Loretta Mason Potts Page 6

  All he could see were tiny lights flickering like fireflies. Then he turned and ran fast, with the tunnel echoing the slapping of his feet.

  When he came to the other end of the tunnel he had a bad moment of fright. There was a dirt wall. There was no door. But as he felt of the wall, it gave under his fingers and he found himself in a closet with girls’ dresses and when he tiptoed out he was in Loretta’s bedroom in his own house. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was he back home but Loretta was sound asleep and did not hear him as he went across her room, down the hall and into his own room. What a night!

  He fell into his bed and as soon as his head hit the pillow he was sound asleep.

  7. THE TEN-INCH COUNTESS

  Now Colin had run out of the castle just in time, because the Gold Chain lady had heard the noise of the cup. She had summoned them all back into the room. They were hurrying toward the window. All of them except the Countess. She never hurried. She made her way elegantly through the crowd and stood looking down the stone steps and across the bridge.

  “You are mistaken, Madame La Pugh” she said, “there does not seem to be anybody but there does seem to be something. See that white object on the other side of the bridge!”

  The General ran down the steps. He was back immediately, carrying over his arm a large white cloth. The Countess fingered it.

  “Is it a gown?” she asked and she flung her arms wide while the General hung it on her shoulders. It fell down to her waist.

  “No, no sleeves,” she shrugged, “it must be a tablecloth. Try it on the table.” They draped the cloth over a table. It hung down on all sides.

  “A tablecloth surely,” said the Countess, “of a rather cheap make. It is not chic. Remove it at once.”

  But the General was examining it with his monocle in his eye. “I doubt if it is a tablecloth” he said. “There is a name embroidered in the corner and tablecloths do not have names embroidered in the corner—even in that stupid world across the bridge.”

  “Whose name?” asked the Countess.

  “Loretta,” read the General. “Loretta—in red thread.”

  The Countess smiled and waved her lacy fan. “Of course. It is the dear child’s handkerchief.” She smiled at the others.

  “We forget,” she said, “how very large they are across that bridge.”

  “And how very vulgar,” said Gold Chain, “it is to be so big and clumsy. But to be like us,” and here she placed a proud hand at a proud hip, “ten inches high—that is—elegant.”

  The General bowed. “Well spoken, Madame La Pugh, and now Countess, what shall we do with this vulgar object?”

  “Put it away at once,” she answered “and never let Loretta see it again. She must never, never know that whenever she crosses our bridge she becomes our size. That is our secret, isn’t it, my friends?”

  Then she walked gracefully back into the ballroom. They all watched her with admiration but only the General spoke.

  “Magnificent creature,” he murmured. Then he followed her.

  Colin had been sleeping for more than an hour. But whatever he was dreaming he could not possibly have been dreaming that now—at this very minute—over the stone bridge, they were talking about him. For Colin had ruined the Countess’s evening. And he had managed to ruin it without being there at the time. This is not an easy thing to do and Colin had never been able to do it before.

  Many times in the past his mother had said to him, “Colin Mason, you have ruined my whole day. Now take that toolbox out of that chair so Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Newby can sit down and take those wood shavings off the dining-room table so they can have lunch.” But to be able to ruin a party while you are sound asleep in your own bed!

  The Countess did not suspect her evening had been ruined until she was on her way to bed. The orchestra had stopped playing. The guests had retired for the night and the Countess was climbing her white marble staircase to her blue velvet boudoir, when she heard the ugly noise for the first time. She listened again. “My imagination,” she told herself and climbed the staircase.

  Walking into her blue velvet boudoir which was like the inside of a blue velvet jewel box, she pressed the switch on the wall and the moon began to shine and the stars came out. The Countess had had her boudoir redecorated last spring and had directed the job herself. She was very proud of the way things had turned out. She was proud of the silver moon and the silver stars which glittered in her ceiling when she pressed the light switch. But now she frowned. She had heard something. She listened again. Of course, it must be the switch under her bed. She examined it. Everything seemed to be in order.

