“It will be a new kind of Christmas tree,” observed the doctor. “But she’s a cunning little one – she deserves to be kept alive.”
“Indeed she does,” Dorothy said, “and I’m glad if I can help any.”
“Why I never would have thought of the plan,” said the doctor. “I had been thinking all the time we ought to do something, but Wolters’s Christmas gift never crossed my mind. Here we are. My, but this is a great place!” he finished. And the next moment Dorothy had jumped out of the cutter and was at the door of Mr. Ferdinand Wolters.
CHAPTER VI
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Dorothy was scolded. There her own family – father, Joe and Roger, to say nothing of dear Aunt Winnie, and the cousins Ned and Nat – were waiting for her important advice about a lot of Christmas things, and she had ridden off with Dr. Gray, attending to the gloomy task of having a sick child and her mother placed in a sanitarium.
But she succeeded, and when on the following day she visited Emily and her mother, she found the nurses busy in an outer hall, fixing up the Christmas tree that Mr. Sanders had insisted upon bringing all the way from the farmhouse where Dorothy had left it for little Emily.
The very gifts that Dorothy left unopened out there, when she found the child sick, the nurses were placing on the tree, waiting to surprise Emily when she would open her eyes on the real Christmas day.
And there had been added to these a big surprise indeed, for Mr. Wolters was so pleased with the result of his charity, that he added to the hospital donation a personal check for Mrs. Tripp and her daughter. The check was placed in a tiny feed bag, from which a miniature horse (Emily’s pet variety of toy) was to eat his breakfast on Christmas morning.
Major Dale did not often interfere with his daughter’s affairs, but this time his sister, Mrs. White, had importuned him, declaring that Dorothy would take up charity work altogether if they did not insist upon her taking her proper position in the social world. It must be admitted that the kind old major believed that more pleasure could be gotten out of Dorothy’s choice than that of his well-meaning, and fashionable, sister. But Winnie, he reflected, had been a mother to Dorothy for a number of years, and women, after all, knew best about such things.
It was only when Dorothy found the major alone in his little den off his sleeping rooms that the loving daughter stole up to the footstool, and, in her own childish way, told him all about it. He listened with pardonable pride, and then told Dorothy that too much charity is bad for the health of growing girls. The reprimand was so absurd that Dorothy hugged his neck until he reminded her that even the breath of a war veteran has its limitations.
So Emily was left to her surprises, and now, on the afternoon of the night before Christmas, we find Dorothy and Mabel, with Ned, Nat and Ted, busy with the decorations of the Cedars. Step ladders knocked each other down, as the enthusiastic boys tried to shift more than one to exactly the same spot in the long library. Kitchen chairs toppled over just as Dorothy or Mabel jumped to save their slippered feet, and the long strings of evergreens, with which all hands were struggling, made the room a thing of terror for Mrs. White and Major Dale.
The scheme was to run the greens in a perfect network across the beamed ceiling, not in the usual “chandelier-corner” fashion, but latticed after the style of the Spanish serenade legend.
At intervals little red paper bells dangled, and a prettier idea for decoration could scarcely be conceived. To say that Dorothy had invented it would not do justice to Mabel, but however that may be, all credit, except stepladder episodes, was accorded the girls.
“Let me hang the big bell,” begged Ted, “if there is one thing I have longed for all my life it was that – to hang a big ‘belle’.”
He aimed his stepladder for the middle of the room, but Nat held the bell.
“She’s my belle,” insisted Nat, “and she’s not going to be hanged – she’ll be hung first,” and he caressed the paper ornament.
“If you boys do not hurry we will never get done,” Dorothy reminded them. “It’s almost dark now.”
“Almost, but not quite,” teased Ted. “Dorothy, between this and dark, there are more things to happen than would fill a hundred stockings. By the way, where do we hang the hose?”
“We don’t,” she replied. “Stockings are picturesque in a kitchen, but absurd in such a bower as this.”
“Right, Coz,” agreed Ned, deliberately sitting down with a wreath of greens about his neck. “Cut out the laundry, ma would not pay my little red chop-suey menu last week, and I may have to wear a kerchief on Yule day.”
