The on the Farm Part 4 (2/2)
Jamieson threw up his hands with a laugh.
”Wait--and keep my eyes open,” he said. ”I'm going to act as if I'd lost all interest in the case. That may fool Brack. Our best chance now, you see, is to wait for the other side to make a mistake. They've made some already; the chances are they'll do it again. Then we can nab them. What I want to do is to make them think they're quite safe, that they needn't be afraid of us any more.”
”You won't need Bessie, then, right away?”
”No. Really, she worries me. I feel as if she weren't safe here. They seem to be afraid of her, and I wouldn't put it past them to try to get hold of her and keep her where she can't do any talking until they've done what they want to do.”
”But, Charlie, they must know that she's told us everything she knows already. Why should they want to take her away now?”
”If I knew that I could answer a lot of other questions, too. But here's a guess. Suppose she knows something without knowing at all what it means, or how important it is? That might easily be. She might be able to clear up the whole mystery with some single, seemingly unimportant remark. They may have good reason to know she hasn't done it yet, but they may also be afraid that, at any time, she will entirely by accident give away their whole game. And I've got an idea that if their game ever is exposed, someone will be in danger of going to jail. See? I'd like to figure out some good safe place for Bessie, where she'd be out of the way of all their tricks.”
Eleanor clapped her hands.
”Then I've got the very place!” she said. ”This business has upset the plans I'd made, but now I'm going to take my Camp Fire Girls down to dad's farm in Cheney County. You laughed at me when I was made a Camp Fire Guardian, Charlie, but you're going to see now what a fine thing the movement is.”
”I didn't mean to laugh at you, Eleanor,” he said, contritely. ”And I got over doing it long ago, anyhow. I used to think this Camp Fire thing was a joke--just something got up to please a lot of girls who wanted to wear khaki skirts and camp out because their brothers had joined the Boy Scouts and told them what a good time they were having.”
”That's just like a man,” said Eleanor, quietly triumphant. ”None of you think girls can do anything worth while on their own account. The Camp Fire Girls didn't imitate the Boy Scouts, and they're not a bit like them, really. We haven't anything against the Boy Scouts, but we think we're going to do better work among girls than even the Scout movement does among boys. Well, anyhow, we're going down to the farm, and Bessie shall go along. If anyone tries to kidnap her while she's with the girls, they'll have a hard time. We stick together, let me tell you, and Wohelo means something.”
”You needn't preach to me, Eleanor,” said the lawyer, laughing. ”You converted me long ago. I'll stand for anything you do, anyhow. You're all right--you've got more sense than most men. It's a pity there aren't more girls like you.”
”That's rank flattery, and it isn't true, anyhow,” laughed Eleanor. ”But if I am any better than I used to be, it's because I've learned not to think of myself first all the time. That's what the Camp Fire teaches us, you see. Work, and Health, and Love, that's what Wohelo means. And it means to work for others, and to love others, and to bring health to others as well as to yourself. Come down to the farm while we're there, and you'll see how it works out.”
Jamieson got up.
”I probably will,” he said, smiling as he held out his hand in farewell. ”I'll have to come down to consult my client, you see.”
”And you'll let us know if there's any news of Zara, Mr. Jamieson, won't you?” said Bessie. ”I love the idea of going to the farm, but I rather hate to leave the city when I don't know what may be happening to Zara.”
”You can't help her by staying here,” said the lawyer, earnestly. ”I'm quite sure of that. And I really think she's all right, and that she's being properly treated. After all, it's pretty hard to carry a girl like Zara off and keep her a prisoner against her will. It would be much better policy to treat her well, and keep her contented. It's quite plain that she thought she was going with friends when she went, or she would have made some sort of a row. And their best policy is to keep her quiet.”
”But they didn't act that way before we got away from Hedgeville--clear away, I mean,” said Bessie. ”Farmer Weeks caught her in the road, you know, and locked her in that room the time that I followed her and helped her to get away through the woods.”
”Yes, but that was a very different matter, Bessie. In that state Weeks had the law on his side. The court was ready to name him as her guardian, and to bind her over to him until she was twenty-one. In this state neither he nor anyone else, except her father, has any more right to keep her from going where she likes than they have to tell me what I must do--as long as we obey the law and don't do anything that is wrong.”
”Then you think she's well and happy?”
”I'm quite sure of it,” said Jamieson heartily. ”This isn't some foreign country. It's America, where there are plenty of people to notice anything that seems wrong or out of the ordinary; And if they were treating Zara badly, she'd be pretty sure to find someone who would help her to get away.”
”Yes, this is America,” said Bessie, thoughtfully. ”But you see, Zara has lived in countries where things are very different. And maybe she doesn't know her rights. After all, you know, she thinks her father hasn't done anything wrong, and still she's seen him put in prison and kept there. What I'm afraid of is that she'll get to think that this is just like the countries she knows best, and be afraid to do anything, or try to get help, no matter what they do.”
