CHAPTER XIX

A DESERTED TRYST

Nora was disconsolate. For two days the dainties left for Lucia had remained untouched. The bread box which Vita had given her to play with, and into which the food was deposited for Lucia, stood upon the tree stump with the sliced lamb, the piece of cake, and the big orange which comprised the last installment offered by the sympathetic Nora, just as she had left it.

"Can anything have happened to her?" Nora asked herself. She was almost too disappointed to sit down and rest in the cool, quiet shade. Cap sniffed the box but did not put a paw up to beg, and even the big noisy blue-jay scorned a few crumbs that lay on a fallen leaf.

"Suppose he--murdered her!"

It was not unusual for a girl like Nora to think the very worst first, in fact the normal, childish mind is very apt to leap at a sensation, but only the high spot is sensed, the detail is always conspicuously lacking.

"Of course she is deadly sick. Oh, why didn't she let me know where she lived," Nora wailed secretly. "I could visit her and bring her all sorts of lovely things----"

She lifted the paper napkin that covered the food offering.

"What's this?" she exclaimed. A stiff little green leaf made of very shiny paper appeared, and with it, Nora found, was an old fashioned nose-gay, the sort beloved by the Italians and the Polish peasantry. Nora picked up the spray. It was tied with a green ribbon and somehow gave Nora a distinct shock.

"Oh! She's dead, this is what they--have at funerals!"

Tears welled up into the blue eyes, and hands holding the silent message trembled. Nora sat down and Cap nosed up to her; he knew something was the matter.

Such a pathetic little bouquet! One stiff pink rose, one yellow daisy, two bright red carnations and three very stiff green leaves, all made of a sort of oil-cloth paper.

A tear fell into the heart of the rose. If it were not really a flower it was at least a good picture of one, just as a photograph can so vividly remind one of the original.

Nora went back to the box. "When can she have put it here?" she wondered. It was under the paper plate.

Then she recalled that this last donation had been hastily deposited in the box, for it was late and Nora had to hurry back to get ready for her own tea at the time she placed it there.

"I must have it put right on her flowers," she pondered. "Poor, abused, little Lucia!"

Picking up the untouched food Nora discovered a slip of soiled paper beneath it. There was writing on it, a scrawl of some kind. She carried it to the light out from under the dense trees.

"Yes, it's a note," murmured Nora, as if Cap, her only companion, understood. And it just says "'Goodbye, with love.'"

Nora read and reread the scribble. It was written, she decided, in Lucia's hand, for it was such a crooked, uneven scrawl. The paper was a leaf torn from a book, and this assured Nora that at some time Lucia must have gone to school.

"After all my joy, the party, the enrollment and everything, this has to come," thought the discouraged girl. "I hoped today I could induce her to come over and see Ted and Jerry."

It was too disappointing. For the first few days Nora had felt it was safer to allow Lucia to have her way, and when she waited and waited, until the Italian girl appeared, then coaxed and urged that she come over to the cottage, Lucia showed signs of real fright. She would have run from the tree-tent and never returned, if Nora had not promised to agree to her secrecy. After that the benefactor brought the food but was never able to get more than a fleeting glimpse of Lucia, as she scurried off like a little black rabbit with her precious food and her strange secret. And now she was really gone and had said goodbye.

"Why didn't I tell Alma?" sighed Nora, regretfully. "She might have known a better way to have helped her."

Too late to reason thus, Nora with a heavy heart again covered the tin box, hoping something would bring Lucia back; then she took the quaint floral token and started for the Nest.

Her plans to help Lucia had included everything from a change of home to a complete change of identity, for Nora felt the stranger must have been in sore need, and why couldn't she induce Cousin Ted to adopt such a pretty, forlorn child?

It was characteristic of Nora to decide on the most dramatic course, for such a possibility as a mother, father, or family in the background of Lucia's life was not thought of.

