Loe raamatut: «The Automobile Girls Along the Hudson: or, Fighting Fire in Sleepy Hollow», lehekülg 4

Suddenly, with a cry of joy and relief, Mollie sprang upon the elder of the two women, threw her arms about the stranger’s neck and burst into uncontrollable sobs.

“O Granny Ann, Granny Ann!” cried Mollie. “At the very time we needed your help most you have come to us. I hoped and prayed it was your tribe, but I couldn’t tell. There were only men.”

The old Gypsy woman patted Mollie’s cheek tenderly, while the little girl sobbed out the story of their evening’s adventure.

The others had been so surprised at Mollie’s sudden outburst that they stood silently by without interrupting the story; but all felt that a light was beginning to break on what a short time before had looked like a hopeless situation.

Granny Ann, the sixty years of whose life had been spent in wandering over many countries, was as unperturbed as if they had met by appointment. Her companion, a young Gypsy girl, stood quietly by without speaking a word.

“The ladies will be safe with us,” said the old Gypsy, taking them all in with a comprehensive sweep of her small beady eyes; “as safe as if they were in their own homes. I have had shelter and food from the young lady, and a Gypsy never forgets a kindness. Come with me,” she added, with a commanding gesture, and led the way to the encampment.

The Gypsy girl brought up the rear and the others trailed along in between, Ruth and Grace still assisting Miss Sallie over the rough places.

When they reached the camp the four Gypsy men, picturesquely grouped around the fire, rose to their feet and looked curiously but imperturbably at the party of women.

Granny Ann called a grizzled old man from the fireside speaking rapidly in a strange language, her own Romany tongue, in fact. After conferring with him a few moments, she turned to Miss Sallie.

“My rom,” she said (which in Gypsy language means husband), “thinks you had better stay here to-night. It would not be easy to find the gentleman’s house on such a dark night, but we can make you comfortable in one of our tents. He and the other men will take the horses and draw the steam carriage down the road until it is near enough to be guarded – if one of the young ladies will show the way. There is no danger,” she continued, sternly, as Miss Sallie began to protest at the idea of one of her girls going off with all those strange men. “A Gypsy does not repay a kindness with a blow. Come,” she called to the men, “that young lady will show the way.” And she pointed at Barbara, who had slipped the pistol into her belt, and was talking to Ruth in a low voice.

Miss Sallie explained to the girls what Granny Ann had decided was the best course for them to take, while the four men untethered the four lean horses and half-harnessed them, and the old Gypsy man gathered some coils of rope together.

Ruth insisted on accompanying Barbara, and the two girls led the way through the wood to the road, the men following with the horses.

They found the automobile exactly as it had been left, save in one particular. The murderous-looking dagger was gone. But the suit cases and numerous dress boxes were untouched.

The girls waited at one side while the Gypsies secured the ropes to the car and then to the collars of the horses. Two Gypsies walked on either side, holding the reins, while the other two ran to the back and began to push the machine. The horses strained at the ropes; then in an instant the automobile was moving easily, urged from the back and pulled from the front like a stubborn mule.

When the girls again reached that part of the road opposite the camp, the caravan came to a full stop.

Ruth directed that all the cushions be carried to the tent, together with the steamer rugs stored under the seats, the tea-basket and other luggage. The dismantled automobile was then left for the night.

Ruth and Bab found Miss Sallie waiting at the tent, a tragic figure in the darkness.

CHAPTER VII – A NIGHT WITH THE GYPSIES

“I think we shall be comfortable enough, Aunt Sallie,” said her niece, after their belongings had been deposited in the tent. “We will fix you a nice bed, auntie, dearest, with steamer rugs and your rubber air cushion, and for the first time in your life you will be almost sleeping under the stars.”

But poor Miss Sallie only smiled in reply. She was too weary and exhausted to trust the sound of her own voice, now that danger was over and they had found protectors.

While Grace and Ruth arranged three beds inside the tent (Ruth and Bab having joyfully elected to sleep just outside) the two sisters made tea and opened up boxes of tea biscuits and Swiss chocolate which were always kept in the provision basket for emergencies.

Granny Ann had offered them food, but they had courteously declined, remembering tales they had heard of the unclean Gypsy, and giving as an excuse that they had a light supper with them. “Very light indeed,” commented Ruth later; “but I don’t think we’ll starve.”

“Now that everything is comfy,” observed Grace, “I, for one, think it is great fun. Our little house in the woods! For one night, it is almost as good as the cabin in the Berkshires.”

“Yes, for one night; but give me a roof when the rain comes,” cried Ruth.

