dawn in her mind – Phœbe had seen a pile of canvas bags, used to contain gold, lying upon a shelf. One of these she had quietly abstracted, for on it was printed in black letters: “Spaythe’s Bank of Riverdale.” It was a similarly marked sack which Eric had taken, and now the girl brought out the bag, placed the proper amount of gold in it, and neatly tied it up. Then she made a package containing both the gold and the bills and after winding it securely with cord placed it in a drawer of her bureau.

This much being accomplished she breathed easier; but it was necessary to replace the surplus gold and bills in the hiding places from whence she had taken it. She felt no hesitation in employing a portion of Gran’pa Eliot’s hoarded wealth to save her brother from an unjust accusation. It seemed to her quite a proper thing to do, for the family honor was at stake. Gran’pa could never use the money, and his granddaughter was defiant of old Elaine’s self imposed watch upon the treasure. Yet Phœbe would not touch a penny more than stern necessity compelled her to.

Her heart bounded and then stopped beating as the housekeeper was heard to enter the next room and renew her nervous pacing up and down – up and down. Elaine was not likely to discover her loss, just yet; only at dead of night was she accustomed to pander to her miserly instincts by counting over the money. So Phœbe took courage.

A long time the girl sat silently awaiting an opportunity to restore the balance of the treasure. Meantime, she wondered again what had come over the usually methodical, self-possessed housekeeper to make her act in so queer a manner. No doubt some important event had occurred in her life; but what could it be?

A chorus of merry voices announced the return of Cousin Judith with her brothers and sisters. She hesitated, half expecting Elaine would now leave her room, but the woman wholly disregarded the Darings and continued her monotonous pacing. So Phœbe concealed the money under her pillows and noiselessly quitting the room went down to meet the family.

The sense of triumph now experienced by the girl made her regard Phil’s gloomy looks with complacency, if not with cheerfulness. She bustled about, helping Auntie to set the table for dinner and listening to the chatter of the children, and all the time the warm glow in her heart was reflected in her sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks.

Phil looked at his sister astonished and somewhat reproachful. Her glad laughter and flippant remarks made him feel that his twin was forgetting the terrible fate that menaced him. Over the boy’s devoted head hung a veritable Sword of Damocles, and it was destined to fall as soon as the bank was opened Monday morning. Yet here was Phœbe, merry and eager, joking with Becky and Don as she flitted through the rooms, and seemingly as unconscious of trouble as a dancing sunbeam.

Judith, a little surprised at the girl’s high spirits, kissed her affectionately as she came in to dinner. She thought Phœbe had never looked more lovely than she did to-day. Phil remarked that fact, too. “The Belle of Riverdale,” as she was often called, was really a beautiful girl; yet, those who knew Phœbe best recognized the fact that her chief charm lay not in her fascinating smile, her dainty complexion, nor her magnificent eyes, but in the kindly, sympathetic heart that had never yet failed to respond to the demands of friendship.

After dinner they were all seated on the front lawn in the shade of the big oaks, when Phœbe noticed old Elaine standing motionless in the back yard, grimly watching the group. The girl seized the opportunity to run to her room, grab the money from beneath her pillows and replace the bills in the cupboard back of the mantel and the remainder of the gold beneath the trap in the floor. She acted with breathless haste, not knowing how much time would be allowed her; but she soon found there was no need of hurry. Returning to the lawn she saw that Cousin Judith had gone to the housekeeper and was engaging Elaine in conversation.

“My uncle is better, you say?” asked Miss Eliot.

“I did not say that,” retorted the woman. “I merely stated that he suffers no pain.”

“Is his mind still befogged, as when I last saw him?” continued Judith.

“His mind has never been befogged,” said Elaine, with unnecessary anger. “You will find he is clear-headed enough to defend himself from annoyances, if intruded upon.”

Judith sighed. This creature was absolutely impossible to conciliate. She turned away without further remark and preferred not to see the half sneering, half triumphant leer on Elaine’s pinched features. Phœbe put her arms around the Little Mother and said:

“Never mind, dear. She’s old and unreasonable; but she takes good care of gran’pa, so we needn’t mind her uncivil ways.”

“Koots! I’m half afraid of her,” remarked Becky, making a face at the thin figure of the housekeeper.

“I’m not,” declared Phœbe, laughing at the recollection of her late audacity. “Miss Halliday is nothing more than a favored servant, who has forgotten her proper place. There’s nothing fearsome about her, I’m sure.”

Toward evening the girl’s high spirits began to falter and she wandered about the house in an uneasy mood. Perhaps Phil’s dismal looks – for he could not force his countenance to seem pleasant while his heart was breaking – had something to do with his twin’s growing depression. Even Sue accused Phœbe of being cross when she sent her small sister to bed somewhat earlier than usual.

When all the household had retired except the twins and Judith, they sat on the porch conversing until Miss Eliot noticed for the first time an air of restraint that was unusual. Fearing she might herself be responsible for this she pleaded some letters to be written as an excuse to go to her room, and bade them good night.

“Cheer up, dear,” said Phœbe, when their cousin had gone in. “Didn’t I promise to save you?”

“Yes; but you can’t do that, little sister. No one can save me.”

“There is one way,” announced the girl, decidedly.

Phil sat thinking.

“Yes,” he said; “if Eric would confess, that would end it all. Do you imagine he will?”

“No, indeed.”

“Nor I. I have thought of everything; but the snare is too strong to be broken.”

Phœbe did not reply at once. She sat looking out into the night, lost in thought. Presently she roused herself and whispered:

“Phil, will you take a little walk with me?”

“I don’t mind. I’m not liable to sleep much to-night, so there’s little use in going to bed.”

“Wait for me a moment,” she said.

Phil waited. She soon returned with a bulky newspaper packet partly concealed beneath her cloak.

Together they strolled down the street toward the town. It was after ten o’clock, and on Sunday evening Riverdale was like a deserted village.

“We’re getting to be regular night owls, aren’t we?” asked Phœbe, with a nervous tremor in her voice.

“Yes, indeed. But why are we prowling around town to-night? Wouldn’t it be more pleasant to walk in the lanes?”

“We’re going to the bank,” said the girl.

Phil stopped short to look at her, but the overhanging branches of a tree hid her face. With a sigh he walked on, deciding to let her have her way. But he could think of no good reason for this absurd whim.

When they reached the bank Phœbe said:

“We will go in, Phil. Unlock the door.”

Mechanically he obeyed. Dully be wondered what she was going to do. But it did not matter, and he would soon know.

“Now,” continued the girl, when they were inside, “open the safe.”

“Why, Phœbe!” he gasped, glancing at her fearfully. “You’re not going to – ”

“No; I’m not going to rob Mr. Spaythe. Open the safe, Phil – quick!”

He leaned over and set the combination. Then slowly the heavy door swung open.

Phœbe breathed a sigh of relief. Hastily unwrapping her bundle she placed a bag of gold on one shelf and a thick packet of bank bills on another – in just the places from whence Eric had abstracted the money the night before.

“All right, dear; you may lock the safe now.”

Phil was bewildered. His eyes roamed from his sister’s smiling face to the safe, and back again.