CHAPTER VIII
ROUNDTREE'S
At Slipper Point, they established Genevieve, as usual, on the old chairin the cave, to examine by candle-light the new picture-book that Dorishad brought for her. This was calculated to keep her quiet for a longwhile, as she was inordinately fond of "picters," as she called them.
"Now," cried Sally, "what about that paper?"
"Oh, I don't know that it amounts to very much," explained Doris. "Itjust occurred to me, in looking it over, that possibly the fact of itsbeing square and the little cave also being square might have somethingto do with things. Suppose the floor of the cave were divided intosquares just as this paper is. Now do you notice one thing? Read theletters in their order up from the extreme left hand corner diagonally.It reads r-i-g-h-t-s and the last square is blank. Now why couldn't thatmean 'right' and the 's' stand for square,--the 'right square' beingthat blank one in the extreme corner?"
"Goody!" cried Sally. "That's awfully clever of you. I never thought ofsuch a thing as reading it that way, in all the time I had it. And doyou think that perhaps the treasure is buried under there?"
"Well, of course, that's all we _can_ think it means. It might be wellto investigate in that corner."
But another thought had occurred to Sally. "If that's so," she inquireddubiously, "what's the use of all the rest of those letters and numbers.They must be there for _something_."
"They may be just a 'blind,' and mean nothing at all," answered Doris."You see they'd have to fill up the spaces somehow, or else, if I'mright, they'd have more than one vacant square. And one was all theywanted. So they filled up the rest with a lot of letters and figuresjust to puzzle any one that got hold of it. But there's something elseI've thought of about it. You notice that the two outside lines ofsquares that lead up to the empty squares are just numbers,--not lettersat all. Now I've added each line together and find that the sum of eachside is exactly _twenty-one_. Why wouldn't it be possible that it meansthe sides of this empty square are twenty-one-something--in length. Itcan't possibly mean twenty-one _feet_ because the whole cave is onlyabout nine feet square. It must mean twenty-one inches."
Sally was quite overcome with amazement at this elaborate system ofreasoning it out. "You certainly are a wonder!" she exclaimed. "I neverwould have thought of it in the world."
"Why, it was simple," declared Doris, "for just as soon as I'd hit uponthat first idea, the rest all followed like clockwork. But now, if allthis is right, and the treasure lies somewhere under the vacant square,our business is to find it."
Suddenly an awful thought occurred to Sally. "But how are you going toknow _which_ corner that square is in? It might be any of the four,mightn't it?"
For a moment Doris was stumped. How, indeed, were they going to tell?Then one solution dawned on her. "Wouldn't they have been most likely toconsider the square of the floor as it faces you, coming in at the door,to be the way that corresponds to the plan on the paper? In that case,the extreme right-hand corner from the door, for the space of twenty-oneinches, is the spot."
It certainly seemed the most logical conclusion. They rushed over to thespot and examined it, robbing Genevieve of her candle in order to havethe most light on the dark corner. It exhibited, however, no signs ofanything the least unusual about it. The rough planks of the flooringjoined quite closely to those of the wall, and there was no evidence ofits having ever been used as a place of concealment. At thisdiscouraging revelation, their faces fell.
"Let's examine the other corners," suggested Doris. "Perhaps we're notright about this being the one."
The others, however, revealed no difference in their appearance, and thegirls restored her candle to Genevieve at the table, and stood gazing ateach other in disconcerted silence.
"But, after all," suggested Doris shortly, "would you expect to see anyreal sign of the boards being movable or having been moved at some time?That would only give their secret away, when you come to think of it.No, if there _is_ some way of opening one of those corners, it's prettycarefully concealed, and I don't see anything for it but for us to bringsome tools up here,--a hammer and saw and chisel, perhaps,--and go towork prying those boards up." The plan appealed to Sally.
"I'll get some of Dad's," she declared. "He's got a lot of tools in theboathouse, and he'd never miss a few of the older ones. We'll bring themup tomorrow and begin. And I think your first idea about the corner wasthe best. We'll start over there."
