The Phantom Yacht

  CHAPTER III. A LOST MOTHER

  A week passed, and though Dories received several picture postcards fromher best friend, not a line came from her Great-Aunt Jane.

  "She has probably changed her mind about going to Siquaw, dear, and soyou would better prepare to start back to school on Monday. I had talkedthe matter over with the principal, Mr. Setherly, and he told me that youcould easily make up October's work, but, if you are not going away, itwill be better for you to begin the term with the others."

  They were at breakfast, and for a long, silent moment the girl sat gazingout of the window at a garden that was beginning to look dry and sear.When she turned back toward her mother, there were tears in her eyes.

  The woman placed a hand on the one near her as she tenderly inquired,"Are you disappointed because you're not going, daughter?"

  "No, no, not that, but you can't know how I dread returning to Highwithout Nann. We had planned graduating together and after that going tocollege together if only we could find a way."

  Her mother glanced up quickly as though there was something that shewanted to say, then pressed her lips firmly as though to keep some secretfrom being uttered. Dories listlessly continued eating. There was acloser pressure of her mother's hand. "It is hard, dear, I know," theunderstanding voice was saying. "Life brings many disappointments, butthere is always a compensation. You'll see!" Then, glancing toward thestair door, which was slowly opening, the mother called, "Hurry up, youlazy Peterkins. Come and have your breakfast. I want you and Dories to goto the village and match some silk for me as soon as you can."

  Then, when she served the little fellow, the loving woman returned to herdaily task and left a half self-pitying, half rebellious and whollydispirited girl to wash and put away the dishes. Then listlessly shedonned her scarlet tam and sweater coat and went into the sewing room toget the samples that she was to match. Her mother smiled up into herdismal face. "Dori, daughter, don't gloom around so much," she pleaded."I shall actually believe that you are disappointed because you are _not_going to Siquaw. Now, here's the silk to be matched and there's Peterkinswaiting for you. Come back as soon as you can, won't you?"

  It was midmorning when Dories and the small boy returned from theshopping expedition. They went at once to the sewing room, but theirmother was not there. They looked in the living room and in the kitchen."Mother, where are you?" they both called, but there was no reply.

  "Maybe she's upstairs," Peter suggested.

  "Of course. How stupid for me to forget that we have an upstairs to ourhouse." Dories felt strangely excited as she ran up the circling frontstairway calling again and again, but still there was no reply. Down thelong upper corridor they went, opening one door and another, beginning tofeel almost frightened at the stillness.

  Then Dories exclaimed, "Oh, maybe she's gone over to Mrs. Doran's for amoment. I guess she couldn't do any sewing until we came back with thesilk." They were about to descend the back stairs when they heard a noisein the garret overhead.

  The frail boy caught his sister's hand and held it tight. "Do you supposeit's ghosts," he whispered.

  "No, of course not," the girl replied. The attic was a low, dark,cobwebby place hardly high enough to stand in, and they never went there."There are no ghosts. Mother said so."

  "Then maybe it's a rat scratching around," the boy suggested, "or thatwild barn cat may have got in somehow. Do you dare open the door, Dori,and call up?"

  "Of course I do, but first I'll creep up a little way and look." Veryquietly Dories opened the door and stealthily ascended the dark, shortstairway. All was still in the dusky, musty attic. Then a light flashedfor a moment in a far corner. Truly frightened, Dories turned and hurrieddown the stairs. Quick steps were heard above: then a familiar voicecalled, "Dories, is that you, dear? Why are you stealing about in thatway? Come up a moment, daughter! I want you to help me drag this oldtrunk out of the corner."

  Then, when the girl, with Peter following, appeared on the top step, themother explained: "I thought I'd be down before you could get back. Ihave news for you, Dori. Just after you left, a night letter wasdelivered. In it your Great-Aunt Jane said that she had entirely given upher plan to spend a month at Siquaw Point until she received your letter.She had decided that if you were so rude as to ignore her invitation, youwere not the kind of a girl she wished to know, even if you are herniece, but your letter caused her to change her mind. She wishes you tomeet her this afternoon in Boston and go directly from there to SiquawPoint."

  "O, Mother, how terrible!" Dories was truly dismayed. "I won't have timeto let Nann know, and she was to meet me at the station. That was the oneredeeming feature about the whole thing."

  "Well, you can see her when you return, and maybe you can plan to stay aday or two with her. Now help me with this little trunk, dear. We haveonly two hours to prepare your clothes and pack."

  They carried the small steamer trunk down to Dories' room and by noon itwas packed and locked, and, soon after, the expressman came to take boththe trunk and the girl to the station.

  Dories' face was flushed and tears were in her eyes when she saidgood-bye. "I feel so strange and excited, Mother," she confided, "goingout into the world for the very first time, and O, Mumsie, no one knowshow I dread being all alone in a boarded-up cottage at a deserted summerresort with such a dreadful old woman." Dories clung to her mother inlittle girl fashion as though she hoped at the very last moment she mightbe told that she need not go, but what she heard was: "Mr. Hanson is in ahurry, dear. He has the trunk on his cart and he's waiting to help you upon the seat."

