CHAPTER II
FOUND ON THE BEACH
The next morning dawned windy and wet. A heavy northeast gale had whippedthe sea into gray, mountainous waves. A fine drizzle beat in one's facethrough the slightest opening of door or window. Leslie loved the soft,salt tang of the air, and in spite of her aunt's rather horrifiedprotests, prepared for a long excursion out of doors.
"Don't worry about me, Auntie dear!" she laughed gaily. "One can'tpossibly catch cold in this mild, beautiful air; and if I get wet, I canalways get dry again before any damage is done. Besides, we need somemore wood for the fires very, very badly and they say you can simply findheaps of it on the beach after a storm like this. I want some nice fatlogs for our open fire, and I see at least a half dozen right down infront of this house. And last but not least, Rags needs some exercise!"
She found a wealth of driftwood at the water's edge that surpassed herwildest dreams. Again and again she filled her basket and hauled it up tothe bungalow, and three times she carried up a large, water-soaked logbalanced on her shoulder. But when the supply at last appeared ample, shereturned to the beach on another quest. Rather to her surprise, she foundthat the stormy ocean had cast up many things beside driftwood--articlesthat in size and variety suggested that there must have been a wreck inthe night.
Yet she knew that there had been no wreck, else the coast-guard station,less than a mile away, would have been very busy, and she herself mustsurely have heard some of the disturbance. No, there had been no wreck,yet all about her lay the wave-sodden flotsam and jetsam of many pastdisasters. A broken mast stump was imbedded upright in the sand at onespot. In another, a ladder-like pair of stairs, suggesting a ship'scompanionway, lay half out of the water. Sundry casks and barrels dottedthe beach, some empty, some still untouched. Rusty tins of canned goods,oil, and paint, often intact, intermingled with the debris. Bottles,either empty or full of every conceivable liquid, added to the list; andsprinkled through and around all the rest were broken dishes,shoe-brushes, combs, and other household and personal articles insurprising quantities.
Leslie roamed about among this varied collection, the salt spray in herface, the surging breakers sometimes unexpectedly curling around herrubber boots. There was a new and wonderful fascination to her inexamining this ancient wreckage, speculating on the contents of unopenedtins, and searching ever farther and farther along the shore for possibletreasure-trove of even greater interest or value.
"Why _shouldn't_ I find a chest of jewels or a barrel full of goldencoins or a pocket-book crammed with bills, Rags?" she demandedwhimsically of the jubilant dog. "I'm sure something of that kind must godown with every ship, as well as all the rest of this stuff, and whyshouldn't we be lucky enough to find it?"
But Rags was busy investigating the contents of some doubtful-lookingtin, and had neither time nor inclination to respond, his own particularquests being quite in another line and far more interesting to him!
So Leslie continued on her own way, absorbed in her own investigationsand thoughts. The affair of the previous night was still occupying alarge place in her mind. Nothing further had occurred, though she hadwatched at her window for nearly an hour. Even Rags at length ceased toexhibit signs of uneasiness, and she had gone to bed at last, feelingthat she must have been mistaken in imagining anything unusual.
The first thing she had done this morning after leaving the house was towalk around Curlew's Nest, examining it carefully for any sign ofoccupation. It was closed and shuttered, as tight as a drum, and shecould discern no slightest sign of a human being having been near it fordays. But still she could not rid her mind of the impression that therehad been _something_ last night out of the ordinary, or Rags would nothave behaved as he did. He was not the kind of dog that unnecessarilyexcited himself about nothing. It was a little bit strange.
"Oh, dear! I beg your pardon! I'm awfully sorry!" exclaimed Leslie,reeling backward from the shock of collision with some one she hadunseeingly bumped into as she plowed her way along, her head bent to thewind, her eyes only on the beach at her feet. The person with whom shehad collided also recovered a lost balance and turned to looked at her.
Leslie beheld a figure slightly taller than herself, clothed in yellow"slickers" and long rubber boots, a "sou'wester" pulled closely overplump, rosy cheeks and big, inquiring blue eyes. For a moment she couldnot for the life of her tell whether the figure was man or woman, boy orgirl. Then a sudden gust of wind tore the sou'wester aside and a longbrown curl escaped and whipped into the blue eyes. It was a girl--verylittle older than Leslie herself.
"Don't mention it!" laughed the girl. "I didn't know there was anothersoul on the beach beside Father and Ted and myself."
And then, for the first time, Leslie noticed two other figures standingjust beyond, each clad similarly to the girl, and each with fishing-rodin hand and a long line running out into the boiling surf. The girl tooheld a rod in her hand.
"You just spoiled the loveliest bite I've had this morning," the girllaughed again, "but I'll forgive you if you'll tell me who you are andhow you come to be out here in this bad weather. It's quite unusual tosee any one on the beach at this season."
"I'm Leslie Crane, and I'm staying at Rest Haven with my aunt, MissCrane, who is not well and is trying to recuperate here, according to thedoctor's orders," responded Leslie, feeling somewhat like an informationbureau as she said it.
"Oh, so you're staying here, are you? How jolly! I've never met any onestaying here at this season before. I'm Phyllis Kelvin and this is myfather and my brother Ted. Father--Miss Leslie Crane! Ted--"
She made the introductions at the top of her voice as the wind and roarof the ocean almost drowned it, and each of the two figures respondedpolitely, keeping one eye all the while on his line.
