CHAPTER XXII THE HIDDEN TREASURE

“I’m going to call up the governor–and mom–and Lucy–and Jinny,” gasped the young fellow, who had so suddenly laid claim to being Mrs. Castle’s grandson. “I just want them to see you, Grandma. Why–why, where did you ever get those duds? And for all the world!–you’re knitting!”

“You can call ’em up, Tommy,” said the old lady, placidly. “I’ve got the bit in my teeth now, and I’m going to stay.”

“Can we drive in here?” asked Master Tom, quickly, of the girls, whom he instinctively knew were in charge.

“Yes,” said Lyddy. “Of course any friends of Mrs. Castle’s will be welcome.”

Tom sang out for the chauffeur to turn into the lane, and in a minute or two the motor party stopped in the grass-grown driveway within plain view of the people on the porch.

“Will you look at who’s here?” demanded Master Tom, standing with his legs wide apart and waving his arms excitedly.

The rather stout, ruddy-faced man reading the Sunday paper dropped the sheet and gazed across at the bridling old lady.

“Why, Mother!” he cried.

“Grandma–if it isn’t!” exclaimed one young lady, who was about nineteen.

“Mother Castle!” gasped the lady who sat beside Mr. Castle on the rear seat.

“Hullo, Grandma!” shouted the other girl, who was younger than Tom.

“I hope you all know me,” said Grandmother Castle, rising and leaving her knitting in her chair, as she approached the automobile. “I thought some of sending for some more clothing to-morrow; but you can take my order in to-day.”

“Mother Castle! what is the meaning of this masquerade?” demanded her daughter-in-law, raising a gold-handled lorgnette through which to stare at the old lady.

“Thank you, Daughter Sarah,” returned Mrs. Castle, tartly. “I consider that from you a compliment. I expect that a gown, fitted to my age and position in life, does look like a fancy dress to you.”

“Ho, ho!” roared her son, suddenly doubled up with laughter. “She’s got you there, Sadie, I swear! Mother, you look just as your own mother used to look. I remember grandma well enough.”

“Thank you, Rufus,” said the old lady, and there were tears in her eyes. “Your grandmother was a fine woman.”

“’Deed she was,” admitted Mr. Castle, who was getting out of the car heavily. He now came forward and kissed his mother warmly. “Well, if you like this, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it,” he added, standing off and looking at her plain dress, and her cap, and the little shawl over her shoulders.

The girls and Master Tom had already kissed her; now Mrs. Castle the younger got down and pecked at her mother-in-law’s cheek.

“I’m sure,” she said, “I’ve always done everything to make you feel at home with us, Mother Castle. I’ve tried to make you one of the family right along. And you belong to the same clubs I do. Surely—”

“That’s just exactly it!” cried the little old lady, shaking her head. “I don’t belong in the same clubs with you. I don’t want to belong to any club–unless it’s a grandmothers’ club. And I want simple living–and country air—”

“And all these Rubes?” chuckled Mr. Castle, waving his hand to take in the surrounding country.

“Quite so, Rufus. But you would better postpone your criticisms until— Ah, let me introduce my son, Mr. Colesworth,” she added, as the old gentleman and Harris appeared from the side yard. “And young Mr. Harris Colesworth, of the Commonwealth Chemical Company. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Colesworths, Rufus?”

“Bless us and save us!” murmured Mr. Castle. “You’re from Easthampton, too?”

The old lady continued to introduce her family to the Brays, to Mr. Somers, and even to Professor Spink. The latter came forward with a flourish.

“Spink–Lemuel Judson Spink, M.D., proprietor of Stonehedge Bitters, and Diamond Grits, the breakfast of the million,” the professor explained, bowing low before Mrs. Rufus Castle.

“And these two smart girls I have adopted as grandchildren, too,” declared the older Mrs. Castle, drawing Lyddy and ’Phemie forward. “These are the hard-working, cheerful, kind-hearted girls who make this delightful home at Hillcrest for us all.”