“Oh, don’t you think that – sweet!” exulted Mabel, making a true lover’s knot of the end of her long rope of green that Nat had succeeded in intertwining with Dorothy’s ‘cross town line’.
“Delicious,” declared Ned, jumping up and placing his arms about her neck.
“Stop,” she cried. “I meant the bow.”
“Who’s running this show, any way?” asked Ted. “Do you see the time, Frats?”
The mantle clock chimed six. Ned and Nat jumped up, and shook themselves loose from the stickery holly leaves as if they had been so many feathers.
“We must eat,” declared Ned, dramatically, “for to-morrow we die!”
“We cannot have tea until everything is finished,” Dorothy objected. “Do you think we girls can clean up this room?”
“Call the maids in,” Ned advised, foolishly, for the housemaids at the Cedars were not expected to clean up after the “festooners.”
Dorothy frowned her reply, and continued to gather up the ends of everything. Mabel did not desert either, but before the girls realized it, the boys had run off – to the dining room where a hasty meal, none the less enjoyable, was ready to be eaten.
“What do you suppose they are up to?” Mabel asked.
“There is something going on when they are in such a hurry. What do you say if we follow them? It is not dark, and they can’t be going far,” answered Dorothy.
Mabel gladly agreed, and, a half hour later, the two girls cautiously made their way along the white road, almost in the shadow of three jolly youths. Occasionally they could hear the remarks that the boys made.
“They are going to the wedding!” Dorothy exclaimed. “The seven o’clock wedding at Winter’s!”
Mabel did not reply. The boys had turned around, and she clutched Dorothy’s arm nervously. Instinctively both girls slowed their pace.
“They did not see us,” Dorothy whispered, presently. “But they are turning into Sodden’s!”
Sodden’s was the home of one of the boys’ chums – Gus Sodden by name. He was younger than the others, and had the reputation of being the most reckless chap in North Birchland.
“But,” mused Mabel, “the wedding is to be at the haunted house! I should be afraid – ”
“Mabel!” Dorothy exclaimed, “you do not mean to say that you believe in ghosts!”
“Oh – no,” breathed Mabel, “but you know the idea is so creepy.”
“That is why,” Dorothy said with a light laugh, “we have to creep along now. Look at Ned. He must feel our presence near.”
The boys now were well along the path to the Sodden home. It was situated far down in a grove, to which led a path through the hemlock trees. These trees were heavy with the snow that they seemed to love, for other sorts of foliage had days before shed the fall that had so gently stolen upon them – like a caress from a white world of love.
“My, it is dark!” demurred Mabel, again.
“Mabel Blake!” accused Dorothy. “I do believe you are a coward!”
It was lonely along the way. Everyone being busy with Christmas at home, left the roads deserted.
“What do you suppose they are going in there for?” Mabel finally whispered.
“We will have to wait and find out,” replied Dorothy. “When one starts out spying on boys she must be prepared for all sorts of surprises.”
“Oh, there comes Gus! Look!” Mabel pointed to a figure making tracks through the snow along the path.
“And – there are the others. It did not take them long to make up. They are – Christmas – Imps. Such make-ups!” Dorothy finished, as she beheld the boys, in something that might have been taken, or mistaken, for stray circus baggage.
Even in their disguise it was easy to recognize the boys. Ned wore a kimono – bright red. On his head was the tall sort of cap that clowns and the old-fashioned school dunce wore. Nat was “cute” in somebody’s short skirt and a shorter jacket. He wore also a worsted cap that was really, in the dim light, almost becoming. Ted matched up Nat, the inference being that they were to be Christmas attendants on Santa Claus.
The girls stepped safely behind the hedge as the procession passed. The boys seemed too involved in their purpose to talk.
“Now,” said Dorothy, “we may follow. I knew they were up to something big.”
“Aren’t they too funny!” said Mabel, who had almost giggled disastrously as the boys passed. “I thought I would die!”
There was no time to spare now, for the boys were walking very quickly, and it was not so easy for the girls to keep up with them and at the same time to keep away from them.
Straight they went for what was locally called the “haunted” house. This was a fine old mansion, with big rooms and broad chimneys, which had once been the home of a family of wealth. But there had been a sad tragedy there, and after that it had been said that ghosts held sway at the place. It had been deserted for two years, but now, with the former owner dead, a niece of the family, fresh from college, had insisted upon being married there, and the house had been accordingly put into shape for the ceremony.