"We always come down here for three weeks in October, Father and Ted andI, for the fishing," Phyllis went on to explain. "Father adores fishingand always takes his vacation late down here, so that he can have thefishing in peace and at its best. And Ted and I come to keep him companyand keep house for him, incidentally. That's our bungalow right backthere,--'Fisherman's Luck.'"
"Oh, I'm so glad you're going to be here!" sighed Leslie, happily. "I'vebeen horribly lonesome! Aunt Marcia does not go out very often and sleepsa great deal, and I absolutely _long_ to talk to some one at times. Idon't know anything much about fishing, but I hope you'll let me be withyou some, if I promise not to talk too much and spoil things!"
"You're not a bit happier to find some one than _I_ am!" echoed Phyllis."I love fishing, too, but I'm not so crazy about it as they are, and I'veoften longed for some girl chum down here. We're going to be the best offriends, I know, and I'll call on you and your aunt this very afternoon,if you'll come up to our bungalow now with me and help carry this basketof driftwood. Daddy and Ted won't move from the beach for the rest of themorning, but I'd like to stop and talk with you. I get tired sooner thanthey do."
Leslie agreed joyfully, and together they tugged a heavy basket of woodup to the one other bungalow on the beach beside the one Leslie and heraunt were stopping at--and Curlew's Nest. She found Fisherman's Luck adelightful abode, full of the pleasant, intimate touches that could onlybe imparted by owners who inhabited it themselves most of the time. Aroaring fire blazed invitingly in the big open fireplace in theliving-room.
"Come, take off your things and stay awhile!" urged Phyllis, and Leslieremoved her mackinaw and cap. The two girls sank down in big easy chairsbefore the fire and laughingly agreeing to drop formality, proceeded as"Phyllis" and "Leslie," to exchange confidences in true girl fashion.
"I mustn't stay long," remarked Leslie. "Aunt Marcia will be missing meand I must go back to see about lunch. But what a delightful bungalow youhave! Are you here much of the time?"
"We're here a good deal in the off seasons--April to June, and Septemberthrough November. Father, Ted, and I,--but we don't care for it so muchin the summer season wh
en the beach is more crowded with vacation folksand that big hotel farther up the beach is full. We have some cousins whousually take the bungalow for July and August."
"I never was at the ocean in October before," sighed Leslie, comfortably,"and it's perfectly heavenly! We have that dear little bungalow, RestHaven, but the one right next to it is not occupied."
"No," said Phyllis, "and it's queer, too. I never knew either of them tobe occupied at this season before. They are both owned by the Danforths,and they usually shut them both up on September 30 and refuse to openthem till the beginning of the next season. How did you come to get oneof them, may I ask?"
"Oh, I think Aunt Marcia's doctor managed it. He happened to know theDanforths personally, and got them to break their rule, as a great favorto him. We appreciate it very much. But do you know," and here Leslieunconsciously sank her voice, "I saw such a queer thing about that otherbungalow late yesterday evening!" And she recounted to her new friend ahistory of the previous night's experience.
"Oh, how perfectly gorgeous!" sighed Phyllis, thrilled beyond descriptionby the narrative. "Do you suppose it's _haunted?_ I've heard of hauntedhouses, but never of a haunted _bungalow!_ Now don't laugh at me,--that'swhat Ted and Father do when I speak of such things," for Leslie could notrepress a giggle at this suggestion.
"Phyllis, you _know_ there are no such things as haunted houses--really!"she remonstrated.
"Well, I'm not so sure of it, and anyway, I've always _longed_ to comeacross one! And what other explanation can there be for this thing,anyway? But do me one favor, won't you, Leslie? Let's keep this thing toourselves and do a little investigating on our own account. If I tellFather and Ted and let them know what I think, they'll simply hoot at meand go and spoil it all by breaking the place open and tramping around itthemselves and scaring away any possible ghost there might be. Let's justsee if we can make anything out of it ourselves, will you?"
"Why of course I will," agreed Leslie heartily. "I wouldn't dare to letAunt Marcia know there was anything queer about the place. She'd bescared to death and it would upset all the doctor's plans for her. Idon't believe in the ghost theory, but I _do_ think there may have beensomething mysterious about it, and it will be no end of a lark to trackit down if we can. But I must be going now."
"I'm coming with you!" announced the impetuous Phyllis. "I want to go upthere right away and do a little looking about myself. I simply can'twait."
So they set off together, trudging through the sand at the edge of theocean, where the walking was easiest. All the way, Leslie was wonderingwhat had become of Rags. It was not often that he deserted her even forfive minutes, but she had not seen him since her encounter with Phyllis.It was not till their arrival at Curlew's Nest that she discovered hiswhereabouts.
Directly in front of this bungalow's veranda, and about fifty feet awayfrom it, lay the remains of a huge old tree-trunk, half buried in thesand. Almost under this trunk, only his rear quarters visible, was theform of Rags, digging frantically at a great hole in the wet sand. Sodeep now was the hole that the dog was more than half buried.
"There's Rags! He's after another hermit-crab!" cried Leslie. "I waswondering where he could be." They both raced up to him and reached himjust as he had apparently attained the end of his quest and backed out ofthe hole.
"Why, what has he got?" exclaimed Phyllis. "That's no hermit-crab!"
And in truth it was not. For out of the hole the dog was dragging a smallburlap sack which plainly contained some heavy article in its folds!