Meg of Mystery Mountain

“I’ve attended to that, mother,” the man replied. “While I was waiting for an answer from Bert, I walked over to the grocery and told Jock Peterson all that had happened, and he was as pleased as he could be. He wants Gerald to come over there first thing in the morning to get a present to take with him.

“He didn’t say what it would be. I don’t even suppose that he had decided when he spoke. I was indeed happy to have him praise Gerald as he did. He said that he would trust our boy with any amount of money. He has watched Gerald, as he always does every lad who works in the store. He said that nearly all of them had helped themselves to a piece of candy from the showcase when they had wished, but that Gerald had never once touched a thing that did not belong to him. Mr. Peterson was so pleased that he asked Gerald about it one day, saying: ‘Don’t you like candy, lad?’ And our boy replied: ‘Indeed I do, Mr. Peterson! I don’t buy it because I want to save all my money to help Dad.’

“Gerald hadn’t even thought of helping himself as he worked around the store.”

“Of course, Gerry wouldn’t,” the old lady replied emphatically, “for isn’t he your son, Daniel?”

“And your grandson, mother?” the man smilingly returned. “But we must get some sleep,” he added, as the chimes on the mantle clock told them that it was eleven. “Tomorrow is to be a busy day.”

It was also to be a day of surprises, although this, these two did not guess.

CHAPTER VII

GERRY’S SURPRISE

Grandmother Abbott had indeed been right when she prophecied that Gerald’s joy, upon hearing that he could accompany Dan and his sister Julie, would be unbounded. She told him before breakfast while they were waiting for the others to come down. They had planned telling him later, but when his father saw how hard the small boy was trying to be brave; how the tune he was endeavoring to whistle wavered and broke, he could stand it no longer, and, putting a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, he looked down at him as he asked: “Son, if you could have your dearest wish fulfilled, what would it be?”

The lad hesitated, then he said earnestly: “There’s two things to wish for, Dad, and they’re both awful big. I want everything to be all right for you, but, oh, how I do want brother Dan to get well.”

Tears sprang to the eyes of the little old lady, and placing a hand affectionately on the boy’s head she asked: “Isn’t there something else, dearie, something you’d be wishing just for yourself?”

It was quite evident to the two who were watching that a struggle was going on in the boy’s heart. He had assured himself, time and again, that his dad must not know how he wished that he could go with Dan. He even felt guilty, because he wanted to go, believing that his dad needed his help at home, and so he said nothing. His father, surmising that this might be the case, asked, with one of his rare smiles: “If you knew, son, that I thought it best for you to go with Julie, to help her take care of Dan, would you be pleased?”

Such a light as there was in the freckled face, but, even then, the boy did not let himself rejoice. “Dad,” he said, “don’t you need me here?”

“No, son, your grandmother has decided to stay all summer. She has found a nice family to take care of her farm. Indeed I shall feel better, knowing that you are with Julie, if Dan should be really ill.”

For a moment the good news seemed to stun the little fellow. But when the full realization of what it meant surged over him, he leaped into his father’s arms and hugged him hard, then turning, he bolted for the stairway, and went up two steps at a time.

“Hurray!” he fairly shouted. “Dan, Jane, Julie, I’m going to Mystery Mountain!”

This unexpected news was received joyfully by Julie and Dan, but Jane, who was putting the last touches to her traveling costume, merely gave a shrug, which was reflected back to her in the long mirror. “Well, thanks be, I’m not going,” she confided to that reflection. “I’d be worn to rags by the end of the summer if I had to listen to such shrieking. I’m thankful Merry’s Aunt Belle has no children. They may be all very well for people who like them, but I think they are superlative nuisances.”

The entire family had gathered in the dining room when Jane descended, and, after the grace had been said, the two youngest members began to chatter their excitement like little magpies. Dan, who sat next to Jane, smiled at her lovingly. “I suppose you are going to have a wonderful time, little girl,” he said. “I have heard that Newport is a merry whirl for society people in the summer time, with dances, tallyho rides, and picnic suppers.”

Jane’s eyes glowed, and she voiced her agreement. “I’ve heard so, too, and I’ve always been just wild to have a wee taste of that gay life, and now I can hardly believe that I am to be right in the midst of it for three glorious months.” Then, as she saw a sudden wearied expression in her brother’s face, she added: “You’re very tired, Dan, aren’t you? If only you were rested, I should try to plan some way to have you go with me. I’m wild to have you meet Merry. I do believe she is just the kind of a girl whom you would like. You never have cared for any girl yet, have you? I mean not particularly well?”

