CHAPTER XIV
The Villa Bleue
Delia's good resolution remained only half fulfilled, for after all shevisited Count Sutri's cove again. This time, however, it was in aperfectly orthodox fashion. Mr. and Mrs. Bond, meeting Miss Morley atthe house of an American resident in Fossato, invited the whole schoolto come and view the garden on Sunday afternoon, and clad in their bestdresses the girls paraded in through the gate, and were shown thebeauties of the lovely grounds. They were taken in relays down in thelift to the creek by the sea, and afterwards entertained with ice-creamand biscuits on the terrace in front of the villa, which was all veryinteresting and delightful, though not nearly so exciting as thesurreptitious peep which the naughty trio had previously obtained ontheir own account. Mr. Bond might indeed be silent on the subject ofthat afternoon's adventure, but the expedition into his grounds had beenonly a part of Peachy's pranks in her game of "Follow the Leader," andfor one of her sins at any rate she was to be called to account. Thecistern on the top of the roof supplied a tap on the upper landing fromwhich Anastasia, one of the chambermaids, was accustomed to draw waterwith which to fill the bedroom jugs.
On the morning after the events just narrated she took her can as usual,but was utterly horrified, when she turned the tap, to find the waterrunning red. She was intensely superstitious, and immediately jumped tothe conclusion that she was the victim of witchcraft, so she flung herapron over her head, commenced to sob, and deplored the early deathwhich would probably overtake her. She sat on the landing making quite ascene, prophesying evil to the other servants who crowded round tocondole and marvel, and showing the bewitched water in her jug with amixture of importance and horror. The girls who occupied rooms on theupper landing were duly thrilled, and, after debating every possible orimpossible solution of the mystery, were on the point of carrying thetale to Miss Rodgers when Peachy came hurrying along.
"I've only just heard. Don't, _don't_ go to the 'Ogre's Den' about it.If you love me don't. I guess I know what's happened. The water's _not_bewitched. If you've any sense left in your silly head come with me onto the roof and we'll look at the cistern. We'll soon find out what'sthe matter. Callie, lend me your butterfly-net, that's a saintly girl!"
Anastasia, though somewhat protesting, allowed herself to be persuaded,and went with Peachy first to the kitchen floor and then up the ironstaircase to the roof. Approaching the cistern Peachy climbed on to itsedge, lowered her butterfly-net, and presently fished up a wet anddraggled scarlet ribbon which stained her fingers red as she held it outto Anastasia's astonished gaze.
"I guess it's this that has been bleeding inside the tank and hasstained the water," she explained.
"But, Signorina, I ask how it place itself there?" demanded the stillpuzzled chambermaid in her halting English, then mother-witovermastering native superstition, she burst into laughter. "Oh! Oh! Oh!It is no magic but you, Signorina. Who hid my towels? I go to tell MeesRodgers. Yes! You shall get into very big scrape!"
"No, Anastasia, don't tell," implored Peachy. "It was only a joke. Lookhere! Are you fond of chocolates? I had a box sent me yesterday, and youshall have them all. It won't do any good to tell Miss Rodgers, willit?"
"You not come on to this roof again and touch my towels?" concededAnastasia doubtfully.
"Never! I promise faithfully."
"Then I not tell."
"Good! You're a white angel. I'll square the girls and get them not tomind washing in pink water for a day or two. It ought to improve theircomplexions. So we'll just say nothing at all about it at headquarters.That's settled. Anastasia, your English is improving wonderfully; Iguess I'll teach you some American next--it's the finest language in theworld. Botheration, I've soused Callie's butterfly-net. I don't knowwhat she'll say about it. I'm out of one scrape into another the wholetime. Well, I'd rather face Callie than Miss Rodgers anyhow. She maystorm, but she can't give me bad marks or stop my next exeat. Comealong, Anastasia. We'll take the ribbon with us to show as a trophy. Itwill give them a little bit of a surprise downstairs if I'm notmistaken."
