Читать бесплатно онлайн книгу  The Phantom Treasure

автор Harriet Pyne Grove

Jannet sat on the edge and let herself down without trouble.

THE PHANTOM TREASURE

By HARRIET PYNE GROVE

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

Akron, Ohio    New York

Printed in U. S. A.

Copyright, MCMXXVIII

The Saalfield Publishing Company

THE PHANTOM TREASURE

CHAPTER I
 
JANET LEARNS HER NAME

“There’s a package for you, Janet.” A smiling face was thrust within the partly open door.

“April fool,” replied Janet, not looking up from her book for a moment. Then with a twinkle in her blue eyes, she raised her hand impressively and began to recite in sonorous tones the lines that she was learning.

“Exactly like Miss Sanders! Do it that way in class, Janet! I dare you!”

“I would, but it might hurt her feelings to do it in earnest as she does. No, I want to read poetry like Miss Hilliard,—but I can’t say that I like to commit it. I want to pick out my own kind, Allie May.”

Allie May came inside the door and leaned against it. “Well, Janet,” she said, “I think that you might believe me when I tell you that there is a package for you down in the office. Honest. No April fool. Miss Hilliard said for me to tell you to come down. I don’t know why she didn’t give it to me to bring up. Perhaps she wants to see you anyhow. This is what she said: ‘Janet has a box. Please tell her to come down to the office.’”

“H’m. Lina and I had our light on after hours last night. But it was not long, and we had a grand excuse. Lina lost a page of her short story that she had to hand in this morning. Honestly, Allie May, is there a package for me? I never had a box in my life except things sent from the store.” Janet had put her book down now and was on her feet starting toward the door and her schoolmate.

“You haven’t! Poor you! I hope that it’s a grand cake with lots of good things. Maybe the box was so big that Miss Hilliard knew I couldn’t bring it up!”

Allie May made big eyes as she linked her arm in Janet’s and walked with her to the top of the stairs.

“If it is, you shall have the first and the best out of it. But it isn’t. It’s probably something brought here by mistake. Thanks, Allie May.”

Janet was half way down the long, dark staircase that led to the lower hall when she finished her remarks. Allie May saw her friend’s fluffy, golden locks fly out in the wind created by the rapid descent. Smiling, she went to her room, next to Janet’s, somewhat struck with the fact that Janet had never received a “box,” that delight of a school-girl’s heart.

The lower hall was dark on this rainy first of April. None of the doors were open, and Janet Eldon, slight, active girl of fourteen years, stood poised on the lower step for a few moments, looking out through the mullioned panes of the tall, wide door at the entrance. Eaves were dripping and she heard the beat of the drops upon the tin roof of a porch outside.

Eyes the color of brighter skies considered thoughtfully the prospect till the sound of an opening door made them turn in another direction. Quickly Janet stepped to the floor, rounding the newel by catching hold of it and swinging herself around it. At the second door, down the hall to her right, she presented herself.

It was Miss Hilliard, principal of this small school for girls to whom Janet curtsied prettily. “Allie May said that you wanted to see me. Miss Hilliard,” she said.

“Yes, Janet. There is a package here in the office that must be meant for you, yet the address is peculiar, to say the least. It is about the size of the usual box that comes for the girls,—come in to see it for yourself.”

Miss Hilliard drew back from the door, admitting Janet, who went to the table by the big desk. There a box of medium size reposed, a square package, wrapped in heavy paper and well tied with cord.

“You will notice that the return address is with initials only, from some hotel in Albany, New York,” Miss Hilliard continued.

Janet stood close to the table, looking with interest at the package, saying first, as she had said to Allie May, that there was “probably some mistake”. But she caught her breath as she looked at the address. “Why—” she began. “Why, how queer!”

“Yes, isn’t it? Rather pretty, though. Could that be your name, Janet? There is no one else here,—there has never been any one here by the name of Eldon; and you will observe that the name of the school is given, the correct address.”

“I see.”

Janet looked again in the upper left hand corner. The initials were P.V.M. But it was the address which filled her with surprise. The package was addressed to Miss Jannetje Jan Van Meter Eldon!

The longer she looked at it, the stranger it seemed. “Why, Miss Hilliard, I don’t understand it at all. Could it be some joke? Oh, I just imagine that there is some mistake in addresses. Shall we open it?”

“Yes, Janet. But I shall be very busy for a while and have no time for this. I will have it taken to your room and you may do the investigating. I need not tell you to preserve the treasure intact if it should be full of diamonds.”

Janet looked up at the tall, slender woman beside her and laughed at the suggestion. She was not afraid of Miss Hilliard, though many of the girls were. Had not Janet been in this school since her sixth year? The older woman’s arm now drew her close and her cheek was laid for a moment against Janet’s hair.

“Now run along, child. Get back to your lessons and I will have this sent upstairs by Oliver. There he is now, in the hall. Report to my own room after dinner, Janet, and I shall be able to see you in your room if necessary.”

Through the partly open door they could see the janitor passing. Summoned by Miss Hilliard, he came after the box immediately and started up the stairs with it. Janet, holding Miss Hilliard’s hand looked up into the kind eyes and asked soberly, “Do you suppose that really is my name, Miss Hilliard?”

“It is not impossible, Janet. You have always thought that the Janet came from your grandmother’s Scotch ancestry, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Hilliard. You know I have everything about her family and pictures of my father from the time he was a baby.”

“I hope that there will be something very interesting inside that box, Janet,—but there is the bell now. I must go to the parlors in a moment. I am expecting a call from one of our patrons this afternoon.” Miss Hilliard was now the gracious head of the school in her manner, which had the dignity that usually accompanies such management.

Janet, too, made her departure with the formal curtsey which was the custom of the school. Never in the presence of Miss Hilliard did the girls forget their “manners”. If so, they were instantly reminded of them.

Mechanically Janet ascended the stairs; her thoughts elsewhere. A caress from Miss Hilliard, rare, but expressing a real affection, was always something to be remembered. Janet “adored” Miss Hilliard as she occasionally said to Allie May Loring or Lina Marcy. Then, here was this box. In her heart Janet felt that it was for her.

“That quaint old Dutch name!” she thought. “Can it be that my mother—”, but Janet grew confused. There was no use in conjecture. She must open the box. How she hoped that it was for her. The suggestion of diamonds amused her. She had not lifted it and did not know its weight. Probably it was heavy, because Oliver had been asked to carry it up. No, Miss Hilliard usually had him do that.

On entering her room, Janet saw the box on the floor. No wonder. Her table was full of books and papers. Her desk looked worse. Lina’s coat and hat were on one of the straight chairs, the dictionary reposed on the other. If Miss Hilliard were coming up after dinner the room must be made perfect. One thing, there were no odds and ends of clothing or ornaments around. They were trained to keep such things in their places. But Lina had had an errand and rushed off to class, not hanging up her wraps as usual.

Janet gave a glance at her little alarm clock which occupied a prominent place on the desk. It was very disappointing. She had exactly two minutes before the next recitation. Did she know that poem, or didn’t she? Saying over and over again the new lines, Janet again ran downstairs, the back stairs this time, to the recitation room.

CHAPTER II
 
HER MOTHER’S BOOKS

At the door of the recitation room, Janet met her room-mate Lina Marcy, but as neither had a moment to spare, Janet did not mention her latest source of thrills. The teacher already had her roll book open and was marking it. She looked impatiently at the girls as they entered and took their regular seats, not together, for the class was seated alphabetically. Lina and Janet exchanged a glance which meant “beware”. This particular teacher was temperamental.

Lina was opening her book to refresh herself on the lines which they were to commit. What a poky day it was, to be sure, she was thinking. Even the April fool jokes were stupid.

Janet could scarcely collect her thoughts, so busy was she in thinking about the address on the box. “‘Jannetje’!—how quaint!” By the “irony of fate”, as Lina told her later, she must, of course be called on first for the verses. Called back in her thoughts to the work at hand, Janet hesitated, started correctly on the first few lines, but soon stumbled and forgot the last half altogether.

The teacher looked surprised, an unintentional tribute to Janet’s usual form. But hands were waving and some one else gave the lines wanted. Lina gave Janet a sympathetic look, which Janet did not even see. Something even bigger than making a perfect recitation was looming in Janet’s foreground. When at last the recitation was over, she ran upstairs to the box. Of course the “je” was a sort of affectionate addition, a diminutive they called it, she believed. Was it really her name? Was she a Van Meter? Who was P.V.M.? P. Van Meter, of course. Suppose she had a grandfather,—or even a grandmother that she did not know!

It took only a few moments to open the box, for she cut the heavy cord to facilitate the matter. White tissue paper met her eye, and a little note lay on top, that is, something enclosed in a small white envelope. Janet opened it and read—

My dear Miss Jannetje:

I am asked to write a few lines to explain this box. Your uncle, Mr. Pieter Van Meter, is in communication with your attorney and you may have heard before this how he has discovered you and wants to see you.

As he asked me to prepare such a box as school girls like, I have prepared the contents accordingly and I hope that you will like it. I am wrapping, also, two books that were among your mother’s things, because I feel sure that you will be interested in seeing something of hers right away that was in the old home place. In one of them I have tucked a note evidently written by your father about you to your grandfather. Of course you know that you were named for your mother, but you will be glad to read about it in your father’s handwriting.

May it not be long before we see you in this odd but beautiful old place that was your grandfather’s.

Sincerely yours,

Diana Holt.

Janet devoured this note rapidly. “Now, who can Diana Holt be?” she thought. She could scarcely wait to see the books, but they were not on top. Instead, Janet uncovered a smaller box which contained a cake carefully packed. Packages in oiled paper or light pasteboard containers obviously held a variety of good things, from fried chicken to pickles and fruit. Ordinarily Janet would have exclaimed over the array, which she carefully deposited together upon her table, after first removing certain books and papers and spreading the first thing that she could think of over it. This chanced to be a clean towel.

At last she came to the books, wrapped well in paper and pasteboard. Truly Miss or Mrs. Diana Holt was a good packer.

The prettier or newer book Janet opened first. It was a handsome copy of Tennyson’s poems, bound in green and gilt. At once she turned to the leaf on which the inscription was written, “To my Jannetje, from Douglas”.

There, too, was the note, addressed to “Dear Father.” It was brief. “You received my telegram. I am sure. Jannet sends her dear love. We have named the baby for her, because I begged for the name. I will have more time to write to-morrow. Jannet wants me to write every day, but you will be quite as pleased, I think, with less frequent reports. There will be the three of us to come home next summer.”

Janet noted her father’s more or less familiar signature. She had seen more than one of his letters to her grandmother. “And I suppose that I never got there at all. How did they lose me, I wonder? Why didn’t Grandmother Eldon leave me some word about my mother?”

Such were Janet’s thoughts. But there was nobody to tell her how it had happened. In some way her mother’s people had lost all track of her. The wonder was that her uncle had found trace of her after so long. Her uncle Pieter! How interesting to have kept the old Dutch spelling. She would sign all her papers and letters now with two n’s in Jannet!

The other book was more plain, also a book of poems, a copy of Whittier’s verse; and the inscription upon the fly-leaf interested Janet even more than the other. It was to “my dear Mother, Adelaide Van Meter, from her loving daughter, Jannetje Jan Van Meter Eldon.”

It was true, then. Here was the evidence. What a pretty, clear hand her mother had. A little pang went through Janet’s heart that she could not have known her parents, but she resisted any sad thought, saying to herself that she ought to be thankful to know at last who her mother was. The last doubt in Janet’s heart was satisfied. Knowing one or two sad stories in the lives of a few girls at the school, she had wondered if, possibly, there had been any separation, some unhappy ending to the marriage of her father and mother. This she had never expressed, but it had haunted her a little. At the date of her birth it had been all right, then, and she knew that she was only five or six months old when her father had brought her to his mother. She would find her mother’s grave, perhaps.

