The Camp Fire Girls Solve a Mystery; Or, The Christmas Adventure at Carver House
threw in an explanation, "Marsh Tad he gave some sick folks poison
instead of medicine, an' dey die, an' he go 'way, outen de country, an'
bimeby de papers say he's dead an' his wife's dead. But dey ain't; it's a
mistake, but he don' tell nobody, an' bimeby he come back, him an' his
wife. Dey take another name, an' dey goes to a town whar nobody knows
'em. Bimeby a baby girl gits born an' his wife she dies.
"Marse Tad he ain't never bin himself since he gave dem folks dat poison;
he cain't fergit it a-tall. It pester him so he cain't work, an' he
cain't sleep, an' he cain't never laugh no more. He give up bein' a
doctor 'case he say he cain't trust himself no more. He get so low in his
mind when his wife die dat he think he'll die too, an' he sends de baby
away to some folks dat wants one.
"But he don't die; he jest worry along, but he's powerful low in his mind
all de time. He think all de time 'bout dem people he poisoned. Fin'lly
he say he'll go 'way agin; he'll go back ter South America. But before he
goes, he gits ter thinkin' he'd like ter see his chile once. He fin's out
dat de people he sent her to ain't never got her; dat she's with somebody
else, in a place called Millvale, in dis very state. He go to Millvale,
an' he look in th'u de winder, an' he see her. She's the livin' image of
his dead wife, light hair an' dark eyes an' all.
"He never let her know he's her father, 'case he feel so terrible 'bout
dem folks he poisoned dat he thinks he ain't no good, a-tall, an' mustn't
speak to her. But he's so wild to see her dat he hang aroun' in dat town,
workin' odd jobs, an' at night lookin' in de window where she sits.
"Den suddenly de folks she's wif up an' move away, an' he cain't see her
no more. He jest cain't stand it. He finds out dat dey come here to
Oakwood, an' he comes too. But he don't know which house she live in and
he cain't find her. He gets to wanderin' around, and one night he comes
to de ole big house he uster live in, way up on Main Street Hill. It's
all dark and tumble down, and he thinks he'll just go in once and look
around. He goes in, and inside he hears a voice singin'. It sounds jest
like his wife's voice. She were a beautiful singer, Mis' 'Lizbeth--de
Virginia nightingale, folks uster call her. He stands dere in dat dark,
empty house, lissenin' ter dat voice and he thinks it's his wife's
sperrit singin' ter him. She's singin' a song she uster sing when she
were young, somethin' about larks."
Katherine made a convulsive movement, and her heart began to pound
strangely.
"Den he say a lady come in de front door and he gits scairt and runs
out."
Katherine's head began to whirl, and she kept silence with an effort.
"He stand around outside for a while and bimeby an autermobile comes
along and de folks carries a girl out of de house and takes her away. He
sees de girl when dey's bringin' her out, and he knows she's his. He
watches where dat autermobile goes and it comes here."
The old man paused for a minute and looked around at the group at his
bedside, all hanging spellbound upon his words.
"Mis' 'Lizbeth," he said dramatically, "little Missy Sylvia am Tad
Phillips' little girl!"
When the sensation caused by his surprising story had subsided, Hercules
continued:
"He jest have ter see her before he go 'way, and he remember about de
secrut passidge th'u de hill dat he and Marse Jasper uster play in. He
come th'u in de night an get inter de house, but he cain't find her. He
see dere's people sleepin' in all de spare rooms dat uster be empty, and
he cain't go lookin' round. He left dem footprints on de stairs, Mis'
'Lizbeth; it ain't blood; it's paint. Dey's a ole jar of paint down dere
in de passidge, and he knocks it over and it breaks and he steps inter de
paint."
"But Hercules," interrupted Sherry, "how did he get into the passage from
the outside? The way is blocked."
"Dere's another way ter git out," replied Hercules, "before you come to
de doah down dere. I disremember jest how it is, but it comes up th'u de
floah of dat little summerhouse down de hillside. De boys fixed it up
after de other way was blocked.
"When I find Marse Tad out behind de barn he's feelin' sick, and I
brought him in and put him in my bed."
A light flashed through Nyoda's mind. "Was that what you wanted the hot
coffee for yesterday?" she asked.
"Yessum," replied Hercules meekly. Then he continued:
"Marse Tad he wanter see little missy so bad I promise ter help him. When
you-all gives me dat invite to de party and says I gotter wear a mask I
fixes it up wif Marse Tad to put on de maskrade suit after I get it and
go in and see little missy. While he's inside I stays outside. Den all of
a sudden out come Missy Camphor Girl and sees me and screeches dat she
jest left me inside. I got so scairt I jest nat'chly collapsed. Dat's
all."
"Your friend Tad ran out through the secret passage and disappeared,"
said Sherry.
"He's gone on de train by dis time," said Hercules, his voice getting
weak again. "He was goin' on de ten-ten. He's goin' ter sail Noo Year's
Day."
"Whew!" whistled Sherry. "What a drama has been going on right under our
very noses, and we knowing nothing about it! Sylvia the child of Uncle
Jasper's old friend! And by what a narrow chance we came upon her!"
Into this excitement came Migwan, who had been in the house with Sylvia.
"Sylvia's sick," she said in a troubled voice to Nyoda. "Her head is hot
and her hands are like ice, and she's been coughing hard for the last
half hour. She couldn't hold her head up for another minute, and I put
her to bed."
