 CHAPTER VIII. THE SEA CAVE Last morning Meg left for St. John's to do some extensive marketing and shopping for the house. She expected to be gone a couple of days or so. It took good management to keep a household the size of the Barclays running efficiently. Meg managed it so effortlessly that no one was aware of how much time and thought she spent in making everything operate smoothly. She had even taken on an extra maid, an older woman with some experience in practical nursing, for the few days she would be away so that Sherry would have proper relief from duty. Lloyd left early in the morning for the mines and did not return all day. It was late in the evening before he came in, tired, to go immediately to his room. Either in the morning or in the evening or both he would peek in on his uncle to see how he was. Sherry, who could not get the mysterious figure on the lawn out of her mind, would have asked Lloyd about it, but he was so absorbed in his work and always in such a hurry that she did not like to bother him. Thus it was not until several days had passed that she had a chance to tell Meg about seeing the man in the moonlight. Meg laughed. You probably caught one of the fishermen going down to our private beach, she told Sherry. They aren't supposed to use it. There are any number of other beaches, but once in a while one sneaks down. That explained someone crossing along that night. Sherry's impression that the man was Jack Cameron was, after all, she realized, only an impression. The day after Meg got back from St. John's, Sir Ian had a good morning. Lloyd came to the house for lunch instead of having it at the staff dining room at the mine office. He reported to his uncle that he expected Number 2 Mine to go into operations soon. Number 2 was nearest the abandoned Number 1 mine. Maguire agreed with Lloyd that Number 2, although well-worked, could be profitably operated by modern methods. Lloyd had really taken hold of his job as mining engineer. While his uncle had still been in Hilton Hospital, he had got underway a survey of the mines, the equipment, and facilities. Studied the production and other reports, had assays made of ore from the different mines, so that he would have a definite idea of the value. Now this news about Number 2 was unusually good. Sir Ian was as pleased as punch. It did him a world of good. He would not let on how happy it made him. He simply grunted and remarked to Sherry, young fellows full of beans today, isn't he? Lloyd and Sherry grinned at each other. Yes, sir, agreed Sherry emphatically, and what's more, I think Lloyd Barclay is having himself a whale of a good time. When Nora the maid came to stay with Sir Ian that afternoon, Meg came to ask Sherry if she could show her the beach and the sea cave. The cave's really quite fun, Meg said. Sherry replied that, of course, she would be delighted. They put on warm jackets because Meg said it would be chilly and damp down there. The two girls went out the front of the house, followed the narrow gravel path that led to the tower and continued along the edge of the cliffs to stone steps cut in the rock. The steps started from the brow of the cliff and descended by turns and inclines to the foot, a hundred feet below. Sherry looked down over the edge to the sea and to where the waves were frothing about some black rocks a little distance from shore. The rocks formed a natural breakwater and inside the sea at low tide as it was then was as still as a lagoon. She could see a patch of white where the cliff curved inward, forming a little bay with a stretch of sandy beach. It's beautiful, Sherry exclaimed. I think so said Meg. On the other side of the rocks the sea is very deep and there is good fishing. Shall we go on down? Sherry said she was ready. With Meg ahead they started along the zig-zag course that the steps made in the face of the cliff. Sherry felt almost as though she were a fly walking on a wall for the rocky crag rose almost straight upward from the sea floor. It was windy on the cliffs. Their hair was whipped about and they could feel the tingle of damp salt air on their faces. Although Meg tripped gaily in front of her with the ease of long familiarity Sherry was glad to have the guard chain to hold on to. It ran through stout iron balusters embedded in the rock. As they went down they disturbed the gulls which took off with much screaming and a thunderous flapping of wings. When they reached the bottom they'd stepped directly upon the white sand of the beach. At each end of the beach a jumble of rocks extended like arms into the sea. At the north end there was a considerable distance between the breakwater and the arm of rocks. Room enough for a good-sized boat to get through there, Meg said, when the tide is coming in. At the south end the rocks jut far out into the sea and it's too dangerous to try to get into the little bay. Lloyd and I used to wait for the tide and maneuver our catch in and out through the north passage when we were kids. She started to walk up the beach. Come along, she said to Sherry, I'll show you the cave. A few yards away was Rogue's cave. Sherry and Meg looked up at the entrance which had been dug out by the action of the sea and opened into the cavern. The archway was very high and wide. When the tide is in, Meg was saying as they entered the dim interior, you can bring a motor-launch in here. Look! she cried. Someone has left a rowboat moored inside. Probably belongs to that mysterious character you saw the other night. She laughed lightheartedly. I've never known any of the fishermen to leave their boats before. The floor of the cave was on the same level as the beach. On one side, up about ten or eleven feet was a broad ledge with several iron ring bolts secured in the rock. To one of these the rowboat was tied by a rope just long enough to permit the boat to rest on the cave floor. When the tide came in, of course, the boat floated to the height of the ledge. Sherry could see the marks left by the last tide tied like a ring around the walls. She was not too familiar with the handling of boats, but it struck her as odd to see the oar locks wrapped with cloth. Whoever had used the boat evidently had not wanted to make any noise, she concluded, so he had muffled the sound of the oars sliding in the locks. Hello down there, Sherry heard above her somewhere. Looking up to her left, she saw Meg poised like a pretty water sprite on the rocky ledge. Come on up, Meg invited. Use the steps down there at the end. Sherry found the steps climbed up, and she and Meg walked along the ledge toward the rear of the cavern where there was an opening in the rocks and more steps going up. These vanished in complete darkness. Now I'll show you my special treat if you don't mind a little dirt, Meg said, beginning to mount the stairs. We'll have to turn into night owls to see anything I should think, Sherry told her with a laugh. It's pitch black up there. Meg of the Mounties has never unprepared, declared the other. I have brought with me my faithful flashlight, as you Americans call it. She snapped it on. And what do you Canadians call it? asked Sherry as she started to follow Meg in the yellow circle of light. Flashlight, replied Meg Gailey. Every time Aunt Phyllis used the English term torch for flashlight, I had visions of a medieval character bearing aloft a burning torch. The steps led up to a sort of tunnel or corridor which they walked along for several yards. Then Meg stopped. Here we are, she said, stooping over to examine the rocks in the wall to her right. She played the light over the wall for a minute or so. Now where is the thing anyway? She felt along the wall with her hand. Oh, I've got it. See, Sherry, it's this little flat knob of stone. I see it, Sherry told her. Now watch, ordered Meg. She pulled on it, and a thin slab of rock grated noisily and swung outward, revealing and opening large enough for a person to enter. Meg promptly bent over and went inside. Sherry followed. They found themselves in a narrow niche about six feet long and high enough for a not-too-tall man to stand upright without bumping his head. It's the smuggler's old hidey-hole, explained Meg. Isn't it wonderfully eerie? Lloyd and I discovered it one summer ever so long ago. We never told his soul. We kept it a deep, dark secret. My, it certainly is eerie, agreed Sherry, eyeing the ancient stones gray and cold. She could easily picture a smuggler armed with pistols and cutlass hiding from his pursuers. Gives me the same delicious shivers that reading a ghost story does, she said. Doesn't it, said Meg? She paused, cocking her head. Listen, she put a restraining hand on Sherry's arm. I thought I heard something. They both listened. A harsh sound as though of something scraping over stone or sand came to them from close by. Sherry, who was standing near the wall, smelled an overpowering odor of fish. The sound seemed to come closer. It was just outside. Just then, to the girl's astonishment, they saw the slab door of the niche closing. For a moment they stood stock still, watching with horrified eyes, the door moving inch by inch. Sherry was first to act. Pushing Meg aside, she gave the door a tremendous kick. It swung open with a sort of shrieking scrape across the stones. Meg leaned against Sherry and laughed weakly. Aren't we silly, she asked? We almost frightened ourselves out of our wits. You see there's a vent hole up above somewhere. When the wind blows in a certain direction, there's a great rush of air along this tunnel. The wind has veered since we came in the cave, and the draft pushed the door shut. You see, Sherry, it was only the wind, she said, slinging out her arm dramatically. Sherry let out her breath with a puff. Whee! I thought we were about to be held captive by pirates, or no telling what, she said. Well, I promised you a special treat, and you can't say I didn't give you one, Meg pointed out. At least I'll be prepared the next time you use the phrase, observed Sherry roofily. Incidentally, I think I'd better be getting back. You're the doctor, I mean the nurse, Meg replied. I'd better be getting back myself. It's probably almost time for my story hour at the library. She bent down. I suppose I'd better lead the way, she said, and went with stooped back out the door. Oh, dear, she cried at once. I've lost an earring. Will you see if I dropped it in there? She handed Sherry the flashlight. As Sherry stood with her back against the wall, she got another strong whip of fish. She sniffed. It was definitely coming from the wall behind her. Turning around, she saw some kind of cloth tucked in a crevice between the stones. A corner stuck out, and on impulse she gave it a tug. It had been stuffed in loosely, and it came out at her first tug. She held in her hand a tote bag of canvas, a creel by the smell of it, stamped in black ink on one side with the initials J-C. Jock Cameron's creel thought Sherry suppressing a gasp. The day I saw him on the hill, he had one just like this. That night I saw him on the lawn. He must have been on his way here. Had he hidden here? Why? With these questions buzzing in her head, Sherry had not heard Meg calling her. Now she heard Meg, almost shouting her name. Can't you find the earring, cried Meg? Sherry thrust the tote bag under her arm. I'm hunting, she sang out to Meg, and played the flashlight into the corners