CHAPTER XVII

MOONLIGHT ON THE SECRET TRAIL

It was a seven passenger car, but eight could and did ride in it that afternoon, on the trip to Las Olas beach. Maurice was gone and Eleanor had promised to go back to Miami early in the afternoon. That left Dick and Lois Bell, Fred Hall, Louise Duncan, Ronald Bentley, Suzanne Tyson, Ann Sterling and Jack Hudson. They drove first to the Seminole camp, just west of town. Ronald had mentioned it and both Suzanne and Ann felt anxious to see it. They had noticed the gayly dressed Indians on the streets and Ann was delighted to see one poling his way across the New River in one of the cypress trunk canoes.

Fred, who drove his father’s car, had a great time finding the road, but finally got started in the right direction, a matter of a short time to reach the camp once the right road was found. They were nearly stuck in the sand once or twice, but they lightened the load by jumping out and pulled out safely.

“What an Indian camp!” thought Ann. Here were no tepees, nor moccasin-wearing Indians. Little that she had learned in the West about Indians would apply here, so far as what she had expected to see was concerned, with the exception of bad housekeeping! The camp site was littered with a nondescript collection of tin cans, chicken feathers, bones and old utensils.

As ever, Ann felt hesitant about disturbing the native dwellers; but Ronald walked boldly up to several children who were standing about and asked to take their pictures, offering a silver piece at the same time. The children drew back, casting looks at their visitors, and behind them at the queer thatched lodges which were their dwellings. On the floor of one near by, a floor raised several feet from the ground so that it looked more like a low shelf than a floor, there sat a stolid old woman, who glanced at visitors and children with keen black eyes. As Ann and Ronald came nearer, they saw that she was stringing beads of bright colors.

By signs, pointing at the camera, they tried to indicate what they wanted. At last the old woman, whose neck was wound with countless strands of beads, descended to earth and spoke briefly to the children, who then posed for a picture. Several cameras clicked, as the sun shone more brightly for a time and the positions of the Indians were favorable.

“They say,” said Dick, as the party went back to the car, leaving pleasant reminders, in the form of loose change, in the hand of the old woman, “that the more beads they wear, the higher their station among the Indians,--social position, you know.”

“This woman is the mother of a chief,” said Ronald. “How about it, folks? Is it ‘Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll’? Ready now for a swim?”

“It is,” declared Suzanne. “We are. Don’t you think, Ann, that these bright costumes are prettier than those of the Western Indians?”

“They are more picturesque in some ways,” said Ann, “those full, long dresses of different colors, the stripes running around, are surely startling; but it seems funny that the children wear them. They are all barefooted, aren’t they? Don’t they need moccasins down here?”

“I should think that they would, with the snakes,” remarked Louise.

“Anyhow,” said Ann, “I think that our Indians wear more sensible clothes.”

“You will be loyal at any cost, won’t you, Miss Ann?” queried Jack Hudson. “But remember that down here the climate makes light clothing necessary.”

The sea was just rough enough to be exciting. The bathers did not go out far, but plunged and dived or floated to their hearts’ content. Through all the afternoon’s pleasure, and Ann was interested in all of it, she was thinking of Maurice, wondering if he had yet learned the truth and what that truth was. She could scarcely wait to see him, her gallant young cousin! What a way he had of carrying off a situation with the best of humor, as in working with that engine!

Ronald paid Ann rather especial attention that afternoon. She was, to be sure, his guest and his mother’s; but he made one remark which indicated that Ann was not without interest to him. “I’m almost glad that old Maury was called away for a while,” said he. “Some of the rest of us can get within three feet of you now, and have you alone for five minutes or so.”

Ann looked up laughing, somewhat surprised. “Maurice is not trying to keep any one away from his cousin, I’m sure.”

“Oh, is that _so_?” queried Ronald in sarcasm.

* * * * *

It was nearly seven o’clock when Maurice returned, having come in on one of the ’buses, for his father had gone on back to Palm Beach from Delray, where they were last. Maurice seemed to be in good spirits, joking with the rest as usual, but he gave no special sign to Ann, and seemed rather to avoid any betrayal of what had passed between his father and himself. “Perhaps he could not come to the point, after all,” thought Ann.

