The Corner House Girls Among the Gypsies

Yet, when the talkative Miss Titus had gone Agnes went to the room the little folks kept their playthings and doll families in, and picked up the Alice-doll which chanced that day to be wearing the silver band. She removed it from the doll and took it to the window where the light was better.

Yes! It was true as she had thought. There were several crosswise scratches on the inside of the circlet. They might easily have been made by a boy’s jackknife.

“I declare! Who really knows where this bracelet came from, and who actually owns it? Maybe it is not Queen Alma’s ornament after all. Dear, me! this Kenway family is forever getting mixed up in difficulties that positively have nothing to do with us.

“The silly old bracelet! Why couldn’t those Gypsy women have sold that basket to Margaret and Holly Pease, or to some other little girls instead of to our Tess and Dot. Mrs. McCall says that some people seem to attract trouble, just as lightning-rods attract lightning, and I guess the Kenways are some of those people!”

Neale did not come over again that day, so she had nobody to discuss this new slant in the matter with. And if Agnes could not “talk out loud” about her troubles, she was apt to grow irritable. At least, the little girls said after supper that she was cross.

“Ruth doesn’t talk that way to us,” declared Tess, quite hurt, and gathering up her playthings from the various chairs in the sitting room where the family usually gathered in the evenings. “I don’t think I should like her to be away all the time.”

This was Tess’s polite way of criticising Agnes. But Dot was not so hampered by politeness.

“Crosspatch!” she exclaimed. “That’s just what you are, Aggie Kenway.”

And she started for bed in quite a huff. Agnes was glad, a few minutes later, that the two smaller girls had gone upstairs, even if they had gone away in this unhappy state of mind. Mrs. McCall had come in and sat down at some mending and the room was very quiet. Suddenly a noise outside on the porch made Agnes raise her head and look at the nearest window.

“What is the matter wi’ ye, lassie?” asked Mrs. McCall, startled.

“Did you hear that?” whispered the girl, staring at the window.

The shade was not drawn down to the sill, and the curtains were the very thinnest of scrim. At the space of four inches below the shade Agnes saw a white splotch against the pane.

“Oh! See! A face!” gasped Agnes in three smothered shrieks.

“Hech, mon! Such a flibbertigibbet as the lass is.” Mrs. McCall adjusted her glasses and stared, first at the frightened girl, then at the window. But she, too, saw the face. “What can the matter be?” she demanded, half rising. “Is that Neale O’Neil up tae some o’ his jokes?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Mac! It’s not Neale,” half sobbed Agnes. “I know who it is. It’s that awful junkman!”

“A junkman?” repeated Mrs. McCall. “At this time o’ night? We’ve naethin’ tae sellit him. The impudence!”

She rose, quite determined to drive the importunate junkman away.

CHAPTER XIX – THE HOUSE IS HAUNTED

“Why do ye fash yoursel’ so?” demanded Mrs. McCall in growing wonder and exasperation. “Let me see the foolish man.”

She approached the window and raised the shade sharply. Then she hoisted the sash itself. But Costello, the junkman, was gone.

“There is naebody here,” she complained, looking out on the side porch.

“But he was there! You saw him,” faintly declared Agnes.

“He was nae ghost, if that’s what you mean,” said the housekeeper dryly. “But what and who is he? A junkman? How do you come to know junkmen, lassie?”

“I only know that junkman,” explained Agnes.

“Aye?” The housekeeper’s eyes as well as her voice was sharp. “And when did you make his acquaintance? Costello, d’you say?”

“So he said his name was. He – he is one of the Gypsies, I do believe!”

“Gypsies! The idea! Is the house surrounded by Gypsies?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. McCall,” said Agnes faintly. “I only know they are giving us a lot of trouble.”

“Who are?”

“The Gypsies.”

“Hear the lass!” exclaimed the troubled housekeeper. “Who ever heard the like? Why should Gypsies give us any trouble? Is it that bit bracelet the bairns play wi’? Then throw it out and let the Gypsies have it.”

“But that would not be right, would it, Mrs. McCall?” demanded the troubled girl. “If – if the bracelet belongs to them – ”

“Hech! To this junkman?”

“He claims it,” confessed Agnes.

“Tut, tut! What is going on here that I do not know about?” demanded the Scotch woman with deeper interest.

She closed the window, drew the shade again, and returned to her seat. She stared at Agnes rather sternly over her glasses.