“You are safe for to-night, at any rate, Ruth,” said Barbara, looking up at the sky through the branches of the tall forest trees. “There’s not a cloud, even as small as a man’s hand. And how bright the stars are! There comes the harvest moon. It looks like a great, red lantern.”

“Money, money!” cried Mollie excitedly.

“What is the matter with you, child?” said Miss Sallie, startled into finding her voice at last.

“Didn’t you see it?” said Mollie. “It was a splendid shooting star. It had a tail that reached halfway across the heavens. Don’t you know that, if you remember to say ‘money, money, money,’ before it fades out of sight or goes wherever it disappears to – ”

“‘Oh, mother, where do the shooting stars go’?” laughed Ruth, breaking in upon Mollie – “you will inherit a large sum of money,” continued Mollie.

“We shall be sleeping at the feet of an heiress, then,” said Bab. “Or did the star fade out before you had finished, Molliekins?”

“I don’t know,” replied Mollie. “I was so excited that I forgot to look.”

By this time tea was ready and a rug had been spread in front of the tent for the guests to sit upon. Miss Sallie with her air cushion between her shoulders and the trunk of a tree that spread its branches over the tent, was beginning to feel that life, after all, held a number of pleasant things, including a certain favorite blend of tea that was as delicious, fragrant and expensive as heart could wish.

The night breeze touched their faces gently, and the stillness and sweet scents of the woods soothed them into forgetfulness of their troubles. While they sipped their tea and talked, in subdued voices, of the mystery of the forest at night, the Gypsy girl crept up and gazed curiously, almost wistfully, at them.

“Do have some chocolate,” called Ruth, as she held the box toward the girl. “Come over and sit down, won’t you? What is your name?”

“My name is Zerlina,” replied the Gypsy, as she nibbled gingerly at a piece of chocolate.

“And is Granny Ann your mother?” asked Ruth.

“She is my grandmother,” replied Zerlina. “My mother died many years ago.”

Ruth looked at her sympathetically. They had, she thought, at least one thing in common in their widely separated circumstances.

“Would you like,” she asked gently, “to live in a city and go to school?”

For a moment Zerlina’s face flushed with a deep glow of color. Her eyes traveled from one to another of the automobile party. She noted their refined, well-bred faces, their dainty dresses, the luxurious pile of long silk coats and chiffon veils. Nothing escaped the child, not even the elegant little tea basket with its fittings of silver and French china.

“There are times when I hate this life,” Zerlina said finally, turning to Ruth, who was watching her curiously. “There are times in the winter when we have been too poor to go far enough South to keep warm. It is then that I would like the city and the warm houses. But my grandmother is very strict.”

She paused and bit her lip. She had spoken so fiercely that the girls had felt somewhat embarrassed at their own prosperity. “But,” continued Zerlina in a quieter tone, “when summer comes, I would rather be here in the woods. Gypsies do not live in houses,” she went on a little proudly. “My grandmother has told me that they have been wanderers for thousands of years. They do not go to school. They teach each other. My grandmother has taught me to read and write. She was taught by her mother, who was adopted and educated by a noble lady. But she came back to the Gypsies afterwards.”

“And your mother?” asked Mollie.

“My mother is dead,” returned Zerlina, and closed her lips tightly, as if to block all further inquiries in that direction.

“It is very interesting!” exclaimed Ruth. “And your education is then really inherited from your great-grandmother.”

“Yes,” assented the girl, “but I have inherited more than that – from my mother.”

The girls waited for Zerlina to finish. They hesitated to question her about her mother since it was evidently a forbidden subject with her.

“I have inherited her voice,” she added confidentially. “It may be that I shall be a singer some day.”

“Oh, really?” cried all the girls in unison.

“You will sing for us now, won’t you?” added Ruth.

“If you wish,” said Zerlina. “I will get my guitar.” And she disappeared in the darkness.

“Isn’t she pretty?” commented Mollie.

“How soft her voice is, and what good English she speaks,” marveled Ruth. “But then, we must remember her great-grandmother was educated by a noble lady and transmitted her learning and manners straight to her.”

“Poor thing!” exclaimed Bab. “I am really very sorry for her. The instincts of her great-grandmother and her grandmother keep up a sort of warring inside of her. In the winter time she’s her great-grandmother, and in the summer time she’s a real Gypsy. There are times when she sighs for a steam-heated house, and times when she sighs for the open.”

“But it’s mostly the open she gets,” said Grace. “What do you suppose she meant when she said that Granny Ann was very strict?”