Maurice had had his dinner before he came to the yacht. The yacht party was just finishing that meal, when Mr. Bentley suggested that they take a moonlight ride out to the sound and beyond. “It was a little rough early this afternoon,” said he, “but the wind has died down and I think that we shall find it calm and delightful riding. Have you ever been out on the ocean, Ann?”

“Not yet, Mr. Bentley.”

The boys carried the instruments of the “orchestra” to the deck, and arranged enough seats for all the party; for they were taking Dick and Lois Bell, as well as Louise Duncan, on this evening “cruise”.

What a full day it had been! Among the alligators in the morning, now going out to the sharks tonight! It all depended on how you looked at it, however, whether you saw sharks and alligators, or beautiful waters and blue sky!

Music started early. Louise brought her guitar and Dick added his ukulele to the orchestral supply. Ann enjoyed the singing and joined her voice to those of the rest; but she sat near the railing, not to miss seeing the waters and sky, and to know when first they reached the real sea. Stars were out, shining and clear. An occasional cloud that drifted across the moon only made its setting more beautiful.

“Come over here, Ann,” called Maurice after a little, when the singing had stopped. They were a little tired, those active young people. A whole day of going had made this soothing motion upon the waves the most restful entertainment that Mr. Bentley could have provided. Maurice stepped around one or two of his friends, to hold a hand to Ann and lead her to the seat which, he said, he had “just reserved”. “You have seen alligators and Indians, Ann, you tell me,--now come and show me the constellations.”

“‘Constellations’,” repeated Jack to Suzanne. “Did it ever strike you that Maurice is pretty well interested in his cousin?”

“Yes. He is crazy about her, and has been ever since she first came to our house.”

“What do you think of it?”

“Mother seems to think it all right. First cousins do marry, you know. Of course, Maury never said anything to me about it. But I can’t help noticing lately, and Mother made a little remark that surprised me the other day. One would have thought that she _hoped_ Maury would fall in love with Ann.”

“Doesn’t she like Ann?”

Suzanne was not quite ready to tell Jack her mother’s attitude toward Ann, so she managed an evasive reply to this question.

* * * * *

Meanwhile Maurice and Ann occupied a wicker seat made for two. “I’m not sure that I remember much about the winter sky,” Ann began.

“And I could not think of constellations to save my neck,” replied Maurice. “That was just an excuse to get you here, Ann. It deceived no one, either, if you are anxious to have me truthful. Jack gave me a look that I understood. I want to tell you about my talk with Father. It was certainly surprising.”

“Oh,” said Ann, “I have been so anxious all afternoon!”

“Have you, dear? Excuse me, Ann,--but whether you ever learn to care for me or not, you are the dearest, sweetest, most wonderful girl that ever gave her sympathy to a good-for-nothing college boy, who has wasted half of his opportunities!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Maury,” said Ann, as soon as she could get breath to speak, after hearing the first part of Maurice’s remark. “There is a good deal to that same college boy.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so, but I’m pretty well discouraged tonight. It was hard to keep going with the fun, but I don’t want to appear different.”

“It was,--it was true, then?”

“It was,--and more. I am simply dazed, Ann. The only happy thing about it is that I am not your cousin at all. I am holding on to that. I feel like throwing up the whole thing, college and all. How can I ever finish the year?”

“O Maury, please! You will always regret it if you give up when you are so nearly through. _Please_,--for me, if you like me a little!”

“A little! Hard luck, isn’t it?--to fall desperately in love just when the very foundations slip from under your feet, like the sand on the shore!”

“But surely it isn’t so bad as all that, Maury. Uncle Tyson cares about you and will help you start out just the same, won’t he? I don’t understand. You did not have any trouble, did you?”

“No, indeed. And I am asked not to talk about it openly in the family yet. I can’t refuse, under the circumstances. But promise me, Ann, if anything comes up, any reason why Grandmother ought to be told, you will tell her from me. I don’t want her to go on thinking,--well, I’d better tell you the whole story first. But let me tell you one thing, Ann. There will never be any deceiving of any one to _my_ record, if I keep my mind!”

