Part 9 (1/2)

”Here, here, what's happening back there?” Adair MacKenzie turned from his place next to the driver and frowned at the girls. ”Can't have this.

No blubbering on this trip.”

Nan smiled a wan smile at the word.

”Thought you were a brave girl,” Adair went on. ”Now, dry away those tears,” he ended, and turning, resumed his work of instructing the driver as to how to drive.

It was Laura who unthinkingly started them all off again.

”Makes you think, doesn't it,” she remarked, ”of the number of things you overlook doing for your mother when you're around her? Will I ever be good,” she continued, ”when I get home. I'll wash the dishes, set the table, run to the store, do anything and everything without question.”

Laura sounded so serious and so unlike herself in her seriousness that even Nan had to smile, as she agreed. ”That's just the way it makes me feel,” she said.

”Oh, Nan,” Bess protested, ”and you're always so good to your mother.

I'm the one that's mean. Why, I never do a thing around the house if I can help it.” And Bess spoke the truth. The daughter of a family that had plenty of money, Bess was a pampered child. As a general rule, she had little regard for either of her parents. Whatever she wanted, she asked for without regard for cost. What she couldn't get from her mother, she frequently managed to get from her father, and the two were well on the way toward spoiling her utterly when she went off to Lakeview with Nan.

There, away from home among strangers in a place where she had to live up to certain well-defined rules, Bess had improved considerably. Those that have watched her since her first appearance in ”Nan Sherwood at Pine Camp” have seen a change come over her gradually. She is a little more thoughtful, a little more considerate of other people, but she still has a selfish streak which at times like the present confronts her so that her conscience p.r.i.c.ks her sharply.

”When I get home,” Bess spoke more quietly than was her wont, ”I'm going to do a little reforming myself. I'm going to pay more attention to what mother has to say. I'm going to be a better daughter.”

”And I am too,” Laura agreed.

”And I,” Grace and Amelia said this together.

So even while Rhoda Hammond in a plane that was winging its way toward her western home, was remembering little, dear things about the mother she was so fond of, her friends were thinking of her and making resolution after resolution about their own conduct toward their parents.

CHAPTER X

FIRST MEXICAN EXPERIENCE

The days that followed were punctuated by telegrams received from Rhoda.

”Arrived safely.” That was the first one. It told nothing at all of her mother's condition.

”Mother's condition very serious. Not much hope.” That was the second and the girls scarcely had the heart to go on with Adair MacKenzie's party. Privately, they gave up hope entirely, but Adair tried to keep their spirits up. ”Never can tell about these things,” he said after reading the message.

”Some improvement. Pray. Love. Rhoda.” The third one read, and everyone felt better.

Then for two days, there was no word, and everyone's hope just dwindled away to nothing. During these days, it was Walker Jamieson with his knowledge of Mexico and its ways that put what life there was into the party.

The eight hundred miles over the new Pan-American highway from Laredo to Mexico City was through gorgeous tropical and mountain scenery, and all the way Walker regaled the girls with stories and legends about Mexico and its history.

He told b.l.o.o.d.y stories of bandits coming down out of the hills, attacking travelers, kidnaping them and then robbing them, or holding them for huge ransom. He told of warfare between the Mexicans and the Indians back in the hills. He told of lost tribes who still wors.h.i.+pped the Sun G.o.d, talked their native tongue, still lived in the way those who had built the pyramids had lived.

Alice listened breathlessly to all he had to say. Nan and her friends hung on his every word. Adair MacKenzie listened and grunted noncommittally.

From Laredo to Monterey, he told these stories and from Monterey to Villa Juarez until everyone, whether he would admit it or not, felt deeply the spell of Mexico.

Then from Villa Juarez to Tamazunchale, across rivers that were bordered by heavy tropical foliage, everyone except Adair MacKenzie was more or less silent absorbing quietly the beauty about.