Betty Gordon at Mountain Camp by Alice B. Emerson

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"It's quite wonderful," admitted Betty. But what seemed wonderful to her,
the stableman did not know anything about. "I suppose the pretty mare is
worth a lot of money?"

"Hi don't know wot Mr. Bolter would sell 'er for, if at all. But 'e paid
four thousand pun, laid down at the stables where she was kep' after the
smash of the Bellethorne family. She's got a pedigree longer than some
lord's families, and 'er track record was what brought Mr. Lewis Bolter to
Hengland when she was quietly put on the market.

"Maybe they couldn't 'ave sold 'er to Henglish turfman," he added,
whispering softly in Betty's ear, "for maybe the title to 'er would be
clouded hand if she won another race somebody might go into court about
it."

Betty did not understand this; and just then the mare began to cough again
and she was troubled by Ida Bellethorne's condition.

"Is that the black mare, Slattery?" demanded a voice behind them.

"Yes, sir," said the crooked little man respectfully, touching his cap.

Betty turned to see a gentleman in riding boots and a short coat with a
dog-whip in his gloved hand, whom she believed at once to be Mr. Bolter.
Nor was she mistaken.

"She's a beauty, isn't she, my dear?" the horseman said kindly. "But I do
not like that cough. I've made up my mind, Slattery. She goes to-morrow to
Cliffdale, and of course you go with her. Pack your bag to-night. I have
already telephoned for a stable-car to be on the siding in the morning."

"Yes, sir. Wot she needs is dry hair, an' the 'igher the better," said the
crooked man, nodding.

"They will put her on her feet again," agreed Mr. Bolter. "The balsam air
around Cliffdale is the right lung-healer for man or beast."

He went out and Betty heard the girls calling to her. She thanked Hunchie
Slattery, patted Ida Bellethorne's nose, and ran out of the stable.

But her head was full of the mystery of the striking name of "Ida
Bellethorne." She felt she must tell somebody, and Bobby of course, who
was her very closest chum, must be the recipient of her story as the
cavalcade started homeward. It was Bobby whom Betty wanted to have the
blue blouse just as soon as the shopgirl finished it.

"Now, what do you think of that?" Betty demanded, after she had delivered,
almost in a breath, a rather garbled story of the strange girl and the
black mare from England.

"Goodness, Betty, how wonderful!" exclaimed her friend. "I do so want to
see that over-blouse you bought. And you say she is making another?"

"Is that all you've got to say about it?" demanded Betty, staring.

"Why--er--you know, it really is none of our business, is it?" asked
Bobby, but with dancing eyes. "You know Miss Prettyman told us that the
greatest fault of character under which young ladies labor to-day is
vulgar curiosity. Oh, my! I can see her say it now," declared naughty
Bobby, shaking her head.

"But, Bobby! Do think a bit! A girl and a horse both of the same name, and
just recently from England! I'm going to ask right out what it means."

"Who are you going to ask--the horse?" giggled Bobby.

"Oh, you! No, I can't ask the pretty black mare," Betty said, shaking her
head. "For she is going to be sent away for her health. She's got what
they call 'distemper.' She has to be acclimated, or something."

"It sounds as though it might hurt," observed Bobby gravely.

"Something ought to hurt you," said Betty laughing. "You are forever and
ever poking fun. But I am going to see Ida Bellethorne in the shop and
find out what she knows about the pretty mare."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't see the horse," confessed Bobby. "But I'll go
with you to see the girl. And I do want to see the blouse."

That, Betty showed her the moment they arrived at Fairfields and could run
upstairs to the room the two girls shared while Betty visited here. The
latter unfolded the orange-silk blouse and spread it on the bed. Bobby
went into exstacies over it, as in duty bound.

"Wait till you see the one she is making for you," Betty said. "You'll
love it!"

"What is that you are going to love?" asked a voice outside the open door.
"Measles?"

"Oh, Bob! Who ever heard the like?" demanded Betty. "Love measles, indeed.
Why--What makes you look so queer?"

