CHAPTER VII

THE GHOST OF THE ISLAND

SUMMER had passed; autumn too, with its crisp, frosty nights and sunshiny days, and its forest foliage glowing with a glory of crimson and gold, the dress put on by all the trees save the solemn pines and firs, which still kept to the sombre hues of their evergreen.

Yes, winter had come; not as it comes here, with an occasional short spell of frost and fall of snow alternating with south-west winds and rain, but stern, white, and still, with unbreaking frost, and trees ghost-clad, and grand, polished, gleaming snow-roads, over which the Finnish sledge-carts glided smoothly, the bells on the horses tinkling bravely.

The whole wide lake was one sheet of glass, out of which, in solemn, solitary grandeur, rose the island, bare now of green,—a great giant with a hoary head, and with his mantle lined and furred here and there with pure white snow.

In the cottage of Grubert Reuss there was once more the happiness of reunion, for the father had returned to his home. But the family were poorer than ever before, for the man's right arm was disabled by his injury, and was unfit for a woodcutter's work; and Tonie, whom Philip Bexal had taken on instead, had neither strength nor experience as yet to do a full day's work, and therefore only earned half-pay.

Still Grubert was not idle. Though his right arm had not power to wield the axe, his hand had not lost its cunning, and now that he could not employ himself in felling timber in the forest, he set to work to make use of his time at home. Many were the ingenious toys, the pretty carved boxes and useful vessels, which he made out of wood. Some he polished, others he painted, and when he had completed a goodly number, he carried or sent them to Klingengolf, where a dealer was willing to take all he could make.

Tonie and Blonda, too, were fully occupied, and were never idle a moment. The former was out in the woods all day, helping to fell timber and cart it down to the river bank some miles away, while the latter, when not busy with sweeping, cooking, washing, or mending, sat down to her loom and wove yard after yard of coarse linen towelling, which Grubert took to sell in the town when he had goods of his own of which to dispose.

Almost the only recreation that the children had was to bind on their skates, and hand in hand to fly off and explore the lake. Like swallows they skimmed the surface, fearless and sure of their footing. Now and again a solitary wolf, or even a pair of wolves, might be seen skulking across the ice, but the animals seemed to pay no heed to the little skaters, and they in their turn did not trouble their heads about them. One or two wolves were not dangerous, and the young folks never went so far from home as to run the risk of encountering these creatures in any numbers.

The good pastor was working away among his people as hard as ever. With the autumn came illness to the village, and the old man's strength had been sorely tried by the demands made upon it; and even now, when the condition of Carfoos was healthy once more, he had hardly recovered his usual vigour.

As for the Valdens, they had indeed moved away; but they had not gone far; and though just at first they kept quiet, and nothing was heard of them, now again there had begun to be circulated rumours that spoke of quantities of wood mysteriously stolen, snares robbed that had been set for hares and birds. Birch trees were being despoiled of, their bark, and even frozen venison, frozen pigs and game and poultry, had been stolen out of the sheds where the villagers stored their marketable provisions to be in readiness for taking to town to sell.

As for Freskel, he still haunted the home of the pastor, though not as much as he had done before his father and brothers left Carfoos. But there was a great change in the lad, which the pastor could not but see, and which, he felt assured, dated back to that night when Freskel had been of such signal service to the children at the woodcutter's cottage, and in saving from the covetous hands of Dorlat and Hervitz, Rolf Bresser's bag of money.

Pastor Oshart knew not what to make now of the boy's strange moods, for Freskel went about as one in a dream, sometimes seeming quite unreasonably elated, and at others downcast and shrinking guiltily, as though conscious of doing wrong. To all questions the youth returned evasive replies, and even his love for the pastor could not induce him to make a confidant of his old friend. Some strange spell seemed to be about Freskel, some bad influence was slowly but surely undermining his happiness and dragging him down.

And now, at this time, once more it was reported that the Isle of Ghosts was haunted, and the glimmer of a ghostly light and the flitting of a shadowy form had been seen at night from the shores of the lake.

Connecting these reports with Freskel Valden's frequent and unaccounted for absences, the good pastor came to the conclusion that the poor, half-witted lad had become possessed by a mad passion for the ill-gotten gold which tradition said still lay hidden in some corner of the island, and that the ghost which haunted that lonely pile of rock was none other than Freskel himself. Pastor Oshart, however, said nothing to any one about his suspicions, for he hoped gradually to bring some better influence to bear upon the poor youth's heart and life,—some strong motive which would overcome the greed of riches which he inherited from his father and shared with his wicked brothers, Dorlat and Hervitz.

The good old man did not for one moment believe that any treasure existed at all on the island, save in the imagination of a few foolish or idle people. But he dreaded—and rightly—the strength of an absorbing, covetous passion on such a mind as that of poor Freskel, which was only too apt to lend itself to delusions of all sorts.

