Norton, Andre - Novel 32 (9 page)

The
girls had lagged behind and by the time
they
caught up the boys were already fast at
work unpacking the stones they had used to
conceal the entrance. Neal started to throw
them out helter-skelter in his haste to get in
until
Toliver
pointed
out they would be needed
again and
started to pile them to one side.

With the camp lanterns on, the cave was
brightly lighted, and they could
see everything
within
clearly. There was not too much in the
pile after all—two trunks, small and covered
with dusty hide, one with tacks
pounded in the lid to make the initials C.K., which they could
see after Christie and Libby used
the branches to sweep them off.

"One thing,"
Toliver
said. "It's been dry in
here, so things inside these ought to be in good
shape. I wonder—did that holster
and belt we
found
come from here? Maybe the rats found
it and dragged it out, or it could have been
dropped by one of the men who left this. Now,
let's pull these trunks away from each other so
we'll have more room to open them up. Which
one are we going to do first?"

"This one!"
Neal's voice was sharp with
excitement. "This is the
strongbox! It's got to
be. And it's locked!" He was on his knees,
tugging vainly at
the lid. "Maybe there's gold
dust
inside."

As he tugged at the box it grated across the
stone floor. Grabbing the leafy
brush from
Christie,
he swiped back and forth, sending
dust flying to make them all sneeze and draw
back a little.

" 'Bright
Stage Line,' " Neal read,
running
a grimy
finger over the lettering. "This sure
must
be the strongbox! But how are we going
to get it open?" He jerked
impatiently at the rusty padlock.

"Try hammering it with a stone," suggested
Toliver
.

What did gold dust look like, Christie won
dered—like glittery powder? And
how could you turn it into real money? Did you just take
it into a bank and say "I
want some dollar bills
for this"? Did they then weigh it
—

Neal had hurried outside to find a suitable rock and was
already back, pounding away at
the lock without any results.
Toliver
came
back
with another and
started in to help. But though
they battered it, they could not get the thing
open.

"No use."
Toliver
settled back on his heels.
"We'll have to have a tire lever or something
like that to bust this. Have to
wait to do it."

Neal, red-faced from his efforts, looked very
disappointed. But it was plain
they could not
force
the lock with just stones. "Okay," he
said reluctantly, and helped
Toliver
to drag it
to
one side.

"Here's another box."
Parky
tugged aside
a very
dusty bag. "Say, it looks a lot like that
other one and it's got no lock!"

"Let's see!" Neal elbowed
Parky
aside and
jerked
what had sat behind the bag into the full
light.

It was another metal box, even larger than
the strongbox. And when he brushed
off the
dust there was white lettering on
the top. Chris
tie leaned closer to read
that. This was not the
name of the
stage line. Instead it seemed to be
an
address—very clear now that the dust had
been brushed away.

" 'Miss
Maude Woodbridge,
Woburnscott
,
Maine
. Handle with care.'
" Neal
read aloud.
"This must have been important, all done up
like this. But there's no lock, how did they keep
it shut?"

Toliver
moved one of the lanterns a
little
closer.
"It's been sealed. See here?" There
were rope handles on either side by which to
carry it, but all around the edge
of the lid ran
a red
line. He pushed at it with a fingernail.
"Old waxy stuff, real dry now—it ought to be
easy to break." Unsheathing
his knife, he be
gan to
pick at the strip and the dull red stuff
came away in flakes.

Even with the sealing all gone, they had to
pry,
Toliver
with his knife, Neal using one of
the stones as a clumsy lever. Then
Toliver
held
up
the lamp as the lid finally came off.

"Newspapers!
Just a lot of
old newspapers!"
Neal cried out in disappointment, and would
have jerked at them roughly had
not Libby
caught his
arm.

"Those are very old papers. Look and see
what the date on them is."

"Eighteen
seventy-five."
He held the lantern
very close to the print. "The
London Times
—
but that's an English
newspaper!"

"Libby's right—they may be worth some
thing, being so old,"
Christie pointed out. "We
have to be careful. Old English newspapers
found way out here—that's strange enough for
any museum! Take them out
carefully—they
may
fall apart, they're so old."

Neal looked down at his dirty hands. "Maybe
you girls better do it—we're too
dirty."

The layers of paper were so brittle that, in
spite of all their efforts to be
careful, a lot just
fell
apart. But it was a very thick layer and
some in the middle were better preserved. Under all
those sheets was folded cloth, yellowish
and queer-smelling. Lying on that was an en
velope.

"Miss Maude Woodbridge" was written on
it. Christie picked it up with the same care with
which she had handled the papers. It was not
sealed, as she could see when she turned it
over. After a moment of hesitation she drew
out the folded paper it contained.

