The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (95 page)

“You helped your father round up a group of Night Riders,” Louise reminded her. “Remember the big story you wrote for the
Riverview Star
which was titled:
The Clock Strikes Thirteen
?”

“I did prevent Clyde Blake from tricking a number of people in this community,” Penny acknowledged. “Perhaps that entitles me to a wish.”

Drinking deeply from the dipper, she poured the last drops into the well, watching as they made concentric circles in the still water below.

“Old well, do your stuff and grant my wish,” she entreated. “Please get busy right away.”

“But what is your wish, Penny?” demanded one of the girls. “You have to tell.”

“All right, I wish that this old Marborough property could be restored to its former beauty.”

“You believe in making hard ones,” Louise laughed. “I doubt that this place ever will be fixed up again—at least not until after the property changes hands.”

“It’s Rhoda’s turn now,” Penny said, offering the dipper to her.

The older girl stepped to the edge of the well, her face very serious.

“Do you think wishes really do come true?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Oh, it’s only for the fun of it,” Louise responded. “But they do say that in the old days, this well had remarkable powers. At least many persons came here to make wishes which they claimed came true. I couldn’t believe in it myself.”

Rhoda stood for a moment gazing down into the well. Drinking from the dipper, she allowed a few drops to spatter into the deep cavern below.

“I wish—” she said in a low, tense voice—“I wish that some day Pop and Mrs. Breen will be repaid for looking after my brother and me. I wish that they may have more money for food and clothes and a few really nice things.”

An awkward, embarrassing silence descended upon the group of girls. Everyone knew that Rhoda and her younger brother, Ted, lived at a trailer camp with a family unrelated to them, but not even Penny had troubled to learn additional details. From Rhoda’s wish it was apparent to all that the Breens were in dire poverty.

“It’s your turn now, Louise,” Penny said quickly.

Louise accepted the dipper. Without drinking, she tossed all the water into the well, saying gaily:

“I wish Penny would grow long ears and a tail! It would serve her right for solving so many mystery cases!”

The other girls made equally frivolous wishes. Thereafter, they abandoned fun for serious work, getting out their sketching materials. Penny and Louise began to draw the old well, but Rhoda, intrigued by the classical beauty of the house, decided to try to transfer it to paper.

“You do nice work,” Penny praised, gazing over the older girl’s shoulder. “The rest of us can’t begin to match it.”

“You may have the sketch when I finish,” Rhoda offered.

As she spoke, the girls were startled to hear a commotion in the bushes behind the house. Chickens began to cackle, and to their ears came the sound of pounding feet.

Suddenly, from the direction of the river, a young man darted into view, pursued by an elderly man who was less agile. To the girls, it was immediately apparent why the youth was being chased, for he carried a fat hen beneath his arm, and ran with hat pulled low over his face.

“A chicken thief!” Penny exclaimed, springing to her feet. “Come on, girls, let’s head him off!”

CHAPTER 2

BY THE COVERED WELL

Seeing the group of girls by the wishing well, the youth swerved, and fled in the opposite direction. Darting into the woods, he ran so swiftly that Penny realized pursuit would be futile.

“Who was he?” she questioned the others. “Did any of you recognize him?”

“I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere,” Louise Sidell declared. “Were you able to see his face, Rhoda?”

The older girl did not answer, for at that moment the man who had pursued the boy ran into the yard. Breathing hard, he paused near the well.

“Did you see a boy come through here?” he asked abruptly. “The rascal stole one of my good layin’hens.”

“We saw him,” Penny answered, “but I’m sure you’ll never overtake him now. He ran into the woods.”

“Reckon you’re right,” the man muttered, seating himself on the stone rim of the wishing well. “I’m tuckered.” Taking out a red-bandana handkerchief, he wiped perspiration from his forehead.

Penny thought that she recognized the man as a stonecutter who lived in a shack at the river’s edge. He was a short, muscular individual, strong despite his age, with hands roughened by hard labor. His face had been browned by wind and sun; gray eyes squinted as if ever viewing the world with suspicion and hate.

