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diff --git a/40300-8.txt b/40300-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2e77872..0000000 --- a/40300-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6338 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dorothy, by Evelyn Raymond - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Dorothy - -Author: Evelyn Raymond - -Release Date: July 22, 2012 [EBook #40300] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOROTHY *** - - - - -Produced by D Alexander, Cathy Maxam and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - - DOROTHY - - BY - EVELYN RAYMOND - - - NEW YORK - HURST & CO., INC. - PUBLISHERS - - - - -THE DOROTHY BOOKS - -By EVELYN RAYMOND - - -These stories of an American girl by an American author have made -"Dorothy" a household synonym for all that is fascinating. Truth and -realism are stamped on every page. The interest never flags, and is -ofttimes intense. No more happy choice can be made for gift books, so -sure are they to win approval and please not only the young in years, -but also "grown-ups" who are young in heart and spirit. - - =Dorothy= - =Dorothy at Skyrie= - =Dorothy's Schooling= - =Dorothy's Travels= - =Dorothy's House Party= - =Dorothy in California= - =Dorothy on a Ranch= - =Dorothy's House Boat= - =Dorothy at Oak Knowe= - =Dorothy's Triumph= - =Dorothy's Tour= - - -COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY -THE PLATT & PECK CO. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER PAGE - - I. HOW DOROTHY CAME 1 - - II. A POSTAL SUBSTITUTE 15 - - III. AT JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL 33 - - IV. DOROTHY GAINS IN WISDOM 50 - - V. DOROTHY ENTERTAINS 68 - - VI. DOROTHY GOES UPON AN ERRAND 88 - - VII. AN OFFICE SEEKER AND A CLIENT 103 - - VIII. TENANTS FOR NO. 77 123 - - IX. STRANGE EXPERIENCES 141 - - X. THE FLITTING 157 - - XI. JIM BARLOW 171 - - XII. DOROTHY'S ILLNESS 188 - - XIII. THE PLUMBER AND HIS GOSSIP 202 - - XIV. THE BITER BIT 219 - - XV. THE FLIGHT IN THE NIGHT 238 - - XVI. A GOOD SAMARITAN 257 - - XVII. A SUNDAY DRIVE 278 - -XVIII. CONCLUSION 291 - - - - -DOROTHY - - - - -CHAPTER I - -HOW DOROTHY CAME - - -One spring morning Mrs. John Chester opened the front door of her little -brick house and screamed. There, upon the marble step, stood a wicker -baby-wagon with a baby in it; and, having received this peculiar -greeting, the baby screamed, too. Then it laughed, Mrs. Chester laughed, -and, hearing both the screams and the laughter, postman John Chester -hurriedly set down his cup of coffee and ran to the doorway. In another -instant he, also, was laughing. What childless, child-loving man could -help doing so, beholding the pretty sight before him? - -For Martha, his wife, had caught the little creature out of the wagon -and was ecstatically hugging it, cooing to it, mothering it, as -naturally as if this little one she was tossing up and down were not -almost the first child she had ever so fondled. - -"John! John! O John! _It's meant!_ It's for us! See, see? The little -card on its coat says: 'My name is Dorothy C. I have come to be your -daughter.' Our daughter, John Chester! Oh! what a blessed gift! -Who--who--can have sent her?" - -Then John Chester stopped laughing and, laying his hand on his wife's -shoulder with a protesting pressure, said: - -"There, little woman, don't go building hopes on such a thing as this. -Doubtless, some of the neighbors have left the little one here for a -joke. If the good Lord has sent us no babies of our own it's not likely -He'd put it into the hearts of others to give us theirs. It'll be called -for before I get in from my rounds. Well, good-bye. Wish I could stay -and play with the kid, but I'm late already. Good-bye." - -As he stooped to kiss her, after his accustomed fashion, his cap touched -the baby's cheek, pressed so close to Martha's, and with a frown and a -twist Miss Dorothy C. put up her tiny hand and knocked it from his head. -Then she wrinkled her funny little nose, laughed again, and from that -instant the letter-carrier became her abject slave. - -As he sped down the street, to take a car for the post-office and the -morning mail he must deliver, he saw old Mrs. Cecil's carriage drive -slowly around the corner. She was not "Mrs. Cecil" exactly, for there -was more of her name upon her visiting cards: "Mrs. Cecil Somerset -Calvert," and she was one of the proudest of old Maryland dames. But she -was called by the shorter title by all sorts and conditions of people. -She was on John Chester's route and quite often addressed him as -"Johnnie," though Mrs. Martha resented this as being too familiar. In -her own eyes John was the wisest and best man in the world, far too good -to be called "Johnnie" like any schoolboy. The postman himself did not -resent it. He resented very little that befell and simply trotted -through life as he did over his mail-route, with a cheery word and smile -for everybody. Therefore, it was quite characteristic that he should -good-naturedly obey Mrs. Cecil's summons to come to her carriage, that -she had ordered stopped, even though he was just boarding a car and had -no time to waste. - -"Johnnie, what was that I saw in your wife's arms, as I drove by?" she -demanded as he came up. - -"A baby. The cutest ever was. Somebody's playing a joke on us, leaving -it on our steps." - -"I shouldn't like that kind of a joke. Whose is it?" - -"I don't know. I'll tell you more when I get round with the mail. Beg -pardon, please, there comes another car," he replied, still smiling, -although he was edging away as fast as he dared, without giving offense -to this quick-tempered old lady. - -"Shall you be fool enough to take the youngster in, if nobody calls for -it? What salary do you get?" she continued, ignoring his evident -reluctance to be further delayed. - -He answered hastily, raised his cap, and managed to catch the next car, -springing up on the rear platform while it was already in motion and -reckoning that he would have to run, instead of trot, if he made up time -and got his morning letters to those who expected them along with their -breakfast. - -As he disappeared Mrs. Cecil nodded her handsome white head a number of -times, in satisfaction over something, and remarked to her poodle: - -"Made no mistake. He's a straight man. Well, well, well! The idea of -anybody being simpleton enough to be glad of the care of a squalling -baby!" - -Then she drove home to her own fine house, which stood at the junction -of the broad avenue and the narrow street. As old Ephraim turned his -horses into the spacious grounds a thrill of pride ran through his -mistress's heart, while she shouted to her half-deaf coachman: - -"Bellevieu never looked finer that it does this spring, boy." - -To which the gray-headed "boy" echoed: - -"Fine this spring, Miss Betty." - -"Had another offer for the place yesterday, Ephraim." - -"Dat so, Miss Betty? Grandes' place in Baltimo'," responded the other, -who had heard but little of what she had said, but guessed sufficiently -near to answer sympathetically. Indeed, he was fully as proud of the -ancient estate as its present owner, and of the fact that, while he -dwelt in the very heart of the southern city, his stables and -appointments were quite as roomy as if an open country lay all about -them. His "Miss Betty" and he were the last of the "family"; he -considered Bellevieu as much his as hers; and, from his throne upon the -antiquated Calvert carriage, looked with charitable contempt upon the -drivers of less aristocratic vehicles. - -The march of progress had left the mansion and its beautiful grounds -untouched. Entrenched behind her pride and her comfortable bank account, -Mrs. Betty Cecil Somerset-Calvert had withstood every assault upon the -old place, whether made by private individual or, as yesterday, by the -city authorities, who wished to turn Bellevieu into a park. She had -replied to the committee that waited upon her: - -"No, gentlemen, thank you. This house was one of the first built in the -town, though it was then what you call nowadays a 'suburban residence.' -Each generation has received it intact from the preceding one, and -intact it will descend to my heirs. What they will do with it remains to -be seen. I have the honor to wish you good-bye," she concluded, with her -grandest manner, yet the familiar local salutation of parting. - -The committee felt itself dismissed and bowed itself out; and the old -lady summoned her house-girl to open all the windows and ventilate the -rooms contaminated by commercial presence. Then she consoled herself and -the poodle with the reflection: - -"We shall be free from any more 'offers' for at least two weeks. Let us -enjoy our freedom." - -Yet Mrs. Cecil's pride did not prevent her taking the liveliest interest -in her neighbors and their gossip. Having been born and passed all her -life at Bellevieu she knew everything which went on anywhere near it. -Ensconced upon her broad piazzas, behind the venerable oaks and -evergreens which shaded them, her bright old eyes watched the outer -world with the zest as of youth and utter loneliness. For alone she -dwelt in the many-roomed house, that had once been filled by her now -vanished "family," and sometimes found her solitude unbearable. Even -postman "Johnnie's" thrice-daily visits were a most welcome diversion to -her, and lest there should be no mail sufficient to bring him so often -to her door, she subscribed for all sorts of publications that she -seldom opened, in order to have something due at every delivery. - -This morning she was so anxious to see him again that she had her -breakfast served on the piazza, sitting down to wait for it as Ephraim -drove away toward the stable. It was brought to her by Dinah, grumbling -as usual: - -"Laws, Miss Betty, you-all shuah do try a body's tempah. It am puffickly -ridic'lous de way yo' ca'y on. Off drivin' from pillah to post 'fore -breakfast done served, an' you-all not so young an' spry like yo' used -to was. Yeah am dem scrambled aigs done gone hard an' tough, like a -nigger's skin, an' fust off Ah knows Ah'll have yo' laid up wid dat same -old misery in yo' chist. Why-all cayn't yo' eat yo' breakfast in de -house, propah, like a Christian, Miss Betty?" - -"Because I don't wish to, Dinah," retorted Mrs. Cecil, exactly as a -spoiled child might have done. - -"You-all know how old yo' be, Miss Betty?" demanded the ancient negress, -who had been body-servant to her mistress from the earliest youth of -both and who was still indulged beyond limit in her freedom of speech -and action. - -"Yes, Dinah. I am just one year and a day younger than you are. Go tell -cook to scramble me some more eggs; and if I prefer driving before to -after breakfast, that doesn't concern you, girl." - -"Beg pahdon, Miss Betty, but it do concern. Didn't Ah done go promise -yo' dyin' ma how't Ah't take ca' of you-all what'd nevah no sense to -take ca' yo'self? Huh! Yo' put dat shawl closeter 'roun' dem purty -shouldahs o' yo's, whilst I go shame dat cook for sendin' up such -no-'count aigs to my young miss!" And away limped Dinah, the "misery" -in her own limbs from her "roomaticals" being very severe. - -Meanwhile, in the little house around the corner, Mrs. John Chester was -superintending another breakfast which had the delightful zest of -novelty about it. No sooner had Dorothy C. been taken within doors than -she espied the table which John-postman had so hastily quitted upon -sound of her own laughter and, at once, began to kick and squirm in the -house mistress's arms with such vigor that the good lady came near to -dropping her, and exclaimed, in mingled fear and pride: - -"Why, you strong little thing! You're as hard to hold as--as a human -eel! There, there, don't! You've slipped down so far all your clothes -are over your head. Are you hungry? Well, well! You shall have all you -want to eat, for once!" - -Then she placed the child on the floor while she filled a tumbler with -milk and offered it; but this was met by disdain and such another swift -toss of the baby arm that the glass flew out of the holder's hand, and -its contents deluged the floor. - -Whereupon, Miss Dorothy C. threw herself backward with shrieks which -might mean anger or delight, but were equally confusing to the -order-loving Mrs. Chester, who cried, in reproof: - -"Oh! you naughty baby! Whoever you belong to should teach you better -than that! Now, just see. All my nice clean matting splashed with milk, -and milk-grease is hard to get out. Now you lie there till I get a pail -and cloth--if you hurt yourself I can't help it. John said you were a -joke, but you're no joke to me!" - -Having just finished her spring cleaning and having had, for economy's -sake, to do it all herself, the housewife's tidy soul was doubly tried, -and she had a momentary desire to put the