THE MYSTERY OF

STINGYMAN’S ALLEY

MELODY LANE MYSTERY STORIES

The Ghost of Melody Lane

The Forbidden Trail

The Tower Secret

The Wild Warning

Terror at Moaning Cliff

The Dragon of the Hills

The Mystery of Stingyman’s Alley

The Secret of the Kashmir Shawl

The Hermit of Proud Hill

MELODY LANE MYSTERY STORIES

THE MYSTERY OF

STINGYMAN’S ALLEY

BY

LILIAN GARIS

ILLUSTRATED BY

RUTH KING

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Copyright, 1938 by

GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.

The Mystery of Stingyman’s Alley

All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I A CHILD FORGOTTEN 1

II CARILLA 13

III TROUBLE 21

IV HUMBLE PIE 28

V TO FIGHT FOR IDEALS 36

VI CHALLENGE 44

VII CYNTHIA 52

VIII A CURIOUS RIDE 60

IX FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! 69

X ON THE POLICE WAGON 77

XI REAL EXCITEMENT 87

XII IT NEVER RAINS 96

XIII BUT IT POURS 107

XIV STEALING PENNY 117

XV DEEPER AND DEEPER 127

XVI SPOOKS AND BROOMSTICKS 136

XVII BAGGING A GHOST 145

XVIII THE GIRLS DECIDE 152

XIX TOO DANGEROUS TO BE WISE 160

XX COMPLICATIONS 169

XXI TROUBLE ON STILTS 178

XXII A MESSENGER BOY’S CODE 186

XXIII IT WAS A HONEY 195

XXIV LARRY THE JUMPER 203

XXV PALS 212

XXVI STOLEN: PENNY BROWN 222

XXVII SURPRISING THEMSELVES 231

1

STINGYMAN’S ALLEY

CHAPTER I

A CHILD FORGOTTEN

It would take one of the oldest policemen on the

force, or perhaps a very old resident, indeed, to give

practical directions for reaching Stingyman’s Alley.

It was one of those curious little strips of road

that happen in otherwise well-planned cities. On two

sides were streets of normal length with

Stingyman’s Alley, like a scowling dwarf, squatted

between them.

Noisy, puffing factories crowded in closer and

closer, over-shadowing the alley and the house

where “Stingyman” had once lived, making it

appear as mean and queer as had been the mythical

reputation of its one time owner.

The dark factories, tanneries, iron foundries,

button-shops, breweries, and celluloid plants, gave

2

off their individual odors and smoke, making the air

itself different from the atmosphere uptown.

But here was the house toward which Carol

Duncan was now hurrying, the Sunshine Day

Nursery.

Carol wondered as she hurried along, what the

story was of the queer “Stingyman,” now almost

forgotten, who had once lived in the house.

In her vivid imagination she pictured him an old,

bent man, refusing his neighbors any aid or

friendship, refusing even the children the use of his

smoother sidewalk for their games. How odd it was

that at the end, his gloomy home housed the

youngsters he so actively despised. How had it come

about?

One feature of the neighborhood that puzzled the

girl was the absence of human sounds. No laughing

children, no pattering feet, no friendly calls; just

machine sounds—puffs, snorts and hisses.

The nursery crouched under the barrage, wincing,

perhaps, from the continuous assault on its tired old

nerves.

She walked briskly, avoiding the puddles when

she could do so, and when one of the heavy factory

trucks lumbered by, spraying brown waves of

muddy water from clumping wheels, Carol would

squeeze closer to the poor houses that lined the

streets.

3

“I guess father is right,” Carol thought to herself

looking down ruefully at her mud-spotted stockings.

“This is the meanest month of the year. Not that it

makes much difference down here; the people get a

little muddier and the babies are a little colder, but I

doubt if any of them even know when one month

ends and another begins, so why blame February?”

She dodged behind a row of ash cans as another

truck approached, and then continued quickly down

the street to the nursery, for she was late and the

children, she reflected, would be “raising the roof.”

Children of various nationalities, not yet old

enough to go to the public schools; they were indeed

a problem.

It was her duty to keep them busy all the long day

while their parents labored in the nearby factories.

Except for a blessed respite for lunch and a nap in

the afternoon for the smaller ones, she had complete

charge of the youngsters.

Carol sighed as she opened the battered old door

of the nursery. She had a feeling of Spring fever; or

was she just too tired of it all?

There was no room in her busy young mind for

self pity, however. She had taken this work and she

was going to keep it. Her father was not rugged, and

the thought of his having to work when his health

was so uncertain made the girl more determined

than ever to carry on her own work.

4

“Hello, Annie,” she greeted more cheerfully than

she felt, as the good-natured Irish cook poked her

head out from behind the kitchen door when Carol

entered. “How’s everything?”

“Fine, Carol, sure!” Annie replied with a jolly

laugh. “You’ve a great big group today, and two

new ones. I’ve been takin’ off their wraps and

they’re all ready for you in the play room.”

“Thank you, Annie,” Carol smiled. “Boys or

girls?”

“The new ones are girls, for which I suppose

you’re thankful. But we’ve a new baby boy up-stairs

in the last empty crib,” Annie smiled pleasantly.

How she managed to keep so cheerful was rather a

mystery to Carol, but Annie herself said she was

used to babies, being the oldest of a family of

twelve.

“I tell you, Annie,” Carol began through

compressed lips, “I feel today if that rascal, Hugo,

slides just once on the tables when my back is

turned, I’ll—I’ll let him have it, sure!” and a little

imp of mischief peeped out of her blue eyes.

“Don’t let him bother you, dear,” Annie soothed.

“So few of them down here have any spirit at all

maybe it’s good for the child.”

“I know. You’re right, but there’s a hint of spring

in the air today and I’m not wholly responsible,”

Carol admitted.

5

As she opened the door to the big room, shrill

voices protested in several languages. Carol

imagined as she looked at the confused scene, that

these children probably began to complain and

quarrel as soon as they were born and never stopped,

at least they hadn’t stopped yet.

As she watched silently for a moment, Hugo

Boneto, a little dark-haired boy with a pair of

trousers much too small and a greyish blouse much

too big, backed far down the room and, with a

commanding hand, waved the children away from

the long, low tables. They obeyed as if they were

used to it, and waited for the performance.

Hugo ran a few steps and then took a skillful

“belly-whopper” on his sturdy little chest and

stomach. Sliding the length of the table, he, for once,

misjudged his stop, for he went flying off at the end,

coming to a plop with a grunting thump on the floor.

“Wah-wah,” he wailed. “Bianca pushed me

down! Wah-wah!”

“Hugo!” Carol exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“Get up at once! Bianca did not push you. I saw

what you did and if you try it again I’ll punish you

severely! Now, go to your places and sit down, all of

you.”

Quickly the little restless, shifting group settled

into quietness. When Teacher spoke like that it was

wise to obey. Seated on little chairs to match the

6

tables, they turned questioning eyes toward Carol.

For all their teasing, they were genuinely fond of

pretty Teacher with the curly hair.

It was hard to believe that this was the same

Carol Duncan who, only a year or two ago, had

lived out, far out in the country in that lovely old

Melody Lane. And that she was the same girl who

had always believed her music would give her the

longed for chance to earn her living, to help her

younger sister Cecy, and, she had always hoped, to

help her father as well.

“And now I’m down in this dirty place struggling

with poor children, the darlings,” she could not help

thinking. “Cecy is fortunate to be away in the West

with Aunt Isabel.

Even her thoughts were wordless in this quick

flash back to Aunt Isabel, who had given Carol and

her chums the chance to work out the mysterious

“Terror At Moaning Cliff.” No time now, however,

to dream back to that exciting summer, sufficient to

know that good old Aunt Isabel, really her father’s

aunt, had begged to have Cecy go to her home with

her, to the middle west, where Cecy could prepare

for college and go on to college as soon as she was

prepared. Cecy had gone with Aunt Isabel, away

from her hitherto inseparable chum Rosie, Rosiland

Wells, while Carol and her father came in to the big

city.

7

“But either Cecy will come to Rosie or Rosie will

go to Cecy at Easter,” Carol knew. “Never were two

chums more loyal. Like me and Thally—” Thally

Bond. How Carol had missed her chum. “But Dad

had to come back to his newspaper work, and glad

to get it,” she quickly turned to practical reasoning,

“so here we are.”

“Well, things do happen if it is a small world” she

concluded, as again she focused her attention upon

the children before her.

After Hugo’s inglorious fall, the youngsters were

ready to behave now that they had had an adventure,

and they were willing to go to work.

“Michael, you may give out the paper and

crayons, and after you’ve quieted a bit, we’ll sing

our song,” she announced in a calm tone, scanning

the eager faces before her, knowing that once again

they had been successfully subdued.

A bashful little tot, still uncertain how to conduct

herself, drew Carol’s attention.

“Oh, you’re one of the new children, aren’t you?”

she asked of the tiny child, standing forlornly at the

far end of the room. “What is your name?”

“Penny,” said a small voice.

“Penny, what?” Carol asked kindly.

“Penny Brown. I’m ’most four.”

“You’re a fine big girl and you’ll have a good

time here if you’re a good girl. You may sit there by

8

Teresa.” Carol made room at the table. “Where’s the

other new one?”

“Here, teacher, by me,” a deep throaty voice

answered. It was surprising what deep voices some

of these children had. “It’s my cousin from

Phil’delphya. I keep her by me, yes?”

“If you behave you may stay together. Now, all

Hi and up and we’ll salute the flag.”

A scraping of chairs and they began to shout: “I

pledgeallegiance—” It was useless to tell them to

speak lower and slower; if they got out one good

about they would quiet down more quickly.

“Now,” Carol continued when that ordeal was

over, “let’s see who can draw the best picture. No

noise, and no looking at your neighbor’s paper.”

A blessed quiet fell over the room but Carol knew

it would not last long. Soon there would be cries of:

“Lookit! Lookit, teacher at mine!” and pressing,

pushing, little bodies would crush around her.

She walked quietly around the room. Little Penny

Brown was busy filling her paper with wavy lines.

She was a very pretty child and looked “loved,”

Carol thought. Yes, there was something different

about Penny.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” the young teacher was

thinking, “if my expected mystery would unwind in

little Penny. She certainly has that something that

makes mysteries. Queer, how even a baby can

9

betray the very things that older folks try to hide. I

must keep my eye on Penny.”

By the end of the day Carol’s throat was raw, her

nose shiny and her curly hair as unruly as her class,

although it couldn’t screech at her. With a great sigh

of relief, when it was closing time, Carol herded her

charges out to the small cloak room. There they

struggled to put on their odd assortment of out-door

garments.

They had come early in the morning, some of

them had been there as early as seven o’clock, when

day was just beginning to grow bright. In their own

homes it must have been dark when the sleepy

babies had been hastily picked up, dressed hurriedly

and carried through the still, cold streets to the

nursery.

It was dark again at night when they were taken

back home and dropped into bed. To many of them,

their one or two room homes were just places to

sleep. Day after day with a confusing Sunday at the

end of every week, it was the same. No wonder

some of them were so hard to handle. An outburst at

the nursery provided their only safety valve outlet.

But it was closing time at last.

“My Bianca?” A big dark-eyed woman would

pop in and ask as would others much like her: “My

Tommy?” “My Michael?” Or the fathers, perhaps, a

little shyly: “Peter?” “Teresa?” And Carol would

10

hustle them out, while Matilda Green, the nurse,

warned the parents of colds and diseases and asked

special questions about the health of the children at

home.

Soon they were all gone, back to their humble

homes for the night; all except Penny Brown who

waited patiently, playing with some well-worn

blocks, while the factory sounds outside quieted and

finally stopped altogether.

“Wouldn’t you know I’d have to wait,” Carol

remarked bitterly to Annie. “All gone but this one

and Ken’s been waiting outside almost half an hour

now.”

“Go along with your young man, I’ll take care of

her,” Annie offered kindly.

“No, I’d better not. Mrs. Lancaster is just waiting

for a chance like that. I guess Penny’s mother will

be here soon. She’s new, you know.”

“A queer young thing, that mother, if you ask

me,” Mattie Green, the nurse, volunteered. “Acts

like she was walking in her sleep. Wouldn’t surprise

me if she didn’t come back at all.”

“Oh, Mattie, we haven’t had a ‘left’ one for ages.

I hope this won’t be one, she’s so cute,” murmured

Carol, apprehensively.

“The girl that brought her paid for the milk,

anyway; Mrs. Lancaster will be glad of that. A

peculiar woman that Lancaster, to be in this kind of

11

charity, she is. I don’t think her heart is in it at all,”

Mattie went on, referring, of course, to the great,

high, wide and handsome Mrs. Lancaster, chairman

of the Board of Managers of the Sunshine Day

Nursery.

Annie nodded silently and shrugged. Time

crawled on and Carol was now so restless that she

was pacing the floor. Then, following a timid knock,

a young girl appeared suddenly at the back door.

“You’re Penny’s mother?” Carol asked, surprised

that this young girl should be any child’s mother.

“Yes.” The voice was deep and plainly being

restrained.

“Well, here she is and she’s very tired, too.”

Carol had no need to urge Penny forward.

“I know,” the young woman said tonelessly, and

taking the sleepy child in her arms, she hurried out

leaving Carol and the two older women speechless.

“Well!” was all Carol could exclaim.

“I told you she was just a young thing,” Mattie

Green reminded her.

“The poor little one seemed quite used to

waiting,” Annie observed kindly, but shrewdly.

“She certainly is young, all right,” Mattie

insisted, and Mattie too was good at guessing.

“You’re right; she is. Though I can’t just tell

what’s odd about her; she might be Penny’s sister.

Never a word about being late or anything.” Carol

12

looked puzzled. “However, I must dash. G’night,”

and, hurriedly putting on her hat and coat and

carrying her rubbers, she ran out to the waiting car.

There to meet Ken; Kenneth Powell. Not Glenn,

her friend of those earlier school days out in the

Country, for Glenn had gone on to college. He wrote

her occasionally, and she never forgot what a swell

boy Glenn was. But as her dad had pointed out, “it’s

healthy for a girl to have new friends as well as old.”

And— Well, here was Ken waiting for her this very

minute.

13

CHAPTER II

CARILLA

“I’m so sorry, Ken,” Carol exclaimed breathlessly

as she sank down on the worn upholstery of Kenneth

Powell’s car. “You didn’t need to wait. I could have

taken a bus.”

“Forget it, Carilla,” Ken replied and Carol felt

better. The fancy nickname, coming from Ken,

indicated a good mood and she smiled thankfully at

her companion.

“One of the mothers was late and I had to stay. A

new child, awfully cute; didn’t seem to mind a bit

when her mother, if it was her mother, didn’t come.

Just a young girl and was she pretty! Sort of asleep

and awake.”

“A thin girl in a black coat?” Ken asked as he

carefully avoided a rut hole in the narrow street.

“Yes, carrying Penny.”

“I saw her. She came out just before you did,”

Ken remarked, stepping on the starter. “And you

know, Carilla,” he added slyly, “when she stood

under the light she turned a pair of eyes on me—”

14

“Now, Ken, you leave other girls’ eyes alone,”

Carol joked back at him.

“Can’t. Young lawyers must study eyes; they

mean a lot. But no kiddin’,” he changed his tone,

“when she saw me sitting here even in this old boat,

she looked scared. Or was I imagining things?”

“She certainly looked scared when she grabbed

up little Penny,” Carol sighed. “Oh, well, perhaps

¦he’s not used to leaving that little darling in strange

places. And isn’t she a darling, though.”

“Don’t go pathetic on me now,” the young man

warned, good-naturedly. “How was everything

today?”

“Just as usual,” Carol replied. “It’s remarkable, I

think, to see how sturdy those children are. They

come every day and often it’s awfully cold, but they

seldom have even a cold. They don’t dress warmly,

either. Little Miriam Zappo was charmingly gowned

in a flour bag today. The brand letters were still

visible.”

“Um-m,” Ken grunted. Too much talk about the

nursery bored him; besides, he believed the work

was too hard for Carol. Better not get her started on

the children, he was thinking, so he did not add

encouragement.

Carol dropped the subject abruptly, pulling her

tweed coat down lower over her slim legs. Ken’s car

had the oddest draughts. It was a second-hand, or

15

maybe even a fourth-hand, contraption he had

bought when he came to Newkirk to study law.

After finishing high school and a prep, course he

had decided not to be an engineer, after all. So he

came to Newkirk with his mother and a brother, and

established himself in the same district where Carol

and her father now lived.

As they crawled along in the heavy evening

traffic, Ken urged the old car on, just as if it could

do any better. Carol sighed. “I’m tired tonight.

Guess I’d better begin to take cod-liver oil or

something to pep me up.”

“Are you, Carilla?” Ken asked, instantly

sympathetic. “Why don’t you stop that work?

You’re getting thin, yelling at those kids. Give it up

I It’s getting you. Quit!”

“No, I don’t want to stop. I’d rather be down

there helping those poor youngsters than mooning

about the house like a lost soul. I’ve got to stay.

Besides,” she resumed as they rode along, “it’s silly,

I know, but something tells me that I’m going to be

useful.”

“You’re rather useful right now I They’d have to

do some looking to get any one to take your place,”

Ken said vigorously, as he stopped the car for a red

light.

It was dark, now, and the red traffic signal ahead

made a long crimson streak in the damp, shiny

16

street. They were nearer the center of the city, and

the traffic had increased. The sound of squealing

brakes and the rumble of heavy buses, with an

occasional indignant horn, filled the air. Suddenly

the light changed and they went on. Presently they

reached Carol’s home, just an apartment in one of a

dingy row of brownstone houses each just like the

other, with a long flight of steps leading up to the

entrance.

“I won’t put the car away,” Ken remarked as he

helped her out. “We may want to use it later.”

She smiled. Ken was always so sweet about

driving places. But tonight only a major calamity

would induce her to go out. She drew in a great

breath of the damp, chilly air as though she had

come up from a deep dive. So tired. . . .

“Will you come in, Ken?” she asked, pausing

before the door of her apartment.

“No; not now. You’re played out. I’ll stop around

later,” he said, giving her arm an affectionate

squeeze. Played out was right. But there was so

much playing left to be done with the children of

working mothers, that somebody had to do it.

“So long,” Carol called after her friend. She

paused a moment to get a new grip, then went in to

greet her father.

There he was, as usual, sitting in an easy chair of

no doubtful ancestry, under the gaudy reading lamp,

17

scanning the evening paper.

“Hello, Dad!” she said brightly, pulling off her

hat. “Don’t you ever get enough of that old paper of

yours?”

“Hello, Pidge,” he answered, smiling up at her

happily. She was home again safely, his daughter,

his beloved Carol.

She was looking really pretty now, her dark hair

curlier than ever from the dampness, and her cheeks

pink from the biting drive.

“I guess it’s in my blood. Can’t get it out. A

newspaper man always reads his own stuff in every

edition and all the rest, too,” her father remarked

finally.

“Anything good today?” she asked as she kissed

him on the forehead just where his hair was

beginning to get a little thin.

“I got a good story about the labor trouble in the

district down by your nursery. Some chap named

Peter Schevelli—”

“Peter Schevelli!” Carol exclaimed, interrupting.

Mr. Duncan watched her curiously. “Yes, that’s

his name. Do you know him?”

“Everybody down in Stingyman’s Alley knows

Peter Schevelli, but not very much about him, Pm

afraid. What kind of a story did you get?”

“Oh, just some human interest stuff. He told me

about the housing condition down there. Pretty bad,

18

I guess.”

“Oh, yes, father, they are,” Carol assured him

earnestly. “The city ought to do something about

things.”

“That’s what we’re after, trying to make the city

do something,” Mr. Duncan explained. “Remember

what I always tell you; keep your eyes and ears open

for a good story for your old dad.”

“Pm watching for a story for you now, Dad, and

when the right time comes you can have a good one.

All about Stingyman’s Alley and Peter Schevelli

and—. Well, you’ll see, I won’t tell you now. I

know you news hounds and never trust you with

secrets,” she finished.

They smiled happily at each other. Carol and her

father were in perfect accord. They were used to

being without Cecy now, but they missed her just

the same.

“All right, Pidge,” the father answered. “I’ll wait

until you’re ready with the big story.”

“Pidge” was short for Pigeon. Carol was the sort

of girl for whom’ people immediately created

nicknames. When some one said Carol she listened

carefully, sure that something important would

follow. That “Carilla” Ken had tacked on seemed a

little too fancy but she liked it.

She hurried about getting dinner. A steak broiled,

French fried potatoes and peas. Carol had become

19

very expert at getting a meal quickly. Afterwards,

her father helped with the dishes and just as they

were finishing Ken gave his usual three long and

two short knocks on the door.

After the regular bantering greetings were over,

Mr. Duncan remarked, as he filled his well-seasoned

pipe:

“I have an assignment tonight, Ken. How would

you like to take Pidge to the movies?”

“Oh, Dad,” Carol wailed. “That’s practically

telling the boy to take me! I’m ashamed,” and she

could blush prettily at little things like that.

“You know I’d love to, Carol,” Ken insisted. “It

will do you good. We’ll go see something light and

gay and make you forget all the troubles of

Stingyman’s Alley.”

“I’ve the movie page all ready for you,” Mr.

Duncan confessed. “You can pick out the show you

want and I’ll be home just about the same time you

will.”

Carol smiled and shook her head. “Thank you,

Ken, but I’d rather not. I’m really very tired

tonight.”

“Aw Kid,” Ken begged.

“Go along,” her father urged.

“Don’t badger me, you two. And don’t look so

hurt. It must be Spring.” Carol drew a deep breath.

“I’m going to bed early. But I do thank you just the

20

same, Ken. Some other time,” she smiled at him.

Mr. Duncan started to protest, but Carol had

made up her mind.

“Now—Dad,” she cautioned.

Ken and Mr. Duncan looked at each other. There

was no persuading her, that they both knew, so Ken

shrugged and agreed.

“You feel all right?” Carol’s father asked, rather

anxiously.

“Fine, but sleepy. You two run along and don’t

worry about me.” Holding her father’s coat she

kissed him on the ear and literally herded him and

Ken out. Then she watched them disappear down the

dark well of the stairway and called good-bye as

they went.

She must be careful not to hurt Ken; she knew

that, for he was a good friend and she liked him. But

tonight she had a report to make out—a report she

hated to tackle. There were plenty of little expenses

to put in her expense bill, and she knew how low the

nursery finances were.

“But that girl,” she took time to recall, “can she

really be Penny’s mother? She looked so—so sort of

smart and dashing. I hadn’t time to notice her

features. But certainly little Penny thought she was

all right. How she flew to her.”

21

CHAPTER III

TROUBLE

It was still early morning and Carol stretched

luxuriously. She knew the Iron-bound District would

be wide awake even now, and presently she heard

the clarion tones of whistles and the clear, sweet

peal of a church bell. She sat up. Her small bedroom

was bright and cheerful. Two beds; Cecy’s was

waiting although it had to be used now as an extra

place to store Carol’s things that would not fit into

the closet without crowding. Two windows, draped

with gay chintz, looked out on a busy street scene.

She jumped out of bed. There was no use in

delaying, and she felt much better than she had last

night. A good night’s sleep had erased some of the

cares of the day before, and the prospect of work

was always inspiring. And exciting, for Stingyman’s

Alley fairly groaned with prospects of hidden

secrets.

Breakfast for her father and herself seemed of

little consequence, although she did make him take a

soft boiled egg this morning, insisting a working

22

man needed that much support, if no bacon.

“And you wait, Dad. There’s a story seething

down in my nursery now,” she promised, “and will

it be a good one!”

“I hope so, Pidge” he answered, smiling fondly

into her earnest young face.

Like mechanical dolls they put on their hats and

coats, and with their accustomed precision Carol and

her father left together for their respective tasks. The

dishes would be done, and the flat tidied by Mrs.

Alicia Pewett, their landlady, a roly-poly woman

like a character from Dickens.

She was, as usual, sweeping the dark red stone

steps when Carol and her father reached there, and

Carol had time just to call: “Good-morning,” as she

ran for the bus that would take her within a few

blocks of the nursery. It was pushing its yellow nose

around the corner now.

By running as fast as she could and cutting in

front of an oncoming car, much to the dismay of the

driver, Carol caught the bus, dropped her money in

the box and sank down breathlessly. The ride to the

nursery was long and bumpy; she was used to it,

however, and had trained herself to relax just long

enough to spring up when the bus neared her

getting-off place.

She found the nursery in its usual state of turmoil.

Little Carmela Paternoster, dressed in a new frock,

23

was wailing dismally.

“What’s wrong, Carmela?” Carol inquired

quickly as she could speak.

“Hugo took my ball,” the child cried, but she said

“Hoogo,” as did all the other children when referring

to that belligerent.

Carol turned to locate the boy. He was at the far

end of the room playing a sort of hand ball game,

with a wad of paper and string knocking it against

the sadly, badly worn walls.

“Hush, Carmela. I’ll get it for you. Be quiet,”

commanded Carol.

She stepped quietly down to Hugo’s corner and

just as he drew his arm back to send the ball against

the wall again, grasped it with her other hand, thus

catching the returning ball.

“Hugo,” she called sternly, “why did you take

Carmela’s ball? Why are you always upsetting the

class? Can’t you ever behave?”

Hugo looked very glum. “Aw—I was goin’ to

give it back,” he pouted.

“I’ll give it back, and don’t you ever again take

things from the smaller children. If you do I’ll have

to punish you.” Kindly she returned the ball to its

sobbing owner and began mentally to count noses.

All there. Penny Brown, apparently oblivious of the

others, dressed cleanly and differently in a thin dress

on this cold day, was gazing mournfully out of the

24

window. “Poor baby,” Carol thought, “I’m afraid

she doesn’t like it here, very much. I’ll try to

brighten her up a bit if I ever get a chance to talk

quietly with the darling.” The children were waiting

for the call to order. Carol clapped her hands. “Go to

your places,” she ordered. “Oh, no Hugo, you sit up

here, near me. You’ve bothered Carmela enough.

Up here! Come!”

Hugo sulkily took a chair near teacher.

“Now,” she continued and mentally gritted her

teeth, “we’ll salute the flag.”

Twenty voices in degrees of varying intensity

roared out: “I pledgeallegiancetomyflag and the rest

of it. Carol knew they were saying “invisible” for

“indivisible” but decided to let it go. When that

chorus was over she announced singing, which

announcement never failed to please. They all had a

passionate love for music, even Hugo, who sang in a

sturdy voice, quite true, “Cow, oh, cow, what use

are you? I give you good milk that’s what I do,” and

on through the song’s almost endless verses of

sheep, horses, dogs and cats; what they gave, what

they did even what some of them looked like.

At the old upright piano with her back to the

children, Carol struck the cords. The instrument had

been donated by Mrs. Lawrence Lancaster from her

summer cottage. As Carol tinkled out another simple

song she became aware that some voices were

25

missing, Hugo’s among them. She played another

verse while listening intently, then a sound of

stealthy scuffling reached her. She stopped playing

and swung around suddenly.

Michael Albino, his baby face purple with

suppressed rage, and Hugo smiling the smile of the

physical superior, were rolling over and over on the

floor, a tangle of arms and legs. The rest of the class

had been singing at the tops of their voices, all the

while observing the struggle with eager interest.

Quickly as she stopped playing, the boys

separated and Michael, tears running down his

grimy face and streaking it curiously, finally stood

up, holding in one hand a big, shiny steel ball-

bearing.

“Me want my marble,” Michael sobbed. “My

fadder give me it last night.”

“Did you take that, Hugo?” Beside the

combatants now she felt her face burn. “Oh, that

boy,” she thought, “what will he do next? How I’d

love to give him a good boxing!” She couldn’t help

it. Impulsively she took hold of him determinedly

and shook him thoroughly, careful to keep him on

his feet, however.

“Ow! Ow!” Hugo screamed edging away. “You

stop! I’ll tell—”

At that very instant the nursery play-room door

opened quickly. There, before Carol’s startled eyes,

26

stood Mrs. Lawrence Lancaster, chairman of the

Board of Managers, in all her pomp and finery, and

peering over her broad shoulders were two ladies of

lesser light. The faces of all three were a study in

astonishment and dismay.

“What does this mean, Miss Duncan?” Mrs.

Lancaster demanded in a throaty voice. “You know,

do you not, that you are not permitted to strike the

children?”

She had caught Carol and the young teacher knew

it. A glaring violation of the nursery rules had been

perpetrated before Mrs. Lancaster’s very eyes, and

she was not the woman to let pass such a grand

opportunity to show her superiority.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lancaster,” stammered the

astonished girl. “I’m sure I didn’t hurt him. He has

been very annoying today and I guess I just lost my

temper,” she finished lamely, trying at once to be

apologetic but at the same time to keep her dignity

in front of the curious, puzzled children. “I assure

you I have never done—anything like it before.”

Mrs. Lancaster sniffed. “I don’t think you will do

it again either, Miss Duncan. I think it will not be

necessary to try your patience much longer. Your

month is up on the twentieth, I believe?”

Carol nodded silently. To talk business before the

children!

“Our board meeting is tomorrow. We have almost

27

decided against keeping the nursery open much

longer. The expense—well—we will discuss it at the

meeting. You will please attend.” Mrs. Lancaster

drew herself up to her full height which was

something under five feet eight, and, turning slowly

swept from the room, the two ladies following her

like a pair of tugs escorting a battleship.

“Did she think these children were too stupid to

understand—anything!” Carol almost said aloud.

The meaning of that haughty, unreasonable

woman’s words were only slowly dawning upon

her.

To be dismissed! To close the nursery!

28

CHAPTER IV

HUMBLE PIE

Carol sat down on one of the little painted chairs.

The children were unusually quiet. Quick as

children are, they realized something was wrong.

Hugo, who stopped crying at the sight of Mrs.

Lancaster, sidled up to teacher and laid a grimy hand

on her arm.

“Miss Duncan, please,” he began.

“It’s all right, Hugo, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She

smiled through tight lips.

“Oh, no!” Hugo sang out gaily. “My mother she

wallops me lots harder than that. You didn’t hurt

none at all.”

She patted his hand gently. The rest of the day

must be gotten through somehow and she was

reasonably sure the children would now be as good

as they knew how to be. As for Hugo, he was too

active and smart to be penned up in a nursery. She

would have to keep him very busy, give him little

simple tasks to do to keep him out of mischief—if

she herself were allowed to stay with the children.