"Greatest thing you ever heard, girls!" cried Bob, his face very red and
his eyes shining. "I didn't really understand how much I had come to hate
books and drill these last few weeks."

"What do you mean?" demanded Roberta Littell. "If you don't tell us at
once!"

"Why, didn't you hear? Telegrams have come. To all our parents and
guardians. Measles! Measles! Measles!"

He began to dance a very poor imitation of the Highland Fling in the hall.
The girls ran out and seized him, one on either side, and big as Bob was
they managed to shake him soundly.

"Tell us what you mean!" commanded Betty.

"Who has the measles?" cried Bobby.

"Everybody! Or, pretty near everybody, I guess. The chaps who had it and
were quarantined when we came away from Salsette, gave it to the servants.
And it has spread to the village. And Miss Prettyman's got it and a lot of
the other folks at Shadyside. Oh, my eye!"

"Are you fooling us, Bob?" demanded Betty.

"Honor bright! It is just as I say. Of course, it all isn't in the
messages the two schools have sent out to 'parents and guardians.' That is
the way the messages are headed, you know. But the Shadyside _Mirror_ has
come, too, and tells all about it. Opening is postponed for a fortnight.
What do you know about that?" and Bob began his clumsy dance again.

Betty broke away and darted down the stairs. She scarcely touched the
steps with her feet she flew so fast, and if it had not been for the
banister she surely would have come to the bottom in a heap.

She ran out on the porch to find her Uncle Dick smoking a cigar and
reading the paper in a warm corner. Like a stone from a catapult she flung
herself into his arms.

"Oh, Uncle Dick! Uncle Dick! Now we can go!" she cried, seizing him
tightly around the neck.

"Goodness, child!" choked Uncle Dick, fairly throttled by her exuberance.
"What is it? Go where, Betty?"

"To Mountain Camp! With you! All of us! No school for more than two weeks!
Oh, Uncle Dick!" Then she suddenly stopped and her glowing face lost its
color and her excitement subsided. "Dear me!" she quavered, "I 'member now
I had 'em when I was six, and they say you can't have 'em but once."

"What can't you have but once?"

"Measles," said Betty, sighing deeply. "I suppose after all I can go back
to Shadyside. Maybe Mrs. Eustice will expect all of us that have had 'em
to come."

CHAPTER VI

A DISAPPEARANCE

There was an exciting conclave at Fairfields that evening. Perhaps I
should say two. For in one room given over by the good-natured Mrs.
Littell to the young folks there was a most noisy conclave while the older
members of the household held a more quiet if no less earnest conference
in the library.

There were eight in the young folks' meeting for Mrs. Littell insisted
upon Esther's going to bed at a certain hour every evening "to get her
beauty sleep."

"And I'll say she is sure to be a raving beauty when she grows up, if she
keeps going to bed with the chickens," giggled Bobby.

"You know she can't go to Mountain Camp anyway," Louise said quietly, "for
her school isn't measly and it begins again day after to-morrow."

"Poor Esther!" sighed Betty. "We must make it up to her somehow. I was
afraid she would cry at dinner this evening."

"She's a good kid," agreed Bobby. "But are you sure, Betty, that we can
go to the mountains? Just think! Eight of us!"

"Some contract for Mr. Gordon," observed Tommy Tucker with unusual
reflection.

"How about it's being some contract for Mr. and Mrs. Canary?" suggested
Bob Henderson. "Maybe they will shy at such a crowd."

"I asked Uncle Dick about that," Betty said eagerly. "He told me all about
Mr. and Mrs. Canary. He has known them for years and years. They must be
awfully nice people and they have got a great, big, rambling bungalow sort
of house, all built of logs in the rough. But inside there is a heating
plant, and electric lights, and shower baths, and everything up-to-date.
Mr. Canary is very wealthy; but his money could not keep him from getting
tuber--tuber----"

"'Tubers,'" said Bob with gravity, "are potatoes, or something of that
kind."

