The Outdoor Girls Around the Campfire - Laura Lee Hope (best young adult book series txt) 📗

Thus it came to pass that the girls found themselves in the agreeable position of escort to the Old Maid of the Mountains and they looked forward eagerly to their return to Deepdale and the finding of the “right kind of little home” for their friend.

“It does seem a shame,” Mollie remarked when a few days later they were clearing up the camp preparatory to leaving for Deepdale the next morning, “to go home when we still have several weeks of lovely weather before us.”

“We’ll still have lovely weather in Deepdale,” retorted Grace. “And I, for one, wouldn’t miss the fun we’re going to have for all the camping in the world.”

“Nor I,” agreed Betty, adding wistfully: “I do hope Allen can find James Barton.”

“Oh, I hope so!” echoed Amy fervently. “Miss Weeks has so set her heart on finding him that it will be a terrible blow if he fails to turn up.”

“What I’m afraid of,” said Mollie, with a dark frown while she carefully folded an extra blanket, “is that this old lover of hers is dead. After all these years it would be hardly possible that he’s still alive. Allen said he was several years older than our old lady, and she’s pretty old.”

“Goodness! don’t be so gloomy,” protested the Little Captain. “I’m not going to believe anything like that until I have to.”

The next morning, ably assisted by the boys, the girls got their paraphernalia aboard the Gem. It was a glorious morning, a fact for which they were profoundly grateful. The trip would be hard enough on the little old lady, under the most favorable circumstances, and bad weather would be sure to complicate matters.

However, luck was on their side and they accomplished the journey without the slightest mishap. The engine of the Gem was working beautifully, with the result that they made record time.

Once the little boat was made fast to the dock at Deepdale Betty rushed up to her house, explained to her understanding and sympathetic mother about the old lady, and then, backing her little roadster out of the garage, rushed back to the dock again.

Then she drove off with the old lady, leaving the boys and the other girls to attend to the Gem and the disposal of its cargo. For Betty, like the Little Captain she was, had decided to take the Old Maid of the Mountains to her own home until she and the other girls should have a chance to find the ideal home for the little old lady.

Mrs. Nelson welcomed her guest with her usual warm kindliness and, seeing that Miss Weeks was nearly exhausted from the unusual exertion of the morning, hurried her off to bed, promising to have “something hearty” sent up on a tray.

To Isabella Weeks it was untold luxury to be so fussed over and cared for. She tried several times to express her gratitude, but emotion so choked her that the words would not come.

Once when Betty was starting to leave the room, she caught at the girl’s hand, pressing it for a moment to her withered old cheek.

“I was right,” she murmured. “Your mother is very lovely, dear child; and you are just like her.”

Then followed days of house hunting and furniture selection that were pure joy to the Outdoor Girls. Although the little old lady was too frail to go with them on their shopping trips, each evening they talked over the adventures of the day with her, telling her just what they had bought and submitting long lists, with the price opposite each article, for her inspection.

They found exactly the right kind of house, a little four-room bungalow with a broad, low porch and window boxes in every window. This they furnished gayly with wicker and cretonne and comfortable cushions heaped up everywhere.

When it was all ready—complete even to the maid with white cap and apron—they proudly bore the old lady to her new home, triumphantly exhibiting the results of their work.

The old lady seemed completely carried away with delight. And so they were taken totally unawares when after an inspection of the four rooms the owner of the pretty bungalow dropped into a deep-seated, gayly-cushioned chair and, covering her face with her hands, began to weep silently.

Disconcerted, utterly bewildered, the girls stared at her. But suddenly the little old lady lifted a face to them that was radiant through the tears.

“Don’t be alarmed, my dears,” she said, in her quaint, wistful way. “I’m not ill. I don’t believe joy ever made any one ill, do you?”

“Not ever in the world!” answered the Little Captain, happily.

Days followed during which the girls were almost always with Isabella Weeks. Through all the red tape of legal procedure she insisted on their presence. And though her health seemed to improve daily, owing to good food and good care and lack of worry, the girls noticed that she was restless and uneasy, seeming always to listen for some one who did not come.

“She’s waiting for James Barton,” thought Betty, adding softly: “I hope we hear good news from Allen soon.”

Betty heard from the young lawyer nearly every day, but he gave no assurance that he would be able to locate James Barton. In fact, he was so noncommittal about the result of his search that the girls finally began to believe the worst.

Then one evening, as Betty read to the old lady and the rest of the girls lounged about the pretty living room, there was a sudden sounding of a motor horn from without the house that drew them all to their feet.

The little old lady turned suddenly white, her hand flew to her throat. Betty, having glanced out the window, came over and laid a quieting hand on the old lady’s shoulder. One would never have told from Betty’s voice how her heart was thumping.

“It’s Allen,” she said, softly. “And he has some one with him.”

The next moment the door was flung open and Allen himself stepped inside the room. Beside him was one of the handsomest old gentlemen the girls had ever seen. Erect and soldierly in his bearing, broad-shouldered and ruddy of face, with a mass of curly iron gray hair, he was the kind of man one instinctively turns and stares after in the street.

There was a moment of tense silence while the two who had been lovers in their youth looked deep into each other’s eyes. Then James Barton started forward, eager hands outstretched.

“Isabella!” he cried. “After all the wasted years I’ve come to you! Are you glad?”

“Oh, my dear!” the words seemed wrung from the little old lady as she lifted her face to him. “All my life—I think—I’ve waited for this moment——”

Stumblingly, eyes blinded by tears, the girls found themselves outside the house. Somehow Betty’s hand slipped into Allen’s.

“You—you’re wonderful, Allen!” she whispered. “How did you ever do it?”

The young lawyer leaned close to her.

“I promised I would, didn’t I?” said he.

Two weeks later on a gloriously sunshiny morning, within the dim interior of “the little church around the corner” before the minister stood a pair of lovers, old in years but possessing the priceless gift of hearts that will always be young.

The slender, blue-veined hand of the little Old Maid of the Mountains trembled in the grip of James Barton but her voice was sweet and resolute as she answered clearly, “I do.”

Back in the pew where four Outdoor Girls and four stalwart lads were gathered, there sounded a muffled little sob. It was Amy who was crying and Will quite openly and shamelessly held her hand.

Then gently, as though unconsciously, Allen’s arm stole about the Little Captain, drawing her close to him. And because of the warmth about her heart—perhaps because of other reasons too, who knows?—Betty did not draw away.

THE END