of the hidey-hole. There was a glint, and Sherry pounced. Here it is, she exclaimed. She crouched over and made her way through the door. Thank you, Sherry. I'm awfully glad you found it, Meg said when they were outside the hidey-hole. I just couldn't bear losing another. I have more unmatched earrings than anyone I know. She paused, sniffing, then exclaimed. Goodness, where is that strong fishy odor coming from? From this, Sherry said, holding the tote bag up to the beam of the flashlight. You see, I found something besides your earring in the hidey-hole. Meg examined it, looking closely at the initials J.C. Now what do you suppose old job Cameron was doing in that hidey-hole? She said puzzled. You recognize this tote bag? Sherry cried. Meg shook her head. No. That was only a calculated guess, she admitted. But that's the kind of a creel some fishermen use. And Lloyd was telling me about old Jock going fishing on his days off. The tote bag has J.C. on it. Taken altogether, it seemed to add up to Jock Cameron, she sighed. And I practically just got through telling you, Sherry, that Lloyd and I had kept the hidey-hole a deep dark secret. But here's evidence that our cherished childhood secret has been discovered by someone. And that's someone probably his old Jock. Meg ended on a mock tragic note and sighed deeply. Why do you suppose he, if it were Mr. Cameron, left the creel in there, asked Sherry? Oh, he leaves it here, so he'll have it when he goes fishing, I suppose, replied Meg. I suppose I'd better put it back where I found it, in any case, Sherry said. Meg giggled and held her nose delicately. Yes, put it back quickly. Sherry ducked into the hidey-hole and stuffed the creel again into the crevice. Outside once more, with the door to the hidey-hole closed, Sherry said, If that was Mr. Cameron's creel, do you suppose that is his boat we saw tied up when we came into the cave? With muffled oarlocks, said Meg, starting back toward the cave entrance with Sherry following after her. Oh no, I don't think so, unless—before she could finish, Sherry interrupted. So you noticed the muffled oarlocks, too? I noticed them right away, answered Meg. And as I started to say, before I was interrupted, she said teasingly, Jock Cameron wouldn't use a boat with muffled oarlocks unless he and some of the men have been going night fishing in the quiet water of the bay outside this cave. It's an old fisherman's trick to muffle the oarlocks, especially for night fishing, so as not to make any noise and frighten the fish away. But isn't it unusual for fishermen to be using your private bay and beach, Meg? Sherry asked. You said they did sometimes, but—Meg now interrupted Sherry with— It seems they must be using it pretty regularly. Yes, it is unusual. But if old Jock and some of his friends are concerned—I don't want to say anything—I just wouldn't feel right about it. All the same it might be a good idea to find out just what is going on around here. As they talked, the girls had been picking their way through the passage and down the steps to the ledge along the side of the cave. They now stood at the end of the ledge in the daylight. We could ask Lloyd, suggested Sherry, he might know. I doubt it, Meg said. He doesn't get to hear much about Island goings on. You see, he's been away so long that Balfourians consider him almost an outsider, so they're careful what they say to him. Of course, they'll get used to him in time. No, the best way to find out about this, she pointed to the boat on the sand below the ledge, is to keep our own eyes and ears open. Especially you, Sherry Ames. Why me? I'm definitely an outsider, Sherry pointed out. But I think you are more observant than any of us, Meg declared, then added mischievously. Also, because you have a penchant for solving mysteries, so Dr. Fortune told me. End of Chapter 8 The Sea Cave Chapter 9 of Cherry Ames Island Nurse This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Cherry Ames Island Nurse by Helen Wells. Chapter 9 The Man on the Hill In the weeks that followed the visit to Rogues Cave, Sherry saw little of Meg or Lloyd. Meg had begun working as a volunteer in the office at the hospital. In addition, she was helping out at the library in the afternoons until someone could be found to replace the librarian's young assistant who had left to get married. Meg spent most evenings until bedtime with her father. She was too busy to be bothered about rowboats with muffled ores or creals with initials on them. Meg was very happy to see her father's day-by-day improvement. Dr. Mack had taken Sir Ian off the sippy diet and had introduced a diet high in nutrition for him, to which Sir Ian had responded well. Although Sir Ian was still weak and any unusual effort tired him, both Dr. Mack and Sherry found his reactions to the change in diet very encouraging. Lloyd was utterly absorbed in the mines. He practically ate, drank, and slept both of the mines, however he always dropped in to see his uncle for a few minutes every day, and hurried back to the mine office. Sherry left to the great house with Sir Ian and the servants, who was not kept as occupied as Meg and Lloyd. With his improving condition, her patience needs were less, and he made less demands upon her. In fact, he did not want to be helped. I often smiled to myself, Sherry wrote to the five Spencer Club girls with whom she always shared an apartment when she was in New York City, because Sir Ian's attitude is just like that of a small boy who was determined to be on his own. The other day he told me quite cockily that he could go downstairs by himself when I tried to guide him as he fumbled with his foot for the next step. Also, for two hours in the morning, he has been shutting himself in the library to work. The doctors warn him that he must take it easy, not overdue. So I tap on the door and cold times up when two hours have passed. Sir Ian comes out grumbling. One of these days nursed glass. You can tap a hole in the door like a woodpecker and I'll pay you no mind at all. Since her duties were not now so consuming of time and effort, and she was quite often alone, Sherry found her attention kept turning to the boat with a muffled oar locks, an old jock Cameron's toke bag, if indeed it were his, in the hidey-hole. From her windows Sherry could look down over the cliffs. Although she often watched for a rowboat entering or leaving the bay at Rogues Cave, she never saw one. She tried to draw out the Barkley's servants by asking if they had seen a rowboat in the bay. None of them had. Ramsey the gardener went down to the beach one day to get sand and pebbles for the garden walks. When he returned Sherry asked if he had noticed a rowboat in the cave. The day Miss Meg and I visited the cave we saw one Sherry said. Then someone must have taken it away, Ramsey replied. I did not see any boat. Then one morning while Sherry was having her elevens' the customary tea at eleven o'clock, an interesting thing took place. She was sitting in the sun on the terrace near the kitchen, drinking her tea, when she became aware of tests and a man talking inside. Sherry heard the man say, No, no, Tess, you cannot persuade me. I'll not go upstairs to see Sir Ian. Then why do you come here every day to pester me with questions? Tess asked totally. How does he feel today, he asked. Is he better, he asked. What did he do today, he asked. Did Sir Ian ask for me, and did you tell him that old jock was only waiting for him to get well, you ask? What's the trouble with you, jock, Cameron? You should go talk with your old friend, Sir Ian, and find out for yourself. I have my reasons, came old jock's reply. Did not ask me what they are, for I'll tell you. When I'm ready to see my friend, I'll come and nod before. And Markey, Tess, you're not to tell him or anyone else I come here. Is he an old balfour to think then? You have forsaken Sir Ian and his sickness, jock Cameron, demanded Tess. Ah, it is something that cannot be helped, old jock said, and his voice sounded sad. The back door closed. Cherry stood up to catch a glimpse of him, but shrubbery hid the kitchen entrance, and she did not see him as he left. When, a few minutes later, Tess came out to clear away the tea things, Cherry said, I'm afraid I heard you talking with Mr. Cameron just now. Tess looked startled at first, then she said, But I know you would not tell Sir Ian about old jock. Even though I get angry with old jock and his stubbornness, I trust him to do what he thinks is best for his friend. You must not think hard of him, Miss Cherry, for all he is acting so strangely. Cherry scarcely knew what to think of the man. She did wish that she could get a chance to talk with him herself. Cherry had made a habit of taking a walk in the afternoon after tea. Usually she went to the top of the hill of the abandoned mine, for there was a glorious view of the sea and the island from there. One sunshiney afternoon, about three weeks after her arrival on Balfour, Cherry started out on her usual afternoon walk. She was at the foot of the hill when she saw the top of a man's head appear just above the crest. He was walking up the other side and appeared bit by bit, head, shoulders, arms, body, as though he were a seed shown sprouting by delayed photography. As soon as he reached the summit of the hill he looked about on all sides. Cherry, standing behind a scrubby black oak, escaped his attention. Evidently satisfied that he was not observed, the man took something from his coat pocket and a second later Cherry saw a bright flash. He repeated the flash several times, turning in his hand what she decided was a mirror to reflect the sun. All the while he flashed his mirror, the man was gazing intently at something beyond the cliffs, not too far from shore. For ten or more minutes she watched him signaling with his mirror the dots and dashes of the Morse code. It seemed to her a curious thing for the man to be doing. She wished she could have read the message she was sending with his short and long flashes. Then, even as she was watching, the man vanished. She saw him bending over among the bushes one moment and the next he was gone. Cherry started running up the hill, fully expecting to see the man reappear at any instant. She reached the summit, however, without any sign of him. A quick glance down the opposite side revealed that he had not gone in that direction. The hillsides were empty of movement, except for the scurry of a rabbit or other small animal among the rocks and bushes. Cherry leaned against the big rock, which was at the very peak of the hill in the stiff grass and bushes, to catch her breath. It came to her after a while where she had seen the man before. He was the short muscular man in the sharply tailored, dark clothes who had jostled her the day she and the Barclays had come over on the sandy Fergus. She had had a good look at him on the boat, with the sun shining on him up there on the hill. She had seen him clearly. Wondering to whom the man had been signalling, she scrambled up on the rock for a better view of the sea. She felt the rock tilt, as if it were loose in its socket of earth, was an odd sort of rock, gray and peculiarly rough and pitted, rather like foam. Getting her balance, Cherry stood on the rock and peered eagerly beyond the cliffs. She observed a fishing schooner a little way out from shore in a