“Come now, my lass,” said the housekeeper, “what has been going on so slyly here? I never heard of any Costello, junkman or not. Who is he? What does he want, peering in at a body’s windows at night?”

Agnes told the whole story then – and managed to tell it clearly enough for the practical woman to gain a very good idea of the whole matter.

“Of course,” was her comment, grimly said, “you and that Neale could not let well enough alone. You never can. If you had not advertised the bit bracelet, this junkman would not have troubled you.”

“But we thought it ought to be advertised,” murmured Agnes in defense.

“Aye, aye! Ye thought mooch I’ve nae doot. And to little good purpose. Well, ’tis a matter for Mr. Howbridge now, sure enough. And what he’ll say – ”

“But I hope that Costello does not come to the house again,” ventured the girl, in some lingering alarm.

“You or Neale go to Mr. Howbridge’s clerk in the morning and tell him. He should tell the police of this crazy man. A Gypsy, too, you say?”

“I think he must be. The bracelet seems to be a bone of contention between two branches of the Gypsy tribe. If it belonged to that old Queen Alma – ”

“Fiddle-faddle!” exclaimed the housekeeper. “Who ever heard of a queen among those dirty Gypsies? ’Tis foolishness.”

The fact that Costello, the junkman, was lingering about the old Corner House was not to be denied. They saw him again before bedtime. Uncle Rufus had gone to bed and Linda was so easily frightened that Mrs. McCall did not want to tell her.

So the housekeeper grabbed a broom and started out on the side porch with the avowed intention of “breaking the besom over the chiel’s head!” But the lurker refused to be caught and darted away into the shadows. And all without making a sound, or revealing in any way what his intention might be.

Mrs. McCall and the trembling Agnes went all about the house, locking each lower window, and of course all the doors. Tom Jonah, the old Newfoundland dog, slept out of doors these warm nights, and sometimes wandered away from the premises.

“We ought to have Buster, Sammy Pinkney’s bulldog, over here. Then that horrid man would not dare come into the yard,” Agnes said.

“You might as well turn that old billy-goat loose,” sniffed Mrs. McCall. “He’d do little more harm than that bull pup – and nae more good, either.”

They went to bed – earlier than usual, perhaps. And that may be the reason why Agnes could not sleep. She considered the possibility of Costello’s climbing up the porch posts to the roof, and so reaching the second story windows.

“If he is going to haunt the house like this,” Agnes declared to the housekeeper in the morning, “let us make Neale come here and stay at night.”

“That lad?” returned the housekeeper, who had no very exalted opinion of boys in any case – no more than had Ruth. “Haven’t we all troubles enough, I want to know? This is a case for the police. You go tell Mr. Howbridge’s clerk about the Gypsy, that is what you do.”

But Agnes would not do even that without taking Neale into her confidence. Neale at once was up in arms when he heard of the lurking junkman. He declared he would come over and hide in the closet on the Kenways’ back porch and try to catch the man if he appeared again at night.

“He is a very strong man, Neale,” objected Agnes. “And he might have a knife, too. You know, those Gypsies are awfully fierce-tempered.”

“I don’t know that he is,” objected Neale. “He looked to me like just plain crazy.”

“Well, you come down to the office with me,” commanded Agnes. “I don’t even want to meet that excitable Costello man on the street when I am alone.”

“I suppose you are scared, Aggie. But I don’t think he would really hurt you. Come on!”

So they went down to Mr. Howbridge’s office again and interviewed the clerk, telling him first of all of the appearance of the junkman the night before.

“I had fairly to drive him out of these offices,” said the clerk. “He is of a very excitable temperament, to say the least. But I did not think there was any real harm in him.”

“Just the same,” Neale objected, “he wants to keep away from the house and not frighten folks at night.”

“Oh, we will soon stop that,” said Mr. Howbridge’s representative. “I will report it to the police.”

“But perhaps he does not mean any harm,” faltered Agnes.

“I do not think he does,” said the man. “Nevertheless, we will warn him.”

This promise relieved Agnes a good deal. She was tender-hearted and she did not wish the junkman arrested. But when evening came and he once more stared in at the windows, and tapped on the panes, and wandered around and around the house —

“Well, this is too much!” cried the girl, when Neale and Mrs. McCall both ran out to try to apprehend the marauder. “I do wish we had a telephone. I am going to beg Ruth to have one put in just as soon as she comes back. We could call the police and they would catch that man.”