baby and her wagon out upon -the street again, to take its chances with somebody else. However, when -she re-entered with her pail and cloths, she was instantly diverted by -the sight that met her. - -Dorothy C. had managed to pull her coat over her head and in some -unknown fashion twist the strings of her bonnet around her throat, in an -effort to remove the objectionable headgear. The result was disaster. -The more she pulled the tighter grew that band around her neck and her -face was already blue from choking when Mrs. Chester uncovered it and -rescued the child from strangling. - -As the lady afterward described the affair to her husband it appeared -that: - -"Seeing that, and her so nigh death, as it were, gave me the terriblest -turn! So that, all unknown, down sits I in that puddle of milk as -careless as the little one herself. And I cuddled her up that close, as -if I'd comforted lots of babies before, and me a green hand at the -business. To see her sweet little lip go quiver-quiver, and her big -brown eyes fill with tears--Bless you, John! I was crying myself in the -jerk of a lamb's tail! Then I got up, slipped off my wet skirt and got -her out of her outside things, and there pinned to her dress was this -note. Read it out again, please, it so sort of puzzles me." - -So the postman read all that they were to learn, for many and many a -day, concerning the baby which had come to their home; and this is a -copy of that ill-spelled, rudely scrawled document: - - "thee child Is wun Yere an too Munths old hur burthDay is aPrill - Furst. til firthur notis Thar will Bee a letur in The posOfis the - furst of Everi mounth with Ten doLurs. to Pay." Signed: - - "dorothy's Gardeen - hur X mark." - -Now John Chester had been a postman for several years and he had learned -to decipher all sorts of handwriting. Instantly, he recognized that this -scrawl was in a disguised hand, wholly different from that upon the card -pinned to the child's coat, and that the spelling was also incorrect -from a set purpose. Laying the two bits of writing together he carefully -studied them, and after a few moments' scrutiny declared: - -"The same person wrote both these papers. The first one in a natural, -cultivated hand, and a woman's. The second in a would-be-ignorant one, -to divert suspicion. But--the writer didn't think it out far enough; -else she never would have given the same odd shape to her r's and that -twist to the tails of her y's. It's somebody that knows us, too, -likely, though I can't for the life of me guess who. What shall we do -about her? Send her to an Orphanage, ourselves? Or turn her over to the -police to care for, Martha dear?" - -His face was so grave that, for a moment, she believed him to be in -earnest; then that sunny smile which was never long absent from his -features broke over them and in that she read the answer to her own -desire. To whomsoever Dorothy C. belonged, that heartless person had -passed the innocent baby on to them and they might safely keep her for -their own. - -Only, knowing the extreme tidiness of his energetic wife, John finally -cautioned: - -"Don't settle it too hastily, Martha. By the snap of her brown eyes and -the toss of her yellow head, I foresee there'll be a deal more spilled -milk before we've done with her!" - -"I don't care!" recklessly answered the housewife, "_she's mine_!" - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A POSTAL SUBSTITUTE - - -So long a time had passed that Dorothy C. had grown to be what father -John called "a baker's dozen of years old"; and upon another spring -morning, as fair as that when she first came to them, the girl was out -upon the marble steps, scrubbing away most vigorously. The task was -known locally as "doing her front," and if one wishes to be considerable -respectable, in Baltimore, one's "front" must be done every day. On -Saturdays the entire marble facing of the basement must also be -polished; but "pernickity" Mrs. Chester was known to her neighbors as -such a forehanded housekeeper that she had her Saturday's work done on -Friday, if this were possible. - -Now this was Friday and chanced to be a school holiday; so Dorothy had -been set to the week-end task, which she hated; and therefore she put -all the more energy into it, the sooner to have done with it, meanwhile -singing at the top of her voice. Then, when the postman came round the -corner of the block, she paused in her singing to stare at him for one -brief instant. The next she had pitched her voice a few notes higher -still, and it was her song that greeted her father's ears and set him -smiling in his old familiar fashion. Unfortunately, he had not been -smiling when she first perceived him and there had been a little catch -in her tones as she resumed her song. Each was trying to deceive the -other and each pretending that nothing of the sort was happening. - -"Heigho, my child! At it again, giving the steps a more tombstone -effect? Well, since it's the fashion--go ahead!" - -"I wish the man, or men, who first thought of putting scrubby-steps -before people's houses had them all to clean himself! Hateful old -thing!" - -With a comical gesture of despair she tossed the bit of sponge-stone, -with which she had been polishing, into the gutter and calmly seated -herself on the bottom step, "to get her breath." "To get yours, too, -father dear," she added, reaching to the postman's hand and gently -drawing him down beside her. Then, because her stock of patience was -always small and she could not wait for his news, she demanded: "Well! -Did you go? What did he say?" - -"Yes, darling, I went," he answered, in a low tone and casting an -anxious glance backward over his shoulder toward the house where Martha -might be near enough to hear. But having replied to one question he -ignored the rest. - -However, the girl was not to be put off by silence and her whole heart -was in her eyes as she leaned forward and peered into his. He still -tried to evade her, but she was so closely bound up with his life, she -understood him so quickly and naturally, that this was difficult; so -when she commanded in her tender, peremptory way: "Out with it, father -mine, body and bones!" he half-cried, half-groaned: - -"Worse than all the others! _I--am--doomed!_" - -Then he dropped his head on his hands and, regardless of the fact that -they were on the street, conspicuous to every passer-by, he gave way to -a mute despair. Now when a naturally light-hearted person breaks down -the collapse is complete, but Dorothy did not know this nor that -recovery is commonly very prompt. She was still staring in grieved -amazement at her father's bowed head when he again lifted it and flashed -a smile into her freshly astonished eyes. Then she laughed aloud, so -great was her relief, and cried: - -"There, father John! You've been fooling me again! I should have known -you were teasing and not believed you!" - -But he answered, though still smiling: - -"It's pretty hard to believe the fact, myself. Yet it's true, all the -same. Five different doctors have agreed upon it--which is wonderful, in -itself; and though I'd much rather not face this kind of a truth I -reckon I'll have to; as well as the next question: What is to become of -us?" - -Dorothy still retained her baby habit of wrinkling her nose when she was -perplexed, and she did so now in an absurd earnestness that amused her -father, even in the midst of his heartache. During her twelve years of -life in the little brick house in Brown Street, she had made a deal of -trouble for the generous couple which had given her a home there, but -she had brought them so much more of happiness that they now believed -they actually could not live without her. As the postman expressed it: - -"Her first act in this house was to spill her milk on its tidy floor. -She's been spilling milk all along the route from then till now, and -long may she spill! Martha'd be 'lost' if she didn't have all that care -of the troublesome child." - -This sunshiny morning, for the first time since that far-back day when -she arrived upon his doorstep, the good postman began to contemplate the -possibility of their parting; and many schemes for her future welfare -chased themselves through his troubled brain. If he could only spare -Martha and Dorothy the unhappiness that had fallen upon himself he would -ask no more of fortune. For a long time they sat there, pondering, till -Martha's voice recalled them to the present: - -"For goodness sake, Dorothy C.! What are you idling like that for? -Don't you know I've to go to market and you have the lunch to get? Then -there's that class picnic of yours, and what on earth will Miss Georgia -say if you don't go this time? Come, come! Get to work. I'm ashamed to -have the neighbors see my marble the way it is, so late in the day. You -there, too, John? Finished your beat already? Well, you come, too. I've -a mind to take up that dining-room carpet and put down the matting this -very day. I never was so late in my spring cleaning before, but every -time I say 'carpet' to you, you have an excuse to put me off. I confess -I don't understand you, who've always been so handy and kind with my -heavy jobs. But come, Dorothy, you needn't laze any longer. It beats -all, the lots of talk you and your father always must have whenever you -happen to get alongside. Come." - -There was a hasty exchange of glances between father and child; then she -sprang up, laughing, and as if it were part of her fun held out her hand -to the postman and pulled him to his feet. But it was not fun; it was -most painful, serious earnest. He could hardly have risen without her -aid, and she had noticed, what his wife had not, that, for a long time -now, he had never taken a seat without it was near a table, or some -other firm object by which he could support himself in rising. Now, as -he loosed her hand and climbed the steps, he kept his gaze fixed upon -those same troublesome feet and caught hold of the brass hand-rail, -which it was the housewife's pride and Dorothy's despair to keep -polished to brilliancy. - -Once within the house, Martha returned to the subject of the carpet -lifting and again he put her off; but this time her suspicion that all -was not right had been aroused and, laying her hand upon his shoulder, -she demanded in a tone sharpened by sudden anxiety: - -"John Chester, what is the matter with you?" - -He started, staggered by her touch, light as it was, and sank into a -chair; then knowing that the truth must out sometime, almost hurled it -at her--though smiling to think how little she would, at first, -comprehend: - -"Oh! nothing but '_ataxy locomotor_.'" - -"But--_what_? Don't tease. I'm in earnest, and a hurry." - -"So am I. In deadly earnest. I'm afflicted with '_ataxy locomotor_,' or -_locomotor ataxia_. It's come to stay. To change our whole lives." - -She hadn't the slightest idea what he meant, as he had surmised would be -the case, but something in his tone frightened her, though she answered -with a mirthful affectation: - -"Humph! I'm glad it's something so respectable!" - -Then she turned away, made ready to go to market, and soon left with her -basket on her arm. But she carried a now heavy heart within her. She had -seen that underneath her husband's jesting manner lay some tragic truth; -and in her preoccupied state, she bought recklessly of things she should -not and went home without those which were needful. So that once back -there, she had to dispatch Dorothy marketward again, while she herself -prepared the simple lunch that served till their evening dinner which -all enjoyed the more in the leisure of the day's work done. And now, in -the absence of the child they both so loved, husband and wife at length -discussed the trouble that had befallen. - -"Do you mean, John, that you are losing the use of your feet? What in -the world will a postman do without his sound feet and as sound a pair -of legs above them?" demanded the anxious housemistress, still unable to -accept the dreadful fact. - -"Nothing. I can't be a postman any longer. I must resign my position at -once. I've kept it longer than I should. I haven't done justice to -myself or the office in hanging on as I have. But----" - -"How long have you known about it?" - -"For several months I've noticed that my feet felt queer, but it's only -been a few weeks since they became so uncontrollable. I've not been able -to walk without keeping my eyes fixed on my toes. My legs have a wild -desire to fly out at right angles to my body and--Face it, little woman, -face it! You have a cripple on your hands for as long as he may live." - -"I haven't! You shan't be a--a cripple!" protested the impulsive -housewife, whose greatest griefs, heretofore, had been simple domestic -ones which shrank to nothingness before this real calamity. Then she -bowed her head on her arms and let