The Mystery of the Fires. Lavell Edith

hiding side by side in a game.

      “Kind of stuck up,” replied Jane. “But she’s better than those Fraziers. He’s positively oily!”

      “Didn’t I tell you? I wouldn’t stay in his hotel if our bungalow burned down – no matter how much money we had.”

      “Mrs. Hunter seems to like him. But I think it’s Frazier who put the idea into her head that Ditmar set her cottage on fire. Because I heard him say to her, ‘I wonder whose place will burn down tonight. Ditmar stayed home!’”

      “Oh, how awful!”

      “Sh! Oh, gosh, we’re caught! Why must girls always talk?” lamented Jane.

      The moon came up in the sky, making the night more enchanting, more wonderful than before. The games broke up, and Mrs. Flick called the people to refreshments.

      “Sit with me, Mary Lou,” urged David, jealously touching her arm.

      “We must find Mother,” returned the girl.

      “She’s over there with Mrs. Hunter and the hotel bunch. You don’t want to be with them, do you?”

      “Not particularly. But I do want to be with Mother and Jane and Cliff. So come on!”

      David closed his lips tightly, but he followed Mary Louise just the same. Mrs. Gay made a place for them, and the young couple sat down.

      “You’re not still worried, are you, Mother?” asked Mary Louise as she passed the chicken salad.

      “I’m afraid I am, dear. If we could only see Shady Nook from here, perhaps the boys would flash their lights.”

      “They’re surely all right,” put in Mrs. Hunter consolingly. “They’re big enough to take care of themselves.”

      “I’ll say they are,” remarked Mr. Frazier. “I caught them cutting my yew tree to make bows. There’s nothing they can’t do!”

      Mary Louise regarded the hotelkeeper with contempt, thinking again how stingy he was. Anybody else would be glad to give the boys a branch of a tree!

      “So long as they don’t set anything on fire,” observed Cliff lightly.

      “Oh, Cliff!” exclaimed Mary Louise in horror.

      David McCall nudged her meaningly.

      “Criminals always try to cover up their crimes by laying the suspicion on somebody else,” he whispered. “But only a cad would blame innocent children.”

      Mary Louise cast him a withering look. She was beginning to despise David McCall.

      When the whole party had eaten all they possibly could, somebody started to play a ukulele, and the young people danced on the smooth grass that had been worn down by so many picnics. Nobody apparently wanted to go home, except Mrs. Gay. Finally Mrs. Reed, beginning to be anxious about her own two boys, seconded the motion for departure.

      “Let’s give the rowboats twenty minutes start,” suggested Cliff Hunter. “And the canoes ten. We’ll beat you all at that!”

      “If our engines don’t give out,” put in Stuart Robinson doubtfully. He never felt confident about his ancient motorboat.

      “Suits me fine!” cried Jane, realizing that the arrangement gave her twenty extra minutes to dance.

      The rowboats pushed off, and ten minutes later Mary Louise and her mother and David stepped into their canoe. It was a light craft, built for speed, and both she and David were excellent paddlers. In no time at all they were leading the procession.

      It was David’s sharp eyes which first detected signs of a disaster.

      “There’s a fire at Shady Nook!” he cried breathlessly.

      “Oh!” gasped Mrs. Gay in horror, and turning about swiftly, Mary Louise thought that her mother was going to faint. But she didn’t; she pulled herself together quickly and sat up very straight.

      “It’s true,” agreed Mary Louise, her voice trembling with fear. Suppose it were their own cottage – and – and – Freckles!

      The canoe rounded the bend in the river and came within full view of the little resort. The Reeds’ house was visible now – yes – and the Gays’! Thank heaven it was unharmed!

      “It’s either the Partridges’ or Flicks’,” announced David. “And my bet is that it’s Flicks’. I was expecting it.”

      “You were expecting it, David?” repeated Mrs. Gay in consternation. “What do you mean by that?”

      “Because Cliff Hunter holds a big mortgage on Flicks’ Inn,” replied the young man. “It means ready cash for him.”

      “Don’t be absurd!” commanded Mary Louise. “How could Cliff have anything to do with it when he was with us all evening?”

      “Haven’t you ever heard of a bribe, Mary Lou?” he asked.

      The girl did not answer. The increasing noise of the engines behind them told them that the motorboats had caught up with them. Everybody knew about the disaster now; Mrs. Flick was crying, and Mr. Flick was yelling and waving his arms wildly, calling upon everybody to help him.

      He was out of his boat first – he happened to be riding in the Robinsons’ launch – and he dashed madly through the trees that stood between his inn and the river. In his excitement, he almost knocked over a small boy carrying a pail of water from the river.

      “Freckles!” cried Mrs. Gay, in a tone of both relief and fear: relief that her child was safe, fear that he had had something to do with the fire. “What are you doing?”

      “Trying to save the trees,” explained the boy. “The inn was gone when we got here, but us guys kept the fire from spreading.” He looked up proudly, as if he expected a medal for his bravery.

      “I don’t believe a word of it!” thundered Mr. Flick. “I believe you boys set the place on fire. And now you’re trying to lie out of it!”

      “I wouldn’t put it past ’em,” muttered Mr. Frazier, at his side. The Fraziers had landed at Shady Nook instead of crossing to the hotel’s shore.

      “Tell the truth, boys!” urged Mrs. Gay, for by this time both the Smiths and the two young Reeds had joined Freckles.

      “We came along here about dark,” said Larry Reed, who was the oldest of the group, “and smelled smoke. Course, we investigated. The inn was gone. But the ashes were still smoldering, and there was smoke coming out from the bushes. So we ran over to Gays’ and to our house and got buckets and carried water from the river. It’s about out now.”

      “You’re sure that’s the truth?” demanded Mr. Reed.

      “On my honor, Dad!” replied the boy solemnly.

      “Did you see anybody in the woods or around Shady Nook?” inquired Mrs. Flick.

      “Yeah. A big guy who looked like a tramp from the woods – it was too dark to see his face – and a funny-looking woman in a gray dress with a big pitcher under her arm.”

      “Together?” asked Mary Louise.

      “No. The big guy was in the woods. And the woman was running along the road that leads to Four Corners.”

      “Nothing but a made-up yarn!” denounced Mr. Flick.

      But the fire was really out; there was nothing anybody could do. Frazier suggested that the Flicks and their guests come over to his hotel, and the latter accepted. But the Flicks, realizing that this was not a real invitation, that the hotelkeeper would present them with a bill later on, chose to stay with the Partridges. So at last the group dispersed for the night.

      Mary Louise, however, was so exasperated with David McCall that she never even answered his pleasant “Good-night!”

      CHAPTER V

      Freckles’ Story

      “What in the world are you doing?” asked