29

But then, she remembered sadly, she wouldn’t be

able to aid poor little Penny if she was to be

dismissed, or if the nursery should close; and she

knew the story hidden between Penny and her young

mother would soon need definite help from

somebody.

“That child was never meant for a Day Nursery,”

Carol reflected, glad for the moment to see the little

girl, bent over her low table, laboring with paper and

pencil. “What will happen next? I hope if trouble

must come that I can at least be here to—” She

stopped what trouble was she thinking of? After all,

who was the mighty Lancaster lady that she should

upset everybody?

“I did nothing wrong,” Carol quickly determined.

“Hugo has to get a shake now and then or he’d—get

lonesome,” her girlish thoughts wound up on the

high note of humor that so often springs from a

serious situation.

Later that afternoon she came to a sensible

decision. She would swallow her pride, go to Mrs.

Lancaster’s home and ask for another chance. After

she had come to that decision, she could hardly wait

until Ken would come and she could tell him about

the day’s happenings.

Penny was called for on time, although Carol had

been too busy to notice who had called for her.

There was no waiting tonight, so as soon as the

30

children were all gone Carol hurried out to the

waiting car. Without any preliminaries she began:

“I’m fired, Ken.”

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m fired! Through! Mrs. Lancaster told me I

wouldn’t be needed any longer. And they’re going

to close the nursery.” She was taking a peculiar

delight in her recital, sort of defiant.

“Tell me about it. There’s more to it than just

that, isn’t there? Haven’t you a contract or

something?”

“No, your honor, I was hired by the month so I’m

fired by the month and I’ve gotten my notice.

Anyway, there won’t be anything for me to do.” Her

voice was bitter now.

“But why?” Ken insisted as they began their

homeward drive.

“One of the children made me lose my temper

and I was shaking him just as Lady Lancaster

breezed in. It was a good job of shaking, though, if I

do say it myself.”

“Oh,” Ken said, understanding. “You shook

him?”

“I did, and I’m fired. But Ken, I don’t want to

be,” Carol looked up at him, her eyes brimming.

“I’ve just gotten those youngsters where they’re a

little human, and now if they close up it’s all lost.

Besides, Hugo himself told me he didn’t mind it a

31

bit.”

“But what can you do, Carol? From what you’ve

told me, that Lancaster woman is pretty formidable.”

“Yes, she is. But for once I’m going to swallow

my pride, grovel if need be, and ask for another

chance. It’s going to be hard, but I’ll do it, for the

sake of the children.”

“For the little innocents, eh? I can see there’s no

use talking it over; you know just what you’re going

to do. Can I help?” Ken grinned and looked down at

her with a shade of admiration in his eyes.

“If you’re not busy you can drive me to her house

tonight, Mr. Powell, please,” Carol replied, still

keeping up the pretense of gaiety. “She lives up in

Seven Oaks in one of those small-sized castles.

Don’t say anything about it to father.”

“All right, I’ll call for you at eight. I can say

we’re just going for a drive.

She nodded. At times Ken was really—swell.

Promptly at eight he came, very clean of face,

with white collar gleaming and wearing a new blue

tie that made his eyes seem more blue than ever.

Carol, too, had dressed carefully, in a way she

thought would appeal to Mrs. Lancaster. Small black

hat, dark dress and her best coat. Carol and Ken

smiled at each other, enjoying, despite the

seriousness of it, the secret they shared.

“Stingyman’s Alley,” said Ken musingly as they

32

rode along. “That name intrigues me. Did you ever

learn where it came from? It isn’t on any street sign

down there, is it?”

“Not that I ever saw, Ken. But old residents

around there and in other parts of the city, too, know

the street by that name.” Carol explained, “The

street’s name is really Stingerman, you know, called

after the rich old miser who once lived in the

building where the nursery is now.

“Concerning the whole thing there is a sort of

fairy tale, that he had been very rich and owned lots

of land and lots of factories down in that

neighborhood. They say he built miserable

tenements for his factory help and also kept down

their wages, never would make any repairs or

improvements to the hovels and so, in time, the

street he had named after himself came to be known

as Stingyman’s Alley.”

After this recital, Carol fell into silence for the

remainder of the ride to Seven Oaks. She was

rehearsing in her mind just what she was going to

say to Mrs. Lancaster, how she was going to act and,

in fact, even how she was going to look.

Ken stopped the car directly in front of the

impressive Lancaster entrance. “Let’s give the

neighbors a jolt. Such a rickety old car at Mrs.

Lancaster’s; ‘my deah, did you notice?’ ” he

scoffed.

33

Carol giggled. “Wait, Meadows,” she mocked

imperiously. “I ‘shuant’ be long.”

A maid in black uniform answered her ring and

haughtily admitted that Mrs. Lancaster was at home.

Who was calling and was there anything special she

wanted?

“Yes,” Carol replied. “It’s about the day nursery.

I’m sure Mrs. Lancaster will see me.”

The maid showed her into an elaborately

furnished room and then sauntered off teetering on

her high heels. The room, large and impressive, had

everything; famous books, lights, countless ash-

trays, big tables and small ones, leaving very little

space to show the really beautiful oriental rug

underneath it all.

There had been some connection, Carol couldn’t

remember just what, between Mrs. Lancaster and the

almost mythical “Stingyman” who once owned the

nursery building. Whatever the connection was it

was evident the pendulum had swung back the other

way, going from frugal barrenness to over-dressed

richness for the Lancaster end. Annie Boylan had

mentioned something about it. Carol resolved to

question her on the subject first chance she could

get.

She was growing impatient waiting and her

courage was beginning to desert her, when Mrs.

Lancaster finally appeared in the doorway.

34

“What can I do for you, Miss—ah—” she

inquired aloofly.

Carol went straight to the point. “Mrs.

Lancaster,” she began, “I have come to ask you to

reconsider your decision of this morning. I know I

did an unusual and childish thing, but, really, I have

never done anything like it before and I know it will

never happen again.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Duncan, I’m afraid that is

impossible. Your nature, apparently, is not one that

lends itself to the vicissitudes of teaching in such an

atmosphere as the nursery. Beside, we will not need

you—” Mrs. Lancaster’s voice was matching its

ornate surroundings.

Carol interrupted: “I have a very real and earnest

reason for wanting to stay there. I want to help those

children. You can cut my pay in half if it will help.

But please don’t close the nursery,” she pleaded.

“Perhaps I was a bit hasty,” came a cautious reply

to that. “Yes, I will reconsider. Now, I can give you

no more time. I have an engagement. We will

discuss it at the meeting.” And with impolite

abruptness she made her exit, under full steam and

in a fog of perfume.

Carol blinked. She was granted a stay at least, and

perhaps they would not have to close. The loss of

half her pay meant giving up some things, but it

would be worth it. But what had caused Mrs.

35

Lancaster to change so suddenly? Perhaps, after all,

she was more human than Carol had realized. At any

rate, she was to have another chance. She hurried to

tell Ken.

36

CHAPTER V

TO FIGHT FOR IDEALS

Ken was sitting slumped down behind the wheel

of the car, his soft hat pulled low over his eyes. At

the tap-tap of Carol’s heels on the sidewalk he sat

up.

“Well?” he asked briefly.

“Mrs. Lancaster promised to reconsider, but

apparently it wasn’t just that I shook Hugo; the

nursery may be forced to close in a month, anyway.

That will be terrible,” Carol said quickly.

“What’s so terrible about it?” Ken wanted to

know.

“Oh, Ken,” Carol said earnestly, “the city in

summer is a cruel place. Perhaps you don’t realize it.

But the asphalt streets get soft and the steel from the

railroad bridges begins to simmer, and the

heatwaves dance—I tell you it has no mercy.”

“My, my, what eloquence,” Ken said smiling. “I

had no idea you were capable of such dramatics.”

“I’m not trying to be dramatic. I mean it. It’s

shameful that people have to live the way they do

37

down in the Alley. The grown-ups are stronger, but

those babies left to fend for themselves, without

even the shade of the nursery—well, it can’t happen,

that’s all—I won’t let it!” Carol was speaking

rapidly, her small hand clenched and tapping on her

knee.

“Gosh, Carilla! What are you going to do about

it?” Ken asked, not joking now that her earnestness

was so apparent.

“I’ve told Mrs. Lancaster she can cut my salary in

half. That’s one thing!” Carol finished triumphantly.

“You have! Why Carol Duncan, you little chump!

You get next to nothing now!” Ken protested.

“I couldn’t do less, no matter how we get along,

and if I have to I’ll do more,” she stated firmly.

“Come on, let’s get going, they’ll wonder what

we’re doing out here,” for the brief exchange of

ideas had so occupied them that Ken had not yet

started the car.

“All right, anything you say,” Ken replied and

stepped on the starter. Twice more he did it and then

discovered, to his indignation, that he had not turned

on the ignition. With a sheepish laugh he turned the

key and the little car responded cheerfully.

They were leaving Seven Oaks now, descending

to their own level in the great city. Broad Street lay

ahead of them and its varicolored electric signs cast

a red glow up to the sky. On the other side of Broad

38

Street, hemmed in by railroads, lay the nursery

district, called the “Ironbound” because of the

shining rails that enclosed the section in a rim of

steel.

“Don’t be mad, Carilla,” Ken said soothingly.

“But even if you do help keep the place open, what

becomes of all the other kids that don’t go to your

nursery?”

“Of course there are other nurseries. Not enough,

but they do a great deal of good. As for those other

youngsters, I can’t do a thing for them so I try not to

worry about them. But the little ones I know so well,

I can help and I will, too, even if you—,” Carol

hesitated.

“Even if I what?” Ken pursued.

“Even if you do think I’m crazy, even if you do

think it’s silly, I’m going to—to do something. It’s

the way I am and I’d never be happy if I didn’t put

up some fight!” she declared, warmly.

“Why, Carol, you little—idiot. I don’t think any

of those things. I think you’re wonderful. I’m only

sorry your fight will be so onesided,” Ken reassured

her, almost hitting the car ahead in his reckless

enthusiasm.

“Oh, Ken, I’m glad you feel that way,” she

sighed. “I thought you thought that I was

ridiculous.”

“No, I didn’t at all. I admire you for sticking to

39

your ideals. But don’t be too disappointed if it

doesn’t work out the way you’ve planned,” Ken

warned her.

“Planned? I haven’t been able to do anything as

sensible as that, Ken,” Carol admitted. “How do I

know what will happen at tomorrow’s meeting? Oh,

Ken, I just feel somehow as if the very lives of those

little ones depend upon keeping that nursery going,”

Carol murmured. “You see, they are all in that age

period when impressions become fixed for their

entire lives, and don’t you think our little nursery is

giving them good impressions?”

“Do I? Say, I wish I had gone to a nursery like

yours when I was a kid,” Ken replied, jestingly.

“But I wouldn’t have wanted you for a teacher, of

course.”

“You wouldn’t; why?

“Because, silly, if you had taught me then you

couldn’t possibly be riding with me in this swell car

now.” He paused to laugh at that idea.

“Oh, I see. Then you don’t mean I’m not the kind

of teacher—”

“Listen, Kid, you’re the only kind of teacher any

child should ever have,” Ken said seriously, and that

gave Carol her needed assurance.

“You sound about eighty years old,” she laughed

at him. “Now that it’s all settled you’d better keep

your mind on your driving and take me straight

40

home, please. I’ve got some special thinking to do.”

Carol was now her old self again, confident and

happy. “And don’t stop for me tomorrow afternoon,

I’m going to stay for the meeting. I bet that will be

something.”

“You’ve got that much worked out already,

haven’t you? But I can stop for you after the

meeting,” Ken offered.

“No, don’t. The ladies might think a walk would

do me good. I’ll get home all right. I know all the

people down there and I won’t mind a bit. I’ll tell

you all about it later.” She sighed and looked up at

her companion. “It makes it a little easier having

you on my side,” she admitted shyly.

“I’ll always be on your side, Carol, you know

that,” Ken said, and his voice was deeper than usual,

reassuring and protective.

They turned a corner, waited for a red traffic light

to turn green, went a few blocks farther and drew up

before the old brown stone house Carol called home.

With a quick but understanding good-night they

parted, but half way up the steps Carol turned to

wave good-night again.

“He’s so much like Glenn,” she was thinking.

“And Glenn used to help me too when I got in tight

corners, at least I used to think they were tight

corners,” she admitted to herself as she turned the

key in the heavy door.

41

Later, while preparing for bed, she could not help

comparing herself and her present situation with

those other days in Melody Lane.

“How much older I feel now,” she was thinking.

But as time went she was very little older than she

had been when she and her sister Cecy, and her own

particular chum Thally Bond, and that other and

different friend, Glenn Garrison had experienced the

various adventures told of in the other volumes of

this series: The Ghost of Melody Lane, The Tower

Secret, The Forbidden Trail, Terror at Moaning Cliff

and The Dragon of the Hills. Each story relates

some exciting adventure of Carol and her friends,

and now Carol Duncan was remembering some of

their thrills and the solutions of some of their

mysteries.

Not much older but much wiser, was Carol now,

for she was entering upon the career of a working

girl; growing up, she realized.

“I do wonder if Cecy is all right,” she sort of

worried. “She hasn’t written yet this week. I wish

she did not have to be so far away.” This thought

gave Carol that old homesick feeling for her loved

younger sister, but quickly she pulled herself up, and

summoned her sensible courage.

Naturally it was Cecy she missed so keenly. Dear,

carefree, happy little Cecy. Was she happy now with

her Aunt Isabel? Her letters always bubbled over

42

with extravagant enthusiasm about how simply

wonderful everything was. But Cecy would never

complain, Carol knew that, not now at any rate,

when she was being kept at school by the benevolent

Aunt Isabel while Carol “slaved” as Cecy put it, “in

a dirty old city.”

“Yet it is grand for her,” Carol reminded herself,

“and she must not know just exactly how things are

here. She’s so young, and we always had such good

times—”

Her hair brushed, and almost ready for bed, Carol

sat down to write to Cecy. That would help; it

always helped to “talk to her” even on paper. Fixing

her light so that no gleam might creep under her

door, Carol wrote on. But she could not write about

the nursery, that would be too difficult.

“There, that must do,” she finished. “It’s late and

I’m getting all in a dither with these solemn

thoughts.”

Then she deliberately turned her thoughts to

Thally Bond. What a grand girl she was and

wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could get together

again? Thally was at college taking some special

course in athletics to become an instructor. She had

always been a romp and surely it had been wise for

her to have turned her proclivities to good use. Yes,

Carol must make it possible for Thally to come to

Newkirk some day.

43

“And wouldn’t Thally love my dear little Penny

Brown?” Carol persisted. “Wouldn’t she just dive

into that mystery like nobody’s business?”

Carol sighed. It was indeed a mystery, but not one

into which she herself could successfully “dive” just

at present.

“Strange that I should have met a boy so like

Glenn,” she kept on, for tonight was indeed a night

for remembering. “And Ken and Glenn would be

friends I’m sure, if they could meet. Well, why can’t

they? What swell times we all could have together

again.” And that was the very thought most suitable

for her own good-night and pleasant dreams.

44

CHAPTER VI

CHALLENGE

The afternoon for the Nursery Board meeting

wore on slowly. Carol tried her hardest to be a good

teacher and keep her class interested and happy. She

even let them choose their favorite occupation,

working in clay, so that when the lady members

began to arrive they would find a semblance of

order.

At last it was four o’clock and Carol said quietly:

“Now, children, you are all going out to the porch to

play for a little while, and I will not be with you.

Will you be good children and not quarrel?”

“Why? Why are we going out? I want to finish

my clay turtle,” Hugo protested.

“Because the ladies are coming this afternoon,

Hugo. Put your clay away.”

“You come out, too, Treacher,” dear little Penny

begged. “You come.” She called Carol “treacher,”

and it sounded cute from Penny.

“No, dear, I must stay inside,” Carol explained,

giving Penny her fondest smile with the answer.

45

All at once a torrent of questions and

protestations broke over Carol’s head. The children

must find out all they could about this unusual

procedure. How their young minds loved to

question!

“That’s enough, children,” Carol said sternly.

“Form a line at once. No more questions. Girls on

this side, boys over here. Get your hats and coats;

it’s colder on the porch, you know.”

There was an excited murmur and that blur of

sounds that always seemed sweet to Carol, as the

shabby little feet danced eagerly in anticipation. The

small chairs were pushed back from the tables with a

great deal of scraping. Maria Paco looked around

bewildered. She was deaf and dumb and her bright

brown eyes looked questioningly at Carol.

“Come, Maria,” urged Carol speaking with

exaggerated lip motions, softly but distinctly. “We

are going out to the play porch.”

Maria’s face was wreathed in smiles and the two

deep dimples twitched as she read her teacher’s lips.

Aside from her inability to speak or hear, Maria was

quite perfect, healthy and strong. Carol often

wondered what would become of her in later years,

unless she could be given special training.

At last the children trouped out with much

surreptitious pushing and shoving. “Well, let them

go,” sighed Carol, as she set about getting the front

46

room ready for the meeting. “I haven’t time to

correct them now.”

Then there was a wild rush to be “first for the big

ball” and “first for the bunnies” and first for all the

safe toys that were the children’s delight on the

enclosed outside porch. The long, low old windows

of what had once been a dining room but was now

the big class room, gave opportunity for the

caretakers within to “keep an eye” on the youngsters

while attending to other tasks at the same time.

But this afternoon Carol had no time to watch

them even through the window. She must get things

ready for the meeting.

As chairman, Mrs. Lancaster was the first to

arrive. Dressed in a black coat lavishly trimmed with

fur, she filled the rather small room with almost

overpowering aroma of perfume. Her hands,

flashing glittering stones, fussed with bag and

gloves.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lancaster,” Carol greeted

her smilingly. “Do you think you will need more

chairs?”

Mrs. Lancaster looked around, then glanced

briefly at Carol. It did not seem necessary for her to

reply to the greeting so she answered briefly and

thoroughly. “Yes, we will need more. Will you get

some; please?”

“We have no more large chairs. I will have to

47

bring some in from the nursery,” Carol answered.

“Very well, some of the ladies will have to sit on

those,” and Mrs. Lancaster bustled upstairs to leave

her coat in a more protected place.

Carol turned to get the chairs, smiling to herself

as she pictured some of the over-stuffed members

cautiously lowering themselves down, fearful lest

the little green chairs should give way under their

weight. She carried four at a time, two in each hand

and put them down in rows in the meeting room.

The ladies were coming in now; talking, laughing

groups of them. One or two smiled at Carol, but

most of them did not seem to see her as she opened

the door.

Then a girl about Carol’s age came in with a

sweet-faced woman, obviously her mother. She

smiled pleasantly at Carol; her clear grey eyes

twinkling, with a girlish glint of understanding.

She was dressed plainly but expensively in a grey

tweed coat and a felt hat that made her eyes bright.

At once Carol felt a little electric spark of friendship

jump between them. She was certain that if she

could know this girl they would become good

friends, and how she needed friends just now! What

was to happen at this important meeting?

Presently the room was filled with the board

members, and Mrs. Lancaster, consulting a jeweled

wrist-watch, rapped for silence.

48

“Ladies,” she began as the room became quiet, “I

felt it necessary to call this special meeting, and

after you hear the treasurer’s report you will

understand why. We shall hear the report at once

and I must ask you all to listen carefully. It will

explain itself. Mrs. Emerson, please.”

Mrs. Emerson, a small, bird-like woman, arose

holding a black book. She began: “The report for the

quarter ending last month. Expenses $327.36.

Receipts $342.86. Balance,” and she paused

significantly, “fifteen dollars and fifty cents.”

There was a shocked murmur as the meaning of

those figures was realized, and questions began to

bombard Mrs. Lancaster. She took up the gavel and

rapped loudly. The ladies promptly became quiet.

“You see, ladies,” she began again, “it is the old

story. Our expenses are too great. Even with benefits

and private contributions we were not able to meet

them. Unless something drastic is done, and done

quickly, we can not keep open much longer. Even

without the services of the two girls who take care

of the meals, the reduction will be too small to

help.” She paused and looked at the intent faces

before her. In a more quiet tone she continued: “We

can not go on, ladies. We must close, at least

temporarily. Miss Duncan, the teacher here, has

kindly offered to accept half her salary. But even so,

unless we do something else, these children must be

49

sent home. We can no longer care for them.”

Carol’s heart began to pound. Mrs. Lancaster’s

statement was so surprising that for a minute there

was the complete silence that follows a shock. Then

questions began.

“How is it possible?”

“What is the cause?”

“I thought we were well fixed!”

“What shall we do?”

“Can’t we get help from the city to tide us over?”

The chairman rapped for order.

“I have investigated carefully but we are just

another organization to feel the changing times.

Costs have gone up and our receipts have gone

down. Being a strictly private organization we do

not share in any Community Chest or Welfare fund.

The city will not help. If you are willing we will try

a while longer, but you must all help. You must all

work and it will be work, too. Otherwise—,” Mrs.

Lancaster hesitated, “we must close.”

The ladies looked at one another. It was plain that

many of them enjoyed being connected with the

charitable work for the social prestige attached. But

to do anything more than pay inadequate dues,

attend teas, meetings and benefits, was something t

hey had not counted upon. There were other ways of

spending their time, other charities that were worthy

as well as this.

50

The atmosphere was tense. Carol felt her eyes

stinging with unshed tears and the lump in her throat

almost choked her. Soon the women were talking

excitedly. Impossible schemes were suggested and

discarded. The new grey-eyed girl was taking it all

in.

Carol could sit quiet no longer. She sprang to her

feet. “Please, Mrs. Lancaster, may I say a few

words?”

Mrs. Lancaster was too weary to object, so

without waiting for consent, Carol began.

“Ladies, you must not let the nursery close,” she

declared, her eyes blazing and her cheeks bright.

“You are responsible for the welfare of many

children and even small babies. You took them out

of their poor homes and gave them something better.

You can’t send them back again. Think what it will

mean. Their mothers who have been able to go work

because of the nursery, would have to stop. The

children would be thrown back into those awful

conditions. It would be a real crisis. You must do

something. Oh—don’t you see? Wait—wait—”

She turned and ran from the room, out to the back

porch and seized Maria Paco by the hand. The

bewildered child was hustled in and Carol stood her

on the polished desk, unmindful of her dirty shoes.

Maria’s little blue reefer was coated with sand from

the porch box, and her beret was over one eye, her

51

brown curls escaped wildly from one side. She

flashed a delighted smile at the astonished women

and steadied herself with a chubby hand on Carol’s

shoulder.

“This is Maria Paco,” Carol said, and to her own

surprise she found herself talking straight to the

grey-eyed young girl, the visitor. “She can’t hear nor

speak. Her father is dead. Her mother works in a fur

factory. She is intelligent and alert. She tries to

speak and sing. Now you say she must be sent away.

I’ll do anything to help keep her here. I’ll work here

for nothing if I have to, but please don’t give up

these babies!”

For a brief instant Carol stood holding Maria by

the hand. Then her emotions overcame her and

gathering the child in her arms she fled weeping

from the room, Maria still smiling over her shoulder

at the bewildered members of the Board of

Managers.

52

CHAPTER VII

CYNTHIA

Outside the meeting room, in the dining room,

Carol slumped down at the nearest oil-cloth covered

table and buried her face in the wall of her arms.

The cool oil-cloth smelled slightly of noon-time beef

stew and milk.

Maria stood close to her, bewildered, but

conscious that something was wrong. She gave

Carol a comforting pat on the head and then, as

though she realized she could do nothing else, she

hurried out to the porch.

Carol drew a deep sigh and raised her head. She

was surprised to see the visiting girl sitting quietly

on the opposite side of the table.

“Feel better?” she asked smiling.

“I’m ashamed of myself,” Carol began. “But I do

feel so deeply about this,” she glanced around the

room, “that I’m afraid I let my emotions run away

with my better judgment.”

“I think you were very courageous,” the girl

assured her. “I followed you out here to tell you so;

53

I’m with you on it. If there’s anything I can do to

help you, I will. And mother, too. Those people in

there need a good shaking up,” she smiled

encouragement.

“Thanks. You’re awfully kind. Did Mrs.

Lancaster say anything more?” Carol asked

cautiously.

“I left almost as soon as you did, but the

atmosphere was thick with surprise and dismay.”

This seemed to please the girl.

Carol smiled now. She could picture the ladies all

talking at once, probably indignant and offended.

Then she realized that the girl across the table might

not know just who she was.

“I am Carol Duncan,” she stated simply. “I teach

here. I’ve come to regard the children as my special

charge although I’m not a member of the nursery

auxiliary, merely a teacher,” Carol explained,

humbly.

“I’m Cynthia VanNote, and I am a member of the

auxiliary. You should be. If half the girls in the

auxiliary had your spirit the nursery would soon be

on its feet again. They just don’t know what’s going

on at all,” finished Cynthia determinedly.

Besides the Board of Managers there were

connected with the nursery about one hundred girls

who made up the auxiliary. They held card parties

and teas and paid dues to help out financially. Being

54

selected from the socalled first families in Newkirk

any activity they might be engaged in, always

“made” the society columns in the local papers, and

that was an inducement to girls who cared to receive

such notice.

“It seems a shame to let the nursery close. They

can’t realize what it would mean,” Carol persisted,

and getting up she went to the rear window. “Do you

see those children? This is really more of a home to

them than the miserable rooms they spend their

nights in.”

“I suppose, poor dears, they are very unfortunate,

although when we see them they always seem hardy

and happy,” Cynthia said, seriously.

“Oh, yes. They live sometimes with other

families, sleep four and five sideways in a bed and

never really feel as though they’ve had enough to

eat,” Carol replied dismally.

“Are they Americans? They look so foreign, most

of them.”

“Their parents are of many nationalities.

Sometimes no English is spoken at home. Then the

youngsters talk the queerest gibberish you ever

beard. But the children are proud of their American

ways. You should see them salute the flag and listen

to the pledge,” their champion answered.

“I don’t know much about this end of town but it

seems sort of interesting. I suppose you know your

55

way all about here?” Cynthia asked, looking out at

the dark walls of the factories in unconcealed

wonderment.

“I know it pretty well. Some of it is rather

fascinating but it has its ugly side, too. Everything is

so old and moldy, or looks that way,” Carol replied,

turning away from the window where the children

were clamoring for her. “I haven’t been here very

long myself,” she admitted.

“I’d love to learn more about your work here,”

Cynthia said. “Could I come some day and watch?

I’d try not to get in the way.”

“Oh, please do! Come quickly, before—” Carol

did not finish the sentence. Instead she added: “The

children love a visitor.”

“I’ll come tomorrow. This is the most interesting

place I’ve seen yet and I’ve traveled quite a lot,”

Cynthia laughed. “Imagine finding the real thing so

near home.”

“But how wonderful to have had so much

traveling,” exclaimed Carol. “What sights you must

have seen.”

“Cynthia, dear,” a soft voice interrupted. “I

wondered where you had gone. Your hasty exit did

not go unnoticed.” It was Cynthia’s mother, her eyes

bright with amusement, threading her way between

the rows of little tables.

“Mother, this is Carol Duncan who teaches here. I

56

followed her to congratulate her on her little

speech,” Cynthia explained, pleasantly.

“Splendid, Cynthia! I think you were very brave,

Miss Duncan, and I hope your action will bring

some results. You have my support, too,” Mrs. Van

Note declared smiling reassurance at Carol.

“Thank you very much,” Carol replied unsteadily.

“I do hope something can be done to save this tragic

situation.”

“Just as I came out to see what you two

youngsters were doing, I believe the ladies were

planning a theatre benefit. Personally I think a prize

fight would bring in more money but, of course, I

didn’t dare suggest it,” Cynthia’s mother said

mischievously. She was a jolly woman and Carol

liked her instantly.

“Another benefit?” Cynthia exclaimed. “Can’t

they ever do anything different?”

“What would you suggest? Can your young brain

think of something attractive and interesting, that

would bring in money without laying out very

much?” her mother pressed.

“Not yet,” Cynthia admitted, digging her hands

down into her coat pockets. “But we’ll think of

something together. Won’t we?” she asked Carol.

“Will you have lunch with me tomorrow and talk it

over?”

“I have lunch here,” Carol replied. “Perhaps you

57

could stay with me. I don’t have much time, you

know.”

“Of course; I forgot. I’ll come here. I said I was

coming anyway. Don’t you worry. When mother

gets interested in a movement it’s always

successful.” Cynthia held out a browned hand,

browned from tropical suns. “I’ll see you early

tomorrow. Good-bye.”

Carol took her hand. “Good-bye, and come as

early as you can.”

“At nine?” Cynthia asked.

“They’re all here by that time. Some of them

come at seven,” Carol replied, smiling.

“Heavens! That early? Imagine, Mother!”

Cynthia exclaimed with keen interest.

“I’ll see that she gets up,” Cynthia’s mother said

smiling. “Good-bye, Miss Duncan, and thank you

for your fine work and—your enthusiasm.”

Then linking arms with her daughter, Mrs. Van

Note and Cynthia left.

Carol automatically turned to the window. The

children were so busy playing now that few of them

saw her watching them.

Mrs. Van Note’s “thank you,” stuck in Carol’s

mind. Why? What for? What had she done to be

thanked for. But had she been in Cynthia’s home

that evening she would have found out, for Mrs. Van

Note was saying to her husband: “It’s the best thing

58

that ever happened to Cynthia. She’s a changed girl

already. She’s forgotten all about being bored. But

we mustn’t spoil it by letting her know we approve.

Just watch and see if, in a few weeks, those

headaches and sleepless nights don’t disappear.”

“Well, let’s hope so,” sighed Mr. Van Note.

“Cynthia hasn’t been very happy lately, I’m afraid.”

“You’ll see,” smiled her mother, the soft glow of

a lamp outlining her beautiful hair as she took up her

book.

Mr. Van Note nodded and went back to his

temporarily abandoned newspaper.

That they dearly loved their daughter Cynthia was

no cause for comment, but the fact that she was not

finding her life filled with absorbing interests was

beginning to worry them. What could possibly be

better for that dull loneliness than a practical

charitable interest?

“This young girl, Miss Duncan, seems to regard

every child in the nursery as her own special

obligation. She was simply splendid when she

challenged the women in their half-hearted attempts

to keep the nursery going,” Mrs. Van Note was

telling her husband.