large rowboat coming toward the island. It was headed, so she thought, in the direction of the Barclays' private beach. The boat was coming on, and she saw that there were half a dozen or more men in it. Four of them were straining at the oars, evidently in an effort to increase its speed. As they drew closer, Cherry perceived that they were maneuvering the boat to head it into the past between the rocks at the entrance of the little bay at Rogues' cave. The tide, Cherry cried aloud, when the tide is in, it dawned on her then what Meg had meant about sailing the catch when she and Lloyd were kids. They had had to wait for the tide in order to get in and out of the bay. Now Cherry knew why the man had been signalling. He was letting the men in the fishing schooner know when it was safe to come in with the rowboat. That was it, Cherry decided. The men guided the boat through the past between the rocks and were lost of view under the brow of the cliff above Rogues' cave. She continued to watch, and presently the rowboat reappeared. It was loaded with some sort of cargo and sacks, which must have been heavy. The boat was low in the water, and the men were rowing with great effort. Upon reaching the fishing schooner, the sacks where it was they contained, were put aboard. The men followed, then the rowboat was hauled up and stowed on deck. The fishing schooner sailed away to the south toward St. John's. Cherry started back down the hill, remind busy with what she had just seen. Within a short distance of the house, someone sang out gaily. Hi, beautiful! How about a lift? And there was Lloyd, driving along the road in one of the company's bugs, as he called the little two-seater cars which were used by the various department heads of the mines to get about on the island. Cherry walked over to the car. Hello, Lloyd! I'd be glad of a lift. I'd been up and down that big hill, she said, getting in. What were you doing, training for the next expedition to the top of Mount Everest? He teased, reaching over and tugging a curl. You looked to be in fine condition for it, Miss Ames. Your cheeks are rosy red, and your hair is fair glorious. Now, none of your flattery, Mr. Barclay, said, I want you to be serious. I've something important to tell you. I'm all ears," he replied, grinning at her, then frowning exaggeratedly. He said, speak fair lady. Oh, do be serious, Cherry said, smiling in spite of herself. The very strange thing happened on the hill this afternoon. I met, ah, poor lass, interrupted Lloyd, shaking his head sadly. You must have run into Rory Gill. He's often on the hill. I wish you had told me, said Cherry tartly. As though he had not heard her, Lloyd went on dolefully with more head shaking. Rory Gill, I wouldn't know how I thought of it. Usually, you see him in the fall when the hunter's moon is rising over the Balfour hills and crags. His voice began to roll dramatically as Lloyd continued. Rory rides by moonlight on his dark horse and mounts to the crest of the hill. There he sits, peering out to sea until he sees a rich, fledding ship approaching Balfour Harbor. Then Rory rides down again, and with a hollow laugh and cry of the loon, summons his merry men around him. Cherry laughed. Lloyd Barkley, you are a much worse tease than my brother Charlie, she accused him. Please be serious for a moment. Na, na, Cherry lasts. I'm no in the mood now, he told her. It's not Uncle Ian or you would not be on the hill. So he shrugged. Well, what makes you so gay this afternoon, demanded Cherry, and why are you coming home from the wine so early? Lloyd had it in Mary as a chipmunk. I'll not tell you until you've had your say, Lloyd replied, with a self-righteous air. You're bursting to talk, so out with it. They had reached the house and Lloyd drove up in front and stopped. Let's just sit here in the bug, he said. Cherry poured out everything in a rush, keeping back only the part about Jack Cameron. When she finished, Lloyd laughed heartily at her and said, Cherry, this island is a great place to stimulate the imagination. You go ahead and be as fanciful as you like. But the facts are that there are good fishing grounds just beyond the rocks at Rogue's Cave. In the old days the Barclays reserved them for themselves. The fishermen have always respected the rights, I suppose you'd call them. And off-islanders have left ball for waters to the ball forains for the most part. But times have changed. That fishing schooner you saw, Lloyd went on to explain, may belong to some off-islander, though sacks could have been filled with sand to be used for a balsam in the schooner. Might even have been rocks. They're both used for balsam. Of course I don't want fishermen using our bay and beach and making a nuisance of themselves. He paused, thought a moment, then asked, would you describe the man again that you saw on the hill? Cherry repeated the description she had given him of the short muscular man. I saw him once before, she told Lloyd. He was on the sandy Fergus, the day we came to ball for. You know, Cherry, that must be Joseph Tweed, little Joe, as he is called, Lloyd said. His expression becoming stern. He was hanging around outside the mine office last week. Someone pointed him out to me and said that little Joe had been seen a number of times, talking to miners from number two mine. I think you probably saw little Joe again today. I can't think why he's hanging around the island. Five or six years ago little Joe worked as a foreman in number two mine. Then it was discovered that he was doing business as a loan shark on the side. The miner wanted to borrow twenty-five or thirty dollars in a hurry. He would go to little Joe and get it at once without any bankers formalities. Of course little Joe charged about fifty cents interest on every dollar borrowed, and he wanted his money and interest back in a week or two. When Uncle Ian found this out he fired little Joe. He could have had the man arrested, but Uncle Ian let him off with a warning. Little Joe went to St. John's and from all reports he has done extremely well. He owns property of both or two, has an interest in several businesses. He's what is known in the States as a very smart operator, and his reputation is none too good. What do you suppose he is doing on the island, asked Cherry. That's what I'd like to know, Lloyd replied. I'm glad you told me all this, Cherry. Now I'll be on the lookout, see if little Joe is up to something. I think I'd better go in, Cherry said. It's getting late. Lloyd opened the car door and she got out. Oh, by the way, he said, the entrance to the old mineshaft is on the top of the hill. Last time I was up there years ago the opening was covered with boards and all grown over with vines and bushes. I don't suppose you noticed it. No, I didn't answer Cherry. There's a big rock sitting right on top of the hill. And I expect it was just a sit-in still, like the one in the verse that begins, I wish I was a little rock, Lloyd said, with a big grin. And ends doing nothing all day long but just a sit-in still, Cherry quoted at random, returning his grin. She started to go and stopped. By the way, you were going to tell me what put you in such a gay, carefree mood today, Mr. Barkley. Tell you and Meg both at dinner, he said. At dinner that evening Lloyd reported to Cherry and Meg that the work in the new mine was going by leaps and bounds under McGuire's supervision. The ore was very high assay, a much greater yield of iron than had been anticipated. Things were not going badly either at old number two, under Jock Cameron. I believe Balfour Mines may even make a profit this year if we can only keep it up, Lloyd declared. I hope so. Oh, I hope so, said Meg earnestly. Under the eagle eye of mining engineer Lloyd Barkley, I say they will, Cherry declared grandly. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Cherry Ames Island Nurse This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Cherry Ames Island Nurse by Helen Wells Chapter 10 A Meeting in St. John's Sir Ian had continued to feel better and respond well to the diet of bland foods which Dr. Mack had prescribed. Under Cherry's direction, Tess, the cook, carefully prepared the small, frequent meals and took great pride in doing so. But he'll no get well entirely with all the proper food in the world, Tess predicted. He saw trouble in his mind. Sir Ian has to put up with the wild spending of his brother and sister in England and the mines, too, now wheel for so long. His fine, helpful brother who was Master Lloyd's father died and left Sir Ian to carry the whole burden of the Barclays. Tess muckled burden for one man. Yet in spite of his big burden, Sir Ian was recovering little by little under Cherry's capable nursing care. No small part was due to Lloyd who was slowly making his uncle realize that here was someone who was a true Barclay worthy to take over the Balfour Mines some day. Bit by bit, Sir Ian's mind was being relieved about the operation of the mines. It was during the fifth week that Cherry had been at Barclay House that Sir Ian began to walk about in the garden, expressed a longing to take your ride in the car. Dr. Mack thought it a good idea. So on the following Sunday afternoon, Lloyd suggested that his uncle and Cherry go for a drive with him since it was the chauffeurs Sunday off. Meg was going to the hospital with the doctor to help him catch up with some more paperwork in the office. Da, we need a good hospital and proper professional assistance, Mack said. Douglas is working himself to the bone with all he has to do and I don't want to marry a bag of bones. I'd give him his hospital now if there was the money for it, his father said. Oh, Da dear, you talk like a feudal baron or something. Make a gift to his retainers, Meg told him. The community has a right to an adequate hospital with adequate medical staff. This isn't the middle-aged Da, you old darling. She gave him a resounding kiss on the top of his head as he sat in the hall downstairs, waiting for Lloyd to bring the car around. Meg had started outside when Sir Ian called after her. What's this about marrying that sandy-haired pill pusher? Has he asked you yet? Oh, but he will, Meg answered merrily. Only a matter of time now. She paused then at it. Oh, dear, I do hope Bess Cowan doesn't make any of those dreary remarks of hers about the terrible responsibilities of the wedded state before Douglas. I do wish someone cheerier were on duty today at the hospital. Meg darted out the door, looking like a butterfly in her yellow dress and into her car. A few minutes later, Lloyd brought his car and Sir Ian settles himself comfortably in the back seat, while Cherry sat in front beside Lloyd. There was a good paved road that followed the shore almost all the way around the island. Lloyd drove through the village with its little frame cottageess, scattered along the narrow streets, winding up the hillsides, or curving along the waterfront. They came to the hospital and Lloyd said, Meg has been saying we must take Cherry to see the hospital. I'm sure she'd like to visit it. But it was just one of those things we didn't get around to doing. So I told myself that today's the day Miss Ames visits our local hospital. How about it, Cherry? Of course I'd love it, she said. Do you mind, Sir Ian? Not at all, not at all, he replied. Lloyd turned the car off the road and into