Billie Bradley and Her Inheritance - Janet D. Wheeler
So it was arranged, and a couple of days later, with a wildly beating
heart and a rueful smile upon her lips, Billie stood with Chet upon the
station platform and waved good-bye to her father and mother.
When the train had rounded the curve and disappeared with one last
challenging blast of the whistle, Billie and Chet turned to each other,
feeling as lost and forlorn as the babes in the wood.
"Now, what do we do next?" breathed Billie, breaking the silence at last.
"I feel helpless, Chet."
"Well, I don't think you have anything on me," admitted Chet slangily. "I
suppose the most sensible thing to do would be to go home and see how
Debbie is getting on with the lunch."
"Goodness, that's the first time I ever had to be reminded that I was
hungry," said Billie, and with that they laughed and felt more natural.
The rest of that day went off beautifully, and Billie was beginning to
feel very confident when suddenly Debbie threw a suggestion bomb-like in
the midst of her contentment.
"I hate to bother you, miss," said the black cook, approaching her
mistress the next morning--Billie, by the way, was busily dusting the
living-room with a very becoming dust cap perched on top of her pretty
hair, "but this is mah day out."
"Your--day--out!" gasped Billie, sitting down hard on the chair she had
been dusting and regarding Debbie's black face with dismay. "You never
can mean that you are going to desert me, Debbie? Leave me to do all the
cooking and--and--everything--" The awful vision was too much for her
and her voice died down to a whisper.
"I'm tur'ble sorry, Miss Billie," said Debbie, gently but very, very
firmly, "but mah young man and me we has a mos' awful impo'tant
in-gagement fo' dis aft'noon, an' I couldn't break it--no'm, much as I
want to." She added that last in the evident hope of appeasing her young
mistress, who was still regarding her with horrified eyes.
"But, Debbie," gasped Billie when she could find her voice, "I don't know
a thing in the world about cooking. Have you--have you--ordered
anything?"
"Yas, indeed," Debbie assured her, going on to explain that the meal was
virtually prepared anyway. "I done made a salad for you and Chet, an' the
butter beans am in de pan. Dere is some stew too, which all you has to do
is to warm up, Miss Billie. An' I done make a big peach pie, an' dere's
some whipped cream in de 'frig'rater. So I reckons you-all won't starve
to death," she added, with a broad smile that showed all her strong white
teeth back to the last molar.
As for Billie, she could have hugged the mountainous black figure in the
relief she felt. Why, with the dinner all prepared like this it would be
just a lark to put it on the table--for just her and Chet alone.
"Debbie, you're a darling and I love you!" she cried, joyfully. "But you
know you really shouldn't have scared me so--it wasn't fair."
For answer Debbie grinned again and began to get her bulky figure up
the stairs, preparatory to dressing for the "in-gagement" with her
"young man."
Billie watched her go, and then with a little chuckle resumed her
dusting.
"I'd like to see Debbie's young man," she mused, a smile twisting the
corners of her mouth. "He ought to be a giant. Anyway, I feel sorry for
him if he isn't. Dear funny old Debbie--won't Chet and I have a picnic
to-night?"
And as she had predicted, they did have the time of their lives. Chet
refused to sit in the dining-room in lonely state, and in masterly
fashion invaded the kitchen.
"Say, that smells good, Billie, old girl," and he sniffed hungrily at the
stew. "Give me an apron and I'll help."
"Oh, look who wants to help," cried Billie, finding an apron nevertheless
and tying it around his waist so that he looked like a butcher's
assistant. "You will probably only get under my feet and bother me to
death, but I suppose I'll have to humor you. There, if you must do
something, set the table."
Now Chet did not want to set the table--it took him too far from the
appetizing aromas in the kitchen. However, he obeyed grumblingly and was
finally rewarded by being given a steaming dish of stew to carry in.
"Chet," screamed Billie, following him in and checking him just as he
was in the act of putting the hot dish on the tablecloth, "put a
protector under it. Don't you know," as Chet started and looked
reproachfully at her, "that you are apt to ruin the table? And it's
almost a brand new one at that."
"Well, you needn't scare a fellow to death," grumbled Chet. "I thought
I'd stepped on the cat." But he obeyed instructions.
"My! but doesn't everything look good?" cried Billie, sniffing hungrily.
"Hurry up, Chet, take off your apron and dish up the stew while I pour
the coffee. What do you know about that? _I_ made the coffee. And doesn't
it smell good?"
It was the jolliest of meals and finished up in royal fashion with the
peach pie and whipped cream.