There was much to be explained yet, to be sure, if it could be, but Janet was very happy as she now gave her attention to the discarded feast packing its units back into the box with some satisfaction. Janet Eldon had had feasts before, but the materials had all been purchased at some shop. After dinner she would get permission from Miss Hilliard, when she showed her the books and notes.

Now there was laughter in the hall. She heard Lina’s voice and hastened to unlock her door. Could it be possible that she had spent all Lina’s lesson period in looking at the books, reading the letters and thinking?

“’Lo, Janet,” said Allie May Loring, walking in ahead of Lina Marcy. “Get your box?”

“Yes, Allie May, a scrumptious box like anybody’s. My mother’s people have discovered my existence at last. Really, Lina. Somebody at the OLD HOME PLACE fixed up the box for me, and they sent me two books of my mother’s. Just think, girls, I was named for her and everything. I’d rather you would not speak about it to the other girls, though. It always embarrassed me a little, you know, that I did not know anything about my mother, but you see, Grandmother Eldon died before I was old enough to ask very much about it. I called her Mamma at first; then she was so very sick and for so long.” Janet paused a moment.

“Really, girls, this has been about the only home that I have known, this and your house, Lina.”

The other two girls had sat down to listen quietly. Allie May was the first to speak. “I never would have thought anything about your not knowing about your mother. You always seemed perfectly natural about everything, Janet.”

“Did I? I’m glad.”

“You are a little more—what does Miss Hilliard call it?—reserved, with all the girls, than some of us,” said Lina. “She tells us not to tell all we know, and you don’t!”

Allie May and Janet laughed at this. “Miss Hilliard’s brought me up, you know,” smiled Janet. “I can remember yet crying for ‘Gramma’ and having her comfort me. Then came your auntie to teach here, Lina,—and I was fixed!”

“I can remember how crazy I was to see you, Janet,” said Lina. “I wasn’t allowed to come here until I was twelve, Allie May; and Auntie told me all about the ‘darling child with the golden hair’ that took piano lessons of her and practiced away so hard with fat little fingers. She said she wanted to hug you every other minute, but had to teach you piano instead. Your fingers aren’t fat now, Janet.”

“When did you first see Janet?” asked Allie May, interested.

“The first time that Aunt Adeline brought her home with her. Miss Hilliard used to look after her the first two or three vacations. You weren’t with her all the time, though, were you, Janet?”

“Just part of the time. She had my old nurse that took care of me while Grandmother was sick, and we’d go to the seashore, or somewhere in the mountains. But Miss Hilliard kept an eye on me. I never can pay her back, or your Aunt Adeline either.”

“You’ll never need to. Just having you in the family is enough. But won’t it be wonderful to have some kin folks? Tell us about it, Janet.”

Janet then handed the girls the books and read them the letters, pledging them again to secrecy, for she did not want to have the fifty girls talking over her private affairs. Like Janet, her friends were more interested in the surprising facts which she had to tell than in the good things in the box, though when she showed them the cake with its white frosting and unwrapped the pieces of chicken from the oiled paper, offering them their choice, there were some exclamations of pleasure. “That is a family worth having!” said Allie May. “No, Janet, I’d rather eat a good dinner and then when I am starved as usual after studying come to your feast.”

“Whom are you going to invite, Janet?”

“I want to take something to your aunt, Lina, and to Miss Hilliard, and do you think it would be very piggy just to have this by ourselves? Some way, I don’t want anybody much right now, and I just had a party of our crowd last Saturday, you know.”

“Suits me,” laughed Allie May.

“It wouldn’t be ‘piggy’ at all, Janet,” asserted Lina. “I know how you must feel,—sort of dazed, aren’t you?”

Janet nodded assent. “I’ll let you know when, after I talk to Miss Hilliard. I am to see her after dinner.”

But when Janet asked Miss Hilliard she was asked in turn if she had ever attended a late feast in the school. To this question Janet gave an honest reply. “Why, yes, Miss Hilliard.”

“Then you were either invited without my knowledge by one of the older girls or attended a feast held without permission, though I should scarcely think that you knew it, Janet, and I shall not ask you now. No, to-morrow is Saturday, fortunately. It is cool and your box came right through. You may put the chicken in the refrigerator if you like. Have your party at any time on Saturday you like before evening.”

There was so much of greater importance waiting to be discussed that Janet did not feel much disappointment. She did have one thought, though, expressed to Lina later. “Won’t it be fine to go to a home where you do about as you please, the way it is at your house?”

But Lina reminded Janet that even there, late refreshments were not encouraged.

Miss Hilliard did not disappoint Janet in any other way. She was pleased that the note of explanation was so cordial. “I should say that a woman of some intelligence wrote that kind note,” she said. “It must be a satisfaction to you, too, Janet, that you are named for your mother. Perhaps there will be some pictures of her in the Van Meter home. I know how you have wished to see some.”

“Oh, there will be!” Janet exclaimed. “I had not thought of that!”

“We shall be expecting news direct from your uncle, then. When your grandmother first wrote to me, urging me to take you at a time when the only small girls were day scholars, she said that your mother was of a fine family in the east and that your father, her son, was ill when he brought you to her. Does this depress you, Janet?” Miss Hilliard had noticed that Janet seemed touched when she first showed her the books and names.

“Oh, no, Miss Hilliard. My father and mother are like beautiful dreams to me. This makes them a little more real,—that is all, and I felt a little ‘teary’ when I read my father’s letter.”

“I will try to find that old correspondence. I must have kept it, I think, though when you first came, we were expecting nothing like your grandmother’s sudden death. I understood that she was an invalid, but with some ailment that could be cured in time.”

“And I have forgotten so much, except the fact that I did not know my own mother’s name!”

“You should have told me, if that troubled you, Janet. I will ask Miss Marcy, who wrote about you to your grandmother, I think, what she knows about those early circumstances. Have you been happy here, Janet?”

“Oh, you know, Miss Hilliard, don’t you, how I have been so glad for you and Miss Marcy and all my friends?”

“Yes, Janet. You have always been more than appreciative.”

On the next day, Janet, Lina and Allie May made a lunch out of their party, by Miss Hilliard’s suggestion, and it was almost as much fun as a late feast. As it happened, it was well that they had their fun early in the afternoon, for about three o’clock Janet was sent for. There was a gentleman waiting for her, the maid said.

CHAPTER III
 
THE UPSETTING PLANS OF UNCLE PIETER

Although so without family, Janet Eldon did not possess a lonely heart. She had the faculty of making friends, in spite of a little natural reserve and a manner more or less formal which she had unconsciously acquired by long residence in a school that fostered it. But that dropped away when she was with her intimate friends, for jolly school girls with a sense of humor can have many a merry time. If Janet was a little more mature in manner than some of the other girls of her age, it was to her advantage. Yet her background there had its limitations and it was a good thing for her that the Marcy family was so fond of her.

The family circle there was large. With Lina, Janet entered into all the vacation plans, athletic or domestic, as they might be. They lived in town, but the younger fry learned to ride, to row, to swim, to camp out a little or to motor together. Janet had some idea back in the recesses of her brain that the Marcys might take her to her uncle’s home after school was out. But that plan was not to be carried out. She was to see the Marcys again, but Janet was leaving this school sooner than she had thought. Some of the girls she never saw again, the inevitable separation taking place sooner than any of them anticipated.

The day was bright after the April showers of the preceding one. Janet went down to the double parlors of the building not knowing whom she would see, but she was rather relieved to see the lawyer by whose hands the modest fortune left her by her grandmother Eldon was administered. He was a man of medium height, with a somewhat serious but pleasant face, hair partly gray, keen eyes on the hazel order, and a manner of some dignity. Rising, he held out his hand to Janet.

“Miss Hilliard is not yet at liberty,” he said, “but we can have a little conversation before she comes in. I have what I hope will prove to be pleasant news to you, certain communications from the representative of your mother’s family, her oldest brother, your uncle Pieter Van Meter.”

Janet smiled, as she sat down and the lawyer resumed his seat. “I am glad to see you, Mr. Conley. I have just had some word of the sort myself, a fine box from the home place and a letter from some lady there. She sent me two books of my mother’s and I found out that I had an uncle.”

“Well, well,—I am disappointed not to surprise you more. I thought that I should find some enthusiasm.”

“Oh, there is! I am terribly thrilled over it!”

“‘Terribly thrilled’, are you? Did the lady tell you that your uncle wants you to go as soon as possible to the Van Meter place in New York and make your home there?”

“No, Mr. Conley. Oh, how can I do that? I’ll have to go to school some more, won’t I?”

“I think that your uncle has some idea of having you taught privately.”

“I wouldn’t like that at all. I don’t think that I will go,—yes, I will, too, for I must find out about my mother.”

Mr. Conley smiled at Janet’s independent speech and Janet realized as soon as she had spoken that she must do what her guardian said. Thank fortune her guardian was Miss Hilliard!

“Perhaps the lady who has written you is the one who will instruct you. But we shall see what Miss Hilliard has to say. Here she comes now,” and Mr. Conley rose to meet Miss Hilliard, who came across the wide room from the door into the hall.

“I suppose, John, you have come to tell us about Pieter Van Meter,” said Miss Hilliard, after she had shaken hands with the lawyer and he had placed a chair for her.

“Yes, Anna, that rather poetical name is the subject of my discourse.”

Janet could scarcely suppress a mild giggle at that. Pieter and Meter did make a sort of rhyme.

Most of the conversation was now between Miss Hilliard and her old friend. Janet remembered what the older girls said, that Mr. Conley had wanted to marry Miss Hilliard and was waiting for her yet. It was very interesting. Sakes, they must be at least forty years old!

The letter from Pieter Van Meter was submitted to Miss Hilliard and passed on to Janet. It was brief, but clear, stating that the writer had recently traced the whereabouts of his niece, though he did not say how. He wanted to see her and to offer her a home where her mother, his sister, had lived. It was also hinted that he was Janet’s natural guardian and that legal steps to that end could be taken in due time.

Janet was reading the letter and did not see the look that was exchanged between the lawyer and Miss Hilliard when Mr. Conley began to speak of that last point. But Miss Hilliard said firmly that nothing of the kind would be undertaken until Janet had been to the Van Meter place and made report about it and her uncle.

“First we must see, John,” said she in a low tone, glancing at Janet who was reading the letter and apparently absorbed in it, “whether Pieter Van Meter is a fit guardian for Janet. If he is, and will care for her little property and keep it together for her, very well. But I shall not hand over the responsibility just to be relieved of it. Everything is safe for Janet as long as you are in charge. Mr. Van Meter might be perfectly good and yet without judgment to take care of Janet. Janet, dear, you may be excused now, while I talk over business matters with Mr. Conley and arrange about your going, for I think that I shall let you drop the school work to go, as your uncle desires.”

“Just a moment, Anna. Janet, I have made out a full report for you of your property and income, with the same items of interest and rent that I am giving, as usual, to your guardian. You are old enough now to know about these matters.”

“Please, Mr. Conley,” begged Janet. “I don’t want to know anything about it. Will I have the same allowance as usual?”

“Yes,” smiled the lawyer, in some amusement, “perhaps a little more, if you go to your uncle’s and need some more frocks.”

“Goody!” Janet looked at Miss Hilliard mischievously, then made her adieux as a properly trained pupil of the Hilliard school ought to do.