the tears fall fast. This served to -relieve the tension of her nerves, and when she again lifted her head -her face was calm as sad, while she made him tell her all the details of -his trouble. He had been to the best specialists in the city. That very -day he had consulted the last, whom he had hoped might possibly help him -and whose fee had staggered him by its size. - -"How long has Dorothy known this?" asked Martha, with a tinge of -jealousy. - -"Almost from the beginning. It was quite natural that she should, for -she has so often run alongside me on my routes--going to and from -school. Besides, you know, she has the very sharpest eyes in the world. -Little escapes them. _Nothing_ escapes which concerns us whom she loves -so dearly. It was her notion that you shouldn't be told till it was -necessary, but it fell in with my own ideas. I--I think, though I never -heard of anybody else doing such a thing, that I'll have her go along -with me this afternoon, when I make my--my last rounds. I confess that -since that doctor's word, to-day, I've lost all my courage and my power -to walk half-decently. Decently? It hasn't been that for a long time, so -if you can spare her I'll have her go." - -"Of course I can spare her. She was to go to a class picnic, anyway, but -she'd rather go with you. Now, I'll to work; and, maybe, I can think a -way out of our trouble. I--I can't bear it, John! You, a cripple for -life! It can't be true--it shall not be true. But--if it has to -be,--well, you've worked for me all these years and it's a pretty -how-de-do if I can't work for you in turn. Now, lie down on the lounge -till it's time to go to the office again, and I'll tackle my kitchen -floor." - -For the first time he allowed her to help him across the room and to -place him comfortably on the lounge, and she suddenly remembered how -often, during the past few weeks, she had seen Dorothy do this very same -thing. She had laughed at it as a foolish fondness in the girl, but now -she offered the assistance with a bitter heartache. - -Dorothy came back and was overjoyed at the changed program for her -holiday afternoon. All along she had longed to go with the postman, to -help him, but had not been permitted. Now it was not only a relief that -her mother knew their secret and that they could talk it over together, -but she had formed a scheme by which she believed everything could go on -very much as before. - -So with a cane in one hand and his other resting on her shoulder, John -Chester made his last "delivery." Fortunately, the late mail of the day -was always small and the stops, therefore, infrequent. Most of these, -too, were at houses fronting directly on the street, so that the postman -could support himself against the end of the steps while Dorothy ran up -them and handed in the letters. - -It was different at Bellevieu, which chanced to be the end of that trip, -and the long path from the gateway to the mansion looked so formidable -to father John that he bade Dorothy go in alone with the pouch, emptied -now of all matter save that addressed to Mrs. Cecil. - -She sped away, leaving him leaning against the stone pillar of the -eagle-gate--so called because each column guarding the entrance was -topped by a massive bronze eagle--and waved a smiling farewell to him as -she disappeared beneath the trees bordering the driveway. - -As usual, Mrs. Cecil was on her piazza, wrapped in shawls and protected -by her hooded beach-chair from any possible wind that might blow. Old -though she was, her eyes were almost as brown and bright as Dorothy's -own, and they opened in surprise at the appearance of this novel -mail-carrier. - -"How-d'ye-do, Mrs. Cecil? Here's such a lot of letters and papers all -for you!" cried Dorothy, bowing, as she swept her hand through the pouch -which she had slung over her shoulder in the most official manner. -"Where shall I put them? I reckon there are too many for your lap." - -"What--who--Where's Johnnie?" demanded the lady, leaning forward and -first smiling, then frowning upon the girl. - -"Oh! he--he's at the gate," she answered, and was about to explain why -he had not come himself. Then a sudden remembrance of how closely he had -guarded his secret, even from her mother, closed her lips, leaving the -other to infer what she chose; and who promptly exclaimed: - -"Well, of all things! Do you know, does he know, that between you the -law is broken? Nobody, except a regularly sworn employee has a right to -touch the United States mail. How dare he send you? Huh! If I do my duty -as a good citizen I shall report him at once. This single breach of -faith may cost him his place, even though he has been in the service so -long." - -Mrs. Cecil's manner was harsher than her thought. For some time she had -observed that "Johnnie" looked ill and was far less active than of old -and she had intended that very afternoon to offer him a kindness. She -would send him and his wife away on a long vacation, wherever they chose -to go, till he could recover his health. She would pay all his expenses, -including a substitute's salary. Even more generous than all, she would -invite that girl, Dorothy C., whom they had so foolishly adopted, to -pass the interval of their absence at Bellevieu. She dreaded the -infliction of such a visit. She always had insisted that she hated -children--but--Well, it was to be hoped the postman would have sense -enough to speedily recuperate and take Dorothy off her hands. In any -case, she must be gotten rid of before it was time for Mrs. Cecil -herself to seek recreation at her summer home in the Hudson highlands. - -Now her mood suddenly changed. She had desired to befriend the postman -but, if he had taken it into his hands to befriend himself, it was quite -another matter. Let him! Why should she bother with anybody in such a -different state of life? Disappointment, at having her prospective -kindness returned upon her thus, made her sharply say: - -"It takes all kinds of fools to fill a world, and I'm sorry to find -Johnnie one of them. Don't stare! It's rude, with such big eyes as -yours. Drop the mail. Carriers shouldn't loiter--that's another crime. -Your father must come himself next time, else----" - -She seemed to leave some dire threat unspoken and again Dorothy was just -ready to tell this strange old lady, whom the postman had often called -"wise," the truth of the trouble that had come to him; when around the -corner of the house dashed Peter and Ponce, the two Great Dane dogs -which Mrs. Cecil kept as a menace to intruders. They had just been -loosed for their evening exercise and, wild with delight, were hurrying -to their mistress on her broad porch. - -At the sight of their onrush Dorothy caught up the pouch she had dropped -and started to retreat--too late! The animals were upon her, had knocked -her downward and backward, striking her head against the boards and, for -the moment, stunning her. But they had been more playful than vicious -and were promptly restrained by Mrs. Cecil's own hand upon their -collars; while the brief confusion of the girl's startled thoughts as -quickly cleared and she leaped to her feet, furiously angry and -indignant. - -"Oh! the horrid beasts! How dare you--anybody--keep such dangerous -creatures? I'll tell my father! He'll--he'll--" tears choked her further -speech and, still suspiciously eyeing the Danes, she was edging -cautiously down the steps when she felt herself stopped. - -Mrs. Cecil had loosed her hold of Peter to lay her hand upon the girl's -shoulder and she was saying, kindly but sternly: - -"They are not dangerous but playful. They attack nobody upon whom they -are not 'set.' It was an accident; and if any further apology is -necessary it is from a little girl to the old gentlewoman--for an -insolent suspicion. Now go. The dogs will not follow you." - -Dorothy did not see how she had done wrong, yet she felt like a culprit -dismissed as she lifted the pouch she had again dropped and started -gateward, still keeping a wary eye upon the beautiful dogs, now lying -beside their mistress in her beach-chair. - -As she neared the entrance she cried: - -"Here I am at last, father! I didn't mean to stay so long but that -dreadful old woman--Why, father, father! Where are you, dearest father?" - -He was nowhere to be seen. Nor anybody, either on the broad avenue or -the narrow street around the corner; and when she came breathlessly to -the dear home in which she hoped to find him it was empty. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -AT JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL - - -The door of No. 77 Brown Street stood wide open. Any of the burglars for -whom its mistress was always on the watch might have raided the tiny -parlor or made off with father John's Sunday overcoat, hanging upon the -hat-rack. Now also, while Dorothy hurried from room to room of the six -which were all the house contained, the wind of a rising thunderstorm -whistled through them and their open windows. Nor was there any reply to -her anxious calls: - -"Mother! Father! Anybody--somebody! Oh! where are you? What has -happened? Mother--dearest mother Martha! Won't you answer?" - -Certainly, this was a strange, a terrifying state of things. It was -amazing that so careful a housewife as Martha Chester should leave her -home in this unprotected condition, but it was quite natural for the -well-trained girl, even in the midst of her alarm, to close the sashes -against the rain that now came dashing in. - -Then she hurried below and out into the little yard, or garden, that was -her own special delight. Nobody there; but the pail and brush which Mrs. -Chester had been using to clean her back kitchen were still upon its -floor, the pail overturned and the water puddling its bricks, and the -sight made Dorothy's heart sink lower yet. - -Hurrying back to the street, a neighbor shielded her own head from the -downpour and called from a next-door window: - -"Something has happened to your father. A boy saw him picked up on the -street and a policeman called a Johns Hopkins ambulance, that took him -to the hospital. The boy knew him, told your mother, and she's hurried -there. Don't worry. Probably it's nothing serious." - -"Not serious! Oh! you don't know what you're saying! And to think I left -him only such a little while! If that hateful old woman--I must go to -him, too, I must, I must!" - -With that Dorothy was retreating indoors, but again the neighbor's voice -detained her: - -"'Tisn't likely you'd be admitted, even if you did go. You'd better stay -here and be ready for your poor mother when she comes. It's worse -trouble for her than for you." - -This might be so and the advice excellent, but the excited girl was in -no mood to profit by it. Once, in her early childhood, she had answered -to an inquiry: "I love my mother a _little_ the best, but I love my -father the _biggest_ the best!" and it was so still. Her father, her -cheery, indulgent, ever-tender father, would always be "the biggest the -best" of her earthly friends, and to be absent from him now, not knowing -what had befallen, was impossible. - -Glancing upward she observed that the neighbor had already withdrawn her -head from the dashing rain and was glad of it. It left her free to bang -the front door shut, to rush backward through the house and out at the -alley gate, which she also shut, snapping its lock behind her. But she -had caught up the key that opened it and, hanging this in a crevice of -the fence known for a safe hiding place to each of the family, she -started eastward for the great hospital. - -Though she had never entered the famous place, she had seen it once from -a street-car, and love guided her flying feet. But it was a long, long -way from Brown Street, and the present storm was one of those deluging -"gusts" familiar to the locality. Within the first five minutes the -gutters were filled, the muddy streams pushing outward toward the very -middle of the narrower alleys and quite covering her shoe-tops as she -splashed through. At one or two of the older thoroughfares she came to -the old-time "stepping stones," provided for just such emergencies, and -still left standing because of the city's pride in their antiquity. Over -these she leaped and was glad of them, but alas! the storm was having -its will of her. Her gingham frock was soaked and clung about her with a -hindering obstinacy that vexed her, and her wet shoes grew intolerable. -She did not remember that she had ever gone barefoot, as some of her -mates had done, but at last she sat down on a doorstep and took off her -shoes and stockings. After a moment's contemplation of their ruined -state, she threw them far aside and stepped upon the brick pavement, -just as a policeman in oilskins came up and laid his hand on her -shoulder, asking: - -"Little girl, what are you doing?" - -Dorothy sprang