  The Countess’s bed was made of silver in the shape of a boat. But when she had her room done over she had had the bed slightly altered, too. Now whenever she climbed into the white satin sheets, she could feel with her fingers under the bed for the new switch, press it and then lie back and enjoy the gently rocking motion of a boat. She could look up at the stars and moon and drift happily off into sleep. It was utterly, utterly charming and she adored it all.

  That noise again! There it was. Was her alarm clock out of order? She stopped the boat and jumped out of bed to examine her alarm clock.

  The Countess was very proud of this alarm clock. It was her own idea. To her friends who raved about it, she always made light of it. “A trifle,” she would say, “an amusing trifle.” But secretly she quite adored it. It did not go off with a rude, sudden shrill ring. The Countess despised sudden movement and rudeness, even in alarm clocks. This clock you could set, of course, at night before you went to bed as you would an ordinary alarm clock. But at the time set, instead of a rude ringing, there would come the sounds of birds chirping sweetly, making the sounds of dawn and first light, at eleven in the morning, twelve noon or two in the afternoon.

  Tonight she felt the wires on the clock as she set the alarm for noon. She listened to it tick. It seemed to be in order. And yet there was a ticking sound from someplace else. She threw open her window and listened. Yes, there it was! It was outside! She picked up the little white house telephone and called the servants’ quarters. “Olaf,” she told her butler, “take two of the yardmen and look about the grounds. I swear I hear a strange sound outside. And Olaf, wait, don’t hang up yet. Call the General in the east wing and ask him to meet me on the upstairs balcony off the game room.”

  She hurried to her clothes closet to select the proper costume. She selected a long black velvet cloak with a hood which framed her face becomingly.

  By the time she stepped out onto the balcony the General was waiting for her and Olaf was beside him with the yardmen. The General apologized for his appearance. He had not had time to shave. He looked worried. Olaf and the yardmen reported they had been over the bridge. They had kicked and prodded the underbrush by the side of the stream and they had found it lying there.

  “It?” asked the Countess coldly. “What?”

  Olaf described it. They had not only found it, they had walked around it, measured it and stood upon it.

  “It is, Madame,” said Olaf, “a big clock lying in the grass with black leather straps on either side of it. One of,” and here he dropped his voice, “one of Their wrist watches.”

  For a moment no one spoke. The air on the balcony was chilly, but the Countess did not shiver because of this. Her cloak was warm. She made her voice sound light and gay, however. “We must have had an uninvited guest this evening.”

  The General adjusted the white silk muffler above his red velvet dressing gown. “Obviously, Countess. Madame La Pugh kept insisting someone was here this evening—remember?”

  “But who?” asked the Countess.

  Olaf had more information. They had turned the watch over and on the back they had traced a name engraved in gold.

  “What name, Olaf?”

  “The name is Colin—”

  The Countess was puzzled. “Colin—Colin! Whoever in the world is Colin?”

  The General held up a fo
refinger. “Wait. I may have it in here. It strikes a bell somewhere.” Opening the little notebook he read “Colin Mason, age ten. A in everything.”

  “Loretta’s brother! But how did he ever get here? How did he find our tunnel? Did Loretta break her promise to us?”

  “More important,” said the General, “how much did he learn—about us?”

  “Yes,” the Countess nodded thoughtfully. “That is what we must find out—at once. And we must use Loretta. She must bring him here without knowing why and then—we must question him—casually, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed the General. “We must be casual— at first.”

  The Countess sent Olaf and the yardmen away to push the thing into the stream, until the noise should stop. But as they hurried off the sound went on—tick—tick—tick.

  The Countess put her hands to her ears. “It is horrid,” she told the General. “I cannot bear it.”

  “I don’t believe,” the General escorted her off the balcony, “that with such noise, it can be a very good watch.”

  The Countess sighed as the General bent over her hand and for the second time wished her a good night.