"Now, Bob! you know what I mean very well," cried Betty. "His lungs were
affected. But they have healed and he is perfectly well as long as he
stays up there in the wilderness. The air there has wonderful
cur--curative properties. There!"

"Look! Will it cure such a bad attack of poetry?" interrupted Bobby,
drawing the attention of the others to Timothy Derby and Libbie who, with
heads close together, were absorbed in a volume of verses the boy had
brought with him from home.

"It might help," said Bob. "It ought to be cold enough up there at
Mountain Camp to freeze romance into an icicle."

"I hope we all go then," Teddy Tucker agreed. "Our folks have said we
could--haven't they, Tom?"

"With suspicious alacrity," agreed his twin. "How's that for a fine
phrase, Louise? Do you know, I think mother and dad were almost shocked
when they got the telegram from Salsette and knew our vacation was to be
prolonged. The idea of Mountain Camp seems to please them."

"Goodness! I know dear Mrs. Littell doesn't feel that way about it," cried
Betty.

"She's got girls," said Ted dryly. "You know it is us boys who are not
appreciated in this world."

"Yes," said Bob, "you fellows are terribly abused, I'll say. But, now! Are
we all sure of going? That's what I want to know."

"Timothy----" began Louise; but Bob held up his hand to stop her.

"I know from his father that Tim can go. Uncle Dick is sure to take us,
Betty, isn't he?"

"He sent off a telegram to Mrs. Canary this evening. If she sends back
word 'Yes' we can go day after to-morrow."

"That's all right then," said Bob, quite as eagerly. 'The thing to do then
is to plan what to take and all that. It is cold up there, but dry. Much
colder than it was at school before we came down. Furs, overcoats, boots,
mittens--not gloves, for gloves are no good when it is really cold--and
underthings that are warm and heavy. We don't want to come back with noses
and toes frozen off."

"Humph!" said Bobby scornfully, "what kind of underwear should you advise
our getting for our noses, Bob Henderson?"

"Aw--you know what I mean," said the boy, grinning. "Don't depend on a fur
piece around your neck and a muff to keep the rest of you warm. Us fellows
have all got Mackinaws and boots and such things. And we'll want 'em."

And so they excitedly made their plans. At least, six of them did while
Timothy and Libbie bent their minds upon the book. One thing about those
two young romanticists, they agreed to the plans the others made and were
quite docile.

At ten Timothy and the Tucker twins went home and the others went
cheerfully up to bed. While Betty Gordon remained at Fairfields Bobby
insisted on sharing her own room with her. They were never separated at
Shadyside, so why should they be here?

When she was half undressed Betty suddenly went down on her knees before
the tall chiffonier and opened the lower drawer. She dug under everything
in the drawer until she came to her handbag, and drew it forth.

"I declare!" chuckled Bobby, "I thought you were digging a new burrow like
a homeless rabbit. What did you forget?"

"Didn't forget anything," responded Betty, smiling up at her friend. "I
remembered something."

"Oh!"

"My locket. Uncle Dick's present. I wanted to see that it was safe."

"Goodness! Do you carry it in your bag?"

"I've got a lovely chain at Shadyside, you know. I told Uncle Dick not to
buy a chain. And I don't believe Mrs. Eustice will object to a simple
little locket like mine, will she?"

"M-m-m! I don't know," replied Bobby. "You know she is awfully opposed to
us girls wearing jewelry. And your locket is lovely. Just think! Platinum
and a real diamond. Why! what is the matter, Betty?"

For Betty had begun scrambling in her bag worse than she had in the bureau
drawer. Everything came out--purse, tickets, gloves, handkerchief, the
tiniest little looking-glass, a letter or two, a silver thimble, two
coughdrops stuck together, a sample of ribbon which she had failed to
match, a most disreputable looking piece of lead-pencil----

But no twist of tissue paper with the locket in it!

"What is the matter?" repeated Bobby, frightened by the expression of the
other girl's face.

