Part 16 (2/2)

”Open any door,” responded Mrs. Townsend promptly, feeling more like a girl again than she had felt in many years of formal entertaining, and preparing, as she spoke, to hurry up the staircase to a retreat that she felt would be secure. It proved great fun, and a full half-hour went by before the last one was found. Murray had been the first to be discovered, his head so full of the late talk in the library that he had somewhat dazedly secreted himself in a position easily come upon by Mr.

Bell. So when the second round began, it was Murray who stood counting the tale of numbers in the hall below, while his quarry scurried away over the house.

”He knows every nook and corner of it, of course,” whispered Ross to Jane, as they ran lightly up the second flight of stairs, ”so we 'll have to hide pretty close to escape him. I 'm for a closet I know of where there's a pile of blankets as big as a barn. Will you come?”

”No--I know a better place,” and Jane slipped away by herself. She meant to be the last found, and to elude Murray as long as she could, a very girlish feeling having taken possession of her that the time to run away is the time when you see somebody looking uncommonly as if he would like to be with you. Although she longed to hear the outcome of the conference in the library, she was somehow just a little afraid of the new Murray, and it was with a delightful sense of exhilaration that she made her quick and quiet way up a third flight of stairs to one of s.h.i.+rley's haunts in an unused portion of the regions under the eaves.

It was a long time before she heard the sounds of the hunt, in which at last the whole party had come to join, approaching her hiding place. But suddenly a lower door was thrown open, and Murray's voice sounded far down in a determined challenge:

”We'll have you now, Jane--it's no use. s.h.i.+rley 's kept us away so far--the rascal--but your time 's up!”

She _could not_ be caught! There was a tiny door low down in the side of the closet where she was hiding, and dark though she knew it must be in the unknown region beyond this door, she opened it, slipped through, closed it, and crept along the bare beams beyond.

Murray was carrying a little electric searchlight, which he was flas.h.i.+ng into every nook and crevice. Its sharp beam had penetrated the hole in the blankets Ross had kept for a breathing s.p.a.ce. It had likewise sought out the hems of skirts, the soles of shoes, fingers clutching concealing draperies, and elbows sticking unwarily out from sly nooks. Jane saw its rays outline the edges of the small door beyond which she crouched; then she heard Murray's triumphant cry, ”O-ho, she's dropped her handkerchief! Now we 're hot on the trail. She's gone through this door, the crafty lady!”

There was a shout of mingled laughter and expostulation. ”She wouldn't go through that rat-hole! It's too dark in there for a girl. There 's no floor, either.”

But Murray was attempting to open the door. It was a sliding door, not a hinged one, and for a moment it delayed him, for he was not familiar with these regions, so dear to s.h.i.+rley.

During that moment, Jane, with the breathless unreadiness to be discovered which takes hold of the hiding one, even in a game, had desperately retreated over the rafters, in the hope of coming upon some sheltering corner. The next instant, with a smothered cry, she had fallen over the edge of something, _splash_ into three feet of water!

n.o.body had heard her, and somehow, in the intensity of the game, Jane's second emotion, after the startling sensation of her sudden immersion, was one of absurd relief at finding herself, after all, safe from discovery. For, as the little door at last flew open, and Murray's brilliant light leaped into the s.p.a.ce under the eaves, it disclosed to Jane that she had dropped into a cistern, the top of which lay level with the floor beams, and at the bottom thereof, where, having scrambled to her feet, she stood stooping, was out of sight of the faces peering in at the small door.

”Not here,” was Murray's disappointed observation, after one wave of his light round the small s.p.a.ce, ”unless she's in mother's special rain-water tank, white frock and all. Come on. I thought we had her then, sure. Where can she be? She's been here--witness that handkerchief. And if there's a cranny we have n't explored, I 'll----”

The little door closed with a slam; the light faded away from its edges.

The voices of the party were heard retreating down the stairs, and Jane was left alone to realise the humour of the situation.

It was undoubtedly humorous. It could hardly be dangerous, for October had been a mild month, and Jane was well used to cold plunges. The wetting of the pretty frock was of no consequence, for it was quite washable. It was fairly easy to scramble back to the rafters--Jane had done that the moment the searching party was out of hearing, and was carefully wringing out her drenched skirts. Her impromptu bath had wet her to the shoulders, besides bruising her arm rather badly. But the trying thing was to get downstairs and away without being discovered--and the whole company in full cry over the house!

Jane laughed rather hysterically, s.h.i.+vering a little, more from excitement and chagrin than from chill. She crept carefully to the small door, meaning to push it open and listen, when suddenly it began to slide quietly aside of itself. The next instant she saw a sunburned hand upon its fastening, and heard a cool voice, close by, say quietly:

”It's all right. n.o.body knows but me. They 've given it up, and sat down to await your own sweet will in showing up. Here 's a big steamer rug. Will you have it to wrap up in? I 'll get you home without a soul knowing, and we 'll play it off as a joke, somehow.”

”Thank you,” answered Jane, in a very meek voice, which shook with mingled irritation and merriment, as the rug came through the opening.

”Perhaps I could put it on better if I were not balancing myself on these rafters.”

”I beg your pardon. I 'll get out of this closet, and you can get in.

I just thought you would n't leave so--so damp a trail behind you if you were wrapped up in something. Here are a--er--a pair of Olive's rubbers for your feet, so you won't show any tracks.”

Murray's voice was shaking also, and in a minute more the two were laughing together. Jane, shrouded in her rug, emerged from the closet into the attic, and Murray regarded her by the light of his electric searcher.

”You don't look much the worse for having taken such desperate measures to escape me,” he remarked, noting with keen enjoyment the rich colour on the cheek near which he was rather mercilessly holding his torch.

”Rather meet a cold ducking than a warm friend any time, wouldn't you?”

”Not at all. I--you know how one hates to be caught.”

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