  “It was a good night,” she told him, “and it was a lovely party. But this person—Colin Mason—has ruined, utterly, utterly ruined, my whole evening. Good night, General.”

  She went upstairs to bed.

  8. COLIN AND THE COUNTESS

  When Colin woke up the next morning the first thing he thought of was a general with a white and red uniform, lunging toward a velvet drapery with a flashing silver sword and calling out, “Rascal! Step forth on the count of three. One—two—three.”

  That was a crazy dream he had! And oh, yes, Loretta was in it, too.

  Let’s see, how was she in it? Oh yes, he dreamt he’d found a tunnel in the closet of Loretta’s room and a castle across a bridge!

  Dig that crazy dream! How crazy can you get?

  He jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to the bathroom to wash, and brush his teeth.

  It was when he was washing his hands he saw his watch was gone. He looked in his bedroom, under his bed and in the drawers of his dresser. He had lost it, his good gold watch, his birthday present.

  He heard his mother calling him to breakfast. He pulled down his sleeve so she wouldn’t see his bare wrist. He’d look for it again after school.

  Colin ran downstairs three steps at a time, slid into his chair, smiled at his mother and began to eat his toast.

  Everybody was at breakfast except Loretta.

  He was eating his second piece of toast when she walked into the dining room.

  Mother smiled. “Good morning, Loretta. Children, say good morning to your sister.”

  They all cried out, “Good morning, Loretta.”

  Loretta looked at them through sleepy, sullen eyes. “Oh, get lost,” she said as she sat down.

  The children gasped. Mother turned quickly in surprise.

  Loretta reached in front of Jerry and took a piece of toast. She reached for Sharon’s milk and brought it over to her own plate.

  Sharon cried out, “Give me my milk. Mother, she took my milk.”

  “Oh, get lost,” said Loretta again, brought the glass to her mouth and drank the milk down in one gulp.

  “Mother!” Kathy’s voice was shocked. For Mother did nothing and said nothing. She was studying Loretta’s face.

  Loretta turned boldly to her.

  “When we go shopping again, ma’am,” she said, “I want a red satin dress with little ruffles and a diamond crown for my hair.” Then she picked up a napkin and waved it back and forth like a fan.

  Colin’s toast fell from his hand. He had seen somebody else wave something around the way Loretta was waving the napkin. But who? The Countess in the dream! Had Loretta had the same dream? Did two people ever dream the same dream? And before he knew it he said, “How amusing! How utterly, utterly refreshing!”

  “Colin!” Mother’s voice was sharp. “What are you saying?”

  Colin did not answer but he felt eyes staring hard and when he raised his head he saw Loretta glaring at him, her mouth hanging open. She got up and ran out of the room.

  “Your sister,” his mother was explaining to the others, “is not feeling well this morning. It could be her tonsils.” Mother left the table and went out to find Loretta.

  Colin, now alone with his brother and sisters, made an announcement. “Loretta,” he said, “thinks nobody likes her.”

  Kathy had an answer for this. “Who could like her?”

  “Not me,” said Jerry.

  “Not me,” said Sharon.

  Colin said nothing.

  As Colin ran down the back porch steps on the way to school, Loretta stepped out from behind the ashpit and took a tight hold of his arm.

  “Let’s hear why you said that?”

  “Said what?”

  “You know what. Why did you say it?”

  “Let go of me.”

  “I’m not letting go of you till you tell me. I’ll twist your arm till you tell me.”

  “Try it.”

  When she began to twist his arm, Colin, who was strong, stepped back lightly and she fell to the ground. He ran down the alley laughing.

  “Getting all excited about a dream!”

  In the house, Mother sat for a long time in her room. She was remembering many things.

  What a sweet baby girl Loretta had been! Naughty often, of course, but always loving with Mother and even jealous when Colin and Kathy were babies. Mother remembered how close she had huddled beside her in the car that day, so long ago, when they had driven out to the Potts farm for a gallon of milk.