There was a tender light in the gray eyes that were so like their father’s. Resting a hand on Jane’s arm, he said in a low voice, “I care right now very particularly for a girl, and she is my dear sister-pal.”

Somehow the expression in her brother’s eyes made Jane unhappy. She did wish he would not look at her – was it wistfully, yearningly or what? Rising, their father said, “The taxi is outside, children. Are you all ready?”

There was much confusion for the next few moments. The expressman had come for the trunks, and there were many last things that the father wished to say to the three who were going to his cabin on Mystery Mountain.

“Dan, my boy,” Mr. Abbott held the hand of his eldest in a firm clasp and looked deep into his eyes, “let your first thought be how best you can regain your strength. If you need me, wire and I will come at once.” Then putting his hand in his pocket, he drew out an envelope. “The passes are in here. Put them away carefully.” Then he turned to Jane. “Goodbye, daughter. You will be nearer. Come home when you want to. May heaven protect you all.”

The two younger children gave “bear hugs,” over and over again, to their dad and grandmother, and when at last all were seated in the taxi, they waved to the two who stood on the porch until they had turned a corner.

Dan smiled at Jane as he said: “This is indeed an exodus. That little old home of ours never lost so many of us all at once.”

“Gee, I bet ye the apple orchard’ll wonder where me and Julie are,” the boy began, but Jane interrupted fretfully. “Oh, I do wish you would be more careful of the way you speak, Gerald. You know as well as any of us that you should say where Julie and I are.”

The boy’s exuberance for a moment was dampened, but not for long. He soon burst out with, “Say, Dan, you know that story Dad tells about a brown bear that came right up to the cabin door once. Do you suppose there’s bears in those mountains now?”

“I’m sure of it, Gerry. Dozens of them, but they won’t hurt us, unless we get them cornered.”

“Well, you can bet I’m not going to corner any of them,” Gerry confided. “But I’d like to have a little cub, wouldn’t you, Julie, to fetch up for a pet?”

The little girl was doubtful. “Maybe, when it grew up, it would forget it was a pet bear, and maybe you’d get it cornered, and then what would you do?”

Dan laughed. “The bear would do the doing,” he said. He glanced at Jane, who sat looking out of the small window at her side. He did not believe that she really saw the objects without. How he wished he knew what the girl, who had been his pal all through their childhood, was thinking. As he watched her, there was again in his eyes that yearning, wistful expression, but Jane did not know it as she did not turn.

The little station at Edgemere was soon reached, the trunks checked for the big city beyond the river, and, after a short ride on the train and ferry, they found themselves in the whirling, seething mass of humanity with which the Grand Central Station seemed always to be filled.

The train for the West was to leave at 10, and after it was gone, Jane planned going uptown to buy a summer dress. Dad had told her to charge it to him. His credit was still good. As they stood waiting for the gates to open, Dan took from his pocket the envelope containing the passes. For the first time he glanced them over, then exclaimed: “Why, how curious! There are four passes! I thought there were but three. Oh, well, they are only slips of paper, and do not represent money.” He replaced them and smiled at Jane. The children raced to a stand to buy a bag of popcorn and Dan seized that opportunity to take his sister’s hand, and say most seriously: “Dear girl, if I never come back, try to be to our Dad all that I have so wanted to be.”

There was a startled expression in the girl’s dark eyes. “Dan, what do you mean?” Her voice sounded frightened, terrorized. “If you never come back? Brother, why shouldn’t you come back!” She clung to his arm. “Tell me, what do you mean?” But he could not reply for a time, because of a sudden attack of coughing. Then he said: “I don’t know, little girl. I’m afraid I’m worse off than Dad knows. I – ”

“All aboard!” The gates were swung open. Frantically, Jane cried: “Dan, quick, have my trunk checked on that other pass. I’m going with you.”

* * * * * * * *

Mr. Abbott smiled through tears as he handed his mother the telegram he received that afternoon. “I felt sure our Jane had a soul,” he said. “Her mother’s daughter couldn’t be entirely without one.”