the drive that led to the back of the one-story white-frame building. He stopped in the parking space there. The hospital faced the road with its back to the bay. Cherry looked beyond the sandy beach to where it seemed. Countless small boats with white sails were skimming over the blue waters of Balmagi Bay. Meg came running out the rear entrance of the building. Hello, everybody, she called. Cherry, you and Lloyd go with Meg to see the hospital. Sir Ian said, I'm going to sit here in the car and enjoy watching the sailboats. Dr. Mack can show them around, Meg said, laughing and getting into the car. Lloyd and Cherry went inside. A central hall ran through the building from front to back. The various rooms opened off this hall, down which Dr. Mack was driving toward them. Well, isn't this a nice surprise, he cried. I brought Miss Ames to see Balfour Hospital announce Lloyd with exaggerated formality. We want the dollar tour. That's the Mackenzie special reply to Dr. with equal formality. Write this way, folks. It did not take the doctor long to show them around the hospital. It was quite small. Too small, as Meg had pointed out to her father, to serve adequately the island's population. There was no operating room, so patients in need of a serious operation had to go to St. John's. The hospital needed more of everything from beds to laboratory equipment, but Cherry was impressed with how light, airy, and sparkling clean the place was. It had the appearance of being well managed. And as best Cowan, the tall grey-haired nurse, said as Cherry and Lloyd were leaving, it's thanks to Dr. Mackenzie that we can do so much with so little. Do you know Miss Ames, this hospital is considered above average in quality of service in spite of its inadequacies because of him. Mack and I will see you at dinner, Meg called after the car as Cherry, Lloyd, and Sir Ian went around the drive and onto the road towards the mines. They passed the mines, stopping at one of them, so Cherry could see the entrance shaft with its elevator to take the miners deep under the ground. And she had a look at some of the ad-hits or exits from which the ore was brought by cars or conveyor systems. Lloyd kept pointing out what must be done about better facilities and new equipment. Only the new mine received Lloyd's unqualified approval. You really did yourself proud, Uncle Ian, on that new mine, Lloyd told him. The best of most modern pumps, conveyors, elevators, power drills, the works must have cost you a small fortune. It did, Sir Ian said grimly. The road continued to Carse Point at the extreme north end of the island where the lighthouse stood, and there was a life-saving station and a coast guard cutter riding at anchor offshore. The road left Carse Point and ran now along the ocean side of the island with beaches and coves then climbed up to the cliffs. After a while the road left the cliffs and turned across the island, winding through hills, dales, and woods until it brought them back to Barclay House. It was a delightful drive and all three of them enjoyed it immensely. Sir Ian appeared refreshed by it, not tired at all. That evening Sir Ian joined Lloyd and Meg in the library where Higgins the butler had laid a small fire in the fireplace. On Balfour, even in summer, the nights were cool. Sherry took the opportunity to catch up on her correspondence, which she had not found time to do that week. She had kept her mother and father up to date with events on the island, so they knew about Rogue's cave and the happenings on the hill of the abandoned mine. She wound up the letter with a description of the day's trip around the island. On Tuesday Sherry had a day off and planned a shopping trip to St. John's. She liked walking and she needed another suitable pair of shoes. One pair had become quite worn from her daily walks on the rocky island. She could not find what she wanted in the little village store, so there was nothing to do but try the stores in St. John's. She did not have to worry about Sir Ian for Meg was going to take care of her father. I'll take you to the ferry when I go to work, Lloyd told Sherry. Then I'll meet you when it returns this afternoon and I'll bring you back here. So it was all settled when Sherry, Lloyd went down to breakfast, a few minutes past eight o'clock Tuesday morning. They drank their fruit juice. Then Nora, the maid, brought in a plate of poached eggs to place with the cereal and other dishes on the buffet. Lloyd was lifting eggs onto his plate when Hickins came in to say there was a call for him. I'll take it in the library, Lloyd said. A few moments later, Sherry and Meg heard him shouting into the phone. What do you mean the pump won't suck? Of course that pump hasn't enough suction. Get the big power pump. Oh, McGuire's using it in the new mind. Never mind, never mind, I said. I'll be right down. Lloyd slammed down the receiver. Coming to the dining room door, he informed Sherry and Meg that he had to rush down to the mines. A leak has been found in one of the chambers of number two mine, he told them. It's a chamber nearest to the abandoned mine and it's flooded. Cameron left word at the office that he would be in St. John's on business. McGuire has his hands full with the new mine. I've got to go down myself. Lloyd gulped some coffee and hurried into the hall calling back over his shoulder. I'm terribly sorry, Sherry, not to take you to the ferry. Please forgive me. Meg, look after Sherry, will you? Anyone outside and drove off in the bug? After Lloyd left, Sherry told Meg how much he had enjoyed the drive around the island the Sunday before and she had been thinking ever since that she had never known a place so filled with beauty and legends. From talking about the island, the two drifted in to talk about Rogue's cave. And Meg said, Higgins knows all the old tales and he used to tell me stories by the hour. I suppose he told you how my grandda, when he was a boy, was lost in the cave. Oh yes, Sherry said, and he said your grandfather used to do experiments in the room at the top of the tower in the secret journal by the light of a candle at night. That's right, exclaimed Meg. When I was a little girl, I used to go up there thinking I'd look for the secret journal. But I was much more interested in peering out through the telescope than in anything else. She paused and went on eagerly. You know what, Sherry? No, what replied Sherry grinning. Let's go up to the tower sometime and search together. We might even get Lloyd to go with us. But he considered that. Oh, he wouldn't go, she decided. He'd probably think it was too childish for anything. But Sherry, you're in the house a lot. When you have a free hour or so, why don't you go up to the tower room and look for grandda's secret journal yourself? Sherry's eyes sparkled. Now I think that would be fun, she exclaimed. A secret journal, a room in the tower. That's an exciting combination. Meg laughed gaily. Oh, dear, she said. Look behind the tapestry that covers the end of the hall on the second floor. You'll see an old ironwork door. Go through it and climb the stairs until you reach the very top of the tower. Meg looked at the clock on the wall above the dining room fireplace. Oh, dear, she cried out. Sherry, I have to beg off taking you to the ferry. I promised Ramsay I'd see him first thing this morning and tell him where to plant the new shrubs. Ramsay, he's championed the bit this very minute. Smith will take you, Sherry. I'll tell him right away. I'd better run. Please excuse me, Sherry. Meg pushed her chair back and going out the French windows that opened onto the dining terrace ran down the path towards the gardener's stone cottage at the west end of the grounds. Presently Higgins came to tell Sherry that Smith was ready with the car any time she wanted to leave. Dressed in a pretty woolen skirt, cashmere, sweater, and cardigan with a close fitting hat to keep her curls in place in the wind, Sherry stuck her head in Sherry's room to tell him she was leaving. I have a good time shopping, for I know you are no different from Meg when it comes to that, he said. And don't take it a miss if the lad stare at you, he added. They would not be able to help themselves. He is pretty as the morning, Sherry less. I thank you, Sherry. Sherry told him with an impish grin as your daughter says you have a silver tongue with compliments. It was a beautiful morning. The sky was bright with the sun. Overhead the scattered clouds were floating lazily. When she got out of the car at the war Captain Rabb was just going aboard the sandy Fergus. He recognized her at once in the exchange greetings. Then he invited her into the wheelhouse. Meg always cons the helm, that is, watches the course while I steer, he told her with a chuckle. Whenever she makes a trip to St. John's Sherry settled herself on the window seat and she and the captain talked about the barclays and how much she was enjoying her stay on Balfour. It lacked some minutes of time for departure and there were not many passengers on the boat as yet. Sherry noticed a passenger leaning over the rail. With a start she recognized the man that she had seen on the hill. Who is that she has Captain Rabb pointing the man out. Oh that's Joseph Tweed replied Captain Rabb. He's known as Little Joe Tweed. Lives in St. John's. He promotes prize fights, speculates, and stocks. Owns a fishing schooner called the Heron. Always seems to have money. I did not like the man. Sherry told Captain Rabb then about seeing Little Joe on the hill. Peering out at his fishing schooner you say, said the captain. He's a wise man to keep an eye on her. A rougher lot of men I've not seen in many a day as Little Joe has for a crew. And the captain's no better. He's had his license suspended too often for any respectable ship owner to hire him. It was time to start. The captain clung the bell and shouted to a deckhand to cast off the mooring lines. The engine roared into action and the boat got underway. On the way to St. John's Captain Rabb observed the steady fall of the barometer and remarked that he did not like it. There's dirty weather knocking about, he told Sherry, pulling at his pipe. The crossing was choppy and the sky was becoming feathered with clouds when the Sandy Fergus reached the St. John's Wharf. He had best take the may-be going back, the captain advised Sherry. She leaves earlier and will make it over to the island for the storm breaks. Of course, if you did not mind a bit of wind and water, the Sandy Fergus leaves around four o'clock. I'd be happy to have the pleasure of your time. Sherry thanked him and told him that it depended upon how long it took her to do her shopping, whether she could go back on the helicopter or the boat. At a quarter past two, she had finished her shopping. She had taken a little time to have lunch by postcards and send them with brief notes to Dr. Joe, the Spencer Club girls, Midge, Ruthdale, and other friends at Hilton Hospital, as well as to her family. Inquiries about the may-be revealed that it would not be taking off since the storm was coming up. It began to rain. There was nothing to do but wait for the Sandy Fergus. Sherry, with a full shopping bag and a couple of packages which she could not cram into it, dodged into a pleasant-looking coffee shop near the wharf. She sat down at a table beside a window which faced the harbor