Such a strange thing had happened! One of the brand-new pillow-cases was missing! This was Saturday morning and Hulda had been changing the bedding. Marm announced her loss at the breakfast table. Hulda wasn’t certain whose pillow the slip had been missing from, but she thought it was Mr. Brent’s. “I can’t think where it has got to,” lamented Marm. “You don’t know where it is, do you, Ned?”
Ned observed her frankly and gravely.
“I do not,” he replied. “And I don’t believe it was mine. At least, I had both last night.”
“Did you? Well, then it must have been lost this morning. Perhaps Hulda dropped it somewhere.”
“I hope she didn’t drop it on the stairs,” said Spud anxiously.
[194]
“Why?” asked Marm.
“I might slip on it,” was the sober reply. Marm wondered why the fellows laughed and had to have the joke explained to her by Hoop.
“Maybe,” The Fungus began, “the same person swiped the pillow-case that took Ned’s eight—”
But he stopped there, pretending to choke on a mouthful of baked potato. It had been agreed last evening that there was no use in troubling Marm about Ned’s loss.
“Fungus,” said Sandy in his blandest tones, “do you realize that you sometimes talk too much?”
“At least,” defended Dutch with a chuckle, “he knows when to shut up!”
“I guess,” said Ned to Sandy when they left the table, “that I’m just as curious as Marm is about where that pillow-case has got to.”
“Pshaw,” replied Sandy, “never mind about that. What bothers me is that money of yours. That’s a very funny thing, Ned. Nothing like it has ever happened in West House since I’ve been here. You don’t suppose—” he hesitated—“you don’t think that Cal knows anything about it, do you?”
[195]
“Cal? Of course not,” replied Ned emphatically. “I’d trust him anywhere.”
“Well, he doesn’t seem that sort to me, either,” said Sandy. “I like the chap. Only he did know the money was there, and then Spud is certain that he saw someone in front of your bureau; someone who wore a nightgown. And excepting Cal and Clara the rest of us all wear pajamas.”
“Oh, rot,” said Ned. “Spud was half asleep, probably. Anyway, it’s a fair guess he couldn’t tell whether the person wore a nightgown or a—a potato sack. I’ll bet he imagined the whole thing; dreamed it, probably. I wouldn’t be surprised if I came across the money somewhere, after all,” he added carelessly.
“Well, I hope you do. I’d hate to think that there was any fellow here who would steal.”
“I don’t believe it was stolen, Sandy.”
“But you said last night—”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking it over. I’m pretty careless with things, you know. I dare say I stuck it somewhere and forgot about it. We won’t say anything more about it, especially outside the house.”
“Not likely!” said Sandy.
[196]
Being Saturday there was no school. Ned had said something two or three days before about walking to Indian Head this morning and Cal had eagerly agreed to accompany him. Indian Head was a favorite resort with those who liked walking and lay five miles away across country. In Revolutionary times a block-house had stood there and had been the scene of an Indian massacre. Even yet relics were sometimes found and almost every fellow was the proud possessor of an arrow head purporting to have been dug up on the site of the old fort. Most of them had been purchased from the enterprising merchant who sold post-cards and curiosities in a little log-cabin at the foot of the hill and looked suspiciously new. Since the affair of last night Cal expected that the excursion would be dropped. But Ned sought him out after breakfast and reminded him in an off-hand way that he had agreed to go.
“Hoop and The Fungus are going, too,” he said. “We’re going to start in about ten minutes.”
“All right,” said Cal after a moment of hesitation. But when he had thought it over he changed his mind. His grievance against[197] Ned still held good, and, he decided, he didn’t want to go walking with a fellow who secretly believed him a thief. So he told Ned he cal’lated he wouldn’t go. And Ned said “Very well” quite indifferently and the three went off about half-past nine. Cal watched them from his window and felt some regret. It was a wonderful morning and he loved to walk.
When he went downstairs the house was deserted, the rest of the inhabitants having taken themselves off toward school. Cal put his hands in his pocket and considered. It was too fine a day to stay indoors. He cal’lated he’d better follow the others over to the field and see what was going on. Perhaps there’d be a ball game, for base-ball at Oak Park was played until snow came. Then his eyes fell on the tennis court and he went in and found a racket and for a half-hour amused himself knocking balls across the net. After that he wandered to the gate and through it and started down the road past the Curtis place in the general direction of town with a half-formed idea of working back to the field by way of the cross road, which would mean a two mile stroll. But he wasn’t destined to get his walk this morning, for when he came in sight of the carriage gate[198] beyond the white farm house he saw that the nearer post was occupied. On it, swinging her feet and munching an apple, sat the girl they had seen last evening. Cal didn’t know very much about the usages of society and wondered whether he ought to take off his cap to the young lady or speak to her. She was already aware of his approach and it wouldn’t look well to turn back, although he would have much preferred that solution of his quandary. He cal’lated he’d just say “Good morning,” and not bother about his cap. But the matter was decided for him.
“Hello,” said the girl. “Want an apple?”