Perhaps the police, had they been informed, might have caught Costello. But Mrs. McCall and Neale did not. The latter remained until the family went to bed and then the boy did a little lurking in the bushes on his own account. But he did not spy the strange man again.

In the morning, without saying anything to the Kenway family about it, Neale O’Neil set out to find Costello, the junkman. He certainly was not afraid of the man by daylight. He had had experience with him.

From Mr. Howbridge’s clerk he had already obtained the address the junkman had given when he was at the office. The place was down by the canal in the poorer section of the town, of course.

There were several cellars and first-floors of old houses given up to ragpickers and dealers in junk of all kinds. After some inquiry among a people who quite evidently were used to dodging the answering of incriminating questions, Neale learned that there had been a junkman living in a certain room up to within a day or two before, whose name was Costello. But he had disappeared. Oh, yes! Neale’s informant was quite sure that Costello had gone away for good.

“But he had a horse and wagon. He had a business of his own. Where has he gone?” demanded the boy.

He was gone. That was all these people would tell him. They pointed out the old shed where Costello had kept his horse. Was it a good horse? It was a good looking horse, with smiles which seemed to indicate that Costello was a true Gypsy and was not above “doctoring” a horse into a deceiving appearance of worthiness.

“He drove away with that horse. He did not say where he was going. I guess he go to make a sale, eh? He will come back with some old plug that he make look fine, eh?”

This was the nearest to real information that Neale could obtain, and this from a youth who worked for one of the established junk dealers.

So Neale had to give up the inquiry as useless. When he came back to the old Corner House he confessed to Agnes:

“He is hiding somewhere, and coming around here after dark. Wish I had a shotgun – ”

“Oh, Neale! How wicked!”

“Loaded with rock-salt,” grinned the boy. “A dose of that might do the Gyp. a world of good.”

CHAPTER XX – PLOTTERS AT WORK

The adventures of the Corner House girls and their friends did not usually include anything very terrible. Perhaps there was no particular peril threatened by Costello, the Gypsy junkman, who was lurking about the premises at night. Just the same, Agnes Kenway was inclined to do what Mrs. McCall suggested and throw the silver bracelet out upon the ash heap.

Of course they had no moral right to do that, and the housekeeper’s irritable suggestion was not to be thought of for a serious moment. Yet Agnes would have been glad to get rid of the responsibility connected with possession of Queen Alma’s ornament.

“If it is that Costello heirloom!” she said. “Maybe after all it belongs to Miss Ann Titus’s friend, Sarah Whatshername. Goodness! I wonder how many other people will come to claim the old thing. I do wish Ruth would return.”

“Just so you could hand the responsibility over to her,” accused Neale.

“M-mm. Well?”

“We ought to hunt up those Gypsies – ‘Beeg Jeem’ and his crowd – and get their side of the story,” declared Neale.

“No! I will not!” cried Agnes. “I have met all the Gypsies I ever want to meet.”

But within the hour she met another. She was in the kitchen, and Linda and Mrs. McCall were both in the front of the house, cleaning. There came a timid-sounding rap on the door. Agnes unthinkingly threw it open.

A slender girl stood there – a girl younger than Agnes herself. This stranger was very ragged, not at all clean looking, and very brown. She had flashing white teeth and flashing black eyes.

Agnes actually started back when she saw her and suppressed a scream. For she instantly knew the stranger was one of the Gypsy tribe. That she seemed to be alone was the only thing that kept Agnes from slamming the door again right in the girl’s face.

“Will the kind lady give me something to eat?” whined the beggar. “I am hungry. I eat nothing all the day.”

Agnes was doubtful of the truth of this. The dark girl did not look ill-fed. But she had an appearance of need just the same; and it was a rule of the Corner House household never to turn a hungry person away.

“Stay there on the mat,” Agnes finally said. “Don’t come in. I will see what I can find for you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said the girl.

“Haven’t you had any breakfast?” asked Agnes, moving toward the pantry, and her sympathies becoming excited.

“No, Ma’am. And no supper last night. Nobody give me nothing.”

“Well,” said Agnes, with more warmth, expanding to this tale of woe, as was natural, “I will see what I can find.”

She found a plate heaped with bread and meat and a wedge of cake, which she brought to the screen door. The girl had stood there motionless, only her black eyes roved about the kitchen and seemed to mark everything in it.

