CHAPTER XIII

IN THE DARK

Gerry Thompson crowded behind Bab and stared over her shoulder at the wind-swept, empty porch.

Suddenly Bab discovered Seth Wiggley’s wagon and the ancient horse, Betsey, standing in the driveway at the side of the house.

She leaned weakly against the door and gave herself up to hysterical mirth.

“It’s only poor Mr. Wiggley come back with our things,” she gasped.

“Well, I must say he made a lot of noise about it!” Gerry hated to remember just how startled she had been. “What made him leave so quickly and where has he gone?”

“Around to the side porch, probably,” said Gordon.

They listened and heard the sound of an opening door and a deep mumble of welcome from Rosa Lee.

“And I guess if he’s brought our luggage we’d better get it inside before these rain clouds burst wide open,” added Bab.

In contrast to the rest of the house, the kitchen appeared quite homelike. With a sensation of poignant relief, the girls found themselves once more in the prosaic, matter-of-fact company of Rosa Lee.

Mrs. Fenwick was helping in the kitchen, too--at least, she was pretending to help. But Rosa Lee did all the actual work.

Seth Wiggley had brought their trunks and provisions from the village and Gordon had already followed him out to the wagon.

Charlie Seymour stood scowling rather unpleasantly in the doorway.

“What’s the matter, Charlie? World treating you rough again--or is it just Gordon?”

Since this flippant remark came from the ever-flippant Gerry, Charlie chose to ignore it. But the frown deepened on his brow and he moved impatiently.

Gordon called from the wagon.

“Lend a hand here, will you, Charlie? What do you think you are--an ornament? Make yourself useful.”

Charlie’s scowl became black. He hesitated for a moment; then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, sauntered out into the storm.

“For all the world as though he were going to a garden party,” chuckled Gerry. “He gives himself the airs of a grand duke.”

“I don’t see why he came with us,” said Bab, throwing herself wearily into a chair. “This isn’t the kind of thing he cares for, really. Charlie likes to do two things--dance and dash about in that funny little roadster of his. He’ll be bored to death up here.”

Gerry gave Bab a wicked glance.

“Not while Bab Winters’ sweet smile and sunny curls hold out to wave,” she chuckled. “Don’t think I’m blind, Bab--nor Charlie, either!”

“Don’t be silly!” cried Bab.

Rosa Lee chuckled deep down in her throat.

“Lots o’ folks does like yo’ curly head and bright eyes, honey,” she said. She selected a can of beans from the pile of provisions and opened it with nice precision. “And as fo’ dat Charlie boy, likin’ you is ’bout de only thing Ah’s got to his credit. When it comes to doin’ anythin’ real useful, dat chile’s jest about as much account as a flea in a boiler factory.”

“Not half so much, Rosa Lee,” said Gerry, with a droll face. “Fleas in a boiler factory would probably hop--and I’ve yet to see Charlie Seymour do anything half so active!”

A halt was put to this flippant conversation by the arrival of the boys and Mr. Wiggley with the trunks. They had landed all the luggage on the side porch and now proceeded to drag them into the kitchen.

The last piece had landed with a thump amid various grumbles and complaints from the bearers when those dark, piled-up masses of clouds opened and let fall the rain in a sheeting torrent.

The wind whistled wildly about the house and dashed the rain in torrential gusts through the open door of the kitchen.

Gordon got behind the door and, Charlie helping him, pushed it shut against the gale.

All this time Mr. Wiggley had evidenced a marked uneasiness. He looked over his shoulder restlessly and once he mopped his forehead with a red, polka-dotted handkerchief.

With mumbled thanks he accepted pay for his services and strode swiftly to the door, tugging at it to open it.

“But you are not going back in this storm!” Bab protested. “Wait a little, Mr. Wiggley. Maybe the rain will stop.”

“Yo’-all’s welcome to a bite wiv us,” said Rosa Lee, ever hospitable. “It ain’t gwine be much, but, sech as ’tis, we’s willin’ to share it. Lawsy, listen at dat wind!” A fresh gust had whirled wildly about the house. “You ain’t nebber gwine to git home in dat storm.”

“Just wait till it lets up,” Bab urged again.

Seth Wiggley shook his head.

“If I know anything about this country,” he said, “this storm won’t let up until to-morrow morning at the earliest. It’s apt to git worse, ’stead of better.”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of beds upstairs,” Gerry suggested lightly. “We could put you up comfortably enough overnight.”