aside, frightened, and wriggled herself free. She forgot -that she had never been afraid of such officers; that, indeed, the one -upon her own home beat was the friend of all the youngsters on the -block, and that this one could give her the shortest direction to the -place she sought. She had long ago been taught that, if she were ever -lost or in any perplexity upon the street, she should call upon the -nearest policeman for aid and that it was his sworn duty to assist her. -She remembered only that it was a policeman who had summoned the -ambulance that had carried her father to that horrible place--a -hospital! Well, she, too, was bound for it, but only to snatch him -thence; and stretching out her small, drenched arms, she wondered if -they and mother Martha's together would have strength to lift and seize -him. - -Then on and on and on! Could one city be so big as this? Did ever brick -pavements hurt anybody else as they were hurting her? How many more -blocks must she traverse before she came in sight of that wide Broadway -with its pretty parks, on which the hospital stood? - -Everybody had retreated indoors. Nobody who could escape the fury of the -storm endured it, and she had left the officer who could have guided her -far behind. But, at last, a slackening of the downpour; and as if by -magic, people reappeared upon the street; though of the first few whom -she addressed none paused to listen. Yet, finally, a colored boy came -hurrying by, his basket of groceries upon his arm, and another empty -basket inverted over his head, by way of an umbrella. Him she clutched, -demanding with what little of breath she had left: - -"The--way--to--Johns Hopkins'--hospital, please!" - -"Hey? Horspittle? Wha' for?" - -"To find my father, who's been taken there. Oh! tell me the shortest -way, please--please--please! I am so tired! and I must be--I must be -quick--quick!" - -A look of pity and consternation stole into the negro's face, and he -drew in his breath with a sort of gasp as he answered: - -"Laws, honey, I reckon yo' _mus'_ be 'quick'! But de quickes' yo' is -ain' half quick enough. Know wha' dem horspittles is for? Jus' to cut up -folkses in. Fac'. Dey goes in alibe, dey comes out deaders. Yo' jus' -done cal'late yo' ain' got no paw no mo'. He's had his haid, or his -laig, or both his arms sawed off 'fore you-all more'n got started -a-chasin' of him. Po' li'l gal! Pity yo' got so wet in de rain jus' fo' -nottin'! Wheah yo' live at? Yo' bettah go right home an' tell yo' folks -take dem cloes off, 'fore you-all done get de pneumony." - -Dorothy was shivering, partly from nervousness, partly from the chill of -wet garments in the strong breeze. Though she had often heard the -postman comment upon the superstitions of the negroes, who formed so -large a part of the city's population, and knew that such ideas as this -lad expressed were but superstition only, she could not help being -impressed by his words. It was his honest belief that to enter a -hospital meant giving himself up to death; and in this ignorance he -reasoned that this forlorn child should be prevented from such -self-destruction by any means whatever. So when she still pleaded to be -directed, despite the fear he had raised in her, he whirled abruptly -about and pointed his hand in a direction wholly different from that she -had followed. Then he added with a most dramatic air: - -"Well, honey, if you-all done daid-set to go get yo' laigs sawed off, -travel jus' dat-a-way till yo' come to de place. Mebbe, if dey gibs yo' -dat stuff what makes yo' go asleep, you-all won't know nottin' erbout de -job." - -With this cheerful assurance the grocer's boy went his way, musically -whistling a popular tune, and Dorothy gazed after him in deep -perplexity. Fortunately, the rain had almost ceased and the brief halt -had restored her breath. Then came the reflection: - -"He wasn't telling the truth! I know that isn't the way at all, for -Johns Hopkins is on the east of the city, and that's toward the north. -I'll ask somebody else. There are plenty of people and wagons coming out -now; and--Oh! my!" - -As if in answer to her thought, there came the clang of an electric -bell, the hurrying delivery wagons drew out of the way, and past her, -over the clear space thus given, dashed another ambulance, hastening to -the relief of some poor sufferer within. On its side she saw the name of -the hospital she sought and with frantic speed dashed after this -trustworthy guide. - -Though she could by no means keep up with its speed she did keep it well -in sight, to the very entrance of the wide grounds themselves, and there -she lost it. But it didn't matter now. Her journey was almost done, and -the building loomed before her, behind whose walls was hidden her -beloved father John. - -From the gateway up the incline to the broad hospital steps she now -dragged her strangely reluctant feet. How, after all, could she enter -and learn some dreadful truth? But she must, she must! and with a final -burst of courage she rushed into the great entrance hall, which was so -silent, so beautiful after the storm outside; and there appeared before -her half-blinded eyes a figure as of one coming to meet her. - -All alone the figure stood, with nothing near to detract from its -majestic tenderness; so large and powerful looking; as if able to bear -all the burdens of a troubled world and still smile peace upon it. -Slowly, Dorothy crept now to the very feet of the statue and read that -this was: "Christ the Healer." - -Ah! then! No hospital could be a wicked, murderous place in which He -dwelt! and with a sigh of infinite relief, the exhausted child sank down -and laid her head upon Him. And then all seemed to fade from view. - -The next Dorothy knew she was lying on a white cot; a blue-gowned, -white-capped nurse was bending over her, and a pleasant voice was -saying: - -"Well, now that's good! You've had a splendid rest and must be quite -ready for your supper. Here's a fine bowl of broth, and some nice toast. -Shall I help you to sit up?" - -"Why--why--what's the matter with me? Where am I? Have----" began the -astonished child; then, suddenly remembering the colored boy's -assertions concerning this dreadful place, she instinctively thrust her -hands below the light bed covering and felt of her legs. They were still -both there! So were her arms; and, for a matter of fact, she was -delightfully rested and comfortable. Again lying back upon her pillow, -she smiled into the nurse's face and asked: - -"What am I doing here, in a bed? Is this the hospital?" - -"Yes, dear, it is; and you are in bed because you fainted in the -entrance hall, exhausted by exposure to the terrible storm. That is -all--we trust. Now, drink your broth and take another nap if you can." - -There was authority, as well as gentleness, in the tone and the patient -tried to obey; but this time there was a sharp pain at the back of her -head and her neck seemed strangely stiff. With a little exclamation of -distress, she put her hand on the painful spot, and the attendant -quickly asked: - -"Does that hurt you? Can you remember to have had a blow, or a fall, -lately?" - -"Why, yes. The big dogs knocked me down over at Bellevieu. It made me -blind for a few minutes, but I was too mad to stay blind! If it hadn't -been for that--Oh! please, where _is_ my father?" answered Dorothy. - -"Your father? I don't know. Have you lost, or missed, him, dear?" -returned the other, understanding now why such a healthy child should -have collapsed as she had, there at the feet of the beautiful statue. -Excitement, exposure, and the blow; these accounted for the condition in -which a house doctor had found her. Also, there was nothing to hinder -prompt recovery if the excitement could be allayed; and to this end the -nurse went on: - -"Tell me about him, little girl. Maybe I can help you, and don't worry -about being here. It is the very loveliest place in the world for ailing -people and nothing shall hurt you." - -So Dorothy told all she knew; of the long weeks past when the postman's -active feet had become more and more troublesome; of his sudden -disappearance; and of her now terrible fear that, since the poor feet -were of so little use, these hospital surgeons would promptly "saw" them -off and so be rid of them. - -Ripples of amusement chased themselves across the nurse's fair face as -she listened, yet beneath them lay a sympathetic seriousness which kept -down Dorothy's anger, half-roused by the fleeting smiles. - -"Well, my dear, neither he nor you could have come to a better place to -get help. The very wisest doctors in the country are here, I believe. -It's a disease with a long name, I fancy----" - -"Yes, yes! I know it! He told me. It's 'locomort'--'loco' something, -'at'--'at' something else. It's perfectly horrible just to hear it, and -what must it be to suffer it? But he never complains. My father John is -the bravest, dearest, best man in the world!" - -"Indeed? Then you should be the 'bravest, dearest, best' little daughter -as well. And we'll hope some help, some cure, can be found for him. Now, -will you go to sleep?" - -"No. If you please I will go home. But I don't see my clothes anywhere. -Funny they should take away a little girl's clothes just 'cause she -forgot and went to sleep in the wrong place!" - -"In the very right-est place in all the world, dear child! At the -Saviour's feet. Be sure nothing but goodness and kindness rule over the -hospital whose entrance He guards. Your clothes are drying in the -laundry. You will, doubtless, have them in the morning, and, so far as I -can judge now, there'll be nothing to prevent your going home then," -comforted the nurse, gently stroking Dorothy's brow and by her touch -soothing the pain in it. Oddly enough, though her head had ached -intensely, ever since that tumble on Mrs. Cecil's piazza, she had not -paid any attention to it while her anxious search continued. She was -fast drowsing off again, but roused for an instant to ask: - -"Have you seen my father? Did he hurt himself when he fell? Did he fall? -What did happen to him, anyway? Mayn't I see him just a minute, just one -little minute, 'fore this--this queer sleepiness gets me?" - -"My dear, you can ask as many questions as a Yankee! I'll tell you what -I think: Your father was probably taken to the emergency ward. I have -nothing to do with that. My place is here, in the children's ward; and -the first thing nurses--or children--learn in this pleasant room -is--obedience. I have my orders to obey and one of them is to prevent -talking after certain hours." - -"You--you a big, grown-up woman, have to 'obey'? How funny!" cried -Dorothy, thinking that the face beneath the little white cap was almost -the very sweetest she had ever seen. But to this the other merely -nodded, then went softly away. - -Dorothy lay in a little room off from the general ward, into which the -nurse had disappeared, and where there was the sound of low-toned -conversation, with an occasional fretful cry from some unseen baby. The -doctor, or interne as he was called, making his night rounds, seeing -that all his little charges were comfortable for their long rest, and -discussing with the blue-gowned assistant their needs and conditions. It -was he who had found Dorothy, unconscious on the tiles, and had ordered -her to bed; and it was of herself, had she known it, that he and the -nurse had just been talking. As a result of this he merely looked in at -the door of the little room, blinked a good-night from behind his -spectacles, which, like two balls of fire, reflected the electric light -above the door, and passed on. - -Dorothy intended to keep awake. For a long time her head had been full -of various schemes by which she should rise to the support of her -family, whenever that day foreseen by the postman should arrive when his -own support should fail. The day had come! Very suddenly, after all, as -even the best-prepared-for catastrophes have a way of doing; and now, -despite her earnest desires--Dorothy was going to sleep! She was -ashamed of herself. She must stay awake and think--think--think! She -simply _must_--she---- - -"Well, Dorothy C., good morning! A nice, dutiful daughter, you, to run -away and leave mother Martha alone all night!" - -That was the next she knew! That was Mrs. Chester's voice, speaking in -that familiar tone a reproof which was no reproof at all, but only a -loving satisfaction. And there she sat, the tidy little woman, in her -second-best hat and gown, smiling, smiling, as if there were no such -thing as trouble in the world! as if both husband and child were not, at -that very moment, lying in hospital beds! - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -DOROTHY GAINS IN WISDOM - - -"Why, mother! Why--why--_mother_!" cried the astonished Dorothy, sitting -up in her cot and smiling back into