“Oh, Mrs. Castle makes too much of what we do,” said Lyddy, softly. “You see, ’Phemie and I are only too glad to have a grandmother; we do not remember ours.”

“And, God forgive me! I’d almost forgotten what mine was like,” said Mr. Castle, softly, eyeing his old mother with misty vision.

“Well, now!” spoke the old lady, briskly, “do you suppose you could find enough in that pantry of yours to feed this hungry mob of people in addition to your regular guests, Lyddy?”

“Why–if they’ll take ‘pot luck,’” laughed Lyddy. “Literally ‘pot luck,’ I mean, for the piece de resistance will be two huge pots of baked beans.”

“And such beans!” exclaimed Grandmother Castle.

“And such ‘brown loaf’ to go with them,” suggested Harris Colesworth.

“And old-fashioned ‘Injun pudding’ baked in a brick oven,” added Mr. Bray, smiling. “There is a huge one, I know.”

“I am not sure that there wasn’t method in your madness, Mother,” declared Mr. Castle. “All this sounds mighty tempting.”

“And it will taste even more tempting,” declared the elder Mrs. Castle.

“Let the hamper stay where it is,” commanded her son, to the chauffeur. “We’ll partake of the Misses Bray’s hospitality.”

The younger Castles, and the gentleman’s wife, might have been in some doubt at first; but when they were set down to the long dining table, with Lyddy’s hot viands steaming on the cloth–with the flowers, and beautiful old damask, and blue-and-white china of a by-gone day, and the heavy silver, and the brightness and cheerfulness of it all, they, too, became enthusiastic.

“It’s the most delightful place to visit we’ve ever found,” declared Miss Virginia Castle.

“It’s too sweet for anything,” agreed Miss Lucy. “I hope you’ll come this way in the car again, Dad.”

“I reckon we will if Grandma is going to make this her headquarters–and she declares she’s going to stay,” said Master Tom.

“Do you blame her?” returned his father, with a sigh of plenitude, as he pushed back from the table.

“Well! I can’t convince myself that she ought to stay here; but you’re all against me, I see,” said their mother. “And, it really is a delightful place.”

The Bray girls were proud of their success in satisfying such a party; and Lyddy was particularly pleased when Mr. Castle drew her aside and put a ten-dollar note in her hand.

“Don’t say a word! It was worth it. I only hope you won’t be over-run by auto parties and your place be spoiled. If you have any others, however, charge them enough. It is better entertainment than we could possibly get at any road house for the same money.”

And so Lyddy got ten dollars toward her kitchen range.

While the ladies were getting into the tonneau, however, Miss Bray overheard a few words ’twixt Harris Colesworth and young Tom Castle that made her suspicious. She came out upon the side porch to wave them good-bye with the dish-cloth, and there were Harris and Tom directly beneath her.

And they did not observe Lyddy.

“All right, old man,” Master Tom was saying, as he wrung the young chemist’s hand. “The governor and I were a bit worried about grandma, and your tip came in the nick of time.

“But,” he added, with a chuckle, “I had no end of trouble getting Mom and the girls to let James come up this way. You see, they’d never been this way over the hill before.”

“Now,” said Lyddy to herself, when the boys had passed out of hearing, “here is another case where this Harris Colesworth deliberately put his–his nose into other people’s business!

“He knew these Castles. At least, he knew that they belonged to grandma. And he took it upon himself to be a talebearer. I don’t like him! I declare I never shall really like him.

“Of course, perhaps grandma’s son and the rest of the family might be getting anxious about her. But suppose they’d been nasty about it and tried to make her go home with them?

“No. ’Phemie is always saying Harris Colesworth has ‘such a nice nose.’ It is nothing of the kind! It is too much in other people’s business to suit me,” quoth Lyddy, with decision.

Her opinion of him, however, did not feaze Harris in the least. Mr. Somers was inclined to be stiff and “offish” since the previous evening, but Harris was jolly, and kept everybody cheered up–even grandma, who was undoubtedly a little woe-begone after her family had departed–for a while, at least.

