Dorothy at Skyrie

"It must, indeed; but I hope that's the last time you'll ever let her enter such a race as that. Child, you might be killed! An accident to either pony or machine – Dolly, never do it again!" cried father John, alarmed by the danger already safely passed.

"When do you want this picnic?" asked Mrs. Chester, with interest, and feeling somewhat flattered that the chosen ground for it should be on her own premises.

"Why, Saturday, if it's fine. If not, then the next Monday. We want to go early, in the morning sometime, and stay the whole day. We mean to explore that mine they call the 'Folly,' and who knows? I may bring home a nugget of pure gold! Wouldn't that be fine? I'm so glad you are willing. I think I'll harness Portia again and ride to tell Helena, after dinner; and I'll get that now. I can do it all alone if you'll only trust me. You rest, mother dear, and read your Baltimore weekly. It came last night and yet you haven't even taken the wrapper off."

The dinner was to be a simple one and well-trained Dorothy was capable of preparing it; so Mrs. Chester did take the proffered rest and was deep in the home news which interested her so greatly when a shadow fell upon the threshold and she glanced up to see two men who appeared to be surveyors, for they carried the instruments of such over their shoulders; and the announcement made by the elder of the two fairly took her breath away:

"We are sent by Oliver Sands to survey that south meadow you've sold him. Will you direct us to it?"

CHAPTER XIX

DOROTHY HAS ANOTHER SECRET

The inquirer went away with "a bee in his bonnet," as the saying goes; and he promptly reported to Oliver Sands that he had been dismissed from Skyrie as one who had gone there on a fool's errand.

"Say they haven't sold me that south meadow, do they, friend? Well, they are mistaken. Report to me again in one week from this day and I will give thee further directions. I am a just man. I will pay thee and thy assistant for the time thee has wasted, but the surveying will yet be done," returned the miller, quietly.

He even smiled, sitting comfortably in his great rocker upon his shaded veranda; and he opened and closed his fat hands with a suggestive gesture, as of one squeezing something soft and yielding. It was a gesture habitual to him while transacting certain kinds of business, as foreclosing a mortgage against some helpless person; and to keen observers – Seth Winters, for one – seemed most significant. Friend Oliver was in no wise disturbed by the indignant statement of the Chesters to the surveyor. He was perfectly contented to bide his time, remembering that adage: "All things come to him who waits."

But valiant as their denial, the Chesters watched the surveyors depart with sore misgivings. The bold falsity of the matter roused, at length, even Martha's suspicions that Friend Oliver Sands was not as benign as he appeared; and for the rest of that week she went about so silent and sad that neither father John nor Dorothy dared intrude upon her reserve.

Yet to the latter came a new trouble of her own: and knowing that she must confide in somebody old and wise enough to counsel her, she went to Seth Winters. She could not have done better. With almost the opening sentence of her story about the surveyors' visit he seemed to understand the whole matter, "body and bones" as Jim would say.

"I am thankful you came to me, little Dorothy. We'll outwit that man by meeting him on his own terms. I'm going to give you something to take care of till the time comes for you to use it. We'll have what Herbert calls a regular lark; and may I be there to see! Three hundred dollars, 'payable on demand, with interest from date.' Do you remember that date? No? Never mind. I'll put the time sufficiently far back to make everything secure, and I misjudge our floury Friend if he will object to a little more than his due. Watch, scholar, and see if I figure right."

Fetching pen and paper, the blacksmith made a rapid computation of what would be due Oliver at any time within the next month. Then he went to a cupboard in his room above the "office" and took from a small safe there the amount of cash which should satisfy even the "just" holder of the Chesters' "note." He gave the money into Dorothy's hands with a smile, saying:

"This is yours, your very own. It is no gift nor loan of mine. It was intrusted to me by a law firm in Baltimore, the business managers of Mrs. Calvert's property. Kidder & Kidder are the gentlemen. Well, what?"

"I've heard, I know about them. Why, Mr. Winters, I've seen that old Mr. Kidder!" cried Dorothy, eagerly.

