CHAPTER XII

REGGIE POSTS A LETTER

“I really think Bermuda is a rather jolly place, after all,” Reggie Starr spoke in a tone of satisfaction, as he stretched himself comfortably on the warm sand of the South Beach, and gazed lazily out over the blue, blue water.

“It is pretty nice,” Bobby Campbell admitted, “especially the donkeys and the swimming. The glass-bottomed boats are rather fun, too, but still, I like the Adirondacks better, don’t you, Kathleen?”

It was Tuesday afternoon, and the two Campbells, Reggie and Nora, had all come over to South Beach, chaperoned by Sarah, and Marie, the nurse of Mrs. Allen’s two-year-old baby, who was also of the party. Three donkey carts had been secured for the occasion, and the ride to the beach had been a very pleasant one. And now they were comfortably established on the sand, the donkeys having been tied in the shade to await their return, while the drivers, three small Bermudian boys, went for a swim. At Bobby’s question, Nora looked up with a start from the sand fort she was building for the small Percy Allen, who had taken a sudden and violent fancy to “Tathleen.”

“I don’t believe any place in the world can be nicer than this,” she said, guardedly. “I never supposed anything could be quite so clear and blue as that water, and there are so many interesting things to do here.”

“I like the Adirondacks best, though,” maintained Bobby. “Don’t you remember what fun we had that time Marjorie and I came to stay with you at Big Moose?”

“Don’t talk to me just now,” said Nora, hoping that nobody would notice her heightened color. “Percy and I are very busy; aren’t we, Percy?”

“’Es, us is,” responded Percy, who was an adorable baby, and a great pet with both his cousins. “Don’t ’sturb us, Bobby; Tathleen’s ’musin’ me.”

Bobby laughed, and threw a handful of sand at his small cousin, but in a minute he went on with his reminiscences, though this time not directly addressing Nora.

“We did have fun that time at Big Moose. I sha’n’t forget the day I caught that five-pound trout, or the time Kathleen went out in the canoe by herself, and it tipped over. It was a lucky thing she could swim.”

“Kathleen can’t swim,” said Reggie, pausing in the act of making a comfortable sand pillow for himself. “She told me so on the boat.”

“Can’t swim!” cried Bobby, incredulously. “Why, she swims like a fish. I never knew but one other girl who could swim as well as Kathleen, and she went out too far one day, and nearly got drowned.”

Reggie cast a puzzled glance from Bobby to Nora, who was, to all appearances, completely absorbed in her sand fort. Marjorie--who was still feeling rather resentful, notwithstanding the olive branch--tossed her head, and remarked sarcastically--

“Seems to me Kathleen told a good many fairy-tales on the boat. Perhaps she was seasick, and it made her delirious.”

Reggie reddened. He liked the supposed Kathleen much better than he did Marjorie, and he had no intention of getting his new friend into any further trouble if he could prevent it.

“Maybe I was mistaken,” he said, carelessly. “Perhaps she said she couldn’t swim. Wait a minute, Kathleen; I’m coming to help with that fort.”

Nora said nothing, but the look she gave Reggie was a very grateful one. She had been in Bermuda for nearly two days, and it seemed to her as though her difficulties increased with every hour. So far she had succeeded in keeping her secret, but she was in constant terror lest some chance word or act might betray her, and the nervous strain was beginning to tell on her. More than once she had caught Mr. Crawford’s eyes fixed upon her with such a startled, troubled look in them, that she felt sure she must have said or done something which had struck him as strange or unusual. They had gone for a long drive that morning, and she had scarcely dared open her lips, for fear of making some mistake. Twice Mr. Crawford had asked her if she did not feel well, and she had seen him talking very earnestly with Mrs. Carew after luncheon, and felt an uncomfortable conviction that she had been the subject of conversation. She had hailed the prospect of going with Reggie and the Campbells to the beach as a great relief. At least for a couple of hours, she would be free from the watchful anxiety of Kathleen’s daddy. But this respite had its limitations, for even with the Campbells she must be very careful.

But chief of all Nora’s worries was the fact that she had not yet been able to procure the necessary postage stamp for her mother’s letter. She was still carrying it in her pocket, and it was already Tuesday afternoon. So it was only natural that her thoughts should wander more than once from little Percy’s sand fort, and that Bobby’s remark about Kathleen’s swimming should have added another to her many causes for anxiety.