It was to be a fashionable wedding, at the hour of six, and people had kept the station agent busy all day inquiring how to reach the scene of the wedding.
Lights already burned brightly in the rooms, that could be seen to be decorated in holiday style. People fluttered around and through the long French windows; the young folks, boys and girls, being hidden in different quarters, could alike see something of what was going on in the haunted house.
“They’re coming!” Dorothy heard Nat exclaim, just as he ducked in by the big outside chimney. The broad flue was at the extreme end of the house, forming the southern part of the library, just off the wide hall that ran through the middle of the place. Dorothy and Mabel had taken refuge in one of the many odd corners of the big, old fashioned porch, which partly encircled this wing, and commanding a wonderful view of the interior of the house, the halls and library, and long, narrow drawing room.
There was a smothered laugh at the corner of the porch where the boys had ducked, and the girls watched in wonder. The latter saw Nat boost Ned up the side of the porch column, and Ted followed nimbly. In tense silence the girls listened to their footsteps cross the porch roof, then as scraping and slipping and much suppressed mirth floated down.
“They’re going down the chimney!” declared Dorothy, in astonishment.
“They surely are!” affirmed Mabel, leaning far over the porch rail.
“But, Doro, what of the fire?”
“They don’t use that chimney. They use the one on the other side of the house, and the one in the kitchen.”
CHAPTER VII
REAL GHOSTS
“That explains the basket!” exclaimed Dorothy, suddenly.
“How can they do it!” Mabel giggled excitedly.
“They can’t,” Dorothy replied, calmly, “they’ll simply get in a mess – soot and things, you know.”
“Let’s run. I’m too excited to breathe! I know something dreadful is bound to happen!” And Mabel clutched Dorothy’s arm.
“And leave the boys to their fate? No, indeed, we’ll see the prank through, since we walked into it,” Dorothy said, determinedly.
Mabel laughed nervously, and looked at Dorothy in puzzled impatience. “I always believe in running while there’s time,” she explained.
Music, sweet and low, floated out on the still, cold air of the night, and the wedding guests, in trailing gowns of silver and lace and soft satins, stood in laughing groups, all eyes turned toward the broad staircase.
“How quiet it’s become; everyone has stopped talking,” whispered Mabel, in Dorothy’s ear.
“How peculiarly they are all staring! But of course it must be exciting just before the bride appears,” murmured Dorothy, in answer.
“Oh, there comes the bride!” cried Mabel. “Isn’t she sweet!”
“It’s a stunt to trail downstairs that way – like a summer breeze. How beautifully gauzy she looks!” sighed Dorothy.
The eyes of the guests were turned half in wonder toward the old chimney place, and half smilingly toward the bride. On came the bride, tall and slender and leaning gracefully on her father’s arm, straight toward the tall mantel in the chimney place, which was lavishly banked with palms and flowers, and the minister began reading the ceremony.
“Hey! Let go there!” Ned’s muffled voice floated above the heads of the wedding guests, who stood aghast.
“You’re stuck all right, old chap,” came the consoling voice of Nat in a ghostly whisper.
Sounds of half-smothered, weird laughter – or so the laughter seemed to the guests – filled the air. The bridegroom flushed and looked quickly at his bride, who clung to her father’s arm, pale with fright. The minister alone was calm.
As the bridegroom’s clear answer: “I will” came to the ears of Dorothy and Mabel out on the porch, a creepy sound issued from the great fireplace. The newly-made husband kissed his bride, and the guests moved back.
Dorothy leaned eagerly forward to catch a glimpse of the radiantly smiling bride. Just then a tall palm wavered, fell to the floor with a crash, and in falling, carried vases and jars of flowers with it, and the ghostly laughter could be plainly heard by all.
All the tales that had been told of the haunted house came vividly before each guest. There were feminine screams, a confused rush for the hallway, and in two seconds the wedding festivities were in an uproar. The bride sank to the floor, and with white, upturned face, lay unconscious.