"I'm glad of it. Well, I cannot explain much to you; only I can and do say that somebody related to you by blood, somebody of your own family that you never knew, left this money and a little more with these gentlemen; to be used by, or for, you whenever a case of real necessity occurred. They are my own lawyers, too, as well as Mrs. Cecil's; so after you moved to Skyrie, knowing I was such a near neighbor, they wrote and asked me to take care of the small fund for you. I wasn't to mention it until that case of need I spoke of, and that has now surely arrived. Hurray! Three cheers for the climax! I can picture your face – all your faces – when 'payment on demand' is demanded, and you so calmly – it must be very calmly, Dolly dear! – come forward with that 'payment' in hand. One word of advice to you, more. Try to persuade your parents to hold on to south meadow. Things are stirring nowadays, and that very 'Folly' may yet show old Simon's wisdom, by proving the most valuable spot on Skyrie farm or any other land 'up-mounting.' Keep the fact of your having the money a secret till the right time comes. Then, hurray!"

For a few moments the astonished girl could do no more than turn over and over the fat wallet which Seth had thrust into her hands; and she was so enraptured by the thought that it was she, she herself, who should come to her parents' relief that she could only smile and smile. She could not even join in this boyish old fellow's hurraying; yet looking on her happy face, he was quite satisfied.

However, amid all her joy one dark word had fastened on her consciousness: "Secret." She had come in part to confide her own dread secret of the Ghost to this kind man, who would, she was sure, neither deride her fear nor fail to help her. Seth Winters helped everybody worthy of his help. All the mountain folk said so and trusted him.

"Mr. Winters, that story about there being a ghost at Skyrie is —is true. I suppose you've heard it, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes! I've heard."

There was no scorn in his expression. The same gentle gravity rested upon his features that had inspired the confidences of so many troubled souls and now won hers. All the boyish hilarity he had manifested over the outwitting of Oliver Sands had vanished, and with a fatherly tenderness he drew Dorothy to him and listened intently as she said:

"Yes, Mr. Winters, it – is – true. I didn't believe Alfaretta when she told about it. I thought there were no such things. But there is a ghost haunts Skyrie and —I – have – seen – it. I have to believe my own eyes, haven't I?"

"Most assuredly, my dear. And I, too, know it is true. I, too, have seen it."

"You – have?"

"Often and often. A most beneficent and harmless ghost. One to be cherished and not feared. One that has suffered much evil and done much good. A ghost I pity and almost love."

"Why, Mr. Winters! You make me feel as if – as if I could hardly breathe. Could any ghost be good? Any ghost be harmless?"

"This one is good, I told you. As for harm – has he harmed your garden by his presence? Have the weeds grown faster or the vegetables less, because of his nightly visitations to it? 'By their fruits ye shall know them.' Eh? What?"

"Why, you amaze me more and more. How did you know that about the garden and the night-time? I hadn't told you yet, though I was going to, in a minute."

"Well, easily. I've seen the garden and I know that all ghosts prefer the night. Not this one because his deeds are evil but because they are good. A person may learn a lot of things, little maid, by merely keeping his eyes open and putting two-and-two together."

"Oh! of course; but do you really think I shouldn't fear this one at all? I've been too afraid almost to live, and I've not dared to tell my father or mother, because she's so nervous she wouldn't stay at Skyrie even to get my father cured, and he must be. He must be– no matter what happens. It must not be that a man so good, so kind, so altogether faithful to us all should be an invalid forever. O Mr. Winters! You don't at all know how brave he is! How he makes fun for mother and me when his own heart aches. It seems to me as if he took hold of everything, every little thing that happens, and turns it over and over, till he finds out some humor in it. Then he points out to us that humor which we'd never have discovered for ourselves. Why, I fancy he'd think there was something funny even about that dreadful ghost!"

"A brave and beautiful nature is poor John Chester's, little Dolly. I am proud to know him, to have him call me friend. Nor should I have called him 'poor' but rich. I would rather have his present poverty and his wholesome, sweet outlook upon life than all the money owned by the master of the Towers. By the way, he's not such a bad sort, either! come to know him well enough to see beneath that crust of greed and arrogance that he wears as if it were a coat. As for that fairy-faced daughter of his, I'm wholly in love with her, since you've put your own hand to the task of remodeling her into the simple, kindly creature God meant her to be when He fashioned her. Pity! when that other good gift of too much money buries beneath it the better side of the person to whom it is given!"

"Oh! Helena is sweet, Mr. Winters. It's not true at all that she is haughty and 'stuck-up,' as folks say. She's just been petted at home, and praised and sheltered so much, that she didn't have a chance to show what she really was. Even to know it herself. But I love her. I love her dearly. She's the nicest girl friend I ever had."

"That's good! That's excellent! For if a certain scheme of our friend Herbert's materializes it would be most important that there should be love between you and Helena. By the way, neither of you young ladies have invited me to your picnic!"

