Part 17 (2/2)
”You really looked just like a spook!”
”Take it off now!”
”No, _no_!” said Prissie. ”Leave me alone! I haven't finished. Hus.h.!.+ I believe somebody else is coming to try the ordeal. Slip behind that cuc.u.mber-frame and hide, and let us see who it is. Quick! You'll be caught!”
The girls made a swift, but silent, dash for the shadow of the cuc.u.mber-frame, and concealed themselves only just in time. They were barely hidden when footsteps resounded on the gravel, and a figure advanced from the direction of the house. It came alone, and it carried something in its hand. In the clear beams of the moonlight, the Mafia had no difficulty in recognizing Laurette, and could see that what she bore was her bedroom mirror. They chuckled inwardly. Most evidently she had sallied forth to try the white magic of Hallowe'en, and to make the spell work more securely had come alone to consult the cabbage oracle.
First she placed her mirror on the ground, and tilted its swing gla.s.s to a convenient angle at which to catch reflections. Then she pulled hard at a stalk, looked with apparent satisfaction at the decidedly thick lumps of earth that adhered (which, if the magic were to be trusted, must represent a considerable fortune); then, clasping her cabbage in her hand, knelt down in front of the looking-gla.s.s, and began to mutter something to herself in a low voice. Her back was towards the cuc.u.mber-frame and the bushes, and her eyes were fixed on her mirror.
Prissie, looking on, realized that it was the chance of a lifetime. She stole on tiptoe from her retreat, and peeped over Laurette's shoulder so that her reflection should be displayed in the gla.s.s. Laurette, seeing suddenly a most unexpected vision of a dark mustache, literally yelled with fright, sprang up, and turned round to face her ”spook,” then with a further blood-curdling scream, dashed down the garden towards the house. The Mafia, rising from the shadow of the cuc.u.mber-frame, laughed long, though with caution.
”What an absolutely topping joke!” whispered Dulcie.
[Ill.u.s.tration: SHE PEEPED OVER LAURETTE'S SHOULDER]
”And on Laurette, of all people in this wide world!” rejoiced Bertha.
”Congrats., Prissie!”
”You _did_ play up no end!”
”I flatter myself I made her squeal and run!” smirked Prissie. ”It just serves her right! I was longing for a chance to get even with her!”
”What about the looking-gla.s.s?” asked Carmel. ”Won't some of them be coming out to fetch it?”
”Yes, of course they will! We must take it in at once. Let us scoot round the other way, and go in by the back door before Laurette and Co.
catch us!”
Prissie seized the mirror, and the nine girls fled by another path to the door near the kitchen, where by great good luck they avoided meeting any of the servants, and were able to bolt upstairs unseen. The Gold bedroom was empty--no doubt its occupants were s.h.i.+vering at the side door--so they were able to restore the looking-gla.s.s to its place on the dressing-table as a surprise for Laurette when she returned. Whether she suspected them or not, it was impossible to tell, for she kept her own counsel, and, though next day they referred casually to Hallowe'en observances, she only glanced at them with half-closed eyelids, and remarked that _she_ was quite above such silly superst.i.tions.
”Which is more than a fiblet, and about the biggest whopper that Miss Laurette Aitken has ever told in her life!” declared Prissie, still chuckling gleefully at the remembrance of the startled figure fleeing down the garden.
CHAPTER XIII
The Money-makers
”All Saints'” brought a brief spell of golden weather, a s.n.a.t.c.h of Indian summer, as if Persephone, loth to go down into the Underworld, had managed to steal a few days' extra leave from Pluto, and had remained to scatter some last flowers on earth before her long banishment from the suns.h.i.+ne. Under the sheltered brick wall in the kitchen-garden Czar violets were blooming, sweet and fragrant as those of spring; the rose trees had burst out into a second crop, and the chrysanthemums were such a special show that Miss Walters almost shook hands with Jones the gardener over them. Little wild flowers blossomed on in quiet nooks at the edge of the shrubbery, and b.u.t.terflies, brought out by the bright days, made a last flutter in the suns.h.i.+ne. The leaves, which Carmel had grieved so much to see fall, lay crisp and golden on the ground, but the bare boughs of the trees, somewhat to her surprise, held a beauty of form and tint quite their own.
”They are all sorts of lovely soft delicate colors,” she remarked.
”Quite different from trees in Sicily. I think it must be the damp in the air here that does it; everything seems seen through a blue haze--a kind of fairy glamour that makes them different from what they are!”
”Wait till you see them on a sousing wet December morning!” declared Gowan. ”You won't find much romance about them then!”
”But in the meantime we'll enjoy them!” said Miss Walters, who happened to overhear. ”Who votes for a walk this afternoon? Anybody who prefers to stop at home and write French translation may do so!”
<script>