“Aren’t you Truman Crocker?” Penny inquired curiously.

“That’s my tag,” the stonecutter answered, drawing himself a drink of water from the well. “What are you young ’uns doing here?”

“Oh, our club came to sketch,” Penny returned. “You live close by, don’t you?”

“Down yonder,” the man replied, draining the dipper in a thirsty gulp. “I been haulin’ stone all day. It’s a hard way to make a living, let me tell you. Then I come home to find that young rascal making off with my chickens!”

“Do you know who he was?” asked Louise.

“No, but this ain’t the first time he’s paid me a visit. Last week he stole one of my best Rhode Island Reds. I’m plumb disgusted.”

Rhoda abruptly arose from the grass, gathering together her sketching materials. As if to put an end to the conversation, she remarked:

“It will soon be dark, girls. I think I should start home.”

“We’ll all be leaving in a few minutes,” Penny replied. “Let’s look around a bit more though, before we go.”

“You won’t see nothin’ worth lookin’ at around here,” the stonecutter said contemptuously. “This old house ain’t much any more. There’s good lumber in it though, and the foundation has some first class stone.”

“You speak as if you had designs on it,” Penny laughed. “It would be a shame to tear down a beautiful old house such as this.”

“What’s it good for?” the man shrugged. “There ain’t no one lived here in ten or twelve years. Not since the old lady went off.”

“Did you know Mrs. Marborough?”

“Oh, we said howdy to each other when we’d meet, but that was the size of it. The old lady didn’t like me none and I thought the same of her. She never wanted my chickens runnin’ over her yard. Ain’t it a pity she can’t see ’em now?”

With a throaty sound, half chuckle, half sneer, the man arose and walked with the girls around the house.

“If you want to look inside, there’s a shutter off on the east livin’ room window,” he informed. “Everything’s just like the old lady left it.”

“You don’t mean the furniture is still in the house!”Rhoda exclaimed incredulously.

“There ain’t nothing been changed. I never could figure why someone didn’t come in an’ haul off her stuff, but it’s stood all these years.”

Their curiosity aroused, the girls hastened to the window that Truman Crocker had mentioned. Flattening her face against the dirty pane, Penny peered inside.

“He’s right!” she announced. “The furniture is still covered by sheets! Why, that’s funny.”

“What is?” inquired Louise impatiently.

“There’s a lady’s hat lying on the table!”

“It must be quite out of style by this time,” Louise laughed.

“A
new
hat,” Penny said with emphasis. “And a purse lying beside it!”

At the other side of the house, an outside door squeaked. Turning around, the group of girls stared almost as if they were gazing at a ghost. An old lady in a long blue silk dress with lace collar and cuffs, stepped out onto the veranda. She gazed beyond the girls toward Truman Crocker who leaned against a tree. Seeing the woman, he straightened to alert attention.

“If it ain’t Priscilla Marborough!” he exclaimed. “You’ve come back!”

“I certainly have returned,” the old lady retorted with no friendliness in her voice. “High time someone looked after this place! While I’ve been away, you seemingly have used my garden as a chicken run!”

“How did I know you was ever coming back?”Crocker demanded. “Anyhow, the place has gone to wrack and ruin. A few chickens more nor less shouldn’t make no difference.”

“Perhaps not to you, Truman Crocker,” Mrs. Marborough returned with biting emphasis. “You know I am home now, so I warn you—keep your live stock out of my garden!”

Penny and her friends shared the old stonecutter’s chagrin, for they too were trespassers. Waiting until the woman had finished lecturing Crocker, they offered an apology for the intrusion.

“We’re very sorry,” Penny said, speaking for the others. “Of course we never dreamed that the house was occupied or we wouldn’t have peeped through the window. We came because we wanted to sketch the old wishing well and your lovely home.”

Mrs. Marborough came down the steps toward the girls.