“Never did believe in the old ladies’ card parties,”

grumbled Mr. Van Note who perhaps was thinking

of the checks they demanded. “Young girls can do a

lot. I hope Cynthia takes hold,” he concluded.

59

“She will,” her mother promised. And secretly

she was happy to think of what that might mean for

Cynthia as well as for Carol Duncan’s nursery.

60

CHAPTER VIII

A CURIOUS RIDE

Meanwhile Carol had fallen upon a new line of

trouble. Just as she had anticipated, little Penny

Brown was the central figure in a new mystery. She

had not been called for and Carol could not leave

her alone with the other caretakers, so she was

waiting.

“But Penny, Penny dear, where is your mama?”

“She’s gone.” Penny was in Carol’s arms, and

Carol was questioning her until she felt there was no

use. The child did not know. She would have to give

up. It was so late now her father would really be

worried.

“But who brought you this morning?” That was

the real question, asked over and over.

“I had a ride on a bike. The boy was a little—a—

policeman.”

“You mean he had brass buttons?”

“Yes, Treacher.”

“And he was riding a bike?”

“I was in front.”

61

“And your mama told him—”

“He said yes. He brought me here.”

“But maybe your mama will come later?”

“She had to go some place.”

Over and over again the same questions and the

same answers. Carol tried to find out what had

happened to the child’s mother; why she was not

coming for her tonight and why “a boy on a bike,”

had brought the child that morning.

“You just lie down here on this little bed

‘Treacher’ fixed up for you,” Carol was saying, as

she made the little dear as comfortable as she could

on the stuffed chairs turned end to end. She covered

her with the old soft auto robe that Annie and Mattie

used to keep their own feet warm while they listened

to the radio, evenings when they could relax. The

fire in the furnace would go down then, and the two

chairs, one for Annie and one for Mattie, would be

drawn up close to the radio so it could be turned

very low. Then the big blanket auto robe would be

tucked in around their tired knees and they would

joke about the imaginary sleigh ride they were

having.

The same arrangement was serving little Penny

very well now, while Carol went once more to the

phone to tell the waiting Ken to come along and she

would really go home with him.

“Penny’s mother hasn’t come and I don’t think

62

she is coming, either,” were the toneless words she

hung up on.

“Why don’t you go, dear?” Mattie was urging, as

Carol left the phone in the hall, “we can fix her up.

There’s the little bed we always keep ready, you

know.”

“Of course, Mattie, I know you can attend to her

much better than I can. But she clung to me so,” the

girl sighed. “Besides, I did hope to have a word with

her mother. You see, I have not had a chance to

investigate them.” It was Carol’s duty to personally

call at the home of each child as the nursery took the

responsibility of having a new-comer placed with

the other children. But Penny’s home had not been

visited, nor had her mother even been talked to,

because each of the few times she came she had

rushed away before anyone could talk to her.

“Annie, did you see Penny come this morning?”

the young teacher was now asking the cook and

housekeeper.

“No, I didn’t, dear. But I heard the children say

she came on a bike with a boy,” Annie answered.

“That’s what she says, too. But could it have been

a messenger boy? She said he wore a cap and had

brass buttons and was a little policeman,” Carol

went on, reflectively.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mattie chimed in. “She did

come with a messenger boy, and the children who

63

were at the windows had a great time watching her

come in. I looked out myself and the boy was so

good natured he gave the tot some extra fancy riding

to show off. It really was funny. To deliver the child

to the nursery like a message,” Mattie laughing told

her listeners.

“Wasn’t that queer?” Carol pondered. “Do you

suppose she was being abandoned, and her mother

just turned her over to a—messenger boy?”

“Wait a minute. I just thought of something I’ve

forgotten all day,” Mattie spoke suddenly. “I saw the

boy toss a package up on the side porch. Wait, I

never thought about it all day long,” and Mattie

quietly lighted the pantry light so she could see what

might be on the side porch. She had meant to get

that package but it had completely slipped her mind.

Annie and Carol waited. In a moment Mattie was

back with a small paper bundle.

“Yes, here it is. Wait, I’ll open it,” Mattie offered,

handling the paper bundle with impatience now.

“Do hurry, please. My friend will be here—” But

Carol stopped as Mattie took from the bundle a

clean little pink flannel nightie out of which fell a bit

of paper.

All three crowded together as Carol read:

“Please take care of my baby. I am not

abandoning her for I love her better than my own

64

life, but I cannot be with her for some time, I don’t

know how long. Don’t worry about my not paying

her board, I couldn’t do it if I wanted to, but I must

tell you this much. Penelope has a better right to stay

there than has any other child. So don’t feel we are

cheating any one. I can’t explain more fully. Penny

is a darling. Kiss her for her:

Loving Mother.”

A complete silence followed those last words.

Then Annie dabbed her eyes with her apron and

Mattie shook out a nice clean handkerchief.

“What will we do?” asked the bewildered young

teacher.

“Just put her in the best bed we’ve got and take

good care of her,” Mattie said with all the authority

of her nursing position. “That letter sounds genuine

to me.”

“And it says she has a right here. How could that

be?” Annie asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” sighed Carol, “but if I

don’t get out of here Dad himself will surely come

after me.”

“You run along,” ordered Mattie. “There’s your

toot,” as a horn sounded belligerently. “Little Penny

will give me and Annie something to think about.

It’s pretty lonely evenings since Aggie went—

away.” Aggie was the little crippled girl who had

65

been the only sheltered child kept since the nursery

funds ran so low. She had died a month before.

Carol finally managed to tear herself away from

the sleeping Penny, over whom Annie and Mattie

were both fondly fussing.

There was nothing spoiled about Penny; she

loved anyone who loved her, and when Mattie

picked her up to carry her up to the spare cot, she

put her chubby little arms about Mattie’s neck and

hugged her, just as if she had been wide awake,

hugging her own mother.

“Thinks you’re her mama,” murmured Annie, just

a little jealously.

Carol and Ken were on their way home now, the

young man not altogether too happy about a spoiled

evening, because his young friend had stayed too

long at the nursery.

“But, Ken, I had to wait. I should have_ seen her

mother before,” Carol was explaining. “If she’s a

left-over I’ll be blamed now.”

“You didn’t leave her over; why should you be

blamed?” the young man asked, his disappointment

wearing off a little.

“Oh, Ken.” There was no use explaining; men

never would understand the detailed duties that even

young women have to assume. They just deal with

facts, whether it’s a dollar or a breach of contract.

The small human obligations do not seem ever to be

66

a part of their business, and perhaps that’s as it

should be.

Then, just as their car was about to turn into

McWhorter Street, a terrific roar tore through the

air.

“Ken!” shouted Carol, grabbing his arm so

suddenly the car swerved. “The Celluloid Works!”

Instantly the entire sky seemed blazing. One roar

after another marked one explosion after another,

and while Ken was insisting upon taking Carol

home to the safe district, she was insisting upon

going back to the nursery.

“The women are there,” he was shouting to her,

for the noise of traffic had already become terrific.

“No, Ken, the baby is there; little Penny. I must

be sure. Please take me back. You won’t be but a

few minutes. Then you can go on down. But Ken,”

he had already turned back toward the nursery,

“Ken, you will be careful. You know how those

explosives fly—”

“Here you are, dear,” he said gently. “You are the

one to be careful. There’s no danger around here,

but people may be looking for shelter—I’ll tell your

father—” He was going off as he warned her.

Fire! Fire! Fire!

What a terrible cry that is! And in the black night

in a crowded city it seems like the very crack of

doom, so monstrous, so terrifying, so engulfing.

67

Carol found Mattie and Annie at the door of the

nursery. They were plainly nervous and excited.

“Oh, darling,” cried Annie, impulsively throwing

her arms about Carol, “we were afraid you might

have gone down over the tracks.”

“No, I’m all right. But isn’t it dreadful! Just hear

the yelling, and calling. Oh, I know so many of our

children’s mothers work there. We may have to give

shelter—”

Hardly had she said that than a big car, a black

truck, its siren blaring, pulled up before them.

“The police!” gasped Mattie.

“They’re bringing someone here,” Carol

exclaimed, for while one officer from the front of

the car jumped out and came toward them across the

sidewalk, another was jumping down from the rear.

“Sunshine Nursery? We’ve got a lot of kids for

you,” the man at the door was calling out, “Picked

them up all over—”

“Bring them in, bring them in,” Carol called back,

while Annie and Mattie hurried on ahead to make a

room for the advancing little army.

“Here, here,” the officer ordered. “Just wait. Stop

that crowding—” and he shook one of the roughest

boys who was jostling those smaller.

“They must mind,” Carol threatened, sensing

what a riot that mob would make quickly as the

officers left.

68

“Here, Miss,” spoke up the blue-coat, “you see

that they do. Here’s—a—card, a police card,” he

spoke very loudly for the benefit of the boys who

didn’t want to stay indoors, who wanted to get out

with every one else going to the fire. “Just call this

number if you—have—any—trouble.” It was a

threat to the wildest youngsters.

The two boys who had been ring leaders in the

pushing jam fell back at that order. They had seen

the older boys go down Ferry Street in the other

police van. They were going to safety in the station

house, and the boys who had been brought to the

nursery knew this was better than going to the police

station. But even these irrepressible youngsters felt

the terrible menace of the Celluloid Fire. No local

catastrophe could be worse.

69

CHAPTER IX

FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

In an hour’s time that seemed to Carol not time at

all but a matter of ceaseless, endless, anxiety and

confusion worse than any she had ever before

experienced, those strange youngsters were

demanding and actually getting every morsel of food

in the place. Worse still, in their uncontrolled

eagerness they were destroying many little

kindergarten trinkets, dear to the nursery babies who

had made them, and this gave their young teacher

real anxiety. But now the turmoil was actually dying

down from the very force of its own impact.

“The fire’s out! It’s out! There’s the back taps!

We kin go now!” The shouts of this news came

quickly upon the ringing of the fire bells which was

proclaiming some degree of lessening danger. The

explosions had ceased their roaring claps, and the

inflamed sky was less terrifying.

“But you can’t go until the officers come for

you,” Mattie was shouting. “And unless you there,

Rollo, behave yourself and stop tearing around all

70

over the place I’ll report you and maybe you won’t

get back home at all.”

“Ah, shucks! What’tam I doin!” The thick-set

little fellow called Rollo, pretended to sit down at

that, and in doing so chose to sit on a chair already

occupied.

“Here! Here!” ordered Annie. “Get up off that

child,” for a small boy was squirming and groaning

under the weight of the tricky Rollo. “Wherever do

such children come from? You’re like savages—”

and Annie’s opinion was choked back for loss of

words bad enough to fully express her sentiments.

“I’ll have to call the station,” Carol declared. “My

friend has told Dad I’m all right but I really must get

away as soon as this is—over.” She was looking like

a Red Cross nurse after a battle on the front lines,

and there was no question about it, she was feeling

as badly as all that; and even much worse. Then a

thought struck her, almost paralyzed her. She said:

“About Penny! Have you looked in? Is she all

right?”

“She should be,” replied Mattie. “We put her to

bed just after you left.”

But Carol was on her way upstairs. A

premonition of danger to that lovely little one, had

seized her without reason or warning.

“Penny! Penny-dear! Oh!” came a short scream

as the young girl stepped into the long, quiet room.

71

“She’s gone! Mattie! Annie! Penny’s—gone!”

The next instant the two women were with her,

followed by as many of the strange children as could

crowd around. The little crib was empty! Penny’s

coat was gone!

“Kidnapped!” sang out the thoughtless Rollo.

“You shut up,” ordered another boy. “What do

you know about it. Miss, maybe she’s under that

other bed down by the winder,” he suggested

hopefully.

“Children! Quiet! Go back downstairs!” Annie

ordered, and they went, as if even they could sense

the new fright and its possible awful consequences.

Carol had actually fallen in a dazed heap on the

little crib with its side down. She did not know it but

she was clutching some of little Penny’s clothes.

“She may be around. She’s not dressed. Here’s

her underthings,” Annie was saying as she picked up

the trifles a child as young as Penny would wear.

“But who could have taken her?” moaned poor

Carol, to whom this last blow was more serious than

all other trials of that eventful night.

Before any one could answer, the telephone

downstairs jangled.

“I’ll go,” Mattie quickly offered. “Here, everyone

of you kids march ahead of me downstairs. And if

one of you give another bit of trouble—”

“The phone! The phone!” came a chorus of yells

72

from the children downstairs, and while Mattie

herded those down ahead of her who had pushed

their way up, Carol was running down the back

stairs, a way just as accessible to the phone in the

little closet under the stairway. She got there at once

and was now answering.

“Oh, yes, officer. I would be so glad if you could

come and get them,” she was saying. “But I have to

report—” She stopped, choked back what was

hurting her throat and then blurted out:

“A little child who was with us tonight is gone—

from her crib. Officer, we must do something,

everything to find—her at once.”

Then she turned to see Annie’s white face above

her.

“Carol dear,” the woman was saying. “I found the

back door wide open. Some of these wild youngsters

must have opened it for I had it locked safe as usual.

I always lock up the back first. So maybe the poor

darlin’ got scared of all the racket and just started

off—”

“To make her way home?” Carol interrupted.

“Yes, that’s what I think. So don’t worry so—”

“But alone? Out in this wild night—”

Quickly as she pulled the door open a boy—a boy

in uniform plopped a little bundle down.

“I found her on the back street,” the boy said,

pushing his cap back and tugging to straighten his

73

outside coat belt. “I knew her. She was just tramping

along—”

“Penny!” So great was the relief Carol had

experienced when that messenger boy let Penny

down in front of her, that she felt and acted

completely speechless. There she was; her coat

buttoned crooked over her little pajamas and a cap

pulled over one eye and decidedly off one little ear.

“Penny, where—did you go?”

“Home,” said Penny brightly. “Maybe Mama

came back—”

The messenger boy was hurrying to get away.

“Wait, just a minute,” begged Carol. “Tell me,

where did you find her?”

“Just walking along. The street at back, Railroad

Place, is always quiet, that’s why I take it. And there

she was toddling along. And when I stopped she

knew me. You see, I brought her this morning.”

“Are you the boy? Let me have your number; I

want to talk to you, when I can get a chance,” Carol

told him. But there was no time now. Penny had

already been picked up and hugged by Mattie. Her

loss had been nothing short of a blow to each one of

the caretakers at the nursery, and to have her back

unhurt, unharmed, had brought a blessed relief.

But now those urchins who had been picked up

by the police when street dangers in a Celluloid fire

threatened them, were wild to get out of the place of

74

refuge. Only the most heroic efforts of Carol and

Annie—while Mattie was busy again putting Penny

to bed—kept the boys from slipping out as the

messenger boy, who had brought Penny back, was

opening the door to leave.

“Get back there! Get back!” ordered Carol in real

alarm lest any more children get out into the night.

“The police car will be here—”

“Here it is! Here it is!” came the cries as the

unmistakable siren shrills cut through the air.

“Oh, I’ m so glad!” sighed the exhausted young

teacher. “Here, get your things on. Hurry,” for the

officers were back again ready to get the youngsters

to their homes.

“Fire’s all out,” the big officer with the red

cheeks told everyone listening. “They kept it on the

river side and the fire boats did fine work.”

“And we—all—missed it.” That was Rollo, the

biggest boy, who would liked to have seen those hig

fire boats throwing their monstrous streams from the

river front up to the burning building.

“How about the lost baby?” the officer asked

Carol, as he swung his big arms kindly over the

swarming young shoulders that now were being

herded toward the back of the police patrol.

“Oh, we found her. She’s back; all right,” gasped

Carol. “She was just trying to find her home—”

“That’s fine,” the officer interrupted. “But how

75

about you? You’re Miss Duncan, aren’t you? Felix

Duncan’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am,” faltered the girl who hardly knew

who she was at the moment.

“Well, better hop right up front there with me .md

I’ll take you to Felix; he’s at the station and I

promised him I’d bring you back with me. Don’t

worry about riding on our wagon,” the officer

smiled. “Your dad and all the other good dads pay

for those wagons in their taxes, and they ride—

better than most private cars,” he said slyly.

“I don’t mind at all,” replied Carol quickly. “In

fact, I’m so anxious to let Dad know I’m all right I’ll

be grateful to get to him quickly. Here! Here! You,

the boy with the skating cap,” she suddenly broke

off. “This is the way out.”

“That lad was trying to get away,” said the

officer, while he took about two long steps toward

where the boy was making his way toward the back

door, and then his broad, strong hand just went

under the shabby coated arm and brought the

recreant to the line.

“I must speak to the women a moment,” said

Carol, as she pulled on her coat and jabbed down her

hat. “Annie,” she spoke very low, not wanting

anyone to overhear her, “don’t let her out of your

sight—”

“Don’t worry,” Annie whispered back. “She’ll

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not find her way out again—”

“And tell Mattie not to say a word—”

“Not a word.”

This secrecy seemed to both Carol and Annie

suddenly very important. It was the presence of an

officer of the law which, somehow, put them on

their honor to actually hide little Penny. It had come

to them in a strange, inexplicable way, that Penny

needed to be kept away from everything public.

And when that good-natured messenger boy had

brought Penny back, the relief to Carol was

overwhelming. As if she personally had been

responsible for the child.

“I felt a sense of real danger,” Carol had realized,

“and that must mean there is real danger.”

Suddenly everything else about the nursery had

lost its importance compared with the fate of little

Penny. But now Carol was, as Annie laughingly told

her:

“All ready for the wagon.”

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CHAPTER X

ON THE POLICE WAGON

“Oh, fine!” the young teacher exclaimed, drawing

deep breaths and drinking them in gratefully as the

big car rolled along. “This has been one dreadful

night.”

“Yes. But not so bad after all,” replied the man

now known as Officer Broadbent. “You see, the

explosion was in a separate building near the river,

and the fire boats kept it there. The wind was right

too.”

“Are you taking the youngsters home first?” she

asked. “Dad can wait that long.”

“Yes, I only have to take them all to the corner of

Mulberry. There will be a man there, maybe two of

them, to see that they get to their homes safely. We

gathered them all up as they were trooping toward

the fire.”

“Oh, yes, and that was a fine idea to bring them to

the nursery,” Carol replied.

“We’ll see that you get something for your

trouble—”

78

“Oh, no. It was our duty—”

“None-the-less, the city always pays. It won’t be

much—”

“Even a little would really be wonderful now,”

Carol interrupted. “You see, we are in a rather kid

way financially,” she managed to say.

“Here we are,” and the big car slid in toward the

curb with its sirens dying down to a plaintive wail.

Then the officer, who had been within the Car with

the children, was out on the street, helping them to

form a small group which was quickly surrounded

by two other officers.

It was done so quickly and efficiently that Carol

just gasped.

“We should all have police training,” she

remarked. “You do things so quickly—”

“Yes, we have to know how,” Officer Broadbent

agreed. “But you keep that card I gave you; it has

privileges. When we get to the Station I’ll fill it out

right for you.”

They were turning in the curved drive that

brought them to the big stone building where night

Courts sessions were held. It was all new to Carol.

She had been to the truant office, to the relief officer

and other city departments, but never to the actual

police station.

Inside the corridors were but dimly lighted, and

few persons were coming or going. Officer

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Broadbent swung open one of a pair of doors and

there stood Carol’s father, right inside the door.

“You brought her in,” he jokingly remarked to the

officer, fondly edging up to his daughter.

“And I had a hard time with her,” came the hearty

reply. “I think we ought to make her a sergeant after

this night.”

Father and daughter stood proudly together for a

few moments. Then Carol asked to be “shown

around.” There was a judge quietly presiding at

some case that seemed so routine Carol wondered

why it was called a case at all. She stopped near

enough to hear the proceedings, and saw an old man

clutching the big brass rail that surrounded the high

platform where the judge was sitting. The words

from the man were mere mumbles and the judge just

said:

“Thirty days.”

“What for?” Carol asked her father.

“He’s a street beggar and he has had plenty of

warnings,” her father replied. “Tonight, in the thick

of the fire, they picked him up—” He stopped. Why

tell his daughter that this old offender could not be

trusted in the streets when doors had been left

unlocked, and other precautions for safety of

property forgotten in the intense excitement of the

fire.

Officer Broadbent had just finished his report,

80

and now he came over to fill out Carol’s police card.

“So she’ll be able to get around in big crowds,”

he began.

“But I don’t like her to take such chances, John,”

Mr. Duncan objected. “She might go out fighting

fires—”

“Dad,” his daughter checked him, “if you saw

some of those youngsters tonight you would think I

needed a club instead of a card. Thanks, Officer.

This is the most valuable card I have ever received,”

and reading the few but very important lines printed

on the slip above the officer’s signature, she

carefully placed it in her purse.

When would she ever use it? Penny, came the

answering thought, she might be able to do more for

Penny because she would be armed with this extra

authority. Why was she thinking of that possibility?

Later at home, although she told her father about

the night’s happenings, she did not tell even him that

Penny had been brought by a messenger boy that

morning and had not been called for that evening.

“Ken has been pretty busy,” Mr. Duncan

remarked. “He came over to tell me you would be

lure, and then he just tore around with young Judge

Moran, helping to keep the streets clear where

crowds gathered and there were not enough officers

to cover every corner.”

“I’ll bet he liked that,” Carol answered.

81

“Yes, you bet he did. I stayed at the station and

phoned bits into the office and Ken rushed in twice

to give me good street news—you know the little

scenes that you have to get on the spot. They were

good, too.”

“Oh, I’m glad of that, Dad. Now let’s settle down

to our cookies and cocoa.” She had already prepared

the drink they had enjoyed almost nightly together.

“I don’t remember what happened to supper time, it

didn’t come around.”

Shortly after that, two extremely tired individuals

were ready for bed—Carol Duncan and her father.

They had joked about the police card, about the row

the youngsters had made at the nursery, about Ken,

chasing back to the police station with a funny story

about the old woman who had moved all her

belongings into the street and wouldn’t let anyone

touch them, although the fire was miles away. Her

things, including a parrot and his big cage, had

completely blocked the sidewalk.

But it was a crumpled bit of paper from Carol’s

purse, that really gave her concern, as now, alone in

her room she read it again.

“What can Penny’s mother mean by saying that

Penny has more right to our nursery than anyone

else?” she reflected. “That old Stingerman’s history

surely could have nothing to do with a tot like

Penny, nor with that young girl that seems to be her

82

mother, either,” she reasoned further. “I’m glad I

thought to get the messenger’s number; I mustn’t

lose it. The first thing tomorrow, if there are no

more big fires, I’ll call him, give him any message

for anyone I can think of, and then ask him who

gave him Penny to bring to the nursery. Perhaps he

may know something about her.”

It was in her dreams that night that the young girl,

Cynthia, came back to Carol’s troubled mind. She

was going to help her with the nursery, her mother

was going to help too, with some sort of benefit to

bring in funds. Even the big blue-coated officer was

in her dream, although she had forgotten his name,

but she had that pleasant feeling of something very

nice pricking at her consciousness. He had promised

something. Could it be money to save the nursery?

Then someone was kidnapping little Marie, the

deaf and dumb child at the nursery. She saw a big

hand steal in a window and lift the child—

“Carol, Pidge, wake up! You’re having the

nightmare!”

“Oh, yes! All right, Dad, I’m awake.”

What a blessed relief. Her father had heard her

hysterical scream, and coming to her quickly had

just saved her, she felt, from choking to death in

screaming for help to save Marie from the monster

hand that comes only in bad dreams. Of course it

was Penny who was in danger, she felt now, as she

83

tried to get her heart quieted down from that wild

nightmarish beating. But she had dreamed it was

Marie, perhaps because Marie had been holding the

real place of anxiety among her brain pictures.

“But I must get to sleep again,” she reminded

herself. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

It was well for Carol that she could not know

what was happening after she left the nursery in her

ride to the police station.

Mattie and Annie were completely played out

from all the excitement and confusion of taking care

of the fire refugees, so the two faithful caretakers of

the Sunshine Nursery sat in their kitchen over their

tea cups. It was getting very late indeed, but both

women felt that a cup of tea might make sleeping

easier, in spite of contrary health advice.

“I certainly was scared when I found that little tot

had gone,” Annie repeated. “Out alone in the

night—”

“Poor dear,” interrupted Mattie, “you can tell she

has been treated well; she isn’t afraid of anything.”

“But we’ve got to watch her,” Annie went on.

“There’s something queer about her mother sending

her with a messenger boy—whoever heard of such a

thing.”

“It was strange,” Mattie admitted, finishing the

last cookie. “But it struck me as rather a good idea,

and only a business woman would have thought of

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it. I’ll bet her mother, that young woman who came

yesterday, is a business woman, too.”

“I thought I heard a car stop—” Annie

interrupted.

“So did I. No more police calls, I hope. Yes,

there’s a step. I’ll go,” Mattie offered. “I’ve always

been glad we had that door fixed with the little night

window—”

Mattie, although a strong woman, had had enough

physical exertion for one night, so she threw back

her shoulders defiantly now, as she made her way to

the door where the bell was still jangling.

She pushed back the slide—it had been fashioned

after the convent doors where unprotected women

had need for such devices—and was surprised to see

outside, the face of a woman whose voice at once

proclaimed her fashionable and cultured.

“I’ve come for the little girl—won’t you open the

door?” This last sentence showed the stranger’s

resentment that the door had not at once been

thrown open to her.

“The little girl?” repeated Mattie, haughtily.

“Yes, Penelope Rutledge. I know it is late, but

that fire tied up traffic so.”

“We have no such child, and if we did have I

couldn’t open the door at this hour,” Mattie

declared. “Can’t you come tomorrow?” Mattie was

sorry she could not see more through the door, but

85

she could see the small fashionable hat, the waved

gray hair and the sharp, aristocratic features of the

middle-aged woman outside.

“But you have our child,” the woman said

quickly, “and I must take her tonight.”

“Sorry,” Mattie was shortening her words and

intended to close that slide soon. “We have no child

of that name, and the only way a child can he taken

from the nursery, is through one of the hoard of

managers. I really must close up now; sorry to have

to hurry. We’ve had a very busy night—”

“Wait a minute.” The woman put her gloved hand

on the slide where the window would close, and

Mattie could see standing back of her a liveried

chauffeur. “I’ll do what’s right for this nursery, and

for you, too. Everyone needs money—”

“No, no we don’t need money,” snapped back

Mattie indignantly, “and if we did we would get it—

other ways. I must close up—”

“But I must get our child.” This was more of a

wail than a command. “You don’t know what this

means. We—we must—”

“Excuse me, and I’m sorry to be rude,”

interrupted Mattie, “but I’ll have to phone a

manager—”

“No, no. Don’t do that. I’ll go, I’ll go,” said the

woman excitedly. “But you don’t know what you

are doing, driving me off like this. Paul!” she called

86

to her chauffeur.

As the woman turned to the chauffeur’s support,

Mattie had one awful moment of fear. As she shut

the door slide she literally fell over Annie.

87

CHAPTER XI

REAL EXCITEMENT

“Oh!” screamed Mattie.

“Oh, my!” screamed Annie.

“I didn’t know you were there, I’m so upset.”

“I stayed right at your elbow, and I’ll tell you, I

didn’t like you keeping that window open so long,

and it near midnight,” gasped Annie. Mattie really

had stepped on her toe.

“I didn’t like it myself,” admitted Mattie turning

again to follow Annie to the kitchen. “They have

plenty of women in holdups—”

“Holdups! What could they hold up here? Come

along, sit down. You look ready to drop,” urged

Annie, kindly.

“I am,” admitted Mattie. “They might have made

a break to get little Penny—”

“Do you suppose they were after her?”

“Not a doubt of it. And how do I know I did what

was right turning the woman away? She gave me

such a terrible look—like a person going to die or

something.”

88

“You’re just upset. Here, I’ll give you a drop

more hot tea,” and Annie went to the range to get

the big brown tea pot. “Did you ever hear tell of

such a night?”

“I knew that child would bring us trouble,” Mattie

went on. “And little Carol will be sure to jump right

in and try to hide her or do something like that.”

“But we have to tell her; she’s responsible to the

ladies,” mused Annie.

“Yes, we’ll have to tell her, if one ever gets a

chance.”

“What do you mean, a chance?”

“Well, suppose they steal her?”

“Not while I’m here,” declared Annie stoutly.

“Not if I have to sleep beside her and keep her under

my eye every minute—”

They both stopped talking and listened. There

were sounds upstairs.

“She’s awake. We better go up,” said Annie

quickly, and it took them but a few minutes to put

out the lights finally and make their way upstairs.

Annie opened the door to the room where

Penny’s crib stood; gently she touched the light

button.

There stood the crib—empty!

“Gone!” gasped Annie, ready to actually drop this

time.

“Preserve us!” prayed Mattie, looking about

89

quickly. But there was no sign of little Penny. “My

door is open; I left it closed,” breathed Mattie in

panic, at the same time going to her own door and

touching the light on there. “Oh!” she sighed,

grasping the trembling Annie in her warm, strong

arms. “Look!”

And there, in Mattie’s big bed, was little Penny, a

pillow in her small chubby arms, that is as much of

the pillow as those small arms could get around. The

pillow’s end was squeezed up like a doll’s head, and

Penny was hugging it.

Overcome, the women stepped back, put out the

light and pulled the door almost closed.

“She’s used to sleeping with her mother,” Mattie

said, “so she got in the big bed. Poor darling! She’s

giving us a lot of trouble but she’s worth it.”

“Come with me, there’s plenty of room for both

of us,” Annie invited, “and we won’t disturb her.

She’s had enough moving about for one night.”

They were both too tired to say much more. So

Mattie slept with Annie and they left the door open

to the room where Little Red Riding Hood had

chosen to sleep in the big bed, not the middle sized

bed nor the teeny-weeny bed.

Mattie did not want to disturb Annie by admitting

she was much worried over the entire situation.

Suppose she had refused to give the child to

someone who had a right to take her? That would

90

bring real trouble to the nursery, for everything to do

with the care of little children is very strictly

regulated by law.

“And we are bad enough off as things are without

more trouble,” Mattie was thinking, as she gave the

blankets a tug to make sure Annie, who was already

sleeping, had her full share.

When morning came Carol’s father determined

she would not wake too early; so he tiptoed into her

room and pulled down the shades.

