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CHAPTER XV
PUZZLING RHYMES

“As I was saying,” continued Sinclair, “Mr. and Mrs. Hartley lived happily at Cromarty Manor. Three beautiful children were born to them, who have since grown to be the superior specimens of humanity you see before you. I am the oldest, and, as I may modestly remark, the flower of the family.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” commented Patty, looking affectionately at Mabel.

“Well, anyway, as was only natural, the search for that hidden fortune went on at times. Perhaps a visitor would stir up the interest afresh, and attempts would be made to discover new meaning in Uncle Marmaduke’s last words. And it was my father who succeeded in doing this. He sat in the library one day, looking over the old set of Dickens’ works, which always had a fascinating air of holding the secret. He had not lived here long then, and was not very familiar with the books on the library shelves, but looking about he discovered another set of Dickens, a much newer set, and the volumes were bound in cloth, but almost entirely covered by a gilded decoration. Wait, I’ll show you one.”

Sinclair rose, and going into the library, returned in a moment with a copy of “Barnaby Rudge.” It was bound in green cloth, but so ornate was the gold tooling that little green could be seen.

“Dickens—gold–” murmured Patty, her eyes shining as she realised the new meaning in the words.

“Yes; and, sure enough that was what Uncle Marmaduke meant. Just think! For fifteen years that set of books had stood untouched on the shelves, while people nearly wore out the older set, hunting for a clue to the fortune!”

“It’s great!” declared Patty; “go on!”

“Well, this set of Dickens proved extremely interesting. Between the leaves of the books were papers of all sorts. Bills, deeds, banknotes, memoranda, and even a will.”

“Then you had the fortune, at last?”

“No such luck. The banknotes and the few securities in the books amounted to a fair sum, which was gratefully appreciated by my parents, but as to the bulk of the fortune, it only made matters more tantalising than ever.”

“Why?” asked Patty.

“One of the papers was a will, properly executed and witnessed, leaving all the fortune of which Uncle Marmaduke died possessed, to my mother. Then, instead of a definite statement of where this money was deposited, were some foolish jingles hinting where to find it. These rhymes would be interesting as an old legend, or in a story book, but to find them instead of a heap of money, was, to say the least, disappointing.”

“And did you never find the money?”

“Never. And, of course, now we never will. Remember all this happened twenty years ago. I mean the discovery of the papers. Of course, the money was hidden more than thirty-five years ago.”

“And do you mean to say that you people are living here, in your own house, and your own money is hidden here somewhere, and you can’t find it?”

“Exactly as you state it.”

“Well! I’d find it, if I had to tear the whole house down.”

“Wait a minute, Miss Impetuosity. We don’t think it’s in the house.”

“Oh, out of doors?”

“You’re good at puzzles, I know, but just wait until you hear the directions that came with the package, and I think you’ll admit it’s a hopeless problem.”

“May she see them, Mother?” said Mabel. “Will you get them out for us?”

“Not to-night, dear. I’ll show the old papers to Patty, some other time; but now Sinclair can tell her the lines just as well.”

“Of all the papers in the books,” Sinclair went on, “only two seemed to be directions for finding the money, although others vaguely hinted that the fortune was concealed. And still others gave the impression that Uncle Marmaduke meant to tell mother all about it; but as his death came upon him so suddenly, of course he could not do this. On these two papers are rhymes, which we children have known by heart all our lives. One is:

 
“‘Great treasure lieth in the poke
Between the fir trees and the oak.’
 

“You see uncle was a true poet.”

“What does the poke mean?” asked Patty.

“Oh, a poke is a pocket; or a hiding-place of any sort. Of course, this information sent father to digging around every fir tree and oak tree on the place. As you know, there are hundreds of both kinds of trees, so the directions can’t be called explicit.”

“But,” said Patty, wrinkling her brow, “it says ‘between the fir trees and the oak,’ as if it meant a clump of firs and only one big oak.”

“Yes; that’s what has been surmised. And many a separate oak tree that stands near a group of firs has been thoroughly investigated. But wait; there’s another clue. On a separate paper these words are written:

 
“‘Above the stair, across the hall,
Between the bedhead and the wall,
A careful searching will reveal
The noble fortune I conceal.’
 