"Father," said Blonda to Grubert one afternoon as she sat down to her loom, "Father, hadst thou any special need for some of this linen last night or this morning?"

"No, my child; why?" asked Grubert.

"Because I see that quite a long piece of it is gone," replied the girl. "When I put away my work last evening, at supper-time, I had two rolls of linen, and had begun a third, and now I see that one of them is not here."

"Strange!" remarked Grubert. "Has Tonie taken it for any purpose?"

"Hast thou taken a roll of my towelling, Tonie?" asked Blonda, for her brother came in just at that moment.

"I? No, little sister; what should I want with it?" replied the boy, in great surprise.

"It is quite impossible that it should have been stolen," said Grubert, "for no one comes here but our dear pastor and poor Freskel Valden."

"Was Freskel here this morning?" asked Tonie.

"Yes," answered his father. "He came just after breakfast, when thou wert one out into the forest and Blonda to the goat shed."

"What could he want at so early an hour, I wonder!" said Tonie. "Why, he must have risen at about three o'clock in the morning to come all the way from where the Valdens live now. What could have been his purpose?"

"Who can tell?" said Grubert. "Thou knowest how strange he is, with his whims and his fancies. He sat down here in the kitchen by the fire, and warmed himself, and presently I left him, for I had promised to see Pastor Oshart as early as I could. When we all returned to dinner, as thou knowest, Blonda, Freskel was no longer here."

"It is strange! Passing strange!" said Blonda.

But as there was no accounting for her loss, the subject was dropped, and nothing more was said about it.

That evening our two little Finns strapped on their skates, and set out for an hour's exercise and recreation on the lake. It was a glorious night; there was no wind, the moon rode high and clear in a cloudless sky, and the stars, like ten thousand luminous eyes, peered down upon the little skaters, as with long, easy sweeps they glided, hand in hand, across the beautiful sheet of ice that reflected the moonlight like a mirror.

As the children neared the island they slackened their pace.

"I wonder," said Tonie, "if there is any truth in the old tradition about this place! Think, Blonda, what it would be if thou and I could but light upon the treasure hidden so long! How rich we should be, and how happy! And—"

"Hush, hush, Tonie; speak not so," cried Blonda. "If gold lies buried in that island, there let it lie for me! After all, it was all ill-gotten booty, if the story of the robber band be true, and such treasure will bring a curse, and not a blessing. No, Tonie, father is right when he tells us not to suffer our minds to dwell on such matters, lest the longing after filthy lucre come between us and God. For thou knowest what our Lord saith in His word:

"'For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.'"

Tonie did not reply, but suddenly digging the heel of his skate into the ice, he stopped short, and his sister, rather startled, did the same. Then he whispered eagerly, as he pointed towards the island, which was now close to them, "Hush, Blonda; didst thou see that?"

Blonda followed the direction in which her brother's finger was pointing.

"I see nothing," she said softly. "What should I see?"

"Didst thou not see that light? It flashed an instant and was gone. Up there it was, just between those two peaks. There, there it is again! Oh, Blonda, can it be the ghost after all?"

"Nonsense, Tonie!" replied the little girl stoutly. "Thou knowest that there are no ghosts; has not our father told us so again and again?"

"Then what sayest thou—and what would our father say—to that?" muttered Tonie under his breath, as from behind a huge rock there came in sight a strange, shapeless white as the snow around.

For a moment it stood motionless; then, with a doleful, unearthly cry, it vanished as suddenly as though the rock had opened and swallowed it up.

For some minutes the children waited to see if the ghost re-appeared, but their waiting was in vain, and presently they turned homeward, too full of their adventure to care to prolong their skating expedition.

They were, however, scarcely half-way back to the shore, when they met two men muffled up in sheep-skin coats, and wearing huge felt boots, which prevented their slipping on the ice.

"Dorlat and Hervitz Valden," said Tonie, when they had passed.

"Yes; I wonder what brings them out here!" answered Blonda. "Thinkest thou, Tonie, that they are going to brave the ghost of the island—or the thing that pretends to be a ghost—and to make a search for the treasure?"

"How can I tell, Blonda? But one thing I know, little sister, whether a ghost be a dangerous neighbour or no, Dorlat and Hervitz Valden are dangerous enough, as we know by experience. I glanced over my shoulder but now, and saw those evil brothers standing and looking after us. Come, let us get home!"

Once more taking hands, the children glided swiftly away, and when they next looked back, Dorlat and Hervitz were nowhere to be seen, and the whole wide expanse of frozen water lay bathed in moonlight, save only where the Isle of Ghosts cast a black shadow, its tall, jagged peaks seeming to form upon the clear ice the long fingers of a giant hand, feeling about for something to clutch and to destroy.

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