  “For the whole month?” Jane Patterson’s eyes sparkled with anticipation as she repeated the invitation her chum had just extended. “Yes,” replied Mary Louise Gay. “You see, we never could invite you before, because the bungalow is so small, and there’s just room enough for our own family. But Dad will be out West all of August. He doesn’t expect to be back until Labor Day.” “On a case?” inquired Jane, for Mr. Gay was a detective on the police force. Mary Louise nodded. “Yes. An important one. I almost wish I could go with him—it sounds so thrilling.” “Didn’t you have enough excitement and mystery at Dark Cedars?” demanded Jane. “I never have enough,” returned the other girl. “Well, please don’t dig up anything to spoil our vacation at Shady Nook. Still, I don’t really suppose you could if you tried. The very name implies peace.” “It is a peaceful spot,” agreed Mary Louise. “Not a bit like a big summer resort. Just the mountains and the woods and the lovely Hudson River. Only half a dozen bungalows, so that everybody knows everybody else. It’s all so friendly and nice.” “Then I shan’t need any fancy clothes—like dance dresses?” Jane’s tone held a faint note of disappointment. She loved outdoor sports, but she was equally fond of parties. “You better take a couple along,” replied the other girl. “Across the river from Shady Nook there’s a big modern hotel where we often go for dinners and dances. Everybody wears their best clothes there. But most of the time we eat at Flicks’ Inn. It’s just a bigger bungalow, where they have a dining room for the Shady Nook people and a few boarders. Very nice and informal.” Jane jumped up and started down the steps, across the lawn that separated the Gays’ house from the Pattersons’. “I must go tell Mother all about it,” she explained, “and begin to get my clothing ready. What time do we start?” “Seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Rain or shine.” Left alone, Mary Louise opened the screen door and went into her own house. Her father, with his suitcase on the floor beside him, was saying good-bye to her mother and to his young son Joseph, whom everybody called “Freckles.” Mr. Gay put his hand upon his daughter’s shoulder and said to his wife: “I am counting on Mary Louise to take care of you, dear. After the way she mastered that situation at Dark Cedars, I feel that she is capable of almost anything. Far above and beyond most girls of sixteen!” “She is!” agreed Mrs. Gay proudly. “But I am not expecting any trouble at Shady Nook. I’m more worried about what may happen to you before you catch those criminals!” “I’ll be all right,” her husband assured her. “Wire for me if you need me—and I’ll come back by airplane.” Mrs. Gay nodded, little thinking that she would have to follow his advice before the month was over. As soon as he was gone, the other three members of the family returned to the business of packing. Silky, Mary Louise’s little brown spaniel, trotted around after them, sniffing at everything and looking serious and important, as if he were doing most of the work. “I’m thankful your father left us the car,” remarked Mrs. Gay, as the suitcases and packages were piled up near the back door. “We’ll need it.” “Shady Nook is so far from the Junction,” added Mary Louise. “Yes, we’re lucky. And isn’t it nice I have my license, so you won’t have to drive all the way?” “It certainly is,” agreed her mother. “You’ve always been a big help to me, Mary Louise. And so have you, Freckles,” she added to the boy. At last everything was finished, in time to allow them all a good sleep before their trip. Shady Nook was almost a day’s journey from Riverside, if they took it in a leisurely manner, driving slowly enough to enjoy the beautiful Hudson River, and stopping at noon at some pleasant inn to eat lunch and rest. Jane was on hand early, helping the Gays to stack the luggage in the back seat and on the rack provided at the rear of the car. “Don’t forget to leave a corner for Silky!” Freckles reminded the girls, “He can’t be left behind!” “As if I could forget him!” returned his sister, picking up the little spaniel and giving him a hug. “Didn’t he save our lives that night we rode in Harry Grant’s car?” Jane shuddered; she could never forget the horror of that dark night or the terror she had experienced when the tramp commanded, “Hands up!” Good old Silky, biting a piece out of the thug’s leg while the girls made their escape! “Who’s driving first?” she asked, as the last bundle was stored away. “I am,” answered Mary Louise. “You and Silky in front with me, and Mother and Freckles in back. We’ll shift places after lunch.” It was a lovely clear day, not so hot as it often is in August, and the whole party was in the gayest of spirits. Mary Louise loved to drive, and she did it well. She would not have minded if she had been kept at the wheel all day. Nevertheless, after their pleasant lunch at a quaint little tea room on the roadside, she was perfectly willing to exchange places with her mother and enjoy the better opportunity to look at the scenery. Jane, however, was more interested in Shady Nook than in the country through which they were passing. She asked innumerable questions. “How many bungalows did you say there are, Mary Lou?” she