“I can’t imagine,” replied Ruth, “unless Granny Ann refuses to allow her to buy herself a warm house. Seriously, though, I should like to do something for a girl like Zerlina. She strikes me as being far from ordinary. But here she comes. We will hear her sing first. This beggar girl may be a future prima-donna.”

Zerlina emerged from the darkness, with an old guitar, and, sitting crosslegged on the ground, began to thrum an accompaniment. Then she sang in a deep, rich voice a song of the Gypsies. The song was in Spanish and the beat of the music was so weird and insistent that the listeners could hardly restrain themselves from joining hands and dancing in time to the rhythm.

They were thrilled by the romance of the Gypsy camp and the charm of the girl’s singing. When she had finished they begged for more, and Zerlina was about to comply when a voice called her from the encampment. It was her grandmother’s, and what she said was not understood, since it was in the Romany language. But the girl leaped hurriedly to her feet.

“I will not sing again to-night,” she said. “The ladies are tired. Another time. Good-night,” And she slipped away in the darkness.

“Granny Ann is strict,” said Ruth. “You wouldn’t think she would object to Zerlina’s associating with a few girls her own age. I wonder why she doesn’t like to have her sing? Perhaps she is afraid she will run away, some day, and go on the stage.”

“I wish I had her beautiful voice,” sighed Grace. “Think what it could be made with proper training.”

“If she does not coarsen in feature, as so many of these dark women do,” observed Miss Sallie, “she will be very handsome some day.”

“And now for our lowly beds,” cried Ruth. “Barbara, you and I will sleep at the door of the tent like faithful slaves guarding their noble ladies. Nobody need be afraid. Granny Ann has promised to have a Gypsy man keep watch, and I have pinned my faith to Granny Ann. I believe she’s a woman of her word.”

“Mollie, you seem to be on such friendly terms with these people. What is your opinion?” asked Miss Sallie.

“I believe we shall be as safe as if we were in our own homes,” replied Mollie. “Granny Ann will keep faith with us. You will see. Perhaps she wouldn’t if she didn’t feel under obligations for a few sandwiches and lemonades, and things that I have made for her occasionally in the summer on hot days. But I know she’s a kind of queen in the tribe, and used to being obeyed.”

Fifteen minutes had hardly slipped past when Miss Sallie and “The Automobile Girls” were sound asleep, Bab with her pistol at her side.

CHAPTER VIII – THE HAUNTED POOL

To be awakened early in the morning by the songs of birds and innumerable woodland sounds, and find one’s self in the very center of a forest, is no common experience. To the girls, as they looked up through the leafy canopies, and then across the green aisles formed by trees that looked as if they might have stood there since the beginning of time – it was all very wonderful.

“How beautiful this is!” exclaimed each one, as she opened her eyes upon the wooded scene.

“Girls,” cried Ruth, “I wouldn’t have missed this for worlds! No wonder Zerlina hates to live in a house in the summer time. Isn’t this fun? Shall we go over there and wash our faces in that little brook!”

Off they scampered, a curious procession for the deep woods, each with a burden of toilet articles, soaps and sponges, wash rags, mirrors and brushes.

“Well,” exclaimed Miss Sallie Stuart as she knelt beside the stream and dipped her hands into its cool depths, “I never expected to come to this; but it is very refreshing, nevertheless.”

“This is Nature’s bathtub, auntie, dear. We should be thankful to have it so near. I suppose that is the reason the Gypsies chose this spot to camp in,” said Ruth.

“My dear child,” replied her aunt, “I know very little about the Gypsy race; but I do know one thing: that a Gypsy never took advantage of any kind of a bathtub, wooden, tin, porcelain or Nature’s.”

The girls all laughed joyously.

The fright of the day before had not left a very deep impression. Sleep and a feeling of safety had almost effaced it.

Presently they were back at the tent making tea and boiling eggs supplied by Granny Ann from the Gypsy larder. Ruth wanted to build a fire, but they decided that the ground was too dry to risk it. The Gypsies had dug a small trench all around their camp fire. If they had not, those splendid old woods would have been in serious danger of burning, explained Barbara, who had been reading a great deal in the papers about forest fires.

It was arranged, after breakfast, that one of the men should ride over with a note to Major Ten Eyck’s, asking the major to send for them at once, and also to dispatch his chauffeur to mend the slashed tires.

The Gypsy camp had been astir long before the automobilists arose, and the men were now sitting at their ease around the clearing, smoking silently, while Granny Ann and two other women were moving about the tents, “cleaning up,” as Ruth expressed it.