“Sit down there on the steps and eat it,” said Agnes, passing the plate through a narrow opening, as she might have handed food into the cage of an animal at a menagerie. She really was half afraid of the girl just because she looked so much like a Gypsy.

The stranger ate as though she was quite as ravenously hungry as she had claimed to be. There could be no doubt that the food disappeared with remarkable celerity. She sat for a moment or two after she had eaten the last crumb with the plate in her lap. Then she rose and brought it timidly to the door.

“Did you have enough?” asked Agnes, feeling less afraid now.

“Oh, yes, Lady! It was so nice,” and the girl flashed her teeth in a beaming smile. She was quite a pretty girl – if she had only been clean and decently dressed.

She handed the plate to Agnes, and then turned and ran out of the yard and down the street as fast as she could run. Agnes stared after her in increased amazement. Why had she run away?

“If she is a Gypsy – Well, they are queer people, that is sure. Oh! What is this?”

Her fingers had found something on the under side of the plate. She turned it up and saw a soiled piece of paper sticking there. Agnes, wondering, if no longer alarmed, drew the paper from the plate, turned it over, and saw that some words were scrawled in blue pencil on the paper.

“Goodness me! More mysteries!” gasped the Corner House girl.

Briefly and plainly the message read: Do not give the bracelet to Miguel. He is a thief.

Agnes sat down and stared almost breathlessly at the paper. That it was a threatening command from one crowd of Gypsies or the other, she was sure. But whether it was from Big Jim’s crowd or from Costello, the junkman, she did not know.

Her first thought, after she had digested the matter for a few moments, was to run with the paper to Mrs. McCall. But Mrs. McCall was not at all sympathetic about this bracelet matter. She was only angry with the Gypsies, and, perhaps, a little angry with Agnes for having unwittingly added to the trouble by putting the advertisement in the paper.

Neale, after all, could be her only confident; and, making sure that no other dark-visaged person was in sight about the house, the girl ran down the long yard beyond the garden to the stable and Billy Bumps’ quarters, and there climbed the board fence that separated the Kenway yard from that of Con Murphy, the cobbler.

“Hoo, hoo! Hoo, hoo!” Agnes called, looking over the top rail of the fence.

“Hoo, hoo, yerself!” croaked a voice. “I’d have yez know we kape no owls on these premises.”

The bent figure of Mr. Murphy, always busy at his bench, was visible through the back window of his shop.

“Is it that young yahoo called Neale O’Neil that yez want, Miss Aggie?” added the smiling cobbler. “If so – ”

But Neale O’Neil appeared just then to answer to the summons of his girl friend. He had been to the store, and he tumbled all his packages on Con’s bench to run out into the yard to greet Agnes.

“What’s happened now?” he cried, seeing in the girl’s face that something out of the ordinary troubled her.

“Oh, Neale! what do you think?” she gasped. “There’s been another of them at the house.”

“Not one of those Gypsies?”

“I believe she was.”

“Oh! A she!” said the boy, much relieved. “Well, she didn’t bite you, of course?”

“Come here and look at this,” commanded his friend.

Neale went to the fence, climbed up and took the paper that Agnes had found stuck to the plate on which she had placed the food for the Gypsy girl. When he had read the abrupt and unsigned message, Neale began to grow excited, too.

“Where did you get this?”

Agnes told him about it. Of course, the hungry girl had been a messenger from one party of Gypsies or the other. Which? was Agnes’ eager question.

“Guess I can answer that,” Neale said gravely. “It does look as though things were getting complicated. I bet this girl you fed is one of Big Jim’s bunch.”

“How can you be so positive?”

“There are probably only two parties of Gypsies fighting over the possession of that old bracelet. Now, I learned down there in that junk neighborhood that Costello – the Costello who is bothering us – is called Miguel. They are all Costellos – Big Jim’s crowd and all. June Wildwood says so. They distinguish our junkman from themselves by calling him by his first name. Therefore – ”

“Oh, of course I see,” sighed Agnes. “It is a terrible mess, Neale! I do wish Mr. Howbridge would get back. Or that the police would find that junkman and shut him up. Or – or that Ruthie would come home!”

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Aggie!” ejaculated Neale.

“Who is the baby, I want to know?” flashed back the girl. “I’m not!”

“Then pluck up your spirits and don’t turn on the sprinkler,” said the slangy youth. “Why, this is nothing to cry about. When it is all over we shall be looking back at the mystery as something great in our young lives.”