In a very gale of merriment Chet and Billie cleared away the dinner
dishes, and then, being tired by the unusual exertion, decided to go
early to bed.
For the first part of the night Billie slept soundly, but just as the
clock downstairs was striking two, she awakened suddenly and lay still in
bed listening. She was frightened, though she could not have told why.
Rigidly she lay there hardly daring to breathe.
CHAPTER VII
A STRANGE BURGLAR
What was it that had awakened Billie Bradley?
Hardly had the girl asked herself that question when she heard it--a
padding, stealthy, creeping noise that made her clutch the bed clothes
and draw them tighter about her.
Then in a panic she realized that whatever it was had started upstairs.
Nearer, nearer came the stealthy padding, till Billie realized it had
reached the landing. Her scalp crept and her hair began to stand on end.
Her door was the nearest to the stairs, and she was all alone in the
house with Chet!
Swiftly, she threw off the covers, jumped out of bed, and with her
limbs trembling under her, ran to the door and softly turned the key
in the lock.
Then she leaned weakly against the door and listened for the noise, but
it had stopped. Evidently the burglar, if burglar it was, had paused to
get his bearings.
Then another horrible thought struck her. Chet was sleeping in the next
room, and Chet's door was unlocked!
On feet that seemed too weak to hold her she crept into Chet's
room--luckily there was a connecting door between--and softly turned the
key in his door also.
Evidently she was just in time, for as she listened the stealthy noise
began again and it was coming toward the very door she had just locked.
She uttered a little involuntary sound, and Chet sat up in bed
with a start.
"Wh-what's up?" he demanded sleepily.
"Oh, hush," cried Billie. Scurrying to his bed and leaning over, she
whispered the awful words: "There's a burglar in the house, Chet."
"A burglar?" repeated Chet, wide awake by this time. "Who says so?"
"Don't be foolish! Didn't I hear him myself?" cried Billie in a desperate
whisper. "Oh, Chet, he's on the stairs outside."
"Well, why doesn't he come in? Is he bashful?" queried Chet, seeming not
in the least alarmed. Billie shook him impatiently.
"He probably would have come in if I hadn't locked the doors," she told
him impatiently. "For goodness' sake, Chet, wake up and tell me what to
do. He may have stolen everything we own by this time."
"Hush," cried Chet, grasping her arm, and in a tense silence they
listened.
Yes, they could not be mistaken--something was surely brushing
against the door.
Thank heaven, she had locked it, thought Billie, as she began to feel her
hair stand on end again.
Once more came that brushing sound. And then, very distinctly, a sniff!
"Oh, Chet," cried Billie, clutching her brother's arm spasmodically.
"Nervy beggar," muttered Chet. "If I had a gun I'd know what to do. But
say," he added, as a happy thought struck him, "there's Dad's!" He was
out of bed and across the room before Billie could do more than gasp.
Fearfully she followed after.
Luckily Chet had elected to sleep in his parents' room during their
absence so as to be nearer Billie, and he had happened to remember the
secret hiding place that his father had shown him not long before where
he kept his revolver always loaded and ready for action.
"Oh, Chet, do be careful!" whispered Billie, as Chet drew the
ugly-looking thing out of the hidden drawer and examined it. "I--I think
I'm more afraid of that than I am of the b-burglar."
Chet's only answer was a grim "Come on," from between set young lips.
Fearfully they made their way over to the door.
Their burglar seemed to have gone on to some other room, for they could
hear the stealthy padding at the other end of the hall. But now he had
turned in their direction.
Very carefully Chet turned the key in the lock, and then, while Billie
pressed both hands over her heart to quiet its pounding, Chet flung open
the door and stepped into the hall. Billie was right at his heels.
And then the impossible thing happened. A dark shape coming slowly toward
them stopped at sight of them and uttered a low bark.
Yes, the sound that issued from their supposed burglar was a very
distinct and friendly canine bark.
For a minute Chet and Billie just stared speechlessly. Then slowly the
revolver in Chet's hand dropped to his side and he began to laugh. It was
a weak laugh at first, but it gradually swelled into a roar as he took in
the full humor of the situation.
And Billie, after a moment during which she seemed undecided whether to
laugh or cry, presently joined him.
"A dog!" gasped Chet, when he could get his breath. "Come here, old man,
and let's have a look at you."
The dog that had caused all the disturbance came forward at Chet's
command and stood looking up at them, his handsome brush waving genially.
As the light of a street lamp shining through the window fell upon him,
Billie uttered an exclamation.