  But after they’d missed her, looked for her for hours, and finally found her in the woods on the hill behind the Potts farm, she had looked so different! There was a sly look in her eyes and a secret smile on her face.

  She ran from Mother!

  It was, Mother had often thought, as if a spell had been put on her in those woods, like an old storybook. What had she seen in the woods? Whom had she met?

  It was only after that day that people, Mr. and Mrs. Potts, teachers and neighbors, had begun to call her a “bad, bad girl.”

  Nevertheless, Mother had always begged her to come home. And each time she would smile that sly secret smile and say, “No thank you, ma’am.”

  “Oh, well,” thought Mother, “somewhere inside of her there is still the dear child who sat so close beside me in the car that day. Love is what she needs. I will give her more and more and more and someday my Loretta will really come back to me with all of her heart.”

  The afternoon of the next day, Rosalie, the maid, was putting clean laundry into the drawers of Colin’s dresser as he came home from school.

  “Say, Mister.” She grinned at him. “Since when did you stop bein’ a boy and turn into a little girl?”

  “Since never,” and he began looking for his jackknife so he could whittle himself a wooden sword.

  She followed him and held out her hand. “It’s a pretty little thing,” she said. She was holding a tiny, tiny little white and blue teacup, a dollhouse teacup.

  He shrugged. “It’s not mine. I never saw it before.”

  “It was broken in two,” said Rosalie, “but I glued it together. Just look at those teeny, teeny blue roses painted on the inside of this little cup. Looks like they’re hand-painted. But what hand could be so small, it could get inside a cup this teeny and paint these here teeny roses?”

  “Don’t ask me.” Colin turned away and kept on looking for his jackknife. “I don’t know a thing about it.”

  But Rosalie would not go away. “If you don’t know anything about it, what was it doing in your bathrobe pocket?”

  He turned. “My bathrobe pocket? Me, me! have a dollhouse teacup in my bathrobe pocket? Somebody’s crazy!”

  Rosalie started out of the room. “It must belong to Kathy. I’ll put it in her dollhouse.”

  As he heard
Rosalie going downstairs there was one tiny second when that little wind of memory began to blow in his mind again and he thought he remembered something. But it was not a big enough wind this time to blow up any pictures and so he forgot about it—for a while!

  He forgot the dream of the castle, too, until the next afternoon after school when Loretta walked into his room with a frown on her face.

  He was sitting on the edge of his bed tying on his tennis shoes. She spoke in a whisper.

  “Listen, you’re supposed to come with me.”

  “Where? Come where?”

  “Oh, someplace.” She looked mysterious. “Someplace where you’ll get sandwiches and cake and lots of things.”

  “Not a chance,” Colin said. “I’m playing indoor baseball with my friends, Whitey Boggs and George Swenson.”

  Loretta hesitated before she spoke aloud these words—words she had never spoken aloud before to anyone.

  “The Countess said last night for you to come and so did the General.”

  Colin stopped tying his shoes. “What?” he gasped. “But that’s only a dream!”

  “It’s no dream,” she said earnestly. “So come on with me.”

  He got up and followed her into her room, watched her walk into the closet and push against the wall.

  There was the tunnel!

  The forest was cool and green. The mist was rising from the little stream as Colin and Loretta stepped onto the stone bridge.

  Loretta was used to this bridge. She was used to the strange feeling which always came over her when she walked across it, that swirling dizzy feeling in her stomach.

  Once she had asked the Countess about it. The Countess had said, “It must have been something you ate.” If it was, then she was always eating the wrong thing, because it always happened about the middle of the bridge. You felt as if you were falling through a trap door. And it was only after the trap door part that she could see the castle at all and the Countess and the General waiting for her always on the steps.

  And here they were today, as always, waving and smiling. And as always when the Countess saw her, she ran down the stone stairs happily to meet her. Even though she knew you were coming, you had promised her you would come and you had no other place to go, she would say so gently, so kindly, “You didn’t forget me! You did come. Oh thank you. Bless you.”