and ordered chocolate milk and cookies. The waitress told her the ferry boat was around three or shortly thereafter. Sherry glanced around the restaurant at a number of well-dressed women and children, a few girls and several businessmen. One man at a table in a corner drew her attention by his frequent glasses towards the entrance and then at his wristwatch to check the time. Obviously, he was expecting someone who was late. He did not appear to be a man accustomed to waiting. There was an air of importance about him. He was groomed and wore finely tailored clothes. His hair was a distinguished salt and pepper, but his eyes and mouth were hard and the whole cast of the face was that of a man of authority. Sherry watched his growing annoyance for a while then gazed outside. It had grown prematurely dark. Lights began to appear along the waterfront and on the craft in the harbor. The wind steadily increased and the rain now bounced off the street. There was a boat moored to the wharf a few yards away. Sherry read the name Heron, led her down the side. So that's Joseph, little Joe, Tweed's fishing schooner, she thought. Just as she was about to turn away, she saw a man coming up the wharf. He stopped under the light to look at the Heron, as though to be sure it was the right vessel, and then jumped lightly aboard. That moment was time enough for Sherry to recognize Jock Cameron. Can it be possible that old Jock and little Joe Tweed are connected in some way? She asked herself. While she was thinking this over, the door of the coffee shop opened, and two men entered, slapping their wet hats against glistening raincoats. Sherry gasped. They were the pilot, Jerry Ives, and little Joe Tweed. There is Mr. Broderick over there, said little Joe, loudly enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear. The two walked directly to the table in the corner. Mr. Broderick appeared extremely annoyed. Little Joe started to say something, but Broderick would not let him finish. He rose, put on his coat, picked up his hat, and, motioning for Jerry Ives to follow him, strode out of the coffee shop. Little Joe watched them leave, then left the shop himself, and walking to the Heron went aboard. CHAPTER X The waitress had told Sherry to watch out the window for the arrival of the ferry-boat. You'll see a bright light with ferry on it up over the wharf where Captain Rab always moors. He switches it on as soon as he comes in. At ten minutes to three, Sherry saw the Heron leave the wharf and head north in the direction of Balfour Island. At five minutes to three, the signed ferry lighted up. Gathering her shopping bags and parcels, Sherry tore out of the restaurant and down the wharf. Ah, there you are, Captain Rab said, helping her aboard. I was hoping you would be along to calm the helm for me on the way back. I was hoping you would be along to calm the helm for me on the way back. He directed her toward the wheel-house telling her there'll no be many on this trip so we'll be pushing off soon. Within half an hour five passengers sprinted aboard and ducked into the cabin like homing pigeons. At twenty minutes before, when no more passengers showed up, Captain Rab set out. Sherry was to remember for a long time the rough passage from St. John's to Balfour Harbour. Certainly she had never seen so much sea so close before. The sandy furgus plunged and wallowed and rolled. Sherry looked out the wheel-house window and they seemed to be hedged in by waves that broke frothing over it. Sherry would catch it," remarked Captain Rab. Said so this morning before it came over the radio. We seemed to be in the middle of the storm, said Sherry. Oh, no! the Captain answered. We're sailing ahead of it. She's coming up the coast instead of blowing out to sea as the weatherman predicted earlier. Favouring us with a taste of foul weather. To all outward appearance Captain Rab steered the vessel. There were marker buoys to indicate the channel and whistling buoys crying a who-who warning to stay away from rocks and reefs. The rain fell harder and the wind rose. The gleam of the boat's lights caught the flight of the spray. Lightning flickered and thunder rumbled off in the distance. Inside the wheel-house the radio blurted. She left in her wake warning boats and ships to get out of the track of the high wind, telling of ships in danger, distress, or believed lost. The spell of the storm had fallen upon Sherry. She was absorbed by it. For a while she gave all her attention to the angry waters, the noise, and the rolling boat. Once she spoke to ask if Captain Rab knew and the Captain answered, snatches companies the way a jager snatches fish from gulls and turns. Shutting out the storm she gave herself over to her thoughts. The experience in the coffee shop had been puzzling. What did old Jock, little Joe Tweed, Jerry Ives, and James Broderick have to do with each other? Sherry asked herself. They probably don't have any information run away with itself. It doesn't seem likely that old Jock and Tweed could have any mutual interests. Of course, old Jock did go aboard little Joe's boat. I wonder why he did that. Sherry was startled by a sudden pitch of the boat that almost tossed her off the window bench on which she was sitting. Captain Rab grunted and swung the helm to head the boat again into Bergus labored on against the wind, shaken by the waves and creaking in all her timbers. The calm face and unruffled manner of Captain Rab was wonderfully reassuring, however, and she pushed her fear aside. Before long the waves became less violent and Sherry could make out the shape of the bay at Balfour Island. When they entered the harbour she realized the water seemed less wild, only in relation to which they had just passed. The waves were rolling in enormous swells and pounding upon the beach. With difficulty Captain Rab brought the ferry boat alongside the wharf and got her safely moored. The five passengers scuttled ashore. Their smith come to fetch you, the captain said to Sherry. Sherry looked where he pointed and saw the barclay chauffeur with head bent to the wind Smith took her bag and bundles and gave her a raincoat which she drew over her head and about her like a shawl. She called good-bye to Captain Rab and ran with Smith to the car. Settled inside the Rolls Royce, Sherry looked out on the empty streets. People had shut themselves indoors and the village appeared deserted. The harbour was filled with vessels straining at their moorings but she did not find among them. At Barclay House she found Sir Ian the only member of the family at home. Meg was at the hospital where there had already been several casualties and she had gone to help the doctor and Bess Cowan, the nurse. Lloyd was still at the mines. When Higgins let Sherry in, Sir Ian called out to her from the drawing-room That's it, Sherry, you are just in time for tea. Sherry joined Sir Ian in front of the window where the tea table had been placed so he could watch the storm. He had the radio on to get the latest reports on its progress. The storm was expected to reach its greatest force on Balfour some time that night before it blew out to sea. It had been losing strength as it travelled over land and was averaging about 12 miles an hour. But inhabitants were warned to take every precaution to ensure the safety of life and the protection of property. Sherry had never seen Sir Ian when he was calmer than he was right then. He was not worried in the least. In fact, she got the feeling that the storm was having a good effect on him as absurd as that might sound. He drank his tea and spread thin slices with unsalted butter in complete tranquility. But his eyes were shining and alert to every nuance of the wind and rain and the reports over the radio claimed his attention. Remove swinging signs from store fronts, the announcer intoned. Brace sizable glass areas against wind pressure with stout boards. Take in ash cans, furniture from porches and gardens and other movable objects. They are dangerous hazards when blown about by the gale. I was expecting a visitor this evening. Sir Ian said when the announcer had completed the latest news bulletin. It's not likely he'll arrive for a day or two unless he rides the wind. He heaved a rumbling sigh and continued, I love a storm. It's a wonderfully dramatic thing, a storm. Man may be dwarfed by a hurricane or typhoon, but he's also made his battle against great odds. Through the night and in the darkness I think of the lighthouse at Carse Point, flashing out its beam against the storm. Of how the radio beacons reach out to sea. Sir Ian sat a while longer with Cherry, watching and enjoying the wild scene outside. Then he said, I think I'm tired last, like to lie down a bit. With Cherry beside him he went slowly upstairs. He didn't be afraid in this house, he told her on the way up. It's solid as rock. We've stood the tempests for two hundred years. Years ago my father and I liked to sit in the tower with a storm raging all round. From there we could watch the whole splendor of land and sea and sky. Cherry saw that Sir Ian was comfortable. Then went to her own room to put away her purchases and change into her uniform. I wonder if the visitor Sir Ian expected was Mr. Broderick, she suddenly thought. Perhaps Jerry Ives was going to fly his boss over, but the storm held them up. She was disappointed not to have seen Meg and Lloyd to tell them about her trip to St. John's. At eight o'clock there was a knock on her door. Cherry rushed to open it, expecting to see Meg, but it was Nora the maid to tell her that Miss Meg had called to say that neither would be home until later. I was to explain that they're engaged with the volunteers, Nora said, and to tell Tess and Higgins not to hold back dinner for them. The maid shook her head. I fear this is one of the wild ones and sure to cause harm on land and sea. Cherry interpreted wild ones as referring to storms and agreed with Nora heartily that this one undoubtedly was wild. She told Nora that she and Sir Ian would be down to dinner in a few minutes, and the maid left. After his rest Sir Ian was almost chipper during the evening meal. Cherry's mood rose to match his, and they were quite animated, laughing and talking. Sir Ian took as a matter of course Meg's and Lloyd's work with the volunteers, of whom Nora had spoken earlier. Sir Ian explained that it was a voluntary organization composed of various groups of men and women who had specific jobs to do in any emergency, such as a fire, storm, or flood. There was a fire brigade, an ambulance corps, and so on, as well as lookouts stationed at intervals along the shore to aid the Coast Guardmen who were on duty at Carse Point Lighthouse. I regret I cannot be with them, Sir Ian told Cherry, that she had the ability of a barclay to be working with the others when there's trouble. For an hour after dinner they listened to the news broadcasts. The course of the storm remained unchanged. Before they went upstairs to bed Nora brought in some candles. The electricity is not such a certainty that these may not come in handy, Nora said, giving each of them several large candles. Sir Ian grinned. Why, Nora, these are enough they had best keep them, she cautioned. There's no telling once the lights go off when they'll come on again. Nora always expects the worst, Sir Ian said to Cherry and laughed. It's her dour