When the fort was completed, and Reggie and Bobby had joined in a romp with the baby, in response to that young man’s peremptory demand--Marjorie, who considered herself too old for romps, had closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Nora strolled slowly away from the others, and began idly picking up shells. The shells were very pretty, but Nora scarcely noticed them. She was wondering what Mummy and Kathleen were doing at this very moment. But she had not gone far when she was recalled to her present surroundings by the voice of the faithful Sarah.

“Where are you going, Miss Kathleen?”

“Nowhere in particular,” said Nora, coming to a sudden halt. “I thought I would just take a little walk. I won’t go far.”

“Come right back and sit down,” commanded Sarah. “Your papa told me not to let you out of my sight. I can’t tramp in this sand; it tires my feet, and you can just as well stay here with Miss Marjorie.”

With a sigh, Nora returned to her seat, her hands full of the shells she had gathered. Marjorie yawned and opened her eyes.

“Oh, what lovely shells!” she exclaimed, admiringly, as Nora spread out her treasures on the sand. “I’d like to gather some, too, but it’s too hot to move.”

“Would you like these?” inquired Nora, eagerly. “If you would I’ll sell them to you--I’ll sell them for five cents.”

Marjorie’s eyes grew round with astonishment.

“Sell them!” she repeated incredulously; “sell those old shells! Kathleen Crawford, I really think you must be crazy. What in the world do you want to sell anything for?”

“Why, because I want the money, of course,” faltered Nora, blushing. “There isn’t any harm in selling things, is there? I only want five cents.”

Marjorie burst into a peal of such genuine laughter that both the boys paused in their storming of the sand fort to inquire what was so funny.

“It’s Kathleen,” said Marjorie; “she wants to sell her shells for five cents, and she has a bigger allowance than all the rest of us put together.”

“I haven’t,” protested Nora; “at least--at least I mean I haven’t any money to-day, and I want five cents very much indeed. I don’t like to borrow money, but I thought perhaps I could sell----”

“Oh, don’t be a goose, Kathleen,” interrupted Marjorie, impatiently. “You always were a queer girl in some ways, but you’ve been positively weird since you came down here. If you want five cents why in the world don’t you ask your father for it? You never had any trouble about asking him for things before.”

“Then you won’t buy the shells?” said Nora, with a catch in her voice.

“Of course I won’t; I never heard of anything quite so silly. I don’t want your old shells; I can get plenty for myself.”

[Illustration: “I WOULDN’T MIND BUYING THEM MYSELF, BUT FIVE CENTS IS TOO CHEAP.”--_Page 175._]

There were tears in Nora’s eyes, but she said nothing, and sat gazing down at the little pile of shells in her lap. Marjorie closed her eyes again, and for a few minutes nothing happened. Then little Percy, tired of being “stormed,” was rescued by his nurse, and Reggie and Bobby returned to their former places in the sand.

“I say! those are pretty shells,” remarked Reggie, in a tone of would-be enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t mind buying them myself, but five cents is too cheap. Won’t you take a quarter?”

Nora’s cheeks were crimson, but the look she gave Reggie said more than words could have done.

“You are very kind,” she said, “but I won’t take more than five cents. If you’ll take the shells for that, I shall be ever so much obliged.”

“What in the world do you want to do with that five cents?” demanded Marjorie, suddenly opening her eyes, and sitting up. Curiosity was getting the better of injured dignity.

“I want to buy a postage stamp,” said Nora, simply.

“A postage stamp!” shrieked Marjorie, in a tone of such utter scorn and disbelief that more tears started to poor Nora’s eyes. There was no use trying to explain; every word she uttered seemed only to make matters worse. But she had not counted on Reggie’s championship.

“Oh, do shut up, Marjorie,” he burst out, indignantly. “Suppose Kathleen does want five cents to buy a postage stamp with, I don’t see that it’s any of our business. People don’t always have to tell things they don’t choose to. Come along, Kathleen, let’s go and look for some more shells.”

