CHAPTER XXI

STRANGE DISCLOSURES

For a moment no one spoke--they were all so surprised.

"Hello!" called out Vita. "What's this? A party?" Her English was perfect.

"No, it isn't Vita," Nora managed to answer. "I was almost scared to death----"

"Let me tell her, Nora," interrupted Thistle, the leader.

"I'm not going in that house with her until Cousin Ted comes home," declared Nora. "Vita is always putting me off. She knows what that noise up in the attic is."

"Have you heard it before?" asked Betta.

"Yes, a number of times----"

"Then, if the moaner did not die before, Nora, what makes you think the present attack would be fatal?" Wyn came out from the bush to inquire.

"Land sakes, Wyn! Will you hush? Fun is all right in its place but this is serious," warned Pell.

"Looks it," whispered the same Wyn, into Betta's unwilling ear.

"Nonsense, standing here like a----"

"Serenading party," finished Laddie. "Let's begin."

"Serenading?" An uncertain and feeble whistle followed, but in the dark no one owned up to it.

"You coming in? No?" asked and answered Vita.

"No. We are not coming in," declared Nora, who had stepped up to the door at which the spacious Vita stood. "We heard a noise up in the attic and we were coming in to investigate, but we won't now."

The girls were audibly disappointed. They said so outright.

"Perhaps she doesn't know a thing about it," suggested Laddie. "Don't you think, Nora, we ought to go in and look around?"

"No, I don't. She is in the plot, or secret or whatever it is," declared Nora aside. "When I first came here I heard it----"

"Why didn't you tell us?" demanded Doro. The parade had come to a useless halt.

"I don't know," murmured Nora. "You know I had queer ideas at first," she faltered, unconsciously smoothing down the pretty little velvet knickers and slipping a nervous hand into an inadequate pocket.

"We know, but we all have--at first," admitted Laddie. "I used to think I would love Thistle, and see what she has done to us with her old bossing." The challenge went unanswered.

"Can't we go to the bench and talk it over?" suggested Betta, unwilling to leave the scene thus unsatisfied.

"Oh, no, please don't," begged Nora. "I don't know just what I fear, but actually, girls," she did whisper this, "I am as much afraid of Vita now as I am of the thing up in the attic."

"Your nice, fat, good natured Vita?" asked Pell in surprise. The person spoken of had gone indoors discreetly.

"I don't mean that I am afraid of her all the time," Nora hastened to correct. "She is as good as gold, generally, and I am sure Vita is honorable. But it is that attic affair--she is in some way connected with that, and I am not going to take a chance of getting frightened again tonight. You have no idea how I felt, up there all alone, in fact I was all alone in the house when I heard that groan."

"Groan?" Wyn could not resist. "I thought it was a moan?"

But no one paid any attention to the remark. Betta suggested they agree with Nora and all go back to camp.

"We can bring Nora back home about the time she expects her Cousin Jerry," Betta's suggestion included. "There is no sense in subjecting her to more terror with the Italian woman."

"For once I agree with you, Betta," answered Thistle. "March back to the Chickadee, every Scout of you, and see that you don't wallow in that mud puddle."

"But the prince?" inquired Wyn. "Is he to walk through ordinary mud puddles?"

"No. Of course not. You and the other big girl, Treble by name, are to carry him. Avaunt!" ordered the leader.

"Oh please----" protested Nora; but in vain. She was upon the shoulders of Wyn and Treble before she had a chance to finish her useless appeal.

"Put your royal arms around me," chanted Treble.

"If you don't you may be dumped," warned the other slave.

"Listen!" ordered someone. "Here comes the whole camp! Are we out after hours?"

"If we are we can plead emergency," explained Thistle. "How could we wait for permission when someone was moaning to death?"

They took up the march in real earnest. As faithful Scouts they always kept to regulations and found pleasure in doing so. Only Nora's call of distress had lured them away as darkness was setting in.

"Please let me walk," begged Nora. "I know you must get back as quickly as you can, and I am sure I have given you enough trouble."

"We love to carry you," insisted Wyn. "Besides, we know it's our last chance. Alma will be unconscious in the throes of love from this on," she finished with a lurch that brought the erstwhile prince to "his" feet in spite of their intentions.

A few more accidents, minor and major, according to the way said accidents were accepted, and the squad arrived at Chickadee. Nora was now more embarrassed than ever. How could she again go in among all those sensibly-clad girls in that ridiculous costume? Besides, now she was bound to tell the whole miserable story.

"Where have you girls been?" began Becky, who stood waiting. "Did you not know this was story night?"

"We have been out scouting, and we did," replied Thistle in her most docile tone. "Becky, love, we have the bravest thrill of our entire career to unfold."

"Begin, please, by explaining the infraction of hours," said Miss Beckwith, although her manner belied her demand, and the summer twilight lasted.

"The thrill is none other than someone, anyone, dying of moans," said Wyn. "We have with us tonight----"

At this she craned her neck over the tallest of them to locate little Nora. But she, the guest of honor, was hiding behind Treble.

"When you hear the whole wonderful tale," promised Pell, "you will only be sorry you were not along. We have been out gunning for attic ghosts." After more talk of this variety Nora was dragged forth.

How pretty she looked in the camp light! A glow from the fire that had been lighted for stories, surrounded the little prince, and, as the picturesque figure stood in the center of the group of admiring eyes, even the glory of the modern Scout uniform was threatened with eclipse. In the late twilight the effect was entrancing.

"Isn't she darling?"

"Just look at those--panties?"

"Oh, don't you remember----"

"Sweet Alice Ben Bolt."

"No, not Alice, but the night we fought over those bloomers," recalled Treble.

"They're not bloomers. They're rompers."

Then began that whole foolish debate which ended up by Thistle declaring they might be overalls for all it mattered, if only the girls would let Nora tell her story. Pell and Treble agreed. The introduction was briefly outlined for Becky's benefit, then Nora was allowed to tell it as it appeared to her--that is, she was allowed to begin to tell it that way, but what with the interruptions, the suggestions, the questions, and the qualifying clauses, it was small wonder the willing culprit made poor headway.

As the story took the shape of a confession Nora seemed to be the culprit, but judging from the approval voiced by the multitude they all had little regard for _her_ brand of "crime." In other words, Nora only imagined she had offended, the entire detail made a most interesting story as it was told around the campfire blaze of Chickadee Patrol.

She admitted frankly that her early notions were anything but practical, she bravely recounted her weakness for fancy things, including ivory bureau sets and pink ribbons, to which more than one Chickadee added her own little admission, in fact, Pell said she always did and always would love pink; brown khaki and smoked pearl buttons to the contrary notwithstanding.

The telling of her attempt at attic tenancy brought forth peal after peal of laughter, in which Nora joined. Then she told all about her disguise as the fabled and famous prince.

"I think it is all too jolly for words," insisted Laddie, "and what do you say, girls, to our adopting Prince Adorable for our mascot?"

This precipitated more trouble. Nora was put on the table, that long box used when weather was pleasant and drenched when weather was wet, and from that grandstand, or throne, she was called upon to make silly speeches, prompted by Wyn and interrupted by Betta.

Alma objected. She insisted Nora had hinted to her something she ought to tell the others. And she further maintained it was a matter serious enough to put a stop to all nonsense, and "if the girls aren't willing to listen quietly, I shall take Nora over to the other tent, where she can tell Becky in peace," threatened Alma.

This put a soft pedal on all unnecessary sounds: even Wyn desisted.

"Tell us, Nora, please do tell," begged Wyn. "We have had fun enough to give our poor jaws a rest. Mine are aching from laughing."

So Nora began.