Owing to luck, and to the kindness of Anastasia, Peachy's pranks didnot on this occasion meet with any punishment. Irene, who had beengreatly fearing an exposure of the whole escapade, once more breathedfreely. If the matter had come to the ears of Miss Rodgers the threegirls would certainly have been "gated," and Irene was particularlyanxious not to lose her approaching exeat. It was her turn to go to teaat the Villa Bleue, and she was looking forward greatly to the occasion.It would be her first visit, for she had forfeited her privilege earlierin the term, when she and Lorna lost themselves among the olive groves.Much to their satisfaction the buddies were invited together, in companywith Mary, Sheila, Monica, and Winnie, who were also on the good conductlist. Of course there was considerable prinking in front of thelooking-glasses, careful adjusting of hair ribbons and other trifles oftoilet, before the girls considered themselves in party trim and readyto do credit to the Villa Camellia. Escorted by Miss Brewster, who actedchaperon, or "policewoman" as Sheila insisted on calling her, theywalked in orderly file down the eucalyptus avenue to the town, past thehotel, along the esplanade, and up a steep incline to the Villa Bleue.The hospitable little parsonage seemed an exact materialization of thepersonality of its owners. Canon and Mrs. Clark were both small andsmiling and charitable and particularly kind, and their tinyunpretentious dwelling, with its sunny aspect and its flowers and itspet birds, was absolutely in keeping with their tone of mind. From somehouses seem to emanate certain mental atmospheres, as if they reflectedthe sum total of the thoughts that have collected there, and sensitivevisitors receive subconscious impressions of chilly magnificence,intellectual activity or a spirit of general tolerance.
The Villa Bleue always felt radiant with kind and cheery impulses, andits flower-covered walls seemed almost to shine as the girls, secure ofa welcome, parted from Miss Brewster, and ran up the steps to thepleasant veranda. Mrs. Clark made them at home at once. She had six cosybasket-chairs waiting for them, and a plateful of most delicious almondtaffy, and she installed them to sit and admire the view, while shetalked and put them at their ease. Schoolgirls are notoriously bashfulvisitors, and in certain circumstances all six would have been mum asmice and entirely devoid of conversation except a conventional yes orno, but with dear Mrs. Clark's beaming face and warm-hearted manner todisarm their shyness they were perfectly natural, and enjoyed themselvesas entirely as if they were at a dormitory tea or a sorority supper. Thebest part about Mrs. Clark was that she had the happy knack offorgetting her age and throwing herself back into the mental environmentof sixteen. She was certainly not a stiff hostess; indeed her treatmentof her guests was less conventional than that adopted by Rachel Moseleyat the prefects' parties; she laughed and chatted and asked questionsabout the school, till in a few minutes the girls were chattering likesparrows and behaving as if they had known her for years.
Tea was set out on little basket tables in the veranda, and there wereall the delicious home-made things for which the Villa Bleue had gaineda just reputation--brown scones and honey, potato cakes, Scotchshortbread, buttered oatmeal biscuits, iced lemon sandwich cake, andchocolate fingers.
When tea was taken away and the basket tables were once more free, Mrs.Clark produced dainty cards and scarlet pencils and organized acompetition. It was entitled "Nursery Rhymes," and contained twentyquestions to be answered by the competitors. These ran as follows:
NURSERY RHYMES COMPETITION
1. Who made Cock Robin's shroud?
2. Who was exhausted by family cares?
3. Who disliked insects?
4. Who showed an interest in horticulture?
5. Who summoned an orchestra?
6. Who pursued matrimonial intentions without the parental sanction?
7. Who showed religious intolerance?
8. Who took a joint that did not belong to him
?
9. Who deplored the loss of hand gear?
10. Whose salary was restricted owing to slackness in work?
11. What animal pursued horological investigations?
12. Who made the record high jump?
13. Who wore a superfluity of jewelry?
14. Whose culinary efforts were temporarily confiscated?
15. Who pulled Pussy from the well?
16. Who slept instead of attending to business?
17. Who exhibited sanctimonious satisfaction over a meal?
18. Who lost a number of domestic animals?
19. Who had an accident during the performance of their duty?
20. Who was mutilated by a bird?
Some of the questions seemed easy and some were difficult. The girlssat puzzling over them, and writing the answers when they gotinspiration. Irene scribbled away delightedly, but Lorna, who had almostforgotten the nursery rhymes of her childhood, was in muchmystification, and only filled in a few of the vacant spaces. Numbers 6,7, 13 and 14 proved the most baffling and no one was able to solve alltwenty.
After allowing a considerable laxity in respect of time Mrs. Clark rangthe bell and declared the competition closed. The girls changed cards,and waited with interest while their hostess read out the answers.
ANSWERS TO NURSERY RHYMES COMPETITION
1. I, said the beetle, With my thread and needle.
2. The old woman who lived in a shoe.
3. Miss Muffet.
4. Mary, Mary, quite contrary.
5. Old King Cole, who called for his fiddlers three.
6. Froggie would a-wooing go, Whether his mother would let him or no.
7. Goosey goosey gander, Whither do you wander, Upstairs, downstairs, In my lady's chamber. There I met an old man Who wouldn't say his prayers, So I took him by the left leg And threw him down the stairs.
8. Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house And stole a piece of beef.
9. Three little kittens Lost their mittens And they began to cry.
10. Johnny shall have a new master And he shall have but a penny a day, Because he won't work any faster.
11. Dickery, dickery, dock! The mouse ran up the clock!
12. The cow jumped over the moon.
13. The fair lady of Banbury Cross. Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes She shall have music wherever she goes.
14. The Queen of Heart's tarts.
15. Little Tommy Trout.
16. Little Boy Blue.
17. Little Jack Horner.
18. Little Bo Peep.
19. Jack and Jill.
20. The maid was in the garden Hanging out the clothes, When by came a blackbird And nipped off her nose.
There was a good deal of laughter over the competition and much countingup of marks. Irene, who had scored eighteen out of the possible twenty,came out top, and was accordingly handed the pretty little photographframe which formed the prize.
"I only got six," mourned Lorna. "I was a perfect duffer at it."
"I had fifteen," purred Sheila, "but I couldn't for the life of meremember who made Cock Robin's shroud, or who pulled Pussy out of thewell."
"It's such ages since I read any nursery rhymes," said Monica.
"That's just the fun of it, of course!" declared Mary. "Did you make upthe questions, Mrs. Clark?"
"No, I got the Canon to compose them. He'll be glad you liked them. Oh,here he comes. He had to go to a committee meeting this afternoon. Didyou get tea, dear, at Major Littleton's?" (to her husband). "That'sright! Then sit down on this comfy chair and entertain us, please."
"Rather a big order," laughed Canon Clark, shaking hands with his youngvisitors, and taking the proffered seat. "How do you want to beentertained? No sermons to-day?" and his eyes twinkled. "Don't all speakat once. I'm beginning to get nervous!"
"You can tell the most beautiful stories," suggested Sheila, who hadpaid visits before to the Villa Bleue and knew the capabilities of herhost.
"Oh, yes, please, _do_ tell us a story!" agreed the others. "We'd likeit better than anything."
"I have one inside my desk which is just ready to send off to amagazine. If it won't bore you to listen to it, I'll read it aloud andlet you judge whether it has any interest in it or not. An audience ofschoolgirls ought to be severe critics. As a rule they're omnivorousreaders of fiction. If you turn it down I shall tear it up."
"Oh, but we shan't!"
"_Please_ begin!"
Thus urged, Canon Clark fetched a manuscript from his study, and afterpassing round the plate of taffy, to "sweeten his narrative" as he putit, he sat down in his basket-chair on the veranda and began to read.
"THE LUCK OF DACREPOOL
"I had known Jack Musgrave out East; we had chummed at Mandalay, messed together at Singapore, hunted big game up in Kashmir, and shot tigers in Bengal, and, when we said good-by, as he boarded the homeward-bound steamer at Madras, it was with a cordial invitation on his part that I should look him up if ever I happened to penetrate into the remote corner of Cumberland where his family acres were situated.
"For a year or two my affairs kept me in India, and nothing seemed more unlikely than that--for the present, at any rate--Jack and I should cross paths again, but by one of those strange chances which sometimes occur in this world I found myself, on the Christmas Eve of 190-, standing on the platform of Holdergate Station, having missed the connection for Scotland, and with the pleasing prospect before me of spending the night, and possibly--if trains were not available--the ensuing Christmas Day at the one very second-rate inn in the village.
"It was then that I remembered that Holdergate was the nearest station to Dacrepool Grange, and that, if Jack's memory still held good, I might find a hearty welcome and spend a pleasant evening recalling old times and discussing past shots, instead of putting up with the inferior accommodation offered by the landlady of the King's Arms. As no one either at the station or in the village seemed willing to vouchsafe me definite information as to whether the owner of Dacrepool was at home or abroad, parrying my inquiries with such scant courtesy and in so uncouth and unintelligible a dialect as to be scarce understood, I resolved to chance it, and with some difficulty hiring a farmer's gig, I started out on a six-mile drive over the bleak moorlands, which seemed to stretch as far as the eye could reach in a dim vista of brown heath and distant snow-clad fell. It was a dreary and unseasonable evening, with a damp mist rising from the sodden ground, and occasional falls of sleet, mingled with rain that chilled one to the bone. I buttoned my coat closely round my throat, and braced my nerves to meet the elements, hoping I might find my reward at the end of my journey, and inwardly cursing every mile of the rough road.