“And now that it’s awakened maybe it’ll start to blossoming,” the old lady replied.

CHAPTER VIII

ALL ABOARD

There had been such a whirl at the last moment that it was not until they were on the train and had located their seats on the Pullman, that the children realized what had happened. Luckily Jane was too much occupied readjusting her own attitude of mind, and trying to think hastily what she should do before the train was really on its way, to notice the disappointment which was plainly depicted on the faces of Julie and Gerald. They gazed at each other almost in dismay when they heard that their big sister was to accompany them, but the joy in their brother’s face and manner was all that was needed to reconcile the younger boy.

In the confusion caused by passengers entering the car with porters carrying their luggage, Gerald managed to draw Julie aside and whisper to her: “Don’t let on we didn’t want Jane, not on your life! Dan wanted her, and this journey’s got just one object, Dad says, and that’s to help Dan get well.”

But Julie was too terribly disappointed to pretend that she was not. “I know all that,” she half sobbed and turned toward the window across the aisle, “but I was so happy when I s’posed I was to cook for Dan, and when you and I were to be the ones to take care of him. But now Jane will get all the honor and everything, and we’ll have to be bossed around worse than if we were at home, for Dad’s there to take our part.”

Gerald’s clear hazel eyes gazed at his sister rebukingly. “Julie,” he said, with an earnestness far beyond his years, “the train hasn’t started yet and if you’n I are going to think of ourselves we’d better go back home. Shall we, Julie?”

The little girl shook her head vigorously. “No, no. I don’t want to go home.” She clung to the back of a seat as though she feared she were going to be taken forcibly from the train.

Gerald leaned over to whisper to her, but he first gave her a little kiss on the ear, then he said: “Julie, you’n I will have oodles of fun up there in the mountains. If Jane isn’t too snappish, I’ll be glad she’s along, because, of course, she’ll be able to take care of Dan better than we could.” Then suddenly he laughed gleefully.

“I’ve got it!” he confided to the girl, who had looked around curiously. She could not imagine how Gerald could laugh when such a tragic thing had happened. “You’re dippy about pretending, Julie. You once said you could pretend anything you wanted to, and make it seem real. Well, here’s your chance. Every time Jane is snappy, pretend she has said something pleasant. That’ll be a hard one, but for Dan’s sake, I’m willing to give it a try.”

Julie’s mania had always been “pretending,” and she had often wished that Gerald would play it with her, but he was a matter-of-fact sort of a lad, and his reply had been that real things were fun enough for him. The little girl’s face brightened. At last her brother was willing to play her favorite game.

“That will be a hard one,” she agreed. Then, as she was lunged against the boy, she also laughed. “Oh, goodie!” she whispered. “Now the train is really started – nobody can send us back home. Honest, I was skeered Jane might want to. She thinks we’re so terribly in the way.”

Happy as Dan was, because the sister he so loved was to accompany him to the West, he did not forget the two who had been willing to go with him and care for him in the beginning, and, as soon as the train was well under way, he called to the children. “Come here, Julie. I’ve saved the window side of my seat for you, and I’m sure Jane will let Gerald sit by the window on her seat. Now, isn’t this jolly?”

The children wedged into the places toward which he was beckoning them. Julie glanced almost fearfully up at the older girl she had accidentally jostled in passing, but Jane was gazing out of the window deep in dreams. Dan noticed his sister-pal’s expression. How he hoped she was not regretting her hasty decision.

His fears were soon dispelled, for Jane turned toward him with a tender light in her beautiful dark eyes. “Brother,” she said, “I have just been wondering how I can communicate with Marion Starr. She expects to meet me at the Central Station at four. It is now nearly noon. I should have left some message for her.”

“We must send a telegram to her home when we reach Albany, or sooner, if we make a stop. I’ll ask the conductor. Suppose you write out what you wish to say.” And so Jane took from her valise the very same little leather covered notebook in which, less than a week before, she had written a list of the things she would need for a wardrobe to be worn at the fashionable summer resort at Newport.

Of this Jane did not even think as she wrote, after a thoughtful moment, the ten words that were needed to tell her best friend that she was on her way West with her brother Dan, who was ill and who needed her.