Maurice then began with the history of the drive and related how, after the business for Madam LeRoy had been explained, and they had driven for some little time, Maurice introduced the subject by saying that there was something which he wanted to talk over with his father. He then referred to the gossip that he had heard and asked if Mr. Tyson had any explanation. Whatever was the truth, Maurice wanted to know it and felt that he had a right to ask, though he had no desire to trouble his father.

Mr. Tyson seemed surprised. They drove along in silence for a few minutes, Mr. Tyson very sober, Maurice more and more certain that there was some story back of it. Then Mr. Tyson acknowledged that there was truth in the gossip, though he could not see how it was started.

“So it began, Ann,” said Maurice. “Then Father exploded the bomb-shell! You could never guess it. For a long time father thought that I was his son, but he discovered a few years ago that I am not even that! Curiously enough, my name is Huntington, like your grandmother’s, and my parents were American, for which I am thankful!”

Ann drew a long breath. “_Your_ grandmother’s,” Maurice had said! Poor Maury! No real share in the family relationships! No wonder he was upset!

Maurice proceeded with the story which Mr. Tyson had given him. It seemed that Mr. Tyson, traveling around the world with plenty of money, had met two American girls, orphans, without any family connections so far as he ever knew. One was about to marry a man named Maurice Huntington, whom she had known in America, and with the other one, a beautiful girl, Mr. Tyson had fallen desperately in love. They had met in Japan, and from that time saw more or less of each other till they arrived in Greece, where there was a double wedding. Both young men were interested in archaeology and in art. Happy, and with plenty of means, they decided to take a house in one of the Grecian cities, to remain there as long as it pleased them. There a boy was born to each of the sisters, Mrs. Tyson’s about three months the elder, and they had the same English nurse to take care of both babies.

When the Tyson baby was about five months old, its mother died suddenly, and Mr. Tyson, leaving the boy in charge of the nurse and his sister-in-law, went to France to get away from his trouble. In Paris, attracted at first by a fancied resemblance to his wife, Mr. Tyson fell in love again and after a very short courtship married Ann’s aunt.

To Maurice, Mr. Tyson explained that he did not tell Mrs. Tyson of his first marriage for two reasons: first, a remark that she made during the courtship about second marriages; second, the short time which had elapsed between the death of his first wife and the second marriage. He thought that he could explain after their marriage, but found that she was very unhappy about it. (Ann thought that she could imagine the time Uncle Tyson had had over the matter, no excuses of having been so desperately in love with Aunt Sue serving to placate her.)

It was her proposition that they ignore the matter so far as their friends were concerned. Why explain? It would be several years very likely, before they returned to America. They were going to explore out-of-the-way places. They would be in Greece some time. Let the child be considered hers. It was so young that it would be better for it to regard her as its mother.

Mr. Tyson was only too glad to have the matter amicably settled and left it in his wife’s hands to manage. No harm could be done, he thought. It was no one’s affair, he reasoned.

When at last they returned to Greece, they found no one in the house which the Huntington’s and the Tysons had taken but the English woman and one of the babies. Several weeks before, she told them, the Huntingtons and their baby had been drowned while they were on a little excursion by themselves. She was thankful to see them, for funds were lacking. She had written and did not understand why she did not hear. Mr. Huntington had naturally handled the funds. She had only her own savings to use. Mrs. Tyson was upset and wanted to leave the next day. Accordingly she and the nurse, with the baby, packed and left at once, leaving him to settle matters and sell the house. He did not think of making any special inquiries into the story of the nurse, though one of the friends whom he consulted in regard to the sale of the house had remarked that he thought the baby had died before, and another expressed himself as very sorry that he had lost the baby as well as his wife. But Mr. Tyson was hurried and had made no intimate friends there. He and Mr. Huntington had been concerned with their explorations and study. Only one thing he remembered as seeming strange to him. The baby had not been named when his wife died, and the nurse now told him that the Huntingtons called it Maurice. That seemed strange, for he had been under the impression that his sister-in-law had been about to name her baby for its father. But his memory was hazy. The babies had not seemed of much importance then.

But Mr. Tyson understood the whole matter when, several years before, he had received a letter from the English nurse, who informed him that the baby was the child of the Huntingtons and that she was sorry for the deception. “I did not know what your wife would do about it, and I wanted the Huntington baby to have a home. I will tell no one else.”