"But even Cumberland miles cannot wind on forever, and my Jehu at length drew up at a massive stone gateway, which he assured me formed the entrance to Dacrepool Grange. There was neither light nor sound in the lodge, nor did any one come out in answer to our impatient calls, so we had perforce to open the gates for ourselves. They cre
aked on their rusty hinges, as if they had not been unclosed for many a day, and when I noted the neglected drive, where the overhanging trees swept our faces as we passed, I began to fear that I had come on a fool's errand, and that I should find the house shut up and my friend abroad.
"On this point, however, my driver reassured me. 'Nay, oo'be to home, theer's a light i' yon winder,' he said, pointing with his whip where a faint streak of yellow shone like a beacon into the surrounding gloom. The moon was struggling through the clouds, and I could dimly discern the outline of the quaint gabled front of the house, with its mullioned windows, and masses of clinging ivy. Dismounting at the old stone porch, I seized the knocker and beat a mighty tattoo. There was no reply. Even the light had disappeared from the window almost simultaneously with the approach of our carriage wheels, and though I hammered for fully five minutes I failed to obtain the slightest response to my knocks. I was on the point of turning away in despair and driving back in the gig to Holdergate, when a sound of footsteps was heard within, together with an unbolting and unbarring, the door was opened about six inches on the chain, and a hard-featured woman peeped cautiously out into the darkness.
"I at once proclaimed my identity and my errand, but, by the light of the candle which she held in her hand, she looked me up and down with a glance of keen distrust and evident disfavor. 'How am I to know it is as you say?' she replied guardedly, and without making any move to grant me admittance.
"'Then fetch your master,' I exclaimed with some heat, thrusting my card into her hand. 'He should know my name at any rate, though he seems to have trained you in strange notions of hospitality to keep a guest standing on the doorstep on a bitter evening in December.'
"Grumbling under her breath she went away, and I was half inclined to follow her example and quit this very unpromising spot, when a quick step resounded in the hall, the door was flung open wide, and I was dragged forcibly into the house by my friend Jack, who hailed me with such unfeigned delight and enthusiasm that there could be little doubt of the genuineness of his welcome.
"'You've sprung upon us at a queer time, as it happens, old man, but if you don't mind taking pot-luck we'll spend a ripping night together,' he cried, hauling me into the dining-room, where a pretty fairy of a girl sprang up to greet us. 'This is my sister Bessie, and I've talked about you so often that she'll give you as big a welcome as I do. It's only a poor best we can show you in the way of entertainment, but you'll make allowances when I tell you how I'm situated, and what we lack in kind we must make up in good will.'
"'What's good enough for you will be good enough for me,' I replied heartily, submitting to be relieved of my coat and installed in the best chair by the blazing fire--a pleasant change indeed from the cold and the sleet outside.
"'You must not think our guests usually receive such a churlish reception,' said Jack, laughing a little, 'but the fact is, we took you for the bailiffs. I'm sorry to say I've outrun the constable--it's really not my fault, for the old place was mortgaged to its last penny when it fell to me--but, as the case stands, I'm enduring a kind of siege; daren't put my nose out of my own door for fear I should be served with writs, and have to smuggle what supplies we can beg or borrow through the kitchen window. It's a queer kind of Christmas to spend, and a poor lookout for the New Year, for I'm afraid the old place is bound to go in the end, though I have vowed to stick to it as long as I can hold it, and Bessie has vowed to stick to me, though she might have a more cheerful home elsewhere if she liked. There's precious little to offer you in our larder, but perhaps we can furnish up something in the way of supper; can't we, Bessie?'
"Miss Musgrave laughed merrily.
"'Mr. Harper must imagine himself back in camp,' she replied; 'I hope he can manage to subsist on porridge and cheese and tinned provisions, for I don't think we have anything better to offer him.'
"I would have subsisted on a far poorer diet to remain within sight of those bright eyes, and I endeavored to convince my host and hostess that I desired nothing more than to be treated as one of themselves, with such success that I seemed to drop at once into the family circle, and never spent a pleasanter or more jovial evening in my life. Jack and I sat up late after Bessie had retired, chatting of bygone days and past adventures till the jungles and plains seemed almost more real than the cheery blaze of the fire before us; but the talk came round at last to the affairs of the moment.