Miss Hilliard looked after her thoughtfully and Mr. Conley looked at Miss Hilliard. “Anna, you have had great success with that child,” he said.

“Who can tell what the future will bring my girls?” she asked. “One can only try to implant high ideals and the Christian principles that will carry them on in any path. Janet is spirited and inclined to be independent, but she has fine ideas of justice and the rights of others, with considerable courage, too. I am hoping that she will find a loving home in this new place. Mr. Van Meter says nothing about the family. How would it do for you to call personally in a little while, after we hear Janet’s reports about her people?”

“That is a good idea, Anna. There is always the excuse of business, in addition to showing an interest in Janet’s welfare. Meanwhile, I shall quietly inquire about Mr. Van Meter. It is probably one of the old Dutch families with considerable standing, but we do not want to take too much for granted.”

“Will it interrupt your affairs too much, John?”

“No. I often run up to New York and Albany. This letter is mailed at some small village, near the country place of the Van Meters, I suppose. How would you like to have me take Janet there, or to Albany, rather, where Van Meter says she will be met?”

“Thank you,—I shall go with Janet myself. It is not much of a trip and the assistant principal can have a chance to exercise her skill with the girls. I want to stop a day or two in New York.”

The next two weeks were full of excitement for Janet, who went to classes as usual, but with much distraction of mind. They had written to her uncle. The date was set. Clothes were being put in order, and a new frock or two purchased, a task easy enough in the Philadelphia department stores. Janet’s wardrobe was always sufficient, but she rather imagined that Miss Hilliard felt as she did, that Uncle Pieter should see her well provided for up to date.

“Won’t it be lovely in the country, Janet, through May and June!” Allie May Loring exclaimed. “I just envy you. We’ll be shut up to old lessons as usual, only for a few trips around and our picnics! Do write to us at least.”

“Indeed I will. If only it isn’t too lonesome there! Maybe I’ll be just perishing to come back, after I find out all about my mother, you know. But I am crazy to see the place where she lived when she was a girl like me. If Uncle Pieter is nice, it will be all right. He did not say a word about his wife or anybody, so I have it all to find out. Perhaps I have some cousins, too. Won’t it be fun if I have?”

“I hope that you will, if you want ’em,” said Allie May, who sometimes thought that she had too many. But then, Janet never had had anybody.

“When I get married,” said Janet, “if I ever do, I’m going to marry some one with a large family of brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins and all the relations that you can have!”

“Great idea,” laughed Lina Marcy.

At last the fateful day arrived. Janet, neat from top to toe and clad in the “darling spring suit,” said goodbyes that turned out to be rather tearful in the end, to a host of girls assembled in the parlors and halls of the Hilliard school.

“Sure you come back next fall, Janet!”

“Come down for Commencement if your uncle will let you!”

“We’ll miss you awfully in the spring fête, Janet!”

“That blue suit with the gray tones is too utterly sweet on you for anything, Janet.”

“’Bye, Jannetje Van Meter Eldon. Give the Dutchman my best regards.”

All this, to be sure, was before Miss Hilliard appeared from her room to take Janet to the taxi which was waiting outside. And funniest of all, several of the girls, who knew more about where Janet was going than the rest, took hands and sang softly around Janet:

“O Uncle Pieter,

Pieter Van Meter

Ain’t no one sweeter,

Be sure to meet her,

Pieter Van Meter!”

Lips parted in merry smiles; girls were waving last goodbyes and kisses, as Janet was whirled away in the taxi beside Miss Hilliard. One tear, of which Janet had been scarcely aware, was now carefully wiped away to keep it from splashing upon the new suit. “Weren’t the girls lovely, Miss Hilliard?” she asked. “I never was so surprised as when my little club gave me this sweet silk scarf that just goes with the suit, and the pair of hose that I have on.”

“‘Sweet’?” inquired Miss Hilliard.

“Well, it is fragrant, for I put a drop of violet on it before I started.”

Last pictures of the merry girls floated in Janet’s mind, with the appearance of the fine old brick building, almost flush with the street, its vines, over the large windows, just budding with spring green.

But the future was more interesting than the past. The very fact that Janet knew so little about what it might hold for her made it all the more fascinating to contemplate.

CHAPTER IV
 
HER MOTHER’S HOME

At Albany, when Miss Hilliard and Janet descended from the train which brought them from New York they started into the station but were met at once by an obsequious colored man in livery, who inquired if they were not the Van Meter guests and took their light bags. Inside, a fine-looking woman, in a roomy coat of gray and a close hat, seemed to have been watching for them, and came forward to meet them. “I am Mrs. Holt, Miss Hilliard. This is our cousin Janet, I suppose. I am glad to see you both. Allow me to present Mr. Andrew Van Meter, Miss Hilliard,—Cousin Janet. Now we are hoping that you will come to the farm with us, Miss Hilliard. My cousin Pieter begs pardon for not having urged it, but until your last note came, he did not feel like asking you to leave your girls.”

“He would scarcely think that I could bring Janet myself, I know; but I occasionally run away for a few days. However, I have business in New York, and it is impossible for me to accept your kind invitation. It is just as well for you to have Janet to yourselves, also. Perhaps Mr. Van Meter and I may meet some time to talk over matters relating to this little girl. She is anticipating this visit with much pleasure.” Miss Hilliard emphasized “visit” a little.

All this was said before and after shaking hands with Mr. Andrew Van Meter and while he was exchanging a few words with Janet. Janet found him interesting. She had noticed that he rose with some difficulty from a seat near Mrs. Holt, when they first approached, and leaned a little upon a light cane in his left hand, while he extended his right. He was tall, thin, with a pale face and large, dark eyes. His nose was a little long for beauty, but he had a pleasant mouth, which smiled a little as he told Janet that he was her “Cousin Andy” and her Uncle Pieter’s son.

“I am so glad to have some family,” she informed him. “Did you ever see my mother?” she continued.

“Yes. You look like her.”

But it was time to bid Miss Hilliard goodbye. She said that she had an errand in Albany, but would take the next train back to New York. Janet wondered what that errand was, but would not, of course, ask Miss Hilliard. Then, too, she was anxious to reach the end of her journey, and that anticipation, with the pleasant impression made by Mrs. Holt and her cousin, helped very much to keep Janet from any regrets at saying another goodbye. “Write to me very soon, Janet,” said Miss Hilliard, and Janet promised.

The car to which Janet was shown was a good one, but not new. It also bore evidences of April weather, though the day was a bright one. “There were some mud-holes, Janet, as you can see,” said Mrs. Holt. “We could have directed you to come farther by train, somewhat nearer the Van Meter place, you know. But it seemed troublesome for Miss Hilliard to arrange the change, and we wanted you to see the country. A motor trip is much better for that. Our light truck is getting your baggage.”

The three of them stepped within the car and waited for the colored chauffeur, who was attending to the matter of Janet’s trunk and a suit-case with the driver of the light truck referred to. This waited not far away.

“Now you are wondering, I know, who I am and how we are all related,” said Mrs. Holt. “I could not tell everything in that little note that I dashed off to put in the box. It is better to have your uncle Pieter explain, perhaps,—”

“If he will,” inserted Mr. Andrew Van Meter.

“Yes, if he will,” laughed Mrs. Holt. “You will not find your uncle very communicative, Janet, but he is very glad to have you here and it is due to him that you are ‘discovered.’ As I was about to say, I am a distant cousin and I am supposed to be the housekeeper at the place. Really, old P’lina runs the house and I officiate at the show part of it, though we have very little company just now. Uncle Pieter is expecting me to coach you a little in your studies, and what I don’t know Andrew here can tell you.”

“Oh, I’m glad that it is to be the family that teaches me,” said Janet with content. These were lovely people. But she did wonder what was the matter with Cousin Andy. Oh, of course,—he would have been in the war! He must have been injured,—poor Cousin Andy! She would not take any notice, of course. Some one would tell her.

Little more was said about personal affairs. Mrs. Holt was kept busy pointing out interesting spots, hills, places along the roads which they took. It was a much longer ride than Janet had supposed. The New York country was beautiful, she thought. She had been among the Pennsylvania hills and mountains, but never in New York except in the great city on her way to the seashore. Cousin Andy said little. There was a delicious little lunch which they ate on the way, and in reply to questions from Mrs. Holt—older people could ask questions, but never girls,—Janet chatted about her life at the school, her dearest friends and the funny farewell that she had had at the last. She did not, however, repeat the “crazy” verse sung about “Uncle Pieter.”

Janet did not forget to speak with enthusiasm of the box and its contents. “I had never had one sent me in my life. Whoever baked that cake certainly can cook! The girls thought it just wonderful.”

Mrs. Holt laughed. “That was old P’lina herself, I think. You will find her a bit difficult, perhaps, Janet, but you must remember that her ‘bark’ is considerably worse than her ‘bite,’ as they say.”

What a funny name that was, P’lina. Janet wondered how they spelled it. Was it a Dutch name, too?

In silence they drove into the drive of the Van Meter place. A grove of trees in early spring beginnings of foliage had impeded the view of it until they were almost at the entrance. Janet sat forward eagerly to look.

It was not different from much of the country which she had already seen, with its sweep of undulating valley and background of hills. It was really a farm, then; but the land immediately surrounding the house was laid out formally for beauty. The house stood behind some great oak and elm trees upon an elevation which was terraced. Behind it were hills. Janet wondered if the Catskill mountains could be seen from the house. She had forgotten those, which she had seen from the train. She was not far from Rip Van Winkle country anyhow.

“This is all different from when your mother was here,” Cousin Andy volunteered. “Father has made all this improvement in and about the house, and the whole front of it is new. The old Dutch house still stands, though.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Holt, “and if you like, you may have the room that was your mother’s.”

“Oh, I should like that above all things!”

“I wouldn’t give her that one, Diana,” said Andrew. “It may not turn out as well as she thinks.”

“We shall see,” returned Mrs. Holt, and Janet wondered why Cousin Andy had said that.

“Has the ‘old Dutch house’ stood since ’way back in ‘Knickerbocker’ times?” asked Janet, looking curiously at the more modern front, made in “Dutch Colonial” style, with its porch and two high-backed benches one on each side. The house, in front of which the car now stopped, was of red brick, its woodwork, in entrance and windows, painted white.

Janet had a slight feeling of disappointment to know that the place had been so modernized, but common sense told her that it would be in all probability much more comfortable. How big it was!

Andrew Van Meter answered Janet’s question, as he slowly left the car and stood leaning on his cane and stretching one hand to assist Mrs. Holt and Janet. “The original house was burned by the Indians,” he said. “All this land was given by grant from the English government, back in about sixteen hundred and seventy, to one of our ancestors, not a Van Meter, however, if I remember correctly. It will please Father if you care to ask him all about it. He will show you what we have on the early history of New York and of our particular family.”

“I will ask him,” said Janet, whose study of American history was recent.

Next, there she was inside of the big room, where a fire burned brightly and a tall, stooped man rose from an armchair to meet her. It was Uncle Pieter. Why, he must have been ever so much older than her mother! His hair was quite white, though his face did not look so old.

Mr. Van Meter senior, took Janet’s hand and shook it limply a little. “I am glad that you are here,” he said. “I expect it to be your home from now on. While your mother had her share of the estate, her daughter has some rights in the home of her ancestors.”

Janet’s uncle was looking at her rather tensely, while he spoke in a deliberate way, as if he had thought beforehand what he intended to say. “You look like your mother,” he added, dropping her hand. “What room has been made ready for her, Diana?”

“She may have either a room in the new part of the house, or her mother’s room in the old part,” returned Mrs. Holt.

