The Girl Scouts at Bellaire Part 13

"I wish I didn't, but we may be able to bring him around. He's not dead. They struck his thigh, and I was after him as quick as I heard his first whine. That is why I could not answer the telephone at once."

"Oh, Michael. Do everything possible to save our dog. You know how much we think of him, and we expect Mr. Dunbar home from his trip soon.

Do you think we can save him?"

"I'll take him to the vet's first thing comes daylight," replied the man. "I wouldn't want to take a year's wages in exchange for Shep."

He snapped these last words with rather a vengeful meaning. "And I'd like to say, madam, if I might," he continued, "it was a blessing those little girls went after that other youngster to-night, from what I heard later. Seems to me sometimes the babies do know more than their elders."

"Yes, Michael," replied Mrs. Dunbar to whom the news that her dog having been shot was distinctly a shock. "I, too, heard rumors of strange men in town, as I came up from the station. Of course, the police will investigate to-morrow."

CHAPTER XIII

MARY'S MYSTERIOUS PET

The morning dawned on Cragsnook quite as complaisantly as if the night had shed nothing but joy. And quite as indifferently did the girls take up the fun where they left off past midnight, when sheer fatigue had put an end to their tireless pranks. Kicking themselves happily into the new day, vague remembrances of the wild excitement forging through more welcome emotions, the Scouts and their visitor were actually ready for breakfast when Jennie chimed the gong.

Madaline, secretly cheris.h.i.+ng the mystery of "something alive" being in Mary's hidden away basket, could scarcely wait for the meal to end before asking Mary about it.

But there were a number of interruptions. Mrs. Dunbar was called twice from the table to answer the telephone, and her monologue hinted the police might be anxious to make an investigation at Cragsnook. Always affable, especially to officials, the last answer given simply was:

"Very well, as early as you please."

That was but a few minutes ago, and now a car was rumbling up the drive.

"You girls may run off and show Mary the grounds," suggested the hostess. "I have to attend to some business with these men."

Mary still wore the white dress, of some open wrought material, like drawn work, and not usually made up into frocks. It was soft and clinging, and her velvet ribbon wound around the waist fell in an artistic sash clear to the end of her full skirt. Her braids were unbound and finished in their own natural curls, this tendency to really curl having been hailed by the girls as worthy of an entirely different mode of hair dressing.

Ginghams for mornings, as customary, gave the other girls quite a different appearance, and in a stolen moment, while dressing, Cleo managed to show Mary a scout uniform. The simple khaki outfit seemed to Mary the most remarkable "rig" she had ever seen, even books had not given her such an idea of a practical girl's uniform.

The polite dismissal of Mrs. Dunbar's followed just as two very business-like men stepped into the oaken hall.

"Do you remember about your basket?" Madaline asked. She was wildly wondering if the live thing had crawled away.

"Oh, yes, indeed. I am going to it directly. Come on, girls, till I show you my pet."

Everyone thought of snakes, varied with a pretty baby bunnie, or perhaps a bird's nest of helpless fledglings, but Mary's pet was none of these.

Out on the small window nook, just off the breakfast room, she found the basket quite as she had left it. The girls watched her eagerly as she first drew out a soft white covering. It was now becoming apparent that this self-same Mary possessed an entirely undeveloped sense of humor, for as she watched the eager faces crowding about her she was surely, deliberately delaying the process of displaying her "pet."

"Guess!" she asked navely.

"A snake!" from Grace.

"A-a--new bird!" from Madaline

"A baby bunnie!" from Cleo.

"I thought you would all say a doll," she replied, "for I had one old doll I never could quite give up. But I didn't bring her, and none of you have guessed. I am afraid you are going to be dreadfully disappointed."

Without further ado she drew from the basket nothing more than a small ordinary looking plant!

"Oh!" sighed Madaline, betraying her chagrin. "Only a flower!"

"That's all," admitted Mary, "but I don't believe you ever saw just this kind," and her voice was as soft and crooning as if she had been petting a real baby.

Cleo and Grace exchanged significant glances. Was the girl queer after all? they were asking.

The little plant looked like nothing more than the ordinary Jack-in-the-Pulpit, but Mary's tenderness in handling the beautifully wrought bra.s.s jar, in which the plant was growing, betokened something much more precious than our wood friend Jack.

"He's hungry," went on the child, and at this Grace burst into laughter. Cleo was t.i.ttering, and Madaline all but pouting her disappointment.

"I know what you think," Mary said with a good natured smile, "but this little flower really eats--and for his breakfast I must find a fly or spider."

"Oh mercy!" shrieked Grace. "Mary, what are you talking about?"

"Well, you just wait and see. There, catch that little fly or just shoo it over this way."

Becoming serious now, serious enough to see the fun out at any rate, the girls waved hands and handkerchiefs around some perfectly innocent little flies, and presently they made for the plant which Mary had again deposited on the window box. For a minute or two the insects buzzed around, then made for the flower of the plant.

"Mercy!" screamed Grace.

"Land sakes!" added Cleo.

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Madaline.

But the little fly was gone. The plant had actually eaten it up!

Swallowed it whole!

The girls looked at Mary now, as if she were almost uncannily wise, or in some way magical. She expected their att.i.tude, evidently, for her own low musical laugh followed.

"I know you think it is very queer, girls," she explained, "but in the country I come from this is a common plant. Grandie calls it by a long name, but most people call it the Pitcher Plant. You see, it is filled with something that attracts insects, and when they go in for the nectar they can't get out. This kind is rare, and I have watched it lest Janos would get it. In New York he could sell it and I know he would have taken it, but I have kept it hidden for a long time. See how pretty its colors are, and how wonderfully it is shaped and formed?"

"Oh, I remember now," said Cleo. "I have heard Daddy talk of such plants, but of course I never saw one. It is something of an orchid, isn't it?"

All three were now examining Mary's "Pet" closely, getting innocent little flies in line for the scent, which might attract them, and otherwise enjoying the novelty.

"Is it valuable?" asked Madaline, noting the rare crimson color inside the cup.

"Yes, I think this one is, but I like it more than any of the others because I raised it myself. But when you come to our place I will show you our wonders," she offered.

"Is that why you always gather roots?" asked Cleo.

"Not exactly," Mary replied, just a trace of her cloud threatening to darken her face. "But I can't talk about all of it now. I am sure it must be time to go visit Grandie. Do you suppose we may go soon?"

This question was addressed to Cleo.