”Well, we mustn't borrow trouble,” said Jamieson, frowning slightly at the thoughts Bessie's words suggested to him. ”We can't do anything more now, that's sure. Have a good time, and stop worrying. That's the best legal advice I can give you right now.”
Once her mind was made up, Eleanor acted quickly. The outing at her father's farm, which was not at all like the Hoover farm in Hedgeville of which Bessie King had such unpleasant memories, was one that had long been promised to her girls, and she herself had been looking forward to going there. The troubles of Bessie and Zara had almost led her to abandon the idea of going there herself, and she had arranged for a friend to take her place as Guardian for a time. Now, however, she sent word to all her girls, and that very evening they met at the station and took the train for Deer Crossing, the little station that was nearest to the farm.
”They'll meet us in the farm wagons,” said Eleanor, when the girls were all aboard. ”So we'll have a ride through the moonlight to the farm--the moon rises early to-night, you know.”
It was a jolly, happy ride in the train, and Bessie, renewing her acquaintance with the Camp Fire Girls, who had seemed to her and Zara, when they had first seen them, like creatures from another world, felt her depression wearing off. They had a car to themselves, thanks to the conductor, who had known Eleanor Mercer since she was a little girl, and as the train sped through the country scenes that were so familiar to Bessie, the girls laughed and talked and sang songs of the Camp Fire, and made happy plans for walks and tramps in the country about the farm.
”It's just like the country around Hedgeville, Miss Eleanor,” said Bessie, as the Guardian stopped beside the seat she shared with her first chum among the Camp Fire Girls, Minnehaha. ”The houses look the same, and the stone fences, and--oh, everything!”
”I wonder if you aren't a little bit homesick, down in your heart, Bessie?” laughed Miss Mercer. ”Come, now, confess!”
”Perhaps I am,” said Bessie, wonderingly. ”I never thought of that. But it's just for the country, and the cows and the animals, and all the things I'm used to seeing. I wouldn't go back to Maw Hoover's for anything.”
”You shan't, Bessie. I was only joking,” said Eleanor, quickly. ”I know just how you feel. I've been that way myself. When you get away from a place you begin very quickly to forget everything that was disagreeable that happened there, and you only remember the good times you had. That's why you're homesick.”
”We'll be able to take walks and go for straw rides here, won't we, Wanaka?” asked Minnehaha. She used Eleanor's fire name, Wanaka, just as Minnehaha was her fire name; her own was Margery Burton.
”You'll have to, if you expect to be in fas.h.i.+on,” laughed the Guardian. ”And you shall learn to milk cows and find eggs and do all sorts of farm work, too. I expect Bessie will want to laugh often at you girls. You see, she knows all about that sort of thing, and you'll all be terrible greenhorns, I think.”
”I ought to know about a farm,” said Bessie. ”I lived on one long enough. And I don't see why I should laugh at the rest of the girls. They know more about the city now than I ever will know. I've been there long enough to find that out, anyhow.”
Just then the conductor put his head inside the door, and called ”Deer Crossing!”
As the train slowed up, all the girls made a rush for their bags and bundles, and five minutes later they were standing and watching the disappearing train, waving to the amused conductor and trainmen, who were all on the platform of the last car. Then the train disappeared around a curve, and they had a chance to devote their attention to the two big farm wagons that were waiting near the station, each with its team of big Percherons and its smiling driver. The drivers were country boys, with fair, tousled hair, and both wore neat black suits. At the sight of them Eleanor burst into a laugh.
”Why, Sid Harris--and you, too, Walter Stubbs!” she cried. ”This isn't Sunday! What are you doing in your store clothes, just as if you were on your way to church?”
Both the boys flushed and neither of them had a word to say.
”Did you get mixed up on the days of the week!” Eleanor went on, pitilessly.
All the girls were enjoying their confusion, and black-eyed Dolly Ransom, the tease of the party, laughed aloud.
”I bet they never saw so many girls together before, Miss Eleanor,” she said, with a toss of her pretty head. ”That's why they're so quiet! They probably don't have girls in the country.”
”Don't they, just!” said Eleanor, laughing back at her. ”Wait until you see them, Dolly. They'll put your nose out of joint, the girls around here. If you think you're going to have it all your own way with the boys out here, the way you do so much at home, you're mistaken.”
Dolly tossed her head again. She looked at the confused, blus.h.i.+ng boys on the wagons, who could hardly be expected to understand that Dolly was only teasing them, and wanted nothing better than a perfectly harmless flirtation.
”They're welcome to boys like those,” she said airily. ”I'll wait until I get home, Miss Eleanor.”
Then she turned away, and Eleanor, her face serious for a moment, turned to Bessie.
”She'll wait until she's grown up, too, if I've got anything to say about it,” she said. ”Bessie, when Zara comes back, of course you'll be with her mostly. But I wish you'd make a friend of Dolly Ransom,--a real friend. Her mother's dead, and she has no sisters.”
”I hope I can,” said Bessie, simply. ”I like her ever so much.”
CHAPTER VIII.
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