“I should prefer my mother’s room,” timidly Janet offered.

“Show her both of them,” said Pieter Van Meter. “You will be more comfortable in this part, I should say.”

With this comment, Uncle Pieter resumed his seat, picking up the paper which he had been reading, and apparently dismissing the matter, Janet as well. But Mrs. Holt beckoned Janet to follow her.

Janet Eldon’s feelings were indescribable, as Diana Holt conducted her over the house of her forefathers. She kept thinking, “This place is where my mother lived when she was a girl like me!”

The new part was large and beautiful, the whole arrangement a little unusual. In order to preserve the front and appearance of the old house, the new building was attached to it in such a way that it faced a sort of court, which it helped to form.

Widely the new “Dutch Colonial” stretched across, facing the main road, but at a great distance from it. There were large rooms here, parlors, library and hall downstairs, and suites of smaller rooms upstairs for Mr. Van Meter and his son.

At the left, an extension, which contained a large dining-room and kitchen downstairs, and bedrooms upstairs, ran back for some distance, to connect at its right by corridors only with the old house, which thus formed the third side of the court and in width equalled the new front; for even in its time the old Van Meter home had been more or less imposing, the connecting corridors now supplying the difference in extent. By this arrangement the old house received almost as much light in all its rooms as of yore. Beautiful trees and a pergola with a concrete floor, rustic seats and a swing were at the right of the court and the house walls, which made the court more or less retired. Wings that had been built upon the old house with the growth of the family had been removed and stood as small buildings for stores, some distance back from the now fairly symmetrical home.

“John says that the only reason your uncle Pieter did not take down the old house was that he did not want to disturb the ‘ha’nts,’” said Mrs. Holt, with a slight laugh of amusement. “But that can not be true, for Pieter took great pains to fix the old kitchen in the most accurate representation of an old colonial kitchen, and he has left some old paintings, which would grace the new parlors very well, for the old ones, just because they always hung there. He made quite a show place of it at first, P’lina tells me.”

“It’s a real ‘haunted house,’ then?” Janet inquired, as they stepped from a rear door of the new part to the green spaces of the court. With interest she looked at the well preserved front of the aged dwelling, approached by a walk of flat stones sunk in the turf. It was all very quaint and beautiful, Janet thought.

“Yes, it has the reputation of being haunted, Janet, but of course that is all nonsense. However, if you are timid, you’d better stay in the new part.”

“I’d love to have it haunted by my mother,” smiled Janet. “She would make a lovely ghost, I’m sure.”

“She would,” said Mrs. Holt, unlocking the front door. “I thought that it would interest you more to enter here, Janet. Step over the threshold, now, where all your ancestors before you have trod! No,—the first house was burned by Indians. But this has stood for many a long year.”

Thoughtfully Janet entered the door and stood looking about the central hall. There they had placed the old spinning wheel. The antlers of a large deer’s head stretched from the wall above her.

As they went from room to room, Janet was almost confused. There were the big fireplaces. Some of them, Mrs. Holt explained, had been boarded up and stoves used, but these Mr. Van Meter had restored to their original appearance, with old andirons, found in the attic, and other ancient appurtenances, like the queer old leather bellows, used to create a blaze, and the long-handled brass warming-pan that stood, or hung, in a corner of the kitchen. Old dishes, the cranes, and old iron kettles, even an old gun, hung above the plain mantel, were a revelation of the antique to Janet. She could scarcely have lived in Philadelphia without knowing something about such things, but she had never had any personal interest before. Although she said little, Mrs. Holt saw that her young companion was interested.

“Friends from New York, Albany and Troy often visit us, Janet, and are brought here to admire. We sometimes have a house full in the summer.”

“Who is John, Cousin Diana?” asked Janet suddenly, “John that spoke of the ‘ha’nts’?”

“Oh, yes. I haven’t told you about my son, Janet. He will be here in a few days, for his spring vacation begins, late this year, on account of a contagious disease that some of them had, and the boys were not allowed to leave. He was christened Jan, but prefers to be called John.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Janet. “From now on, I’m going to spell my name with two n’s.”

“You think so now,” said Mrs. Holt with an indulgent smile.

From room to room they went, Mrs. Holt pointing out the old highboys, claw-footed mahogany tables and desks, and telling Janet whose were the faces in the pictures upon the walls. At last they went up the beautiful old staircase, through bedrooms made comfortable with modern springs upon the old four posters, and Mrs. Holt stopped before one of the doors, drawing a key from her pocket.

“This, Janet, is your mother’s room. Your uncle gave direction to have it kept locked and to permit no one to enter on any tour of inspection. So you may be sure that it has not been looked at with curious eyes. Only P’lina and I are ever supposed to enter it, though I think that your uncle has a key, and it is possible that he comes in occasionally.

“You see how this corridor runs over to the new part, where my bedroom opens directly upon the hall there. Old P’lina sleeps near you, if you decide to take this room. You will see a picture of your mother that will give you great pleasure, I think, and I’m leaving you alone now, child,—to go in by yourself. You will find me in my bedroom for a while, but if you want to stay here, I will see that you are called for supper. It will be late, I think. We have supper, not dinner, at night, except when we have guests. May you be happy, my dear, to find your mother’s room at last.”

CHAPTER V
 
THE “HAUNTED CHAMBER”

Janet entered the room once occupied by her mother and closed the door. Soberly she stood still and looked about. Facing her, upon the wall, there hung a face so like the one which she daily saw in her mirror that she had no difficulty in recognizing it as her mother. Yet she realized now that in certain features she did resemble her father, as “Gramma” Eldon had insisted. That was one thing that Janet remembered out of the confused memories of her early childhood.

The attractive mouth smiled down upon Janet. Fair hair like her daughter’s crowned the sensitive face. The dress was white, lacy about bare neck and arms. A necklace of pearls furnished adornment. “Why, how young you look, Mother,” said Janet aloud. She was surprised. Mothers were old.

Glancing down at a graceful little table which stood under the picture, Janet saw a sheet of note paper. Some one, probably Cousin Diana, had written a message upon it.

“This is Jannet at nineteen, shortly before she was married. The gown is one that she wore at a recital where she ‘sang like an angel’, according to your father. Your mother lived in New York, studying voice, for a year. Your grandfather took an apartment there and your grandmother died there. Then they came back here, your uncle’s family moved in, and your mother was married from here. She met your father in New York.”

Some girls might have taken an immediate inventory of everything. Not so Janet. A little feeling of reverence and hesitation held her. She sat down in a chair near the table to think and to grow familiar with her mother’s face. Then she noted a small silver vase of spring violets on top of a dark, old-fashioned highboy. She jumped up and put the violets beneath her mother’s picture on the table. “I think that I shall keep some flowers there for you, Mother,” she said.

Presently other things in the room challenged her attention. The dark highboy was a handsome piece of furniture. She slowly pulled out one of its curved drawers,—empty. Her own clothes could be put here, where that other Jannet’s clothing was. One by one, Janet opened the drawers. In the bottom one a few unmounted photographs lay loosely. Eagerly Janet picked them up. Good! They were pictures of the place, the old house as it was,—and oh, this must be her mother and father! Why, did they have snap-shots then?

Of course they had snap-shots fifteen years or so ago! She must be crazy to think that her mother and father belonged to the antiques! What a bright, laughing face it was! They were hand in hand, the two young people, her mother in her wedding veil, her father so handsome in his wedding attire. Some one had snapped them outdoors, and her mother was in the act of curtseying, her arm stretched to her young husband, who held his wife’s hand and bowed also, looking at his bride instead of at the camera.

Janet could imagine the scene, with a crowd of merry guests looking on. She looked from the wall picture to the photograph, and to the picture again. It must be a good painting, then, true to life. But she would mount that little picture of her father and mother and have it in sight. She laid it carefully upon the table and went to examine a beautiful desk that stood at no great distance from the fireplace. How wonderful to have such a fireplace in her own room! And suppose that this was one of the desks with secret drawers! Why, she would not miss staying here for any comfort that the newer building might offer. That dear little rocking chair might have been used for years by her mother.

After a tour of the room and a look out of its two windows, one of which opened upon a balcony that stretched away the length of the house, Janet again sat down near the table and looked up at the picture above, when the sudden opening of her door startled her.

A straight, angular woman, with dark hair gathered into a little knot on top of her head, stalked into the room with a large comforter in her arms. She wore spectacles, but as they were drooping upon her nose Janet thought that they were not of much use. A woolen dress under an enveloping gingham apron and shoes whose tops were hidden by the dress which came to her ankles, completed the picture.

She did not see Janet until she was well into the room, and started back a little. “Miss Jannet!” she exclaimed under her breath. Then she recovered herself and stalked to the bed to lay the comforter and a blanket, which it had concealed from view, across the foot. “You’re here, then,” she continued. “You look like your ma. You will need some extra covers to-night. It’s turning colder now. I’ll have a fire made in the fireplace. Your ma liked this room because she could have one. But I wouldn’t sleep here for anything.”

“Why?” Janet asked.

“The room is ha’nted,” replied the woman, leaving the room in the same stiff way, without another word.

Janet’s rather sober face relaxed into a broad smile. This must be “Old P’lina!” Later Janet was to find out that the name was Paulina, Paulina Stout.

But “ha’nted,” or not “ha’nted,” the room was fascinating. It was hers. No other room in the house could seem like that. What had Uncle Pieter said about her “having some rights in the home of her ancestors?” This should be one of them, then, to occupy her mother’s room.

Supper was served in due time. The dining-room seemed large for the size of the present family, but Janet understood from what Mrs. Holt had told her that there was often considerable entertainment of guests. She wondered, for she could not imagine Uncle Pieter in the role of affable host. He appeared to be preoccupied and joined little in the conversation, which was largely between Cousin Diana and Cousin Andy. Once he asked Mrs. Holt when her mother would be back, and inquired about John’s coming. So Cousin Di had a mother who made her home there, too.

Janet was wondering about many things, but she remembered Miss Hilliard’s caution, not to be in too much of a hurry to find out everything. “It will take you a little while to become adjusted to the new place and the new people, Janet,” she had said. “One learns about people slowly sometimes. Be patient.”

Janet knew that it was not her nature to be patient. Perhaps no one is patient by nature. Patience is a grace to be cultivated. Janet’s consideration for others, nevertheless, kept her from blundering into questions or comments that were not proper. A sense of propriety was almost inherent with her and served her well in this experience among strangers.

Uncle Pieter disappeared soon after the meal. Andrew, Diana and Janet visited for a little while, then Mrs. Holt accompanied Janet, by way of the corridors this time, to the door of her room. She peeped in at the glowing fire that burned behind a modern wire screen, put there for safety. “Better let the fire die down, after you toast your toes a little, Janet. Shall I look in a little later? Are you lonesome?”

“Oh, no. I’ll go to bed pretty soon. I love that old four-poster!”

“You would not like it if it had the old ropes that sagged. But there are some good modern springs and a fine mattress. Where your uncle has gotten all the money that he has spent on this place is a mystery to me. But I was delighted to be asked here. I had not seen the place since I visited your mother when we were girls. You will find some paper in your desk. That is the famous desk with the secret drawers, Janet.”

“Really? I did not know if I might open it or not, though the key is there.”

“Everything here is for you to use. Your uncle gave me directions to that effect. He said that you are to have your mother’s furniture.”

“How good of him.”

“Perhaps not. Why should you not have it?”

Janet looked a little wonderingly at her cousin. Perhaps that was so. Unless Uncle Pieter had bought it or arranged to have it when the estate was divided, it would be hers.

