The Slipper Point Mystery (novella)/Chapter 3

was the beginning of a close friendship for the two girls. Morning, noon, and evening, during the ensuing month, were they together, always accompanied by Genevieve, who seemed to be entirely in Sally's charge. They exchanged ideas and thoughts, hopes and expectations, on many subjects, but chiefly were they concerned with the curious secret that Sally had imparted on that first memorable day.

Slipper Point was ever the goal of their excursions, and many an hour they spent poring over the strange and cryptic old paper that was evidently the key to all their hopes. But for several weeks they could make nothing of it, turn and twist it as they would. It was Doris, at last, who confided to Sally, one morning, in considerable excitement, that she thought she'd struck something at last.

"I'm not really certain," she declared, "but it just occurred to me that the fact of its being square and the little cave also being square might have some connection. Suppose the floor were divided into squares, just as this paper is. Now, do you notice one thing? Read the letters in their order up from the left hand diagonally. It reads, r-i-g-h-t-s-. and the last square is blank. Now why could n't that mean 'right,' and the last 's' stand for 'square,'—'right square' being that blank one in the extreme corner? All the rest of those letters and figures might then be just a blind, or to fill up the spaces. But I 've noticed this, too. You see the outside lines of squares that lead up to the empty square are just numbers—not letters at all. Now I 've added the number of each line together, and find that the sum of each side is exactly twenty-one. Why would n't it be possible that it means the sides of this empty square are twenty-one—something—inches probably, in length, measured of course, on the floor of the cave. I think the treasure lies in one corner of the cave, in a space twenty-one inches square."

"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried Sally, enthusiastically. "I believe you 've struck it, Doris. Let's go up and look it over right now." They jumped into old "45" without an instant's delay, bundling Genevieve unceremoniously into the stern, and were off in a jiffy.

But their hopes were doomed to considerable disappointment, after a careful examination of the cave. No corner of the flooring exhibited the least trace of anything suggestive, and Sally finally rendered the following disgusted opinion:

"If it's anywhere, it's buried under the boards, I suppose, and they 'll just have to be sawed in two. We 'll come up here to-morrow with some of Dad's tools and begin on it; but it 'll be some piece of work, if you believe me!"

And as there seemed nothing more to be said on the subject, they filed disconsolately out and began roaming about aimlessly in the pine grove at the summit of Slipper Point. Presently, after a long silence, Doris exclaimed:

"Do you realize, Sally, that I 've never yet explored a bit of this region above ground with you? I 've never seen a thing except this bit right about the cave. Why not take me all around here for a way. It might be quite interesting."

Sally looked both surprised and scornful. "There's nothing at all to see around here that's a bit interesting," she declared. "There's just this pine grove and the underbrush, and back there, quite a way back, is an old country road. It is n't even worth getting all hot and tired going to see."

"Well, I don't care, I want to see it!" insisted Doris. "I somehow have a feeling that it would be worth while. And if you are too tired to come with me, I 'll go by myself. You and Genevieve can rest here."

"No, I want to go wis Dowis!" declared Genevieve, scenting a new diversion.

"Well, I 'll go too," laughed Sally. "I'm not as lazy as all that; but I warn you, you won't find anything worth the trouble."

They set off together, scrambling through the scrub-oak and bay-bushes, stopping now and then to pick and devour wild strawberries or gather a great handful of sassafras to chew. All the while Doris gazed about her curiously, asking every now and then a seemingly irrelevant question of Sally.

Presently they emerged from the pine woods and crossed a field covered only with wild blackberry-vines, still bearing their white blossoms. At the farther edge of this field they came upon a sandy road. It wound away in a hot ribbon, till a turn hid it from sight, and the heat of the morning tempted them no farther to explore it.

"This is the road I spoke of," explained Sally, with an "I-told-you-so" expression. "You see it is n't anything at all, only an old back road leading to Manituck. Nobody much comes this way if they can help it—it's so sandy."

"But what's that old house there?" demanded Doris, pointing to an ancient, tumble-down structure not far away. "And is n't it the queerest looking place, one part so gone to pieces and unkept, and that other little wing all nicely fixed up and neat and comfortable!"

It was indeed an odd combination. The structure was a large, old-fashioned farm-house, evidently of a period dating well back in the nineteenth century. The main part had fallen into disuse, as was quite evident from the closed and shuttered windows, the peeling, blistered paint, the unkempt air of being not inhabited. But a tiny ell at one side bore an aspect as different from the main building as could well be imagined. It had lately received a coat of fresh white paint. Its windows were wide opened and daintily curtained with some pretty, but inexpensive, material; the little patch of flower garden in front was trim and orderly.

"I don't understand it," went on Doris. "What place is it?" "Oh, that's only Roundtree's," answered Sally, indifferently. "That's old Miss Roundtree now, coming from the back. She lives there all alone."