“There, could anything be plainer than that?”

“Then the money is in the house!” exclaimed Patty.

“Take your choice. There are the two declarations. It may be he concealed the money in one place, and then transferred it to another. Or it may be he put part in the ground, and part in the house.”

“But, ‘between the bedhead and the wall,’ is so definite. There are not so very many bedrooms, you know.”

“True enough. And of course, when my father found that paper, he went directly upstairs, crossed the hall, and so reached Uncle Marmaduke’s own bedroom. The furniture had been moved about, but Grandy remembered where the head of the bed stood in Uncle’s time. They searched thoroughly, took up flooring, took down wainscoting, and all that, to no avail.”

“Of course, they tried other ‘bedheads’?”

“Yes, tell her about it, Grandy.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Cromarty, placidly. “All the bedrooms in the house, even the servants’ rooms, were subjected to most careful scrutiny. Although so many years had elapsed, I could remember where the various beds stood when Marmaduke was with us. Behind each, we had the walls sounded, and in some cases, broken into. We even looked for pockets or receptacles of some sort on the backs of the headboards themselves, but never a trace of anything could we find.”

“It’s very exciting!” said Patty; “how can you all be so calm about it? I should think you’d be searching every minute!”

“You must remember, dear,” said Mrs. Hartley, “it’s an old story to us. At first, we were indeed excited. For several years we searched almost continuously. Then hope began to fail, and our investigations became intermittent. Every now and then we would make a fresh attempt, but invariably repeated failures dampened our enthusiasm.”

“It’s so interesting,” sighed Patty. “Can’t we get up a little of the old enthusiasm, and do some searching while I’m here?”

“Indeed, we can,” cried Bob. “Would you prefer an excavating party, with picks and spades, or an indoor performance in the old bedrooms?”

“Both,” declared Patty. “Of course I know how absurd it is to go over the ground that has already been worn threadbare, but—but, oh! if we could find it!”

Grandma Cromarty smiled.

“Forgive me, dearie,” she said, “but I’ve heard those sentiments from all my guests to whom we have told the story, for the past thirty-five years; and though I don’t want to seem ungrateful for your interest, I feel it my duty to warn you there is no hope.”

“Oh, yes there is hope, Grandy,” said Sinclair, “but there is nothing else. There’s no probability, scarcely a possibility, but we’ll never give up hope.”

“Never!” agreed Bob; but Mabel’s expression plainly showed that she hadn’t the faintest glimmering of a hope.

“It does seem so strange,” said Patty, thoughtfully, “to have the two directions, and both so explicit. No, not explicit, they’re not that, but both so definite.”

“Hardly definite, either,” said Bob, “except that they seem to reveal the fact that there is a fortune concealed about the place. Oh! it makes me frantic! I feel so helpless.”

“There’s no use storming about it, Bob, my boy,” said his mother. “And, Patty, you mustn’t set us down as too mercenary in this matter. But I think you know that we, as a family, long for the means which would enable us to keep up this dear old place as it should be, and not let its beautiful parks and gardens go uncared for and neglected.”

“I do know!” cried Patty; “and it makes me furious to think that the money—your own money—is perhaps within your reach, and yet—you can’t get it! Oh, why didn’t Mr. Marmaduke say just where he put it!”

“He did,” said Bob, smiling.

“Yes, so he did. Well, I’d tear up every square foot of ground on the whole estate, then.”

“Remember, Patty,” said Sinclair, in his quiet way, “there are nearly ten thousand acres in all; and except for meadowlands and water, there are oaks and firs on nearly every acre. The fortune itself would scarcely pay for all that labour.”

“Well, then, I’d tear the house to pieces.”

“Oh, no you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Hartley; “and beside, that has almost been done. My husband had so much of the woodwork and plaster removed, that I almost feared he would bring the house down about our ears. And it is such a big, rambling old place, it is hopeless to think of examining it really thoroughly.”

Patty glanced around at the great hall she was in. The groined ceiling, with its intricate carvings at the intersections; the cornice carved in deep relief, with heraldic bosses, and massive patterns; the tall columns and pilasters; all seemed part of an old monument which it would be desecration to break into.