"I--I----Oh, Bobby! It's gone!" wailed Betty.

"Not your locket?"

"Yes, my locket!" sobbed Betty, and she sat down on the floor and wept.

"Why, it can't be! Who would take it? When did you see it last? Nobody
here in the house would have stolen it, Betty."

"It--it must have dropped out of my bag. Oh! what shall I do? I can't tell
Uncle Dick."

"He won't punish you for losing it, will he?"

"But think how he'll feel! And how I'll feel!" wailed Betty. "He advised
me to put it somewhere for safe keeping until I got my chain. And I
wouldn't. I--I wanted it with me."

"You should have put it downstairs in daddy's safe," said Bobby
thoughtfully.

"But that doesn't do me a bit of good now," sobbed Betty Gordon.

"Don't you remember where you had it last?" asked her friend slowly.

"In my bag, of course. And I carried my bag to town to-day. Yes! I
remember seeing the paper it was in at the bottom of my bag more than
once while I was shopping. Oh, dear! what shall I do?"

"Then you are quite sure it was not stolen?" Bobby suggested.

"No. I don't suppose it was. It just hopped out somehow. But where? That
is the question, Bobby. I can't answer it."

She rose finally and finished her preparations for bed. Bobby was very
sympathetic; but there did not seem to be anything she could say that
would really relieve Betty's heart, or help in any way. The locket was
gone and no trace of how it had gone had been left in Betty's mind.

When the light was out Bobby crept into Betty's bed and held her tightly
in her arms.

"Don't cry, Betty dear!" the other girl whispered. "Maybe your Uncle Dick
will know how to find the locket."

"Oh, Bobby! I can't tell him. I'm ashamed to," sighed Betty. "It looks as
though I had not cared enough about his present to be careful with it. And
I thought if I carried it about with me that there would be no chance of
my losing it. And now----"

"Then tell Bob," suggested her chum, hugging Betty tightly.

"Bob?"

"Tell him all about it," said Bobby Littell. "Perhaps he will know what
to do. You can't really have lost that beautiful locket forever, Betty!"

"Oh, I don't know! It's gone, anyway!" sobbed Betty.

"Don't give up. That isn't like you, Betty," went on Bobby. "Maybe Bob can
help. We can ask him, at least."

"Yes, we can do that," was Betty's not very hopeful reply.

CHAPTER VII

ALL MRS. STAPLES COULD SAY

The two girls sought out Bob Henderson before breakfast and told him of
the disappearance of Betty's beautiful little locket. Betty's eyes, were a
little swollen and even Bobby seemed not to have passed a very agreeable
night. Bob was quite shrewd enough to see these evidences of trouble and
he refrained from making any remark even in fun to ruffle the girls.

"Here's a pretty mess!" exclaimed Bob, but cheerfully. "And we all going
to Mountain Camp to-morrow if Mrs. Canary telegraphs 'Yes,' Hunted
everywhere, I suppose?"

"Yes, Bob," Betty assured him. "And there was but one place to hunt. In my
bag."

"Sure?"

"Pos-i-tive!"

"Carried it loose in your bag, did you?" he asked reflectively.

"Wrapped up in white tissue paper. You know, the box it came in got
broken."

"I remember. Gee, Betty! that's an awfully pretty locket. You don't want
to lose it."

"But I have lost it!"

"For keeps, I mean," rejoined Bob, smiling encouragingly. "Come on! Let's
see the bag. Where did you carry it? When was the last time you saw the
locket in the bag and where?"

"Oh!" Betty cried suddenly. "I remember it was in the bag when I was
shopping yesterday."

"Shopping where? Let's hear about the last place you remember seeing it."

Betty remembered very clearly seeing the twist of paper with the locket in
it while she was at Purcell's where she had bought some veiling.

"Then, Betty," said Bobby, "you went to that little store afterward, you
said, where you got the over-blouse."

"Ye--es. But I didn't notice it while I was there. I was so excited over
the blouse and so interested in Ida Bellethorne that I don't remember of
looking in my bag to see if my locket was safe."

