Part 15 (1/2)
Head and shoulders through the opening, Penny glanced about curiously.
The room under the roof certainly did not look like a prison cell. It was snug and warm, with curtains at the windows and books lining the wall shelves. The floor was covered with a bright colored rag rug. There was a comfortable looking bed, a rocker and even a dressing table.
”Thanks for letting me out.”
Penny turned to gaze at the girl who stood directly behind her. She was not very pretty, for her nose was far too blunt and her teeth a trifle uneven. One could see a faint resemblance to Peter Jasko.
”You're welcome, I guess,” replied Penny, but with no conviction. ”I hope your grandfather won't be too angry.”
”Oh, he won't know about it,” the girl answered carelessly. ”I see you know who I am--Sara Jasko.”
”My name is Penny Parker.”
”I guessed the Penny part. I saw you trying to write it in the snow. You don't believe in signs either, do you?”
”I didn't have any right to trespa.s.s.”
”Oh, don't worry about that. Grandfather is an old fuss-budget. But deep down inside he's rather nice.”
”Why did he lock you up here?”
”It's a long story,” sighed Sara. ”I'll tell you about it later. Come on, let's get out of here.”
Penny backed down the ladder. The amazing granddaughter of Peter Jasko followed, taking the steps as nimbly as a monkey.
Going to a closet, Sara pulled out a wind-breaker, woolen cap, and a stub-toed pair of high leather shoes which she began to lace up.
”You're not aiming to run away?” Penny asked uneasily.
”Only for an hour or so. This snow is too beautiful to waste. But you'll have to help me get back to my prison.”
”I don't know what this is all about. Suppose you tell me, Sara.”
”Oh, Grandfather is funny,” replied the girl, digging in the closet again for her woolen gloves. ”He doesn't trust me out of his sight when there's snow on the ground. Today he had to go up the mountain to get a load of wood so he locked me in.”
”What has snow to do with it?”
”Why, everything! You must have heard about Grandfather. He hates skiing.”
”Oh, and you like to ski,” said Penny, ”is that it?”
”I adore it! My father, Bret Jasko, was a champion.” Sara's animated face suddenly became sober. ”He was killed on this very mountain. Grandfather never recovered from the shock.”
”Oh, I'm so sorry,” murmured Penny sympathetically.
”It happened ten years ago while my father was skiing. Ever since then Grandfather has had an almost fanatical hatred of the hotel people. And he is deathly afraid I'll get hurt in some way. He forbids me to ski even on the easy slopes.”
”But you do it anyway?”
”Of course. I slip away whenever I can,” Sara admitted cheerfully.