"I's cold," Genevieve began to whimper, at this point. "I don't _like_it in here. I want to go out."
The two girls laughed. "She isn't much of a treasure-hunter, is she!"said Doris. "Bless her heart. We'll go out right away and sit down underthe pine trees."
They emerged into the sunlight, and Sally carefully closed and concealedthe entrance to their secret lair. After the chill of the underground,the warm sunlight was very welcome and they lay lazily basking in itsheat and inhaling the odor of the pine-needles. Far above their headsthe fish-hawks swooped with their high-pitched piping cry, and two wrensscolded each other in the branches above their heads. Sally sattailor-fashion, her chin cupped in her two hands, thinking in silence,while Doris, propped against a tree, was explaining the pictures in hernew book to Genevieve. In the intervals, while Genevieve staredabsorbedly at one of them, Doris would look about her curiously andspeculatively. Suddenly she thrust the book aside and sprang to herfeet.
"Do you realize, Sally," she exclaimed, "that I've never yet explored abit of this region _above ground_ with you? I've never seen a thingexcept this bit right about the cave. Why not take me all round here fora way. It might be quite interesting."
Sally looked both surprised and scornful. "There's nothing at all to seearound here that's a bit interesting," she declared. "There's just thispine grove and the underbrush, and back there,--quite a way back, is anold country road. It isn't even worth getting all hot and tired going tosee."
"Well, I don't care, I want to see it!" insisted Doris. "I somehow havea feeling that it would be worth while. And if you are too tired to comewith me, I'll go by myself. You and Genevieve can rest here."
"No, I want to go wis Dowis!" declared Genevieve, scrambling to her feetas she scented a new diversion.
"Well, I'll go too," laughed Sally. "I'm not as lazy as all that, but Iwarn 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 agreat handful of sassafras to chew. All the while Doris gazed about hercuriously, asking every now and then a seemingly irrelevant question ofSally.
Presently they emerged from the pine woods and crossed a field coveredonly with wild blackberry vines still bearing their white blossoms. Atthe farther edge of this field they came upon a sandy road. It woundaway in a hot ribbon till a turn hid it from sight, and the heat of themorning tempted them no further to explore it.
"This is the road I told you of," explained Sally with an"I-told-you-so" expression. "You see it isn't anything at all, only anold back road leading to Manituck. Nobody much comes this way if theycan help it,--it's so sandy."
"But what's that old house there?" demanded Doris, pointing to anancient, tumble-down structure not far away. "And isn't it thequeerest-looking place, one part so gone to pieces and unkempt, and thatother little wing all nicely fixed up and neat and comfortable!"
It was indeed an odd combination. The structure was a largeold-fashioned farmhouse, evidently of a period dating well back in thenineteenth century. The main part had fallen into disuse, as was quiteevident from the closed and shuttered windows, the peeling, blisteredpaint, the unkempt air of being not inhabited. But a tiny "L" at oneside bore an aspect as different from the main building as could well beimagined. It had lately received a coat of fresh white paint. Itswindows were wide open and daintily curtained with some pretty butinexpensive material. The little patch of flower-garden in front was astrim 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 oldMiss Roundtree now, coming from the back. She lives there all alone."
As she was speaking, the person in question came into view from aroundthe back of the house, a basket of vegetables in her hand. Plainly shehad just been picking them in the vegetable-garden, a portion of whichwas visible at the side of the house. She sat down presently on her tinyfront porch, removed her large sun-bonnet and began to sort them over.From their vantage-point behind some tall bushes at the roadside, thegirls could watch her unobserved.
"I like her looks," whispered Doris after a moment. "Who is she and whydoes she live in this queer little place?"