As she was speaking, the person in question came into view from around the back of the house, a basket of vegetables in her hand. She had evidently just been picking them in the vegetable garden, a portion of which was visible at the side of the house. She sat down presently on her tiny front porch, removed her large sunbonnet, and began to sort them over. From their vantage-point behind some tall bushes at the roadside, the girls could watch her unobserved.

"I like her looks," whispered Doris, after a moment. "Who is she, and why does she live in this queer little place?"

"I told you her name was Roundtree—Miss Camilla Roundtree," replied Sally. "Most folks around here call her old Miss Camilla. She's awfully poor, though they say her folks were quite rich at one time, and she's quite deaf, too. That big old place was her father's, and I s'pose it's hers now, but she can't afford to keep it up, she has so little money. So she just lives in that small part, and she knits for a living—caps and sweaters and things like that. She does knit beautifully and gets quite a good many orders, especially in summer; but even so, it hardly brings her in enough to live on. She's kind of queer, too, folks think. But I don't see why you 're interested in her."

"I like her looks," answered Doris. "She has a fine face. Somehow she seems to me like a lady—a real lady."

"Well, she sort of puts on airs, folks think, and don't care to associate with everybody," admitted Sally. "But she's awfully good and kind, too. Goes and nurses people when they 're sick or have any trouble, and never charges for it, and all that sort of thing. But, at the same time, she always seems to want to be by herself. She reads lots, too, and has no end of old books. They say they were her father's. Once she lent me one or two, when I went to get her to make a sweater for Genevieve."

"Oh, do you know her?" cried Doris. "How interesting!"

"Why yes, of course I know her. Every one does around here. But I don't see anything very interesting about it."

To tell the truth. Sally was quite puzzled by Doris's absorption in the subject. It was Genevieve who broke the spell. "I's sirsty!" she moaned. "I want a djink. I want Miss Camilla to gi' me a djink!"

"Come on!" cried Doris to Sally. "If you know her, we can easily go over and ask her for a drink. I'm crazy to meet her."

Still wondering, Sally led the way over to the tiny garden, and the three proceeded up the path toward Miss Roundtree.

"Why, good morning!" exclaimed that lady, looking up. Her voice was very soft, and a little toneless, as is often the case with the deaf.

"Good morning!" answered Sally in rather a loud tone, and, a trifle awkwardly, presented Doris. But there was no awkwardness in the manner with which Miss Camilla acknowledged the new acquaintance. Indeed, it was suggestive of an old-time courtesy, now growing somewhat rare. And Doris had a chance to gaze, at closer range, on the fine, high-bred face framed in its neatly parted gray hair.

"Might Genevieve have a drink?" asked Doris, at length. "She seems to be very thirsty."

"Why, assuredly!" exclaimed Miss Camilla. "Come inside, all of you, and rest in the shade." So they trooped indoors into Miss Camilla's tiny sitting-room, while she herself disappeared into the still tinier kitchen at the back. While she was gone, Doris gazed about with a new wonder and admiration in her eyes.

The room was speckless in its cleanliness, and full of many obvious home-made contrivances and makeshifts. Yet there were two or three beautiful pieces of old mahogany furniture, of a satiny finish and ancient date. And on the mantel stood one marvelous little piece of china that, even to Doris's untrained eye, gave evidence of being a rare and costly bit. But Miss Camilla was now coming back, bearing a tray on which stood three glasses of water, a plate of cookies, and three little dishes of delicious strawberries.

"You children must be hungry after your long morning's excursion," she said. "Try these strawberries of mine. They have just come from the garden."

Doris thought she had never tasted anything more delightful than that impromptu little repast. And when it was over she asked Miss Camilla a question, for she had been chatting with her all through it, in decided contrast to the rather embarrassed silence of Sally.

"What is that beautiful little vase, Miss Roundtree, may I ask? I 've been admiring it."

A wonderful light shone suddenly in Miss Camilla's eyes. Here, it was plain, was her hobby. "That's a Sèvres of the Louis XV period," she explained, patting it lovingly. "It is marvelous, is n't it, and all I have left of a very pretty collection. It was my passion once, this china, and I had the means to indulge it. But they are all gone now, all but this one. I used to carry it about with me wherever I traveled. I shall never part with it." The light died out of her eyes as she placed the precious piece back on the mantel.

"Good-by! Come again!" she called after them, as they took their departure. "I always enjoy talking to you children."

When they had retraced their way to the boat, pushed off, and were making all speed for the hotel, Sally suddenly turned to Doris and demanded: "Why in the world are you so interested in Miss Camilla? I 've known her all my life, and I never talked so much to her in all that time as you did this morning."

"Well, to begin with," replied Doris, shipping her oars and facing her friend for a moment, "I think she's a lovely and interesting person. But there's something else beside." She stopped abruptly, and Sally, filled with curiosity, demanded impatiently: "Well?"

Doris's reply almost caused her to lose her oars in her astonishment.

"I think she knows all about that cave!"

(To be continued)