Scottish nature to get her pleasure out of looking on the dark side of things. Cherry could not sleep with all the turmoil outside. The wind clamoured around the house and the rain battered at the windows furiously. She doubted that Meg or Lloyd would even get home that night. Since she was so restless this seemed like a good time to try to find the secret journal by herself. She would go up to the tower. Just in case Meg did return and might want to see her Cherry left a note on Meg's dressing table. Dear Meg, she wrote, I took your suggestion and have gone to the tower room to look for the secret journal. Cherry. With flashlight, candles and matches, Cherry went to the east end of the hall. She lifted the tapestry that covered the wall and came at once upon the ironwork door. Playing her light up and down, she located the switch, flicked it on, and the room beyond the iron lattice door became bright. She could see stairs along the opposite wall leading upward. There was an iron ring handle. Cherry pulled. The door opened and she found herself in a room with slit-like windows. There were lights over the stairs and she mounted them briskly. She reached the next room above which was on a level with the third floor of the house. The staircase continued upward to another room. Now came the spiral staircase to the tower. It had narrow steps winding up to a door. Keeping close to the wall she climbed the circular stairs by the light of a chandelier in the ceiling over the stairwell. The switch that she had turned on beside the ironwork door on the second floor of the house evidently controlled all the lights, although she did notice other switches at the foot of each set of stairs. At last she stood before the heavy oak door at the top of the tower. She turned the knob and the door swung open by the creak of rusty hinges. Beyond was darkness except for the patch of light in front of the doorway and flashes of lightning which brightened for an instant the tower room. With the wind driving the rain against the windows, which were high and wide, and the thunder crashing the place was altogether eerie. Cherry hesitated before stepping inside as a chill of fear seemed to envelop her. She shook it off. The flicker of lightning revealed a chandelier hanging from a ceiling beam. Running her hand along the inside wall near the door, Cherry found an electric switch and the place was at once filled with a pale light. As soon as she crossed the threshold she felt as if she had entered the long-ago past. The only modern note in the place was the electric light, otherwise the room looked as though it had been lifted out of an ancient castle. Three of the walls of the large square room were paneled with oak. A stone fireplace almost filled the fourth wall and over the mantle carved in the stone were the crest of the barclays and the legend All nature hath a tongue Eon the stones do speak if you have ears to hear. There were chairs with high backs, armchairs of wood and leather flanking the hearth, bowls of dark wood and shelves filled with books. A cupboard was set into one wall and an enormous desk, scarred and stained, had a long high top composed of little square drawers like a spice cabinet or the shelves of an old apothecary shop. There were endless objects for her to admire as she walked about. Bronze busts of Socrates and several early Greek philosophers. Thales Heraclitus Demacritus with badly tarnished name-plates. There was a little statue of a rugged horse whose name-plate read Sonny Bean, our Galloway Nag but most amazing of all were the rocks scattered everywhere about on the surfaces of tables, tops of shelves, the deep sills of the tall windows were rocks of all shapes, sizes and colors. Cherry turned her attention to the fireplace. In the huge cavern was a tiny little furnace and oven, such as an earlier chemist might have used for melting metals and other chemical, cooking. The flag-stone hearth was discolored and roughened from his experiments. Poking about among the many fascinating objects Cherry had almost forgotten why she was up in the tower. She had to have some method of research if she expected to find whether or not the secret journal was there. I'll start with the desk, she thought and work my way around the room. On the table silver candelabra now tarnished black held tall dusty candles. The chandelier overhead was the only electric light, apparently and from the high ceiling its glow was too faint to work by. She got out her matches and walked to the table to light the candelabra when the electric lights began to flicker and then went out. The lines were down or there had been a failure at the power plant. In any event Nora's warning had been timely and Cherry was grateful to have plenty of matches and candles. For a moment she was in complete darkness, not even a flash of lightning etched the blackness of the tower room. On the side raged boisterously but in a momentary lull she heard the whispering shuffle of footsteps on the stairs. There was something odd about the steps that made her think they belonged to neither Meg nor Lloyd. The person on the spiral stairway climbing up would appear at any minute. She became icy cold with unreasonable fear. Her eye caught a glimmer of light outside the door. There Cherry demanded sharply. Suddenly a small dark figure in Seaman's oil-skins with a flickering candle held high in one hand stood in the doorway wet-glissoned on his black slicker and his sow-wester. In his other hand he carried a bundle wrapped in tarpolin. Who are you, Cherry asked with a breath of relief? It's only me, Tammy, replied the boy, Cameron. End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of Cherry Ames Island Nurse This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nan Dodge Cherry Ames Island Nurse by Helen Wells The Secret in the Tower The lustrous gleam of the candles which Cherry had lighted in the candelabra brightened the room. Tammy placidly took off his sow-wester and slicker after shaking the water off on the hearth. Then he deposited them together with his tarpolin-wrapped bundle on the deep windowsill nearest him. With a plop he sank into one of the arm-chairs near the hearth, brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and regarded Cherry gravely. Yeah, Miss Ames, Sir Ian's nurse, she said, after a minute. Cherry had a good look now at the boy who had entered the tower room so calmly and made himself quite at home. He was the most self-possessed young person she had seen in a long time. She saw that he was a scrawny, toe-headed boy of ten or eleven with a wind-burned face. He had a quaint, old-fashioned air about him that reminded her of a wise little old man. How did you get here in the storm? And at this time of night, asked Cherry, I hid in the greenhouse first he began. Then I hid on the kitchen stoop until everything was quiet. Then I sneaked into the house and up the stairs and threw the iron door at the end of the hall, the way Miss Meg used to take some of us boys and girls to the tower. Then I went down and unlocked the outside door so my grandda can get in. And then I came up here to wait for my grandda. I brought some victuals in case he was hungry. Tammy pointed to the bundle on the windowsill. You mean your grandfather, Mr. Jock Cameron, is coming here to the tower, cried Cherry? What is he coming here for? To give me a message for my grandma, answered Tammy. Cherry went over to the armchair on the other side of the hearth and sat down. Look, Tammy, she said, let's begin at the beginning. Tell me what this is all about. When I know if I should reply, Tammy, grandda made it plain I was to keep my tongue quiet and slip up to the tower without being seen. But I've seen you, Cherry pointed out. Furthermore, when I was in St. John's today, I saw your grandfather go aboard Mr. Joseph Tweed's fishing boat, the Heron. Tammy's eyes dropped while he considered this. Then, giving her a side-long glance from beneath lowered lids, he said with a sigh, let us know then about the bad ones. Cherry shook her head. No, I don't know about the bad ones. Suppose you tell me. Ah, will! Tammy heaved aside, his shoulders slumped ejectedly. You may as well know. The bad ones are Mr. Tweed, the one they call Little Joe and the captain and crew of the Heron. They are smuggling something out of the old mine and ticking it out through Rogue's cave. Grandda has been trying to find out what it is. Does your grandfather have any idea what it might be, asked Cherry? All Grandda said was, Timmy, it is a valuable thing, whatever it is, replied the boy. Grandda tried many ways to find out. He went fishing so he could watch the Heron to see if a boat brought anything from Rogue's cave to load on board. But the loading must have been done at night, Grandda said, because he saw a boat only once during the daytime, loading heavy sacks aboard the Heron. Grandda even stayed sometimes in the hidey-hole in Rogue's cave to try to catch the bad ones red-handed. The hidey-hole in Rogue's cave exclaimed Cherry. Does your grandfather know about that? Aye, Tammy nodded. It is a secret my Grandda shared with the old Sir Ian. And my great Grandda told the secret to my Grandda. And your grandfather still hasn't found out what is being smuggled, asked Cherry? Tammy thought a moment. I think he knows, the boy said slowly, but I dinna think he knows for sure to try to make sure Grandda went to St. John's to stow away on the Heron. So that's why your grandfather went aboard the Heron, Cherry said. He was a stow away. Then he must have known somehow that the Heron was coming to Belfort Island. Tammy nodded. Aye, Grandda have found out that little Joe and the captain and crew of the Heron were all coming to the island tonight. And your grandfather told you to come to the tower to wait for him, is that right, Tammy? The boy nodded again. Aye, he said. But if he stowed away, how was your grandfather going to get ashore? And how in the world can he get ashore in this storm, Cherry asked? We will just have to wait, I guess, for Grandda to answer that, Tammy said. He sloughed off his black rubber boots and wriggled back into the chair. Cherry wisely let Tammy alone. Whatever else he might recall he would tell it in his own good time. In the meantime it was best to go ahead with her search for the secret journal. After all, that was what she had come up here for. Besides, the search would be sure to arouse Tammy's curiosity and she hoped to enlist his help. A boy had hidden the journal and who would be more likely to think of hiding places than another boy? Although the tower room was seldom used nowadays, as Meg had once told her, the maid swept and dusted it once or twice a year, and there were candles in holders placed conveniently about. Cherry lighted the one on the desk and began to look through the little drawers, which resembled so much an oversized spice cabinet. Each drawer had rocks and minerals in it, she discovered. On these were splotches of white paint, on which were lettered salt crystals, lead sulfide, carbon, pitch blend, and so on. Then there were drawers with what Cherry recognized as man-made, rather boy-made, she supposed, nuggets, cubes, pellets, thin sheets, and discs. On each of these was a dab of white paint and a symbol, such as F-E-C-U-A-G-S-N-P-B-A-U, and so on. There were, she estimated, between twenty and twenty-five