"Why, it's Bruce--Nellie Bane's collie," she cried. "How in the world did
he ever get in? Come here, Bruce, old boy, and explain yourself."
Obediently Bruce went over to her and laid a cold muzzle in her hand, his
soft eyes looking lovingly into her face. For Billie had made much of
Bruce on her frequent visits to Nellie Bane, and the dog, with the
instinct of his kind, had developed a great liking for her--though the
first in his loyal dog's heart was Nellie Bane, his mistress.
"You're a great one!" Chet scoffed. "You get a fellow all worked up
to catch a burglar, and then you produce a dog. I think you did it
on purpose."
"Yes, and I suppose I scared myself half to death on purpose too," said
Billie sarcastically, as she patted the dog's great head. "Where are you
going?" she asked, as Chet started back into his room.
"To put this thing where I got it," he explained, holding up the pistol
from which Billie shrank back. "Don't imagine we'll have any further need
of it to-night."
"Wait a minute," ordered Billie, and Chet turned back surprised. "We
haven't found out yet how Bruce got in," she explained, looking fearfully
over her shoulder, for the effects of her fright had not quite left her
yet. "Don't you think we'd better take that along while we look through
the house? We must have left a door or a window open somewhere. Bruce
couldn't have come through the wall, you know."
"Something--I don't know what it can be--makes me agree with you,"
returned Chet sarcastically, but he turned to the stairs nevertheless,
"Come on," he said. "If we have left a window open it is high time that
that window was shut. Go ahead, Bruce, and show us where you got
in--that's a good old boy."
At the best it was rather an eerie business--searching through the empty
house at that time of night--and it was especially nerve-trying for
Billie after the fright she had had.
And then they found it. The French window that opened from the
dining-room upon the porch was swinging wide open--a wonderful invitation
to enter for any sneak thief who might happen to pass that way.
Billie shivered again as Chet, with a final pat, put Bruce outside and
closed and locked the window.
"There, I guess we won't have any more visitors to-night," he said, as
they started through the dark living-room to the stairs.
"Let's hope not," returned Billie fervently.
When they reached their rooms upstairs they felt too excited for sleep,
and sat for a long time talking over the incident.
They could laugh now at their surprise in meeting friendly Bruce instead
of a very unfriendly house-breaker, but more than once both of them
caught themselves listening for sounds in the silent house below.
"It was just luck," said Billie, as she rose at last to go to bed, "that
it was Bruce that happened to find that open window instead of--of some
one else!"
CHAPTER VIII
STARTLING DEVELOPMENTS
Chet and Billie were very careful to leave neither doors nor windows
unlocked, and the rest of the week passed without further mishap.
Then one morning came a telegram from their parents saying that they
would be home the next day.
"Goodness, now I have to get busy!" cried Billie, jumping up from the
table in such a hurry that she very nearly upset Chet's coffee cup,
thereby considerably surprising that boy.
"Say, do you think it's catching?" he asked, with a smile. "What's the
matter with you, Billie?"
"Oh, of course you wouldn't understand--you're a boy," remarked his
sister condescendingly, as she put on the becoming dust cap and pulled
some gloves on her hands.
"Don't you see," she added, as Chet continued to stare at her, "that this
house has to be immaculate before mother gets back? I've simply got to
live up to my reputation."
"Never knew you had one," remarked Chet cruelly, as he turned back to
his bacon and eggs with a relieved sigh. "If you need any help," he
offered graciously, as Billie swept out of the room, "just call on me."
"Thank you, I don't," called back Billie, making a face at him over
her shoulder.
And then followed such a whirlwind of sweeping and dusting and throwing
about of furniture that poor Chet was dismayed and was forced to take
refuge on the porch.
However, when Billie, flushed and breathless and very, very pretty, took
him by the arm and led him about to admire her handiwork, he told her
that she was "some wonder."
"Now how about lunch?" he asked, and Billie, appetite sharpened by work,
enthusiastically agreed.
It seemed an eternity to wait until the next morning, but somehow the
time came at last, finding brother and sister on tip-toe with excitement.
Long before it was time to go to meet the train, they were ready and
waiting. Billie was swinging back and forth in the porch swing, grasping
a cushion in each hand to keep her from jumping out, while Chet walked
restlessly up and down.
"If you don't sit down," said Billie so suddenly that her brother jumped,
"I'll just scream."
"Well go ahead, if it will make you feel any better," invited Chet
amiably. However, for the sake of peace he seated himself in one of the
broad armed chairs.