"'Is not there any plan by which you could raise the wind, Jack?'" I inquired.
"'Never a one. I've tried every end up, but there seems no way out of the trouble unless, indeed, we could find Sir Godfrey's treasure.'
"'Who's he?'
"'An ancestor of mine, rather a back number, considering he died somewhere about two hundred and fifty years ago--but a restless old gentleman, for he is still said to have a trick of haunting the house, and, according to popular tradition, hoping to be able to point out the hiding-place of a treasure he stowed away.'
"'Was it genuine treasure?'
"'I believe so. He went off to fight in the Civil Wars, and hid the family plate and jewels in a secure place which nobody knew of but himself. He had not the sense to leave any record of the spot, and when he was killed at Naseby his secret died with him, and the valuables--unless, as I sometimes suspect, the old chap had previously pledged them--were not forthcoming, nor have they ever been heard of since.'
"'Has he ever appeared to you?'
"'Not he; I only wish he would. The hoard would be a jolly windfall to me if I could manage to light upon it. But I'm not the kind who goes about seeing ghosts. I'm too plain and matter-of-fact by half, and, though I often hear mysterious taps on the panels of my bedroom, I prosaically set it down to rats and mice. Now, you're a psychic sort of a fellow, the seventh son of a seventh son; if he wants to make himself visible, perhaps you may get a sight of him; I'm afraid it's more than ever I shall.'
"'Is there no clew at all left as to the hiding-place of the treasure?' I inquired.
"'Only an old rhyme so obscure as to be quite unintelligible:
He who plucks a rose at Yule Will bring back luck to Dacrepool.
Even you, with your fondness for antiquities and rummaging strange things out of old books, can scarcely make anything of that, I should say.'
"I shook my head, for the riddle seemed quite unreadable, and as we had already sat up until long past midnight I begged for my candle, and proposed to defer our conversation until the morning. Jack, declaring that none of the beds in the damp old house was fit to sleep in without a week of previous airing, insisted upon giving up his room to me, and passing the night himself on the dining-room sofa, and, in spite of my protestations, I was forced to acquiesce in his plans for my comfort.
"Left alone, I looked with some curiosity round the gloomy oak-paneled chamber, where the fire-light
flashed on the carved four-poster, with its faded yellow damask curtains, and lit up the moth-eaten tapestry that adorned a portion of the upper part of the walls, but scarcely illumined the dark corners which lay beyond. There were quaint old presses and chests roomy enough to hide a dozen ghosts in, and a portrait of a gentleman in the elaborate costume of the Stuart period seemed to look down upon me with strangely haunting eyes.
"'A spooky enough place,' I murmured, 'hallowed by the spirits of numerous generations, no doubt. Well, I'll undertake they won't disturb me to-night, for I am dog-tired and mean to sleep like a log.'
"I am an old traveler, and was soon in bed and enjoying a well-earned slumber, but my dreams were wild, for I seemed now to be driving furiously over the moorland, pursuing ever the phantom of pretty Bessie, who, with her bewitching smile, was luring me into the fog and darkness, and now to be barring the front door to defend her from some unknown assailant, whose perpetual rapping rang like an echo through my brain. With the impotent strength of dreamland I struggled vainly to close the door, which was opening slowly to admit the nameless horror. I seemed to feel a hot breath on my cheek, and with a wild shriek I woke, to find the moonlight streaming in through the broad diamond-paned window, falling in a white shaft across the floor, while the last embers of the fire were smoldering to ashes upon the hearth.
"I sat up in bed with that feeling of broad awakeness and alertness which comes to us sometimes, and caught my breath as I listened, for through the stillness of the night came the unmistakable sound of a gentle tapping from behind the paneling of the wall. It was not continuous, but more as one might rap at the chamber door of a sleeping person, waiting every now and then to hear if one had obtained a response. An intense and vivid sensation came over me that I was not alone in the room; that there was some presence other than my own personality which was striving in some way to force itself upon my consciousness and arrest my attention. Was it only my fancy, or were the moonbeams actually shaping themselves into a human form, till against the dark background of the fireplace, I seemed to see the misty shadowy outline of a figure, so vague and ethereal that even as I looked it appeared to melt again into the moonlight and cease to exist?