How good it was to sit quietly in the room, writing a few of the chief events to Miss Hilliard, while the fire began to die down and everything grew quiet. She did not mind a few April frogs that performed for her benefit somewhere in the neighborhood. The country was nice, and she was so sleepy. She could not quite finish the letter, but hurried to undress before the fire should go out, and climbed into the comfortable, soft bed, first spreading on the extra blanket. On finding it very chilly when she opened the window, she also spread wide the dainty blue and white comforter, letting the bottom edge of it hang over the foot of the bed instead of tucking it in. Even then it came up under her chin. In sweet contentment Janet said her prayers in her mother’s room and fell asleep.

Later a thunderstorm, or series of storms came up. Janet roused enough to put down her windows, sufficiently to prevent the rain’s beating in. Then she went to sleep again.

Suddenly Janet wakened. She could hear the rain pouring again. But there was a movement. Slowly the comforter began to slide from her. How strange! The cold chills began to play up and down Janet’s spine. Could there be a burglar? She lay still, her face in the pillow.

Now more swiftly the cover was drawn off. It was gone. A flash of lightning, dimly lighting the room from under the shades and curtains of the window, disclosed a moving form at the foot of the bed. Janet, who had lifted her head to see, again pressed her face into the pillow. She listened for the opening of the door, but there was no sound from that direction.

A faint noise somewhere, like the little click of a latch, perhaps,—and Janet lay still for a long time, hearing nothing but the rain and the boom of distant thunder. Janet remembered that she had slid fast a small, curious brass bolt at the door when she went to bed. How could any one enter there? Possibly there was some other entrance, but she had not noticed any.

It was some time before Janet dared to sit up in bed and finally to slip from under the covers and run to where the electric button was. Flash! On came the light and Janet was at the door, ready to run if there were any menacing presence in the room. The bolt was still in position, as she had left it when locking up!

On the chair by the bed was her bath robe; beneath lay her slippers. These all she donned and went to the windows. They were still only a trifle raised, and now Janet threw them up as high as they would go. No one had entered there, though the curious little balcony, with vines beginning to leaf out, shone wet with the rain and the light from Janet’s room.

There were two doors besides the one which led into the hall. Of these two, one opened into a closet, the other into a bathroom. Janet did not know whether that had been there in the old days or not but she fancied that it might have dated back to her mother’s time. After her uncle’s brief talk at supper about the old Dutch homes and habits and the early days of New York history, Janet was beginning to feel as if she were a part of a long line, indeed, and her curiosity was aroused about all these little details.

She opened the closet door. There hung her dresses. Her hats were upon the shelf. She reached back to the wall. No door there. The bathroom, blue and white and prettily tiled, offered no solution to the mysterious visitor who had carried off the comforter.

“No ghost,” said Janet to herself, “could carry off a thick blue comforter!” But it was funny,—queer. Had the comforter been anywhere in the room, she might have thought it a dream. Yet she certainly did not dream those cold chills, or that odd feeling when slowly the cover was drawn off. But at least the intruder, ghost or not, had not harmed her in any way.

Little birds began to sing outside and a gray dawn was breaking. Janet crept back into bed, refreshed by the air from the wide open windows. At once she fell asleep, not to waken till Paulina rapped loudly on her door to waken her in time for breakfast.

CHAPTER VI
 
A NEW COUSIN

The April morning was fresh and clear. Janet found her Cousin Andrew waiting for the rest and reading quietly in the large living room. “Good morning, Janet,” said he. “Did you sleep well in your new quarters?”

“I haven’t quite grown accustomed to them yet,” replied Janet, who had decided not to mention her fright of the night before, “but I thought that I would never waken this morning. Some one had to call me twice.”

“The storm was disturbing,” replied Andrew. “You can see what a wreck I am, Janet. It is a good thing that Jan is coming to brighten life here for you. He wrote to me and asked me to ‘beg off on school’ for him, to my father.”

Janet looked into her cousin’s amused eyes, but she was thinking of what he said about his being a ‘wreck’. “You were in the war, weren’t you, Cousin Andy?”

“Yes,—shell-shocked, shot up in a few places that seem to do as much damage as possible. But at that I’m better off than thousands of the boys, forgotten in the hospitals now.” Andrew’s voice was a little bitter. “Don’t ask me to tell you about it, child. It’s better for me to do the forgetting. I’m thirty years old, and I’m older than my father.”

“You don’t look it,” smiled Janet engagingly. “I think that you are very nice.”

The little remark pleased Andrew. “Well, you are a nice little pal, then. We’ll be friends.”

“Yes indeed. Did you know my mother?”

“Yes, Janet, but not very well.” Andrew looked sober. “She was a beautiful and charming girl, but she did not care for my father. He was so much older, for one thing, and I fancy that she thought him dictatorial. We did not live here when she grew up. My father married and lived in Albany, where my brothers and sisters and I were born.”

This again was news to Janet, who asked about these cousins. But only a sister with one daughter was living. They were abroad, but might come to the farm for the summer.

“Where are the Van Meters buried?” asked Janet.

“Why do you want to know that?” asked Andrew in his turn. “You want only bright things here.”

“I just thought that I might take some flowers to my mother’s grave,” she replied. “That was all,—just once, perhaps, to show that I am glad to know about her.”

“Why, little cousin, we knew nothing about it and supposed that she is buried by your father. Father took over the place to relieve grandfather. Your mother’s things were all here, but she did not send for them and was coming to visit that summer after you were born. Then we heard that you all had been wiped out in an epidemic of some sort, like the ‘flu’ that we had during the war. It was past before we knew.”

Janet, surprised, was about to tell her cousin about her father and the brief story that she knew, but Uncle Pieter had silently entered and was standing beside her, saying, “Come, no sad memories. Let us have some of Paulina’s griddle cakes.”

Janet followed her uncle in silence, wondering at his jovial tone, for it was not in harmony with his usual style. He was just a little queer. No wonder that her mother did not like him very well. But he was being good to her. She must remember that. Griddle cakes, bacon and the sweet maple syrup were very good indeed. Janet noticed that as they all left the table Paulina handed Mrs. Holt a note, a folded scrap of paper, which she read with a frown. Paulina had gone back to the kitchen without a smile to relieve her rather dour, defensive expression.

“Excuse me, Janet,” said Mrs. Holt. “Amuse yourself in any way you like for I have to see P’lina about something.”

“I have plenty of fun ahead of me, Cousin Di. I’m going through that old desk of Mother’s to see if I can find a secret drawer or two.”

“You will,” Mrs. Holt asserted.

But that morning Janet found nothing particularly exciting. The “secret” drawers were too easily found, she thought. There were some papers, however, though none of any importance. A package of letters from her father to her mother she hesitated to read and saved it as possible at a future time. She read a little in some of her mother’s books and then started outdoors in her hiking costume, for she wanted to see the farm.

All that day she amused herself with investigations on a small scale, within and without. The library was a pleasant place, and when she was sure that Uncle Pieter and Cousin Andrew were not there, she curled up to read Uncle Pieter’s books. There were copies of Little Men and Little Women which she took down to read for the third or fourth time in her short life. Perhaps they had belonged to Uncle Pieter’s daughter. She replaced them till the next day, when just before supper she heard sounds of greetings in the hall.

“H’lo, Mom! It’s great to get home again!” Janet heard as she started toward the living room, where they were all supposed to meet before going to meals.

“How’s the bum back, Uncle Andy?” continued the boyish voice. “How do you do, Uncle Pieter?” Jan, like Janet, called Mr. Van Meter by that familiar expression.

The murmur of voices grew to distinct speech as Janet drew nearer and she saw a friendly looking boy considerably taller than herself standing in the doorway to talk to the rest of the family who had apparently just entered. “Here’s another,” he cried, glancing around and seeing Janet. He drew back and ushered her inside as, presumably, he had ushered the rest. “I know that this must be my cousin Janet, so let’s shake hands.”

At another time Janet would not have found her cousin Jan so occupying the center of the picture and doing so much talking. But he seemed to be a little excited over his arrival and reception. Paulina passed through, having brought something to the table in the room. Janet saw her looking at Jan with a glance and expression as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa smile. “What is the matter with P’lina?” asked shrewd Cousin Andy, but no one replied.

During the meal Janet gained a good deal of information about Jan and his doings from the conversation. Mr. Pieter Van Meter questioned the lad about his school, but not as one who had any responsibility about the matter. Obviously, Cousin Diana and her son were in the family circle because of her services and the atmosphere of home which her pleasant personality created. She was a charming hostess, as Janet found later when company came to the old place.

“I did not see a car drive in when you came,” said Janet to Jan when they settled down for a visit together in the library.

“No, I came over from another place where a friend of mine lives. I came on one of their horses, and I dressed first before I appeared to the family.”

“Is it so that you have a workshop and everything, back where I room?”

“Are you rooming in the old part, then? Why, yes, I have a room there, too, and they let me use part of the attic sometimes, a sort of den there. I do radio stuff and I like everything about electricity. Uncle Pieter did not think much of it at first; but when I fixed the electric bells and got things all right when fuses burned out, and a few other things, he changed his mind about it. I’m really scarcely related at all. Isn’t he a queer old—fellow? I was going to use some slang, but I’d better keep that for school.”

Janet favored Jan with an understanding glance. “It’s very ‘expressive,’ I’ve heard Miss Hilliard say, but she corrects us when we use it. Do you want me to call you John or Jan?”

The boy hesitated. “I used to despise that old Dutch name,” he said, “but if you are Jannet, I’ll be Jan while I’m here. I’m trying to get permission to stay on instead of going back to school. Uncle Pieter doesn’t interfere, only about that, but if I can help about the place a little it will be more fun, and you and I could ride everywhere. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“I should think I would!”

“Well, all I ask is that you get Uncle Pieter to liking you a whole lot. I believe he does.”

“He couldn’t. He only knows me a very little, you see.”

“Do you think that a person would have to know you a long while first? I always know whom I’m going to like. They are short of help, the farmer at the tenant house told me, so I’m going to risk it, and ask Uncle Pieter if I can’t turn farmer. There are a lot of things to be done, about the trees in the orchard and the stock, for instance, that a boy can do.”

“You like farming as well as electricity, then.”

“Some of it.”

Jan was not fair like Jannet, for he had the dark hair and gray eyes of his mother in a face more “square,” as Jannet thought of it. They were to be Jan and Jannet, then. That would be fun. Jannet next asked if there were other boys and girls in the neighborhood and was told of Jan’s friends on the neighboring farm, a girl and two boys.

“How old are you, Jannet?” Jan asked frankly.

“Fourteen.”

“Well, that is how old Nell Clyde is. I’m fifteen and Chick is almost sixteen. He’s my friend. Then there’s Tom. He’s pretty nearly seventeen, I guess. He’s a year older than Chick anyway.”

This was fine. Jannet, who knew almost no boys at all, was laughing at the very ordinary nickname. How funny boys were. “What is Chick’s right name?” she asked.

“John. That is one reason why it doesn’t do at all for us to go by our right names. I’m sometimes one thing and sometimes another at school. Chick calls me ‘Hunks,’ for ‘hunks of cheese’.”

“That is funny,” said Jannet. “But tell me, Jan, old P’lina says that my room is haunted, and your mother said that you said so, too, though I imagined that you said it in fun.”

Jan looked at Jannet with a great assumption of seriousness. “Old P’lina is always right, Jannet. This is a ‘haunted house,’ as the natives say. We even have a sort of Dutch Banshee that howls around sometimes.”

“Tell me some more. Do the ghosts walk at night, especially when there is a storm?”