the happy face before her, yet -wondering at its happiness and her own heartlessness, in being glad -while her father was so ill. Then she realized that her neck was very -stiff and that when she tried to turn her head it moved with a painful -wrench, so sank back again, but still gazed at Mrs. Chester with a -grieved amazement. - -Seeing which, the lady bent over the cot and kissed the little girl, -then promptly explained: - -"You needn't be troubled, dearie, this is the very best thing that could -have happened to us. Your father tired of waiting for you, his head was -dizzy, and when he tried to walk home he fell. They hurried him -here--his uniform showed he was somebody important--and into that -emergency place. There the doctors examined him and they say, O Dorothy -C.! they say that there is a chance, a chance of his sometime _getting -well_! Think of that! John may get well! All those other outside -doctors, that he paid so much to, told him he never could. He'd just -grow worse and worse till--till he died. These don't. They say he has a -chance. He's to stay here and be built up on extra nourishments, for -awhile, and then he's to go into the country and live. Oh! I'm the -happiest woman in Baltimore, this day! And how is my little girl? Though -the nurse tells me there's nothing much the matter with you, and that -you'll be able to go home with me as soon as you have had your -breakfast. Such a late breakfast, Dorothy C., for a schoolgirl! Lucky -it's a Saturday!" - -Dorothy had never seen her mother like this. At home, when trifles went -wrong, she was apt to be a bit sharp-tongued and to make life -uncomfortable for father John and their daughter, but now, that this -real trouble had befallen, she was so gay! For, even if there was hope -that the postman might sometime recover, was he not still helpless in a -hospital? And had she forgotten that they had no money except his -salary? which would stop, of course, since he could no longer earn it. -It was certainly strange; and seeing the gravity steal into the childish -face which was so dear to her, mother Martha stooped above it and, now -herself wholly grave, explained: - -"My dear, don't think I'm not realizing everything. But, since I've been -once face to face with the possibility that death--_death_--was coming -to our loved one and now learn that he will still live, as long as I do, -maybe, I don't care about anything else. God never shuts one door but He -opens another; and we'll manage. Some way we'll manage, sweetheart, to -care for father John who has so long cared for us. Now, enough of talk. -Here comes a maid with your breakfast; and see. There are your clothes, -as fresh and clean as if I had laundered them myself. Maybe you should -dress yourself before you eat. Then you are to see your father for a few -minutes; and then we'll go home to pack up." - -It was long since Mrs. Chester had helped Dorothy to dress, except on -some rare holiday occasion, but she did so now, as if the girl were -still the baby she had found upon her doorstep. She, also, made such -play of the business that the other became even more gay than herself, -and chattered away of all that had befallen her, from her discovery of -the deserted home till now. - -Then came the nice breakfast, so heartily enjoyed that the nurse smiled, -knowing there could be nothing seriously amiss with so hungry a patient. -Afterward, a quiet walk through long corridors and spacious halls, from -which they caught glimpses of cots with patients in them, and passed by -wheeled chairs in which convalescents were enjoying a change. - -"It's so still! Does nobody ever speak out loud?" whispered Dorothy to -her mother, half-afraid of her own footfalls, though she now wore a pair -of felt slippers in place of the shoes she had yesterday discarded. -"It's the biggest, cleanest, quietest place I could even dream of!" - -But Mrs. Chester did not answer, save by a nod and a finger upon lip; -and so following the guide assigned them, they came to one of the open -bridges connecting two of the hospital buildings, and there was father -John, in a rolling chair, wearing a spotless dressing-gown, and holding -out both hands toward them, while his eyes fairly shone with delight. An -orderly, in a white uniform, was pushing the chair along the bridge, -which was so wide and looked down upon such beautiful grounds that it -reminded Dorothy of Bellevieu, and he stopped short at their approach. -He even stepped back a few paces, the better to leave them free for -their interview. - -But if there was any emotion to be displayed at that meeting, it was not -of a gloomy sort; and it was almost in his wife's very words that the -postman exclaimed: - -"To think I should get impatient, lose my head, tumble down, and--up -into this fine place! Where I've heard the best of news and live like a -lord! Who wouldn't give his legs a rest, for a spell, if he could have -such a chair as this to loll in while another man does his walking for -him! Well, how's the girl? Why, since when have you taken to wearing -slippers so much too big for you? I should think they'd bother you in -walking as much as my limpsy feet did me." - -Nothing escaped this cheery hospital patient even now, and before Mrs. -Chester could interpose, Dorothy had told her own tale and how she had -been a hospital patient herself. How now she had been "discharged" and -was ready to go home with all her legs and arms intact, a thing she had -feared might not be the case when she had ventured thither. - -"To think I should have been so silly as to believe that poor boy! Or -that, if I had followed his wrong directions, I shouldn't have gotten -here at all. Oh! isn't it beautiful! What makes some of the women dress -all in white and some in blue? When I grow up I believe I'll be a -hospital nurse myself." - -"Good idea. Excellent. Stick to it. See if you can make that notion last -as long as that other one about being a great artist; or, yes, the next -scheme was to write books--books that didn't 'preach' but kept folks -laughing all the way through." - -"Now, father! You needn't tease, and you haven't answered, about the -different dresses. Do you know, already?" protested Dorothy, kissing his -hand that rested on the arm of his chair. - -"Oh! yes, I know. The orderly explained, for I wasn't any wiser than you -before he did. The blue girls are 'probationers,' or under-graduates. -They have to study and take care of cranky sick folks for three whole -years before they can wear those white clothes. Think of that, little -Miss Impatience, before you decide on the business! Three years. That's -a long time to be shut up with aches and pains and groans. But a noble -life. One that needs patience; even more than the Peabody course!" - -They all laughed, even Dorothy who was being teased. After any new -experience, it was her propensity immediately to desire to continue the -delightful novelty. After a visit to a famous local picture gallery, she -had returned home fully intent upon becoming an artist who should be, -also, famous. To that end she had wasted any number of cheap pads and -pencils, and had littered her mother's tidy rooms with "sketches" -galore. When she had gone with a schoolmate to a Peabody recital, she -had been seized with the spirit of music and had almost ruined a -naturally sweet voice--as well as the hearers' nerves--by a -self-instructed course of training, which her teasing father had -sometimes likened to a cat concert on a roof. However, upon learning -that it required many years of steady practise and that her life must be -filled with music--music alone--if she ever hoped to graduate from the -Institute, she abandoned the idea and aspired to literature. - -So from one ambition to another, her almost too active mind veered; but -her wise guardians allowed it free scope, believing that, soon or late, -it would find the right direction and that for which nature had really -fitted her. The greatest disappointment the postman had felt, concerning -these various experiments, was about the music. He was almost -passionately fond of it, and rarely passed even a street organ without -a brief pause to listen. Except, of course, when he had been upon his -rounds. Then he forced himself past the alluring thing, even if he had -himself to whistle to keep it out of mind. This habit of his had gained -for him the nickname, along his beat, of the "whistling postman"; and, -had he known it, there were many regrets among those who had responded -to his whistle as promptly as to his ring of the bell that they should -hear the cheerful sound no more. - -The news of his collapse had quickly spread, for a new postman was -already on his route, and it was only at Bellevieu, where "Johnnie" -would be most missed, that it was not known. - -The eagle-gate was shut. Ephraim was not to drive his fat horses through -it that morning, nor for many more to come. During the night Mrs. Cecil -had been taken ill with one of her periodical bronchial attacks, of -which she made so light, but her physician and old Dinah so much. To -them her life seemed invaluable; for they, better than anybody else, -knew of her wide-spread yet half-hidden charities, and they would keep -her safely in her room, as long as this were possible. - -After a time, the invalid would take matters into her own hands and -return to her beloved piazza; for she was the only one not frightened by -her own condition, and was wont to declare: - -"I shall live just as long, and have just as many aches, as the dear -Lord decrees. When He's through with me here He'll let me know, and all -your fussing, Dinah, won't avail. My father was ninety, my mother -ninety-seven when they died. We're tough old Maryland stock, not easily -killed." - -Indeed, frail though Mrs. Cecil looked, it was the fragility of extreme -slenderness rather than health; and it was another pride of Dinah's that -her Miss Betty had still almost the figure of a girl. Occasionally, even -yet, the lady would sit to read with a board strapped across her -shoulders, as she had been used when in her teens, to keep them erect; -and it was her boast that she had kept her "fine shape" simply because -never, in all her life, had she suffered whalebone or corset to -interfere with nature. - -This Saturday morning, therefore, a colored boy waited beneath the -eagles, to receive his mistress's mail and to prevent the ringing of the -gate-bell, which might disturb her. In passing him, on her way home, -Dorothy noticed the unusual circumstance and thought how much the -gossip-loving dame would miss her ever-welcome "Johnnie." But she was -now most fully engrossed by her own affairs and did not stop to -enlighten him. - -After leaving the hospital, Mrs. Chester and she had gone downtown to -replace the shoes and stockings so recklessly discarded the day before; -Dorothy hobbling along in the felt slippers and declaring that she would -suffer less if she were barefooted. But her mother had answered: - -"No, indeed! I'd be ashamed to be seen with such a big girl as you in -that condition. Besides, I must get some new things for John. So, while -I select the nightshirts and wrapper he needs, you go into the shoe -department and buy for yourself." - -"Oh, mother! May I? I never bought any of my clothes alone. How nice -and grown-up I feel! May I get just what I like?" - -"Yes. Only, at the outside, you must not pay more than two dollars for -the shoes, nor above a quarter for the stockings. I could scold you for -spoiling your old ones, if I were not too thankful about your father to -scold anybody." - -So they parted by the elevator in the great store, and with even more -than her native enthusiasm Dorothy plunged into these new delights of -shopping. The clerk first displayed a substantial line of black shoes, -as seemed most suitable to a young girl in the plainest of gingham -frocks; but the small customer would have none of these. Said she: - -"No, I don't like that kind. Please show me the very prettiest ties you -have for two dollars a pair," and she nodded her head suggestively -toward a glass case wherein were displayed dainty slippers of varying -hues. There were also white ones among them, and Dorothy remembered that -her chum, Mabel Bruce, had appeared at Sunday school the week before, -wearing such, and had looked "too lovely for words." But then, of -course, Mabel's frock and hat were also white and her father was the -plumber. When Dorothy had narrated the circumstance to father John, and -had sighed that she was "just suffering for white shoes," he had laughed -and declared that: - -"Plumbers were the only men rich enough to keep their daughters shod -that way!" - -But she saw now that he was mistaken. These beauties which the rather -supercilious clerk was showing her didn't cost a cent more than the -limit she had been allowed. Indeed, they were even