"With every nerve on the stretch I strained my eyes to gain a clearer impression. A passing cloud left the room for a few moments in darkness, but, as the beams shone out full and clear once more, that shadowy figure seemed to gather substance, and I felt as if some unknown force were compelling my attention and chaining my every sense in a mute endeavor to establish some chord of connection between me and the dim spirit world which floats forever round us. Now waxing, now waning, the vision grew, till I fancied I caught a glint of armor. For an instant a wild imploring glance met my own, and a transparent finger pointed to the richly-carved paneling below the arras, but as I sprang from the bed the vision faded swiftly away, leaving me standing on the floor in the calm moonlight doubting the evidence of my senses, and half convinced that I must still have been in the continuance of my dream.
"Yet, as I looked, something in the carved paneling struck my notice, and, following the direction in which the spectral finger had pointed, I saw that the dragons and the twisted scrolls were united in the center by a Tudor rose. In an instant there flashed across my mind the old saying which Jack had quoted:
He who plucks a rose at Yule Will bring back luck to Dacrepool.
What impulse urged me I cannot say, but compelled by some seemingly irresistible suggestion I seized the sculptured rose and wrenched at it with all my strength. There was a dull thud, followed by a harsh grinding noise, and the whole of the paneling slid slowly back, revealing a cavity behind, where, half hidden by the accumulations of dust and cobwebs, I could catch a sight of silver tankards and masses of plate enough to make the mouth of a collector water with envy. Still scarcely certain whether I was sleeping or waking, I put in my hand and drew out a bag filled with something heavy, and even as I did so the rotten mildewed canvas broke with the strain, and a stream of golden coins descended with a clatter upon the floor.
"Like a maniac I rushed to my door and hallooed lustily for Jack, who, roused by my shouts, came hurrying up in scanty attire, with a revolver in one hand and a poker in the other.
"'What is it, old man, thieves or bailiffs? Just hold 'em till I come, can't you?'
"'It's neither,' I replied, as I hauled him in with triumph, 'but I believe I have had a visit from your esteemed ancestor, and, as a Christmas gift, allow me to introduce you to the long-lost family treasure.'
"There was no mistake about it--it was real enough, and, as the Christmas bells came chiming through the frosty air, we turned out bags of gold, piles of silver and priceless jewels warranted to redeem Dacrepool Grange twice over if necessary, and sending Jack into a very ecstasy of joy.
"'By Jove, old chap,' he exclaimed, 'I owe it all to you. Here I've slept in this room for years, and never paid any heed to the raps and taps, though I've heard them often enough, while the treasure was under my very nose, only waiting to be discovered. Then you come along with your ghost-seeing eyes, and the spirit, if spirit it was, is able to convey to you the secret it's been trying to get off its mind for hundreds of years. You've saved me from the bankruptcy court, and it's a debt of gratitude you'll find I shan't lightly forget.'
"It was a very jovial Christmas which we spent that day, for the news of the find got abroad at daylight, and we were promptly visited by the butcher and baker, bringing stores of good cheer and profuse apologies for past misunderstandings; even the severe old servant relapsed into smiles as she bore in a smoking sirloin of beef. Jack's spirits rose to the wildest pitch, and little Bessie, who persisted in calling me the savior of the family credit, could scarcely do enough to show her gratitude. Jack wanted me to share the best of the jewels with him, and was so annoyed at my refusal that I could only gain peace by a hint that I should sometime ask him for something more valuable still. And I got my way, for my unexpected visit lengthened out to a stay of some weeks, during which pretty Bessie's gratitude had time to ripen into a warmer feeling. So in the end it was quite a different treasure which I bore away from Dacrepool Grange, and I feel equally with Jack that I have cause to remember that strange Christmas Eve, and to render my thanks to old Sir Godfrey, who now sleeps soundly in his grave, secure in the accomplishment of his mission, having rid his soul of the burden of his secret and restored luck to Dacrepool."
"Is it true?" asked Sheila, as Canon Clark folded up his manuscript.
"Well, I can hardly call it a personal reminiscence, but you must allowfor author's license. Old historic houses sometimes have secrethiding-places, and dreams are undoubtedly strange things. It's allfounded upon legends which I have heard. Mrs. Clark and I first met inan ancient grange not at all unlike Dacrepool, didn't we, Bess? And ifwe didn't find treasure behind the paneling we certainly ought to havedone so. Now I'm extremely sorry to h
ave to hurry you, but I promisedMiss Morley that you should be back at school by half past six, and Iundertook to escort you through the town. I hope you'll all come andhave tea with us some afternoon next term and we'll have anothercompetition. Don't say good-by to Mrs. Clark. Give the Italian 'Arivederci' instead, because that means not a parting greeting but 'Maywe see one another again.'"