Chapter 10 The Message in the Hollow Oak by Carolyn Keene
Nancy’s Mission
“I don’t know where my son is just at present,” Mrs. Ranny repeated reluctantly.
“Have you any idea when he will return home!” Nancy questioned eagerly.
“No, he often goes and comes without explaining his whereabouts to me. Since he was in the war Norman has changed so that we hardly know him as the same person he used to be.”
“Did he ever marry?”
“His sweetheart disappointed him, and he never fully recovered from the shock.”
By this time Nancy was almost convinced that the Norman whom she was seeking was none other than Mrs. Ranny’s son. She longed to tell the woman the entire story, yet hesitated to do so, for the secret was not hers to divulge. It would be best, she decided, to make a quiet investigation before revealing what she had learned.
“Could you furnish me with a picture of your son?” she next inquired of Mrs. Ranny. “Preferably one taken before he went to war?”
By this time Mrs. Ranny had become somewhat alarmed. She could not figure out what lay behind the questions.
“Yes, I believe I have an old picture of him,” she agreed a trifle unwillingly. “Wait, and I’ll go look.”
She went over to a desk, and after rummaging through several drawers found an old faded photograph which she gave to Nancy.
“It’s not a very good likeness of him,” she said apologetically.
The face which Nancy saw was not strictly handsome, but the well-defined features denoted strength of character.
“This should serve my purpose very nicely,” the girl announced.
Mrs. Ranny looked troubled.
“You didn’t want to keep the picture?”
“Why, yes, may I, just for a few days? I promise to return it to you uninjured.”
Obviously, Mrs. Ranny did not wish to lend her the photograph. However, she could think of no graceful way in which to refuse. While the woman was still debating the matter, Nancy thanked her again, and with the picture in her possession hurried away.
“Poor woman, you frightened her almost to death,” Bess remarked, as they sped back to the hotel.
“She was afraid her son had done something dreadful.”
Nancy had not considered this angle.
“I didn’t want to worry her,” she returned, “but I just had to get that picture. She’ll probably not give the matter much thought.”
In this Nancy was mistaken, however. She had no sooner left the house than Mrs. Ranny hurried to the barn to find her husband. The farmer, excitable by nature, was even more distressed than was his wife when he learned of Nancy’s strange request for his son’s picture. He feared that Norman had committed some crime, and that the photograph was to be used to identify him with the act.
All that afternoon the couple worried over the matter, until they finally convinced themselves that their son was wanted by the police. At length Mrs. Ranny proposed that they drive to town and ask Nancy point-blank what she intended to do with the photograph.
Meanwhile, unaware that she was causing the couple so much worry, Nancy returned with her chum to the Hamilton Hotel, where they found Mrs. Donnelly considerably improved. She was rocking restlessly in her chair as they came into her bedroom.
“I’ve been thinking that we may as well continue on to Wellington Lake,” she announced abruptly. “I don’t like this place, and I’m eager to get home. I’ll convalesce there a lot faster than I will here.”
“But are you really able to travel?” Nancy asked solicitously.
“Fiddlesticks! Of course I am. Seeing that Ranny woman upset me a little, I admit, but aside from that I’m as well as I ever was!”
Nancy smiled at this contradictory speech, for Mrs. Donnelly had not yet fully recovered from her injuries. However, the girls felt that once the woman made up her mind to travel, nothing would keep her from it.
Nancy thought it best not to tell Mrs. Donnelly the story Miss Chapelle had related to her at the hospital, since it concerned the Rannys. Secretly, she was eager to arrive at Wellington Lake as soon as possible so that she might fulfill the promise she had made to the authoress.
“I believe we can get a fast train out of here in about an hour,” she said.
“Then have your luggage ready,” the old lady advised crisply. “I packed my bag over an hour ago. I am sick and tired of this hotel, and we can’t leave it any too soon to suit me!”
Elated at the thought of continuing on to Wellington Lake, Nancy hustled about making all necessary arrangements. Mrs. Donnelly went by automobile to the railroad station.
As they were boarding the train which was to take them North, Nancy noticed an old machine coming toward the tracks. It did not occur to her that the occupants, Mr. and Mrs. Ranny, were hastening to the station to talk to her.
After the train was well under way, Nancy saw to it that Mrs. Donnelly was comfortably settled in her berth, which had been made up early. Then with her chums she retired to the observation car to read a magazine.
“I wonder how Miss Chapelle is getting along?” Bess meditated. “It was too bad we didn’t have another chance to see her before we left.”