“I wonder where it is,” she said; “indoors or out.”

“I think it’s out of doors,” said Sinclair. “I think uncle hid it in the house first, and then wrote his exquisite poem about the poke. Perhaps it was merely a pocket of leather or canvas, that hung behind the headboard of his own bed. In that case all prying into the walls would mean nothing. Then, I think, as that was only a temporary hiding-place, he later buried it in the ground between some special oak tree and fir tree, or trees. I think, too, he left, or meant to leave some more of his poetry to tell which trees, but owing to his sudden taking off, he didn’t do this.”

“Sinclair,” said Bob, “as our American friend, Mr. Dooley, says, ‘Yer opinions is inthrestin’, but not convincin’.’ As opinions, they’re fine; but I wish I had some facts. If uncle had only left a cryptogram or a cipher, I’d like it better than all that rhymed foolishness.”

“Perhaps it isn’t foolishness,” said Patty; “I think, with Sinclair, it’s likely Mr. Marmaduke wrote the indoor one first, and then changed the hiding-place and wrote the other. But how could he do all this hiding and rehiding without being seen?”

“I went up to London every season,” said Mrs. Cromarty; “and, of course, took Emmeline with me. Marmaduke always stayed here, and thus had ample opportunity to do what he would. Indeed, he usually had great goings-on while we were away. One year, he had the Italian garden laid out. Another year, he had a new porter’s lodge built. This was done the last year of his life, and as he had masons around so much at that time, repairing the cellars and all that, we thought later, that he might have had a hiding-place arranged in the wall behind the head of his bed. But, if so, we never could find it.”

“And have you dug under the trees much?” persisted Patty, who could not accept the hopelessness of the others.

“Dug!” exclaimed Bob, “I’ve blistered my hands by the hour. I’ve viewed fir trees and oaks, until I know every one on the place by heart. I’ve trudged a line from oaks to firs, and starting in the middle, I’ve dug both ways. But I’m nearly ready to give up. Not quite, though. I’m making a thorough search of all the books in the library, on the chance of finding some other message. But there are such a lot of books! I’ve been at it for three years now, off and on, and I’m only three-quarters way round. And not a paper yet, except a few old letters and bills.”

“I’ll help you, Bob,” said Patty; “oh, I’d love to do something toward the search, even if I don’t find a thing. I’ll begin to-morrow. You tell me what books you’ve done.”

“I will, indeed. I’ll be jolly glad to have help. And you can do as much as you like, before your young enthusiasm wears off.”

“I’ll do it, gladly,” said Patty, and then they discovered that the evening had flown away, and it was bedtime.

As they went upstairs, Mabel followed Patty to her room and sat down for a little good-night chat.

Patty’s eyes were shining with excitement, and as she took off her hair ribbon, and folded it round her hand, she said:

“Even if we don’t find anything, you’ll be no worse off, and it’s such fun to hunt.”

“They didn’t tell you all, Patty,” said Mabel, in a pathetic tone, and Patty turned quickly to her friend.

“Why, what do you mean?”

“I mean this. Of course, we’ve never been rich, and we’ve never been able to do for the place what ought to be done for it; but we have been able to live here. And now—now, if we can’t get any more money, we—we can’t stay here! Oh, Patty!”

Patty’s arms went round Mabel, as the poor child burst into tears.

“Yes,” she said, sobbing, “some of mother’s business interests have failed—it’s all come on lately, I don’t entirely understand it—but, anyway, we may soon have to leave Cromarty, and oh, Patty, how could we live anywhere else? and what’s worse, how could we have any one else living here?”

“Leave Cromarty Manor! Where you’ve all lived so long—I mean your ancestors and all! Why, Mabel, you can’t do that!”

“But we’ll have to. We haven’t money enough to pay the servants—or, at least, we won’t have, soon.”

“Are you sure of all this, dear? Does Mrs. Cromarty expect to go away?”

“It’s all uncertain. We don’t know. But mother’s lawyer thinks we’d better sell or let the place. Of course we won’t sell it, but it would be almost as bad to let it. Think of strangers here!”