different symbols used, although there were many more pieces. There was, for instance, a drawer full of various sized pieces, labeled F-E. These were covered with a reddish dust or coat that rubbed off on her hands. "'Looks just like rust,' Cherry remarked aloud. "'It is,' a voice said in her ear. "'Iron will rust away if you don't paint it.' There was Tammy beside her watching, interestingly. "'How do you know this is iron?' she asked, holding up one of the pieces. "'Because I know iron when I see it,' he answered. "'Besides it says so on the label.' He touched the painted spot with a finger. F-E, that's short for pharum. Iron.' Tammy pronounced the Latin word with a strong burr of the Rs. "'Then you must know what all these other letters on the rocks and minerals mean,' Cherry said. "'Maybe not all for sure,' he said modestly. "'But almost all. My da and my grandad taught me.' Touching the labels, he recited, "'See you, that's copper.' P-B, lead. S-N, tin. This little piece with A-U, that's gold.' "'You really do know, Cherry,' commented. "'Do you live here on the island with your mother and father?' she asked. My way of starting a conversation. "'No, ma'am. My da is a metallurgist. He works for the Canadian government,' he said proudly. "'He and my mother are up in Labrador. I'm staying with Grandma and Grandad until they get settled.' Tammy walked around to the other side of the desk and began fumbling about in one of the drawers, picking up bits of metals and minerals and examining them. He held up a tiny black disk. This is silver,' he announced. "'See, the label says A-G.' "'So that's silver,' Cherry said, ticking the disk and looking at it. I don't see any other pieces with A-G on them, but there seems to be quite a lot of iron. "'Oh, it's no hard to find iron on Balfour,' said Tammy. He thought a moment, nor yet ore would lead in it. But silver now, that's another thing. I wonder where he got it.' "'He?' "'Do you mean old Sir Ian?' asked Cherry. "'The father of the Sir Ian we know?' The very same replied Tammy, nodding. When some of Grandad's friends, like Mr. Morgan, come to visit, they sometimes talk about old Sir Ian and how their fathers always said that he was a clever boy. He called this his laboratory. Cherry could feel her excitement mounting, as she asked. Do you know that old Sir Ian kept a secret journal?' Tammy looked at her blankly. "'You know,' she explained, when old Sir Ian was a boy, he kept a notebook in which he put down what happened each day. He also wrote down his formulas, for testing the rocks and minerals. Tammy's face lighted up. "'Oh, you mean like a chemistry notebook?' "'Yes, yes,' Cherry said quickly. "'That's right. Do you know about it?' Tammy considered the question, pursing his lips and frowning and thought. "'I, I, I have heard that old Sir Ian kept a notebook.' He paused and added brightly. "'Are you searching for it?' Cherry nodded vigorously. "'I simply must find it. Will you help me?' Tammy was delighted. To hunt for a secret hiding place was fascinating. If he used a notebook to set down his experiments, it would have to be handy,' the boy suggested. "'But if you didn't want anyone to know about it and wanted to keep your experiment secret, where would you put it?' urged Cherry. Tammy grinned up at Cherry like a conspirator, taking her into his confidence. "'I'd keep it handy and hide it, too,' he said. "'Because I might have to put it away quickly if anyone came.' Then he began walking about the fireplace and the desk, sizing everything up as though he were a cat. Measuring the distance to spring somewhere. Cherry stood and watched him. Tammy considered the desk. Nah, not there. He moved to the cupboard and threw open the doors. Shelves were filled with glass tubes, beakers, mortar and pestle, and other laboratory equipment. "'Not this cupboard, either,' he decided. The fireplace seemed to interest him. The inside he rolled out because the heat from a fire might ruin a notebook. He eyed the stones above the mantle. "'Now that is a very curious thing,' he said slowly, "'a very curious thing. And to think I never noticed before this.' Cherry held her breath. "'What didn't you notice? They aren't the same kind of stones at all,' he said, "'not at all.' He darted across the room, got a straight chair which he dragged over to the fireplace. Climbing on it he began feeling the stones just below the legend. "'All nature hath a tongue. Ian, the stones do speak if you have ears to hear.' Cherry heard Tammy murmuring to himself as he touched the stones. "'This is a rock with gold in it. This one has lapis in it. I can see streaks of platinum. This is quartz.' He skipped several. He did not appear to know. He continued. "'This one, this black one.' He stopped, poked the stone harder. "'Why, why here's a loose one,' he cried, grasping it with his hands. It was about the size of a large grapefruit. "'Look, look!' he gave it a yank, and it fell with a thud on the hearth. Cherry sprang closer to the boy, and the two of them found themselves staring into a hollowed-out place back of where the stone had been. "'I'll think there's something in there,' Tammy said. His voice rose excitedly as he started to reach in. "'Don't put your hand in there,' Cherry warned, grabbing his arm. Snatching her flashlight from the table where she had left it, she shone it into the hollow. There was something way at the back. Before she could stop him this time, Tammy jerked his arm free and reaching in pulled out a small leather pouch. Jumping down he handed it to her, and they rushed over to the table to look at it by the light of the candelabra. The pouch had a simple drawstring closing, but Cherry's fingers trembled so with excitement that she could not open it. As she fumbled with it she could feel what seemed to be pebbles inside, and something thin and crackling. "'Open it, Miss Ames,' Tammy kept saying, hopping about. "'Please open it. Let's see what's inside.' "'I'm trying,' Cherry told him, but I'm so excited. There!' she pulled, the mouth of the pouch open, almost ripping the ancient leather in her haste. The contents, black pellets, some large, some small, spilled out on the table. Tammy seized one and made white shiny streaks on it by scratching it against his metal belt buckle. "'Silver! It's silver!' he cried, dancing up and down. He formed us a whole pocket full of silver.' Pointing toward the black stone that had fallen on the floor, he began to laugh, delighted with himself in his discovery. "'That's a silver rock,' he declared. Old Sir Ian hid the pouch full of silver, behind the rock with silver in it. He thought it was a wonderful joke.' Cherry laughed with him. She and Tammy picked up a handful of the blackened silver pieces and let them dribble through their fingers. We found the treasure, just as people always did in fairy tales, eh, Tammy?' He nodded bright-eyed. Cherry felt the pouch. "'There is still something in here,' she said, putting her hand inside and drawing out a sheet of paper, folded several times. It had been torn from a notebook, for one edge was ragged. With Tammy watching her intently, Cherry carefully opened the yellowed and fragile sheet, which was covered with writing in a clear copper-plate script, the ink brown with age. She read aloud, "'June 8. This is silver from the old mine, which has not been worked for years and years. Found rocks of native silver when I went past the crawlway in Rogue's Cave.' June 9. Found more rocks. Pure black sulfurettes, when I exposed them to fire, I got globules of native silver, must be a vein of silver somewhere. June 10. Followed the tunnel to the shaft of the old mine and came out on top of the big hill. Can't find the vein, but brought back more rocks. Each day I melt the silver and hide it behind the stone of silver, which I got from the old mine. No one would think to look behind this stone above the fireplace. Magic words cannot open Ian Barclay's treasure cranny as Alibaba did in the story in Arabian Nights. June 11. Rain today. The Cameron and Morgan boys came over. They looked at the different rocks I had put under the legend over the fireplace. They did not know one rock from another. They only know about iron. June 12. Explored all afternoon. Still could not find vein of silver. Mother and Da will be away tomorrow. I shall explore all day. I will find the silver load. It has to be there. That was the end of the entries. A silver mine exclaimed Cherry. That's what they were looking for. The bad ones cried Tammy. Silver. Of course that's it, agreed Cherry. That's what they must be smuggling out. The men on the heron have been digging and carrying silver out, said Tammy. But Tammy, Cherry said, it must take lots and lots of rocks to make a very little silver. The boy gave her a scornful look. You see that rock he asked? Pointing to the black rock on the hearth. That's real native silver. It's full of nails like wire. And they're pure silver. My Da says I know the different rocks and minerals almost as well as he does. I'll take your word for it, Cherry told him. But how do these men dig it out? Don't they have to have drills or something? Nah, nah, not native silver, replied Tammy. You can dig it out with a bar with a point at one end and a chisel at the other. Easy as that. He snapped his fingers. And it doesn't take a lot to make a good bit of silver, either. My Da says some of the miners in Mexico used to hollow out the handles of their hammers and fill them with pulverized rocks. Why, they even, some of them, Da said, used to carry enough away in their cigarette papers to sell for several pennies. It was obvious Tammy knew what he was talking about. He was apparently as much of a boy scientist as old Sir Ian had been in his day. Cherry could scarcely believe that she and the boy Tammy had finally uncovered the secret of the abandoned mine. Of course the discovery of a rich vein of silver could mean a fortune to the Barclays and probably solve all Sir Ian's financial problems. If little Joe Tweed's men had been working the vein and carrying off the silver, they must be stopped. Cherry gathered up the little silver balls and the pages of the notebook and put them back into the leather pouch. Oh, if only Lloyd and Meg were here, she thought, she put the pouch into her pocket for safekeeping. While Cherry had been lost in thought, gathering up the silver pellets, Tammy had been walking up and down in front of the bookshelves. Are you looking for something, Tammy, she asked. He glanced at her, smiling, I, we didn't find Sir Ian's notebook yet. Do you think it's there among the other books, asked Cherry? She skimmed the titles in their neat rows in the ornate bookcase. Geology and other books on science were all together. Then there were history, biography, fairy tales and ballads, stories of pirates, and factual accounts of explorers and expeditions. When I didn't want anyone to find something, Tammy said, peering up under the shelves, I fixed it to the underside of something. There was once a boy who used to swipe my marbles, so I taped the bag under my desk and he couldn't find them. The shelves were of heavy wood decorated with carving, a strip of carving perhaps three inches wide ran along the front edge of each shelf. Cherry joined Tammy in peering under the shelves, behind the strip of carving, which was quite wide enough to hide a book. Tammy knelt