Jan looked curiously at Jannet. “That sounds as if you heard something,” said he. “Yes, somebody comes down some invisible stairs; you can hear slow footsteps, you know. Maybe something drops, but there is nobody there!” Jan made big eyes at Jannet, who grinned delightedly.

“Or you hear low singing, or distant violin music.”

“That would be your radio.”

“Old P’lina says not. She’s been here ages and sometimes I think that she is a little queer in the upper story, but she is good to me at that.”

“I don’t think that she likes me,” said Jannet. “But what else does the ghost do, and who is the ghost anyway?”

“Ask P’lina. You’d better say ‘ghosts.’ For all I know, there are more than one.”

“Sakes! And I’ve got the haunted room, too!”

“Are you easily scared?”

“No. But I’m going to have a flashlight after this.”

“After what?”

“Oh, nothing, just because of the ghosts. If I flashed my light on real quick, I might see one.”

“Well, call me if you do. I’d love to see one. I’ll broadcast him.”

Jannet thought that so funny, that Uncle Pieter himself looked in to see what the fun was about. “Jan wants to broadcast a ghost,” she explained, but Uncle Pieter did not smile. “Remember that ghosts are supposed to be spirits of the dead,” he said, going on his way through the hall.

Jan made a face, turning to Jannet with lifted shoulders. “Excuse me for livin’,” he remarked. “I’d like to tell Uncle Pieter that ghosts are often troubled by remorse.”

“Not any of ours,” quickly said Jannet. “Don’t go to getting me scared really and truly, Jan!” But afterwards, when Jannet thought of Jan’s remarks, she wondered why he wanted to mention “remorse” to Uncle Pieter. Why hadn’t she asked Jan? She would at the first opportunity, if she didn’t forget it.

CHAPTER VII
 
TWO NEW MYSTERIES

There was some secret between Jan and Old P’lina, Jannet could see, but it was scarcely polite to intercept their glances. Jannet told herself that she must mind her own affairs strictly. Yet it was hard to do it in this environment. Jannet felt that Jan was joking considerably when he talked of the ghosts of the old house, but Paulina wasn’t she was sure. For some strange reason, nevertheless, Jannet grew more and more fond of her pretty, quaint room. Perhaps the face upon the wall accounted for that. In that sweet presence nothing would harm Jannet, yet Jannet was enough of a little girl not to be entirely unshaken by the stories, especially when remembering the blue comforter. It had never appeared again. Paulina did not inquire about it and Jannet did not mention it to Paulina.

The April days were warm, though in this climate they are often very cool indeed. It could not last, Jan said, but they would make the most of it. Forsaking Chick and his other friends, Jan devoted himself to taking Jannet riding over the farm and all about the country. One would have thought that he owned it all, so anxious was he to impress Jannet favorably.

The Clydes came over to meet Jannet, who now always used the two n’s in her name. She was “as Dutch as kraut,” Jan told her, and on the land of her ancestors. With this she was quite content. She liked Nell Clyde and felt a little shy with the two boys, but no more so than they felt with the girl from the Philadelphia school.

A cruel fate was taking Chick back to school after the short Spring vacation, but Jan, though with no grounds that Jannet could see, still hoped to escape. He introduced Jannet as his twin, Jannetje Jan, and they all had several rides together on the roads near home. As Nell was being tutored at home, Jannet expected to have her companionship after the boys had gone back to school. Tom, a little older, was not always with the rest, but all the boys were often in Jan’s shop, not far enough from Jannet’s room to prevent her hearing the sounds of their conversation and laughter.

No one as yet suggested that it was time for Jannet to go on with her lessons, and Jannet was enjoying her rest far too much to make any inquiry concerning them. At odd times she browsed among her uncle’s books and it was when she opened one of them that she made a discovery. A little torn strip of paper fell out of the book from where it might have been used as a book-mark by some one.

Idly Jannet looked at the bit of paper which she held in her hand still, though turning the pages of the book to see whether it looked interesting or not. But seeing the name “Jannet” in full, she laid aside the book and examined the paper more closely.

It was part of a letter, or note, she decided. Perhaps some one had picked the scrap from a waste paper basket at hand and used it as a marker without looking at it. Surely,—well, how odd! “Please, please, Pieter, help me find them,” it said. “I have”—here the paper was torn, but below in the irregular places were the words “money” and “gone.” Then below, where one could see through the edge, torn to a gauzy film, the signature, “Jannet,” was plain.

“It is part of a letter from my mother to Uncle Pieter,” thought Jannet. “What does it mean?”

Jannet did not feel like reading now. Taking the scrap of paper with her, she walked from the library to the hall, down the hall to the outer door, across a tiny path between tulip beds to the old door with its queer knocker. Soon she was in her room and at the desk. It was scarcely worth while to compare the writing with that of her mother, so sure was she that this was a message from her mother, but she went through the form.

It was raining again. Her search of the desk had been so casual and hurried before that this would be a good time to devote to it, with greater interest, too, because less distracted by the newness of everything as at first. Jannet admired the rich beauty of the desk, although she did not know that it was of the Chippendale design, with considerable carving, and that it had been made for an earlier ancestor than her mother.

For several hours Jannet opened and closed “secret” drawers which she had found previously, and read carefully whatever of writing she found in them. Quickly she learned to recognize her mother’s hand. She was scarcely old enough to appreciate the sentiment attaching to old programs and faded flowers, but she collected them thoughtfully and put all such mementos together.

The bundle of letters she untied, to look at the addresses. These were the love letters, of course; but between the letters she found a few pages of a diary, quickly recognized by the date at the head and the accounts that followed. In a moment she was bending over it with deep interest. One day’s account recorded what had been said of her mother’s singing at a private recital, and expressed the hope of a future as a singer. Another, kept by way of contrast, perhaps, told, with some reserve even to a personal diary, of her engagement and her lover.

Under a date not long before her marriage, Jannet Van Meter had written very fully and regretfully of a loss. “I have searched everywhere. I can not think that any one could have taken my pearls, yet where are they? I put them in my desk, in the most secret of its drawers. I have not worn them since, and they are gone! It is a great loss in money as well. Father made some sacrifices to raise the sum necessary for my pearls,—but he would do it. I was to have them, and Pieter did not like it, of course. He just smiled when I told him that I had lost them and would not show the least interest in discussing what might have become of them, nor would he help me hunt. ‘If they’re gone, they’re gone,’ said he, shrugging his shoulders. Sometimes I’ve almost thought,—but no, I’ll not even write such an unworthy suspicion.

“I had thought that it would be safe for us to have the pearls, because if we ever need money very much after we are married,—you and I really are going to be married, Douglas boy,—we could sell a pearl or two, or the whole necklace. Perhaps I shall find them yet. I’ll never give it up, not, at least, till I am too far away to hunt. I shall give a thorough going over to every place to-morrow.

“It is too bad that ‘Mother’ Eldon can’t come on for the wedding. And we have to go right through to the far West without stopping off because Douglas must get to his work. But someway, I imagine from her letter that she is not real happy about her boy’s getting married at all. Perhaps it is just as well for her to get used to the idea before we meet, though Douglas is just silly enough to say that she will love me when she sees me and that she couldn’t help it. Well, if he loves me, that is enough for me.”

The last page contained a brief account of wedding preparations. No mention was made of the pearls. “There is no use in trying to write it all down,” Jannetje Van Meter had written at the close. “And to write of my thoughts and feelings about this change in my life, or about us, I simply couldn’t. I believe that I will tear up my diary, anyhow! This is Finis.”

Jannet Eldon was smiling as she finished. Her mother was just a real girl, after all. She hadn’t lived to be very old. How Jannet wished that she had not burned the diary. Where had she gotten the impression that her mother would be buried among the Van Meters? Why, of course, it would be natural, if she had died before her husband. But if she had been carried off in an epidemic, that would be the reason why her grave would be out West. Then “Gramma” would want her son buried in the Eldon lot. That was it. Jannet had once visited that spot, in company with Miss Hilliard. There was no mystery there; besides, her father and mother were together now, wherever, apart, the worn-out bodies were. One of the lovely things about Miss Hilliard was that she had made the other world so real to Jannet.

Suddenly Jannet rose and went to one of the drawers of the highboy in which her own treasures now reposed. Rummaging through things not yet well sorted, Jannet found a note book and drew out several sheets of writing paper pinned together. True to her promise, Miss Hilliard had looked up past correspondence, which recalled facts that she had forgotten. But she and Jannet had not had time to go over it very thoroughly.

Jannet recalled dimly having labored over a few lines to her grandmother, because she “ought to,” One of the teachers helped her. Here was the reply, or part of it:

“I was pleased that you wrote me yourself. Be a good child. I hope to be better soon and to have you at home for your next vacation. So some of the girls have mothers and you want to know about yours? I will tell you all that I know when I feel stronger. The nurse is writing for me. I never saw your mother and the only letters I have had from her were destroyed by mistake. They were to stop on their way to New York the summer after you were born. Your father took all your mother’s photographs with him and what became of them I do not know. He came East so suddenly, half delirious, saying that your mother had died.

“It was very fortunate that I found you both. I had moved, writing and telegraphing, but from what he said in his delirium he must have moved too. He was on his way to the old home, when providentially I took the same train from a business trip to a town near by. I took you both from the train and to a hospital in the nearest place, a hospital of which I happened to know. Both of you were ill for weeks and after it was all over and I could think of sending for any of your father’s things, it was too late. No one seemed to know anything. He was young, just starting in business, and I was too worn out to care. They were, or had been living in a furnished apartment. Your father after I found him never had been himself, only to say, ‘She is dead.’

“I wrote to your mother’s people several times, but never received a reply. If they had so little interest, I was only too glad to have my boy’s little girl to myself. ‘Gramma’ loves you dearly, and when I get well, we shall have some good times.”

This letter was probably read to Jannet at the time, but she could scarcely recall it. Even there, her grandmother had not mentioned names, and Miss Hilliard said that the Eldon family Bible sent to Jannet had no record entered of her father’s marriage.

The letters, with the pages of the diary between them, Jannet put back in their drawer and laid this letter, with the scrap from the book, with them. That scrap must refer to the loss of the pearls, yet why should her mother write to her uncle about it? It was puzzling.

Now to find that “most secret drawer.” Jannet had all sorts of fancies about how to find secret drawers. There was one worn spot, with a narrow piece of yielding wood, in a groove by a little ridge of the mahogany. Jannet rubbed the worn place, thinking of Aladdin’s lamp, but nothing happened. Then she noticed a tiny glint of brass by the ridge and pressed it with the point of her knife. There! a drawer, sticking a little, began to move out. Jannet inserted her fingers and pulled gently, afraid of breaking the delicate wood. “Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed as the drawer came out to its full length. There, upon the soft purple velvet of its case, coiled a shining rope of pearls!

With delicate fingers that shook a little, Jannet lifted the case from the drawer and laid it on the desk before her. As in a dream she took hold of the glistening strand and drew it up, letting the loops of pearls unfold from their long curling. What wonderful pearls they were! Jannet knew little about pearls, but she could appreciate beauty. This must be very valuable,—her mother’s—hers!

Suddenly she lifted them against her cheek while quick tears came to her eyes. Oh, these had been on her mother’s neck the last time that they were worn. Jannet ran to the picture. Yes, she had worn these when that photograph was taken. Why had Jannet not thought of that when she read the diary just now? She looked at the shimmering little pile that she was holding in two hands. Then she put them around her own neck. Twice they went around, coming just a little above the round neck of the dress that Jannet was wearing.