"'Ida Bellethorne'?" repeated Bob in surprise. "Why! that's the name of
Mr. Lewis Bolter's new mare from England. I heard Mr. Littell and Uncle
Dick talking about her."

"And I met a girl named Ida Bellethorne. I'll tell you all about her
later, Bob," said Betty. "Just now I want to know what to do about the
locket."

"I should say you did! And I'll tell you what," Bob said promptly. "Right
after breakfast we'll borrow the little car and I'll take you over to
Georgetown and we'll go to every place you went to yesterday, Betty, and
inquire. I'm allowed to drive in the District of Columbia, you know."

"Will you, Bob?" cried Betty. "Do you think there is any chance of our
finding it?"

"Why not? If it was picked up in one of the stores you went to. There are
lots more honest people in the world than there are dishonest. Come on
now, don't cry."

"I'm not going to cry," declared Betty. "I've cried enough already. Don't
tell the others, Bob. Nor Uncle Dick. I don't want him to know if I can
help it. It looks just as though I didn't prize his present enough to take
care of it."

Somehow, Betty felt encouraged by Bob's taking hold of the matter. The
small car was secured after breakfast and Bob and the two girls set off
for the other side of the river. It was not alone because of Bob's advice
that they stopped first at the little neighborhood shop on the hilly side
street where Betty had bought her sweater. Bobby was anxious to see her
blue sweater, and the two girls ran in as soon as the car halted before
the door.

The little bell over it jingled pleasantly at their entrance; but it was a
tall and rather grim-looking woman who came from the back of the shop to
meet them instead of the English girl with whom Betty had dealt on her
former visit.

"Humph!" said Mrs. Staples, for it was she, when she spied the over-blouse
under Betty's coat. "You are the young lady who was to purchase the blue
blouse when it was finished?"

"For my friend here," said Betty, bringing Bobby forward. "I know she will
like it."

"I hope so," said Mrs. Staples. "It is finished. Ida sat up most of the
night to finish it. Here it is," and she displayed the dark blue blouse
for the girls to see.

"How lovely!" ejaculated Bobby eagerly. "I like it even better than I do
your orange one, Betty. It's sweet."

"It's twelve dollars, Miss," said the shop woman promptly. "You can pay me
and take the blouse. I paid Ida for it."

"Isn't the girl who made it here?" asked Betty anxiously.

"No, she ain't," said Mrs. Staples in her blunt way. "She left an hour
ago."

"Oh! Will she come back?"

"I don't expect her. I am sure I cannot be changing help all the time. She
left me very abruptly. I did not ask her to come back."

"Why," said Betty, wonderingly, "I thought you were her friend. Isn't she
all alone in this country?"

"She is a girl who seems quite able to take care of herself," the grim
shopwoman said. "Or she is determined to try. I advised her to write to
her aunt----"

"Then she has an aunt over here?" cried Betty eagerly.

"So she thinks. An aunt for whom Ida was named. There was some family
trouble, and Ida's father and her father's sister seem to have had nothing
to do with each other for some years. The aunt is a singer--quite a noted
concert singer, it seems. Ida came to Washington expecting to find her.
She did not find the elder Ida Bellethorne----"

"Then there are three Ida Bellethornes!" whispered Bobby in Betty's ear.

"So she came here to help me," continued Mrs. Staples, all the time
watching Betty with a rather strange manner. "She would better have
remained with me, as I told her. But she found in the paper last night
this notice," the woman produced a torn piece of paper from the counter
and handed it to Betty, "and nothing would do but Ida must go right away
to find the place and the person mentioned here."

The two girls in great interest bent their heads above the piece of paper.
The marked paragraph was one of several in the column and read as
follows:

"It is stated upon good authority that the great Ida Bellethorne
will arrive at Cliffdale, New York, within a day or two, and will
remain for the winter."

"Why, how odd," murmured Betty. "And did this make Ida go away?"