The men of the party with one thought jumped to the fireplace, and Ned was dragged, by way of the chimney, into the room. Completely dazed, utterly chagrined, and looking altogether foolish, he sat in a round, high basket, his knees crushed under his chin, the clown’s cap rakishly hanging over one ear, his face unrecognizable in its thick coating of cobwebs and soot.
“Oh, we’re so sorry,” Dorothy’s eager young voice broke upon the hushed crowd, as she ran into the room, with Mabel behind her.
Ned stared open-mouthed at the gaily-dressed people. It had happened so suddenly, and was so far from what he had planned, that he could not get himself in hand.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed the bride’s father, pacing up and down, “can’t someone get order out of this chaos?”
The bridegroom was chafing the small white hands of his bride, and the guests stepped away to give her air. The wedding finery lay limp and draggled. Dorothy stifled a moan as she looked. Quickly jumping out of the crowd she left the room. Mabel stood still, uncertain as to what to do. At the long French windows appeared Nat, Ted and Gus, grotesque in their make-ups and trying in vain to appear as serious as the situation demanded.
“Step in here!” commanded the father, and the boys meekly stepped in. A brother of the bride held Ned firmly by the arm. “Now, young scallywags, explain yourselves!”
It was an easy thing for the irate father to demand, but it completely upset the boys. They couldn’t explain themselves.
In an awed whisper, Ned ventured an explanation: “We only wanted to keep up the reputation of the house.”
“And the basket stuck,” eagerly helped out Ted. “We just thought we would whisper mysteriously and – and cough – or something,” and Ned tried to free himself from the grip on his arm.
“It was wider than we thought and the basket kept going down – ” Nat’s voice was hoarse, but he couldn’t control his mirth.
“The rope slipped some – and the basket stuck – ” Ted’s voice was brimming over with apologies.
“Naturally, we would have entered by the front door,” politely explained Gus, “had we foreseen this.”
“You see it stuck,” persisted Ted, apparently unable to remember anything but that awful fact.
“Then it really wasn’t spooks,” asked a tall, dark-haired girl, as she joined the group.
One by one the guests gingerly returned to the room and stood about, staring in amusement at the boys. The cool, though severe stares of the ladies were harder to bear than any rough treatment that might be accorded them by the men. Against the latter they could defend themselves, but, as Ned suddenly realized, there is no defence for mere man against the amused stare of a lady.
“It certainly could be slated at police headquarters as ‘entering’,” calmly said a stout man, taking in every detail of the boys’ costumes. “Disturbing the peace and several other things.”
“With intent to do malicious mischief,” the man who spoke balanced himself on his heels and swung a chrysanthemum to and fro by the stem.
The minister was walking uneasily about. The bride was on a sofa where she had been lifted to come out of her faint.
In a burst of impatience Ted whispered to Mabel, whom, for some reason, he did not appear at all surprised to see there: “Where’s Dorothy?”
Mabel, scared and perplexed, shook her head solemnly. But, as if in answer to the question, Dorothy rushed into the room, her cheeks aglow, her hair flying wildly about, and behind her walked Dr. Gray.
Dr. Gray’s kindly smile beamed on the little bride, and he soon brought her around. Sitting up, she burst into a peal of merry laughter.
“What, pray tell me, are they?” she demanded, pointing at the boys. She was still white, but her eyes danced, and her small white teeth gleamed between red lips.
“My cousins,” bravely answered Dorothy. Everyone laughed, and the boys, in evident relief, shouted.
“You’ve come to my wedding!” exclaimed the bride.
“Kind of ’em; wasn’t it?” said the bridegroom, sneeringly.
“But we’re going now,” quickly replied Dorothy, with great dignity.
“Why?” asked the bride with wide open eyes. “Since you are not really spooky creatures, stay for the dancing.”
“We’re terribly thankful you are not ghosts,” chirped a fluffy bridesmaid.
“You see if you had really been spooks,” laughed the bride, “everyone would have shrieked at me that horrible phrase, ‘I told you so,’ because you know I insisted upon being married in this house, just to defy superstition.”
“Just think what you’ve saved us!” said the tall, dark-haired girl.
“Of course if it will be any accommodation,” awkwardly put in Ned, “we’ll dance.” He thought he had said the perfectly polite thing.
“He’s going to dance for us!” cried the tall girl, to the others in the hall, and everyone crowded in.