The old man appeared unreasonably alarmed at this suggestion. It was as though he feared that some one might lay hands on him and use force to make him accept the unwelcome invitation. He thanked them kindly, but, with frank eagerness to be off, jerked open the door and stepped out upon the porch.

There was relief in the gesture with which he pushed his hat down to his ears and battled his way against wind and rain to the dejected horse and the old wagon.

From the kitchen window those inside watched him head old Betsey into the wind and drive off.

Again Bab was assailed by that unhappy sensation of loneliness and desertion. She had an absurd desire to run after Seth Wiggley and drag him back. He was their one link with tried and trusted and known things.

As she smiled at the fancy, Gerry’s voice said in her ear:

“Seemed in a big hurry to be off, didn’t he? One might almost believe that our good friend, Seth, does not like these diggings, Bab Winters.”

“It would seem not!” Bab forced a smile, then turned to Rosa Lee and asked what she might do to help.

“I feel as though I wanted to get a spade and dig,” she added. “Eating seems such a waste of time.”

“Speak for yourself, Bab,” retorted Gordon Seymour. “Just now I’d not find a hidden treasure half as nourishing as that can of beans Rosa Lee has on the stove.”

“Me, myself,” said Bab wistfully, thinking of her grandmother and granddaddy, “I’d take the treasure!”

In spite of everything--or perhaps because of everything!--the meal to which Rosa Lee put them down a few minutes later was a merry one. It was a combination lunch and supper, the old woman explained, and so they must eat enough for two meals. This they undoubtedly did, and by the magic of their ravenous appetites, the tin-can fare was transformed into a feast.

The boys had found the old well, a picturesque affair in a setting of tangled weeds and brambles. Gordon was enthusiastic and eager for the morrow when they could explore the country about the old house.

“We saw the glimmer of water through the trees,” he told Bab. “It isn’t much more than a brook, I guess; but at that we ought to find a swimming hole and have some fun.”

“Perhaps we can catch fish, too,” suggested Gerry. “The possibilities of your ancestral estate grow apace, Bab. We’ll be finding a terrace next, or a sunken garden. Even if the treasure hunt fails,” reaching for a roll, “I can see where our summer isn’t entirely wasted.”

The gayety lasted throughout the clearing away of the dishes and afterward, when they gathered around the kitchen table and told stories and gayly planned the details of the treasure hunt.

But when the time came at last when they must face the shadows of those upper rooms--well, that was different!

Armed against the darkness with only two dim oil lamps, they must make their preparations for the night. The trunks were opened and bedding enough taken from them to serve their purpose.

Then, the boys carrying the bedding; the girls, the lamps; and Mrs. Fenwick and Rosa Lee, themselves; they ascended to the upper story.

After a great deal of fussing and nervous giggling, getting sheets on backwards and two pillow cases on one pillow, they soon had enough beds made up to serve them comfortably for the night.

After that hair-raising occurrence in the library, Bab and Gerry were very glad to sleep together.

“We’ll take one of the smaller back rooms,” Gerry decided. “It has a big bed and, some way, I don’t like the large rooms so well.”

Rosa Lee declared uncompromisingly for the little room with the single bed.

Mrs. Fenwick appeared to have no qualms about taking one of the large front rooms. The boys took the twin to this, saying that it looked about as comfortable and cozy as a barn.

As if any of those memory-haunted rooms could be cozy!

Bab shivered and wondered again which room had belonged to her Uncle Jeremiah. But even as she wondered, the girl was conscious of a feeling of disloyalty. Poor old Uncle Jerry! Why, he would not hurt her, if he could!

Nevertheless, she was not anxious to recall the queer happenings of the day--not in these surroundings. Seth Wiggley’s warning to her, the weird experience in the library, the old country-man’s eagerness to get away from the house, even though his escape must be made into the teeth of a storm!

Then came the thought of her grandmother and granddaddy, and once more she was filled with the fierce determination to conquer the old house. If it held a secret, she would discover it!

But the night was long and storm-ridden, and though Gerry slept steadily and placidly, there were hours when Bab Winters’ eyes stared wide and frightened into the dark.

Was she mistaken, or did she hear, once or twice through that darkness, the eerie pattering of feet?

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