“Yes,” Nancy agreed, “but the nurse told me that after the operation she would be unable to have visitors for several days. I feel that I can help her best by going on to Wellington Lake.”
Learning that the train was scheduled to make a lengthy stop in half an hour at a junction, the girls discussed the possibility of telephoning long-distance to the hospital, and inquiring about Miss Chapelle’s condition.
They were informed that they would have sufficient time in which to do this, so Nancy and her chums left the train at Valley Junction, Canada, and were soon in direct communication with the authorities at the Good Hope Hospital.
Great indeed was their joy to learn that the authoress had rallied after the operation, and was now resting easily.
“With that worry off my mind I’ll be able to enjoy the trip North,” Nancy said in relief as she and her chums swung aboard the train again. “Just think! In the morning we shall arrive at Wellington Lake!”
Until the last gleam of daylight remained, the girls sat out on the observation car platform admiring the rugged scenery. The hillsides along the tracks were thick with jackpine. The fragrant air was steadily growing cooler.
“Time to turn in,” George suggested as the hour grew late.
“I’m as drowsy as an old tabby cat,” Bess yawned. “It must be the change of air.”
The cousins arose to go to their berths. Nancy, however, lingered behind.
“I’ll be along in a minute or two,” she promised.
For almost an hour she remained alone on the observation platform listening to the monotonous click of the wheels over the rails. She felt thrilled and excited. Lake Wellington! What a magic sound!
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she told herself over and over. “Perhaps I’m foolish, but I can’t help but feel that besides aiding Miss Chapelle, I’m to have a glorious vacation as well!”
At eight o’clock the following morning Nancy was re-strapping her bag, when George burst into the dressing room to tell her that the train was rapidly approaching their destination.
“I’m all ready, George. I’ll be with you in an instant.”
Ten minutes later the train pulled into Wellington Lake, and a porter aided the party to alight. Mrs. Donnelly had telegraphed ahead that she was coming, so a car was waiting to take them all to her boarding house.
“Well, girls, what do you think of the country?” she asked cheerfully when they were seated in the conveyance. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
“The town of Wellington Lake is beautiful,” Nancy told her truthfully. “I love the smell of the pines.”
“We’re coming to the water now,” the old lady announced as they rounded a bend in the road. “Did you ever see any so blue?”
“Never!” Bess gasped, surveying the lake in awe.
“The fishing is good here, too,” Mrs. Donnelly went on proudly. “Toss in a hook almost anywhere, and you’ll catch perch or pike. Plenty of trout, too.”
“I believe I’ll have very little time in which to fish,” Nancy said doubtfully. “I want to look over my property, and I also must visit some people who live about fifteen miles from here.”
Mrs. Donnelly looked up alertly, but it was not in her nature to ask questions.
“If you go into the woods you’ll need a guide,” she advised. “This is rough country, and the farther you get from Lake Wellington the rougher it becomes.”
The woman’s boarding house deserved a more elegant name. The place consisted of a large building made of logs, which nestled in a setting of tall pines. The interior was comfortably furnished. Glowing embers smoldered in a great open fireplace.
A woman whom Mrs. Donnelly termed the “hired girl” had breakfast waiting for them.
“I don’t wonder you were eager to get here,” Nancy smiled, taking a third helping of pancakes. “The food is delicious.”
“You’re nibbling at those flapjacks like a little bird! Wait until you’ve been here a week—then you’ll eat hearty!”
“I thought I was doing remarkably well,” Nancy laughed.
“Wait until I get into a kitchen apron,” Mrs. Donnelly threatened, lowering her voice lest the “hired girl” hear. “I’ll cook up some real messes!”
“You mustn’t overdo,” Bess warned her. “Remember, you were in bed only yesterday.”
“Fiddlesticks! I feel as good now as I ever did.”
After breakfast Bess and George went directly to their rooms. Nancy, however, had glimpsed a local paper on the living room table, and lingered to glance over it. The news was of a trivial nature, though interesting. Suddenly she caught sight of a familiar name, and eagerly read every word of the item. It told of a bad wind storm which had struck the district directly north of Wellington Lake. A stranger seated under a huge old oak tree on the Pierre Chap property had narrowly escaped death when a large bough had been snapped off.
“I wonder if that could be the tree Miss Chapelle told me about!” Nancy asked of herself excitedly. “The old ‘letter-box’ oak! Early tomorrow I shall go there.”