At the nursery, Mattie tiptoed into her own room,

got what she needed, then pulled down the shades so

that Little Penny would sleep later. The child was

still hugging the pillow and her cheeks were red as

roses.

Then someone else interested in the nursery was

just waking up. Cynthia Van Note, in her luxurious

home, the only child of parents who perhaps loved

her too well to understand how routine luxury can

bore a lovely young girl. But her mother’s interest in

the nursery was at last being brought to Cynthia.

Now she and Carol Duncan were already friends,

and she, Cynthia, had gladly promised to help Carol

with her work among the needy little ones.

But that was yesterday, before last night’s fire

and before a lot of things had happened to Penny. As

yet, however, Cynthia knew nothing of all this.

She was stirring drowsily as a faint sound

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penetrated her sleepy brain. She turned over and

burrowed deeper then realized that Jane must be

raising the East window shade to admit the early

sunlight.

It seemed early for Jane, the cheerful little maid,

to be around. There must be a special reason for the

early activity. But for the moment Cynthia couldn’t

remember what it might be. All the days were so

much alike. One following the other in a dreary

procession. Presently Jane pulled up the other

shades, flooding the lovely room with bright light,

but Cynthia remained silent. If there were only a job,

however small, waiting for her. But there wasn’t.

Then suddenly she realized that today was the

day she was going to the nursery. That explained

this new interest in waking up. The events of the day

before now rushed back to her. There was something

so real about it all. There was no pretense about

Carol Duncan. How satisfying it might be to have

something you could put your heart and soul into

like that.

“It’s seven-thirty, Miss Cynthia,” said Jane

pleasantly.

“Seven-thirty,” Cynthia echoed as she opened her

eyes. “What kind of a day is it, Jane?”

“It’s clear but cold again, Miss Cynthia,” Jane

replied and then asked: “Will you have breakfast up

here?”

92

“Let me see,” mused Cynthia, stretching. “No, I

think I’ll surprise Father and have breakfast

downstairs with him. Do you think it will put him

off his golf game to see me so early?” She was

sitting up now smoothing her rumpled hair with her

fingers.

“It would be lovely, Miss Cynthia. I’m sure Mr.

Van Note would like it, too.” The maid smiled in

reply. Not so many years older than Cynthia, she

had been with the family four years, and

unconsciously the youth of the two, disregarding

their stations, had created something of a bond

between them.

“I’ll take a shower and dress. I must wear

something very plain today.” Cynthia decided. “I’m

going down to a Day Nursery and I don’t want to

look out of place. That green wool and the sport

shoes and the tweed coat, I think. Have you ever

been down to Stingyman’s Alley, Jane?”

“I never have, Miss Cynthia, but I believe Tony

has some relatives in the neighborhood.”

“Tony?”

“The gardener. He sometimes takes the cut

flowers down to someone there after they’ve begun

to fade a bit, and they are about ready to be thrown

out. I don’t know where he goes to in Stingyman’s

Alley, though, Miss Cynthia.”

“Only after the flowers have begun to fade, you

93

said, Jane?” Cynthia asked in a different voice.

“Oh, yes, Miss!” Jane hastened to assure her.

“Never the fresh ones.”

“Well, I’m going to take them some fresh ones

for once,” Cynthia snapped not at Jane but at the

social system which permitted such inequalities.

“Please tell someone to get in touch with Tony at

once and tell him where I’m going. I want all we can

spare: the greenhouse is lovely, I know. I’ll need

some vases, too, so have them ready when I leave.”

Jane, her cheeks flushed with the excitement she

could see in Cynthia’s face, left the room with a

quick little, “Yes, Miss.”

“Faded flowers—huh! The idea!” Cynthia

murmured, leaning over to slip her feet into her

slippers; then she pattered off to the adjoining bath.

She was dressed in record time and soon was

calling to her father.

“Hi—Dad! It’s the daughter come to have

breakfast with you. If you can stand the shock.”

“Why, Cynthia, my dear,” Mr. Van Note said as

he lowered his paper. “This is very nice. I haven’t

seen you up so early in a long time.”

“And if you still can stand it, Dad, I’m going to

drive down with you as far as your office and then

go on down to the nursery,” Cynthia declared.

“Oh, so that’s where you’re going. I’m delighted

that you have become interested. I only hope it

94

won’t bother Thomas to see you about at this hour,”

he said, falling in at once with her game. The

dining-room seemed a nicer place than usual with

Cynthia looking so happy and gay.

“I guess Thomas will live. I want a working girl’s

breakfast this morning, and I won’t be in for lunch,

so make it substantial,” she told Jane who was

waiting to serve her.

“Not going without your lunch, I hope?” her

father asked.

“Now, Dad, don’t you worry about me. I’m

eating down in Stingyman’s Alley. Probably beef

stew and I’ll bet it’ll be good, too. I’ve found

something to do at last. You go back to your paper.

I’ll take the inside sheet if you’re finished with it

and we’ll get on with our meal. We don’t want to be

late.”

“Here you are, Cyn. This is really very pleasant,”

her father remarked, his eyes suspiciously bright, as

he handed her part of the paper.

It seemed like a joke, all this early morning

business, but Cynthia was determined to make it

real. She rushed upstairs from the table to say

goodbye to her mother and was down again before

her father had his coat on.

“What’s all this, Cyn? A wedding?” her father

asked as the gardener stood behind his load of

beautiful flowers.

95

“No, it’s just some flowers for the children. I’ll

tell you all about it on the way down,” Cynthia

answered. Then to Tony she said: “The flowers are

lovely, Tony, I’ll tell the children that you picked

them especially for them.”

Tony bobbed some more and smiled broader than

ever. Even Thomas smiled faintly at the unusual

scene. Tony was happy to have so good a chance to

show off his flowers.

“Take me to the office, Thomas,” Mr. Van Note

ordered proudly. “Then take Miss Cynthia wherever

she wants to go.”

Thomas touched his cap and jumped in. They

were off, adventuring, Cynthia knew, as she looked

happily at her father. But what she did not know and

could not guess was how her adventures would

eventually shape up at Sunshine Nursery.

96

CHAPTER XII

IT NEVER RAINS

That same morning Carol woke with a bang.

Every exhausted nerve just seemed to explode into

action as she opened her eyes.

“Oh, I’m late. Dad pulled the shades down—”

She was out of bed and dashing around without

losing one motion; every move had a purpose of its

own.

“And Cynthia is coming. This is the day.”

Nothing was important but getting to the nursery,

and Carol put on “full steam ahead” to reach there.

Annie and Mattie had agreed between them not to

say a word to her about the strange late visitor, until

recess time. Then she would have her chocolate, the

children would be at play, and altogether those

trifles might help to make the story less exciting.

But the women knew it was bound to upset things.

After the usual good mornings and “was

everything all right?” Carol noticed little Penny slip

into the class room ahead of her companions, and

she was hiding something, holding it behind her.

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Not to spoil the secret, Carol pretended not to see

what the child was about to do.

Several children were crowding around, but

Penny scarcely saw them, so intent was she on

finding a place for the hidden treasure.

An old-fashioned mantel with carved pillars and a

shiny shelf was the place of honor in the room. The

best pictures or pin-wheels, or what ever the

children had made during the day, were always

placed in a row there. Consequently, to Penny’s

small mind, it was the most fitting place for her

prize, the paper flower she had carried from her

home the day before. It had been in her coat pocket

ever since, for she had forgotten it till this morning

when she went to get a fresh handkerchief.

Now she pulled forward a chair and placed it in

front of the fireplace. But still she could not reach

the shelf. Even by adding a pile of books to the chair

she was not tall enough, and she was very close to

tears when Carol came from the end of the room and

spoke to her.

“What are you doing, Penny?” she asked kindly.

“You’ll fall, dear.”

Penny turned suddenly and the pile of books

moved, throwing her off the chair and down to the

floor.

“You see?” Carol reminded her. “You mustn’t

climb up that way. What are you hiding?”

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Penny did not cry but scrambled up still holding

one hand behind her. How poor and small her flower

seemed to her now. It was no good. For there was

“Treacher” with a bunch of beautiful silvery, furry

things on long stems, pussy-willows. Penny’s eyes

filled with tears. The other children crowded around

her.

“Nothing,” Penny murmured. “I haven’t got

anything.” Still her little fingers were crushing with

grim determination the paper bloom.

“Yes, she has. She’s got this!” Hugo Boneto

cried, as he ran behind Penny and snatched the

flower from her, holding it up so that all might see.

“Give that to me at once, Hugo,” Carol ordered

quietly, holding out her hand. Something in her tone

impressed the boy and he gave her the crumpled bit

of paper.

This was too much for Penny. She burst into tears

and ran out to hide in the kitchen.

Carol saw now what the trouble was. Poor Penny!

She had thought the artificial flower so lovely, had

kept it ever since yesterday to give to her

“Treacher,” and now she was crying her little heart

out.

“Penny, come back,” she called. “I think the

flower is beautiful. It has so much more color than

mine. I only brought these to use in our drawing

lesson. Come back and I’ll lift you up.”

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Penny came slowly back, only half believing. She

looked up at Carol with her eyes, holding her head

down.

“Come dear,” Carol coaxed. “You may put it in

the little white vase. I’ll hold you up.”

Carol gave back the flower and Penny took it

once more. Then the child placed it firmly in the

vase, and when she was lowered to the floor again

she was smiling happily.

“There! Isn’t that nice? Now we’ll put the

‘pussies’ in something and then I have a surprise for

all of you.”

Cries of, “What?” “Tell us!” “When?”

bombarded her. The children were hopping about

with excitement. Hugo, the practical, came forward

with another vase and Carol plunged the pussy-

willows into it.

“Now, tell us,” they begged and waited

expectantly.

“All go sit down and I’ll tell you,” Carol

promised.

There was a wild scramble for chairs and then

silence fell as the children waited. How they loved

surprises!

“Today—” began Carol slowly, “we are going to

have a visitor!”

The children wiggled and squirmed with pleasure.

“I want you to be very good and we’ll do

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something special. First we’ll— Why, here is our

visitor now!”

A gentle knock was sounding. The children were

breathlessly silent. Carol opened the door and there

stood Cynthia Van Note, her arms laden with

flowers from the Van Note greenhouse.

Penny’s eyes became as big as saucers. “More

flowers!” she cried. “Boo-hoo—” she wailed loudly.

“O-o-o.”

Cynthia looked startled. “What’s the matter?” she

asked.

“It’s the flowers,” Carol explained aside. “She

brought a paper rose, had it in her pocket all day

yesterday, and then I brought pussy-willows and

now yours are so wonderful!”

“Oh, dear, what a shame! What shall I do? Hide

them?”

“Oh no, I’ll talk to her. Come in and let’s see if

we can find room for all of these. They’re too

lovely!” explained Carol in complete admiration for

Cynthia’s wonderful blooms.

Soon the flowers were placed on tables and on the

radiator covers and they did transform the room

beyond belief.

Carol again explained to Penny that she liked her

little flower best, however, and how nice and lovely

it was of Penny to bring it. Cynthia stood near the

door uncertain of herself. But suddenly Penny

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smiled and came up to her shyly. Cynthia gave her a

huge pink carnation and a good hug along with it.

Then everything was all right again.

“It was stupid of me to bring all those flowers at

once. I should have had more sense, but I am

terribly green,” Cynthia admitted to Carol.

“Not at all; Penny really thinks they are beautiful

and she’ll be all over her pout in a minute. They are

gorgeous flowers and the children are simply spell-

bound. Will you sit here? I was just explaining to the

children that we were to have a visitor and they’re

thrilled. They love to tell of their little adventures

and do need a more sympathetic listener than I can

manage to be,” Carol explained politely.

After removing her coat and hat Cynthia sat in a

straight backed chair in the dining room, and looked

on the unusual scene with genuine interest. The

children saluted the flag proudly and sat down again

quite orderly.

“Shall we have a song or shall we tell Miss Van

Note what happened over the week-end?” Poor

Carol had to go on with all this routine while she

was simply bursting to tell Cynthia about last night’s

excitement. But she knew too well what would

happen to her “order” if she so much as whispered

the word fire. She noticed, as she came in and

remarked to Mattie and Annie, that they had done a

“swell job” in the early morning, cleaning up after

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last night’s “cyclone,” but they, Mattie and Annie,

could not yet attempt to tell her what she didn’t

know; about the lady who had tried to get Penny

away so late at night.

And now Carol must listen to the week-end

stories, which had already been postponed two days,

because of the board meeting.

“The week-end! The week-end and then a song,”

came the cry from the children.

“Very well. You may begin, Johnny.”

Johnny Caccio, a plump little fellow came to the

front of the room.

“What did you do, Johnny?” Carol helped him.

“I, at, me, at—my gran-ma took me to the

country.”

“To the country? How nice! How did you get

there? Tell our visitor.”

“We walked and I carried the paper bag and my

Gran’ma carried the knife.”

Cynthia turned with questioning eyes to Carol.

What did he mean; a knife? “Tell us the rest,

Johnny,” ordered the teacher, who was keeping

Penny near her to make sure the child was happy

again.

“We went to get dandelions but the policeman

chased us and, anyway, it was too early.” Johnny

finished and sat down.

“He means they went to the park,” Carol

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explained in an aside. “Who’s next? You, Peter?”

Peter hesitated. He arose slowly. “Tell us what

you did,” Carol urged.

Peter looked at the floor and tried to dig the toe of

his shoe into it. “My fodder came home,” was all he

said and then sat down again.

Carol smiled with her mouth but her eyes showed

no amusement. She and the others knew well what it

meant when Peter’s father “came home.” The man

was sure to have appeared with a disturbing

suddenness, blustered about their humble rooms, ate

until he was satisfied and then he would have made

himself so unpleasant that the poor, hard-working

mother would have had to give him most of her

small savings so he would go away again. Later

Cynthia too understood this pathetic, untold story.

Carol wanted to lift the gloom at once that had so

quickly fallen over the children as they shared

Peter’s sadness, so she proposed that they sing,

some happy song.

“Let me please, Miss Carol,” a little red-haired

girl begged.

“What will you sing, Sallie?”

“A Night in June.”

So, without any accompaniment, Sallie sang, in a

sweet little voice, one of the popular tunes that

sounded strange indeed coming from such a tiny tot.

Others now begged to be allowed to sing also, and

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even little Maria Paco tugged at Carol’s skirt.

“She wants to sing, too,” Carol explained, and

going to the piano she played a simple little tune for

the deaf mute.

Maria’s lips moved but all she could utter were a

few high squeaks. She looked happy, however, and

when the song was finished the children clapped

vigorously.

“She can feel the vibration when we clap,” Carol

explained, to Cynthia. “But, of course, she has never

heard any one talk so she has no idea what sounds

should come. Isn’t it sad? She is so bright,

otherwise.”

“It is an awful pity,” Cynthia agreed. “Could she

be taught to speak if she went to one of those special

schools?”

“I don’t know; perhaps. But tell me, are you

enjoying this?”

“Oh, yes. Please go on just as you do every day. I

want to see everything,” Cynthia replied seriously.

“We usually have drawing or make simple paper

things. The children are so pleased when they can

take something home,” Carol told her. “Today I’m

going to let them try to draw the pussy-willows. But

I have so much—to tell you.” The simple words

conveyed much to Cynthia, but the promise had to

wait.

Then Carol put a spray of the soft gray catkins

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near each child and let two of the children give out

pencils and paper. Next, she quickly sketched a

branch and held it up so they all could see.

The children watched intently. They gripped the

pencils firmly in their grubby fingers, and with

heads on one side and many a pink tongue clamped

between the baby teeth, they began.

The room was quiet as they concentrated, and

Carol went to each child to give encouragement and

help. Penny had drawn a long curving mark dotted

with little, black spots.

Carol lingered over the darling baby. She told her

that her picture was beautiful, but when Penny’s

own blue-bell eyes looked up adoringly at

“Treacher,” Carol knew where real beauty was

making a true picture. Cynthia was busy over the

sketch of a very red-headed little boy, who, of

course, was called Red. One could see Red was

going to be her favorite, and while the youngster’s

freckles seemed to pale under his lovely blush,

Cynthia suggested some dots and dashes to his

pussy-willows, that looked like the bunches of

bananas on the street stands he was most familiar

with.

It was the first real encouragement Carol had had

in her routine work; this interest of Cynthia’s. And

seeing Cynthia leaning over Red, marking his paper

and telling him about pussy-willows, Carol was so

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thankful she almost overlooked Hugo. The little boy,

usually too full of energy to pay attention, was

sitting despondently with his head cradled in his

arms on the table.

“What’s the matter, Hugo?” Carol asked him.

“Nothing,” he replied listlessly.

“Don’t you feel well?” Carol touched his cheek

with the back of her hand. His face was hot and dry.

“Hugo, you come with me,” she said. “Cynthia, I

must take him to Mattie. You see on your very first

visit you are getting a chance to act as my

substitute.”

“I’ll do my best,” Cynthia promised. “What do

they do next?”

“Let them draw a while longer, and if I’m not

back, give them fresh paper and they can try again. I

won’t be long. Hugo doesn’t seem well,” Carol said,

gently.

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CHAPTER XIII

BUT IT POURS

The boy rose slowly and followed his teacher. His

heavy eyes were drooping and his face was flushed.

That was the beginning of new excitement. Yes,

Hugo had the measles; Mattie knew that at once and

promptly put the child in the isolation ward, a room

over the kitchen and quite apart from the other

rooms because of a small hall leading from that door

to the back stairs.

Dr. Gray could not get to the nursery however

until late in the afternoon, so of course Hugo could

not be moved until the doctor had looked him over.

It was after their hurried lunch that Carol finally

had a chance to talk privately to Cynthia, to tell her

about what had happened the night before. The two

girls were alone in the little reception room, but

every once in a while some of the excited children

would clamor at the door, demanding to be taken

home and not get Hugo’s sickness.

It was difficult for Carol to get much of the real

story over to Cynthia because of this unsuppressed

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excitement among the children, but she did manage

to sketch it out somehow.

“And if ever you saw this place swarming with

the youngsters the officers had gathered up all over

the streets—” she was telling the surprised Cynthia

about the fire.

“Oh, how I wish I could have been here to see

them,” Cynthia sighed. “Of course, it must have

been hard work for all of you, but think of the—

fun!”

“If you think that was fun you should have had a

ride with me on the Police Patrol,” Carol went on,

enjoying it all over again in the very telling of it,

“and at the station—”

The two girls were laughing so heartily now, it

seemed the children outside the thin door had

quieted down suddenly in sheer surprise. They had

never heard their teacher laugh like that before, so

they finally made up their young minds something

must be very funny, and led by Anna Voegler—she

was one of the biggest girls and admitted she was

six but every one knew she was older—the entire

crowd started up in a wild shouting, dancing, yelling

and all the other noise making tricks that only

children know how to show off successfully.

“Oh, really, Carol,” Cynthia exclaimed, “I can’t

tell you how much I am getting out of this. If only

you had called me last night. I would have been here

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with you. There’s Mattie. She looks as if she wants

you—”

“Come in, Mattie,” Carol called, as Cynthia

opened the door to Mattie’s knock. “Cynthia is one

of our staff now. What I am to know she may hear

as well.”

“That’s lovely,” beamed Mattie, who had a

correct eye for values even in young girls. “I’m sure

you need a partner, Carol dear. I’ll sit down. Hugo is

safe away from the others, and we have to wait for

Dr. Gray. But you have another surprise coming.”

She was looking cautiously at Carol. “Annie and I

have been at our wits’ end all morning. Couldn’t get

a chance to tell you. But things have just got to wait

now until you hear.”

“A surprise?” both girls exclaimed.

“About little Penny,” nodded Mattie.

“Oh, what about that darling?” demanded Carol

instantly showing anxiety and excitement.

“Well, as if we hadn’t enough for one night, with

that riot of youngsters the police brought in,” Mattie

groaned, “the door bell had to ring and it was almost

midnight.” Mattie paused for effect. She knew she

had a rapt audience in Carol and Cynthia, and not

even the children’s clamor outside the door, nor the

possible needs of Hugo with the measles, was going

to hurry her. Nurses often seem to be like that;

precise and deliberate.

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“The door bell rang?” prompted Carol.

“Yes, and I opened it, that is, I opened the slide at

the top.”

“Who was there?” asked Cynthia eagerly.

“A woman who wanted little Penny—”

“Her mother?” gasped Carol.

“No indeed, but an elderly woman, dressed in the

best, with earrings and—” Mattie’s disdain simply

choked further description but by questioning, Carol

and Cynthia managed to hear the exciting details.

That the lady had claimed the child as Penelope

Rutledge, that she had insisted the child belonged to

“her family” and that she had threatened disaster

upon the nursery if they refused to surrender little

Penelope to her. All this from Mattie gave Carol

plenty of reason to worry about the strange child and

her mysterious relatives, if they really were

relatives.

“But they may steal her,” worried Carol.

“Not while Annie and I are watching over her,”

replied Mattie. “But we must be getting little Hugo

home. You are going to take him, Miss Cynthia?”

“Yes, I am, Mattie, but I’m not Miss Cynthia.

Cynthia is plenty good enough for me—”

“But do listen,” protested Carol. “We must do

something right away about Penny. Couldn’t we

take her some place else?”

“Don’t be so alarmed, Carol,” Cynthia tried to

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quiet the girl who had suddenly changed from

sensible little teacher to a much agitated and worried

young person. “No one can touch little Penny—”

“How do we know? She almost slipped away

from us last night, only that grand young messenger

boy brought her back. Suppose her royal highness,

with the earrings and chauffeur, had met her coming

along in the dark?” Carol demanded.

“Don’t worry, dear,” begged Mattie. “We’ve got

to get Hugo home. Then we’ll see about Penny,” she

decided.

“But I won’t leave her here tonight,” threatened

Carol. “I’ll take her home with me first.”

“But wait till I get back,” begged Cynthia, jolly

and happy in her new job. “I’m a member of this

executive committee—”

“You just bet you are,” agreed Carol.

So the conference broke up and they all began a

long and tiresome afternoon. It was hard to keep the

children interested and classes seemed impossible.

But finally Dr. Gray came and said, yes, Hugo had

the measles and would have to be taken home. That

meant, of course, the nursery would be quarantined.

Cynthia was waiting in the hall when Mattie

appeared at the top of the stairs.

“He’s just ready now, Cynthia dear. Can your

chauffeur get him?” Mattie asked.

“Of course. I’ll call him,” replied Cynthia.

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Almost at once Thomas was running up the old

stairs, his puttees shining and his uniform seeming

oddly out of place in such surroundings. He took

Hugo in his arms like a rolled up rug, bundled as he

was in blankets, and held him comfortably over one

broad shoulder. When Thomas reached the lower

hall, Carol handed Cynthia a slip of paper.

“This is Hugo’s address and the details,” she said.

“If anything goes wrong before you get him home,

stick your head out of the window and yell, ‘Police!’

They always pay attention to that cry down here.”

Cynthia looked incredulously at Carol. “You’re

not serious?” she asked.

“Of course I am! You never can tell what will

happen in this district. Besides, Hugo is a pretty

awful looking little boy with all those red spots.”

“I’ll remember,” Cynthia promised, as she took

the note and hurried out after Thomas to help make

Hugo comfortable.

Mattie closed the heavy, old door after the queer

procession. “She’s a fine girl,” she remarked. “I

hope she gets along all right with the patient.”

“She’s one of the nicest persons I think I’ve ever

known, Mattie,” Carol said earnestly. “But we must

get to work. Just listen to those babies. Annie must

be frantic.”

Out in the kitchen the children who had been left

behind so unexpectedly and were therefore

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completely upset, were protesting vigorously.

Babies don’t like sudden changes.

The sun sank down behind the factory chimneys,

gilding for a little while the dingy windows on the

East side of town, and then the lights in the nursery

were turned on. The children were tired now and sat

quietly, waiting for their mothers to come to take

them home. They drowsed in the warm kitchen.

Mattie and Carol talked in low tones about the best

way to break the news to the parents. There did not

seem to be any “best way.” They must simply say:

“Timmy cannot come to the Nursery tomorrow. We

have sickness here. He must not come until we send

for him.” Annie was keeping Penny close beside her

and far away from all doors.

There was an air of expectancy pervading the

whole nursery. How would the mothers take it?

They were not long in finding out. Mrs. Bianci,

mother of one Jenny was the first to arrive; a large,

ruddy woman, her hair parted in the center and

drawn into a huge knot behind. She wore gold hoops

in her ears, a shawl around her shoulders and a pair

of men’s shoes on her wide feet.

She smiled and bobbed, “Jenny?” she demanded

and questioned.

Jenny was struggling into a too-small sweater.

Carol approached the unsuspecting woman.

“Mrs. Bianci,” she began, “please do not bring

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Jenny tomorrow—”

“Not breeng Jenny tomorr’? Why? She badda

girl? I’ll feex her. Jenny you—”

“No, no. Mrs. Bianci, Jenny wasn’t bad. But we

have a sickness here. Jenny must stay home, for a

while so she won’t get it. Jenny’s a good girl. Don’t

punish her,” Carol said, earnestly.

But Mrs. Bianci exploded with a burst of rapid

Italian, the gist of which seemed to be that she could

pay Jenny’s money and she didn’t see why Jenny

could not come. She must come.

Carol turned to Mattie. “You try to make her

understand. Perhaps your uniform will convince

her,” she sighed.

But Mattie’s efforts met with the same outburst.

“We must get someone who speaks Italian,”

Carol decided. “The other mothers are beginning to

come! I know. I’ll phone Peter Shevelli! He can

interpret for us.”

Suiting the action to the word, she hurried to the

phone. Fortunately Peter was at home, preparing to

feast on spaghetti and cheese. He agreed, somewhat

reluctantly, to leave his meal and come to the

nursery.

He was not long in arriving but when he got there

a scene of pandemonium met his eyes and assailed

his ears. Mrs. Bianci was still insisting that Jenny

must come back to the nursery next day. Two

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fathers, substituting for their wives, threatened with

clenched fists to bring the law down on the nursery

heads. Some of the children were crying noisily. But

Peter’s familiar face had a calming effect as he

smiled at the excited group.

Carol quickly told him what was the trouble. He

raised a strong brown hand and commanded silence,

and he got it, too. The people in Stingyman’s Alley

had great respect for Peter. Did he not make lots of

money with his junk business? Did he not drive a

car? And he never “chased kids away.”

Carefully he told the assembled parents about

Hugo’s sickness, and in a few words explained that

the children must stay home for a while safe from

the dread measles.

That was explanation enough for the people of his

own nationality but, meanwhile, a small group of

other foreigners, superstitious and afraid, had

thought of their own solution. Four of these women

with a friend who understood the plan, edged toward

the door. One, brown eyes sparkling and white teeth

glistening, acted as interpreter.

“Mees Duncan, we leave our babies weeth you.

You keep and we get them when the measles go.

Buenos—notches!”

Before the astonished young teacher could

protest, the little group of women were at the door.

“Here! Here!” cried out the valiant Peter. “You

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come straight back and get your kids. You know

what I say, Merceda. Here, these batino is yours.

Come get, all of you.”

And at that the rebels did “come get,” and in spite

of the seemingly impossible confusion, it was not

long before the children had all been huddled out,

mothers protesting and little ones jabbering. They

made plenty of noise. All, that is, except pretty blue-

eyed Penny. She was staying safely with Annie until

Carol could decide how she was to be cared for.

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CHAPTER XIV

STEALING PENNY

Meanwhile Cynthia was on her way with Hugo.

In the cushioned darkness of her big car, Hugo

drowsed. He was too sleepy and too miserable to

care where he was going or what was going to

happen to him. His head ached with fever and his

eyes burned when he tried to open them. So he gave

up trying, and lay with his head on Cynthia’s lap and

his poorly shod little feet on the spotless upholstery.

Cynthia tucked the blanket around him more

closely and reached out to put an arm around him so

he would not roll off, as the car traversed the bumpy

streets.

Twice Thomas stopped the car and got out to look

at numbers on the shabby house doors.

“Do you know how to get there, Thomas?”

Cynthia asked him a little anxiously.

“Oh, yes, Miss Cynthia I know about where it is,

but the numbers don’t seem to run in order and some

houses have no numbers at all,” Thomas replied, as

he got back into the car after taking a look at the

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dingy doors.

Each time they stopped, children who had been

playing in the darkening streets swarmed about the

car. Some stood on the run-board and peered in at

the unknowing Hugo. Then Cynthia pulled the

shades down so he would not be disturbed.

“Watch your car, Mister? Only a quarter,” the

children called to Thomas. “For a dime, Mister,”

offered another.

But Thomas pushed them aside and spoke to

Cynthia. “I’ll ask one of the kids, Miss Cynthia. We

don’t want to keep the poor youngster out in the

cold longer than we have to.”

Cynthia nodded. If they were in the right

neighborhood someone must know where Mrs.

Boneto lived, she believed.

“Hey, you!” Thomas called to a boy who had just

chalked his initials on the car’s mudguard. The boy

did not run when the chauffeur called, but he stood

his ground. If he was accused of marking the car he

would talk back until the driver finally lost his

temper and rushed for him. Then it was time to run.

There was no sport in running too soon.

“Do you know where Hugo Boneto lives?”

Thomas asked him.

“Sure I know. What’s he done?” the boy asked.

“Nothing, I want to know where he lives.”

“I’ll tell you for a dime.”

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“Give it to him, Thomas; we must hurry,”

Cynthia directed.

With the shiny dime in his dirty hand, the boy

pointed with the other. A bit of good luck! His

initials on the black car and a dime to spend, he

could afford to be generous. The other urchins

pressed closer.

“You see that factory down there? Well, go past

that and turn down the street to the left. There’s a

house at the end of the street. That’s it,” and the boy

ran off followed by his cronies to spend the money.

With some difficulty Thomas turned the car

around in the narrow street and proceeded to follow

the directions. The streets were rough and badly

lighted. In that neighborhood it was considered a

good night’s feat for wild boys to climb up and

lower an arc lamp by the rope that held it on the

pole, extinguish it and leave it for some hapless

driver to crash into. As a result, the city authorities

had provided more gas street lamps than big

overhead electric arcs. The harassed police force had

decided there was less danger in partial darkness

than in the lowered lamps.

Hugo sighed deeply now. He was getting a little

cramped huddled on the seat. He tried to turn over

and nearly slipped to the floor. Cynthia eased him a

little.