“I can’t think of such a thing! It seems impossible. But perhaps matters may turn out better than you think. Perhaps you won’t have to go.”

“That’s what Sinclair says—and mother. But I’m sure the worst will happen.”

“Now, Mabel, stop that! I won’t let you look on the dark side. And, anyway, you’re not to think any more about it to-night. You won’t sleep a wink if you get nervous and worried. Now put it out of your mind, and let’s talk about the croquet party to-morrow at Grace Meredith’s. How are we going over?”

“You and I are to drive in the pony cart, and the others will go in the carriage.”

“That will be lovely. Now, what shall we wear?”

Thus, tactfully, Patty led Mabel’s thoughts away from her troubles, for the time, at least, and when the two friends parted for the night, they both went healthily and happily to sleep.

CHAPTER XVI
THE CROQUET PARTY

The next afternoon the two girls started in the pony cart for the Merediths.

Patty loved to play croquet, and though it greatly amused her to hear the English people pronounce the word as if it were spelled croky, yet not to appear peculiar, she spoke it that way too.

The party was a large one, and the games were arranged somewhat after the fashion of a tournament.

Patty’s partner was Tom Meredith, and as he played a fairly good game they easily beat their first opponents.

But later on they found themselves matched against Mabel Hartley and a young man named Jack Stanton. Mr. Stanton was an expert, and Mabel played the best game Patty had ever seen a girl play.

“It’s no use,” said Patty, good-naturedly, as they began the game, “Tom and I never can win against you two.”

“Don’t despair,” said Tom, encouragingly, “There’s many a slip, you know.”

The game progressed until, when Tom and Patty were about three-quarters of the way around, Mabel was passing through her last wicket and Mr. Stanton was a “rover.”

“Be careful, now,” said Mr. Stanton, as Mabel aimed to send her ball through the arch. “It’s a straight shot, and a long shot, and you’re liable to touch the post.”

And that’s just what happened. As Mabel’s swift, clear stroke sent the ball straight through the wicket, it went spinning on and hit squarely the home stake.

“Jupiter! that’s bad luck!” exclaimed Jack Stanton. “They’ll jolly well beat us now. But never mind, perhaps I can slip through yet.”

But he couldn’t. The fact that they had two plays to his one, gave Patty and Tom a great advantage.

Tom was a clever manager, and Patty followed his directions implicitly. So they played a defensive game, and spent much time keeping Stanton’s ball away from the positions he desired. The result was that Tom and Patty won, but their success was really owing to Mabel’s mistake in going out.

The test was to win two games out of three, so with one game in favor of Patty’s side they began the next.

Patty was considered a good croquet player in America, but in England the rules of the game, as well as the implements, were so different that it seriously impeded her progress.

The wickets were so narrow that the ball could barely squeeze through if aimed straight, and a side shot through one was impossible.

But all this added to the zest, and it was four very eager young people who strove for the victory.

The second game went easily to Mabel and Jack Stanton, and then the third, the decisive one, was begun. According to the laws of the tournament, this was the final game. The opponents had already vanquished all the other contestants, and now, pitted against each other, were playing for the prize.

Patty knew in her heart she would be glad to have Mabel win it, and yet, so strong was her love of games, and so enthusiastic her natural desire to succeed, that she tried her best to beat the third game.

All played conservatively. The partners kept together, and progressed evenly. Toward the last Jack and Mabel began to creep ahead. Tom saw this, and said to Patty: “This is our last chance; if we plod on like this, they’ll calmly walk out and leave us. Unless we can make a brilliant dash of some sort, we are beaten.”

“I don’t believe I can,” said Patty, looking doubtfully at her ball. “It’s my turn, and unless I can hit Mabel’s ball, clear across the grounds, I can’t do anything.”

“That’s just it. You must hit Mabel’s ball.”

So Patty aimed carefully, and sent her ball spinning over the ground toward Mabel’s, and missed it by a hair’s breadth!

“Goody!” cried Mabel, and hitting Patty’s ball, she roqueted it back where it had come from.

“Now here’s our very lastest chance,” said Tom, with a groan of despair. “And I’m sure, Patty, I won’t do any better than you did.”