Nora scrambled to her feet, hastily wrapping the shells in her handkerchief. Speech would not have been easy at that moment, but fortunately, it was unnecessary, for Reggie announced his intentions to Sarah.

“Kathleen and I are going for a little walk. I’ll take care of her.”

“Mind you don’t go too far,” warned Sarah. “Mr. Crawford’s orders were that I wasn’t to let Miss Kathleen get overheated, or tired.”

Reggie promised not to go far, and the two children sauntered slowly away together. Marjorie, now fully awake, gazed after them, with a startled expression in her eyes.

“Bobby,” she said in a low tone to her brother, as the other two passed out of ear-shot, “I believe there’s something queer the matter with Kathleen. I’m rather scared about her.”

“What is there to be scared about?” inquired Bobby. “She always was rather spoiled, you know. I don’t see that she’s much queerer than usual.”

“I do,” said Marjorie, solemnly; “she isn’t the least bit like herself. If she wants a postage stamp, why in the world doesn’t she ask her father or Sarah for it? And it isn’t only that; she’s been queer about lots of things ever since she came here. I asked her this morning if she had seen Sylvia Seymour since we came away, and she looked so queer, almost as if she didn’t know what I was talking about. I asked her what the matter was, and she said nothing was the matter, and she hadn’t seen ‘that girl,’ but her face was so red, and she looked dreadfully embarrassed. Think of her speaking of Sylvia as ‘that girl,’ when she’s known her as long as I have. Do you suppose--it seems an awful thing to say, but do you suppose she can be losing her mind?”

“Bosh!” said Bobby, “of course she isn’t. Maybe she’s just pretending to be queer on purpose to get us excited about her.”

Marjorie shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Kathleen is spoiled, and rather hard to get on with sometimes, but she wouldn’t do a thing like that. There was a girl at school who studied so hard that it affected her brain. She had to have a trained nurse, and go to a sanitarium.”

“What became of her afterwards?” Bobby asked.

“She died,” said Marjorie, solemnly. “Oh, Bobby,” she added, her voice beginning to tremble, “wouldn’t it be awful if anything like that happened to Kathleen? I really am fond of her, you know, and the more I think of it, the more sure I feel she would never have told Reggie Starr she didn’t know us if she’d been in her right mind. I’m going to tell Auntie Ruth about what I think, the minute I get back to the hotel, and she can tell Mr. Crawford if she thinks he ought to know.”

“Well, perhaps it would be a good plan,” agreed Bobby, “and, I say, Marjorie, let’s be nice to Kathleen, no matter what she says. We’d feel so mean afterwards, you know, if we found she couldn’t help it.”

Meanwhile Nora and Reggie had walked some distance in silence. Nora was having trouble with her eyes, and Reggie, too polite to appear to notice, was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. He hated to see a girl cry. Kathleen was certainly the queerest girl he had ever met, but they had had some good times together on the boat, and he was genuinely sorry for her. It was Nora who was the first to speak.

“It was awfully good of you to offer to buy those shells,” she said, gratefully. “I’m afraid they’re not really worth five cents, but you have no idea how much I want that stamp.”

Reggie stood digging his toes into the sand for a moment in silence; then he blurted out abruptly--

“I suppose you’re in a scrape, and don’t want your father or Sarah to see some letter you’ve written.”

“Yes, that’s it; that’s just it!” cried Nora. “Oh, Reggie, I am in an awful scrape. I’d give anything in the world to be able to tell you about it, but I can’t. If I told it would get somebody I love very much into dreadful trouble, and I would rather die than do that.”

“You mustn’t tell if it’s as bad as that,” said Reggie, choking down his own curiosity with difficulty. “Is the person you’re afraid of getting into trouble all right?”

“She’s the loveliest person in the world,” declared Nora. “She never did anything wrong; never since she was born, and I love her--oh, I can’t tell you how much I love her. It’s all my fault, and it wouldn’t ever have happened if I hadn’t done something wrong in the first place. I disobeyed, and that was the beginning of all the trouble.”

“I see,” said Reggie, thoughtfully; “then of course you can’t tell. I wish you’d tell me just one thing, though. What made you say you didn’t know the Campbells when you did?”

Nora looked very much distressed.