“They have a lovely chance to learn housework,” said Grace. “But they do seem to air their bedclothes. Look at all those red comforts hanging on the bushes.”

“It’s easier to air them than to make up the beds,” observed Mollie. “All you have to do in the morning, is to hang your blanket on a hickory limb, and when you go to bed, snatch it off the limb and wrap up in it for the night.”

“Do you suppose they sleep in their clothes?” pondered Barbara.

“Why, of course they do,” replied Ruth. “You don’t for a moment imagine they would ever go to the trouble of undressing, only to dress again in the morning?”

“Girls, girls,” remonstrated Miss Sallie, “we must not forget that we are accepting their hospitality. Besides, here comes that young woman with the voice.”

“Let’s take Zerlina as a guide, and go for a walk,” cried Ruth. “I’m so full of life and spirits this morning that I couldn’t possibly sit down like those lazy men over there, who seem to have nothing to do but smoke and talk. Auntie, dear, will you go, or shall we fix you a comfortable seat with the cushions under this tree and leave you to read your book?”

“I certainly have no idea of going for a walk,” replied Miss Stuart, “after what I’ve been through with these last two days. Nor do I want you to go far, either, or I shall be terribly uneasy.”

But Miss Sallie was not really uneasy. It was one of those enchanting mornings when the mind is not troubled with unpleasant feelings. Perhaps the Gypsies had bewitched her. At any rate she sat back comfortably among the cushions and rugs, with her writing tablet, the new magazines and the latest novel all close at hand, and watched the girls until they disappeared down the leafy aisles of the forest. How charming their voices sounded in the distance! How sweet was the sound of their young laughter! Miss Stuart closed her eyes contentedly. The spell of the place was upon her, and she fell asleep before she had opened a single magazine or cut one leaf of the new novel.

In the meantime, the four girls, led by Zerlina and her dog, were following the little stream in its capricious windings through the forest.

A squirrel darted in front of them with a flash of gray and jumped to the limb of a tree.

Zerlina made a sign for the girls to be silent. Then speaking to her dog in her own language, he sat down immediately on his haunches and never moved a muscle until she spoke to him again. She walked slowly toward the tree, where the squirrel sat watching them uneasily. A few feet off she paused and gave a shrill, peculiar whistle. The squirrel pricked up his ears and cocked his head on one side. Zerlina whistled again and held out her hand. The charm was complete. Down the limb he crept until he reached the ground, paused again, surveyed the scene with his little black eyes, and with one leap, settled himself on her shoulder.

“Oh!” cried the impulsive Ruth and the spell was broken.

Away scampered the frightened little animal.

“How wonderful!” exclaimed the others as they gathered around Zerlina, who held herself with a sort of proud reserve as they plied her with questions.

“It is because I have lived in the woods so much of the time,” she explained. “One makes friends with animals when one has no other friends.”

“Zerlina,” said Ruth, “let me be your friend.”

“Thank you,” replied the girl simply, “but perhaps we shall not meet again. You will be going away in a little while.”

“You must come and sing for us at Major Ten Eyck’s,” said Ruth, “and then we shall see if we cannot meet again.”

They were walking in single file, now, along the stream. Mollie was gathering ferns which grew in profusion on the bank. Barbara, who was behind the others, had stopped to look at a bird’s nest that had fallen to the ground and shattered the little blue eggs it had held.

As she knelt on the ground, something impelled her to look over her shoulder. At first Bab saw only the green depths of the forest, but in a moment her eyes had found what had attracted them. Stifling a cry she rose to her feet. What she had seen was gone in an instant, so quickly that she wondered if she had not been dreaming. Peering at her through the leaves of parted branches she had seen a face, a very strange, old face, as white as death. It was the face of an old person, she felt instinctively, but the eyes had something childlike in their expression of wonder and surprise.

When it was gone, Barbara felt almost as if she had seen a ghost. She leaned over and dipped her hands into the stream to quiet her throbbing veins.

“Truly this wood is full of mysteries,” she thought to herself as she turned to follow the others. But she decided not to say anything about it. They had had enough frights lately, and she was determined not to add another to the list.

By this time the girls had reached a lovely little pool set like a mirror in a mossy frame. On one side the bank had flattened out and was carpeted with luxuriant, close-cropped grass, almost as smooth as the lawn of a city park. The trees had crowded themselves to the very edge of the greensward. They closed up on the strip of lawn like a wall and stretched their branches over it, as if to shield it from the sun.

“Did you ever see anything so sweet in all your life?” cried Ruth, as she flung herself on the turf.

“Never!” agreed the others with enthusiasm, following her example.