Nor did he. Although not far from Jack’s ball, at which he aimed, there was a wicket in the way, which sent his own ball glancing off at an angle, and he did not hit his opponent.

A minute more, and Jack skilfully sent Mabel’s ball and then his own against the home stake, and the game was over.

The onlookers crowded up and congratulated the winners, and offered condolence to Patty and Tom. Patty smiled, and responded merrily. She did not try to lay the blame on the unusual shaped wickets, or short, heavy mallets. She declared that the best players had won, and that she was satisfied. And indeed she was.

When she saw the lovely prize that was given to Mabel, she was deeply thankful that she hadn’t won it. It was a white parasol, of silk and chiffon, with a pearl handle. A really exquisite, dainty affair, and just the very thing Mabel had wanted, but couldn’t afford to buy. As for Patty herself, she had several parasols, and so was delighted that Mabel had won.

But though she truly preferred that Mabel should have the prize, she felt a little chagrined at losing the contest, for like all people who are fond of games and sports, Patty loved to win.

These feelings, though, she successfully concealed, and gave Mabel very sincere and loving congratulations. Mr. Stanton’s prize was a pretty scarf pin, and Tom Meredith loudly bewailed his own misfortune in losing this. Though, really, as the tournament was at his own home, he would not have taken the prize had he won it, but would have passed it on to the one with the next highest record.

The victors were cheered and applauded, and were then led in triumph to the pretty tent where tea was being served.

If Patty had had a shadow of regret that she had not been the honoured one, it was lost sight of in her gladness that it fell to Mabel’s lot.

“You’re a plucky one,” said Tom Meredith, who was observing her closely. “You’re a good loser, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” said Patty, thoughtfully. “I want to be, but do you know, I just love to win contests or games. And when I lose—I’m ashamed to say it—but I do feel put out.”

“Of course you do! That’s only natural. And that’s why I say you’re a good loser. If you didn’t care tuppence whether you won or not, it wouldn’t be much to your credit to look smiling and pleasant when you lose. But since you do care, a whole lot, you’re a jolly plucky girl to take it so well. Now, what can I get for you? An ice?”

“Yes, please,” said Patty, really gratified at Tom’s appreciative words.

“How long are you staying with the Hartleys?” Tom asked, as, returning with ices, he found cosy seats at a small table for himself and Patty.

“Two or three weeks longer, I think. But I shall hate to go away, for I’ve become so interested in their ‘mystery,’ that I can’t stop trying to solve it.”

“Oh, you mean that old affair of the hidden fortune. I don’t believe there’s any at all. I think the old man who pretended to hide it was merely guying them.”

“Oh, no! That can’t be. Why, it all sounds so real and natural. The story of the hiding, I mean.”

“Yes, but why should he want to hide it? Why not bank it decently, like other people?”

“Oh, because he was eccentric. People who are naturally queer or freakish are always hiding things. And I know it’s silly of me, but I’m going to try to find that money.”

“I’ve lots of faith in your energy and perseverance, but I can’t think you’ll succeed in that job. Better try something easier.”

“I don’t think I can say I expect to succeed. But I’m going to try—and—who can tell what might happen?”

“Who, indeed? But you know, of course, that the Cromarty people have been hunting it for nearly forty years.”

“Yes,” said Patty, and her eyes fairly blazed with determination, “yes—but I am an American!”

Tom Meredith shouted with laughter.

“Good for you, little Stars and Stripes!” he cried. “I’ve always heard of the cleverness of the Yankees, but if you can trace the Cromarty fortune, I’ll believe you a witch, for sure. Aren’t there witches in that New England of yours?”

“I believe there used to be. And my ancestors, some of them, were Salem people. That may be where I get my taste for divination and solving problems. I just love puzzles of all sorts, and if the old Cromarty gentleman had only left a cipher message, it would have been fun to puzzle it out.”

“He did leave messages of some sort, didn’t he? Maybe they are more subtle than you think.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. They might mean something entirely different from what they sound like; but I can’t see any light that way. ‘The headboard of a bed against a wall,’ is pretty practical, and doesn’t seem to mean anything else. And the oak trees and fir trees are there in abundance. But that’s the trouble with them, there are so many.”

