CHAPTER 5 Mixed Signs

VEVE’S remark about a woman with a sack, further plagued the Brownies. Quite carried away by curiosity, Jane took the field glass from her.

“Who do you see with a sack?” she demanded.

“Look toward the side road,” directed Veve.

Jane trained the glass in that direction. The only living object in her line of vision was a lean white horse with an old fashioned buggy attached.

The buggy had pulled up at the side of a dirt road beyond the park boundary. Contentedly, the old horse grazed on grass. Her owner was nowhere visible.

“I don’t see anyone with a sack,” Jane complained. “I guess you were kidding us, Veve.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Veve denied. “She was there a moment ago. Here, let me have that glass again.”

She took it from Jane. But after studying the roadside area intently, acknowledged that the woman no longer was there.

“That’s funny,” commented Veve. “She must have disappeared somewhere in this park. But what’s she doing with a sack?”

“You’re sure you actually saw her?” Eileen questioned doubtfully.

“Of course! The buggy is proof I did!”

“What did she look like?” questioned Rosemary.

“Well,” Veve said, thinking hard, “she was queer looking and real thin. She wore a straw hat. Her dress was long with a full skirt. That’s all I remember except the sack—and the odd way she looked around when she jumped out of the buggy.”

“What do you mean by the odd way she looked around?” asked Connie, taking her turn at the field glass.

“She acted as if she were afraid someone would see her.”

“Oh, well!” Jane shrugged, losing interest. “She’s gone now anyway. Who cares what she does with her sack?”

“I’d like to know why she ducked into the woods,” Veve said. “Maybe she might have something to do with this tree house.”

“How could she?” demanded Sunny.

“It’s just one of Veve’s crazy notions,” said Jane.

“Maybe it’s not a crazy notion,” retorted Veve. “I guess if we ever expect to learn who built this playhouse, we’ll have to ask a few questions.”

“The woman may live near the park,” Connie said, coming to her friend’s defense. “It’s possible she does know who built the house.”

While the girls talked, Miss Gordon had been looking through the field glass herself. On one of the trails not far from the rustic bridge, she had sighted the woman.

“There she is!” she exclaimed. “Veve’s right! She does have a bag!”

“I told you so!” declared Veve shrilly.

Miss Gordon watched the old lady until she was blocked from view by the trees.

“Where do you suppose she’s going?” speculated Sunny. “She can’t be in the park just for the fun of it, because she’s in such a hurry.”

“She does appear to have business here,” Miss Gordon admitted. “The trail she is taking leads over the bridge and to the spring.”

“She can’t carry water in her sack!” laughed Veve. “I wish we knew more about her. I know! Why don’t we manage to meet her at the spring and ask a few questions?”

“We need water too,” declared Connie, indicating the empty thermos bottle.

“I don’t want to go,” said Jane, who sometimes liked to be contrary. “It’s a long walk to the spring.”

“I’d rather stay here in the tree house,” agreed Rosemary.

Sunny and Eileen sided with Veve and Connie, urging that they be allowed to head the woman off at the spring.

“I doubt you’ll learn anything by talking to her,” Miss Gordon told the four girls. “But run along if you like. I’ll stay here with Jane and Rosemary. We’ll finish tidying up while you’re gone.”

“Just don’t take all day,” Jane tossed at them. “We want to start home before too long.”

Taking the empty thermos bottle with them, Eileen, Sunny, Veve and Connie started down the winding stairway.

“You know the trail?” Miss Gordon called after them.

“Oh, yes!” replied Veve confidently.

“We always can follow the trail markings,” added Connie.

Walking single file, the girls moved briskly off in the direction of the spring.

The trail they followed was number two and at intervals was marked with a tiny numeral “2” on little wooden signboards.

The girls made a great deal of noise as their shoes crackled through the leaves and dry pine needles. Gaily they trotted along, wondering what they would say when they met the old lady at the spring.

They were certain she must be going there, for after the trail crossed the rustic bridge, it ended rather abruptly.

Soon the girls came to a fork in the trail. Connie, who was leading, paused to be certain she was taking the right turn.

To her surprise she noticed that the signpost directed: “The Spring,” and the little red arrow pointed toward the left hand path.

“Why, I thought we turned right here,” she said in perplexity.

“So did I,” said Eileen, gazing up at the sign.

“Well, the sign must be right,” argued Veve, adding with a laugh, “That is, it must mean we’re to take the left hand path. Come on, we’re wasting time!”

Still Connie hesitated.

“It seems as if we should go the other way,” she said doubtfully.

“Oh, you’re mixed up,” Veve told her. “From above, the trails look different. This must be the right direction.”

Veve now took the lead, walking fast because she did not want to miss meeting the queer old lady with the sack.

Eileen followed directly behind, while Sunny and Connie brought up the rear.

After the girls had gone a short way along the winding path, they came to another marker which bore the numeral “2”.

“You see, were on the trail all right,” Veve declared. “Nothing to worry about.”

“It just doesn’t seem right,” Connie answered.

Veve trudged on with the others close behind. The trail seemed to be getting narrower and less plainly marked.

Quite often Veve had to push bushes aside to make room to slip through. Some of the long branches whipped back into the faces of those who followed.

“Say! The park attendants don’t keep this trail up very well,” she complained.

“O-oh!” wailed Sunny. She had stepped into a soft spot and had sunk half way to the top of her galoshes in mud.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Connie declared, helping Sunny. “I never remembered that the spring was so far away.”

“Neither did I,” said Eileen, abruptly halting. “And where is the rustic bridge? Shouldn’t we have passed it long ago?”

Even Veve had grown uneasy. “I guess it only seems as if we’ve been hiking a long while,” she said. “This trail must be right because it’s plainly marked.”

“It was at first,” Connie corrected. “We haven’t seen a signpost for a long while now.”

“But we’ve not passed another fork,” Veve insisted. “So we couldn’t have taken a wrong turn.”

Not knowing what else to do, the girls went on, but at a slower pace. The path now seemed dark and mysterious.

Suddenly Veve halted to stare at a marking tacked to a tree trunk.

Behind her, Connie also saw it at the same instant. She uttered a gasp of dismay.

“Why, it says Trail 3 instead of Trail 2!” she exclaimed.

“And look what’s written in pencil directly under the lettering!” Eileen cried.

Veve read the nearly illegible message aloud. In pencil someone had scrawled: “Fooled you!”

Seeing the sign, the four girls were badly frightened.

“What does it mean?” Sunny asked, her voice shaking. “Why does the trail sign say 3 instead of 2?”

“Because someone has mixed up the signs!” Connie answered. Her eyes flashed angrily. “Oh, those horrid boys who changed the markings on the trees must have done it!”

“Then we’re on Trail 3 instead of Trail 2, and a long way from the spring,” Eileen declared uneasily.

“I don’t think we’re on Trail 3 either,” Veve said, peering ahead.

“Then where are we?” Sunny demanded.

“We’re just off somewhere in the forest,” Veve admitted, her voice weak from fright. “The trail has played out entirely. If you want to know the worst—we’re lost!”