“I wish I could explain,” she said, hopelessly, “but I can’t, not without telling the rest. I know you must all think me terribly queer, and the worst of it is, I shall never be able to explain anything.”

“Never!” exclaimed Reggie, incredulously. “You mean we won’t ever understand?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Nora. “I’m afraid you’ll always have to go on thinking me queer, and--and--oh, I’m so dreadfully sorry!” And the poor child covered her face with her hands, and burst into a perfect tempest of crying.

Reggie was very much distressed. He longed to comfort Nora, but all he could think of to say was--

“Oh, do stop crying. There isn’t any use, you know. I don’t want to hear anything you can’t tell, so let’s come along and look for some more shells. Oh, by the way, here’s that five cents you wanted.” And embarrassed Reggie plunged a hand into his trousers pocket.

Nora clasped the precious coin as if it had been gold instead of copper, and having hastily transferred it to her own pocket, she checked her sobs, dried her eyes, and, with a mighty effort, plunged into the interesting occupation of looking for shells.

When Nora and Reggie rejoined the Campbells, some fifteen minutes later, they were both surprised by the decided change in the atmosphere. Marjorie greeted Nora affectionately, even slipping an arm round her, as they sat side by side on the sand, and Bobby asked to look at the shells.

“They are beauties,” remarked Marjorie, amiably, as Nora spread out her treasures. “I wish we had shells like that at home.”

“Reggie says he has some wonderful things that he picked up in Egypt,” said Nora, who was feeling immensely relieved, now that the certainty of being able to post her letter was assured. “Did he ever tell you about the time he and a little English girl got lost on the desert?” The Campbells had heard the story, but did not appear averse to hearing it again, and Reggie acceded readily to Marjorie’s request to relate his exciting experience. Reggie was rather proud of that Egyptian episode, and told his story well, ending with the dramatic appearance on the scene of the father of his little English friend.

“Now you tell us a story, Kathleen,” said Reggie, when he had brought his own tale to a satisfactory conclusion. “You tell splendid stories.”

“Do you, Kathleen?” inquired Marjorie, in surprise, “I never heard you tell a story.”

“She told me some first-rate ones on the boat,” maintained Reggie. “She makes them up as she goes along, don’t you, Kathleen?”

“Sometimes I do,” said Nora, modestly.

“Make up one now,” urged Marjorie, who, to tell the truth, was rather sceptical of her friend’s powers of invention. “It’s too hot to do anything else, and we might as well sit here till we go back to the hotel.”

Nora hesitated for a moment, and then she began in a rather dreamy voice:

“Once upon a time there were a father and mother who had two twin baby girls. The babies were so exactly alike that nobody in the world could tell them apart except their mother. The father and mother loved their babies dearly, but they were very poor. The father was terribly clever, and wrote beautiful poetry and plays, but most people didn’t appreciate his things, so the publishers wouldn’t take them, and he couldn’t make any money. At last he was taken ill, and the poor little mother had to take care of them all, and work very hard to earn enough money to keep them from being hungry.

“One day a fairy came to the flat where they were living, and she said: ‘I know of a king and queen who live in a beautiful palace, and have everything they want in the world to make them happy, except just one; they want a baby girl. I have promised to find a baby for them, and I want you to let me have one of your twins.’

“The father and mother were very angry at first, and said they would never, never part with one of their children, but things kept getting worse and worse, and the poor father was so ill that the doctor said if he couldn’t have medicines and nourishing food he would surely die. And the fairy kept on coming, and trying to persuade them. So at last one day, when the father was very ill indeed, and there wasn’t anything in the house to eat, the little mother went to church, and prayed for a long time, and when she came home she told the father that she had decided to give the fairy one of her babies for the king and queen. Her heart was almost broken, but she knew it was the only thing to do. So they sent for the fairy.

“The fairy was delighted, and she came right away in a cab.”

“I didn’t know fairies ever rode in cabs,” laughed Marjorie.

Nora blushed.

“This was a very modern fairy,” she said. “When she was ready to take the baby away, the mother couldn’t make up her mind which of her twins to part with, so she made the father go into the room where they were both asleep, and he chose one, but he couldn’t tell which it was.”

“What were the babies’ names?” inquired Bobby, who liked detail.