less. They were -marked a "special sale," only one dollar ninety-seven cents. Why, she -was saving three whole cents by taking them, as well as pleasing -herself. - -The transaction was swiftly closed. White stockings were added to the -purchase, on which, also, the shopper saved another two cents, so that -she felt almost a millionaire as she stepped out of the shoe department -and around to the elevator door, where she was to meet her mother. The -lady promptly arrived but had not finished her own errands; nor, in the -crowd, could she see her daughter's feet and the manner of their -clothing. She simply held out her front-door key to the girl and bade -her hurry home, to put the little house in order for the coming Sabbath. - -Thus Dorothy's fear that her mother might disapprove her choice was -allayed for the time being. She would not be sent back to that clerk, -who had jested about the felt slippers in a manner the young shopper -felt was quite ill-bred, to ask him to exchange the white shoes for -black ones. So she stepped briskly forth, keeping her own gaze fixed -admiringly upon the snowy tips which peeped out from beneath her short -skirts, and for a time all went well. She managed to avoid collision -with the bargain-morning shoppers all about her and she wholly failed to -see the amused faces of those who watched her. - -On the whole, Dorothy C. was as sensible a girl as she was a bright one; -but there's nobody perfect, and she was rather unduly vain of her -shapely hands and feet. They were exceedingly small and well-formed, and -though the hands had not been spared in doing the rough tasks of life, -which fall to the lot of humble bread-earners, her father John had -insisted that his child's feet should be well cared for. He, more than -Martha, had seen in their adopted daughter traces of more aristocratic -origin than their own; and he had never forgotten the possibility that -sometime she might be reclaimed. - -Usually Dorothy walked home from any downtown trip, to market or -otherwise, and set out briskly to do so now. But, all at once, a -horrible pain started in the toes of her right foot! She shook the toes, -angrily, as if they were to blame for the condition of things; and thus -resting all her weight upon her left foot that, likewise, mutinied and -sent a thrill of torture through its entire length. Did white shoes -always act that way? - -She stopped short and addressed the misbehaving members in her sternest -tones: - -"What's the matter with you to make you hurt so? Never before has a new -shoe done it; I've just put them on and walked out of the store as -comfortably as if they were old ones. Hmm! I guess it's all imagination. -They aren't quite, not _quite_ so big as my old ones were, but they fit -ex-quis-ite-ly! Ouch!" - -"Excruciatingly" would have been the better word, as Dorothy presently -realized; but, also, came the happy thought that she had "saved" enough -money on her purchases to pay her car-fare home. She knew that mother -Martha would consider her extravagant to ride when she had no market -basket to carry but--Whew! Ride she must! That pain, it began to make -her feel positively ill! Also, it rendered her entrance of the car a -difficult matter; so that, instead of the light spring up the step she -was accustomed to give, she tottered like an old woman and was most -grateful for the conductor's help as he pulled her in. She sank into the -corner seat with a look of agony on her pretty face and her aching toes -thrust straight out before her, in a vain seeking for relief; nor did it -add to her composure to see the glances of others in the car follow hers -to the projecting feet while a smile touched more faces than one. - -Poor Dorothy never forgot her first purchase, "all alone"; and her -vanity received a pretty severe lesson that day. So severe that as she -finally limped to the steps of No. 77 she sat down on the bottom one, -unable to ascend them till she had removed her shoes. The misery which -followed this act was, at first, so overpowering that she closed her -eyes, the better to endure it; and when she opened them again there -stood a man before her, looking at her so sharply that she was -frightened; and who, when she would have risen, stopped her by a gesture -and a smile that were even more alarming than his stare. - -"Well, what is it?" demanded the little girl, suddenly realizing that in -this broad daylight, upon an open street, nobody would dare to hurt her. - -The stranger's unlovely smile deepened into a gruff laughter, as he -answered: - -"Humph! You don't appear to know me. But I know you. I know you better -than the folks who've brought you up. I can help you to a great fortune -if you'll let me. Hey?" - -"You--can? Oh! how!" cried Dorothy, springing up, and in her amazement -at this statement forgetting her aching feet. "A fortune!" And that was -the very thing that father John now needed. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -DOROTHY ENTERTAINS - - -Dorothy's punishment for her unwise purchase was to wear the white shoes -continually. This was only possible by slitting their tops in various -places, which not only spoiled their beauty but was a constant "lecture" -to their wearer; who remarked: - -"One thing, mother Martha, I've learned by 'shopping'--the vanity of -vanity! I've always longed for pretty things, but--call _them_ pretty? -Doesn't matter though, does it? if we're really going to move and -everything to be so changed. When we live in the country may I have all -the flowers I want?" - -"Yes," answered the matron, absently. Although this was Sunday, a day on -which she faithfully tried to keep her mind free from weekday cares, she -could not banish them now. Instead of going to church she was to visit -the hospital and spend the morning with her husband. Dorothy was to -attend Sunday school, as usual, wearing the slitted shoes, for the -simple reason that she now possessed no others. Afterward, she might -invite Mabel Bruce to stay with her, and they were to keep house till -its mistress's return. - -"I hope you'll have a very happy day, dear. After I leave John, though I -shall stay with him as long as I am allowed, I must go to see Aunt -Chloe. There'll be no time for visits during the week, and besides, -she'll want to hear about everything at first hand. Poor old creature! -It'll be hard for her to part with her 'boy' and I mustn't neglect her. -You needn't cook any dinner, for there's a good, cold lunch. I made a -nice custard pie for you, last night, after you were asleep. There's -plenty of bread and butter, an extra bottle of milk, and you may cut a -few thin slices of the boiled ham. Be sure to do it carefully, for we -will have to live upon it for as long as possible. If you tell Mrs. -Bruce that the invitation is from me I think she'll let Mabel come. -Don't leave the house without locking up tight, and after you come back -from Sunday school don't leave it at all. Have you learned your lesson? -Already? My! but you are quick at your books! Good-bye. I hope you'll -have a happy day, and you may expect me sometime in the afternoon." - -"But, mother, wait! There's a cluster of my fairy-roses out in bloom and -I want to send them to father. A deep red sort that hasn't blossomed -before and that we've been watching so long. I'll fill it with kisses, -tell him, and almost want to get half-sick again, myself, to be back in -hospital with him. Aren't you going to take him any of that nice ham? -You know he loves it so." - -"No, dear. I was specially told not to bring food. The nurses will give -him all he needs and that's better for him than anything we outside -folks could fix. Afterwards--Well, let us hope we shall still have -decent stuff to eat! Now I'm off. Good-bye. Be careful and don't get -into any sort of foolishness. Good-bye." - -Dorothy gazed after her mother as she disappeared and felt a strange -desire to call her back, or beg to go with her. The house was so empty -and desolate without the cheerful presence of the postman. Their Sunday -mornings had used to be so happy. Then he was at liberty to walk with -her in the park near-by, if it were cold weather; or if the lovely -season for gardening, as now they repaired to the little back yard which -their united labors had made to "blossom like the rose." - -John Chester had bought No. 77 Brown Street. It was not yet much more -than half paid for, but he considered it his. Martha was the most -prudent of housekeepers and could make a little money go a long way; so -that, even though his salary was small, they managed each month to lay -aside a few dollars toward reducing the mortgage which still remained on -the property. But he had not waited to be wholly out of debt to begin -his improvements, and the first of these had been to turn the bare -ground behind the house into a charming garden. Not an inch of the -space, save that required for paths and a tiny shed for ash and garbage -cans, was left untilled; and as Baltimore markets afford most beautiful -plants at low rates he had gathered a fine collection. Better than -that, there were stables at the rear, instead of the negro-alleys which -intersect so many of the city blocks, and from these he not only -obtained extra soil but stirred his stable friends to emulate his -industry. Vines and ivies had been planted on the stable walls as well -as on his own back fence, so that, instead of looking out upon ugly -brick and whitewash, the neighbors felt that they possessed a sort of -private park behind their dwellings, and all considered father John a -public benefactor and rejoiced in the results of his efforts. Many of -them, too, were stirred--like the stable-men--to attempt some gardening -on their own account, and this was not only good for them but made the -one-hundred-block of Brown Street quite famous in the town. - -Dorothy had visited the garden that morning before breakfast and had -found the new roses which were the latest addition to their stock. She -had also shed a few tears over them, realizing that he who had planted -them would watch them no more. - -"Dear little 'fairies'! seems if you just blossom for nothing, now!" -she had said to them, then had resolved that they should go to him since -he could not come to them; and, having cut them, she fled the garden, -missing him more there than anywhere. - -Once Dorothy C. would have been ashamed to appear among her classmates, -in their Sunday attire, wearing her slitted shoes; but to-day her mind -was full of other, far more important, matters. So she bore their -raillery with good nature, laughed by way of answer, and was so -impatient to be at home, where she could discuss all with her chum, that -she could hardly wait to obtain Mrs. Bruce's consent to the visit. So, -as soon as the two girls were cozily settled in the little parlor, she -exclaimed: - -"Mabel Bruce! I've something perfectly wonderful to tell you. Do you -know--_I'm an_--_heiress_!" - -"No. I don't know, nor you either," returned Mabel, coolly; rocking her -plump body to and fro in the postman's own chair, and complacently -smoothing her ruffles. Then she leaned forward, glanced from her own -feet to Dorothy's, and carefully dusted her white shoes with her -handkerchief. - -The little hostess laughed, but remarked, a trifle tartly: - -"That's what I call nasty-nice. Next time you'll be wiping your nose on -that same thing and I'd rather have the dust on my shoes than in my -nostrils. But no matter. I've so many things to tell you I don't know -where to begin!" - -"Don't you? Well, then, you're such a terrible talker when you get -started, s'pose we have our dinner first. I'm terrible hungry." - -"Hungry, Mabel Bruce? Already? Didn't you have your breakfast?" - -"Course, I did. But a girl can't eat once and make it last all day, can -she?" - -"I reckon _you_ can't. You're the greatest eater I ever did see. All the -girls say so. That's why you're always put on the refreshment committee -at our picnics. Even Miss Georgia says: 'If you want to be sure of -enough provision make Mabel chairman.' A chairman is the boss of any -particular thing, if you don't know:" instructed this extremely frank -hostess. - -"Oh! course I know. You just said I was one and folks most gen'ally know -what they are themselves, I guess," answered the plumber's daughter, -without resentment. What anybody _said_ didn't matter to phlegmatic -Mabel so long as their _doing_ agreed with her desires. She was fond of -Dorothy C. Oh! yes, she was sincerely fond as well as proud! The -Chesters were bringing up their daughter very nicely, her mother -declared, and that Dorothy had the prettiest manners of all the girls -who came to their house. Mabel had her own opinion of those manners, of -which she had just had a specimen, but she never contradicted her mother -and not often her playmates. As a rule she was too lazy, and was