"I was afraid she was going to be sick," said Nyoda. "She been coughing
off and on all day long, and her cheeks were so bright to-night, it
seemed to me she looked feverish. I'm afraid the excitement of the party
was too much for her. Don't anyone breathe a word of what Hercules has
told us just now, she must be kept quiet."
They all promised.
In the moment when they stood looking at Hercules and waiting for Nyoda
to start back to the house, Slim suddenly thought of something.
"If it wasn't a thief that came in, why did he take your blanket?" he
asked.
Hercules answered, addressing himself to Nyoda. "Marse Tad didn't take
dat blanket, Mis' 'Lizbeth. _I_ took dat blanket. But I didn't steal it.
I jest borried it. Borried it to wrap around Marse Tad. I couldn't ask
you-all fer one, 'case you-all knew I had plenty, and I was skeered you'd
be gettin' 'spicious. I saw you-all puttin' dat ole blanket away in dat
drawer a long time ago, and I thought you-all never used it and would
never know if it was gone fer a day. It ain't hurt a might, Mis'
'Lizbeth, dere it is, over in de corner. How's you-all know it was gone?"
he asked, in comical amazement.
Nyoda explained, and soothed his agitation about the blanket in a few
words.
The strain of telling his story had worn him out and he lay back and
began to gasp feebly.
"Everybody go back to the house," commanded Nyoda, "and let Hercules
rest."
"I'se a-goin' dis time," murmured the old man. "I'se goin' ter Abram's
bosom. Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' fer to carry me home!"
"Nonsense!" said Nyoda, "you'll be all right in the morning," but she
called Sherry back and asked him to stay with Hercules the rest of the
night.
Then she went back to the house and found Sylvia burning with fever and
too hoarse to speak. She applied the usual remedies for a hard cold and
rose from bed to see how she was every hour throughout the night. Morning
brought no improvement, however, and with a worried look on her face
Nyoda went downstairs and telephoned the doctor.
CHAPTER XVI
A LETTER
Sylvia's illness increased during the day; her fever rose rapidly and the
coughing spells grew more violent and more frequent. Nyoda turned
Hercules over to Sherry and Justice and gave Sylvia her whole attention.
No whisper of the exciting news that rocked the family was allowed to
come to her ears for fear of its effect upon the fever.
"Bronchitis," the doctor had said whom Nyoda had hastily summoned, "watch
out for pneumonia."
The Winnebagos roamed the house, anxious and excited, talking in low
tones about the amazing turn of events, and listening eagerly for Nyoda
to come out of the sick room. Slim and the Captain shifted uneasily from
one chair to another until Katherine begged them to go out and take a
long walk.
"You make me nervous, trying so hard to keep quiet," she said to Slim.
The boys went out.
Migwan made some lemon jelly for Hercules and Sahwah carried it out to
him.
"Does he still believe he's dying?" asked Katherine when Sahwah returned
to the house.
"He's surer than ever," replied Sahwah. "He's making the arrangements for
his funeral. He's sorry now that he didn't join the Knights of Pythias
when he had the chance so he could have had a band."
"Is he really as sick as that?" asked Hinpoha in a scared voice.
"Sherry says he isn't," said Sahwah, "but Hercules insists that he won't
live till morning. Sherry's getting sort of anxious about him himself,
Justice told me outside the barn. Sherry said that Hercules believed so
firmly in signs he'd just naturally worry himself to death before long,
if he didn't stop thinking about the 'token' he'd had. People do that
sometimes. Hercules' heart _is_ bad and believing that his end was near
might bring on a fatal spell."
"Can't we do something to make him stop thinking about it?" asked Migwan.
"Remember the Dark of the Moon Society, Sahwah, that you got up to bring
Katherine out of a fit of the blues that time up on Ellen's Isle?"
"We can't do anything like that now, though," said Sahwah. "The foolish
things we do wouldn't have any effect upon him at all."
"I guess you're right," said Migwan with a sigh, after various things had
been suggested and immediately abandoned. "But I wish we could do
something to rouse him from the dumps he's fallen into," she added with a
sigh. "It seems as though we Winnebagos ought to be equal to the
emergency."
"You might read something to him," said Katherine desperately, after
several minutes of hard thinking had sprouted no ideas. "Read him 'The
Hound of the Baskervilles.' That will gently divert his thoughts. It's
absolutely the biggest thriller that was ever written. Judge Dalrymple
bought it on the train once, when he was going from Milwaukee to some
little town in Wisconsin, and he got so absorbed in it that he never came
to until the train pulled into St. Paul, hundreds of miles beyond his
stop. You might read him one chapter a day and he won't think of dying
before he knows how it is coming out. It'll be a sort of Arabian Nights
performance."
"Where will I get the book?" asked Migwan.
"I saw it in one of the cases in the library," replied Katherine. "It
must have belonged to Mr. Carver's housekeeper, for I'm sure he never
owned such a book."
"All right," said Migwan, "let's take it out and tell Justice to read it
to Hercules."
Katherine found the book on the library shelf and opened it to a picture
she wanted the girls to see. As she turned the pages a letter fell out
and dropped to the floor. She stopped to pick it up, and could not help
reading the address. It was addressed to Mr. Jasper Carver, Esquire, and
had never been opened.
"Here's a letter for Uncle Jasper that must have come after he died,"
said Katherine, "for it hasn't been opened." Nyoda came into the room
just then, and she handed it to her.
Nyoda looked at the date. "April 12, 1917," she read. "That's the very
day Uncle Jasper died. This letter must have come while he lay dead in
the house here, and in the confusion somebody put it into that book,