It was a little too cool yet to sit out of doors after sunset, and that evening after supper they gathered about a clear, brisk fire on the dining-room hearth, and Harris Colesworth led the conversation.

And perhaps he had an ulterior design in leading the talk to the Widow Harrison’s troubles. He said nothing at which Jud Spink could take offense, but it seemed that Harris had informed himself regarding the old woman’s life with her peculiar husband, and he knew much about Bob Harrison himself.

“Say–he was a caution–he was!” cried Harris. “And he kept folks guessing all about here for years. The Pritchetts say Bob was a ne’er-do-well when he was a boy—”

“And that is quite so,” put in Professor Spink. “I can remember the way the old folks talked about him when I was a boy about here.”

“Just so,” agreed Harris. “He made out he was entitled to a pension from the government, for years. And he always told folks he had brought a fortune home from the war with him. Let on that he had hidden it about the house, too.”

Professor Spink’s eyes snapped, and he leaned forward.

“You don’t reckon there is anything in that story; do you, Mr. Colesworth?” he asked.

“Why–I don’t–know,” said Harris, slowly, but with a perfectly grave face. “As I make it out, when the old fellow died the widow made search for this hidden treasure he had hinted at so often; but when the lawyers found out that he was entitled to no pension–that he’d lied about that–and that about all he had left her was a mortgage on the place, Mrs. Harrison gave up the search for money in disgust. She said as he’d lied about the pension, and about other things, why, of course he’d lied about the hidden treasure.”

“And don’t you think he did?” asked Spink, with so much interest that the others were amused.

“Humph!” responded Harris, gravely. “I don’t know. He might have hidden bonds–or deeds–or even bank notes.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Mr. Bray, laughing. “That’s imagination.”

“You need not mind, Professor,” said old Mr. Colesworth, sharply. “If there is money, or treasure, hidden there in the house, or on the place, and you have bid the place in, as I understand you have, it will be ‘treasure trove’–it will belong to you–if you find it.”

“Ha!” ejaculated Professor Spink, darting the old gentleman rather an angry glance.

“I don’t know whether it is altogether talk and imagination, or not,” said Harris, ruminatively. “Cyrus Pritchett was with Bob Harrison when he died. And he says the old man talked of this hidden money–or treasure–or what-not–up to the very time be became unconscious. He had a shock, you know, and it stopped his speech like that,” and Harris snapped his finger and thumb.

“It sounds like a story-book,” said Grandma Castle, complacently.

“It doesn’t sound sensible,” observed Lyddy, drily.

“I’m giving it to you for what it’s worth,” remarked Harris, good-naturedly. “Mr. Pritchett was sitting up with Harrison when the old man had his final shock. Harrison had been mumbling along to Cyrus about what he wanted done with certain of his possessions. And he says:

“‘There’s that hid away that will be wuth money–five thousand in hard cash–some day, Cy.’

“Those are the words he used,” said Harris, earnestly, and watching Professor Spink from one corner of his eye. “He was sitting up, Cy said, and as he spoke he pointed at— Well,” broke off Harris, abruptly, “never mind what he pointed at. He died before he could finish what he was saying.”

“Is that the truth, Harris Colesworth?” demanded ’Phemie, regarding him seriously.

“I got it from Lucas. Then I asked his father. That is just the way the story was told to me,” declared the young fellow, warmly.

“And–and they never found anything?” asked Mr. Bray.

“No. They searched. They searched the old pieces of–of furniture, too. But Mrs. Harrison gave it up when it was found that Bob had been such a–a prevaricator.”

“He probably lied about the fortune,” said Mr. Bray, quietly.

“Well–maybe,” grunted Harris.

But Lyddy remembered that Harris had already told her that he proposed to go to the vendue and buy in several pieces of the widow’s furniture. Did that mean that Harris really thought he had a clue to the hidden treasure?