The conductor took the message and said that he expected to have an opportunity to send a telegram in a very short time. The train soon stopped at a village, where it was evidently flagged, and the young people saw the station master running from the depot waving a yellow envelope. The conductor received it, at the same time giving him the paper on which Jane’s message was written. “Please send this at once.” The sound of his voice came to them through Gerald’s window. Then the train started again and had acquired its former speed when the kindly conductor entered their car. He was reading the telegram he had just received. Stopping at their seats, he asked: “Are you Daniel Abbott, accompanied by Jane, Julie and Gerald?”

“We are,” the tall lad replied in his friendly manner. “Have you a message from our father?”

The conductor shook his head. “No, not that. This telegram is from the president of the railroad telling us that four young people named Abbott are his guests, and he wishes them to receive every courtesy, and now, as it is noon, if you will come with me, I will escort you to the diner.”

“Oh, but I’m glad,” Julie, who treated everyone with frank friendliness, smiled brightly up into the face of the man whom she just knew must be a father, he had such kind, understanding eyes. “I’m awful hungry; aren’t you, Gerry?” she whispered, a moment later, as they filed down the aisle in procession, the conductor first, Jane next, with Dan at the end as rear guard. Julie tittered and Jane turned to frown at her. Gerry poked his young sister with the reminder, “Pretend she smiled.”

But frowns could not squelch Julie’s exuberance when they were seated about a table in the dining car, which was rapidly filling with their fellow travelers.

“Ohee, isn’t this the jolliest? I’m going to pretend I’m a princess and – ” But the small girl paused and listened. The head waiter was addressing Jane. “As guests of Mr. Bethel’s,” he told them, “you may select whatever you wish from the menu. Kindly write out your orders.” He handed them each an order slip and a pencil and then went on to another table. Julie gave a little bounce of joy. The “real” was so wonderful, she would not have to pretend. She and Gerald bowed their heads over a typed menu; and then they began to scribble. Dan, glancing across at them, smiled good naturedly. “What are you doing, kiddies, copying the entire menu?” he asked. But Jane remarked rebukingly, “Julie Abbott, do you wish people to think that you have been starved at home? Tear those up at once. Here are two others. If you can’t make them out properly, I’ll do it for you.”

Dan saw a rebellious expression in Julie’s eyes, so he suggested, “Let them try once more, Jane. They can’t learn any younger. Just order a few things at first, Gerry, and then, if you are still hungry, you can have more.”

Such a jolly time as the children had! When the train turned sharply at a curve and the dishes slid about, Julie laughed outright. She purposely did not look at Jane. She could pretend her big sister was smiling easier, if she didn’t see the frown. But their fun was just beginning.

CHAPTER IX

TELEGRAMS

Although the children were greatly interested in all they saw, nothing of an unusual nature had occurred, when, early one morning they reached Chicago.

The kindly conductor directed them to the other train that would bear them to their destination, assuring them that on it, also, they would be guests of Mr. Bethel.

The four young people were standing on the outer edge of the hurrying throng, gazing about them with interest (as several hours would elapse before the departure of the west-bound train), when Jane was sure that she heard their name being called through a megaphone.

“It’s that man in uniform over by the gates. He’s calling ‘Telegram for Jane Abbott!’” Gerald told her. “May I go get it, Dan? May I?”

The older boy nodded and the younger pushed through the crowd, the others following more slowly. Very quickly Gerald returned, waving two yellow envelopes. One was a night letter from Marion Starr. Tearing it open, Jane read:

“Dearest friend: As soon as I received your message I telephoned your father, knowing that he could explain much more than you could in ten words. What you are doing makes me love you more than I did before, if that is possible. My one wish is that I, too, might go West. I like mountains far better than I do fashionable summer resorts. Will write. Your

Merry.”

The other telegram contained a short message, but Jane looked up with tears in her eyes as she said: “It is from father and just for me.”

Dan smiled down at her and asked no questions. The few words were: “Thank you, daughter, for your self-sacrifice. Now I know that Dan will get well.”

But their father did not know how serious Dan believed his condition to be.

“And he shall not,” the girl decided, “not until I have good news to send.”

As soon as they were seated in the train that was to take them the rest of the journey, Jane said anxiously: “Dan, dear, aren’t you trying too hard to keep up? You look so very weak and weary. Let’s have the porter make up the lower berth, even though it is still daytime. You need a long rest.”