inquired. “There were six last year, counting Flicks’ Inn. But I understand that there were two new ones put up this spring.” “And are there plenty of young people?” “Not so many at the cottages, but it doesn’t matter, because we have just as much fun with the middle-aged people. Everybody swims and paddles and dances and plays tennis. Besides, there are always extra young people boarding at Flicks’ for shorter vacations. And sometimes we meet the people at the Royal Hotel.” “Is that where they hold the dances?” inquired Jane. “When we wear our flossy dresses?” “Yes. That’s the place. Across the river from Shady Nook.” “Tell me some of the people’s names,” urged Jane. “Well, next door to us—only it really isn’t next door, because there’s quite a little woods between—is the loveliest cottage at Shady Nook. It was built by a man named Hunter, who was very rich. He bought all the land around there on our side of the river and sold it to people he knew and liked. But he died last year, so only his wife and son came back this summer.” “A son?” repeated Jane, rolling her eyes. “Not a babe in arms, I hope!” “A sophomore at Yale,” replied Mary Louise. “Rather homely, but awfully nice—and piles of fun.” “What’s the youth’s name?” “There you go! Putting him down in your notebook already! His name’s Clifford. We all call him Cliff.” “Naturally. But if he’s your property, Mary Lou, just say the word, and I’ll keep off.” Mary Louise laughed. “Nobody’s my special property,” she said. “Not even Max Miller,” she added, mentioning her particular boy-friend in their home town of Riverside. “Though he sometimes acts as if he believed I were his! I like Cliff Hunter a lot—everybody does. But we don’t pair off much at Shady Nook, except sometimes to go canoeing. Most of the time we’re just one big family.” “Who else are there besides the Hunters?” inquired the other girl. “I mean, what other families with young people?” “The Reeds are about the jolliest family at Shady Nook,” answered Mary Louise. “There are five children, and the father and mother are just as much fun as the kids. The two oldest girls—Sue and Mabel—are twins about our age. Seventeen, I believe, to be exact. Then there are two younger boys that Freckles chums up with, and a little girl.” “I’m afraid I’ll never be able to keep all those names straight,” sighed Jane. “Wait till we get there and you meet them one at a time,” advised the other. “It’s so much easier to remember people after you’ve seen them.” This advice sounded sensible, and Jane settled back in her corner to enjoy the remainder of the ride. The time passed quickly; at five o’clock they crossed the railroad junction and turned into the private road that led to Shady Nook. The trees were thick on one side of the road, but on the other they could see the lovely Hudson River, gleaming blue in the August sunlight. Jane went into ecstasies over the beauty of the spot. “Here we are!” announced Mrs. Gay as she turned off to a dirt driveway and brought the car to a stop at a tin garage. “Our back door!” “Why, we’re right in the woods!” cried Jane, still unable to see the Gays’ cottage. “Wait till you see the bungalow!” returned Mary Louise. “It’s like a little dream house. You can borrow it for your honeymoon, if you like—provided you don’t get married in the summer time.” “Thanks a lot! But I think I’ll wait a few years before I accept your kind offer.” In another moment they were all out of the car, following Mrs. Gay around to the front of the cottage, up to the screened porch, from which they had a good view of the river. As Mary Louise had said, the bungalow was charming. Built entirely of logs, it combined the picturesqueness of olden times with the conveniences of the modern day. A huge fireplace covered one entire wall of the living room, and the chairs were big and soft and comfortable. A drop-leaf table at one end of the room was sometimes used for meals, because there was no dining room. But the spotless kitchen contained a breakfast nook where the Gays always ate their first meal of each day. Two bedrooms branched off from the living room, with a white bathroom between them. “A little bit too civilized for me,” said Freckles, in a most superior manner. “I sleep out back in a tent.” “In good weather,” amended Mrs. Gay. “Now, girls, suppose we just unpack one suitcase apiece and get ready for dinner. We’re going over to Flicks’, of course.” “I got to have a swim!” announced Freckles. “All right, if you’ll be quick about it. And don’t go in all by yourself.” The group gathered together again at half-past six and started down the private road to Flicks’ Inn, where they would have their supper. Mary Louise and Jane had both put on light summer dresses and looked as rested and refreshed as if they had been at Shady Nook all summer. “And where is our next-door neighbor’s cottage?” inquired Jane, peering through the trees on the road. “Or do the Hunters live on the other side of you?” “No, the Reeds live on the other side. Theirs is the last bungalow. The Hunters’ is right in here.” She paused at a path between two big oak trees. Jane stepped to her side and looked in among the foliage. “I don’t see it,” she said. “It’s been burnt down!” cried Freckles, dashing up behind the girls. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you. About a week ago, Larry Reed said. Awful mysterious. In the night.” “Burned down!” repeated Mary Louise, rushing in through the trees beside the path. “Honestly?” “See for yourself!” replied her brother. A few steps more, and they saw for themselves that it was only too true. The blackened trunks, the dry, scarred grass, and the faint smoky odor confirmed his statement. The beautiful cottage was gone forever. Nothing remained but the charred stones of its foundation. “Boy, don’t I wish I’d been here!” exclaimed Freckles regretfully. “It must have been some fire. But they say nobody saw it. It was practically out when they discovered it.” “Lucky that it was!” said Mrs. Gay. “Suppose ours had caught too!” Mary Louise shuddered; such an idea was too dreadful to contemplate. “Do you know any of the details, Freckles?” asked his mother, as the party turned back to the road again. “No, I don’t. Nobody does. It just happened, at night, while everybody was over at a dance at the Royal Hotel across the river.” “Maybe we’ll hear more about it at Flicks’. Come on, let’s hurry.” They passed one bungalow on the way to the inn, which Mary Louise pointed out to Jane as belonging to the Partridges—all middle-aged people, she explained—so that her chum was not interested. Nobody over twenty-five was any use to Jane Patterson. The inn, a large square frame building, was completely surrounded by porches on which tables were placed where people were already eating their dinners. Of the eight families at Shady Nook, all except one took their lunches and suppers at Flicks’. Besides them, there were at least half a dozen boarders. Roughly, Mary Louise estimated there were about thirty-five people at the inn. They all seemed to know the Gays, for everybody was bowing and smiling as the little party opened the screen door of the front porch. Mrs. Flick, a fat, good-natured woman of about fifty, came forward to welcome them. “My, it’s good to see you all back again!” she exclaimed, with genuine pleasure. “But where is Mr. Gay?” “He had to go to California on business,” explained Mrs. Gay. “So we brought Mary Louise’s friend, Jane Patterson, in his place. Mrs. Flick, this is Jane.” “Happy to meet you, Miss Jane,” returned the landlady as she led the Gays to their accustomed table. When they were seated, she pulled up a chair beside them to talk for a few minutes with Mrs. Gay. “Tell us about the Hunters’ bungalow!” begged Mary Louise immediately. “There isn’t much to tell. Nobody knows much.... Oh, here’s Hattie to take your order.” And the newcomers had to exchange greetings with the waitress, the daughter of a farmer named Adams who lived a couple of miles from Shady Nook. When the order had been given, Mary Louise repeated her question. “It happened a week ago—on a Saturday,” explained Mrs. Flick. “Mr. Clifford had four college boys visiting him, and they all went across the river that evening to a dance at the Royal Hotel. Mrs. Hunter went along with ’em. When they came back, the place was burned to the ground.” “Didn’t anybody see the flames—or smell the smoke?” “No. The wind was the other way from the hotel, and there wasn’t anybody at Shady Nook to notice. Everybody, except Pa and me, went to the dance. And we were sound asleep.” Hattie came back with the soup, and Mrs. Flick rose from her chair. “I’ll see you later,” she said as she hurried into the house. “It sounds very mysterious,” muttered Mary Louise. “Oh, there’s probably some simple explanation,” replied Jane lightly. “We’ll have to ask Clifford Hunter. Where is he, Mary Lou? Do you see him?” The other girl glanced hastily about the big porch and shook her head. “Not here,” she answered. “But he may be inside. There’s another dining room in the bungalow.” “This isn’t Clifford?” asked Jane, watching a tall, good-looking, dark-eyed young man coming out of the door. Mary Louise turned around and smiled. “No. That’s David McCall. He usually comes up just for two weeks’ vacation and stays here at Flicks’.” A moment later the young man reached the Gays’ table and was introduced to Jane. But he merely nodded to her briefly: his eyes seemed to devour Mary Louise. “I thought you’d never come, Mary Lou!” he exclaimed. “A whole week of my vacation is gone!” “But you have another week, don’t you, David?” “Yes. A measly seven days! And then another year to wait till I see you again!” His tone was not bantering, like the boys at home. David McCall was serious—too terribly serious, Mary Louise sometimes thought—about everything. “May I come over to see you after supper?” he pleaded. “Of course,” agreed Mary Louise lightly. “And then you can tell us about the fire. You were here when it happened?” “No. I didn’t get here till Sunday. But I can tell you something about it, all right!” Mary Louise’s eyes opened wide with interest. “Somebody set it on fire—on purpose, you mean, David?” “Yes.” “Who?” The young man leaned over and whispered in her ear: “Clifford Hunter himself!” Mary Louise gasped in amazement. “But why?” she demanded. “To collect the insurance!” was the surprising reply. And, turning about, David McCall went back into the boarding house. |
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