  Dories caught her breath in an effort not to cry, kissed her mother andPeter hurriedly, picked up her hand-satchel and darted down the path.

  From the high seat she waved and smiled. Then she called in an effort atcheeriness. "Don't forget, Mrs. Moore, that you promised to take Octoberfor a real vacation and not sew a bit after you finish the silk dress."

  "I promise!" the mother called. "Peter and I will just play. Write to usoften."

  Mr. Hanson, finding that it was late, drove rapidly to the station, andit was well that he did, for the train was just drawing in when theyarrived. Dories quickly purchased a ticket and checked her trunk with theexpressman's help, then, climbing aboard, chose a seat near a window.After all, she found herself quite pleasurably excited. It was such a newexperience to be traveling alone. Few of the passengers noticed her andno one spoke. She was glad, as her mother had warned her not to enterinto conversation with strangers.

  As she watched the flying landscape the girl thought of something hermother had said on the day that she had asked her to answer herGreat-Aunt Jane's letter. "I have a reason, Dori, for really wishing youto go to Siquaw with your aunt," she had said. What could that reason be?Not until Boston was neared did her speculation cease; then she becameconscious of but two emotions, curiosity about her Great-Aunt Jane and acrushing disappointment because she had not been able to let Nann Sibbettknow when to meet her.

  When the train finally stopped, Dories, feeling very young and very muchalone, followed the crowd of passengers into the huge station. She was tomeet her aunt in the woman's waiting room, and she stopped a hurryingporter to inquire where she would find it. Almost timidly she entered thelarge, comfortably furnished room, then, seeing an elderly woman dressedin black, who was sitting stiffly erect, the girl went toward her as shesaid diffidently: "Pardon me, but are _you_ my Great-Aunt Jane?" Thewoman threw back a heavy black crepe veil and her sharp gray eyes gazedup at the girl penetratingly.

  "Humph!" was the ungracious reply. "Well, at least you've got yourfather's eyes. That's something to be thankful for, but I've no doubtthat you look like your mother otherwise."

  There was something about the tone in which this was said that put thegirl on the defensive.

  "I certainly hope I do look like my darling mother," she exclaimed, herdiffidence vanishing. The elderly woman seemed not to hear.
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  "Sit down, why don't you?" she said in a querulous tone. "The traindoesn't go for an hour yet."

  The girl sank into a comfortable chair which faced the one occupied byher aunt; the back of which was toward the door.

  For a moment neither spoke, then remembering the coaching she hadreceived, Dories said hesitatingly, "I want to thank you, Aunt Jane, forhaving invited me to go with you. I am pleased to----"

  A sniff preceded the remark that interrupted: "I know how pleased you areto go with a fussy old woman to a deserted summer resort. About aspleased as a cat is out in the rain." Then, as though her interest inDories had ceased, the old woman drew the heavy crepe veil down over herface, but the girl was sure that she could see the sharp eyes peeringthrough it as though she were intently watching some object over Dori'sshoulder.

  The girl had expected her aunt to be queer, but this was far worse thanher most dismal anticipations. At last the girl became so nervous thatshe glanced back of her to see what her aunt could be watching. She sawonly the open door that led into the main waiting room of the station.Women were passing in and out, but that was nothing to stare at. Seeming,at last, to recall her companion's presence, the old woman addressed her:"Dories, you wrote me that you had a girl friend here in Boston who wouldcome down to the train to see you off. Why doesn't she come?"

  "I didn't have time to let her know, Aunt Jane," was the dismal reply."I'm just ever so disappointed."

  The old woman nodded her head toward the door. "Is that her?" she asked."Is that your friend?"

  Dories sprang to her feet and turned. A tall girl, carrying a suitcase,was approaching them. With a cry of mingled amazement and joy, Dories rantoward her and held out both hands. "Why, Nann, darling, it _can't_ beyou." The newcomer dropped her bag and they flew into each other's arms.Then, standing back, Dori asked, much mystified, "Why, are you goingsomewhere Nann?"

  It was the old woman who replied grimly: "She is! I invited her to gowith us. There now! Don't try to thank me." She held up a protesting handwhen Dori, flushed and happy, turned toward her. "I did it for myself, Ican assure you. I knew having you moping around for a month wouldn't addany to _my_ pleasure."

  An embarrassing moment was saved by a stentorian voice in the doorwayannouncing: "All aboard for Siquaw Center and way stations." A coloredporter appeared to carry the bags, and the old woman, leaning heavily onher cane, limped after him, followed by the girls, in whose hearts therewere mingled emotions, but joy predominated, for, however terrible Dori'sGreat-Aunt Jane might be, at least they were to spend a whole long monthtogether.