And was this to be the end of her precious secret? She squeezed the paper bouquet until the humble ribbon wrinkled into a sad bit of stuff, and then decided to put the token away with her most precious belongings. Maybe Lucia would come back, and if she ever did Nora decided positively she would then tell someone about the child, even tell Cousin Ted if need be, and, certainly, Alma.

"And now I must go to my letter box," she told Cap, the faithful.

Looking up and down, in and out, far and near, to make sure no one saw her, Nora followed the trail to the bent willow--the hiding place of Alma's correspondence with the fabled prince.

She had been there, the moss was a shade lighter where feet had pressed the velvet nap, and the leaves of the bushes were still "inside out" from a hasty brushing made to clear a path to the bent willow.

Under the stone, as directed, Alma had placed her answer to the prince's letter, and finding it there she quickly hid the envelope in her deepest blouse pocket. She would read it in more comfort, enjoy it more at home, with the door locked.

"What an exciting vacation I am having, really!" she reflected. "When I came all I could think of was pretty things."

Had she been that Nora once so filled with foolish fancies that life, brief as it had been to her, seemed too full of nonsense to admit of real joys with girl companions, and any number of adventures?

"A real vacation indeed," concluded the girl in khaki, holding close Lucia's flowers and Alma's letter. She was sorely tempted to peek into the latter, but that would spoil the delicious secret reading, which to be complete would have to be made in solitude.

It had been days since she went out "on location" with the cousins--Jerry always called surveying "doing location," as the moving picture folks termed their work, but so many other things claimed her attention it seemed difficult to get them all in. Cousin Ted was very busy herself, but had managed to write Nora's mother. A glowing account of the Scout interests was surely given in that letter, and Jerry was disappointed when Ted refused to ask permission for Nora to stay during the winter. To this, woman-like, Mrs. Jerry Manton had not agreed, because to go to school in the wilderness is always more picturesque than practical.

But Nora had endeared herself to those generous hearts, and even the thought of that real mother with an unreal name did not thrill her as did the knowledge that she had "made good" with these devoted friends.

Home now--that is to the Nest, Nora rushed up to her room to devour Alma's letter. She ignored Vita's appeal to come see the wonderful flowers sent from some one for Mrs. Manton. She must read the letter before going down to dinner.

In the biggest chair by the open window beyond locked doors she unfolded the precious page.

"She writes a pretty hand," was the first comment. Then she read:

"'Camp Chickadee.

"'My dear Prince:

"'How wonderful to get a letter from you! As you have guessed I did think of you ever since. Please tell me who you are and where you live? We Scouts would love to know you and perhaps we can tell you some interesting things about America, if, as I surmise, you are a visitor here.'"

"Oh mercy," gasped Nora. "I have only made matters worse. She actually believes I am a prince. What ever shall I do?"

The letter lay mute and yet accusing. Nora had written Alma a first letter to prepare her for the second. True, she did not explain--but she fancied somehow Alma would come to the tree, and then perhaps they would meet and settle the whole troublesome business.

"But it's worse, heaps worse," sighed Nora. The call from down stairs was unanswered, for she must plan something else and that quickly.

First she thought of writing another letter with a complete and full confession, but she dreaded it, shrank from it and finally abandoned the idea.

"If it only were not Alma," she sighed. "I would almost enjoy the joke on some of the others, but Alma!"

Nothing could be worse than this nagging at her conscience. She must conquer it. And here was the new trouble about Lucia!

"I always thought secrets were such fun, and yet these are positively--tragic," she thought. "If only I could tell Alma about Lucia, at least that would be a comfort."

Another call from Vita. Cousin Ted and Cousin Jerry were in now. The cheery whistle and the joyful "Whoo-hoo!" must be answered.

"Oh, dear me!" sighed Nora. "I suppose things always happen that way." She gave Lucia's flowers an affectionate squeeze, dropped them into her ivory box, slipped Alma's letter under the cushion and went down to dinner.