They approached the darkened factory and

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watched for the side street. It was there they found

the turn but it was so narrow that it was really

nothing but a lane.

As the luxurious car traveled cautiously along the

street, heads popped out of windows and doors were

suddenly thrown open to see what was going on.

“This must be it, Thomas,” Cynthia finally said,

as the car stopped. “You go up and see if there’s

anyone home. I’ll stay here.”

“Yes, Miss.” Thomas jumped out. “But I think it

would be wise to lock yourself in until I come

back,” he said before leaving the car.

Cynthia snapped on the door locks and looked out

the window anxiously.

The houses were so closely built that there

seemed no separation between them. Some rooms

she could see were lighted by oil lamps. The

occupants did not trouble to lower the shades, and,

indeed, a great many windows were completely

bare. Burly men and tired women leaned on window

sills in spite of the cold air. They called out

directions to Thomas who went quickly to Hugo’s

flat and knocked on the door.

The top floor of a swarming, dirty three story

tenement was the place Hugo called “home.” It was

destined this night to refuse him entrance. There was

no answer to Thomas’ knock. He tried again more

vigorously. Still no reply.

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A woman from the floor below stared up at him.

“What you want?” she called suspiciously.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Boneto. Does she live

here?”

“Uah, they live there. But they ain’t in. All gone

to the opera! Ha! Ha! Hee! Hee!” The woman

laughed at her poor joke.

“Well, I’ve got the young one down stairs. He’s

sick. Got the measles. What’ll I do with him.”

“Measles,” she yelled back to Thomas. “Take him

to a hospital. I’ve got five kids of my own to look

after. We don’t want him here,” and like a Jack-in-a

box she darted back into her own rooms and

slammed the door after her.

Thomas raced down the rickety stairs. “There’s

nobody home, Miss Cynthia,” he said indignantly. “I

think they went out deliberately; someone got word

here first. There’s nothing left to do now but take

him to the City Hospital.”

“All right, Thomas. Take him there,” Cynthia

agreed sadly. “Poor Hugo,” she said softly to the

now more restless boy; “don’t worry. We’ll soon

have you comfortable in a place better than—

home.”

Hugo twisted again, and Cynthia could feel his

fevered breath on her hand. He was too sick to know

what was going on.

Thomas backed the car out as there was no room

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to turn around, and drove away from the factories to

the heart of Newkirk, and presently the City

Hospital, a grim brick building, loomed up in the

darkness.

A curving driveway lighted at intervals, showed

where the ambulance rolled in or out on its critical

journeyings.

The receiving doors were opened at once as the

approach of the car informed the intern on duty that

here was another case, perhaps a cutting or shooting.

But his surprise was plainly visible as Thomas

directed him to the limousine. There he saw a very

pretty girl who was Cynthia, with eyes like twin

blue-gray diamonds, her cheeks naturally pink and

her small hat adding just the right note of smartness

(though Cynthia had forgotten even that she had on

a hat). On her lap reposed a very small and

obviously sick boy, who was Hugo, wrapped in the

car robe with his cap down grotesquely over one

eye.

“He’s got measles and his family wouldn’t take

him in,” Cynthia explained anxiously.

The intern smiled. Measles, eh? He was glad it

was nothing more serious. He reached in and lifted

Hugo out gently. Cynthia hurried after him and

followed him into the blazing brightness of the

hospital receiving room.

From then on everything moved like clockwork.

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Hugo’s name and address his nearest of kin, age and

all the rest Cynthia supplied the records. Carol had

been careful about keeping records and had given a

memorandum to Cynthia.

“You’ll take very good care of him, won’t you?”

Cynthia asked looking earnestly at the young doctor

after she had given the details.

“He’ll be treated like a prince,” the intern assured

her with an appreciative smile. “You can be sure of

that.”

Hugo was being spirited away as Cynthia

murmured: “Oh, thank you. I’ll ‘phone in the

morning. Good-night.”

“Good-night” came a muffled sound and the

doors closed behind her.

In her car again she sank back with a deep sigh of

relief and told Thomas in a small, weary voice to

drive back to the nursery.

With Hugo attended to Cynthia thought of Penny.

Not even the safe drive behind the trusted hand of

Thomas at the wheel, could distract her from her

fears for the child, and from Carol’s responsibility in

saving her—from what?

“Someone surely was trying to get her last night,”

Cynthia decided, “and, of course, they’ll try again.”

And Carol had said she would not leave Penny at

the nursery—that gave Cynthia an idea. Thomas was

nearing the nursery now.

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“I won’t be long—I hope,” she said to the

chauffeur as he opened the door for her. “I guess I’m

keeping you pretty busy—”

“In a good cause, Miss Cynthia,” he answered

touching his cap.

The assembly room, where meetings were held

and all important business usually conducted, was

lighted up, she saw, and also she noticed, the small

car that stood at the curb where Thomas had drawn

up.

“Oh, dear Cynthia,” exclaimed Carol who opened

the door before she had touched the bell, “whatever

happened?”

“Was I that long?” She was inside now and saw

the young man standing, waiting.

“Cynthia, this is Ken,” Carol introduced them.

“You know—Mr. Ken—”

“I know, you’re Ken,” smiled Cynthia sociably.

“And I know too,” Ken laughed back. “You’re

Cynthia.”

“And I took our little Hugo to the hospital,”

Cynthia began, but she did not have to go far with

explanations. Carol quickly understood.

“Now, do let’s all listen,” begged Carol and no

social good manners could deter her from the

purpose she was undertaking. “You know Cyn, our

Ken is a lawyer; isn’t that lucky for us?”

“Not quite a lawyer yet, Carol,” the young man

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objected.

“Well, for our needs and purposes you are,” Carol

hurried on. “You see, I can’t leave Penny here and I

have to be careful about taking her away—”

“I know the law well enough to tell you girls that

babies or children left at nurseries by their parents or

legal care-takers, cannot be taken away overnight

without such arrangements being agreed to by the

police department,” the legal student said quickly,

but very emphatically.

“How about your police card and your pet officer,

Carol?” Cynthia asked promptly.

“Oh, that’s so. Why not?” Carol agreed. “Ken,

you know, the officer who took—”

“You riding,” finished Ken, although Carol was

going to say “who took her to see the station.” But

the business of arranging for Penny and deciding it

very quickly was so urgent that it was no longer a

matter of questions and answers, but one of each

saying what seemed best and getting it in between

the others saying what they thought best.

“All right,” Carol finally announced in reply to

Cynthia’s offer. “You take Penny home with you in

your car, and I’ll go with Ken down to see Officer

Broadbent in his car. Then, if we can fix it up—”

“But look here, you noble crusaders,” Ken

interrupted, “how about supper?”

“Oh, Ken, couldn’t we wait just a little? Penny

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has had her supper, of course, and if we don’t get

away from here quickly I’m afraid something may

happen to stop us.”

“I’ll tell you,” suggested Cynthia. “Just let Annie

make you two a cup of chocolate or cocoa and as

Dad says, that will hold you. I’m used to eating late

so don’t bother about me.”

“Fine,” said Ken, flashing his lightning smile at

Cynthia. “I could do with something while waiting

for better things.”

It then occurred to Cynthia that Penny could not

safely ride in the car Hugo had just occupied. So

Thomas drove quickly to get Cynthia’s small car, a

belated but important arrangement.

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CHAPTER XV

DEEPER AND DEEPER

So now Annie was there with the cocoa and

crackers on the daffodil tray little Virginia’s mother

had painted on a big pie pan, and Penny was hatted

and coated and her small paper bundle was ready.

Mattie was standing with her the very few minutes

she had to wait while Ken and Carol swallowed the

cocoa.

“Will I go to Mummie, Treacher?” whispered

Penny, holding “Treacher’s” hand and shying just a

little from Cynthia.

“Soon,” cooed Cynthia. “And you’re going to

have a lovely new dolly—”

“But—Mummy. She’ll want Penny,” the child

reasoned, on the verge of tears, in fact her bluebell

eyes were already swimming.

“Come along, Kiddy,” chirped Ken, in his most

boyish manner, picking little Penny up with a

laughing chuckle that instantly brought from the

child a responding laugh, and a merry little squeak

of real joy. She put her arms about his neck and

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while everything seemed just right for the doing of

it, Ken hurried out to Cynthia’s car. Then with more

of his happy nonsense, he plopped her down on the

seat while he made funny fists at Thomas,

threatening him with impossible “what he wouldn’t

do to him if he didn’t hurry up and bring these

young ladies to the castle of the royal princess.”

Ken was very good at that sort of thing, and as

her car started off, Cynthia guessed why Carol liked

him. She did, too.

Carol was already in Ken’s car, and when he

slipped in beside her she gave him that look which

he prized more than “a barrel of words.”

“You’re swell, Ken,” she said, touching his hand

on the wheel.

“Don’t I know it?” he replied. “But look who’s

liking it.” So they put into their little nonsense the

genuine sincerity of true affection.

At the station house they met Officer Broadbent,

and at once plunged into the legal question of taking

a child away from the nursery without the consent of

the party who had brought her there.

“You see, Officer,” Carol insisted, “I just

couldn’t leave her there. They might break in and

steal her even tonight—”

“Easy, there, Carilla,” Ken warned her. “You

must hold on to yourself. We can’t have you going

to pieces.”

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“Oh, I know, Ken,” she quieted down. She could

feel things ready to snap, and, as Ken had warned

her, she knew that that must not happen.

“This thing of caring for strange babies is very

tricky,” Officer Broadbent broke in, his kind smile

and understanding eyes trying to make things easier

for the girl who stood before him almost trembling

with anxiety. “If you picked a poor child up off the

street and brought her to your home for shelter, the

law says you have no right to do that. You have to

bring her here to us, to the police station.”

“But we are going to take care of Penny,” the

young girl insisted. “Give her better care than she

could get in the nursery—” Tears seemed just ready

to spill down her cheeks now, and Ken took her arm

to insist that she would sit down, and “take it easy.”

“I’ll take care of it, Carol,” he whispered. “You

remember I have had some practice and know how

to investigate.”

“Oh, I know, Ken. But suppose they take her

away from Cynthia and bring her here—”

“About this baby’s mother,” the officer

questioned. “Is there no clue to who she is or why

she went away?”

“We have none,” Carol answered. “She just

brought the baby one day, then the next she sent her

with a messenger boy. A little note was pinned to

Penny’s few clothes sent in a bundle,” Carol went

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on. “And the strange part of it was, a line about

Penny having a better right at the nursery than other

children. We couldn’t make that out at all,” she

finished.

“That old haunted place has given this office

plenty of trouble,” the officer declared. “We were

glad when you folks took it up for something

practical. Before the nursery was started, folks from

all over were sending messages and calling up,

claiming to be Stingyman’s heirs. They think the

police department can work miracles.”

“Oh, then you have been having trouble before

that might explain the present outbreak of upsets?”

“I’ll say we have had; plenty,” answered the

officer. “But about the mother; where did she live?”

“I’m working on that, John,” Ken replied to the

officer, at which Carol looked up in sudden surprise.

“I’ve found where she lived, but she had only been

there less than two weeks and, of course, no one

knows where she went.”

“And the woman who came to the nursery last

night? Did she say she was the grandmother?”

pressed the officer.

“I wasn’t there when she came,” Carol answered,

“but the women at the nursery thought she was the

grandmother. She had a chauffeur and she said she

would get Penny—”

“These old ladies always say things,” the officer

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tried to reassure Carol, “but they’re no smarter than

the rest of us, I guess. I’ll go in and have a talk with

Judge Macy; he’s here now. And I’ll see if I can get

an order allowing you to continue the care of the

child until you hear from the mother,” he finished.

“Oh, if only you can!” Carol jumped up to him

impulsively.

“Here, here, young lady! This is Ken, that’s only

one of those there cops—” And they all had a little

laugh at that. “You can’t kiss cops, you know,” he

warned her.

“Ken!” exclaimed Carol, a bit flustered. “Don’t

be so silly.”

“I won’t,” he promised happily, “if you won’t.”

So Officer Broadbent went to Judge Macy with

the very fragmentary story of little Penny.

“Don’t worry,” Ken said as they waited. “They’ll

find plenty of good old law to back us up.”

“If they take that baby from us I’ll simply die,”

wailed Carol, who must have felt very much like

dying just then, even if they didn’t take Penny away.

As the door opened to another corridor a wild

scream, the voice of a young girl, tore through the

heavy building.

“Oh, Ken,” gasped Carol, “whatever is that?”

“A girl from the night court, probably,” he

answered.

“Why would she be screaming?” The wild cry

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still tore through the corridors.

“Sometimes they do it for effect and sometimes

they really are hysterical,” Ken answered. “Come

on; we’ll go outside—”

“Oh no, I’m all right here,” Carol protested. “But

those poor creatures, and so young.” The corridor

was in view now and the unfortunate persons who

had just been before Judge Macy in the night court,

were being led out by a matron and an officer.

“They have to be disciplined,” Ken explained.

“Sometimes girls get out of control, go riding in

strange cars, won’t go to school, won’t work. Of

course then the law must do something about

things.”

“Yes,” Carol murmured, as the girl who had been

screaming, deliberately stopped before the open

door, pulled off a little beret and waved it boldly at

Carol and Ken.

“So long!” she yelled. “See you in the movies.”

“Oh,” gasped Carol in disgust. “Isn’t she

dreadful!”

“Just showing off,” explained Ken. “She may not

be so bad. Here’s John back.”

And he was smiling, so they knew he had good

news.

“It’s all right,” John the officer, began. The Judge

says you can take care of the child as you see fit,

since she was left in your care. Here’s the paper to

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sign—”

“Oh, then we can leave her at Cynthia’s—no one

will possibly find her there—”

“The Judge asked about that. You think some one

really is looking for her?”

“Oh, yes. That woman who called at the nursery

certainly had been searching for Penny. They could

not see the car license, of course, but they saw the

woman. Annie and Mattie told me she looked as if

she had been traveling and—well, they felt she had

come from a distance,” Carol explained.

Ken was standing there listening, “with his eyes,”

as Carol often said, because Ken could show such

complete attention when he wanted to.

“Getting late, Kid,” he said gently.

“Oh, yes. We must go. I’ll have to call back to the

nursery and then I’ll have to report to Dad. But he

may be out, it’s so late,” Carol said ruefully.

“He’ll be here very soon,” said Officer

Broadbent. “He has something to finish up, left over

from this afternoon. Can’t I tell him anything for

you?” he offered.

“Oh, yes, if you will,” Carol answered quickly.

“Just say I’m with Ken—”

“That will make it all right,” laughed Ken.

“Ken, please,” the girl protested. “Just say I’m

with Ken because then Dad will know I’m right—”

“That’s what I just said,” Ken teased again. “Just

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say she’s with me, John, and watch what happens,”

Ken finished while Carol in despair, took the official

paper to sign, giving her, as “in charge of the

children at the Sunshine Day Nursery, permission to

care for the child, Penelope Brown, either at the

nursery or in other suitable quarters until further

court instructions may be arranged.”

“That’s all right,” Ken said after reading it over.

“Better let me take care of this for you, Carol. I have

quite a batch of papers in reference to the case and

it’s best to keep them together.”

“But we’ll have to broadcast for the mother as a

missing person,” said the officer. “We’ve got to find

the mother, of course.”

“To broadcast?” exclaimed Carol. “Oh, please

don’t do that. That would give the other parties their

clue, they would answer and then—”

“Yes, John,” agreed Ken. “Better not give this

case any publicity just yet. Let’s keep it as close as

we can until I get a few more facts—”

“Ken, you are counsel for the nursery, to serve

without pay. I hereby appoint you,” laughed Carol

happily.

“Watch your step,” warned the officer. “That old

Stingyman’s Alley place has been giving us some

trouble here lately,” he added mysteriously.

“Trouble!” exclaimed Carol.

“Come along, Kid,” ordered Ken, “or we will all

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be giving trouble. It looks to me as if tonight has as

full a program as the night of the fire had.”

“All right,” sighed the girl, as Ken led her out,

and the officer waved them good-night.

136

CHAPTER XVI

SPOOKS AND BROOMSTICKS

This time Ken would not listen to Carol when she

tried to tell him that eating was not in any way as

important as getting in touch with Annie and Mattie,

and even finding out how Cynthia and her family

were getting along with little Penny.

“All I will listen to is what you are going to eat; I

know the place,” Ken insisted.

“Oh, all right,” she finally gave in. “But you

heard what your John Broadbent said about our

nursery, the old Stingerman’s place,” she reminded

him, as he went straight for the restaurant with the

fresh lettuce and bright red apples in a shiningly

clean window.

“Haunted, you mean? Haunted by the kind of

ghosts who are trying to get little Penny, is my

guess,” he answered evenly.

“But those live ones are the worst kind. I

wouldn’t be afraid of the bony kind,” Carol

answered. “I always imagined a good strong word

would be enough to take care of real spooks, the

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skeletons, you know.”

When their meal was finished, Carol insisted

upon going back to the nursery. Ken, knowing it was

useless to oppose her, drove her once again over the

streets now dark under night’s shadows, where

evening street lights failed to completely break

through the factory gloom.

Annie was at the door; they could see her under

the porch light.

“Something’s up,” Carol predicted, “or Annie

would never be outside—”

“Watching for us, it seems,” Ken remarked,

turning in to the curb. As Annie saw them she

hurried inside.

“Oh, we’re so glad you’ve come,” Mattie

exclaimed as they entered. “What a time we’ve

had!”

“Another?” laughed Ken. “This is surely the

place for times; can’t seem to get enough of them.”

“What is it now, Mattie?” Carol begged to know

at once.

“We saw a man crawling out the back window

onto the little roof over the steps—” Annie began.

“But we heard him first,” Mattie corrected.

“Oh, yes, indeed we did, hear him. But this place

is over-run with queer things lately—”

“And we want to leave, tonight, Carol,” Mattie

said, a tone of apology in her voice.

138

“Leave tonight! With no one here to care for

things?” Carol asked in surprise.

“Well, we’re closed anyhow with the quarantine,”

Mattie pointed out, as Annie was speechless in her

position, the very idea of abandoning the nursery

seemed like treason to Annie. “We can go now

without leaving any single child uncared for,”

Mattie explained, reasonably enough.

“Yes, that’s so,” admitted Carol, her own voice

only an echo of its usual vibrancy.

Ken had wandered off into the little reception

room, leaving the women alone to settle their

troubles.

“We have everything all locked up.” Mattie

hurried to take advantage of the possibility of

leaving at once.

“And we thought, too,” Annie ventured this time,

“it might be safer for little Penny.”

“Yes. You mean they might come back again for

her?” Carol sort of mused aloud.

“Yes, they said they would, you know,” Mattie

reminded them.

“Perhaps they did come back,” Ken said, stepping

again into the group.

“Oh, no. These sounds came down the attic

stairs,” Mattie insisted in that slim voice always

used when spooks are mentioned.

“But we heard the step in the children’s room,”

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Annie reminded her.

“And when we started up stairs—”

“Did you have the courage to go up, you two here

all alone?” asked Ken.

“Indeed we did,” Mattie declared. “And if you

saw us! I had the carpet sweeper upside down, and

Annie, of course, had the broom.”

“Two brooms,” Annie corrected.

“Even if you had three I think you were very

brave,” Carol assured them.

“What—what was that?” whispered Mattie, for a

sound of some heavy, soft body had just plumped

down over their heads.

“My turn!” Ken whispered this time, starting on

tip-toes toward the hall door.

“Oh, please, Ken,” begged Carol, “don’t go

without us. Annie, where’s the flash light?”

Ken was sort of creeping along, although he was

upright and not crouched down. Every movement

was so cautiously taken he scarcely made a sound.

“Here, here!” Carol was putting the flash light in

his outstretched hand, the hand being back of him.

“Do be careful—”

But now he was hurrying, taking the stairs two

steps at a time, and it was Mattie who took hold of

Carol and urged her back into the dining room.

Annie was already safely in there and almost in the

closet, at that.

140

“Oh, dear!” the girl sighed. “Suppose, suppose

whoever it is they see him first—”

“Hush, dear. Ken knows how to take care of

himself—”

“But in the dark—”

A smashing, like that of a heavy piece of

crockery, made such an awful crash that Annie

rushed from her corner to get her arms around

Mattie.

“I must go up!” Carol cried. “We must all go.

Come on. We’re not cowards—”

“My broom,” breathed Annie in a quaking voice.

But Mattie Green, being a practical nurse by

profession, followed along after Carol and did not so

much as turn around to see whether “spooks” had

grabbed poor Annie, who had gone to the kitchen

for her trusty broom.

“Ken! Ken!” Carol called. “Are you all right—”

No answer, yet the room doors were open and

now the light was on in the upper hall. Carol and the

two women had suddenly become really frightened.

Where was Ken? He must hear them calling; they

had watched him dash up the stairs.

They were in front of the open dormitory door

now, and Carol switched on the light. Ken was

nowhere to be seen.

“Ken! Ken!” she cried frantically, but no answer

came, nothing but a sudden blast of wind from a

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window which must now be open, although it had

been left closed.

With the wind came a queer odor, like air

disturbing some long pent up mustiness.

“That’s from the attic,” Mattie said quickly. “Ken

must have gone up there.”

“Where’s the door?” Carol asked breathlessly.

“I’ve never been up there.”

“In the far corner. But if there’s any kind of

ghosts, dead or alive, I wouldn’t want to meet them

up there,” Annie said, a quaver in her voice.

“Come on,” Carol ordered. “Is the attic lighted?”

“Not at this end, but this a good flash light,”

Mattie reminded her. “Listen! What’s that?”

“Something up here,” Carol answered, already

beginning to find her way up the ladder-like steps

that led to the very top of the house, the attic.

Again she called: “Ken! Ken!”

No answer.

“Look,” Mattie pointed out. “There’s a little

window open over in that low place.”

“He must have gone out on the roof.” As Carol

said that she felt her heart turn over as if from a

sudden shock.

“Ken on the roof!” she was thinking. “Suppose—

oh, Ken!” she wailed this time, for she dared not

face her fears: that Ken might have fallen from the

high, sharply sloping roof, to the ground, or even to

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pavements below.

“Careful, dear,” Mattie cautioned, seeing even in

the dull light from the giant flash that the girl was,

herself, in danger of collapsing. “Don’t get excited,

dear. He may have gone out on the fire escape.”

“Fire escape! I didn’t know there was one. Oh,

perhaps he has gone down—”

Carol had poked her head out the very small

window, which like a dove-cote opened over one of

the old-fashioned pinnacles of the very old-

fashioned, and very much ornamented house.

“Do be careful, darling,” cried Annie, her broom

moving from one hand to the other, as if she were

afraid the spook might steal up on her from either or

both directions.

“Come over here and yell with me,” Carol called.

“It’s so black I can’t see a thing, and if we all shout

together he may hear us, if he’s any place within

hearing,” she ended ruefully.

“Ken!”

“Ken!”

“Ke-n-n-n!”

It was intended to be one call, but somehow the

women could not get started with Carol, so it trailed

out to three different calls with Annie’s doubling

back like an echo.

They waited. No answering sound came to them.

The light from Carol’s flash seemed to frighten

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Annie anew every time she moved it.

“Let me get hold,” she panted, seizing Mattie’s

skirt.

In turn, Mattie took hold of Carol’s little silk

dress, leaving scant room for the girl’s motions.

“We’ve got to go down,” Carol sighed. “He isn’t

here.”

“But we must close that window first,” Mattie

said. “The rain could pour in and spoil the ceilings

down stairs. Did you ever see such a poke hole of a

window!”

Carol aimed the light for Mattie’s crawling under

the moldy eaves. That separated Annie from her

mooring at Mattie’s skirt, and she stepped back

under a low rafter.

“Oh mercy!” came a scream from Annie. “My

throat! There’s something strangling me!”

A second later there was a soft thud and Annie

slid to the floor, panting as if something was really

choking her.

“Oh, Annie!” screamed Carol. “What is it? What

happened to you?”

“Don’t get excited,” said Mattie, who always said

just that. As if anyone could help getting excited.

“Wait, let me hold the flash— Oh, what was

that?” Carol drew back. “Something hit me. It’s an

electric bulb. See, this place is wired. I must find the

switch.”

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“Oh, save me! Save me!” wailed Annie, while

Mattie, now down beside her, was trying to find out

what had happened to her.

“There; there’s the light!” came a cry from Carol,

and, at that, the swinging bulb that had hit Carol in

the face, sent out its welcome glow.

145

CHAPTER XVII

BAGGING A GHOST

Moaning, her eyes closed, Annie lay there, too

frightened to move.

“My throat!” she moaned. “See—what’s got my

throat.”

In the light now, both Mattie and Carol could see

Annie’s throat as she lay there.

“Something like a string, a red string,” Carol

began. “But it is only a piece of string, Annie,” she

added quickly, at the same time taking from the

woman’s neck, just as she had said, a piece of red

string.

“Let’s see,” Mattie asked.

“Just string. Get up, Annie, please,” begged

Carol. “We have got to find Ken. He may be hurt.”

Mattie gave a hand and Annie cautiously got to

her feet with moans and groans about someone

trying to choke her.

“Someone tried to choke me,” she began again.

“Nonsense,” said Carol. “Look here; here are the

two ends of that string, you walked right through it,

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that’s all. We must not waste another second—”

“But I felt something cover my eyes,” protested

Annie, picking up her broom from where it had

fallen.

“Cobwebs,” Mattie told her. “Come along.

Someone else may actually be hurt, and we’re

wasting our time with strings and cobwebs,”

complained Mattie.

“Turn off the light,” called back Carol, as she

started down the ladder stairs.

Annie did limp a little; falling in a heap on a

rough attic floor will do that. And she could not at

once get over her fright, so she grunted at the places

she had just been moaning about.

Carol did not wait for those following her, but

kept right on down the next flight of stairs, giving

calls for Ken as she hurried along.

“Please wait for us,” called Mattie, alarmed that

the young girl might run into danger, for it seemed

certain now that Ken had encountered something,

whether ghost or human intruder, that he had had

trouble with.

“I’m going out back,” called Carol. “I must see if

anything has happened—”

She was in the rear hall and now darted through

the kitchen to the other door that opened into the

yard. While she was tugging at the bolt there the two

women caught up with her.

147

“Dear child,” came another warning from Mattie,

“you must think of yourself. You’ll go all to

pieces—”

But Carol had the door opened and was peering

out into the strange blackness that night settles upon

high fenced city backyards.

“Look!” she cried. “Over there! That light—”

“Yes,” Mattie breathed. “It’s shaped like a—like

a—”

“Like—a—star!” exclaimed the girl. “And see!

It’s moving—”

“And look at that moving!” called out Annie.

“That’s a pair of legs. Let me get inside—”

“Ken!”

“Hello. Think I was lost?”

“Think you were!”

“Come inside, Mr. Powell,” Mattie begged,

plainly trying to get them all away from sight of the

mysterious starlike light that was still moving very

slightly away down in the corner of the big lot.

“Ken, Ken, did you see—that?” Carol cried,

getting hold of the young man’s arm and turning

him to look toward the strange lighted star. It was

bright and round as the bottom of a big dishpan.

“That’s it!” cried Ken, breaking away from them.

“Let me—get—at—that—”

He bounded away toward the thing that now

barely gleamed in the corner, and, dodging past the

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children’s sandpiles and little wheel barrows, he was

quickly making his way to that dark corner.

“It’s gone!” Carol said, rather gratefully.

“Good thing,” breathed Annie, who was plainly

no ghost scout.

“But there’s no way to get out of that corner in

the board fence,” Mattie said.

“Ghosts do not need gates,” said Annie dryly,

“and my poor neck still feels funny.”

“Come on in, Ken,” called out Carol. “I’m just

about ready to drop.”

Which was no exaggeration, for not only had she

had a hard day but the night’s work had been even

harder.

Reluctantly Ken came back to the house. “I

chased that thing up the attic, down the fire escape,

all over the lot—”

“What was it?” demanded Carol.

“Well, it could run, and it could walk, and it

looked like a lighted up animal or something—”

“Mr. Powell,” Annie interrupted, “you’re all in,

and ready to drop. Let the spook go; we’ve seen

more than one, me and Mattie, and you bet your life

we didn’t go chasin’ them either. We were glad

when they skedaddled,” she finished, giving vent to

her old-fashioned way of talking because, perhaps,

her tired nerves had gone back on her when the red

rope in the attic, tried “to cut her throat.”

149

“Tell us, Ken,” begged Carol, “do tell us. We just

can’t wait another second—”

“Better sit down there on the old divan,” Mattie

advised, “or you won’t have to wait.”

They took her advice. Ken shook his head and ran

his strong hands through his unruly hair.

“It beats me,” he admitted. “I knew it was no use

to send out a police alarm now; they would only

scare everyone in the neighborhood again,” he

declared. “Besides, I want to bag that little

Christmas tree ghost myself: he’s just my size.”

“Ghost!” scorned Carol.

“Sure; why not?” Ken insisted. “How do we

know there isn’t a variety of ghosts, just specially

suited for hunting in the attics of old Stingerman’s

Alley? At any rate, I saw one up there.”

“You did?” gasped the girl on the divan beside

him. Annie and Mattie had taken their places in two

chairs close enough not to miss a syllable of Ken’s

weird story.

“Well, if I didn’t there was something hopping

around up there very different from any human

being I ever saw before. First, it would shine out in

one corner, then in another before I could reach it.

Finally, all lights were out, I mean those phantom

star lights and I heard something on the fire escape.”

“Fire escape? Then that is one by the attic

window?” Carol asked.

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“Certainly; the law requires it, when building

houses other than for tenants or owners, and this is a

nursery, my dear girls.”

“Oh, yes, so it was,” retorted Carol, “but is no

more. Then, did you actually see anything on the fire

escape?” she asked.

“Something black, like an animal—”

“Oh, do let’s be goin’,” begged Annie who, it was

very plain, liked her ghost stories out of books or at

least, at a good safe distance.

“Indeed we had better get started,” Mattie joined

in. “Our folks will be wondering—”

“Just turn your keys and come back tomorrow to

wind things up,” Ken suggested in his efficient way.

“Really closing our nursery?” sighed Carol, in

dismay.

“Nothing else to do,” Annie declared promptly.