"Isn't it train time yet?" asked Billie, as she had asked many times
during the last fifteen minutes.
"Here," said Chet, handing over his watch, "take this and keep looking at
it. My voice is getting hoarse saying 'no.'"
"But I don't see why we can't go down to the station anyway,"
argued Billie.
"Only that it's about a hundred times more comfortable to wait here."
"But we might miss the train," wailed Billie, and Chet jumped to his feet
with a chuckle.
"Oh, come on," he cried. "We've missed the train several times according
to you. In a minute you will almost have me worried."
"You're a dear old bear," said Billie, snuggling her arm into his as
they set off.
"You certainly do have a way with you, Billie, that gets you what you
want," he admitted, adding meaningly: "Besides, I'm thinking I'd better
keep on the right side of you just now."
"Why?" asked Billie, puzzled.
"In case Aunt Beatrice left you something. You were her namesake,
remember."
Billie glanced up at him, an eager look in her eyes. But her glance fell
again and she shook his arm severely.
"What's the use of raising hopes?" she said dolefully, as a vision of
the broken "Girl Reading a Book" rose reproachfully before her and she
thought longingly of how happy she could be if it were only possible to
replace it.
And there was Three Towers Hall--but she shook off the thought and had
opened her mouth to speak when the sharp blast of an engine whistle made
them jump.
"Chet," she gasped, "it's the train! We mustn't miss it."
"We can make it if we run," said Chet, as he took hold of her arm. "Come
on! No, not that way--the short cut. That's the idea."
Warm and panting they came out upon the station platform just as the
train drew in. They watched the passengers eagerly, but not at first
seeing those they sought, had almost decided that they were coming on a
later train when away down at the end of the platform, Billie espied a
familiar hat.
"There they are! Mother!" she cried, as they came within hailing
distance. "We thought you weren't on the train. Oh, what a fright we
had!"
After the greetings were over Chet and Billie both noticed that their
parents seemed to be in a state of suppressed excitement, and both of
them wondered.
However, they had too much to talk about just then to do much wondering
about anything, and they walked slowly toward home, asking and answering
a very flood of questions.
Mrs. Bradley wanted to know how Billie had got along without her, at
which both Chet and Billie tried to tell the story of Nellie Bane's
collie at the same time and in the same breath.
When they had finished Mr. Bradley chuckled, but Mrs. Bradley
looked grave.
"It happened to be funny," she said. "But it might have been very
serious. I hope you were careful after that."
"Were we!" they cried, and Billie added with a laugh: "We locked and
double locked all the windows and doors, and if it hadn't been for Chet I
would have piled furniture against the doors. But we want to know what
you've been doing," she cried, turning to her mother eagerly. "Tell us,
please, quick. We've been waiting so long."
Again Mr. Bradley laughed and pinched his impatient young
daughter's cheek.
"I think our news can wait till we get to the house," he said.
"But _I_ can't," protested Billie.
"Anybody would think you really expected to hear something," chuckled Mr.
Bradley, who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely over something.
"Oh, please," begged Billie, almost beside herself with impatience by
this time--and Chet, in his quiet way, was just as bad. There was
something about their mother's and father's manner that told them
something was in the wind.
"I'm just dying by inches," went on Billie.
But this time it was Mrs. Bradley who interrupted.
"Here we are at home, dear," she said. "Can't you give Dad and me a
chance to rest, and give us perhaps a cup of tea--"
"Oh, I'm a selfish old beast!" said Billie penitently. "I might have
known you would be terribly tired after that long train ride!"
And still scolding herself she hurried them before her into the house and
flew to find Debbie. She had not far to go, however, for Debbie was just
lumbering, like a good-natured elephant, through the hall to greet her
master and mistress. As soon as the greetings were over she lumbered back
again to make the necessary tea.
Billie and Chet controlled their impatience, answering the questions
their mother had to ask them about all that had happened while they had
been away, for Mrs. Bradley had been anxious.
When they finally left the table and Mrs. Bradley led the way back into
the library, Billie uttered a long sigh of relief.
"Well," said Mrs. Bradley, and they leaned forward eagerly, "we found
that what we always supposed about the amount of money Aunt Beatrice had
was right. She left only a few thousand, and that--queer soul that she
was--she left to a missionary society."
"Oh!" cried Billie, and it must be admitted that she both felt and
looked horribly disappointed. She had not known just how much she had
hoped, both for herself and for Chet, until this moment. And Chet, poor
fellow, felt just as bad, although he showed it less.