There was no one to see the pretty picture that was made by the blue-eyed girl with her golden hair, as she stood looking up at the other older girl so like her. How Jannet loved to feel the pearls on her neck. She would like to wear them all the time, she thought, but she sighed as she thought of their value. How many things might have happened to them in these years, and why had not her mother been able to find them? There they were, right in the drawer, as her mother must have put them away,—unless someone had taken them for a joke, or spite, and put them back later.

That thought troubled Jannet, but she was not right. A more peculiar circumstance than she could then imagine had hidden the pearls.

Should she tell her uncle about them? Jannet considered that for some time, while she carefully looped the pearls again and replaced them. No, she did not believe that she would. She would know her uncle a little better first before she made a confidant of him. And if she did tell him about the pearls, or the scrap of paper, for that matter, she would have somebody else present, too. What if Uncle Pieter should claim the necklace! Oh, he couldn’t have the heart to take anything of her mother’s away from her—but she “guessed she wouldn’t tell him just yet.”

Jannet knew that she would not forget where the spring was, but after she closed the drawer again, she gave the surroundings a rub with her handkerchief, for want of a duster, and then closed the desk just in time, for there was a great rapping upon her door. It was Jan, drumming again on the panels and calling her.

“Jannetje Jan,” came the call, with the Dutch Y sound for J.

“Yes, Yan,” she answered, running to open the door, for she had slipped the bolt as well, when she started in on the desk.

“Get ready to ride, won’t you? Nell and Chick are out here,” said Jan, adding, when the door was opened, “and worse luck, I’ve got to go back with Chick and finish up school! We only have a day or two more of fun!”

“I’ll be out in a minute, Jan. I’m aching for a ride. Will you get my horse ready while I dress?”

“Yep,—intended to. Make it snappy.” With this, Jan went away, while Jannet, elated with her discovery, the mystery of it all, and the prospect of fun with her young friends, hurried into her riding clothes.

CHAPTER VIII
 
JANNET’S “FORTUNE”

It did not take Jannet long to get ready for the expedition. Just before starting out of her room, she paused, her hand on the knob, for this room had more protection than the old-fashioned latches. Should she leave the pearls in the desk? They had disappeared from it before.

But where could she put them if she took them from the desk? Naturally she could not wear them. Windows and doors were open. She could hear the sounds of laughter from where her young friends were. She must hurry. She ran back to her windows, put them down and locked them firmly. Then she took her key from the lock, locked the door from the outside and pinned the key inside her sweater pocket.

“I’m the ‘foxy Jannet’ now,” she said to herself, thinking of one of Jan’s expressions. “Now if any one gets in,—I’ll know it’s some one with a key!”

Walking rapidly, past the door of Paulina’s room, down the back stairs, out of the back door, Jannet hastened to join her friends. Jan, mounted on a curveting black horse, was leading the animal intended for Jannet and cantered toward her, stopping at a high block. He started to dismount to help Jannet, but she waved him back. “Don’t get off, Jan. Pity if I can not get on myself. Is this the stump of the old black walnut that nearly killed you when it fell?”

“Who told you? Yes; if Chick hadn’t yelled in time, I’d have been under the trunk instead of being scratched up a little by some of the branches. You remember that wind storm, Nell?”

“Indeed I do. We didn’t know where you boys were and Mother was almost crazy till you came in after it was all over. I was sure that you were over here, but the telephone wires were down.”

“Why do I have Lucy, Jan? I thought that Uncle Pieter wanted me to ride Ben?”

“That is what took me so long, Jannet. I saddled Ben first and found that he went a little lame. Lucy is all right, only a little more skittish. She never runs away, but look out for her shying a little.”

“All right. I like Lucy better anyhow.”

Jannet was happy with the reins in her hand, for riding was her favorite sport. This pursuit of real country roads, away from hampering conditions of the city was what she called to Nell “real riding,” instead of “riding lessons.” Nell and John Clyde, or “Chick”, drew alongside as Jannet settled herself for the trip and patted her pretty steed.

“Did you know that you are going to have supper with us at home to-night, after our picnic dinner in the hills?” asked Nell.

“No, I didn’t. What fun! But Jan, shan’t we take something for the picnic?”

“Of course,” Jan answered, with a grin. “Say, I forgot all about that. Good thing that you spoke of it.” Jan turned his horse toward the house. “I told P’lina, though. There she comes now.”

From the back door Paulina this moment made her appearance with a package in her hands. As she approached, her sharp nose looked sharper than ever. Her solemn eyes surveyed the riders with no display of interest and her stolid face was without a smile. A small shawl decorated her shoulders, pinned across her breast, but the tight knot of black hair was without a covering and the spring breeze blew a wiry wisp over her forehead.

“I think that it is going to rain,” said she shortly, as she gave the neat package to Jan, with something for tying it to his saddle. She had given a curt nod in the direction of the Clydes.

“Oh, now, Paulina,” said Jan, grinning down at her, “don’t be a calamity howler. We’ll get under a rock somewhere if it does. Any other woes that you can think of?”

Jannet was quite shocked at Jan’s frankness and expected to see “Old P’lina” show some offense. Far from this, the stony features almost relaxed into a smile, so Jannet thought. “Be careful,” Paulina said. “An owl hooted all last night and the ghost walked over my head.” With this cheerful announcement, Paulina turned away.

“What did Paulina mean, ‘over her head’?” asked Nell Clyde.

“Rats in the attic, Nell. I heard ’em, too.” So Jan explained.

But Paulina had overheard and looked back over her shoulder. “We have no rats,” said she, “and rats don’t tiptoe down imaginary stairs. It was her again.”

Jan looked cross, but he said nothing further as Paulina rapidly walked toward the house. Jannet fancied that Jan did not like to have Paulina’s superstitions aired before the Clydes. There was enough talk in the neighborhood, in all probability.

Chick urged his horse on, passing Jannet and Nell, but Jan, as he followed, leaned over to Jannet. “Paulina is an old goose,” said he in a low tone. “Her imagination works all night. Don’t pay any attention to what she says.”

This was funny, for Jan had seemed to enjoy joking Jannet about it before now. Boys must be odd creatures,—but Jan and Chick were pretty good at that!

“I wish that we had a family ghost,” laughed Nell, as she drew her horse beside Lucy. “Have you seen yours, yet, Jannet?”

“I am not sure that I would know it if I saw it,” replied Jannet, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Let me come to stay all night with you some time, Jannet, and perhaps the ghost will walk for us.”

“If the ghost should walk, I’d be glad to have company, I can tell you, and I’ll love to have you any time. I suppose I’ll have to ask Cousin Di or Uncle Pieter first, though.”

“Of course you will, and I’d better not be inviting myself over!”

“Don’t think of that, Nell. I’m sure that it can be arranged and I’m glad that you thought of it. You haven’t had a peep at my dear room yet.”

“No, I haven’t, and I have never even been inside of that old part of the Van Meter place, though Chick is there so much when Jan is home. Do you suppose that we could see the attic, too?”

“That might depend on Paulina. I haven’t asked to go there yet. I’ve felt a little timid, you know, just coming. The only place where I feel that I have a real right is in my mother’s room. But Jan goes all over and has a den in the attic, and he isn’t nearly so much related as I am.”

“I heard a neighbor say once, Jannet, that your uncle Pieter had treated your mother shamefully and had beaten her out of a lot of property that she ought to have had. I don’t suppose that I ought to tell you this and perhaps it isn’t true, but if it is, you ought to know it.”

“Yes. But I do not believe it. People gossip. Why should he send for me?” This from Jannet, in spite of her most recent suspicions!

“Remorse,” laughed Nell.

“Uncle Pieter was a lot older than my mother and perhaps he wanted to have his own way about things, but I’ll not believe yet that he is dishonest. I’m going to stand up for my people, Nell, now that I have found them. Mother must have died before my grandfather, so how could Uncle Pieter cut her out of her rights?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. I’m surely grateful to Uncle Pieter for finding me,” said Jannet, to close the subject.

Jannet was a thoughtful girl, and she had determined not to lose sight of what Uncle Pieter had done for her in sending for her. She had her own doubts, particularly since finding her mother’s diary notes and the slip of paper in the library book, but none of the neighbors should suspect them.

Jannet did not know whether she liked her uncle or not. She was attracted sometimes, then again his coldness and reserve repelled her. He had not offered to have any explanatory talk with her so far, though she realized that the spring work on the large place was engaging his attention. He was out of the house most of the time either upon his horse about the farm, or on business errands away from the neighborhood. Jannet had not inquired what his interests were, for she was not informed about such matters.

Her cousin Andrew Jannet loved already. Jan was a jolly companion, and Mrs. Holt was everything that a girl could ask for in a kind chaperon. She was not demonstrative, but then, Jannet was not used to demonstrative affection. Paulina was the “funniest.” She was silent, matter-of-fact, and stiff, but Jannet knew that “Old P’lina” missed nothing of what was going on at the Van Meter home.

Nell Clyde was a plump, sturdy little thing, but active for all her plumpness, sitting her horse well as the girls now pushed their mounts forward a little to catch up with the boys. Nell had been seized with a great admiration for the graceful, golden-haired Jannet and had already confided her dreams to her as she had not done to any of the other girls whom she knew. Jannet, more accustomed to many girl friends, had been more reserved so far about her own affairs, though she was delighted to find so congenital a girl so near.

No unhappy thoughts were Jannet’s to-day. The pleasure of riding, the fresh air, the morning sunshine, and the quiet memory of the lovely thing hid at home in her desk brought her spirits to a high pitch. P’lina must certainly be mistaken, for there was scarcely a cloud. Lucy behaved with great decorum after a long gallop over a good stretch in the road, during which the horses worked off any excess of spirits that they may have possessed at the start.

The Clyde place was on their way and Chick dashed in to get their share of the lunch, which was not ready when they had ridden over for Jannet and Jan. Jannet laughed as she watched Chick, for with a boy’s nonsense, he spread out his elbows at a ridiculous angle, leaned forward in his saddle, letting himself be lifted up and jolted down in a comical exhibition of bad riding. Flapping the reins, he loudly chirruped to his long-suffering animal.

“Ichabod Crane!” exclaimed the amused Jannet; and Nell, who was familiar also with Irving’s Legend of Sleepy Hollow, remarked that Chick was almost lanky enough to fit the character.

The boys were sure that the folks had not put up enough lunch, but Nell’s more practiced eye measured the two packages. “Don’t you worry,” said she. “There’s a whole fried chicken in each, or I miss my guess.”

Over devious ways, where Jannet knew that she would be lost, the little party of four went into the hills and among the pines. Here and there a little stream with its trickling waters helped to make the beauty of the way. Jannet kept thinking that it was her mother’s home country. “I wonder if my mother used to ride,” she said to Jan.

“Sure she did. Andy said something yesterday about her having a horse called Juniper that threw her once and pretty nearly ended her life then and there. How queer that you have all this to find out!”

“Yes, and that’s the advantage of being here for a while. Things come out gradually, just the sort of little everyday things that you would like to know. What are we going to do up here besides the picnic lunch, Nell?”

“Just see things, and find wild flowers, and see what birds are back. Chick has to take a list back to one of his teachers that wants to know when certain birds come here. We’re going to hitch the horses here, or let them graze a little, if there’s anything to graze on, while we climb higher to a grand place to see the valley and to spread our lunch.”

“Any snakes?” Jannet inquired.

“We are not likely to see any here, and it is so open up on the rocks that it will not be damp. Mother warned me not to have the lunch where it was damp, but this sun will dry anything off.”

The boys ungallantly went off by themselves for some time, reporting early for lunch. Chick had seen a chickadee, a tufted titmouse, a song sparrow, a purple finch and a woodcock. The girls had a handful of flowers, which they had picked carefully not to destroy the roots.