“So,” said Maurice, as he quoted the nurse’s words, “the Huntington baby has had a home! I suppose that I should be very grateful! Indeed, I am grateful. You should have seen poor old Dad when he was telling me. He asked me to keep on calling him father and added that he thought a great deal of his worthless son. I wondered that when he was dealing with me for my extravagance at college he did not tell me this. He didn’t have the heart, he said, and it was too late for him to feel that I was not his own son. That was pretty nice of Dad! And he wouldn’t give it away to Mother, either.

“I shall have to keep calling her that, of course. I haven’t so many compunctions in regard to her. Yet she has been good to me. I have had as much mothering as my kid brother. Say,--it’s going to be hard to realize that he isn’t my brother!

“When it comes to Grandmother,--she must not leave me any money because she thinks I am her grandson. I don’t know what to do about that. Dad made me promise not to do anything right now. Promise me, Ann, that you will tell her privately any time you think she ought to know.”

“I couldn’t do that, Maury. It will occur to you what should be done about all this. In the whole story, Maurice, there isn’t one thing for you to be ashamed of! It was just the peculiar set of circumstances. And I’m sure I’m glad that English nurse did what she did. Well, I suppose I ought not to say that, for doing what isn’t square is never right. But she repented anyhow. And suppose that we’d never had you in the family!”

Ann almost regretted her impulsive words when she saw the effect they had. But was not it her duty to do what she could to cheer him up in his whirl of discouragement?

“That is dear of you to say, little one,” said Maurice, taking Ann’s hand in his cold one. It had cost Maurice something to go over this. “I’ll never forget your sympathy, Ann, and when I make good, I’m going to ask you to be another Ann Huntington.”

“Maury,” called Suzanne, “got enough of constellations yet? I want you to come and start for the boys that crazy college song you sang last night.”

Ann and Maurice walked the short distance to the central group, where Maurice accepted the guitar that Louise handed him and led off. Ann, watching him, came to the conclusion that however much he might be upset, Maurice was now more or less relieved, knowing the truth, and having told Ann.

When the song, a wild ditty in dialect, was over, the girls gave hearty applause. “You’d think that Maurice was the real thing from the way he reels off that foreign dialect,” said Dick Bell. “Say, Maury, where were you born anyhow?”

Suzanne, laughing, answered for Maurice, “In Greece,” she said. “That’s where he gets his Grecian nose!”

It was late when the young people separated. Long since the yacht had left the sea and found its way to the dock in New River. Dick and his sister accompanied Louise Duncan to her own yacht. The river was very still, a cool wind blowing from the ocean, when Ann, creeping into her berth, heard the boys on deck begin to serenade them again in the soft old college tunes used by generations. Suzanne sat up in her berth to listen. But sleepy Ann lay back on her pillow with a pleased smile. “Maurice is showing me that he can ‘carry on’,” she thought, and her mind began to go over what he had told her. “‘Ann Huntington’! Wouldn’t it be odd if----?”

THE END.

_SAVE THE WRAPPER!_

_If_ you have enjoyed reading about the adventures of the new friends you have made in this book and would like to read more clean, wholesome stories of their entertaining experiences, turn to the book jacket--on the inside of it, a comprehensive list of Burt’s fine series of carefully selected books for young people has been placed for your convenience.

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ANN CROSSES A SECRET TRAIL

The Sterling family, with a group of friends, spend a thrilling vacation under the southern Pines of Florida.

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In solving the disappearance of her father, Ann finds exciting adventures, Indians and bandits in the West.

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Transcriber’s Note:

Page 5 said to Ann privately, Mrs. Tyson _changed to_ said to Ann privately, as Mrs. Tyson

Page 6 have taken worse risks that that _changed to_ have taken worse risks than that

Page 205 they evidently possesssed _changed to_ they evidently possessed

Page 206 loked sober for some time _changed to_ looked sober for some time

Page 215 shone betwen two masses of growth _changed to_ shone between two masses of growth

Page 225 to miss seing the waters and sky _changed to_ to miss seeing the waters and sky

Page 232 Mr. Tyson undersood the whole matter _changed to_ Mr. Tyson understood the whole matter

End of Project Gutenberg's Ann Crosses a Secret Trail, by Harriet Pyne Grove