“No money, children quarantined—”

“And the place infested with ghosts,” Ken added,

as he would. “Come along, ladies. We’ve got a

rumble seat and we’ll take you home.”

“Oh, that will be fine. Everything’s locked. We

were all ready before you came,” Annie said. She

certainly did want to get away from that place

quickly.

But Carol felt very differently about it. She

wandered into the darkened class room, put her

hands tenderly on the little chairs, took some of the

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children’s cherished exhibits from the old mantle,

until finally Ken went in, took her arm gently and

told her the others were ready.

“And if you start to cry, Carilla,” he teased “I’ll

dash off and leave you here to have a fine time with

the old Stingyman’s ghosts.”

“But, Ken, it really does mean a lot,” she said

under her breath.

“Certainly,” agreed the young lawyer, “but it may

mean a lot more—when I bag that ghost.”

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CHAPTER XVIII

THE GIRLS DECIDE

After “dropping off” Annie and Mattie, the two

friends, Ken and Carol, found a few minutes to talk

privately about the day’s strange developments.

“But that thing whatever it was, was looking for

something up in the attic; wasn’t he, Ken?” asked

Carol.

“Sure thing,” Ken answered dryly.

“Then we have got to look up there—”

“For what?”

“How could we know—”

“Then how could you look?”

“Of course. I see what you mean. The attic is full

of all sorts of truck and we would have to know

what we are looking for, wouldn’t we? And there

isn’t a clue—”

“First, and much more important, we must do

something to find the baby’s mother,” Ken said.

They were nearing Carol’s home and it was far too

late to stay outside to talk.

“Whatever can we do?” Carol’s voice and manner

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reflected complete discouragement.

“You have the messenger boy’s number? The one

who brought Penny to the nursery? And you said he

found her wandering away the night of the fire?”

“Oh, yes. And I did expect to talk to him to find

out if he knew any more about Penny and her

mother, but I just couldn’t get to it. Oh, Ken, you

have been such a help—”

“Why not? That’s what little boys are for, you

know, Carilla,” and Ken risked his wheel’s direction

by taking one hand from it to lay over Carol’s.

“Besides, that,” he added, “I just love this; this is my

first real case, you know,” and he laughed lightly at

his own presumption.

“For that matter, I guess it’s mine too,” the girl

replied. “And it’s too late to phone Cynthia. Oh,

well, I’m sure Penny is all right. Cynthia’s folks will

be just crazy about that baby.”

“Now remember,” Ken warned in saying

goodnight to her, “you are not to do anything

without consulting your lawyer. That is, nothing

important.”

“Joking aside, Ken, this has become a very

complicated case. But the thing I’m most worried

about is Penny’s safety. I’m sure they’ll trace her if

they can.”

“You mean the old lady with the chauffeur, who

calls at midnight? They are the ‘Theys’ you have

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reference to. Well, what I’m most worried about is

the ghost in the attic; that is my ‘It.’ And I’ve got to

get that ‘It’ if I have to camp out in the deserted

nursery and take a midnight watch.”

“Oh, Ken,” Carol said in quick alarm, “you

wouldn’t really stay there alone all night?”

“Oh, no. Don’t worry, Carilla. If I feel I must stay

there I’ll get Annie with her broom to guard me.”

“No indeed, you will not. You’ll get me and

Cynthia. We know about things down there that

could never be routed out with a broom,” Carol

insisted.

“All right; I’ll remember. That’s why you pretend

to be so alarmed about my safety, is it?” he teased.

And soon after that Carol was actually in her own

room, having reached that haven of refuge without

waking her father, while Ken was whistling his way

home in the little car that knew all his secrets.

But this new one was growing more important

with every turn of the wheels.

“Something to catch that prowls, whether man or

beast,” he decided referring, of course, to the attic

spook. “But I wouldn’t want those two reckless girls

to go at it without help being near.” He paused at

that. Carol was just enthusiastic enough and

determined enough to do a thing like that. She and

the new nursery helper, Cynthia Van Note, might

just take it into their heads to go down there and

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watch. And whatever or whoever the thing was—

that seemed like a fallen star, with most of the points

knocked off—was not the thing for young girls to

meet up with; Ken was sure of that.

“But I’ve got a lot of office work to do

tomorrow,” he recalled, “and after class work in the

afternoon there’s that special lecture.”

So he was obliged to postpone any more nursery

investigating until some of his own inescapable

duties would have been attended to.

But the girls, of course, could barely wait for their

chance at the telephone next morning. It was

Cynthia who complained that the housekeeper didn’t

have to park on the phone for a whole half hour just

to order “a few” groceries, while she, Cynthia,

waited.

“Oh, she slept like a top,” Cynthia finally got a

chance to tell Carol on the phone, referring to

Penny, of course, “although I never did see why tops

should sleep better than anything else.”

This little joke gave both girls a chance for a

happy laugh, and it was only when Carol tried to

relate something about the ghost in the attic story

that they settled down to their very serious business.

“You see, Cynthia,” she said, “our nice officer,

John Broadbent, wanted to broadcast the mother as

missing, but I begged him not to do that. Because

then the other folks, who ever they are, would get

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busy and go to the police themselves.”

“Would that do any harm?” Cynthia asked.

“It might. The judge might decide these folks, if

they are really relations, could take Penny until her

mother is found.”

“But I can’t see what harm that might do,”

Cynthia questioned, “although she’s such a dear.

Our folks are just crazy about her. Mother said she

bet father would break his record and be late at the

office today. And mother is on the other phone right

now, calling up the ladies to tell them their nursery

is closed, and how do they like that?”

“Poor Hugo and his measles started something,

didn’t they?” Carol remarked. “I hope the poor kid

is getting along all right. And, Cynthia, I almost

forgot our real nursery business in all this

excitement. Will you ask your mother if she will ask

our board to make arrangements with the South Side

Nursery to take in our children temporarily? We did

that for them when they had some scarlet fever

cases. We pay them something, of course.”

“But I thought we were broke,” Cynthia reminded

her.

“We are. But taking the children in for the city

the night of the fire will bring us a contribution from

the City’s Fund, and that will be a help.”

So with this lengthy and businesslike

conversation on the phone, Cynthia could hardly

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blame others for “parking on the wires,” and

presently they did manage to postpone further talk

until meeting. But everything seemed so very

important that even the space of a half day’s time

could not be underestimated.

It was a few days later that Carol’s messenger

boy, Number Nine, named Dick Ranson, found her

at her home as she was on the point of leaving to go

out with Cynthia.

He had a message addressed to the telegraph

service with his own name and number on it. This

was to be delivered to Carol Duncan at the Sunshine

Day Nursery, Personal.

“However did you find out where I lived?” Carol

asked the boy, taking his message anxiously.

“I saw Ken Powell’s car out here, so I asked him

at his office,” the smart boy explained.

“Oh,” said the girl quizzically. “Thanks,” and she

hurried in to read her message.

“From Mrs. M. Brown. Oh, that’s Penny’s

mother,” she told herself. Then she read: “Take care

of my baby and keep her safe for me. Do not let any

one take her no matter who they say they are. I hope

to be able to come back for her soon.”

There were a few words of thanks and a few more

of confidence, then the name of Mrs. M. Brown was

given.

“What a relief,” sighed Carol. “Now we know we

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are right in hiding Penny. This shows the mother

trusts us and will come back for her as soon as she

can.”

Cynthia came along presently in her own little

sport car, and then the two discussed this new

development.

“We have a court order and now this is a new and

definite order from the mother,” Carol pointed out.

“I’d like to see the old lady with the earrings get

Penny now.”

“Or any one else, if my mother and dad get any

deeper in love with her. You would think I had

suddenly presented them with a grandchild the way

they act,” Cynthia declared uproariously.

“I’m glad you are not finding it too much of a

job,” Carol commented. “Children can made a lot of

trouble.”

“But not Penny. Dad calls her Centy, just to

change Penny, and mother calls her Angel, of

course.”

“Do you know that’s a good idea,” Carol said

quickly. “We should avoid calling her Penny as

there’s no telling when someone might overhear,

you know.”

With this phase of their problems cared for they

made plans for their own ghost hunt at the nursery,

just as Ken suspected they would. And so secret

were their arrangements that, as quickly as they

159

settled upon a plan, they kept it strictly to

themselves.

“But that star-light thing,” Cynthia was saying

now, “what might it be? We ought to be able to

guess what it might be; don’t you think so?”

“But, Cyn, we all saw it flutter around in the dark,

going like a streak and even then we couldn’t

guess.”

“Ken heard it; did he say it made a noise like man

or beast?”

“He didn’t try to classify the noise,” Carol

answered, “but he said it was his size ghost and he

was going to get it.”

“Well, that part is all right,” Cynthia agreed in her

dry way, “if he will just let us get what the ghost is

after.”

160

CHAPTER XIX

TOO DANGEROUS TO BE WISE

Just to make sure that all concerned had a hand in

the mystery of little Penny’s desertion, the next turn

came to Mr. Duncan, Carol’s father in his

newspaper office.

The first edition of the big city paper had just

come off the presses and, as usual, the men were

scanning its pages to see if their stories were all

right. Mr. Duncan was glancing over the deaths on

the small ads. page, when his eye caught a personal.

He read it twice. Then he hurried to the desk.

“This ad, Jim,” he said to the city editor, “should

not have been printed. It’s a reflection on the

Sunshine Day Nursery.”

“How?” asked Editor Jim, pushing back his green

eye shade.

Mr. Duncan slammed down the paper and was

making more fuss than is ever expected from a

veteran news man.

“This personal says that the young women at the

Sunshine Day Nursery are warned they must give up

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the child they are hiding, or legal action will be

taken.”

“Why, that’s a good story. Felix, why don’t you

give it to us?” the editor asked, “if you know about

it?”

“Sure it’s a good story. But my daughter is the

one that has that baby in charge and she has an order

from Judge Macy to do so. But I’ve got to get this

ad. killed, I’ll tell you the story a little later—”

“Run upstairs to Dave and maybe he’ll take it out

for you. But an ad. is an ad, you know.

“Yes. I know, but this ad. is a reflection on my

girl—” and Felix Duncan was now waiting

impatiently for the elevator to take him up to the

composing room.

There he found Dave, the foreman, so busy with

the second edition of the paper that nothing less than

sheer force even gained his attention.

“Kill an ad? What do you think—”

“Yes, kill it, you’ve got to, Dave.”

“But what’s going to happen down in the

business office when the people who put that ad.

in—”

“See here, Dave. Does this paper take ads. that

reflect on persons’ characters?”

“Never knew it to. There’s a law on that.”

“Exactly. Well, you kill the ad. and I’ll take care

of the business office,” declared Carol’s father, all

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out of breath and out of every thing except a fit of

seething indignation.

Dave promptly reset the ad. so that the next

edition of that paper carried no threat “To the girls

who are hiding the baby.”

Those papers that had been “run off” in the first

edition would not be distributed in the city but

carried out into the country, and Mr. Duncan knew

the strange ad. could make no trouble for Carol out

there.

It was well his afternoon’s work had been

finished and he “was up,” as they say in news

offices, for this matter was certainly cutting in to his

time. From the composing room he had to hurry

down to the business office on the street floor.

There he explained to Mr. Dodd, the head of

advertising.

“Can’t see why anyone took that personal without

asking about it,” Mr. Dodd decided. “Certainly it

reflects on the Day Nursery. Sorry, Felix, but I guess

you caught it in time.”

“And when anyone comes in to kick about it

being left out, just hold them a few minutes. Judge

Macy would like to get at the back of this

blackmailing scheme, whatever it is,” Mr. Duncan

told the business office.

“It certainly is interesting, Felix,” Mr. Dodd

assured him, “and you have a fine daughter to

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interest herself in such work. Most girls think what

they call fun is life’s greatest game, but they really

don’t know what they are missing.” Mr. Dodd was a

quiet little man, but when he said anything he meant

it.

So Carol and Cynthia had no idea that they had

been called upon in public print in the city’s largest

newspaper, to produce little Penny or—else! And

Mr. Duncan had no idea of telling them either, that

is not yet, at any rate.

It was just getting dark two days later, when

Cynthia and Carol started for the nursery. They

wanted “to have a look over the place” when neither

Annie with her broom, nor Mattie with her good

advice, were there to interfere. Carol had her key.

They stepped inside the dreary hall confidently.

“Put on the light,” Carol told Cynthia.

But touching the button brought no light.

“Can the ladies have turned it off so soon?” Carol

asked in surprise.

“Can they? Why, Carilla dear, I wonder the doors

aren’t bolted from the inside,” laughed Cynthia.

“You should have heard mother on the phone this

morning. You would think she was calling off the

war.”

“I must speak to Ken before he leaves his office,”

Carol said, going to the phone in the hall. She

picked up the receiver.

164

“Dead,” she announced, “dead as a doornail.”

Cynthia gave a rippling laugh in reply. To her,

Carol’s astonishment at the complete dismantling of

the nursery’s equipment, seemed funny.

“Those precious ladies. I wouldn’t wonder but

they were tickled to death when they heard we were

shutting down; they wanted to do it long ago,

mother says. But you, little Carol, just wouldn’t let

them.”

“No,” said Carol solemnly. “We better move

about and get a look down here while we have light

enough,” she suggested, at the same time walking

toward the deserted kitchen.

“Oh, look!” Cynthia exclaimed, “whatever is that

all over the floor?”

They looked. A thick, white coating was all over

the place, and through it were long, heavy streaks.

Carol touched it with her finger tips.

“Flour!” she exclaimed. “Annie’s precious half

barrel of flour. Someone tried to steal it—”

“And it leaked all over,” Cynthia finished.

“But those marks? They look as if something had

been dragged through it,” Carol noticed, for the

heavy white coating of flour was marked with broad

streaks, as if something like a great heavy shoe had

been drawn through it.

“And look here, over by the backstairs,” called

Cynthia.

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“It fell there, whatever it was,” said Carol. “See

that sprawl—”

“And look at that funny shape—”

They were trying to keep off the marks and at the

same time examine them.

“Those—points—”

“The star!” exclaimed Carol. “See, that point and

this point—”

“Come,” whispered Cynthia, suddenly showing

alarm. “We must get out of here. It’s almost dark—”

“Yes, we must,” Carol agreed. “No phone, no

lights; this is no place for two little girls,” she tried

to joke, but there was no laughter in her words.

“Listen!” whispered Cynthia, for certainly sounds

were coming from someplace.

“Oh, no, let’s go. It’s too—spooky,” and that

word was not more than a hum. “I am—scared.”

“So am I,” Cynthia admitted. They hurried to the

door while a banging noise, certainly a door

slamming, warned them they were on dangerous

territory.

Breathlessly they got into Cynthia’s car. Both

were willing to admit they were pretty well scared,

for the nursery intruder, whoever or whatever it

might be, was certainly bold and reckless and, in

form at least, seemed inhuman.

The car started but the girls remained silent. The

sinister influence that had so suddenly come upon

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Carol’s precious nursery left her well shaken, while

to Cynthia the adventure in Stingyman’s Alley was

quite as exciting as she, new in charity work and its

various surprises, could ever have dreamed of

encountering.

“Don’t worry, Carol,” she said finally, “we’ll get

him.”

“I wonder,” answered Carol.

“Just look at our shoes, covered with Annie’s

flour— Oh, Carol,” Cynthia exclaimed, “There’s a

piece of paper on your shoe, and I think there’s

writing on it.”

Carol lifted her foot into reach and gingerly

picked off the bit of paper. It was just a scrap but

there were marks on it.

“Hope it isn’t catching,” she remarked, as

Cynthia slowed down the car. “Look! Directions!

These scrawls—”

“I’ll pull in,” Cynthia offered.

With the car stopped they went at deciphering the

scrawls and scratches on the bit of paper. Stairs were

easy to make out, and dashes made with a poor

pencil gave lines marked “top.”

“That’s the attic,” Carol ventured. “See, the two

flights of stairs and then the top.”

“And that crooked mark, is that word shelf?”

Cynthia wondered.

“Guess it is, it’s spelled ‘self,’ but it must mean

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shelf. You know that big hanging shelf Annie hit her

head against?”

So they studied the dirty bit of paper, but a mark,

evidently meant to be a small circle, very plainly

leading directly from one of the blackest of the lines,

was a complete puzzle to them both.

“Whatever that is—”

“It might be a jug or a lamp, or an old vase,

anything round,” mused Cynthia.

“Or the chimney hole, that would be round,”

pursued Carol.

“Your Ken will have a grand time with this,”

Cynthia suggested. “Put it away, we must go along.

I’ve got to bring those canned fresh vegetables for

Penny’s supper.”

“I’ll wrap the thing in a handkerchief,” Carol

said. “I’m sure it’s just crawling with bugs.” So she

spread out her handkerchief and wrapped the be-

smudged slip of paper in it.

“Well, our trip brought us some results,” Cynthia

attempted to cheer her.

“It’s just too absurd,” Carol broke out suddenly.

“Our nice, quiet little nursery to be in this mess.”

She stopped as their car rumbled by a tenement in

which she knew some of their children would be

eating something they would be calling supper. “But

we can’t be sentimental; the message from Penny’s

mother should soon be followed by a real letter,

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don’t you think so?”

“Or better still by the mother herself,” suggested

Cynthia.

“We can’t go back there alone now,” Carol said

ruefully. “That would be foolish. I can’t understand

why girls in girls’ stories are always made to do

such perfectly ridiculous things; just as if girls

would be such fools,” she finished, a little peevishly.

“Exactly what I think,” joined in Cynthia. “It

seems to be braver to keep out of danger than to

dash into it. Unless, of course, there is a call to take

chances.”

“Much more sensible, at any rate,” Carol

finished. “But we had better not crow,” she added.

“We haven’t caught the star-thief yet.”

“Nor found out what he is looking for in the attic

of old Stingyman’s mansion,” Cynthia reminded

her.

169

CHAPTER XX

COMPLICATIONS

At three different places all at the same time, the

mystery of Penny Brown and her part in the mystery

of Stingyman’s Alley was working into that tangle

which can only be unwound by reaching a climax.

At Cynthia Van Note’s home, her mother was

calling up the police. At Carol Duncan’s home she

was calling all over the city, hoping to locate Ken,

and at Police Headquarters Mr. Duncan was telling

his friend, Officer John Broadbent, that his hope of

getting hold of those persons who were threatening

the child, and who tried through his paper to

threaten Carol, had not yet been realized.

No one had come into the office to complain

about the ad. which he had caused to be left out of

his paper, so he and John Broadbent decided “the

parties involved knew better than to stick their own

heads into the net.”

Cynthia’s mother had called up the police

because she felt sure a man was lurking around her

home watching their movements. She explained

170

over the phone, that a strange man had asked for

coffee at the tradesmen’s door. Nanette, the baby’s

new nurse, later complained that a man, answering

the description of the one who came to the door, had

stopped her to ask a direction, when she had gone

down the back drive to a letter box on the Old Road

near the gate.

Thomas, the Van Note chauffeur, added to the

complaints by declaring loose papers and paper bags

evidently soiled by food were constantly being

littered about the back gate, and it was his belief

“that some one was parking out there for no good

purpose.”

Answering Mrs. Van Note’s request, a man was

sent out from police headquarters to look over the

Van Note grounds. He soon reported he had found

nothing amiss, nothing suspicious, and told

Cynthia’s mother they were all probably over

nervous about having little Penny to care for, and

that he felt sure they would not be bothered any

further. What he reported to Mr. Van Note,

Cynthia’s father at his office, however, did not

exactly agree with that, for he suggested keeping a

watchman around handy all the time until the child’s

identity had been established and regular guardians

appointed, if, of course, the mother did not return to

claim Penny, herself.

Carol did not reach Ken that night after she and

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Cynthia had run into the flour shower in the nursery

kitchen, because Ken was busy at his own law work,

copying tiresome records of old cases which he

hated. But since law is founded on facts of many

years records, all law students must go through that

unpleasant routine.

But he did manage to meet Carol next day at

lunch time, when she was so “bubbling over” with

accounts of recent happenings that he declared her

eyes were popping out of her head.

“But I like them that way,” he added to the

criticism. “They look like blue flowers with the sun

shining through.”

“Don’t be silly, Ken, and do listen,” she begged.

“What do you really think of that big figure made in

the flour? It was over by the back stair door and—”

“That’s where the ape fell; he is pretty clumsy,

you know,” Ken replied rather seriously.

“Ape! You don’t really think it is an ape, Ken?

They’re dreadful things; stronger than man.”

“Oh, no; I was only kidding. That’s no ape. I was

close enough on his trail from the attic to make out

that much. Let’s see your paper again.”

“Oh, it’s too dirty to handle at the table,” Carol

objected. “I couldn’t disinfect it without blotting it

all up.”

“I never take germs from notes,” Ken joked.

“Let’s have another look.”

172

“You’re welcome to keep it,” Carol replied,

holding out the bit of paper, which was wrapped in a

covering of tissue paper. “I made a copy of it, so you

can have this.”

“Smart girl,” Ken remarked. “But you know,

Carilla,” his voice was serious, “I thought you two

girls understood you were not to go alone into that

nursery, or I should say, the haunted house of

Stingyman’s Alley. That isn’t a bit smart.”

“I know, Ken, and I agree with you, it is very

silly of any girl to run into danger needlessly. But

you see, we didn’t know the phone had been

disconnected and we didn’t know the lights had

been turned off; I mean the power, of course,” she

finished.

“But you did know I asked you—oh, well never

mind. Let’s not fight.” He was studying the wrinkled

paper that Carol’s shoe had picked up from the

flour-covered floor.

The girl smiled approval. Ken was a good friend

and more than that, he had an ever ready supply of

irresistible good nature.

“I’m sure you’ll find a hidden treasure box if you

can make out those directions,” she said. “Whatever

or whoever left their picture on the kitchen floor

surely was after something valuable.”

“Good reasoning,” he answered absently. “This

all means the attic, and this round ring or what

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evidently was meant for a round ring, seems to be

under a shelf.”

“That’s just how I figured it. But as you said, we

have got to know what we’re looking for before we

look,” Carol said decidedly.

“Well, we can look for something round,” he

suggested. “This mark here, all smudged up, is not

only almost round but the word round is written near

it.”

They both studied the characters closely, in fact,

so closely that Carol had allowed her soup to get

cold. So she turned to finish her lunch, while Ken

with his pencil and a fresh piece of paper drew lines

and made notes.

“Did you tell your friend, Officer Broadbent,

about chasing the fallen star?” Carol asked.

“No, I didn’t. I decided I’d first have another try

at that hunt myself. The cops always stir things up

and we must keep all of this as quiet as we can.

Have you heard any more from Penny’s mother?” he

asked.

“No, and I’ve been expecting to. Suppose she’s

fooling us; suppose she doesn’t intend to come back

for Penny?” Carol reasoned.

“You mean she might be abandoning the child? If

she was, why should she have sent any message?

Why not keep out of it?”

“That’s so, it wouldn’t make sense, would it? But

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you know, Ken, I feel as if I had been wound up in a

knot with the ends lost. There’s the thing that Annie

and Mattie declare has been haunting the nursery for

months and now we have proof it actually is there.

Then, there’s the people trying to get Penny—you

know, Mrs. Van Note called the police to do

something about prowlers. She says they are

frightening folks at her house.”

“My guess is they are after Penny in earnest now,

and of course, finding the nursery closed, they’ll be

sure to trace her,” Ken added.

“However can they do all that? If that woman,

who came to the nursery so late that night

demanding Penny, is working against the young

woman who claims to be Penny’s mother, and if she

is the one who is making this trouble, she must

have’ a big motive in doing all this,” Carol declared.

“You’re right there. No one would go into a game

like this without having something worth while at

stake,” Ken agreed. “But again, you know, family

hatred is always a deadly weapon.”

“You mean the old lady might hate the young

lady?”

“And who knows whether little Penny belongs to

either of them?” Ken argued.

Carol sighed as she pushed her plate aside. Their

lunch was finished, or at least they were finished

with it, and presently they were ready to leave.

175

“You remember in that first note about Penny, the

mother wrote that Penny had a good right to be

cared for at the nursery? That puzzle has never

shown the least ray of being cleared up. Why ever

should any child have a right there?” again Carol

questioned.

“Mystery number one hundred,” answered Ken.

“But one thing is certain; you were wise to close the

place and wise to give over the child to the Van

Notes; she is in good care there. The other angle,

that sneak thief looking for something ‘round’ in the

attic, is quite another thing. You girls better keep out

of that, as I said before.”

“And leave the glory of solving the mystery to

you,” Carol added. “Well, that’s perfectly all right

with us, Ken. Neither Cynthia nor I have any

longing for meeting up personally with the original

of the picture on the kitchen floor. Wasn’t there a

song long ago that had something about a picture on

a floor?” she asked reflectively.

“I think there was, but as I recall, it was not made

in good unadulterated flour, nor was it on a kitchen

nursery floor.” Ken had paid their check and they

were leaving.

“I’m to meet Cynthia—here she comes,” Carol

announced as the familiar little green sport car

swung into the curb. “Isn’t that a pretty car?”

“Yeah,” said Ken pointedly, “but in some ways I

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like mine best.”

“So do I,” the girl smilingly told him. For Ken’s

car, old, battered and uncertain as to getting places,

meant more to both of them than the new roadster

which merely meant money and mileage to Cynthia.

Ken greeted Cynthia pleasantly, handed Carol

into the car, and with a cheery word was soon

hurrying away, to get back to the dusty tomes of the

legal historians.

“I thought I’d never get here,” breathed Cynthia

quickly as Carol sat beside her. “I’ve just been

watching a fight. And your nice little messenger

boy, Dick Ranson, was certainly getting the worst of

it.”

“A fight!” repeated Carol. “Whatever were they

fighting about?”

“I haven’t an idea, except the other fellow, he was

a queer looking duck and no favorite with the boys

standing around, I judge, tried to bang our Dick with

his stilts. Seems he had been stilting around, and

when the messenger boy came along on his wheel,

minding his own business, the queer looking fellow

deliberately put out one of his stilts to trip him up.”

“I don’t blame Dick Ranson for going for him,”

Carol commented. “I suppose the other fellow was

one of the so-called big boys, who hang around

down there.”

“Yes, that was the type. Let’s drive back that way

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and see if it is all over. The fellow on the stilts had a

queer kind of foot; perhaps that was why he was

trying to be so smart,” Cynthia commented.

“Yes; often the handicapped children seem to

want to take revenge on others. That’s because they

have never been taught to make the best of their

weaknesses, and that’s where our nurseries help

such a lot. I sound like a loud speaker, don’t I?” she

apologized, “but I do so hate to see children’s lives

spoiled just for the sake of a little chance that would

adjust them.”

Here Cynthia turned her car into the dingy factory

district. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed, “there, that’s the

fellow talking to the chauffeur of that big car ear.

See how earnestly they’re talking,” she pointed out.

The queer looking boy with his stilts, and the

smartly uniformed chauffeur, seemed to be talking

very earnestly indeed.

178

CHAPTER XXI

TROUBLE ON STILTS

They drove slowly and close to the curb. The boy

with the deformed foot, who had his stilts under his

arm, now was listening to the chauffeur. In a

dominating way with plenty of gestures he seemed

to be “laying down the law,” to the boy, as Ken

might have expressed it.

“Giving him orders,” murmured Carol.

“Yes, and giving him money,” added Cynthia.

“See the bills?”

So intent were the chauffeur and the boy, they did

not notice the car slowing up to a standstill on the

other side of the street. They were in the street, not

on the curb side, which afforded the girls a clear

view of their actions. The uniformed chauffeur with

the big car seemed out of place in the transaction of

business with the boy, who was certainly an odd

type even for that neighborhood. And it was plain to

the girls on the opposite side of the street, that the

man was giving the boy money. But for what?

“Not likely a relative or they would not be

179

dickering in the street,” said Cynthia in her direct,

businesslike way. “I’ll bet he’s bribing the hoodlum

for something.”

“Of course he is the one who was fighting with

our Dick Ranson, isn’t he, Cyn?”

“Of course, and they’re the very stilts he tried to

trip him up with,” Cynthia answered. “Wait, the car

is going. We’ll ask the boy—something.”

“But what?” inquired Carol, uneasily.

“Oh, just something. Why not ask him why the

nursery is closed?”

“Boy!” called out Carol as the car cleared off.

“Come over here a minute.”

“Huh! Me! Whatta yer want?” But he was not

coming across the street. Few cars were passing on

the factory highway so they could easily call back

and forth.

“What is the nursery over there closed for?”

Cynthia ventured.

“Nursery!” He straightened his stilts and sprang

up on them like a cat might spring from branch to

branch in a tree. “Whatta I know about that ole

shack? Maybe the ghosts scared ’em away.”

“Come here a minute,” coaxed Carol. “Can you

buy us a paper—” That idea was a wild guess, but

she imagined money for anything, even for a paper,

might coax him over.

It did. He hiked over the street on those queer

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stilts which were not high but low, bringing his feet

only a little distance from the ground and fitting

under his arms like crutches.

“Where’s the money?” he demanded quickly.

“I’ll getcha paper.”

Cynthia took a dime from her purse but held it in

her hand. He was not going to get it as easily as all

that, and then stomp off on the sawed-off stilts.

“Did you say there were ghosts in the old

nursery?” she pressed cautiously.

“Ghosts me eye,” he sneered. “But it’s shut, ain’t

it?”

“Yes, and we were looking for—”

“A pretty kid with doll curls? You and who else?

Where’s de paper money?”

“Who else?” asked Carol.

“Say, what is dis? You one of dem school women

cops? Well, ask me sometin’ else. I don’t know

nuttin about old Stingyman’s castle,” and the black

look that came over his malevolent face was a

warning to his questioners.

“Here’s a dime,” offered Cynthia, “and never

mind the paper. We’ll find a stand at the station.

How did you make out in your fight? Did you lick

him?” Carol gave Cynthia a look of surprise as she

said that, but Cynthia answered it with one

completely reassuring.

“Did I? That smart aleck. Always buttin’ into my

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business. Next time he won’t get off so easy,” the

boy threatened.

“What did he do?” pressed Cynthia, as the boy

fingered the dime greedily.

“Buttin’ in, smart aleck, always tryin’ to be a boy

scout. But he better watch out” and he leaned

against a tree to wave one stilt dangerously. “I don’t

need no gun, not while I have the good old stilts,” he

said mysteriously, and then, as a couple of cars came

into sight he stalked off, his queer figure skirting the

curb until he was in front of a store. Then he hopped

up,, crossed the pavement and shot into a doorway.