This was all very wholesome for Jannet, who had not taken much interest in nature study at Miss Hilliard’s school and the Marcys did not have that except in a very general way in their summer curriculum of good times. Her mind was far away from ghosts and problems of all sorts while the picnic lasted. But Paulina was right in her prophecy. It did rain, though not until their good lunch was eaten and its crumbs scattered for the birds.

First there were a few scattered drops, then a little shower, which made them all run for their raincoats. But then they noticed that it looked very black in one portion of the sky. “We’d better get out of here, girls,” said Chick. “It may be a thunderstorm and we oughtn’t to be among the trees.”

Down they scrambled from the heights, found their horses and made their way as quickly as possible from the hills to the level country. Distant thunder began to be heard, and clouds collected thickly. The girls said nothing, but they did not enjoy the prospect. Then it began to rain, moderately at first. Chick motioned to Jannet to ride up with him, while Jan fell back with Nell.

Leaning over toward Jannet, while they were urging their horses forward, Chick told her that he and Jan thought it best to strike off from the main road about half a mile to where an “old settler” lived. “Do you mind?” Chick asked.

“Why should I?” asked Jannet. “It’s better than being soaked, or scared to death with the lightning.”

Chick laughed. “Are you afraid?”

“Not very, but it isn’t especially safe.”

Nothing more was said. In a moment they had reached the turn in the road and were making their way as fast as a very poor little side road would permit. Puddles and mud-holes had to be avoided. The birds were taking to cover as well as they. Chick pointed ahead to where a small farmhouse stood, not far away. It was not a very prepossessing place, even at a distance, but it promised shelter.

The driveway was open, fortunately, for the rain was coming down in sheets, as they galloped into it and drew up their horses under an open shed. The bombardment had begun. One sharp flash succeeded another and the crashes of thunder were of terrific violence. “This is one April shower that I don’t care for,” Nell remarked, as she had difficulty in holding her frightened horse.

But Chick dismounted and held both her horse and his own. “Get off your horse, Jannet,” said he, “it is better. Jan, you’d better do the same.”

“Come, Lucy, it’s all right,” soothingly Jannet said to the pretty mare she rode, as she dismounted. Jan reached his hand to Lucy’s bridle while Jannet and Nell withdrew a little from too close proximity to prancing horses and threatening heels.

Rain beating in from the opposite side, drove the party to the side of the shed nearest the house, which was not far away. There, at a side door, as the electrical display lessened somewhat, a curious figure appeared. It was bent and old, a sharp chin and piercing black eyes the most noticeable features under an old-fashioned cap. A red and black shoulder shawl, something like that which Paulina often wore, was pinned about the rounding shoulders. A long, blue calico dress came almost to the floor. The aged woman peered out and over to the little company under the shed. Jan and Chick touched their caps and the girls bowed, but no explanation seemed necessary. The storm would account for their presence.

“Who lives there?” Jannet asked of Nell, the noise of the rain making it unnecessary to lower her voice.

“It’s one of the old Dutch farms and that is the grandmother of the farmer’s wife. They are odd people, and they say that this old lady is half Indian and half gypsy. She is past ninety years old. She tells fortunes, and buys her tobacco.”

“Tobacco!”

“Sure, she smokes a pipe,” laughed Chick, who had overheard. “The women now use cigarettes, don’t they?”

“Not any that I know, Chick,” smiled Jannet. “Miss Hilliard says that she is training ‘ladies,’ not the ‘sporting class.’ A girl who tried out smoking in our school would get sent home too quickly to know whether she was coming or going. That’s in the printed rules.”

“The whole of it?” laughingly asked Jan.

“I don’t mean the way I put it. You know that. I mean that the rule is against smoking. It does say, though, that young ladies who have the habit are requested to go elsewhere.”

“Look, Jannet, she’s beckoning to us,” Nell interrupted.

Jannet noticed that Jan and Chick felt in their pockets. “I’ve got enough change, Chick,” said Jan. “The poor old woman sees a chance to make a little money, and it’s kind of nice of her to ask us in out of the rain.”

“Gracious!” Nell exclaimed. “It will smell of stale tobacco smoke and I don’t know what else, in there,—but all right, if you boys want to. A fire would feel pretty good, as wet as we are, and I know that they will have one.”

Jannet did not know that she cared to try it, but she would not make any objection, she thought. She would do what the rest did, though she did not want her fortune told,—she could get out of that.

The boys saw that the horses were firmly hitched to the posts of the shed and presently all of them dashed across the yielding, puddly grass and ground to the little stoop of the house. A plump woman of past middle age had come to the door by this time, while the old lady hobbled back to a chair by the fire. She was moving aside to make room for the guests when they entered.

“Come right in,” pleasantly said the younger woman. “You got caught in one of the worst storms we’ve had yet. I’ll hang up your raincoats in the kitchen and you can dry out a little before the fire. That rain would go through anything!”

“It’s around the edges that we are wettest,” said Nell, going on to explain about their picnic and inquiring about the health of the family and the grandmother in particular.

The grand-daughter, in the kitchen door, noting that her grandmother’s back was turned to her, shook her head and tapped it with her fingers, to indicate that the old lady’s mind was not just what it should be, but answered cheerfully, “Oh, Grandma is coming on all right. She can hear as well as anybody, see well enough to read the paper, and she’ll be ninety-three to-morrow.”

“If that’s so, we’ll have to send her something to-morrow,” said kindly Nell, “and wish her many happy returns.”

Jannet, altogether inexperienced in country life, was getting a glimpse of the kindly, helpful feeling that exists in many such neighborhoods. She stood at one side, near the blaze, which the farmer’s wife tried to make burn more briskly.

“Who’s the girl?” bluntly asked the old lady.

“Oh, I forgot,” hastily said Nell. “This is Jannet Eldon, who has come to live with her uncle Pieter. Jannet, this is Mrs. Meer,—and her grandmother.”

“Jannet Eldon, huh? Jannet. That was the name of the girl,—so you are Pieter’s niece, then?”

“Yes’m,” said Jannet, smiling at the old lady and looking at her with interest. “Did you know my mother?”

“I saw her often enough. You look like her. I told her fortune once, and I’ll tell yours.”

Janet shrank back a little, scarcely conscious that she did so. “Thank you, I don’t believe that I want to have you do that. I’d rather not know, even if you can tell it.”

“You don’t believe in fortune telling, then. I’ll not hurt you. If I read anything bad in your hand, I’ll not tell you that.”

The old woman’s voice rose shrilly, and Mrs. Meer looked rather distressed. But Jannet’s warm heart came to the rescue of the situation. It certainly could do no harm to satisfy the old woman. “Well, maybe it would be fun, then,—if you won’t tell me of any ‘bad luck’,” and Jannet playfully shook her finger in warning.

She could see that “Grandmother,” whose name she had not been told, was pleased. Her toothless mouth widened into a smile. She laid aside her pipe, which, as Nell had said, had been filling the room with a disagreeable smoke. “Sit down,” she said. Jannet drew up a small wooden stool and held out her hand. Jan, with noble promptness, laid a fifty cent piece upon the mantel, hoping, as he told Jannet afterward, that the fortune would not scare her to death. The aged woman saw it and the dark eyes gleamed.

Wrinkled fingers took the young, delicate hand. “They thought that you were dead,” she mumbled. Jannet did not know whether this were part of the fortune or not, but it was not particularly pleasant.

The old crone went on with a few facts about Jannet’s past life, facts that any one could guess at, Nell said afterward. Then she took up Jannet’s character, cleverly setting forth some traits that Jannet recognized, though none that were not more or less flattering.

“Gee, she’s giving you a good line, Jannet,” said Chick.

“Sh-sh, you’re interrupting her,” warned Nell.

It grew more interesting. “Some one has looked for you,” said the old woman, “some one not your uncle. If you are found, it will bring you good luck. You have had a loss, but you will find what you look for. There will be something strange in your uncle’s house, but do not be frightened. Nothing will harm you.

“Many like you. Some you can not trust, but you will find them out. I see a long journey. You will live to marry, perhaps twice. That is not clear. I see a long life and much happiness. You will have good luck this year and something will happen that you do not expect. That is all.”

As if tired, the old lady dropped Jannet’s hand. “I never told your fortune, Jan Holt. You have not lived here long.”

“Say, you know my name already,” said Jan, as if that were a sign of great cleverness. “Now give me a good one.”

One by one the boys and girls had their fortunes told and left almost all the change which the boys possessed upon the mantel. Then they began to gather up their coats and other articles of wearing apparel, feeling pretty well dried out by the heat from the fireplace. The storm had ceased before the aged grandmother had finished. Rapidly the four covered the distance remaining between this place and that of the Clydes, where they were to have dinner together. Nell promised to let Jannet wear one of her frocks, if necessary, for Jannet had started in such a hurry that she had not realized how odd it might be to eat dinner in her riding clothes.

“I’ll certainly look funny in a dress of yours, Nell,—I’d better wear one of your mother’s, or else ride on home. But if you don’t mind I could wear these things; they are dry now.”

“We’ll fix you up some way, Jannet. Don’t worry.”

“Say, Jannet,” soberly said Jan, “may I be your second husband?”

“Second husband!” ejaculated Jannet, a grin beginning to spread her pretty mouth.

“Yep. I wouldn’t want to be the first, because he may die, according to the old gypsy. Of course, I’ll probably marry, and then my wife may have objections to the arrangement.”

“You crazy boy! I believe that you’d make fun about anything! Yes, I’ll ‘consider your application,’ as Miss Hilliard says. But I’m only going to marry somebody very wonderful, and he’ll not dare leave me till I’m as old as Grandma Meer, or whatever her name is.”

“Some outlandish name,” said Nell, “that I’ve heard and forgotten.”

“Chick, she says that she is only going to marry somebody very wonderful. That settles it. It isn’t me. Honestly, Jannet, she read you a pretty good fortune; but some of it was queer. Of course, you know that the whole countryside knows about our ghost, so she could make up anything there.”

“I don’t mind, and I’m going to forget it, Jan. Poor old soul! Are you really going to take her something to-morrow, Nell? I’d like to do something, too, even tobacco!”

“Why, Jannet!” said Jan in falsetto tones, as if representing Jannet’s school, shocked beyond words.

Jannet gave Jan a solemn glance, drawing her mouth down at the corners and rolling her blue eyes. Then, grinning again, she said, “Grandma Meer is too old to reform, Jan. Besides, if it isn’t wicked for Cousin Andy to smoke, it isn’t wicked for Grandma Meer. And she doesn’t have to be a lady.”

This conversation took place on the way from the Clyde barns to the house. The four sauntered along in the highest of spirits, though it was almost too near dinner time, or, more properly here, supper time, for them to linger.

A skirt-and-tunic dress of Nell’s was found possible to arrange for Jannet, and more fun was in prospect when by the telephone it was arranged for Jannet and Jan to stay all night. “And may we have Nell and Chick over to-morrow night, Cousin Di?” Jannet asked sweetly.

“Of course you may. Jan often has Chick. I don’t know how it has happened that we have not had him more this time. You and Nell ought to have great fun in the ‘haunted’ room. I’ll have Paulina cook you something, too.”

“Thank you, Cousin Di.” Turning, after hanging up the receiver, Jannet clasped her hands together in delight, as she communicated the results of her telephoning to the rest. “Oh, we can stay, and Cousin Di was too cordial for words about your coming over to-morrow night, Nell and Chick. Paulina will cook up something and we’ll have a little evening party of it, I guess.”

“Good,” said Jan. “Let’s hope that the ghost will walk.”

“Mercy, no, Jan,—not really,” said Jannet.