The Motor Girls on the Coast: or, The Waif From the Sea

“And you couldn’t make me believe but what it was one of the spark plugs,” was Norton’s contribution. “But it was the carbureter, all right.”

“All wrong, you mean,” half grumbled Walter, whose hands were covered with grease and gasoline. “Some one had opened the needle valve too far.”

“Well, let’s get busy with the pump,” Jack said. “It’s too nice to be hanging around the float.”

The Pet was soon in as good condition as hasty work could make her, and on the arrival of the girls the whole party went out for a spin, though they were a bit crowded. Cora was at the wheel, a position her right to which none disputed.

“I don’t know these waters around here,” she admitted, “but Rosalie said there was a good depth nearly all over the Cove, even at low tide.”

“Rosalie being the mermaid?” asked Norton. “I should like to meet her.”

“I have asked her over to the bungalow,” went on Cora. “But I warn you that she is a very sensible girl.”

“Meaning that I am not?” challenged Norton.

“Not a girl–certainly,” observed Jack.

“Not sensible!” exclaimed Norton.

“Don’t give them an opening, boy,” cautioned Ed. “You don’t know these girls as I do.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” was the contribution from Bess.

“Why don’t you talk?” asked Jack of Belle.

“She’s too interested in how deep the water is, and wondering if she will float as well as dripping Dick,” mocked Eline.

“I am not!” promptly answered Belle. “And just to show you that I’m not afraid I’m going to try to swim as soon as we go in bathing.”

“Which will be to-morrow,” said Cora.

They motored about the bay, winding in and out among anchored and moving craft. Cora was as adept at the wheel of the Pet as she was at that of the Whirlwind, and many admiring comments were made by other steersmen in the Cove, though Cora knew it not.

“She stood her land journey well,” remarked Bess, as she noted how well the engine was running.

“But you should have seen the trouble we had,” complained Walter. “We thought she’d never go!”

The day was lovely, and it was a temptation to stay out, but Cora was wise enough not to remain too long on the water. Already the effect of the hot sun was evident on the hands and faces of all, and the girls were secretly wishing for some talcum powder.

They went back to the float, arrangements having been made to dock the Petrel there. Then came a hasty meal and another spin.

They were getting matters down to a system in the bungalows now–at least the girls were. The boys lived haphazard, as they always did, and perhaps always would. Mrs. Chester–Aunt Susan–in the absence of Mrs. Fordam, who had returned home–assumed charge of Cora and her friends to the extent of seeing that meals were ready on time.

It was their third day at the coast, the time having been well occupied–every hour of it almost–and the girls were out alone in the Pet– the boys having gone fishing–when Cora observed a figure in a red bathing suit near the lighthouse float waving to them.

“Rosalie–the mermaid!” exclaimed Bess. “What can she want?”

“Perhaps her little brother is in the water again,” said Belle.

“No, she doesn’t seem excited enough for that,” spoke Eline.

“We’ll go see,” was Cora’s decision.

The Pet circled up to the float and came to a stop at its side, not a jar marring the landing.

“Well done!” said Rosalie to Cora. “There are not many girls who can run a motor boat like that.”

“I have had some practice,” was the modest reply.

“Father will be glad to see you,” went on the mermaid, with a smile. “He has just been polishing the light, and I know he’ll be glad to show you through.”

She glanced meaningly at Cora, who returned the look.

“Welcome, ladies!” greeted Mr. Haley. “I’m real glad to see you. Visitors are always welcome. Are you good climbers?”

“Why?” asked Eline.

“Because we have no elevator, and it’s quite a step to the top of the tower.”

“Oh, we can do it,” Cora declared.

They were shown through the light, and the keeper explained how, by means of clock-work, propelled by heavy weights, the great lens was revolved, making the flashing light. It turned every five seconds, sending out a signal that all the mariners knew, each lighthouse being in a different class, and the signals they gave, either fixed or stationary, being calculated to distinguish different parts of the coast where danger lies.

On their return to the neat parlor, on the appearance of which the girls complimented Rosalie, who kept house for her father–his wife being dead–Cora saw a photograph lying on the centre table. At the sight of it she exclaimed:

“That is she!”

“Who? What do you mean?” cried Mr. Haley. “That is my sister!”

“And it is the woman who was in our barn!” Cora said. “I have thought all along it was. Now I am sure of it. Mr. Haley, I am sure I do not want to pry into your family affairs, but your daughter said something about her aunt being missing, and how worried you were. I am sure we have met her since–since her trouble. Perhaps we can help you.”

“Oh, if you only could!” exclaimed the light keeper. “My poor sister! Where can she be?”

“Suppose you tell me a little about her, and then I–and my friends–can decide whether the woman we met is the one pictured there,” and Cora passed the photograph to Bess.

“There isn’t much to tell,” said the keeper of the light, slowly. “My sister is a widow. After her husband died she went to Westport to work in an office. She had been a clerk before her marriage. Everything seemed to go well for a time and she occasionally wrote to me how much she liked it. A friend of hers was in the same building.

“Then my sister’s letters ceased suddenly. I got worried and wrote to her friend. I got an answer, saying there had been a robbery in the office where my sister worked, and that my sister had disappeared. A young girl left at the same time, and there was some doubt about the robbery, though two men were mentioned as being concerned in it. But my poor sister must have felt that they would suspect her–and she never would take a pin belonging to anyone else. But she went away, and I’ve tried all means to locate her, but I can’t. It has me worried to death, nearly.”

“What was your sister’s name?” asked Cora.

“Margaret Raymond.”

“That is the same woman!” spoke Cora, firmly. “Oh, to think we didn’t ask her more about herself!”

By degrees she and the other girls told the story of the woman in the burning barn. They did not so much as hint of their first suspicions about the fire.

“And what was the name of the girl who worked in the office with her?” asked Belle.