“You can try to laugh if you want to,” snapped Agnes. “But being haunted by a junkman, and getting notes from Gypsies like that! Huh! who wouldn’t be scared? Why, we don’t know what those people might do to us if we give up the bracelet to the wrong person.”

“It doesn’t belong to any of the Gypsies, perhaps.”

“That is exactly it!” she cried. “Maybe, after all, it is the property of Miss Ann Titus’ friend, Sarah.”

“And was lost somewhere on Willow Street – about where your garage now stands – forty years ago!” scoffed Neale. “Well, you are pretty soft, Agnes Kenway.”

This naturally angered the girl, and she pouted and got down from the fence without replying. As she went back up the yard she saw Mrs. Pinkney, with her head tied up with a towel, shaking a dustcloth at one of her front windows. It at least changed the current of the girl’s thought.

“Oh, Mrs. Pinkney!” she cried, running across the street to speak to Sammy’s mother, “have you heard anything?”

“About Sammy? Not a word,” answered the woman. “I have to keep working all the time, Agnes Kenway, or I should go insane. I know I should! I have cleaned this whole house, from attic to cellar, three times since Sammy ran away.”

“Why, Mrs. Pinkney! If you don’t go insane – and I don’t believe you will – I am sure you will overwork and be ill.”

“I must keep doing. I must keep going. If I sit down to think I imagine the most horrible things happening to the dear child. It is awful!”

Agnes knew that never before had the woman been so much disturbed by her boy’s absences from home. It seemed as though she really had lost control of herself, and the Corner House girl was quite worried over Mrs. Pinkney.

“If we could only help you and Mr. Pinkney,” said Agnes doubtfully. “Do you suppose it would do any good to go off in the car again – Neale and me and your husband – to look for Sammy?”

“Mr. Pinkney is so tied down by his business that he cannot go just now,” she sighed. “And he has put the search into the hands of an agency. I did not want the police to get after Sammy. But what could we do? And they say there are Gypsies around.”

“Oh!” gasped Agnes. “Do you suppose – ?”

“You never can tell what those people will do. I am told they have stolen children.”

“Isn’t that more talk than anything else?” asked Agnes, trying to speak quite casually.

“I don’t know. One of my neighbors tells me she hears that there is a big encampment of Gypsies out on the Buckshot Road. You know, out beyond the Poole farm. They have autovans instead of horses, so they say, and maybe could carry any children they stole out of the state in a very short time.”

“Oh, dear me, Mrs. Pinkney! I would not think of such things,” Agnes urged. “It does not sound reasonable.”

“That the Gypsies should travel by auto instead of behind horse?” rejoined Sammy’s mother. “Why not? Everybody else is using automobiles for transportation. I tell Mr. Pinkney that if we had a machine perhaps Sammy might not have been so eager to leave home.”

“Oh, dear, me!” thought Agnes, as she made her way home again, “I am sorry for Mr. Pinkney. Just now I guess he is having a hard time at home as well as at business!”

But she treasured up what she had heard about the Gypsy encampment on the Buckshot Road to tell Neale – when she should not be so “put-out” with him. The Buckshot Road was in an entirely different direction from Milton than that they had followed in their automobile on the memorable search for Sammy. Agnes did not suppose for a moment that the missing boy had gone with the Gypsies.

CHAPTER XXI – TESS AND DOT TAKE A HAND

Up to this time Tess and Dot Kenway had heard nothing about the Gypsy junkman haunting the house at night, or about other threatening things connected with the wonderful silver bracelet.

Their young minds were quite as excited about the ornament as in the beginning, however; for in the first place they had to keep run exactly of whose turn it was to “wear” the Gypsies’ gift.

“I don’t see what we’ll do about it when Alice grows up,” Dot said. She was always looking forward in imagination to the time when her favorite doll should become adult. “She will want to wear that belt, Tess, for evening dress. You know, a lady’s jewelry should belong to her.”

“I’m not going to give up my share to your Alice-doll,” announced Tess, quite firmly for her. “And, anyway, you must not be so sure that it is going to be ours all the time. See! Aggie says we can’t take it out of the house to play with.”

“I don’t care!” whined Dot. “I don’t want to give it back to those Gypsy ladies.”

“Neither do I. But we must of course, if we can find them. Honest is honest.”

“It – it’s awful uncomfortable to be so dreadful’ honest,” blurted out the smaller girl. “And I think they meant us to have the bracelet.”