CHAPTER VII

GETTING AWAY

The next day was gorgeous--just such a day as Bab Winters and Gerry Thompson would have chosen for their adventure if they had had any say about it.

Warm and sunny, with a fresh breeze blowing. The scent of roses drifted in at the window and the dazzling gleam of the morning sun roused the two girls from pleasant dreams to joyful reality.

Gerry was first out of bed.

“Up, sluggard!” she cried, sternly gazing at her still sleepy-eyed chum. “You will never catch the ten o’clock train that way. Oh, dear,” searching frantically, “where did I put my clothes?”

“They are here on the chair where you left them last night,” said Bab, rolling over in bed. “Here, catch!”

Gerry caught the flying raiment and giggled.

“Talk about service!” she cried gayly. “I don’t need a lady’s maid. I have Bab!”

“You start calling names,” Bab threatened absently, “and I may not take you to the country with me after all. Come in!”

The gentle tap on the door was followed by Mrs. Winters in person. Bab thought she looked pale and went over and put her arms about her grandmother with more than usual gentleness.

“I wish you were going gold-digging with us, Granny,” she said. “Just think! To-day we start on our treasure hunt! And who knows what lovely news----”

“To say nothing of coffers of gold,” murmured Gerry.

“We may have for you when we come back!”

“The wealth of Midas in bank notes and golden coins,” added Gerry. “Already my fingers begin to tingle----”

“It’s an itching palm you have,” suggested Bab, with a laugh.

She squeezed her grandmother’s shoulders and, reaching up, placed a kiss on the soft cheek.

“We’ll be down in just a minute, Granny,” she promised.

When, a few minutes later, they followed the old lady downstairs, Bab and Gerry were surprised to see Gordon and Charlie Seymour on the steps of the front porch.

“Literally camped on our doorstep!” giggled Gerry.

“Have you come to breakfast?” asked Bab.

At this sarcasm the two boys came to the screen door and looked in at her reproachfully.

“Bab, you misjudge us,” Gordon assured her gravely. “We have been brought up better.”

“Something new to learn every day,” said Gerry, as she opened the door. “However, come in, do! Bab may possibly be able to spare you a fried egg.”

But the boys had already eaten breakfast. They had, they explained, merely risen with the birds so as to be sure of an early start.

The trunks had been sent the day before to Clayton, to be held there until the arrival of the girls and boys.

“Dad will drive us to the station in his car,” Gordon added.

There, in the sunshiny cottage of the Winters, there would have seemed to a casual observer nothing to mar the peace and security of the scene.

But to Bab, watching her grandparents when they did not know themselves observed, a grim specter seemed to hover in the background, throwing a sinister, ugly shadow over the brightness of the scene.

Poverty!

A dreadful thing, putting beyond reach so many of the good things of life, Bab thought--the happy, contented, sure things.

If she could only go to these two dear people who had never denied a wish of hers, who had brought her up to her fifteenth year in happy ignorance of their own struggle and worries, and tell them that she knew their grim secret and loved them and wanted to help them bear it; that she appreciated all they had done for her and sacrificed for her sake!

Dear Granddaddy, joking and laughing with the young folks and stealing, between times, harried anxious glances at the brave, pale face of his wife! And grandmother, with the roses in her soft cheeks faded by nights of weary, anxious vigil!

If she could do something for them; in some way bring back the blessed peace and security that was so necessary for them at this time in their lives!

Gordon Seymour noticed her mood--as strange as it was depressing in one of Bab’s sunny temperament.

“What’s the matter, Bab?” he asked in a low tone. “Lost the lucky ring, or something?”

Bab looked at him and tried to smile, but her lips trembled treacherously and her eyes filled with tears. Under cover of Gerry’s merry chatter, she pushed back her chair and took refuge on the side porch.

There Gordon found her a moment later, her hands grasping the rail and her face very grave as she stared out over the riot of bloom in the rose garden.

“If you don’t want me,” said Gordon awkwardly--for, after all, he was only a boy--“I’ll go away, Bab. But if there’s anything wrong, I’d like awfully to help, if I can.”

“It’s mighty good of you, Gordon,” said Bab, her face turned from him. “But, you see, there isn’t anything you can do--really.”

“Tell me about it,” wheedled the boy.

“Well, it isn’t my secret; and, anyway, you might laugh.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die if I would!” cried Gordon and Bab laughed, with tears in her eyes.

“We’re in dreadful trouble, Don.” It was an old nickname that Bab used only in moments of great friendliness for the boy next door. “And I can’t see any way out, except, maybe, just one--and that’s Uncle Jeremiah’s will.”

She spoke softly, more to herself apparently than to Gordon. But a great light broke over the boy.

“Uncle Jeremiah’s will,” he repeated thoughtfully. “H’m!”

That was it, then! Bab needed money. Probably the old folks were in financial trouble. He laid an eager brown hand over Bab’s on the railing.

“Hurray for Uncle Jerry, then!” he cried. “Don’t you care, Bab! I’ve a notion that before this summer’s work is done you won’t have to worry any more about anything.

“Look there!” he pointed across the hedge to his own house. “Dad is backing the car out of the garage. Time to start on the treasure hunt, Bab!”

His enthusiasm was infectious. Bab flung back her head and turned to him with a smile.

“Here’s luck, Don!” she cried.

“Here’s luck, Bab,” the boy replied. “To Uncle Jerry and his hidden fortune!”

After this toast the two joined hands and rushed into the dining room.

“Hurry up, folks!” cried Bab. “Mr. Seymour is coming in the big car!”

There was a scurry for hats and bags and then they all rushed out to greet Mr. Seymour.

The latter was a handsome man. His ruddy face usually wore a half-smile as though he were good-humoredly laughing at life.

He stepped forward now to greet Mr. and Mrs. Winters, who were to go with the young folks as far as the station.

“You can go on, Dad,” said Gordon. “Pick up Mrs. Fenwick and Rosa Lee on the way, will you? We’re going to get out my car and travel direct to the station.”

“Aye, aye, sir, your commands shall be obeyed,” said the elder Seymour, with ironic gesture of hand to cap.

Gordon grinned and waved and disappeared among the mass of shrubbery that bordered the Seymour drive. A few moments later Gordon’s long blue car slid backward down the drive, nearly colliding with the distinguished-looking gray chassis belonging to his father.

“Watch your step!” commanded the latter, with a wave of his hand toward his son. At the same moment his foot pressed the accelerator sharply and the car darted down the road.

Gordon followed, nobly resisting the desire to race his father’s car. The lad reached the station first, however, since it was necessary for Mr. Seymour to turn off the main road and gather up Mrs. Fenwick and Rosa Lee on the way to the station.

In fact, they were so long delayed that Bab became uneasy.

“Why don’t they come?” she thought anxiously.

It was nearly train time. To miss it would be little short of tragedy. And of course they could not stir a step without their chaperon and Rosa Lee, the cook.

“Here comes the train!” cried Gerry.

Bab turned startled eyes up the track.

“They’ll be late!” she cried tragically. “Gerry, we’ve simply got to hold that train until they come!”

“Here they come now!” called Charlie Seymour.

Sure enough, as the train sped toward the station the nose of the gray car shot around the corner. The machine stopped on one side of the platform as the train drew in at the other.

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