“This pool is supposed to be haunted,” said Zerlina, and Bab started, remembering the face she had just seen.

“Haunted by what, Zerlina?” she asked.

“It is not known,” replied the Gypsy girl, mysteriously; “but on moonlight nights some one is often seen sitting on this bank.”

“What some one – a man or a woman?” persisted Bab.

“It is not known,” repeated Zerlina. “But it has been seen, nevertheless. Besides,” she continued, “this is supposed to be the meeting-place of fairies. Though people do not believe in fairies in this country.”

“I do,” declared Mollie, and the other girls laughed light-heartedly.

“And,” went on Zerlina, “the deer who live in this wood come here to graze and drink water from the pool.”

“Now, that I can believe,” said Ruth.

“Well, it is an enchanted spot,” cried Mollie. “It must be. Look at Zerlina’s dog.”

The shepherd dog had taken his tail in his mouth and was circling slowly. The girls watched him breathlessly as he turned faster and faster. Once he fell into the stream, but he never stopped and continued to circle so rapidly, as he clambered out, that he lost all sense of direction and waltzed over the girls’ laps, staining their dresses with his wet feet, while they laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks, and the woods rang with the merry sound.

At a word from the Gypsy girl the dog stopped and stretched himself exhausted, on the ground.

“Zerlina, you must have bewitched that animal,” cried Ruth. “But wasn’t it beautiful? If we had been lying down he would have waltzed right over our faces.”

“Girls,” proposed Grace, after they had recovered from the exhibition of the waltzing dog, “let’s go in wading.”

“What a great idea, Grace!” cried Ruth. In a jiffy they had their shoes and stockings piled together on the bank and had slipped into the little pool of clear, running water.

Zerlina watched them from the bank. Perhaps Miss Sallie was right, and water had no charms for this Gypsy child.

As they clung to each other, giving little shrieks of pleasure and making a great splashing, Mollie exclaimed suddenly:

“Look, look! Here comes a man!”

Sure enough there was a man emerging from the trees on the other side of the stream. The girls scampered excitedly out of the water, giggling, as girls will do, and sat in a row on the bank, tailor-fashion, hiding their wet feet under their skirts.

By this time the stranger had come up to the pool and stood gazing in amazement at the party of young women.

“Well, for the love of Mike!” he exclaimed.

It was Jimmie Butler, one of the major’s house party.

Then he caught sight of the pyramid of shoes and stockings; his face broke into a smile and he laughed so contagiously that everybody joined in. Once more the enchanted pool was given over to merriment.

“Where on earth did you come from?” demanded Ruth.

“And where have you been?” he echoed.

Whereupon everybody talked at once, until all the adventures had been related.

“And you’re actually alive, after all these hairbreadth escapes, and able to amuse yourselves in this simple fashion?” gasped Jimmie Butler. “Ladies, putting all joking aside, permit me to compliment you on your amazing nerve. I don’t think I ever met a really brave woman before, and to be introduced to five at once! Why, I feel as if I were at a meeting of suffragettes!”

“But how did you happen to be here?” repeated Ruth.

“Oh, I’m just out for a morning stroll,” he replied. “I came to see the haunted pool.”

“Just take another little stroll, for five minutes, until we get on our shoes and stockings. Then we’ll all go back to our home of canvas,” said Ruth.

By the time they had reached the encampment Bab had almost forgotten about the strange face she had seen, and they were all talking happily together about Ten Eyck Hall, which, according to Jimmie Butler, was the finest old house in that part of the country.

In the meantime the major himself had arrived in his automobile, while the boys had ridden over on horseback. When the others came up, they found the chauffeur busily engaged in repairing the tires of Ruth’s automobile. Miss Stuart and Major Ten Eyck were deep in conversation, while the Gypsies stood about in groups, looking at the strangers indifferently.

“Miss Ruth,” said the major, after greetings had been exchanged, “if you can run this machine, suppose we start at once and leave my chauffeur to follow with yours. You ladies must be very hungry. We will have an early luncheon.”

The girls said good-bye to the Gypsies and thanked them graciously. Ruth had tried to compensate Granny Ann, but the old woman had haughtily refused to accept a cent.

“A Gypsy takes nothing from his guest,” she said, and Ruth was obliged to let the matter drop. However, she made the old Gypsy promise to bring her granddaughter over to see them very soon, and as they disappeared down the road, they saw Zerlina leaning against a tree, watching them wistfully.

At last, the journey which had been so full of peril and adventure was ended, and “The Automobile Girls” arrived safely at Ten Eyck Hall.