"It's a letter. Perhaps we shouldn't read it—
you should never read other
people's mail."

"It's a dead letter, just like Neal said,"
Parky
spoke up. "Neal says they open and read dead
letters. So you can do it,
Christie."

She held the brown-edged paper into the full light of the
nearest lamp. The writing was very
clear,
though there were queer fancy flourishes to make it different from any she had
ever seen
before.

My dear little daughter:

The Sea Maid made a record voyage to
San Francisco
. But there I found disturb
ing news awaiting me. I shall not
be able
to return
home as I had promised. The Sea
Witch was here in port lacking a master,
Captain Daniels having died of
the fever.
The Sea
Maid, as I told you in my last
letter, is being sold to a South American
company, but the Sea Witch has a full
cargo for
Hong Kong
and I must take her there.

Thus I shall not spend your birthday at home with you this
year as we have both so longed would be.

Mr. Hawkins, the mate of the Sea Maid,
intends to return east overland,
carrying
some
important papers for the company.

He has kindly consented to take Lady
Maude in his charge. I know that
she will not be the same as having your father with
you, but I think you shall find
her a charm
ing
addition to your family.

She comes from
Paris
,
France
. But in
a very roundabout way, for I found
her in
Hong
Kong
.
She had been sent there for
another
little girl's birthday gift but arrived
too
late, for a sudden change in Mr.
Le
brebre's
plans had
already taken him and
his family out
of the city and on their way
back to
France
. So, since Mr.
Lebrebre's
replacement had no use for her, he was
willing to let me buy her. Thus,
when she reaches you, she will have traveled almost
around the world!

All her clothes and belongings accom
pany her and I think you will
discover that she is a very fine lady indeed. I shall write
you again as soon as I have
time. And may
we be
together before Christmas. I shall
pray that is so, and so you do likewise.

Your loving father,
Asa
Woodbridge, Captain

"Lady
Maude," repeated Neal blankly. "But
she—"

"Let me." Christie pushed him aside, tuck
ing the letter, once again in its
envelope, inside
her
shirt.

She drew out the cloth. The odor from the
box grew stronger—it was a very pleasant one.
Christie sniffed at the folds of the material.
Yes,
that was where it was coming
from.

"Smells good!"
Perks caught at the edge of
the cloth and held it to her nose.
"Nice, like
Nana's
old fan—"

"Sandalwood!"
Christie now remembered
her grandmother's carved fan,
too.

Under
the sweet-smelling cloth was a bundle wrapped around and around in more cloth.
The
edges of that were fastened with dabs of
red
sealing wax.

"Here, let me."

As
Christie held the bundle,
Toliver
carefully
pried at the seals with the point of his knife
until they broke so that Christie could unwind
the wrapping. As that finally fell away Neal took
one astounded look and then gave a dis
gusted
snort: "Nothing but just an old doll!
What's all the fuss about that?"

_{Trouble at Ten Mile}

"Not just a big old doll!" protested Christie,
being very careful how she drew
away the cloth
that
had been sealed for so long. "This is"—
she tried to remember the right
words—"a
French
fashion doll!"

"So what's the difference?" Neal wanted to
know.

"Remember when Mother and I went to the
doll show at the auditorium last
year—the one where all the collectors showed their old, old
dolls? They even had a piece
about it in the
paper."

"I remember
,
if Neal
doesn't!" Perks cried.
"I went, too!"

"Mrs. Edwards, the lady from the church
who sold Mother our tickets,
showed us some
of the dolls she said were
worth a lot of money.

There was one something like this, dressed just
like a lady of a long time
ago."

"She even had a little umbrella," Perks
broke in again.

"Mrs. Edwards called it a parasol," Christie
corrected.

"And a fan, and little gloves, and a purse,
and real earrings in her
ears." Perks turned her
description into a kind of chant. "Only we
couldn't touch her—they had her
standing up in a big glass case."

"That for sure—that dolls like this are worth
a lot of money?"
Toliver
stooped for a closer
look. "Hey, this one's wearing earrings, too.
And a necklace—"

"I think that's a watch chain. See? The end
of it's tucked into her belt. Ladies wore watches
like that once." Christie held the doll
upright,
folding the cloth about her
to keep it between
her own dirty hands
and the flounced and
ruffled dress.

"Lady Maude
,*
* Libby said.
"That's the
right
name for her, isn't it? She looks proud
and important—like she's somebody."

Lady Maude had puffs and curls of dark red
hair, brown eyes, and lashes and brows of what
Christie thought might be real hair, too—not
just painted on. On the elaborate rolls and curls
of hair perched a small hat with curled black
plumes. The earrings that had been fitted into
very tiny holes in her ears looked gold and