"She has gone to Cliffdale to meet her aunt. That was her intention," said
Mrs. Staples. "Are either of you young ladies prepared to buy this blue
blouse?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" cried Bobby, who had taken a fancy to the blouse. "I've
got money enough. And it was nice of Miss Bellethorne to finish it for me
before she went. I wish I might thank her personally."

"I do not expect to see Ida again," the shopwoman repeated in her most
severe manner, wrapping up the over-blouse. "Twelve dollars--thank you,
Miss. Can I show you anything else?"

"Wait!" gasped Betty. "I want to ask you--I wanted to ask Ida Bellethorne
if she saw me drop anything here in the store yesterday?"

"I am sorry she is not here to answer that question," said Mrs. Staples.
"I was not here when you came, Miss."

"No, I know you weren't. But somewhere while I was shopping yesterday I
lost something out of my bag. If it dropped out here----"

"I can assure you I picked up nothing, Miss," declared the shop woman.

"If Ida----"

"If Ida Bellethorne did, she is not here, unfortunately, to tell you,"
said Mrs. Staples in her same manner and without a change of expression on
her hard face.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Betty.

"But you don't know that you dropped it here," Bobby said to encourage
her. But perhaps it encouraged Mrs. Staples more!

"I have nothing more to say, Miss," the woman declared. "Ida not being
here----"

"Oh, well," said Betty, trying to speak more cheerfully, "it is true I do
not remember having seen it while I was here at all. So--so we will go to
the other places. Of course, if Ida had found anything she would have told
you?"

"I cannot be responsible for what Ida Bellethorne would do or say,"
replied the shopwoman grimly. "Not having been here myself when you came,
Miss----"

"Oh, yes! I understand," said Betty hastily. "Well, thank you for keeping
the blouse for us. Good-bye."

She and Bobby were not greatly pleased with Mrs. Staples. But they had no
reason for distrusting her. When they had gone the shopwoman smiled a most
wintry smile.

"Well, I am not supposed to tell people how to go about their own affairs,
I should hope," was her thought. "That chit never told me what she had
lost. It might have been a pair of shoes or a boiled lobster! Humph! Folks
would better speak plain in this world. I always do, I am sure."

CHAPTER VIII

UNCLE DICK MUST BE TOLD

The two girls did not tell Bob Henderson all that had happened in the
little shop when they first came out. They were in too much haste to get
to the other places where it might be possible that Betty had dropped her
locket. Of all things, they did not suspect that Mrs. Staples knew the
first thing about it.

But they did tell the boy that Ida Bellethorne had gone away.

"Where's she gone?" asked the inquisitive Bob. "Couldn't be that she found
the locket and ran off with it?"

"Why, you're almost horrid!" declared Betty, aggrieved. "You don't know
what a nice girl Ida is."

"Humph!" (Could he have caught that expression from waiting outside Mrs.
Staples' shop?) "Humph! I don't believe you know how nice she is, or
otherwise. You never saw her but once."

"But she's seen the horse," giggled Bobby.

"What horse?" demanded Bob.

"Mr. Lewis Bolter's black mare, Ida Bellethorne."

"Oh!"

"And, oh, Bob!" cried Betty, "there's another Ida Bellethorne, and this
Ida has gone away to see her. She's her aunt."

"Who's her aunt?" grumbled Bob, who was having some difficulty just then
in driving the car and so could not give his full attention to the matter
the girls were chattering about.

"Why, see!" cried Betty, rummaging in her bag. "Here's the piece of
newspaper with the society item, or whatever it is, in it that made Ida go
away so suddenly this morning. It's about her aunt, the great concert
singer. Ida's gone to meet her where that says," and she put the piece of
paper into Bob's hand.

"All right," he said. "Here's Markham and Boggs' place. You said you were
in this store yesterday, Betty."

"So I was. Come on, Bobby," cried the other girl, hopping out of the car.
"I suppose we shall have to go to the manager or the superintendent or
somebody. Dear me! if we don't find my locket I don't know what I shall
do."

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