Dorothy opened her eyes in surprise. "Why, Mr. Winters! How did you know we were going to have one? I hadn't told that yet, either, and I do believe you must be a witch – a gentleman witch – to guess at things the way you do!"

"I hope I'm a 'gentleman' witch if I'm any sort. I shouldn't like to be a 'lady,' one that's always pictured as bestriding a broomstick. That would be most uncomfortable. I prefer a horse. Well, am I to come to your picnic, or am I not, Miss Dorothy Chester?"

"O Mr. Winters! Will you? If you will, your coming will make us both so happy. I'd rather have you than anybody I know, even young folks – "

"As if I were not that! Thank you for your cordial 'bid.' I will be most happy to accept the invitation I've had fairly to worm out of you. What am I expected to provide as my share of the entertainment?"

"Oh! you love to tease me, don't you? Nothing. Of course, you are to provide nothing. Only come, and don't disappoint us."

"I will surely come. But I hope to do my share, as I said; and if I succeed in obtaining what I hope for, it will be a novelty in picnics!"

"Now you've made me curious! I love novelties! What will yours be?" asked Dorothy, eagerly, and rising to leave, since some men had arrived with horses to be shod and her host must attend to business.

"Take care of that parcel, child. Tell nobody of it, not even the father and mother, till the right moment comes. You'll recognize it when it does, and what shall I bring? Let me see – I think I will bring a Ghost!"

It was a very happy girl who returned to Skyrie, carrying safely hid in her pocket that which should "at the right time" release her beloved parents from the power of debt, held over them by even so "generous" a man as miller Sands. It was almost impossible for her to keep this new and splendid "secret" from their knowledge. At times she felt she must, she certainly must, break her promise to Seth Winters and disclose it; but she had never knowingly broken her word and she would not let herself begin to do so now. Besides, if she had been able to keep that other, dreadful "secret" about the "ghost" she surely could keep this happy one of the money. She had made it her business to bestow this in a place of safety, although her frequent visits to the spot would have betrayed her interest in it had the elder Chesters been at all suspicious.

The days sped by till the end of the week and that beautiful summer Saturday appointed for Helena's picnic. They had been busy and peaceful days at Skyrie. No further demands had been made upon the elder Chesters by Mr. Oliver Sands. That most industrious of "ghosts" had not reappeared nor nervous mother Martha so much as suspected his existence; though rumors concerning him were rife in all Riverside. These rumors had been freshly set afloat by the Babcocks. Dorothy had admitted to Alfaretta that there "might be some truth" in the story of a spooky visitant, and Alfy had promptly stated that there was. Pa Babcock affirmed the tale and declared that this was why he had left off working on the haunted farm. "It had got upon my nerves to the extent of interfering with my orations," he had explained, to whoever would listen. Until then, nobody had credited Pa with possessing "nerves" of any sort; but even such an absurd statement found credence with some.

More than with the "spook," however, was the public mind agitated by other rumors which touched upon "south meadow." The "Folly" was a word often on men's lips, yet, as often happens, the persons most nearly concerned in the subject were the last to hear of it.

The promised saddle for Portia had been sent home and found to be a delightful change from the bareback riding which ambitious Dorothy had been practicing. So delightful, indeed, was it and so eager was she to have all her own friends enjoy it with her that she decided:

"I'm going to put the saddle in the phaeton along with the baskets when we drive to the 'meadow.' The 'Bee' people fixed the bars to it so nicely, we can drive along the road till we come to the field and then through the bar-way into it. I'll take Portia out of the shafts and saddle her, or the boys will do it for me. Then all the girls that wish can take a ride, turn and turn about. It will add ever so much to our fun – everybody I know simply loves and envies me my darling 'calico' pony! I'll come back for you first, though, mother and father, for you must be there. A picnic, or anything nice, wouldn't seem perfect without you two. Dear Mr. Winters is sure to come. He said so and he's going to bring – My! I almost let the cat out of the bag!"

Dorothy's sudden pause and startled expression provoked no comment from her parents other than mother Martha's protesting:

"Cat! I wouldn't take Lady Rosalind, if I were you, Dolly dear. It would only be a worry to you. Those little Babcocks are sure to come, invited or not, and as surely would plague the life out of her. Why, Rosalind runs under the lounge the very minute any Babcock, big or small, sets foot inside the door. Don't take the cat."

"It wasn't – it wasn't – that kind of a cat! and I haven't let it out – yet!" laughed the girl, with a gayety that seemed exaggerated for so humdrum a remark.