"Then she didn't leave anything either to you or Dad?" Chet asked.
"No. But she did leave something to you and Billie," was Mrs. Bradley's
startling announcement.
Billie and Chet looked at one another as if to be sure that they had
heard aright.
"You say she left us something?" cried Billie breathlessly.
"Yes. But don't let your hopes run away with you," Mr. Bradley warned
them, "for it wasn't very much."
"Oh, tell us," the two commanded eagerly and in unison.
"She left a gold watch to Chet," Mrs. Bradley told them. "It is really a
very beautiful watch, Chet, and worth a good deal of money. And to
Billie--" She paused for emphasis and Billie wriggled impatiently. "And
to Billie she left her rambling old homestead at Cherry Corners."
"A homestead at Cherry Corners!" gasped Billie, unable to believe her
ears while Chet looked interested. "What sort of a house is it, Mother?"
"I haven't been there for a number of years," replied her mother,
knitting her brows in an effort to recall the details of Billie's queer
inheritance. "As I remember it, it is an old-fashioned rambling affair.
It must have been considered rather handsome in its palmy years, and it
has been in the Powerson family for generations. In fact, I believe it
dates back to revolutionary days. It has great large rooms, and rather
spooky, dark hallways. I'm afraid I wasn't very much impressed with it
the first time I saw it," she finished, with a smile.
"Wh-what a funny thing to leave me," said Billie, her eyes big and round
with wonder. Then she added, without thinking--as Billie always did: "Oh,
don't I wish she had left me a hundred dollars instead! It would have
been much more useful!"
CHAPTER IX
GHOSTS AND THINGS
Billie was instantly sorry for her speech, as she saw the old troubled
expression cross her father's face.
"Forgive me, please!" she pleaded. "I think I must be the most ungrateful
girl alive."
"Well, I should say so!" cried Chet, to whom the description of the queer
old house, while dismaying his sister, had appealed immensely. "Say, I'd
like nothing better than to go out right now and look your property over,
Billie. Big rooms and spooky halls and--say, Mother, it must have a
cellar and an attic. What are they like?"
"I suppose," said his mother, smiling at his enthusiasm, "that since you
seem to like the ghostly part, you would be more than ever pleased with
the attic and cellar."
"As I remember it, the cellar was the most peculiar part of the whole
queer place. Aunt Beatrice took me through it, and seemed immensely proud
of the funny old tunnels and store-rooms that were tucked away in all
sort of odd corners. The only thing I liked about it," she finished,
with a reminiscent smile, "was the shelf-lined, icy room where she kept
her fruit preserves."
"This gets better and better!" fairly crowed Chet. "A damp, gloomy old
cellar with tunnels and storerooms in queer corners and--But you were
going to tell us about the attic."
"Yes, the attic!" cried Billie, for by this time Chet had made her as
much interested in her strange inheritance as he was. "Did it have trunks
in it, Mother--and cobwebs?"
"Trunks, yes, but not cobwebs," smiled her mother, "for Aunt Beatrice was
an excellent housekeeper--when she was at home."
"Then the attic wasn't spooky?" queried Chet, disappointed.
"I should say it was!" returned his mother, with an emphasis that set all
his fears at rest. "It was the creepiest place I have ever been in, and I
was never gladder in my life than when we left it for the more cheerful
lower floor--though goodness knows that was dreary enough."
"Say, when are we going?" cried Chet, jumping to his feet, his face
flushed with eagerness.
"Where?" asked Mrs. Bradley.
"To Cherry Corners, of course," answered Chet in a tone which very
plainly meant, "why ask such a foolish question?" "To the ghosts that
inhabit the garret and cellar of Billie's new house."
"Hold on, hold on there!" cried Mr. Bradley, who had been listening to
the proceedings in amused silence. "Do you happen to know how far Cherry
Corners is from here?"
"Very far?" asked Billie.
"A whole day's ride, that's all," their father answered.
"Say, Dad," cried Chet suddenly. "What do you suppose the old place
is worth?"
"I can't say, Chet," answered Mr. Bradley. "Being so far from good roads
and the railroad, I am afraid the land is not worth much."
"But it must be worth something," persisted the boy.
Mr. Bradley smiled faintly.
"For Billie's sake let us hope so. But you must remember, in this state
there are thousands of abandoned farms. Folks simply can't make a living
on them, and so they move away."
"But the buildings must be worth something."
"To live in, yes, but that is all. You can't move an old stone house to
some other spot."