down to look at the second shelf from the floor. He heard something, he cried. Cherry quickly got her flash, and kneeling down beside the boy, played the light on the shelf. She saw that a wooden box with one side cut away had been nailed to the underside of the shelf. Tammy reached in through the cutaway side and pulled out an old book. Cherry and Tammy grinned happily at each other. He handed the book to her and they slowly stood up. Cherry took the book to the table, and together they examined it under the candle light. On the spine were the words, the boha. The binding was handmade of white canvas now yellow with age, and on the cover, in hand lettering, was the full title, Sir Greysteel of Boha. With rising excitement Cherry turned back the cover. The first page was filled with handwriting, wonderfully clear even though the paper was yellow and the black ink turned brown. She read aloud to Tammy, my journal from my 11th birthday, 21 June 1881. I am going to keep a daily journal beginning today. I shall set down in it what I do and think and things that happen. I shall tell about exploring and all I find and experiment with, such as plants, bugs, chemicals, but especially rocks and minerals. I mean to be a scientist some day. I think it amusing to make a jest of my journal, which is all about real things and happenings, and give it a fairytale name, Sir Greysteel of Boha. Cherry read no further. Is this the notebook old Sir Ian used to write in every day when he was a boy, asked Tammy? Yes, Tammy, Cherry told him excitedly. This is old Sir Ian's secret journal, and you are the one, Tammy, who found it. With trembling fingers Cherry turned the pages. See, Tammy, she said? The pages are filled with writing, and here at the end is where a page has been torn out. That is the page we found in the leather pouch with the silver. It just matches the book. It was the last page he ever wrote in his journal. Cherry could guess why the torn out page was the last of the journal. Obviously the boy had written no more. After the time he had been lost for days in Rogue's Cave, he had been quite ill after that experience, and as soon as he was well enough to travel he had been sent to school in Scotland. It was twenty years before he returned to Belfour, a man grown and married, so the story went as Higgins had told Cherry. The secret journal and the secret cranny of silver, if old Sir Ian ever thought of them again, were a part of the long-ago past, better left undisturbed among the magical adventures of boyhood. Cherry became aware that Tammy's attention had wandered. His head was cocked, listening. The two of them had been so intent on the journal that they had not noticed how quiet everything had become. It would have been quite still outside were it not for the pounding of the surf upon the rocks below the cliffs. Tammy padded over to the window, opened the casement and looked out. I think the storm's almost over, he announced. Cherry followed and stood beside him to gaze at the sky, which was full of clouds racing away to the northeast. Now and then a star shone, but the wind still tossed the branches of the trees and the rain spattered their faces. Listen, Miss Ames, Tammy cried suddenly. I heard someone cry out down below. Cherry listened. Faintly, as from a great distance, it seemed she could hear a cry. She was not sure, for the waves roared too loudly. There it was again, exclaimed Tammy. I heard somebody cry out, it must be Granda. Tammy darted away. Cherry leaned out, trying to catch the sound of a voice. When she turned to see what Tammy was doing, she found that he had drawn on his boots and was putting on his slicker. I'm going to find Granda," Tammy said, snatching up his southwestern and his bundle. He dodged past her out the door and went flying down the stairs. Tammy, Tammy, Cherry shouted. She might as well have called to the wind. Tammy's footsteps could be heard going down, down, down the flights of stairs. The door on the ground floor slammed shut after him, the bang echoing up the stairwell. Cherry had quickly blown out the candles and taking her flashlight raced after him as fast as she could, down the staircase and outside into the storm. As she ran, she kept calling, "'Tammy, wait, you'll get hurt!' But there was no answer. She went stumbling along the path at the top of the cliffs, shining her flash this way and that, hoping to pick out his figure in the gloom. She called, "'Tammy!' No answer. There was no one on the cliffs. She stopped to listen. The only sounds were those of wind and rain and the boom of the surf." When Cherry burst into the kitchen, drenched curls in wild disorder, Tess, the cook, was so much startled that she cried out in alarm, "'Oh, Miss Cherry, what's happened?' Tess asked. Your pale is a ghost.' "'It's Tammy,' Cherry cried out. "'Little Tammy Cameron. He's gone. I can't find him. I've looked everywhere.'" Higgins, who was just returning from a tour of the downstairs windows, to sea of water had seeped in, heard their voices raised in alarm and came running. He was aghast to find Cherry, who was supposed to be quite dry inside the house, a pier of a sudden all-wet and dripping pools of water upon the floor, like the king of the Golden River. The fire in the kitchen fireplace burned up brightly, but Tess and Higgins stood holding candles aloft, as if frozen at attention, while Cherry breathlessly told them of going to the tower, of Tammy's arrival, of hearing someone call from below the cliffs, of Tammy rushing out in the belief that it was his grandfather and of her own fruitless search for the boy. Neither Tess nor Higgins asked questions. To find the boy was the important thing. In spite of his years, Higgins moved with the agility of youth. Setting down his candle, he plucked his sow-wester and oil-skins from a peg on the kitchen wall and put them on. Then he drew on his boots. Smith and Ramsay, Higgins said, referring to the chauffeur and the gardener, are at the stone cottage. I'll get them and we'll scour the place. Cherry was all foregoing with him, but Tess's strong arms restrained her. Nah, nah, Miss Cherry! Tess said, you would only hamper the men. Higgins went out into the storm. Cherry and Tess watched him until the darkness swallowed up the glow with his flashlight, as he ran toward the stone cottage, beyond the West Gardens where Smith lived with Hugh Ramsay and his wife. Get off those wet clothes and take a hot bath, Tess ordered Cherry, then, before you catch your death. The sturdy motherly Scotswoman bundled her off upstairs. Cherry tiptoed to Sir Ian's door and peeked in. It was with profound relief that she saw that Sir Ian was asleep. There was a fire in the fireplace and the room was snug and warm. That Sir Ian should have slept during all that time and in the storm with all its noise struck Cherry as remarkable. She looked at her watch. It was twenty minutes past midnight. With all that had happened it seemed years since she had gone up to the tower room. Actually it was less than two hours ago. In her own room Cherry took the leather pouch with its pieces of silver and the page torn from the secret journal from the pocket of her uniform where it had remained safe throughout her frantic chase after Tammy. She put the pouch with its contents in the top drawer of her bureau and she took a hot shower and changed into dry, clean clothes. Tess came up with a bowl of hot soup and crackers on a tray. Sit ye dune and drink this, she ordered, placing the tray on a table and drawing a chair alongside. Cherry did as she was bid, grateful to Tess for her thoughtfulness. Tess selected a straight chair from which she could observe Cherry and perched on it. At about Cherry's fourth spoonful of soup Tess said abruptly, Now Miss Cherry, you'll tell me how it happened that ye and Tammy Cameron were up in the tower this night. Cherry swallowed the soup. Tess and Higgins had been in the Barclay family so long, she reflected, that they must know just about everything there was to know. So she told Tess the whole story of going up to look for old Sir Ian's secret journal and of how Tammy had arrived with food for his grandfather who had stowed away on the heron. Jock Cameron and his grandson Tammy will be found cold and dead on the craig-moddy rocks most likely. Tess wagged her head in the most doleful manner. Oh, don't say that, Tess, Cherry exclaimed, horrified at the very thought of such a tragedy. I wouldn't say it if I did not think it. Tess said with a sigh. And now that you tell me Jock stowed away aboard the heron, it's unlikely that he will be heard of again. They've both been kidnapped and spirited away on the fishing boat, hard to be seen. On this illogical and dismal note Tess gathered up the dishes and the tray, admonishing Cherry to try to get some rest. While you can, for you cannot tell what tomorrow will bring, the cook took her departure. Cherry was so depressed over the imaginary fate of Tammy and his grandfather that she immediately burst into tears as soon as Tess left. Then she realized how silly it was, with Higgins, Smith and Ramsay searching for Tammy, surely he would be found. Besides, old Jock and Tammy knew the island as well as they did the palm of their hands. As for being kidnapped, that was just Tess speaking out of her dour nature. It was ridiculous to believe that the heron's crew had made off with old Jock and little Tammy. So far as Cherry knew, the heron had not even come into port. But where had the fishing boat gone, with old Jock the stowaway and little Joe Tweed aboard after leaving St. John's? I do know one thing, though, she told herself, drying her eyes and blowing her nose vigorously, old Sir Ian found native silver in that old mine. She felt she could no longer sit still and continue to puzzle over things. She would go up to the tower, on the chance that Tammy had gone back there, to old Sir Ian's journal, which she had left on the table. Taking her flashlight, she once more made her way up to the top of the tower. She lighted the candelabra on the table again and looked about. There was no one there, of course. The odor of melted wax and burned wicks hung heavy in the air from her previous visit. A picture of the little figure in his oil-skins rose before her eyes and she was filled with despair when she recalled how he had vanished into the stormy night. Going to a window, she looked out to see if she could catch a glimpse of the lights of the three men searching for Tammy on the cliffs. She could see nothing, it was dark, the sky still obscured by racing clouds, the wind wailed about the walls of the tower, though the storm seemed spent and the earlier uproar had subsided. She left the window, picked up the journal, and blowing out the candles made her way back downstairs. Upon looking into Sir Ian's room she found him asleep, appearing very comfortable and relaxed. I'm wide awake, Cherry thought, so I might as well sit in here as in my own room. She settled herself in the chair by the fire. She opened the journal where she had left off and began to read of the daily thoughts and happenings of a boy who lived in that same house so long ago. After a while the writing blurred on the page. Cherry closed her smarting eyes for a few minutes to rest them. Her head nodded several times and she leaned it against the back of the chair. She fell sound asleep. End of chapter 12