“Let’s see what that place is,” Carol suggested as

Cynthia started her car slowly in that direction.

There was no mistaking what the place was, for

the windows were screened with common theatre

advertisements and a sign swung out from the door.

“Oh, that’s the Ironbound Tavern,” Carol

remarked. “I’ve often heard the nursery children say

their fathers spent too much money there,” she

recalled a little sadly.

“But that boy has no right in there,” declared

Cynthia, still too new in this social work to be

cautious about its dangers. “Boys don’t dare go into

saloons—”

“Well, we can’t make any excuse for going in

there ourselves, I suppose,” Carol decided.

“Although I would like to know what that horrid boy

182

wants there. Did you ever see such a wicked face on

a youngster? Well, he is handicapped, and I suppose

he’s been spoiled”; Carol went on, “had his own

way always. After all, you know, the old sob song

about somebody’s son, don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” drawled Cynthia, “but I wouldn’t

wonder but he knows more about the nursery ghosts

than we do, at that,” and she turned into an old alley

to reverse the direction of her car.

“I wish we could have seen our messenger boy.

Suppose we stop at the telegraph office and ask is

there any message for the nursery. There might be,”

remarked Carol.

At the desk in the freshly painted little office they

inquired. The girl pleasantly looked over her files

and did bring out a yellow slip.

“This came in last night,” she said, “but the boy

couldn’t deliver it; no one there. Then No. 9., that’s

Dick Ranson, took it out today. Are you Miss

Duncan?” she asked Carol.

“Yes, and No. 9 knows where I live,” she replied.

“So he said. He was going to your house a little

while ago but he fell off his bicycle and had to come

back. That’s why the message was held over,” the

clerk explained.

Fell off his bicycle! The girls exchanged knowing

glances. He had been knocked off his bicycle; they

knew that perfectly well.

183

“You can sign for the message and take it,” the

clerk told Carol. “I have often seen you around here

with the children from the nursery.”

“Oh, yes, we used to take little walks. But we’re

closed now. Had a measles outbreak.”

“Yes; I heard the youngsters talking about that

too,” the girl smilingly remarked. “When Dick

brought the message in because he couldn’t deliver

it then, he forgot to leave your address. I was just

about to send over to his house to get it.”

“Where does he live?” Cynthia asked in that

direct way that Carol never ceased to wonder at.

“We might drop in and see if he has been hurt.”

The clerk made a note and offered it to Cynthia.

“Aren’t you Miss Van Note?” she asked. As

Cynthia answered “yes” the clerk continued:

“I’ve seen your father; he’s one of our directors,”

the girl remarked pleasantly.

Outside Carol asked Cynthia about her father’s

place with the telegraph company, even before she

had read the message which she felt must be

important.

“Maybe he could do something for our Dick,”

Carol suggested.

“Maybe,” said Cynthia. “But for mercy sake read

that message. Wait, I’ll draw in here,” and she edged

her car to the curb.

Both girls scanned the yellow sheet eagerly. The

184

message was brief, merely that the sender, who

signed herself Penny’s mother, would come back

soon, and she was thankful for everything.

“But where was it sent from?” asked Cynthia.

“That’s up in this corner; looks like Stony-bank. .

. . I never heard of that place.”

“Not I. But Dad will know. He has a list of all

stations,” Cynthia answered. “Not much to go by in

that message.”

“But it’s good to know she seems to be keeping

track of us, anyway,” said Carol.

“But I just wonder what Mother and Dad would

do if she grabbed Penny away from them. You

should see them sneak in that nursery every night

just to see if their baby has decided to change her

position, like sleeping with the fat little right leg

outside the blanket instead of the usual left.”

Cynthia found fun even in such trifles as that.

“Of course any one would miss Penny,” Carol

agreed. “But, frankly, I would be glad to be free

from this responsibility. I dream of the woman with

the long earrings stealing her. Cynthia, you have no

idea what a help you have been to me, I just couldn’t

have managed all this alone.”

“You are not, by any chance, forgetting Ken,”

charged the girl, who was, indeed, a great help to the

nursery teacher, in all the entangled difficulties

lately popping up. “As far as I’m concerned,” went

185

on Cynthia, “I should pay that nursery royalty for

dragging me out of a rut. What will we say to

Dick?”

“Well, I believe that stilting boy knows things

about the nursery secret.”

“So do I. Did you notice what he said about

someone looking for the baby? He surely knew

about that.”

“And the grudge he has against Dick. Well, we

can ask Dick what he knows. He’s friendly and I’m

sure he will help us if he can,” Carol replied.

“I think so too,” agreed Cynthia. “Well, this is the

number. What an adorable little house and in this

awful section!” she exclaimed, as they stopped

before an old-fashioned place.

“Yes, a few of the old cottages seem to have

withstood the factory onslaught,” answered Carol,

“and this is one of them.”

186

CHAPTER XXII

A MESSENGER BOY’S CODE

It was a pleasant spring day and they found their

star messenger boy, Dick Ranson, on the small front

porch of his home, which was apparently left

screened in all winter to keep out the city’s dust and

lend some privacy. Dick got to his feet as they came

up, but evidently his leg had been injured.

“Came to see you, Dick. Heard you fell off your

wheel,” Carol said in her most comradely manner.

“Yes. But I’ll be all right—”

“Sit down, Dick; we just want to ask you

something,” Cynthia said hurriedly. She hoped no

one else would come out on the porch while they

talked to Dick.

“Did you get your message, Miss Duncan?” he

asked, at the same time picking up his papers to

make a place for the girls to sit on the rattan seat.

“Yes, thanks. But, Dick, we must talk fast. Can

you tell us anything about that boy, the one who

knocked you off your wheel?” asked Carol.

“Don’t let Mother hear you,” he warned. “It

187

might worry her. You mean Larry?”

“Is his name Larry?” asked Cynthia.

“They call him Larry the Jumper. He’s a queer

guy,” and the messenger boy dropped his handsome

brown eyes, as if to hide his own thoughts about

Larry the Jumper.

“You know, things have been happening at our

nursery,” Carol pressed. “Do you think that Larry

could have anything to do with them?”

“He might. He’s smart. He hops around on those

old stilts just to show off. He can go like a

whitehead,” Dick declared, shaking his own head so

decidedly that a big curl tumbled down on his

forehead, “and he doesn’t need any stilts.”

“Someone got in the nursery since we closed,

spilled flour all over the kitchen and we think,

whoever it was, he must have been searching in the

attic for something,” Carol explained quickly.

“That might be Larry. There’s a fellow who

drives a big car always looking for him. He pays

him money for something, and when I told Larry if

he went up to that nursery yard again I was going to

tell on him, well, he got mad,” Dick admitted, “and

that was what the fight was about.”

“Then he is the one who has been getting in

there,” declared Carol, her cheeks beginning to show

the excitement she was feeling.

“Well, I don’t really know whether he got inside

188

or not,” Dick hurried to explain, “but he can climb

fences like a squirrel, and one day I saw through the

gate and he was in the yard. Here’s my mother,” the

boy told his visitors, as a young woman just the

right type to be Dick’s mother—she seemed so nice

and pleasant—came out to the porch. Then the girls

knew they would have to continue their questioning

in words free from the suspicion of danger for Dick.

“We were at the telegraph office and they told us

Dick had fallen off his wheel,” Carol said after

introductions, “so we dropped around to see if he

was all right. My friend’s father, Mr. Van Note, is

an official of the company.”

After that the girls realized they could not ask

Dick any more questions about Larry. But, as usual,

Cynthia with her disregard for caution ventured:

“That boy who acts so comical, Dick. Where does

he live? We might get some work for him.”

Dick shot a quick glance at Carol. His mother had

turned to straighten some cushions and it was

evident she had no intention of interrupting the

others’ conversation.

“He lives most any place,” Dick replied

indifferently. “You know, Mother, they mean Larry,

the boy whose father was killed on the tracks.”

“Oh, yes, the poor boy. I guess he has no place to

call home, and his uncle keeping that tavern makes

it pretty bad for him,” Dick’s mother answered.

189

“Well, excuse me, I’ll get back to my work. Don’t

you hurry,” as the girls stood up. “Dick doesn’t

often have girl callers,” and she smiled back at her

boy’s answering flush.

“Swell mother, Dick,” Cynthia whispered as the

door closed.

“Telling me?” murmured Dick. “But about Larry.

Did you mean you might get some work for him?”

“Does he need it?” Cynthia asked in answer.

“Oh, sure. He wouldn’t be half so bad if he had

something to do. And he’s smart.”

“You’re pretty good-natured, Dick, to speak up

for him after having him knock you off your wheel.

But this is serious. Did you ever see him have a big

star or something that looked like a star?” Carol

asked next.

“A star! How do you mean?”

They told him then about the star chase in the

attic and out in the play yards, about the night that

Ken chased something all over the place, and later

declared he was going to get it.

“I can’t think what that might be,” Dick faltered.

“Well, you know he does go around with that

chauffeur, whoever he is,” went on Carol.

“Yes, he does. I see him riding all over with

him,” Dick admitted.

“And we saw him give your Larry money,”

chimed in Cynthia.

190

“Just to size it all up, Dick,” Carol said decidedly,

“it looks to us as if that chauffeur might be the one

who drove a woman to the nursery one night. They

were trying to get little Penny Brown. Of course you

know about little Penny being left at the nursery.”

“Yes, I do. It seems I left her there,” said Dick, a

little shyly.

“I have been wanting a chance to ask you if you

knew anything about Penny’s folks; where they

lived or who they were?” Carol asked him then.

“No, I don’t, Miss Duncan,” the boy answered.

“That morning I brought the baby over on my wheel

the mother met me at McWhorter Street. She had

been crying, you could see that, and when she kissed

the baby good-bye,—oh, shucks! It’s awful to see a

mother let her baby go like that,” the boy said, with

a touch of sincerity he could not hide.

“Did you think she was leaving her, giving up her

baby?” Cynthia asked.

“Yes, I did, somehow. And I had never taken that

kind of message before,” he said, as a sixteen-year-

old boy might be expected to, “a baby as a special

message.”

“We must hurry. What will your mother think we

are talking about?” Carol worried. “But you have

been such a help, Dick. We must talk to you again,

but now just tell us how you think we can get hold

of this Larry.”

191

“I suppose we could bribe him,” suggested

Cynthia, always ready with her cash.

“I think he would do a lot for money,” Dick

agreed. “He’s always asking me to sell things for

him.”

“Then, you are to be our Sherlock Holmes,”

declared Carol. “Will your leg be all right

tomorrow?”

“Oh, sure. It’s all right now. Mother bathed it and

everything,” he touched the bump under the thick

golf stocking. That was the bandage evidently. “I

was going back to the office—”

“No, don’t,” ordered Cynthia, making her big

eyes even bigger and pulling the twist out of her

mouth to let it smile as it always wanted to. “You

see, my dad owns a few wires of that telegraph

company, so maybe I can give you orders.”

“Oh, is your father Mr. Van Note of the

company? I’ve seen his name on the slips. He’s in

publicity, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. Maybe that’s why I’m so gabby. I

must inherit the publicity streak,” joked Cynthia.

“Is your father really in the publicity

department?” Carol asked, showing sudden interest.

“Oh, yes,” drawled Cynthia. “But I imagine it’s

mostly for the letter heads. I never heard him say he

wrote anything. But, Dick, I was just thinking,” she

suddenly changed the subject, “we better be careful

192

about getting you into trouble. That boy looked

pretty ugly to me,” she finished.

“Oh, he is ugly enough, especially if you cross

him. But I’m not afraid of him,” boasted Dick.

“Still, perhaps we had better not do anything just

now,” Carol determined. “There’s really no hurry.

The baby is all right and that’s the main thing.”

“Yes, I’m glad she’s all right. She’s a cute little

thing,” the boy said, as the girls were about to leave.

“Shall we call good-bye to your mother?”

Cynthia asked.

“No, don’t bother, I’ll tell her. Thanks for coming

and I’ll be on the watchout for anyone who hangs

around your nursery. It’s too bad it’s closed. The

kids miss it. And their mothers too,” he added even

more definitely.

“Oh, Cynthia, you just saved us,” Carol

exclaimed as the girls got into the car. “We were so

intent on getting hold of Larry the Jumper we never

thought of the danger we were leading Dick into.

Why, that fellow might actually beat Dick if he got a

real chance.”

“Yes, I realized that when we were about ready to

lay plans for Dick to entice the Jumper into the

nursery. He certainly would have a good chance to

turn ugly there alone with Dick. But what can we do

to trap him?” Cynthia wondered.

“We’ll have to ask Ken, of course, if we can pry

193

him loose from his law books. He’s getting ready for

Spring exams and he says studying law is about as

interesting as counting the ocean waves; everything

is so much alike and there’s no end to it. But I think

we can induce him to set a trap for that star-ghost. It

made him so mad to have the thing get away from

him,” Carol said.

“Do you think it could possibly be that boy who

made all the rumpus?”

“Well, after all, Cynthia, he may be more of a

man than a boy, and from what we have heard today

he has been mixing up with men who frequent that

tavern. Do you know, I’m really getting scared,”

Carol admitted. “I don’t like that big car idea and the

chauffeur with the money.”

“It does make you shiver,” agreed Cynthia. “But

I’m glad everyone got out of the nursery just when

they did, although we had a time doing it. Poor

Hugo’s measles were a blessing in disguise.”

“Yes. I called the health nurse this morning and

she says he’s all right, but it’s hard to keep him in

quarantine. You know what a youngster he is. But,

Cynthia, what a day we have had? Since the nursery

closed I just seem to be racing all over in this swell

car. Whatever shall I do without it?”

“Do with it, of course,” said Cynthia. “But

Mother will think I have deserted the camp. When I

left she was still excited about the man the girls

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declare is hanging around. Even the policeman who

came out had no way of calming all the women

folks. The cook, that’s Mirandy, insists every time

she goes out the back door someone whistles at her.”

“Well, just whistling couldn’t harm her, but I

suppose they are all terrified. Let’s hope we get

something straightened out soon, though. Of course

we can’t do anything about reaching Penny’s

mother,” Carol said. “Whatever can be the reason

she went away and is still away? I can’t help

wondering.”

“That really is puzzling, Carol. But there are

more reasons for more strange things than you or I

could shake a stick at, and I’m first rate at shaking

sticks,” boasted Cynthia.

Which old saying was as good an explanation as

any that could be given just then, concerning the

mystery of Stingyman’s Alley.

195

CHAPTER XXIII

IT WAS A HONEY

As the girls were parting when Cynthia left Carol

at her door, the latter said:

“Cynthia, is your father really in the publicity

department of the telegraph company?”

“So he says and his name is that way on the letter

heads,” said Cynthia. “But I don’t believe he ever

writes anything. Why? Want a job?”

Carol laughed. “Not exactly,” she answered. “Not

that I don’t need one. But you see, my dad, too, is in

what they used to call ‘the writing game.’ “

“Oh, sure enough; he’s in newspaper business,

isn’t he? Well, that’s real writing, I do believe.”

“But he’s on the city staff and sometimes I worry

about him,” Carol said wistfully.

“I get you,” said Cynthia, using slang to save

Carol any possible embarrassment. “Get your pop a

job in my pop’s office. I wouldn’t wonder if we

might, for I heard Pop say that news men made the

best publicity men. Leave it to me, girl. I’m the one

and only Girl Scout for good jobs.”

196

“Oh, Cynthia, I didn’t mean to jump at anything

so definite. But I really did think it might be a good

thing for Dad to know your father,” Carol said.

“And I’m perfectly positive it would do my dad a

world of good to know your dad,” smiled Cynthia.

“You see, I do run him ragged, bossing about his

golf and everything. I’ll tell you. Why don’t you let

me run down and get both of you this evening? You

know Penny is still begging for Treacher. Every

time you do come to see her she’s been out with

Nanette or sleeping.”

“Thanks, Cynth, but I’ve got a report to make out

tonight for our late lamented board of managers, and

it’s just got to be done. Mrs. Lancaster phoned again

last night. You would think she expected to find

some hidden assets in my poor little report, when all

I have is a few dollars for the children’s school

supplies and a few more for their little lunches.

Annie’s flour, that has been used to concrete the

floor, was a big item in lunches. She made the

loveliest little biscuits—” and Carol’s voice went a

note lower in remembrance.

“All right, Carilla. S’mother time,” and Cynthia

started her car. “Now don’t go getting nightmares

about our Larry the Jumper. After all, he’s only an

overgrown kid, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” said Carol quickly. “All right,

Cynthia. Hope you find things all right at home.”

197

“I will. There’s enough folks around our place to

take good care of one wee child, I should think.

Remind me tomorrow to get a raise for Dick

Ranson. Isn’t it swell to be so influential?” and the

girl’s laugh floated back as her car started off.

“It is swell,” Carol was thinking. “But Cynthia

Van Note would never understand that. She’s too

completely democratic.”

How Carol wanted to tell her dad about Mr. Van

Note’s position with the telegraph company! And

how he wanted to tell her about that ad. he had

killed in the paper! So each having a secret

enlivened their meeting, as Carol entered her home

and found her father already slippered and relaxing

in his big red chair with the matching footstool, one

of the real comforts of his life.

A quick meal and Carol was at her little desk to

work on the nursery report.

“But my note-book,” she said in immediate

alarm. “Can I possibly have left it at the nursery?”

A premonition that she really had done .that

seized her. She had to make out that report tonight,

and she had to have her note-book to do so.

No need to search her desk; if she had it it would

be in a definite spot, that first pigeon hole next the

center, and it wasn’t there.

Just as she was at the point of asking her father if

he could go down to the nursery with her, he said:

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“I’ve got a little assignment tonight; an early

fresh air meeting. I won’t be long. Be back before

you have your report ready.”

“What? Oh, yes, Dad, of course. Sorry you have

to go out. Hope you’re not too tired.”

And her father, presently, was gone.

“So that’s that,” she told herself. “But I’ve got to

go get that note-book. Ken is at a class, so there’s

nothing to do but call faithful Cynthia. And I’ve got

to be quick about it too. There’re no lights in the

nursery; we mustn’t forget that.”

Cynthia answered the phone herself and chuckled

gaily.

“So we’ve got to go in there after all, eh? Well,

I’ll be right along with two flash-lights, one for each

hand.” That was Cynthia’s answer.

In spite of their joking, both girls realized the

danger they might be walking into. A few minutes

later as they sped along, Carol declared that Mrs.

Lancaster might have employed her spare time to

better advantage than bothering a hard working girl

about a silly old report.

“Mother says the ladies all miss the nursery now

that it’s closed,” said Cynthia. “Nothing to fight

about, I guess.”

“And no more names in the newspapers with

reports. Oh, of course, that’s it,” Carol digressed.

“They want this report because it’s their last chance

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at their precious publicity.”

“Does your name go to the report?” Cynthia

asked.

“No, indeedy. The secretary is Miss Amelia

Bradley and she wears dark glasses.”

“Here we are. Now say your prayers,” advised

Cynthia. “And if we meet the ghost, remember

ghosts never yet have been known to harm good

little girls.”

“And we are doing exactly what we laughed at

others doing,” said Carol, instinctively lowering her

voice as she put her key in the lock.

“Almost dark out here, in there it will be—Carol I

Look! A light in—the—kitchen!” whispered

Cynthia, as they stood in the big hall, surprised and

frightened. For a moment both girls considered

leaving quickly, then shaking their heads but not

uttering a sound, they listened.

Someone was certainly moving about in the

kitchen. They edged a step nearer to get in direct

line with the kitchen door, and a cloud of dust, of

white flour dust, floated out toward them.

Again the girls looked at each other but did not

speak. They were evidently wondering might Annie

be out there sweeping her flour up? Might the

intruder who spilled it there have come back? Or

might the attic ghost—”

A groaning sound almost frightened them out, for

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it was a deep, heavy moan, and not the sort of noise

a ghost might have been expected to make.

“Come on,” whispered Carol, pointing her flash

light without its light showing but merely “a glitter

of steel” like a gun, threatening the kitchen intruder.

At that there was a moan and a groan and a

shuffling, plainly intended to warn them away.

But Cynthia grabbed Carol’s arm and they both

dashed straight into the kitchen.

It was empty, that is, no ghost nor other intruder

was in sight.

“See! By the back door!” whispered Carol.

“Another light—”

They swung the old pantry door aside and stood

before the back entry.

“The star!” both girls exclaimed in a hushed

frightened voice.

“Oh, we had better—”

“No, we’ll find out—”

And, as they dared step into the old hallway, the

big lighted star that seemed set into the corner,

emitted sounds, human sounds, they sounded like.

Unless the crude and curious star which was moving

crookedly had some wire connection with some

sound making device, that must be a disguised

human voice.

Neither girl was thinking of that simple trick;

they were thinking of Larry the Jumper, and

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wondering if they might be able to deal with him if

he chose to fight with them.

Carol decided quickly. She cleared her throat to

prepare any listener for the stern voice she was

about to use. Then she said distinctly:

“Look out for your—gun, Cynthia. That’s it,” as

the “gun,” Cynthia’s flash light, was set in her jacket

pocket with one end shining out. “Now—”

“Wait—a—minute,” came a voice from behind

the star. “What is dis? I ain’t doin’ nuttin’.”

As the girls waited, the slight figure of Larry the

Jumper edged out from behind the star. The boy’s

face showed terror, his dark eyes were staring at the

two girls who stood before him, each with a hand in

a coat pocket, in the best movie style threat.

“Oh,” sighed Larry, showing relief. “It’s you, is

it? Whadda you want?”

“What do you want?” demanded Carol, who was

showing relief herself but not boasting about it.

“Who turned the lights on here?” Cynthia asked

sharply. “They were turned off, weren’t they?”

“They was, but I turned them off so I turned them

on at the switch,” Larry answered sulkily.

As he stood there, his mis-shapen foot bent back

as if he would hide it if he could, the girls were

getting an idea about the star. It was shaped from a

piece of card board with electric bulbs stuck in the

points, and the wire to light these was now

202

connected with the floor electric outlet. He snapped

off a switch and the star “went out.” It was easy then

to see distinctly the details of the curious device.

“I made it,” the boy bragged. “Ain’t it a honey?”

203

CHAPTER XXIV

LARRY THE JUMPER

When Larry undertook to explain to the girls how

he had made the curious star, how he turned it on

and off from a battery he carried in his pocket or

how he could “hook it up to a wall socket,” he

became so childishly proud and enthusiastic that

both girls lost some of their fright. They still

trembled a little from the fear they had felt when

they had first seen that star blazing in the corner, but

of Larry they were no longer really afraid.

“Just a boy,” each was silently thinking. “But a

spoiled and dangerous boy if he should be suddenly

crossed.”

After listening for a few minutes to his bragging

and not attempting to blame him for his wreckage of

the kitchen, his unlawful entry of the house and his

admitted search “for something very valuable,”

Carol decided to appeal to his sense of honor and

loyalty. Any boy will listen to that sort of argument,

she felt sure.

“You know, Larry,” she began, “we girls both

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worked in this nursery. We did all we could for the

poor children around here—”

“Sure, I know,” he interrupted. “You fixed up

little Pete fine. He kin walk swell now. His foot was

like mine—outa shape,” he finished in a lowered

voice.

“Oh, yes. Little Peter Rosso. Do you know him?”

pressed Carol sensing the effect this was having on

Larry. “We took him to the clinic; perhaps your foot

could be treated, too,” she ventured.

“No. No hospital for me. My foot’s all right,” and

he thrust it forward so suddenly, Cynthia had to

jump aside to avoid a blow. “But looka here,” he

said suddenly, “now you’ll tell the cops.”

“Tell the cops?” exclaimed Cynthia. “What?”

“That I broke in here, an’ everything.”

“We will not,” declared Carol. “What harm have

you done? Just spilled some old flour—”

“I’m sorry about that,” said Larry. “You see, I

figured if I spilled the flour and made marks with

my stilts in it, and anyone came in while I was in the

attic, they’d get scared off.”

“You were right,” declared Cynthia. “We did get

scared off. You should have seen us run,” and she

gave the impression of “being scared to death” while

flattering the boy with the success of his trick.

All of this was taking time, but both girls realized

it would never do to rush this strange old young

205

man. He was too suspicious, too alert, too crafty.

And they must now, if ever, find out what part he

was playing in the mystery of this old place.

“Why did you bother sweeping up the flour?”

Carol asked without having any good reason for

doing so.

“Oh, I lost sumpin’,” he replied.

“A piece of paper?” ventured Cynthia quickly.

“Yeah,” he said, his mouth dropping open in

surprise. “How’d y’u know?”

“Because we found it,” said Carol simply.

“Y’u did! Gee wizl Have y’u got it? I got to get

that paper—”

“We haven’t got it here, but perhaps we could get

it for you,” Carol replied. “But listen, Larry. Why

can’t we all work together? How much is that

chauffeur paying you?”

‘‘The chauffeur? How did you know about him?”

“It’s a long story, Larry,” Carol evaded, “and we

are in an awful hurry. I just came in here for my note

book. We hope we can open this nursery again,

soon, you know. There are lots of little fellows like

Pete who need help.”

“Yeah, sure, lottsa of poor kids got help here,”

and he rolled his big dark eyes up at the ceiling light

with a new expression. It was sympathy.

They had come into the kitchen when Larry

started to explain about his star, and now he was

206

slumped down on one of the two steps that projected

but before the door closing off the back stairs. He

was certainly a forlorn looking creature. His big

dark eyes and heavy dark hair made his pale face a

sickly yellow under the light, and his clothes were

covered with a film of flour, daubed in big white

blotches on the ragged coat and trousers, all too big

for any boy.

The girls each had taken a chair by the table,

those chairs so well used to Mattie and Annie, that

Carol was sure the women must be somewhere near

during this strange scene in their familiar kitchen.

There was no time to waste, yet they dared not hurry

this furtive boy, who, while seemingly at ease, kept

his eyes constantly shifting from door to window,

turning his head as quickly as some animal, gifted

with a sense of keen hearing unknown to humans.

“Suppose some of our ladies drove by and saw

this light?” warned Cynthia.

“They couldn’t. It doesn’t show. The back porch

has that close lattice, and inside the lattice there’s

oilcloth,” Larry said again assuming that boastful

manner. “That’s why I only put this one light on; it

can’t show. But that paper, what about it? I gotta get

it,” he insisted.

“Why?” asked Carol cautiously.

“Because I gotta get the—” He stopped, looked

from one girl to the other then shook his head

207

doubtfully.

“Don’t you trust us?” asked Cynthia. “We’ll pay

you as much as that chauffeur offered and we’ve got

a good reason for wanting to find the round thing in

the attic.”

“Y’u have? Is that right? What’s the reason?”

“We must prove this place belongs to— Well,

why should we trust you if you won’t trust us?”

“That chauffeur drives the woman who is looking

for the little girl, Penny Brown, doesn’t he?” blurted

out Carol, knowing now they would have to ask

direct questions, and not give him any more time.

“Oh, yeah; he drives for the dame.” It was strange

how differently he spoke when there was neither

fear nor anger choking him. “And he promised me

real money to find it, but I lost the directions and I

don’t know what was on the paper. “I’ve been

stallin’ ever since; I don’t want to meet up with that

guy Paul,” he finished.

“This round thing you were looking for in the

attic had papers in it, didn’t it?”

“Say!” and the boy’s big eyes fairly bulged out of

his head. “However do you girls know all this?”

“We know it because we know about Penny,”

answered Carol, thinking how close Ken’s guess

was coming to the real story now being admitted by

the boy.

He shifted around uneasily and the scraping of his

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unshapely feet on the hard floor gave Carol at least,

if not Cynthia, a shiver of fear. It was like that she

had experienced the night that Ken had disappeared

from the attic. Suppose Larry had someone waiting

outside?

“If you work for us, we won’t ask you to do

anything dishonest,” she assured him quickly. “If we

can find that attic secret we will be glad to pay you

for helping us.”

As he threw back his head and gave her a steady,

calculating look, Larry let his mask of shifting

suspicion slip from his face. He even smiled and just

then wasn’t bad looking at all.

“Okay, that’s fair, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt

a kid. And how do I know that dame has a right to

the baby she’s so crazy to get,” he said.

“Now you’re talking,” declared Cynthia, instantly

ready with that hard working purse of hers. “Here’s

a ‘buck’ ” she offered, “just to show we mean

business.” And when Larry took the dollar bill both

girls thought his need must surely be greater than his

greed, for his whole face lighted up with gratitude.

“Gosh, you’re swell!” he exclaimed. “You just

tell me what to do and watch me do it.”

And here was their ghost, their bouncing star,

eating out of their hands, all tamed and everything!

“First, don’t have anything more to do with that

chauffeur Paul,” ordered Carol.

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“Not me, I’m off him. Suppose I helped them to

kidnap that baby, and I didn’t know what I was

doing?”

“Exactly. What name did he give for the woman

he works for?” asked Carol.

“Rutledge,” the boy replied promptly. “I don’t

forget names or numbers: I put them down. The car

number is 802359, a blue sedan.”

“That’s fine, I’ll put it down too,” said Carol.

“Now let’s hurry out of here. How did you get in,

by-the-way?”

“I have a key, to the back door. You can take it; if

you want it,” Larry offered. “I found it on a nail

there one day,” he laughed.

“Annie’s key!” exclaimed Carol, taking the old-

fashioned door key from his hand. “Might as well

turn it in,” she told him, pleasantly.

“I’m sure sorry about this floor mess—”

“Don’t be. If you hadn’t come back to sweep it up

we would not have met up with you,” said Cynthia,

“so it’s all right and we’ll be seein’ you.”

Carol looked at her friend in renewed surprise.

Wherever did Cynthia get all this glib slang? But

just now at least it was answering a useful purpose;

it gave Larry confidence in them.

“If you fetch the paper I’ll have a good look for

the round thing, but I have to have right directions,”

he explained. “No use huntin’ all over without

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known’ what you’re after.”

“Let’s hustle along now,” ordered Carol. “Better

take your star, Larry. You certainly had us all

puzzled with that thing,” she told him.

“It’s good, ain’t it?” He showed his agility now as

he went to the back entry, unfastened the electric

connection and swung the dead star up on his

shoulders.