“Their names were--were--oh, suppose we call them Violet and Lilybell. The father happened to choose Violet, but he didn’t know it till afterwards.

“The fairy took little Violet to the marble palace, and the king and queen were delighted with her. They dressed her in satins and laces, and when she was old enough to play with toys, they bought her the most expensive things they could find. She used to play in a beautiful garden, and sometimes her mother and Lilybell would come and peep at her through the railings. They never could speak to Violet, or let her know they were there, because the mother had promised the fairy never to bother the king and queen, or to let Violet know they were not her real father and mother. It made the poor mother very sad never to be able to speak to her own little girl, and Lilybell used to wish and wish that she could do something about it.

“At last, when the twins were about twelve years old, it happened that Lilybell went alone one day to look through the railings into the beautiful garden. While she was standing there a wonderful thing happened. One of the palace servants came along, and thought Lilybell was Violet, because you see the twins were still so much alike nobody could possibly tell them apart. At first Lilybell tried to explain to the servant, and then, all at once, she had a great temptation. She had always wanted to get inside that palace more than to do anything else in the world. So she stopped talking, and just let the maid push her through the garden gate and straight into the palace. Then the servant went away, thinking everything was all right, and Lilybell was left alone. There weren’t any people about, and she went on up the marble stairs to a beautiful room and there, sitting writing a letter, she found Violet.

“Of course Violet was very much astonished to see another girl so exactly like herself, and she began asking questions, and before Lilybell realized the dreadful thing she was doing, she had told her the whole story, about her mother, and the fairy, and the king and queen. Then Violet grew very much excited, and said she must know her own mother, who loved her so dearly, and at last she persuaded Lilybell to change clothes with her, and take her place in the palace, while she went to see her own mother.

“At first it all seemed quite easy, and the twins thought they would be able to change back again the very next day, but that night the king suddenly decided to go away on a long journey and take Violet with him. Poor Lilybell was terribly frightened, but she was afraid to tell any one what had happened, for fear her mother might be punished for letting Violet stay with her all night, so she had to keep on pretending and pretending, and it got harder and harder, and----”

“Come, children, time to go home,” called Sarah’s peremptory voice. “The boys say they must get their donkeys back to the hotel before six.”

“Oh, bother!” exclaimed Reggie, impatiently; “there isn’t any hurry. Finish the story first, Kathleen.” But Nora was already on her feet.

“I can’t,” she said. “We’ve got to go. Anyhow, I don’t know the end yet.”

“It’s a rather silly story,” remarked Marjorie. “Of course such a thing could never really happen, and I don’t care much for fairy-tales any more. I’m beginning to read Dickens and Scott, you know.”

“I’d like to know what happened when the king and queen found out,” said Reggie, who had not outgrown his love of stories. “Can’t you hurry and make up the rest, Kathleen?”

But Nora was saved the necessity of a reply, for at that moment she was seized upon by the small Percy Allen, who had just wakened from a nap in his nurse’s lap, and now desired to “do home in de tart wis Tathleen.” So Nora--who adored babies--was relegated to the donkey cart with Percy and Marie, and Marjorie, Sarah and the two boys, took their places in the other carts.

It was not until they were entering the hotel that Nora found an opportunity for a private word with Reggie, but then she managed to drop behind Sarah long enough to whisper to her friend:

“Will you do something for me, Reggie?”

“You bet I will!” was Reggie’s hearty assurance.

Nora hastily drew something from her pocket, and thrust it into his hand.

“Buy a stamp and post this letter,” she whispered. “Here’s your five cents back. Sarah won’t let me go to the office by myself, and she’s always around. It’s a terribly important letter. Will you be sure it gets off on the steamer to-morrow morning?”

“Sure,” promised Reggie, with a confident nod, and then Sarah turned to see why her charge was lingering behind, and there was no time for more conversation.

Five minutes later the precious letter was safely deposited in the mail-box, and Reggie was on his way to his own room. He was more than a little curious, but, being a gentleman, he felt he had no right to bother his friend with questions, and he had been careful not to look at the address on the letter.

“She’s all right, I know she is,” he told himself confidently. “People do get into awful scrapes sometimes, and their friends ought to help them out. I rather like her, too, but I wish she hadn’t told that fib about not knowing the Campbells.”