"I told you her name was Roundtree,--Miss Camilla Roundtree," repliedSally. "Most folks call her 'old Miss Camilla' around here. She'sawfully poor, though they say her folks were quite rich at one time, andshe's quite deaf too. That big old place was her father's, and I s'poseis hers now, but she can't afford to keep it up, she has so littlemoney. So she just lives in that small part, and she knits for aliving,--caps and sweaters and things like that. She does knitbeautifully and gets quite a good many orders, especially in summer, buteven so it hardly brings her in enough to live on. She's kind of queertoo, folks think. But I don't see why you're so interested in her."
"I like her looks," answered Doris. "She has a fine face. Somehow sheseems to me like a lady,--a _real_ lady!"
"Well, she sort of puts on airs, folks think, and she doesn't care toassociate with everybody," admitted Sally. "But she's awfully good andkind, 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, same time,she always seems to want to be by herself. She reads lots, too, and hasno end of old books. They say they were her father's. Once she lent meone 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. Everyone does around here. But I don'tsee anything very interesting about it." To tell the truth, Sally wasquite puzzled by Doris's absorption in the subject. It was Genevievewho broke the spell.
"I's sirsty!" she moaned. "I want a djink. I want Mis Camilla to gi' mea djink!"
"Come on!" cried Doris to Sally. "If you know her, we can easily go overand ask her for a drink. I'm crazy to meet her."
Still wondering, Sally led the way over to the tiny garden and the threeproceeded up the path toward Miss Roundtree.
"Why, good morning!" exclaimed that lady, looking up. Her voice was verysoft, and a little toneless, as is often the case with the deaf.
"Good morning!" answered Sally in a rather loud tone, and a trifleawkwardly presented Doris. But there was no awkwardness in the mannerwith which Miss Camilla acknowledged the new acquaintance. Indeed it wassuggestive of an old-time courtesy, now growing somewhat obsolete. AndDoris had a chance to gaze, at closer range, on the fine, high-bred faceframed in its neatly parted gray hair.
"Might Genevieve have a drink?" asked Doris at length. "She seems to bevery thirsty."
"Why, assuredly!" exclaimed Miss Camilla. "Come inside, all of you, andrest in the shade." So they trooped indoors, into Miss Camilla's tinysitting-room, while she herself disappeared into the still tinierkitchen at the back. While she was gone, Doris gazed about with a newwonder and admiration in her eyes.
The room was speckless in its cleanliness, and full of many obviouslyhome-made contrivances and makeshifts. Yet there were two or threebeautiful pieces of old mahogany furniture, of a satiny finish andancient date. And on the mantel stood one marvelous little piece ofpottery that, even to Doris's untrained eye, gave evidence of being arare and costly bit. But Miss Camilla was now coming back, bearing atray on which stood three glasses of water and a plate of cookies andthree little dishes of delicious strawberries.
"You children must be hungry after your long morning's excursion," shesaid. "Try these strawberries of mine. They have just come from thegarden."
Doris thought she had never tasted anything more delightful than thatimpromptu little repast. And when it was over, she asked Miss Camilla aquestion, for she had been chatting with her all along, in decidedcontrast to the rather embarrassed silence of Sally.
"What is that beautiful little vase you have there, Miss Roundtree, mayI ask? I've been admiring it a lot." A wonderful light shone suddenly inMiss Camilla's eyes. Here, it was plain, was her hobby.
"That's a Louis XV Sevres," she explained, patting it lovingly. "It ismarvelous, isn't it, and all I have left of a very pretty collection. Itwas my passion once, this pottery, and I had the means to indulge it.But they are all gone now, all but this one. I shall never part withthis." The light died out of her eyes as she placed the precious pieceback on the mantel.
"Good-bye. Come again!" she called after them, as they took theirdeparture. "I always enjoy talking to you children."
When they had retraced their way to the boat and pushed off and weremaking all speed for the hotel, Sally suddenly turned to Doris anddemanded:
"Why in the world are you so interested in Miss Camilla? I've known herall my life, and I never talked so much to her in all that time as youdid this morning."
"Well, to begin with," replied Doris, shipping her oars and facing herfriend for a moment, "I think she's a lovely and interesting person. Butthere's something else besides." She stopped abruptly, and Sally, filledwith 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!_"