An hour later, trudging home in the bright moonlight, Dorothy sighed: “Weren’t they wonderful!”
“It was decent of them to let us stay and have such fun,” commented Ned.
“And such eats!” mused Nat. And Nat and Ned, with a strangle hold on each other, waltzed down the road.
Happy, but completely tired, the boys and girls plowed through the snow, homeward bound.
CHAPTER VIII
THE AFTERMATH
Christmas day, at dusk, the boys were stretched lazily before the huge fire in the grate, when Dorothy jumped up excitedly:
“Boys, here’s Tavia! And I declare, Bob Niles is with her!”
“Good for Bob!” sang out Ned.
“’Rah! ’Rah!” whooped Ted, and all rushed for the door.
Gaily Tavia hugged them all. Bob stood discreetly aside.
“Father was called away, and it was so dreary – I just ran over to see everyone,” gushed Tavia.
“Well, we’re glad to see you,” welcomed Aunt Winnie.
“Oh, Tavia,” whispered Dorothy, “how did you manage to get Bob?”
“Get whom?” Tavia tried to look blank. Dorothy spoiled the blankness by stuffing a large chocolate cream right into Tavia’s mouth before her chum could close it.
“Thought you’d find Tavia interesting,” grinned Ned, helping Bob take off his great ulster, at which words the lad addressed flushed to his temples.
“Say, fellows, that yarn about the hose – ” began Nat.
“Nat no longer believes in Santa and the stockings,” chimed in Ned, “he hung up all his socks last night and – ”
Nat glared at Ned, then calmly proceeded: “About the hose, as I was saying, is nonsense! I own some pretty decent-looking socks, as you’ve noticed – I hung ’em all up and nary a sock remained on the line this morning. Santa stole them!”
“It’s the funniest thing about Nat’s socks,” explained Dorothy, hastily, “he thought one pair would not hold enough, and so strung them all over the fireplace, and this morning they were gone!”
Ted hummed a dreamy tune, and stared at the beamed ceiling, with a faraway look in his eyes. Nat, with sudden suspicion, grabbed Ted’s leg, and there, sure enough, was one pair of his highly-prized, and highly-colored, socks, snugly covering Ted’s ankles.
A rough and tumble fight followed, and Tavia, with high glee, jumped into it. Finally, breathless and panting, they stopped, and demurely Tavia, for all the world like a prim little girl in Sunday School, sank to a low stool, with Bob at her feet. Nothing could be quieter than Tavia, when Tavia decided on quietness.
“We came over in the biggest sleigh we could find,” said Bob, “so that all could take a drive – Mrs. White and Major Dale too, you know.”
“Oh, no, the young folks don’t want an old fellow like me,” protested Major Dale.
“We just do!” Dorothy replied, resting her head against her father’s arm affectionately. “We simply won’t go unless you and Aunt Winnie come.”
“Why, of course, dear, we’ll go,” answered Aunt Winnie, who was never known to stay at home when she could go on a trip. As she spoke she sniffed the air. “What is that smell, boys?”
“Something’s burning,” yawned Ted, indifferently, just as if things burning in one’s home was a commonplace diversion from the daily routine.
Noses tilted, the boys and girls sniffed the air.
Suddenly Bob and Nat sprang to Tavia’s side and quickly beat out, with their fists, a tiny flame that was slowly licking its way along the hem of her woollen dress. With her reckless disregard of consequences, Tavia had joined in the rough and tumble fight with the boys, and, exhausted, had rested too near the grate. A flying spark had ignited the dress, which smouldered, and only the quick work of the boys saved Tavia from possible burns. For once she was subdued. Mrs. White soothed her with motherly compassion. She was always in dread lest Tavia’s reckless spirit would cause the girl needless suffering.
“You see,” said Bob, smiling at Tavia, as they piled into the sleigh and he carefully tucked blankets about the girls, “you can’t entirely take care of yourself – some time you’ll rush into the fire, as you did just now.”
For an instant Tavia’s cheeks flamed. He was so masterful! She yearned to slap him, but considering the fire escapade, she couldn’t, quite.
The major was driving, with Dorothy snuggled closely to his side, and Ted curled up on the floor. Nat took care of Aunt Winnie on the next seat and Bob and Tavia were in the rear.