“I quite understand,” she said in a far milder tone than she had used in speaking to the stonecutter. “You may look around as much as you wish. But first, tell me your names.”

One by one they gave them, answering other questions which the old lady asked. She kept them so busy that they had no opportunity to interpose any of their own. But at length Penny managed to inquire:

“Mrs. Marborough, are you planning to open up your home again? Everyone would be so happy if only you should decide to live here!”

“Happy?” the old lady repeated, her eyes twinkling. “Well, maybe some people would be, and others wouldn’t.”

“Rose Acres could be made into one of the nicest places in Riverview,” declared Louise.

“That would take considerable money,” replied Mrs. Marborough. “I’ve not made any plans yet.”Abruptly she turned to face Truman Crocker who was staring at her. “Must you stand there gawking?” she asked with asperity. “Get along to your own land, and mind, don’t come here again. I’ll not have trespassers.”

“You ain’t changed a bit, Mrs. Marborough, not a particle,” the stonecutter muttered as he slowly moved off.

Truman Crocker’s dismissal had been so curt that Penny and her friends likewise started to leave the grounds.

“You needn’t go unless you want to,” Mrs. Marborough said, her tone softening again. “I never could endure that no-good loafer, Truman Crocker! All the stepping stones are gone from my garden, and I have an idea what became of them!”

The group of girls hesitated, scarcely knowing what to do or say. As the silence became noticeable, Penny tried to make conversation by remarking that she and her friends had been especially interested in the old wishing well.

“Is it true that wishes made there have come true?”Rhoda Wiegand interposed eagerly.

“Yes and no,” the old lady smiled. “Hundreds of wishes have been made at the well over the years. A surprising number of the worthwhile ones have been granted, so folks say. Tell me, did you say your name is Rhoda?”

“Why, yes,” the girl responded, surprised that the old lady had remembered. “Rhoda Wiegand.”

“Wiegand—odd, I don’t recall the name. Have your parents lived many years in Riverview?”

“My mother and father are dead, Mrs. Marborough. My brother and I haven’t any living relatives. Mr. and Mrs. Breen took us in so we wouldn’t have to go to an orphans’ home. They have three children of their own, and I’m afraid we’re quite a burden.”

“Where do the Breens live, my child?”

“We have a trailer at the Dorset Tourist Camp.”

“I’ve always thought I should enjoy living that way,” Mrs. Marborough declared. “Big houses are entirely too much work. If I decide to clean up this place, it will take me weeks.”

“Can’t we all help you?” suggested Louise impulsively. More than anything else she longed to see the interior of the quaint old house.

“Thank you, my dear, but I shall require no assistance,”Mrs. Marborough replied somewhat stiffly. Obviously dismissing the girls, she added: “Do come again whenever you like.”

During the bus ride to Riverview, the members of the Palette exchanged comments, speculating upon why the old lady had returned to the city after such a lengthy absence. One by one they alighted at various street corners until only Rhoda, Penny, and Louise remained.

“Rhoda, you’ll have a long ride to the opposite side of the city,” Penny remarked as she and Louise prepared to leave the bus. “Why not get off here and let me drive you home in my car? It won’t take long to get it from the garage.”

“Oh, that would be too much trouble,” Rhoda protested.

“I want to do it,” Penny insisted. Taking the girl by the elbow, she steered her to the bus exit. To Louise she added: “Why not come along with us?”

“Perhaps I will, if you’ll drive your good car—not Leaping Lena.”

Penny was the proud possessor of two automobiles, one a handsome maroon sedan, the other a dilapidated, ancient “flivver” which had an unpleasant habit of running only when fancy dictated. How she had obtained two cars was a story in itself—in fact, several of them. The maroon model, however, had been the gift of Penny’s devoted father, Anthony Parker, publisher of Riverview’s leading daily newspaper,
The Star
. He had presented the car to her in gratitude because she had achieved an exclusive story for his paper, gaining astounding evidence by probing behind a certain mysterious
Green Door
.