“No, thanks,” answered Cal. He still had several yards to go before he would be up to her and he searched for something further to say; it was too late now for the “Good morning” he had contemplated.
“Don’t you like apples?” she asked.
“Yes, but I ain’t hungry.” He was up to her now and past and he breathed easier.
“These are Ghost apples,” said the girl. Cal stopped and turned.
“They’re wha-what?” he stammered. The girl put her head back and laughed merrily. Then,
[199]
 
“These are ghost apples,” said the girl
[200-
201]
“Ghost apples,” she repeated. “They come in pillow-cases.”
She smiled mischievously down at his alarmed and puzzled face. Cal glanced apprehensively toward the house.
“What do you know about pillow-cases?” he blurted.
“Lots! Want to know what I know?” Cal nodded.
“Pillow-cases,” said the girl, “are used to cover pillows so that they won’t get soiled.” She paused and looked at him with dancing eyes. Cal grunted.
“What else?” he demanded.
“They are also used to—to gather apples in.”
“Look here, did you see us—I mean them—I mean—”
She nodded gayly.
“You and them both,” she laughed. “What’s your name?”
“John Boland,” answered Cal. Then he added, thinking that perhaps it was the correct thing to do: “What’s yours?”
“Molly Elizabeth Curtis.” She made a little backward movement with her head. “They’re my aunts, you know. I live in New[202] York when I’m at home but I’m going to be here all winter. Isn’t that awful?”
“Why, aren’t they good to you?”
“Of course they are, silly. But I guess it’s going to be very dull after New York. Still, I’ve had a pretty good time so far; especially the night before last.”
Cal had drawn near and now he stood and frowned at the tormentful young person on the gate post and strove to consider what course to pursue. It was evident to him that the young person wasn’t going to tell all she knew until she was quite ready to. Spud, he reflected, had called her “a fresh kid,” and he cal’lated Spud was about right. Still, she looked nice and was quite pretty, Cal decided, as girls went. She was slender and had a very clear complexion, with cheeks in which the color had a way of coming and going just as though she was able to turn it on or off at her convenience. Her hair, worn in a braid that hung to her neck and was caught up again with a blue satin ribbon, was deeply brown and her eyes were brightly blue. Not that Cal observed all these things at this time, however. About all he thought was that she was pretty for a girl and looked as though she was too jolly and nice to willingly[203] get anyone into trouble. As for her age, he had guessed pretty near right, he told himself; she was probably thirteen; not more than fourteen at the most. Cal didn’t know much about girls and was at a loss how to handle the present situation. He was determined, however, to get at the truth before he left there. So he began by saying sternly:
“Look here, now, you’d better tell me what you know about the other night.”
“Dear me!” said Miss Molly Elizabeth Curtis, arching her eyebrows and looking fearfully alarmed.
“Because if you don’t—”
“Then what?” she asked as he hesitated.
“Well, you better had,” he ended lamely. She laughed.
“Don’t you think, Mister John Something, that you’d better be nice to me instead of making threats? Supposing—just supposing, now—I was to show Aunt Matilda what I have hidden in my trunk.”
“What—what is it?” asked Cal uneasily. Molly leaned down and whispered dramatically:
“A pillow-case marked ‘West House’ in black ink on the hem!”
[204]
“You—you wouldn’t do that, though,” said Cal, half questioningly. “You’re too nice a girl.”
The nice girl put her head back and laughed harder and merrier than ever, until Cal looked again toward the house and wondered if Miss Matilda could hear.
“You’re—you’re awfully funny,” she gasped finally. “Aren’t you?”
“I cal’late so, maybe,” answered Cal, willing to agree for the sake of diplomacy. “Is that pillow-case in a good safe place, Miss? You know if Miss Matilda got hold of it she’d show it to our principal and he’d— I don’t know what he’d do; suspend us, likely.”
“She won’t ever see it,” replied Molly reassuringly. “It’s in my trunk and my trunk’s locked and here’s the key.” She tugged at a little blue ribbon around her neck and drew forth the key in proof. “I’m keeping it as a trophy, you know. I mean the pillow-case. My, but it was fun!”
“It wasn’t you, was it?” cried Cal. Molly nodded with sparkling eyes.
“Yes. Want me to tell you all about it?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Cal.
[205]
“Beg my pardon for saying what you said, then,” she commanded.
“What did I say?” muttered Cal.
“That I’d better tell you or—or something! Don’t you know that you mustn’t threaten a lady? Besides,” she added thoughtfully, “it just makes them stubborner.”
“All right,” said Cal grudgingly. “I won’t do it again.”
“But go ahead.”
“Go ahead—what?” he asked.
“Beg my pardon. You haven’t yet, you know.”
“Oh, well—all right. I do.”
“But you don’t!” she exclaimed impatiently. “You just stand there and say you do and you don’t!”
“Seems to me you’re mighty particular,” he grumbled.
“I guess you don’t want to know about it, after all,” she said indifferently.
“Yes, I do, honest! I—I beg your pardon, Miss.”
“Well, but please don’t call me Miss. I’m only thirteen and you’re not a miss until you have long dr............