“Go on, and do all you can, my child. You’ll get over it the sooner, if you work hard on it at first. We’ve all been through it. Nearly everybody in this part of the country has tried at one time or another to guess the Cromarty riddle.”

“But I’m the first American to try,” insisted Patty, with a twinkle in her eye.

“Quite so, Miss Yankee Doodle Doo; and I wish you success where my own countrymen have failed.”

Tom said this with such a nice, kindly air that Patty felt a little ashamed of her own vaunting attitude. But sometimes Patty showed a decided tendency to over-assuredness in her own powers, and though she tried to correct it, it would spring up now and again. Then the Hartley boys joined them, and all discussion of the missing fortune was dropped.

It was soon time to take leave, and as it was already twilight, Sinclair proposed that he should drive Patty home in the pony cart, and Mabel should return in the carriage.

Mabel quite agreed to this, saying that after her croquet, she did not care to drive. The road lay through a lovely bit of country, and Patty enjoyed the drive home with Sinclair. She always liked to talk with him, he was so gentle and kindly. While not so merry as Bob or as Tom Meredith, Sinclair was an interesting talker, and Patty always felt that she was benefited by his conversation.

He told her much about the country as they drove along, described the life and work of the villagers, and pointed out buildings or other objects of interest.

They passed several fine estates, whose towering mansions could be seen half hidden by trees, or boldly placed on a summit.

“But no place is as beautiful as Cromarty,” said Sinclair, and Patty entirely agreed with them.

“Is it true that you may have to leave it?” she asked, thinking it wiser to refer to it casually.

Sinclair frowned.

“Who’s been talking to you?” he said; “Mabel, I suppose. Well, yes, there is a chance that we’ll have to let it for a term of years. I hope not, but I can’t tell yet. But even if so, it will be only temporary. As soon as I get fairly established in my career, I hope to make money enough to take care of it all. A few years hence, when I’m on my feet, and Bob’s through college, it will be easier all round. But if some business troubles that are now impending don’t blow over, there’ll be no income to keep things going, and we’ll have to—to–But that shan’t happen!”

Sinclair spoke almost desperately, and Patty saw his fingers clench around the reins he was holding.

“I wonder,” said Patty slowly, for she was not quite sure how what she was about to say would be received. “I wonder, Sinclair, if we’re not good friends enough, you and I, for me to speak plainly to you.”

The young man gave her a quick, earnest glance.

“Go on,” he said, briefly.

“It’s only this,” said Patty, still hesitating, “my father has lots of money—couldn’t you—couldn’t he lend you some?”

Sinclair looked at her squarely now, and spoke in low, stern tones.

“Never suggest such a thing again. The Cromartys do not borrow.”

“Not even from a friend?” said Patty, softly.

“Not even from a friend,” repeated Sinclair, but his voice was more gentle. “You don’t understand, I suppose,” he went on, “but we would leave Cromarty for ever before we would stay on such terms.”

“No,” said Patty, “I don’t understand. I should think you’d be as glad to accept a friend’s help as he would be to offer it.”

“If you’d do me a real kindness, Patty, you’ll never even mention such an idea again. I know you mean well and I thank you, but it’s absolutely impossible.”

“Then there’s only one other way out of the difficulty,” said Patty, with an effort at lightness; “and that’s to find your buried fortune.”

“Ah, that would be a help,” cried Sinclair, also assuming a gayer tone. “If you’ll help us to do that, I’ll set up a memorial tablet to your cleverness.”

“Where will you set it? Between the fir trees and the oak?”

“Yes, if you find the fortune there.”

“But if I find it behind the headboard, that’s no sort of a place for a tablet!”

“You can choose your own spot for your Roll of Fame, and I’ll see to it that the memorial is a worthy one.”

“And will you put fresh flowers on it every day?”

“Yes, indeed; for if—I mean when, you find the fortune for us, the gardens will have immediate attention.”

“Then I must set to work at once,” said Patty, with pretended gravity, but in her heart she registered a mental vow to try in earnest to fulfil the promise given in jest.