Dan shook his head, though he pressed her arm tenderly, but a coughing spell racked his body when he tried to speak. The conductor on the Rock Island was more practical than their former friend, but not more kindly. He motioned Jane to one side.

“Miss Abbott,” he said, “there is a drawing-room vacant. Bride and groom were to have had it, but the order has been canceled. Since you are friends of Mr. Bethel, I’m going to put you all in there. It will be more comfortable, and you can turn in any time you wish.”

Jane’s gratitude was sincerely expressed. It would give Dan just the opportunity he needed to rest, and the lad, nothing loath, permitted Jane to have her way. How elated the children were when they found that they were to travel in a room quite by themselves. That evening they went to the diner alone, but Gerald was not as pleased as was his sister.

“I should think you’d be tickled pink,” Julie said, inelegantly, “to be able to order anything you choose and not have Jane peering at what you write.”

The boy replied dismally: “I can’t be much pleased about anything. Don’t you know, Jane’s staying with Dan ’cause she thinks he’s too weak to come out here? I heard her ask the porter to have their dinners brought in there. Julie, you and I’ll have to keep quieter if we want to help Dan get well. He’s sicker than he was when we started. I can see that easy.”

The small girl was at once remorseful.

“I’m so glad you told me,” she said with tears in her dark violet eyes. “I’ve just been thinking what a lot of fun we’re having. I’ve been worse selfish than Jane was.”

Seeing that her lips were quivering, Gerald said consolingly: “No, you haven’t, either. Anyhow, I think Dan’s just tired out. He’ll be lots better in the morning. You see if he isn’t.”

But when Dan awakened in the morning he was no better.

During the afternoon, that their brother might try to sleep, the conductor suggested that Julie and Gerald go out on the observation platform.

“Is it quite safe for them out there alone?” Dan inquired.

“They will not be alone,” was the reply. “I’ll put them in the care of Mr. Packard, with whom I am acquainted, as he frequently travels over this line.”

Julie had been very eager to ride on the observation platform, but Jane had not wished to go outside because of the dust and cinders which she was sure she would encounter, but now that the small girl was actually going, she could hardly keep from skipping down the aisle as she followed the conductor with Gerald as rear guard.

There was only one occupant of the observation platform, and to Gerald’s delight, he wore the wide brimmed Stetson hat which the boy had often seen on the screen.

“I’ll bet yo’ he’s a cattle-man. I bet yo’ he is!” Gerry gleefully confided to his small sister while their guide said a few words to the Westerner. Then, turning, the conductor beckoned to them.

The stranger arose and held out a strong brown hand to assist the little girl to a chair at his side.

“How do you do, Julie and Gerald?” he said, including them both in his friendly smile. Julie bobbed a little curtsy, but Gerald’s attempt at manners was rudely interrupted by the necessity of seizing his cap.

“We have to watch out for our hats,” the stranger cautioned, “for now and then we are visited by a miniature whirlwind.”

Gerald was almost bursting with eagerness. “Oh, I say, Mr. Packard,” he blurted out, “aren’t you a reg’lar – er – I mean a reg’lar – ” The boy grew red and embarrassed, and so Julie went to his aid with, “Mr. Packard, Gerry thinks maybe you’re a cow-man rancher like we’ve seen in the moving pictures.”

The bronzed face of the middle-aged man wrinkled in a good-natured smile. “I am the owner of a cattle-ranch fifteen miles from Redfords,” he told them.

This information so delighted the boy that Julie was afraid he would bounce right over the rail.

“Gee-golly! That’s where we’re going – Redfords is! Our daddy owns a cabin way up high on Mystery Mountain.”

The man looked puzzled. “Mystery Mountain,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I don’t seem to recall having heard of it.”

Then practical little Julie put in: “Oh, Mr. Packard, that isn’t its really-truly name. Our daddy called it that ’cause there’s a lost mine on it and Dad said it was a mystery where it went to.”

The man’s face brightened.

“O-ho! Then you must mean Redfords’ Peak. That mine was found and lost again before I bought the Green Hills Ranch. Quite a long while ago that was.”

Gerry nodded agreement. “Yep. Dan, our big brother is most twenty-one and he hadn’t been born yet.” Then the boy’s face saddened as he confided: “Dan’s sick. He’s got a dreadful cough. That’s why we’re going to Dad’s cabin in the Rockies.”