“I’ll let you out this way,” Carol offered,

unfastening the back door.

“Better had. I might meet a cop the other way.

Well, jest let me know—”

“Oh, say,” called Cynthia, “you know Dick the

messenger boy we were talking about? We’ll give

him word when we want you.”

“Okay; Dick’s all right. Him and me just scraps,

that’s all. You tell Dick and he’ll tell me! And you

know I ought to be in on this killin’!”

“The killing?” asked Carol, puzzled.

“Yeah, you know, that’s what we call the finish.

It’s just a way of sayin’ it” the boy bragged. “But I’d

like a chance to hunt in that attic because I did have

the job first,” contended Larry.

“That’s right, you did,” Cynthia agreed. “All

right, Larry, we’ll sound the bugle for you when the

battle is on.”

And as Larry made his mysterious way through

the lilac trees around the old fences, the girls got that

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note book and turned off the light.

But not at the switch as Larry might have done.

212

CHAPTER XXV

PALS

“What an experience!” gasped Carol. “When I

saw that star blazing in the corner I felt as if my

knees would certainly let me down.”

“I used to say I liked things to happen, but that

was enough to last me for a while,” admitted

Cynthia, as she guided her car through the familiar

streets. “But we found things out, didn’t we?”

“We did. But after all, what is the answer to that

bit of paper with the attic directions on it? Of course,

Paul the chauffeur gave that to Larry, he lost it and

we found it. But where did it come from? How did

any one, even one of the old Rutledge family

whoever they are, get a line on that?” puzzled Carol.

“That must be the link that connects Penny with

old Stingyman,” Cynthia guessed. “You know that

first letter said Penny had a good right to be here.”

“It’s still Greek to me. What did your dad say

about tracing the telegram we just got from Penny’s

mother?”

“He expects a report on it today. Every message

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received is so definitely listed that the office can

easily be located,” Cynthia answered.

“Yes, the office. But how about the sender?”

“That may be one more job for us,” Cynthia

replied.

“But, Cynthy, we cannot possibly let Larry into

the nursery again. I was expecting a riot call every

minute we talked with him there.”

“But we practically promised him?”

“To be in ‘on the killin.’ That will mean in on the

‘pay off.’ How’s that for slang? We will give him

something, of course, but the nursery is closed, it is

private property; you and I have a right to do all we

can to further its cause and the settling of little

Penny’s identity is definitely a nursery

responsibility. We took her in there—”

“Say, Carol, if ever you marry lawyer Ken he’s

going to have a terrible time keeping up with you,

you’re good,” said Cynthia dryly.

“No joking,” retorted the other girl, “Ken has no

class tonight, so tonight is the night.”

“For finding a round barrel of round diamonds

hidden in the roof,” said Cynthia. “Since it must be

round let’s make it very round.”

“But as our radio friends say ‘I can’t get over it,’”

sighed Carol. “To have found the star, the ghost, and

the accomplice all in poor little Larry.”

“He turned out to be poor little Larry and he did

214

certainly swing around to our entreaties,” said

Cynthia. “But he seemed pretty dangerous at first. I

was looking around for flat irons when I saw the

frying pan,” she finished.

“And how glib we were in declaring we would

never run into danger. Well, we’re not out of it yet,”

predicted Carol. “But your mother and dad have

given us a free hand. By their taking care of Penny,

this end was uninterrupted. Dad has been bringing

me messages from the police station, too. He made a

number of unexplained remarks that make me think

there has been something going on there.”

“Probably the old lady with the long earrings

went down to try out her well-seasoned charms on

Officer Broadbent,” remarked Cynthia dryly.

“If she went there to make a complaint against

me,” Carol said, answering Cynthia’s remark, “she

couldn’t have made out very well, for I’m still out of

jail. Now, Cynthia, let’s hurry, and finish our plans,”

for they were nearing Carol’s home. “I’ll get Ken as

soon as I can. Can you come in right after dinner?”

“Certainly I can. Why, I’m so absorbed in this

thing, Carilla, that my hair woman, you know the

one who makes me so beautiful,” her laugh

explained the joke, “called up this morning to know

whether I had left town and were all my

engagements to be cancelled. I said I hadn’t left

town yet. And I didn’t say I might have to, if the

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case went against us.”

These two girls had become such chums, they

were so sincere in their efforts to get the nursery

going again and to establish the identity of little

Penny Brown, that every day and every new angle

they were uncovering in the mystery, served to unite

them closer. Many, many times Carol thought of

Thally Bond, her friend of other days and she was

now thinking what a pair Thally and Cynthia would

make.

Cynthia turned her eyes full upon Carol now.

“Whatever did I do without you, Carol? The

answer is I didn’t—do—anything,” said Cynthia,

sincerely.

“And I without you?” rejoined Carol. “Can you

even imagine me flopping around in all this without

you?”

No sticky sentiment in this: a mere mention of

perfectly obvious facts. These two girls were pals in

the highest sense of that important term.

Ken came promptly, and when Carol told him

about Larry he was inclined to discount the

importance of the boy’s part in the affair.

“You know, Carilla,” he said, “you promised to

keep out of that place—”

“And I intended to, Ken, but I had to have my

book,” she insisted.

“And the important report is all finished now?”

216

“Yes, it is. I had only to copy the last few days’

figures. I had kept my reports up to date.”

“Smart girl,” and that irresistible smile broke

through. “And I mean it, Carol, you are smart. Well,

let’s go. Cynthia will be there first.”

As they went along in Ken’s car, Carol just

wondered if all Ken’s fears for her safety were just

like that, or whether he was not so very much

interested in the mystery that he just liked to keep

his own hands on all its moves. But glancing slyly at

his fine profile she decided his fears for her safety

were “just like that.” Ken was, as ever, quite

unselfish.

“I knew that star was just a mechanical trick,” he

said, for there was plenty to say about Larry. “You

could tell that by the way it was snapped on and

off.”

“What else could it have been?” Carol reminded

him. “We didn’t think we were in cahoots with

something from the blue, did we?”

“Smarty, smarty,” he teased. “We might have

thought old Stingyman was working in some of

those new fangled ways that scientists are hinting

about.”

“Oh, Ken, you don’t believe any of that trash, I’m

sure,” Carol challenged.

“No, I don’t. I’m a near-lawyer and we deal in

facts.” He groaned to set that off. “But there’s

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nothing like a good old mystery to give us boys and

girls a chance to use our ‘beans,’ “ he said. “We’ll

have another try at it tonight.”

“You have got that precious dirty bit of paper, I

hope?” she asked him.

“Yep, got it in my wallet with all the other

important bits,” he answered. “There’s your chum’s

car. She’s prompt for a girl without training.”

“What do you mean without training? Cynthia

Van Note could run their big house and all its

servants without a wave of her mother’s well kept

hand,” retorted Carol. “And, Ken, you just ought to

see Penny. She’s actually chubby, and so happy! At

first we were afraid she was going to pine for her

mummie.”

“Pine? When a kid gets plenty of sugar she never

pines, not a girl, anyhow. Of course,” and his voice

assumed an absurd deep quality, “a boy now might

pine for a ball and bat—”

“From this moment, Ken, we’re on the hunt. No

more fooling.”

Which pronouncement brought them all three

together, and there was no more nonsense for the

time being.

“Just one light,” Carol ordered. “We’ll use our

flashes—”

“When we get through with this,” laughed

Cynthia, defying Carol’s orders, “we ought to give a

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flashlight follies. We’ll certainly he well trained.”

“Look out for heads.” Ken was leading the way to

the attic.

“And cobwebs. The last time we were up here

Annie had her throat cut with cobwebs.” That

irrepressible Cynthia!

“Something round,” murmured Ken.

“Like an apple—”

“Cynthia, please keep your Hash in your own

area,” Carol interrupted. “It makes shadows.”

“And shadows gave Mattie a fit—”

“Something round,” Ken kept chanting, and he

had taken a course in his explorations that would

describe a circle centered in the very middle of the

old rough floor.

Carol was hunting near the hanging shelf.

Somehow she felt it would not be reasonable to

expect anyone to hide a treasure right out in the

open.

“If we only knew what we were looking for,”

Cynthia grumbled. “It can’t be a needle in a

haystack.” She was searching inch by inch in

straight lines from North to South. She had told

them she was always good in geography.

From his chanting “round, something round,”

Ken had now started to hum. The interruption

annoyed Carol who had a very serious feeling about

the whole thing. It was she who had taken little

219

Penny into the nursery, she who had closed the

nursery, she who was pledged even by the judge at

police headquarters to be responsible for the

abandoned child, and right now she was

concentrating on the search for a mysterious

something which Larry had been paid to search for.

As she raised her head to get from under the

swinging shelf, she gave herself a resounding bang

against the rough boards, but did not even stop to

rub the spot, in spite of Ken’s and Cynthia’s

sympathetic inquiry.

“All right,” she insisted, “never mind the head,

although that’s round too.”

A few minutes later Cynthia said she was going

to give up searching. After all, she argued, who said

there was anything round to be looked for? What did

that boy Larry know about the dirty piece of paper

that had clung to Carol’s shoe? Besides, she was

choked with dust and blind with cobwebs—

“Here’s something round,” called out Carol

suddenly. At that Ken and Cynthia pounced over to

her territory.

“A knothole!” derided Cynthia. “I’m surprised,

Carol, that you don’t know your knot holes.”

“Let’s see,” asked Ken. “We are not even

overlooking knotholes,” and he bent down to see

what was holding Carol’s attention.

“See,” she said, “it is a knothole but see that

220

mark? Looks as if it were made with a carpenter’s

pencil—”

“Sure thing,” said Ken. “The knothole is

outlined.”

At that very second Carol jabbed the end of her

flash light into the heart of the knothole.

It moved!

“Look! It moves! It’s on a spring—”

So deep was their concentration now that

instantly they stopped talking. Cynthia held her flash

while Carol probed with hers, and as Ken put his

pen knife into the crack surrounding the special

board with the collapsing knothole, it suddenly gave

way.

“There! Carol exclaimed. “Lift the board out.”

Ken was doing that very carefully. It was stuck

and it even splintered a little as he tugged at its

edges with his knife, but it was loosening a small

square of board cut across, the cut completely

hidden by the attic dust.

“There!” screamed Cynthia.

“Look!” came a cry from Carol.

“There it is, something round,” announced Ken,

for they were looking directly at a cardboard tube,

the sort used in rolling calendars. It lay within the

opening, down on the rough plaster from the ceiling

below.

“It’s all written upon,” said Carol breathlessly, as

221

she put her hand down and drew out the round

container.

222

CHAPTER XXVI

STOLEN: PENNY BROWN

A few minutes later it was an excited trio that sat

around the table in Annie’s kitchen.

“Of course the will refers to Penny’s father,”

Carol was saying, following Ken’s reading of the

document he had carefully drawn out of the

cardboard container.

“Oh, yes,” agreed Cynthia, eagerly. “It mentions

his grandson, and gives the name Stingerman

Rutledge. The lady with the earrings said the baby’s

name is Penelope Rutledge,” she reminded the

others.

“But to have all this old place and the bonds and

investments, if they are really Penny’s father’s

inheritance, wouldn’t that be simply grand?” gasped

Carol.

“This property has been in litigation for years,”

Ken said quietly, “and lately the trouble has been

stirring up constantly. These New York people have

been trying to claim it, but their lawyers kept the

real claimant in the background. As soon as I saw a

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couple of the letters, that came into the surrogates

office, I knew they were afraid to come right out

with their claims.”

“But the will will settle it, won’t it, Ken?” Carol

asked eagerly.

“Sure thing,” and Ken tapped the document

proudly. “This is all signed and sealed. All we have

to do is to find Stingerman Rutledge.”

“And Cynthia’s father is having that last telegram

from Penny’s mother traced,” Carol told him. “If we

find her—”

“You will certainly find the lawful heir if he is

still alive. If he isn’t, we hope Penny comes next, for

this distinctly speaks of a lawful heir. But let’s start.

We’ve got to go out to Cynthia’s—”

“And I must tell Dad.”

“Is he home?” Cynthia asked. “We could bring

him out to our house. Dad and he were to meet, you

know.”

They started off at once. Ken and Cynthia talked

rather excitedly but Carol was quiet. Suppose there

would be a mistake? Suppose it didn’t mean Penny’s

folks? But, somehow, there was in her mind a very

strong conviction that it did mean them.

“They never would have hired Larry to look for

that will, and also tried to get him to find out where

Penny was, if it didn’t all match up; do you think so,

Ken?” she asked finally.

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“Oh, we’ve got this thing right,” he assured her.

“And the Lady Rutledge has some very good reason

for working against Penny’s mother. The usual thing

is, of course, to get hold of the money.”

Later, when Carol rushed into her home to get her

father to go to Cynthia’s with them, “she almost

knocked him off his feet” he told her fondly.

“We found it! We found old Stingyman’s will

and it leaves everything to a person named

Stingerman Rutledge, and we think lie’s Penny’s

father,” she declared breathlessly.

“See here. This story is ready to break and I’m a

newspaperman—”

“Not tonight you aren’t; you’re simply my dad

and you’re going places with me. I’m so glad you

didn’t change your things. Here take the blue tie; it

makes your eyes laugh.”

“Well, Pidge, I suppose you’re boss,” the father

pretended to grumble as she hurried him out to

Cynthia’s car, where presently he was nicely

propped up in the rumble seat.

During the ride out to the suburb he told them

about that ad. he had killed in his paper.

“And they tried other tricks,” he added, “but it

now looks as if they were no match for you two

girls,” he finished happily, calling his short

sentences into their ears from the back of the car.

At the Van Note home Carol’s father was

225

immediately taken in tow by Cynthia’s lather. It was

easy to see how congenial the two men were sure to

become, and as Carol had always been proud of her

father, she was happy to have him make the

acquaintance of Mr. Van Note.

She felt sure this would lead to better things for

them, since the seasoned newsman and the

influential publicity head were meeting on common

ground.

While the men were talking Cynthia dragged

Carol and Ken up to the nursery. Penny was asleep

but she was prettiest that way.

In her blue and white crib, sprawled out in her

light blue pajamas, one arm thrust straight out before

her and one leg thrown over the edge where the crib

side was down, Ken whispered she knew how to

fight her own battles. Carol regarded her in

speechless admiration, and Cynthia seemed to feel

she was her baby, for the time being at least.

Mrs. Van Note had rushed out to a meeting

directly after dinner, and since it was Nanette’s,

Penny’s nurse’s, night off, Cynthia was now on

duty.

Back to the library where the men were still

earnestly talking they all gathered again to plan for

the next day.

“And you found out where the message came

from, Dad?” Cynthia asked.

226

“Yes; just a short distance out through Pineway,”

her father answered. “There’s a grove of scrub pines

out there, and some sort of lake, so it’s been taken

over by the bungalow folks.”

“Then, we can drive out first thing in the

morning, can’t we, Carol?” Cynthia asked.

“I have to make a call on our chairman at 9:30,”

Carol answered, “but that won’t take me long.”

“Want me to drive you—”

“No, thank you, Cynthia, I have to run up town

and will be near there.”

“Then phone me from the telegraph office. I’ll

run in there for you and we can be on our way.”

This was agreed upon between the girls, but the

men were serving warnings that the girls would have

to be careful. This case might not be as simple as it

seemed.

“As long as it’s daylight,” warned Mr. Duncan.

“And keep on the Highway,” ordered Ken.

“Now, hear them,” derided Cynthia, “after we’ve

practically cleaned all the ghosts out of Stingyman’s

Alley.”

In saying goodnight a short time later, Carol

clung to Cynthia for a moment.

“If only we were sure of finding Penny’s

mother,” she whispered. “But just finding a

telegraph office seems so indefinite. Oh, Cynthia,

we must—not be disappointed now.”

227

“Carol darling, you’re all tuckered out. Go to bed

and dream of our new nursery. I’m going to insist on

having my own desk in the hall right by the

telephone. You can keep yours where it is but I like

privacy,” she giggled. “Mr. Duncan, give Carol a

warm drink and put her to bed,” she called to

Carol’s father who was already in the car. “We have

a big day on tomorrow.”

Which was no idle saying, for a big day indeed it

turned out to be.

Cynthia was hurrying around the next morning

when little Penny called her hello-goodbye, which

meant she was going out early with Nanette. It was

such a lovely spring morning that the baby’s trip to

the nearby private park was quite in keeping with

her joyous mood, and the scare that someone might

try to take Penny away seemed entirely dissipated.

There had been no mysterious men around lately

and full confidence had been restored to the Van

Note household.

It seemed to Cynthia it could not have been more

than a few minutes later that she heard Nanette

screaming:

“She’s gone! They took her! The baby’s gone!”

Instantly the place was in commotion. Poor

Nanette was too hysterical to give a coherent

account of what had happened. But finally they

heard her tell how she had barely reached the little

228

park, and was spreading a newspaper on the bench

for Penny, when a car drove up and a woman called

“Hello Penelope darling,” and before Nanette could

realize it, the chauffeur had jumped from the car,

picked up the baby and placed her beside the woman

on the seat.

“She knew her, Penny was not afraid of her,”

sobbed the nurse. “But they took her away!”

Cynthia found out it was in the blue sedan that

they had carried Penny off and she knew Carol had

taken that license number from Larry. In less time

than it took the other members of the household to

decide what to do, Cynthia was calling up Carol at

Mrs. Lancaster’s home. A moment later she was

reassuring her own mother.

“Don’t worry, Mother,” she told her, “we’ll get

them easily enough. I’m going for Carol and I’ll

phone you from downtown. Don’t feel so badly,

Nanette,” she now tried to soothe the nurse. “We

know who took her and I’m sure we’ll get her back

quickly. Now, I’m off. I’ll phone, Mother.”

Carol did very little exclaiming when Cynthia

reached her at Mrs. Lancaster’s; she merely set her

face determinedly and asked Cynthia to take her to

the police station.

“No time to experiment now,” she said grimly.

“We’ve got to have police help.”

“But having the car number will surely stop

229

them,” Cynthia assured her. “How wise you were to

take that.”

No time was lost at police headquarters. The

radio alarm for the blue sedan No. 802359 was sent

out while Officer Broadbent was getting the police

car out, having assured the girls he and another

officer would go right out searching for the blue

sedan.

“We know that lady,” he told them. “She has

been to the station a number of times.”

“Trying to get me arrested, I suppose,” said

Carol.

Officer Broadbent just nodded assent.

“I said I’d phone mother,” Cynthia remembered.

“I’ll just run into this booth and tell her we’re going.

She’s heartbroken about Penny.”

Keeping at a distance, yet in sight of the small car

in which the two officers were riding, the girls found

little to say. It was all too serious to even talk about;

they could only hope the car carrying Penny away

would be quickly caught up with.

They were following the main highway, but about

every half dozen blocks the police car would turn

into a side street, reverse and start back again.

“They might have stopped someplace,” Carol

considered. “Oh, Cynthia, you know people stop for

breakfast at The Griddle? That’s down this block.

Let us turn in there.”

230

“But we couldn’t do anything if we did see the

car,” Cynthia reminded her companion.

“No, that’s so. Could you catch up with the police

car?”

“Yes; there’s no traffic,” Cynthia said, putting on

speed until she was in line with the officers’ car.

They had seen her coming and were now waiting.

In a few sentences the girls explained their

suspicions, and the officers agreed to turn back to

The Griddle.

231

CHAPTER XXVII

SURPRISING THEMSELVES

“Nervous?” Cynthia said to Carol.

“A little,” her companion admitted. “See! Look!

There’s a blue car—”

Cynthia was ahead of the officers and she turned

sharply into place back of the blue car. It was parked

in front of the restaurant which bore an elaborate

swinging sign; The Griddle.

“That’s the number,” Carol whispered. “They

must be inside.”

She motioned to Officer Broadbent. They pulled

up, wordlessly understood, and both men stepped up

to the restaurant door.

Paul, the chauffeur, was standing there watching,

and seeing the bluecoats he attempted to dodge

away. But the officer called to him to “stay where

you are. You’re safer there,” and he touched his cap,

a leering smile spreading over his face. But he did

not try to go into the restaurant as he evidently had

intended to; perhaps to warn someone inside.

Then the officers indicated that the girls were to

232

follow them in.

“There!” breathed Carol as they entered.

At the same moment Penny saw her.

“Treacher! Treacher!” cried out the child,

jumping down from her place at the table where a

very indignant woman was trying to say something.

Penny ran straight into the outstretched arms of

Carol.

“What does this mean?” the woman finally

blurted out.

“That you have taken the child—” Officer

Broadbent started.

“Taken her! She’s my grandchild; who has a

better right? Penny darling,” she called to the child.

“Just a minute. Take it easy,” advised John

Broadbent. “You are not her grandmother and

you’re not her legal guardian.”

“How dare you dispute my relationship?” the

woman flared back angrily.

“Because we have been having plenty of trouble

in proving there is no relationship. You were

married to Stingerman’s brother. This child’s father

was his son, not yours. And all your fine plans to get

the money— But this is not my business,”

Broadbent checked himself. “We have the will

now—”

“The will!” Mrs. Rutledge almost swallowed her

own breath and choked on it.

233

“Come along now,” said Broadbent. The other

officer really said nothing. “I’m not detaining you or

your man, but we don’t want anything like this to

happen again,” he warned.

“And there are the young women who have been

hiding the child,” the woman insisted, her face

aflame, and her hand pointing like an arrow at Carol

and Cynthia.

“This young woman,” indicating Carol to whom

Penny was fondly clinging, “has a court order to

take care of this child,” went on Broadbent. “She

was intrusted to her by the child’s mother.”

“The child’s mother,” scoffed the woman. “That

girl is no more fit to care for a child than—than—”

She couldn’t say than whom. “I’m Mrs. Carson

Rutledge, and this child,” she had left her chair and

was now confronting Penny and Carol as Cynthia

stood close by, “is my grandnephew’s daughter. But

my poor boy,” the sympathy seemed rather

overdone, for she rolled her eyes and quavered her

voice, “he is mentally unable to care for her.”

“Well, lady, we’ll have to be going,” said

Broadbent. “You can tell the story to Judge Macy;

he has the case.”

“But you can’t take Penelope—” she really was

almost in tears now.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Rutledge,” Carol spoke at

last, “we won’t take her far and she’ll be in good

234

hands. You see, I feel personally responsible for

her.”

“But, my dear,” and the conciliatory tone was a

complete change of manner, “why can’t she stay

with me? Penelope darling, you do want to come

with Grandmama, don’t you?” she coaxed.

“Thank you, Grandmama,” said Penny very

politely, “but I must go now. I’ll go with Treacher.”

Cynthia had whispered to Carol and then darted

into a booth at the back of the restaurant where she

was now phoning her mother. The smile on her face

that could be seen through the glass door, interpreted

the conversation, had anyone cared to notice. But

they did not bother, for everyone, the help and the

few customers who were in the place, had frankly

gathered about the group where the policemen

stood. There they expected something really exciting

to happen.

It took but a little more official persuasion to

convince Mrs. Rutledge that Penny must certainly

go back with Cynthia and Carol. But the uniformed

men had made some remarks that even that

indignant lady could not misunderstand. She was

plainly being told that grabbing up a baby as Penny

had been grabbed up, is not a small matter even for a

pretended grandmother to undertake.

The girls took Penny into Cynthia’s car. Sitting

between them, she assumed that ecstasy of sheer

235

delight which only a small child can completely

enjoy. She would put one chubby hand on the wheel

to touch Cynthia’s, then with the other she would

touch Carol’s. No words, just innocent, confident

happiness.

Before starting, the officers had told the girls they

need not fear any more trouble, that they would see

to it that the blue sedan and its two occupants went

in the other direction.

“Last lap,” Carol told Cynthia.

“Yes. And we will have to make it up to good old

Larry.”

“And to Dick our messenger,” murmured Carol.

They were riding out to The Pines, there to find,

they fondly hoped, Penny’s mother and father. Once

in the wooded stretch they easily found the little

central village: Pineway. It was to this village that

Cynthia’s father had traced the telegrams and found

out that the messages had been sent by a “Mrs.

Hueston” who was taking care of her sit k husband

in one of the bungalows called: Wait Awhile.

The girls were impatient to say something about

her Mummy to Penny. But that would be taking too

great a chance, there might still be a disappointment.

After many inquiries they finally spotted the camp

marked Wait Awhile.

“Here we are,” said Carol, very gently.

The drives were narrow, newly made tracks, but

236

the girls’ car wound through them safely. As they

stopped, the cottage door opened, and there stood

Penny’s mother!

At a glance she saw the child.

“Darling!” she screamed. “My baby—”

“Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!” chattered Penny,

so excitedly that Carol had to hand her out to the

loving waiting arms, without having had a chance to

speak a single word.

The mother had dashed into the cottage with her

baby clasped in her arms. The girls still sat in the

car, overwhelmed by the drama they had unfolded.

Carol pressed Cynthia’s hand and their eyes said

what words could not have uttered. Then, the door

opened again and a radiant young woman, none

other than she who had brought “Penny Brown” to

the nursery where Carol Duncan had willingly

received her, called out to them:

“Girls, do come in! I was so excited—”

Inside they found Penny in her father’s arms, and

the first thing that was impressed upon both of them

was, that this young man did not look sick, but he

did look as if he had been ill. The sparkle in his blue

eyes—Penny’s were that same shade—and the wind

blown sun tan so early acquired in this little pine

hamlet, gave him the look of a fine young man,

merely waiting his chance to step back into an active

life.

237

When finally they were able to listen first to a

part of the girls’ story, telling of the finding of the

will and the attempt of Mrs. Rutledge to claim

Penny, Penny’s mother told of her part in the

unexplained happenings.

“Alfred, my husband,” she said, “is not really

related to this Mrs. Rutledge. But ever since Uncle

Stingerman died and they knew he had left

everything to Alfred, she has been trying to prove—

—” She paused and her husband took up the story.

“Fact of the matter is, she has tried to prove me

mentally weak; even had doctors come to see me

when I never suspected what they were after. That

so frightened Marion, my wife, that she insisted we

hide out here until my own doctors would be able to

offset any tricked up report. The move was

fortunate; after pneumonia I gained rapidly. But, of

course, we had to do without Penny. Had we kept

her with us, Marion felt sure they would have taken

her again as they had done before, and I agreed that

was too great a risk, with me unable to fight them.”

Their gratitude to Carol and Cynthia and “all the

others who had helped them” was shown in every

word they spoke, so it was difficult to get a clear

story of all that had made up the mystery. But the

main facts included a complicated family

relationship.

“My father,” went on the man who was now

238

correctly known as Alfred Stingerman Rutledge,

“was old Abraham Stingerman’s only brother. My

own mother died when I was a child, and later my

father remarried. Uncle Abe never married. My

father was adopted in his youth by a family named

Rutledge, which accounts for the difference in

names,” he explained.

“In the will,” Carol ventured, “you are mentioned

as sole heir. But why was the will hidden in the attic,

and how was it that the piece of paper carried the

clue?”

“For a long time we didn’t know anything

positive about the will,” answered Penny’s father,

“but last year an old man turned up who insisted

Uncle Abe had made a will and that he had

witnessed it. He also told of it being hidden in the

attic, because Uncle Abe, being queer, would not

even trust a lawyer. But he charged this man, Mason

Bennet, to let me know as soon as I returned to

America. I had been out of the country for the fruit

firm I was employed by,” he finished.

“That was how he lost his health,” his wife

helped out. “But that bit of paper with some

directions on to search for something round in the

attic, was among Alfred’s things, although I had not

yet seen it. They found it, Aunt Kate, that’s Mrs.

Rutledge, did, and took it away that time they were

trying to prove Alfred was mentally ill.”

239

“But you girls have cleared everything up,” the

man declared, incredulously. “What we have been

running away from, actually fearing to face, two

youngsters like you have just gone after and

completely settled,” he said, his deep blue eyes so

like Penny’s giving out a glow of enthusiasm, and

his tawny hair all ridged up in rumples, as Cynthia

was sure to describe it, just giving that touch that

made him so good looking.

His wife, Marion, was dark, and the touch that

made her handsome was the foreign gleam of her

wonderful dark eyes, that seemed to have

impenetrable depth. They were, indeed, an

interesting couple, and the sneers of Mrs. Rutledge

at “the young girl who didn’t know enough to care

for Penny” were entirely exploded now.

“How did you know about our nursery?” Carol

asked her, the old pride in her work coming back,

now, that she had a chance to consider it.

“We knew, of course, you had started a nursery

there. I had friends in Newkirk and through them I

found out yours was a splendid place for little ones.

What I didn’t know was that you only took them in

for day time and had no shelter,” the mother

explained.

“We did have a shelter until our funds ran out,”

Carol told them, rather wistfully.

“We’ll see what we can do now,” said Penny’s

240

father. “Uncle Abe was a rich man, and if everything

goes well and the law firm you say your friend is

with, Miss Duncan, can get at the case immediately,

there is no reason I can think of why the nursery

should not be re-established.”

Good news, great hopes and fond prospects!

Meanwhile Penny had found in the corner of the

cottage what seemed to be a well remembered box,

for already she had gotten from its precious depths

two bunnies, one bedraggled black plush doggie,

several dolls and other paraphernalia so dear to the

heart of a child who had lived with them.

Brief business arrangements were hurriedly made

as the girls prepared to leave. Carol was thinking of

what this story would mean to her dad; and to Ken

too, who through his law firm was to have the

handling of the famous will and all other properties

involved. This would certainly mean a lot to a law

student like Ken, and Carol was happy in

anticipation for him.

“But I must go to Dad’s office first,” she told

Cynthia, quickly as they had taken their leave and

were on their way again. “It’s quite a story to write

and we have promised to give him a ‘beat’ on it. Oh,

Cynthia, isn’t it simply unbelievable that is all true,

all found out!”

“Merely driving back’ to town without being

chased or chasing somebody else leaves me sort of

241

let down,” remarked Cynthia. “But I’ll never forget

that mother’s cry when she saw her baby.”

“Yes, wasn’t it—dramatic,” said Carol. “Do you

know I sort of feel as if I had fallen in a hole or

something myself,” she admitted.

“That’s the let down. But don’t worry; it won’t

last long. Think of what’s just ahead of us,” Cynthia

reminded her friend.

“No, no,” faltered Carol. “I would rather think of

what’s just behind us. Penny in her mother’s arms.”

THE END