On they sped over snow and ice, the bitter wind sharply cutting their faces, until all glowed and sparkled at the touch of it.
“Did you hear from the girls?” asked Dorothy, turning to Tavia.
“Just got Christmas cards,” answered Tavia.
“I fared better than that. Cologne wrote a fourteen page letter – ”
“All the news that’s worth printing, as it were,” laughed Tavia.
“Underlined, Cologne asked whether I had heard the news about Mingle, and provokingly ended the letter there. I’m still wondering. Her departure at such an opportune moment was a blessing, but we never stopped to think what might have caused it,” said Dorothy, thoughtfully.
“Well, whatever it was, it saved us,” contentedly responded Tavia. “By the way, Maddie sent me the cutest card – painted it herself!”
“Who wants to ride across the lake?” demanded Major Dale, slowing up the horses, “that will save us climbing the hill, you know, and the ice is plenty thick enough; don’t you think so, Winnie?”
“Yes, indeed,” Aunt Winnie answered, ready for anything that meant adventure, and as they all chorused their assent joyfully, away they drove over the snow-covered ice.
The horses galloped straight across the lake, up the bank, and then came a smash! The steeds ran into a drift, dumped over the sleigh; and a shivering, laughing mass of humanity lay on the new, white snow.
“Such luck!” cried Tavia, “out of the fire into the snow!”
While Major Dale and the boys righted the overturned sleigh, Bob took care of the ladies.
“You and the girls leave for New York to-morrow, Tavia tells me,” said Bob.
“Yes,” replied Aunt Winnie, with a sigh, “a little pleasure trip, and some business.”
“Business?” cried Dorothy, closely scrutinizing her aunt’s worried face.
Quick to scent something that sounded very much like “family matters,” Tavia turned with Bob, and deliberately started pelting with snow the hard-working youths at the sleigh.
“Aw! Quit!” scolded Ted.
“There, you’ve done it! That one landed in my ear! Now, quit it!” Nat stopped working long enough to wipe the wet snow from his face.
But Tavia’s young spirits were not to be squelched by mere words; Bob made the snow balls for Tavia to throw, which she continued to do with unceasing ardor.
“Why, yes, Dorothy,” Aunt Winnie replied, watching Tavia. “I’m afraid there will be quite a bit of business mixed with our New York trip. I’m having some trouble. It’s the agent who has charge of the apartment house I am interested in – you remember, the man whom I did not like.”
“The apartment you’ve taken for the Winter?” questioned Dorothy, shivering.
“You’re cold, dear.” Aunt Winnie, too, shivered. “Run over with Tavia and jump around, it’s too chilly to stand still like this. How unfortunate we are! The sun will soon dip behind those hilltops, and the air be almost too frosty for comfort.”
“Tell me,” persisted Dorothy, “what is it that’s worrying you, Aunt Winnie? I’ve noticed it since I came home. I want to be all the assistance I can, you know.”
“You couldn’t help me, Dorothy, in fact, I do not even know that I am right about the matter. I do not trust the agent, but he had the rent collecting before I took the place, so I allowed him to continue under me. I can only say, Dorothy, that something evidently is wrong. My income is not what it should be.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! But, I’m glad you told me. Wait until we reach New York – we’ll solve it,” and Dorothy pressed her lips together firmly.
Aunt Winnie laughed. “Don’t talk foolishly, dear. It takes a man of wide experience and cunning to deal with any real estate person, I guess; and most of all a New York agent. My dear, let us forget the matter. There, the sleigh seems to be right side up once more.”
“Tavia,” whispered Dorothy, as she held her friend back, “we’re in for it! Aunt Winnie has a mystery on her hands! In New York City! Let us see if you and I and the boys can solve it!”
“Good! We’ll certainly do it, if you think it can be done,” said Tavia. “Oh, good old New York town! It makes me dizzy just to think of the whirling mass of rushing people and the autos and ’buses, and shops and tea-rooms! Doro, you must promise that you won’t drag me into more than ten tea-rooms in one afternoon!”
“I solemnly promise,” returned Dorothy, “if you’ll promise me to keep out of shops one whole half-hour in each day!”