only -moved to dispute a statement when it was really beyond belief--like that -of her chum's having suddenly become an "heiress." Heiresses were rich. -Mabel wasn't very wise but she knew that, and witness Dorothy's ragged -shoes. Heiress? Huh! It was more sensible to return to the subject of -dinner, for the visitor had sampled Mrs. Chester's cooking before now -and knew it to be excellent. So she rose and started for the kitchen, -and with an exclamation of regret the hostess followed the guest, though -cautioning her: - -"If we eat our lunch now, at a little after eleven o'clock, you mustn't -expect another dinner at one. My mother didn't say I could have two -meals, so you better eat dreadful slow and make it last." - -"All right. I will. Maybe, too, I'll go home by our own dinner time. -Sundays, that isn't till after two o'clock, 'cause my mother goes to -church and has to cook it afterward. Sunday is the only day my father is -home to dinner, so he wants a big one and mother gets it for him. Your -father's home Sundays, too, isn't he?" - -"He--he was--He used----" began Dorothy, then with a sudden burst of -tears turned away and hid her face in her hands. - -Warm-hearted, if always-hungry, Mabel instantly threw her arms about her -friend's waist and tried to comfort her with loving kisses and the -assurance: - -"He will be again, girlie. Don't you worry. Folks go to hospitals all -the time and come back out of them. My father, he had the typhoid fever, -last year, and he went. Don't you remember? and how nice all the -neighbors were to me and ma. And now he's as strong--as strong! So'll -your father be, too, and go whistling round the block just like he used -to did. Don't cry, Dorothy C. It makes your eyes all funny and--and -besides, if you don't stop I'll be crying myself, in a minute, and I -don't want to. _I_ look perfectly horrid when I cry, I get so red and -puffy, and I shouldn't like to cry on this dress. It's just been done up -and ma says I've got to keep it clean enough to wear four Sundays, it's -such a job to iron all the ruffles." - -Despite her loneliness Dorothy laughed. There was a deal of -consideration for herself in Mabel's remarks, yet her sympathy was -sincere as her affection long-proved. She had been the first playmate of -the little foundling, and it was her belief--gathered from that of her -parents--that the Chesters' adopted child would turn out to be of good -birth, if ever the truth were known. In any case, she was the prettiest -and cleverest girl in school, and Mabel was proud to be the one selected -this morning as a companion. - -"O you funny Mabel!" cried Dorothy. "You're sorry for both of us, aren't -you! Well, come along. We started to get lunch and to talk. You go to -the ice-box and get the things, while I set the table. Wait! Put on my -tie-before, to keep your dress clean. Good thing your sleeves are short. -Arms'll wash easier than ruffles. Hurry up--you to eat and I to talk." - -Very shortly they were engaged in these congenial matters, though Mabel -almost forgot that she was hungry in her astonishment at Dorothy's -opening statement: - -"We're going to move. I guess this is about the last time you'll ever -come to this house to dinner." - -"Going--to--move!" ejaculated Mabel, with her mouth so full of pie that -she could hardly speak. - -"Yes. We've got to pack up this very week." - -"Where to? Who's going to live here? Who told you? Why?" demanded Mabel, -hastening to get in as many questions as she could, during the interval -of arranging a sandwich for herself. - -"I don't--know! Why I never thought to ask, but I know it's true because -it was my mother told me. 'Into the country,' she said, 'cause the -hospital folks say that's the only thing for my father to do if he wants -to get well. And of course he wants. We all want, more than anything -else in the world. So, that's why, and that's the first piece of news. -And say, Mabel, maybe your folks'll let you come and see me sometimes. -That is, if my folks ask you," she added, with cautious afterthought. - -"Maybe! Wouldn't that be just lovely? We'd go driving in a little -T-cart, all by ourselves, with a dear little pony to haul us, and--and -peaches and plums and strawberries and blackberries--Um!" exclaimed the -prospective guest, compressing her lips as if she were already tasting -these delights. - -"I--don't--know. Perhaps, we would. If we had the pony, and the cart, -and were let. That's a lot of 'ifs' to settle first." - -"Why, of course. I was in the country once, two whole weeks. It was to a -big house where my father was putting the plumbing in order for the -family and the family had gone away while he was doing it. It was there -he got the typhoid fever, and they went away because they didn't want to -get it. They left some 'coons' to do the cooking and told my father he -could bring me and ma, and we could have a vacation in a cottage on the -place. So we did; and the man, the colored one, that took care of the -horses used to hitch the pony up to the T-cart and me and ma rode out -every day. Course, if you live in the country you'll have to have a -pony. How else'd you go around? There wasn't any street cars to that -country, 'at ever I saw, and folks can't walk all the roads there are. -Pooh! You see, I've been and you haven't, and that's the difference." - -"Yes, you've been and I haven't, but, Mabel Bruce, I know more about -things that grow than you do, for I know--even in Lexington Market--you -don't get strawberries and peaches at the same time. So you needn't -expect all those good things when you come. You'll have to put up with -part at a time, with whatever happens to be in our garden. If we have a -garden! And as for ponies, our house in the country won't be a big one, -like yours was, that much I know, too. We haven't any money, hardly. My -mother Martha was crying about that yesterday, though she didn't know I -saw her till I asked and after I'd spent all those two dollars for these -silly shoes. Mabel Bruce, don't you ever go buy shoes too small for you. -Umm. I tell you if you do your feet'll hurt you worse than my head did -after I banged it--the dog banged it--on Mrs. Cecil's stoop. Isn't she a -funny old woman? My father thinks she is the wisest one he knows, but -I--I--Well, it doesn't count what I think. Only if I was as rich as she, -and I expect I will be sometime, I wouldn't keep Great Dane dogs to jump -on little girls like she does. Have some more ham, Mabel?" - -The mere thought of her prospective wealth had increased Dorothy's -hospitality--at her mother's expense: but to her surprise her guest -replied: - -"No--I guess--I guess I can't. Not 'less you've got some mustard mixed -somewhere, to eat on it. I've et----" - -"Eaten," corrected her classmate, who was considered an expert in -grammar. - -"Et-ten about all I can hold without--without mustard, to sort of season -it. Ma always has mustard to put on her ham; and yours is--is getting -sort of--bitter," replied Mabel, leaning back in her chair. She always -ate rapidly--"stuffed," as her father reproved her--and to-day she had -outdone herself. The food was delicious. Mrs. Chester was too thrifty a -housewife ever to "spoil" anything, no matter how inexpensive a dish, -and in her judgment, boiled ham was a luxury, to be partaken of -sparingly and with due appreciation, never "gobbled." - -Therefore it was with positive consternation that Dorothy's thoughts -came back to practical things and to the joint which she had placed -before her guest, allowing her to carve. Though she had herself barely -tasted the morsel placed upon her own plate, being too much engaged in -talking, she now perceived that Mabel had done more than justice to her -lunch. So it was with a cry of real distress that she snatched the dish -from the table, exclaiming: - -"Well, I guess you don't need mustard to sharpen your appetite, you -greedy thing! Beg pardon. That was a nasty thing to say to--to company, -and I'm sorry I said it. But mother told me we had to live on that ham -most the week, she'd be so much too busy to cook and--Why, Mabel Bruce! -You've eaten almost half that pie, too! Hmm. I guess you can stay -contented the rest the day. You won't need to go home to your -two-o'clock dinner!" - -No offense was intended or received. These two small maids had been -accustomed, from infancy, to utter frankness with one another, and with -perfect amiability the guest replied: - -"Maybe I do eat a little too much. Ma thinks I do, sometimes, and pa -says that's the reason I'm so fat. I'd rather not be fat. I'd like to be -as slim as you are, Dorothy C. Ma says you've got such a pretty figure -'t you look nice in anything. Well, I guess since I've got to keep my -dress so clean for so long, I won't offer to help do the dishes. I'll go -sit in the parlor and take care of the front of the house." - -With that Miss Mabel took off her friend's "tie-before," a big gingham -apron which covered all her skirts, and hung it on its nail, then -retreated to the postman's rocker, at perfect peace with herself and all -the world. - -Not so Dorothy C. She looked after her chum with a contempt that was as -new as it was uncomfortable. She had promised herself a real treat in -discussing her own affairs--for the first time in her life become -important ones--with this reliable confidante, but now she was bitterly -disappointed. "Mabel is selfish, but Mabel is truthful. She never speaks -ill of another and she always keeps her word:" had been Miss Georgia's -decision once, when some class matters had gone wrong and the plumber's -daughter had been accused of "tattling." To this Dorothy now added: "And -Mabel is a regular, gluttonous simpleton. She isn't really interested -in anybody except--Mabel!" - -With this uncharitable sentiment, the little hostess proceeded to clear -away; and did this with so much vim that she dropped a tumbler and broke -it. This was sufficient to calm her anger and turn what was left of it -against her own carelessness, anticipating her mother's reproof. She -finished her task very quietly, now, and then repaired to the parlor, -where she found Mabel had fallen asleep in the rocker. - -Also, at that moment, there sauntered past the windows a man who peered -through them with considerable curiosity: and who at sight of Dorothy C. -stopped sauntering, lifted his eyebrows questioningly, and, turning -around, walked back to the steps. - -Dorothy's heart almost choked her, it so suddenly began to beat -violently, while a chill ran through her whole body, and made her recall -a saying of old Aunt Chloe that "when a body turns all goose-flesh it's -a sign somebody is walking over her, or his, grave." Father John laughed -at this superstition as he did at many another of the dear old aunt who -had "raised" him, an orphan; and had he been present Dorothy would have -laughed with him. But she didn't laugh now; though she was presently -calm enough to review the situation and to decide that none could be -better. Also, that she must, at once, get rid of Mabel Bruce. For this -was the same man who had appeared before her, on the previous morning, -and had, at first startled, then profoundly interested her. He had -imposed secrecy upon her; at least secrecy as far as her parents were -concerned, though she had meant to tell Mabel all that he had told her. -She didn't like secrets. She hated them! Yet if they were to benefit -those whom she loved better than herself she was willing to keep -them--for a time. - -In another moment she had roused her visitor by a strong shake of the -pretty, plump shoulder under the lace-trimmed frock, and had said, -rather loudly: - -"Mabel, if you're going home to dinner, you'd better go now. -Because--because I have some business to attend to, and I shall have to -see the gentleman alone." - -She felt that though her words might be rude--she wouldn't like to be -sent home, herself, from a visit--yet her manner was beautifully -grown-up and dignified; and, as Mabel obediently vanished, "Miss -Chester" bade the gentleman waiting outside to enter. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -DOROTHY GOES UPON AN ERRAND - - -When Mrs. Chester returned she was tired and found Dorothy so. The girl -took her mother's hat and put it away in its box, brought her a fan, and -asked if she should get her something to eat. - -"No, dear, thank you. I had dinner, all I wanted, with Aunt Chloe -Chester. She takes this trouble of ours very hard, and declares that she -will not live to see 'her boy' come back to Baltimore. She wishes she -could die first, right away, so 'that he could go to my funeral while -he's handy to it.'" - -"Horrors! I--I suppose I love Aunt Chloe, because she was so good to -father John, but I hope I'll never grow into such a terrible old woman. -Seems if she had always to be dragged up out of the gloom into the -sunshine. It's always the worst things are going to happen--with her. I -don't see how father ever grew up to be such a sunshiny man, always -under her hand, so. You must have had a dreary visit." - -"It wasn't a restful one; but the reason for John's always looking on -the bright side may be just that she always did the opposite. But you -look sober, too, dearie. Wasn't Mabel's visit a pleasant one? How long -has she been gone?" - -"Oh! a good while. She went home to dinner. I--she ate 'most all the -ham. All the best big slices anyway, and full half the pie. Then she -wanted mustard, so she could eat more. She said that sometimes when she -couldn't eat a big lot and they had extra good things, she'd get up and -walk around the table, so she could. She didn't say that, to-day, -though, but did once at a school picnic. And I--I broke a tumbler. One -of the best." - -"Why, Dorothy C.! How could you?" returned Mrs. Chester, but not at all -as if she really heard or were in the least vexed. Then, as if forcing -herself to an interest in small, home matters, she asked: "Were you -very lonely after she went?" - -"No, indeed. I wasn't alone--I mean, I wasn't lonely. Did father like -his roses?" - -"Yes, darling, and he fully appreciated your cutting them. He said he -knew how you disliked it, for you'd never got over your baby notion that -it hurt the plants, just as a cut finger hurt you. He said, too, that I -was to tell you he'd found all the kisses, every one, but if you wanted -any paid back you'd have to come to Johns Hopkins after them. It was a -comfort to find him so happy and sure of getting well. I wish I were -half as sure!" - -Dorothy opened her lips to say something which it seemed impossible to -keep from this beloved little mother opposite, who already seemed so -changed and worn; who had lost every bit of that gayety which had been -so astonishing, yesterday. But not yet--not yet. Besides, she was fully -as truthful as Mabel Bruce and had given her pledge to silence. Then she -remembered that she did not know to what part of the "country" they were -destined, and asked: - -"Mother Martha, can't you tell me something of your plans? Where we are -going and when? And what is to become of this dear home?" - -There was so much earnestness and sympathy in the girl's tones that Mrs. -Chester forgot how young she was, and now talked with her as she might -have done with a much older person; almost, indeed, as she would have -done with the postman himself. - -"We are going to a far-away state; to a place I haven't seen since I was -a child, myself--the Hudson River highlands." - -"Why--the Hudson River is in New York and we're in Maryland!" cried -Dorothy. "Why go so far, away from everybody we know and care for? -Wouldn't it do just to go to some little spot right near Baltimore, -where we could come into the city on the cars, at any time? Isn't that -what the Johns Hopkins doctors call the 'country'?" - -"Oh! if we only might! But, my dear, there's an old saying about -'beggars' being 'choosers.' We aren't beggars, of course, but we are too -poor to be 'choosers.' Fortunately, or unfortunately, as time will -prove, I have a little place in the country where I told you. It -belonged to an old bachelor uncle who died long ago. It has stood empty -for many years and may be badly out of order. He willed it to me, as my -portion of his estate: and though some of his other heirs have once or -twice offered to buy it from me, the price they offered was so small -that John had me refuse it. He's said in jest: 'No telling how glad we -may some time be of that rocky hill-farm, Martha. Better hold on to it, -as long as we can pay the taxes and keep it.' The taxes were not heavy, -and we've paid them. Now, it is the only place out of the city where we -have a right to go; and in one sense there couldn't be a better. It's -one of the healthiest spots on earth, I suppose: and there'll be plenty -of room for John to live in 'the open,' as he's advised. So we must go;" -and with a heavy sigh mother Martha ceased speaking and leaned her head -back, closing her eyes as if she were about to sleep. - -But underneath all her calmness of tone had lain a profound sadness, and -none but the absent John could have told how bitter to her was the -coming severance from all she had ever held dear. Though born in New -York State, she had come south with her parents when she was too small -to remember any other home than their humble one in this same city. Here -she had met and married John. Here they had together earned their cozy -home. Here were all her church associations, and here the few whom she -called friends. - -She had always leaned upon her husband's greater wisdom and strength in -all the affairs of their quiet lives, and now that she needed them most -she was deprived of them. Alone, she must pack up, or sell, their -household goods, and not an article of them but was dear because of some -sacrifice involved in its purchase. Alone, she must attend to the sale -or rental of their house, for the doctors had told her that very morning -that her patient must not be disturbed "for any cause whatever. There -was a chance, one in a thousand, that he might get well. If this chance -were to be his it depended upon his absolute freedom from care and -responsibility." - -She had assured them that this should be so, and it had seemed easy to -promise, in the face of the greater sorrow if he must remain an invalid -or, possibly, die. But now, back in the security of her beloved home, -her courage waned; and Dorothy, watching, saw tears steal from under the -closed eyelids and chase one another down the pale cheek, which only -yesterday, it seemed, had been so round and rosy. - -To a loving child there is no more piteous sight than a mother weeping. -It was more than Dorothy could bear, and, with a little cry of distress, -she threw herself at Mrs. Chester's knees and hid her own wet eyes upon -them. Then she lifted her head and begged: - -"Don't cry, mother! Dearest mother Martha, please, please, don't cry! -You've never done it, never; in all my life I haven't seen you, no -matter what happened. If you cry we can't do anything, and I'm going to -help you. Maybe we won't have to go away. Maybe something perfectly -splendid will happen to prevent. Maybe darling father will get well, -just resting from his mail route. Surely, nobody could fix him nicer -nourishments than you can, if we can afford it. Maybe we shall be able -to afford--Oh! if only I could tell you something! Something that would -make you happy again!" - -Mother Martha ceased weeping and smiled into the tender eyes of the -devoted child who had so well repaid her own generosity. Then she wiped -both their faces and in quite a matter-of-fact way bade Dorothy sit -down, quietly, while she told her some necessary things. One: that in -the morning she should be sent to the post-office, to receive the -envelope containing the ten dollars due for her own board. Mrs. Chester -had arranged with the new postman about it and there would be no -difficulty. There was never a word written with these payments. The -postman's address was on the outside the envelope, which was never -registered, had never gone astray, and had never held more than the -solitary crisp ten-dollar bill expected. - -"We shall need all the money we can get in hand, for the expenses of our -moving will be heavy--for us. I'm going to see some real-estate men and -decide whether it is best to sell, or rent, this house. I shall be very -busy. John isn't to stay at the hospital but a week, and so by the end -of this coming one I want to be in our new home. I rather dread the -journey, though we can easily make it in a day--or less. But your father -thinks he can get along real well on crutches, that we'll have to buy, -of course; and I've noticed that people on the street cars, even, are -always kind and helpful to invalids. John believes that it's a good, -jolly old world, and you and I must try to believe the same. He says -there's lots of truth in the saying: 'He that would have friends must -show himself friendly.' I reckon nobody ever turned a friendlier face -toward others than John has, and that's why everybody loves him so. - -"Now, dearie, fetch me my Bible and I'll read awhile. I don't feel as if -I'd had any real Sunday, yet. Then, by and by, you may make me a cup of -tea and we'll get to bed early. Of course, there'll be no more school -for you here, though I shall want you to step in and bid Miss Georgia -good-bye. That's no more than polite, even if you don't love her as you -should." - -Dorothy made a little mouth, which for once her mother did not reprove: -and presently they both were reading. At least, Mrs. Chester really was, -while the peace of the volume she studied stole into her troubled heart -and shed its light upon her face. Dorothy, also, held her book in her -hand and kept her eyes fixed on the printed pages; but, had her mother -chanced to look up and observe, she would have seen no leaves turned; -though gradually an expression of almost wild delight grew upon the -mobile features till the girl looked as if she were just ready to sing. - -However, she said nothing of her happy thoughts and watched her mother -fall asleep in the drowsy heat of the late afternoon, and from the -fatigue of a sleepless night and a busy day. Then she crept on tiptoe -out of the room, noiselessly removing her slitted shoes before she rose -from her chair, and presently had gained the kitchen at the rear. Here -she lighted a little gas stove and put on the kettle to boil. Then she -did what seemed a strange thing for a girl as strictly reared as she, -on a Sunday evening. She caught up her short skirts and, after the -manner of pictured dancers upon wall-posters, began to whirl and -pirouette around the little space, as if by such movements, only, could -she express the rapture that thrilled her. - -"There, I reckon I've worked myself down to quiet!" she exclaimed, at -length, to the cat which entered, stretching its legs in a sleepy -fashion and ready for its supper. "Now, I'll feed you, Ma'am Puss, -though you ought to feed yourself on the rats that bother our garden. -Queer, isn't it? How everything 'feeds' on something else. I hate rats, -and I hate to have them killed. Killing is horrible: and, I'm afraid -that to have my roses killed by the creatures is worst of all." - -Ma'am Puss did not reply, except by rubbing herself against her -mistress's legs, and, having filled a saucer with milk, Dorothy went out -into the garden and stayed there a long time. There many thoughts came -to her, and many, many regrets. Regrets for past negligencies, that had -caused the drooping--therefore suffering--of some tender plant; for the -knowledge of her coming separation from these treasures which both she -and father John had loved almost as if they were human creatures; but -keenest of all, regrets for the lost activity of the once so active -postman. Mother Martha's griefs and her own might be hard to bear, but -his was far, far worse. Nothing, not even the delightful surprises she -felt she had in store for him, could give him back his lost health. - -She had no propensity to dance when she went indoors again. It was a -very sober, thoughtful Dorothy C. who presently carried a little tray -into the parlor and insisted upon the tired housemistress enjoying her -supper there, where she could look out upon the cheerful street with its -Sunday promenaders, "and just be waited on, nice and cozy." - -Both inmates of the little home slept soundly that night. Sleep is a -close friend to the toilers of the world, though the idle rich seek it -in vain: and the morning found them refreshed and courageous for the -duties awaiting. There would be few tears and no repining on the part of -either because of a home-breaking. Bitterer trials might come, but the -depth of this one they had fathomed and put behind them. - -Moreover, it fell in with Dorothy's own desires that she was to make the -post-office trip: and she started upon it with so much confidence that -her mother was surprised and remarked: - -"Well, small daughter, for a child who knows so little of business and -has never been further down town than the market, alone, you are -behaving beautifully. I'm proud of you. So will your father be. Maybe, -if any of the agents I'm going to telephone come here to-day and keep -me, I'll let you go to pay the daily visit to John and tell him all the -news. Take care of the street crossings. It's so crowded on the business -streets and I should be forlorn, indeed, if harm befell my Dorothy C." - -Even when the child turned, half-way down the block, to toss a kiss -backward to her mother in the doorway, that anxious woman felt a strange -fear for her darling and recalled her for a final caution: - -"Be sure to take care of your car-fare, Dorothy; and be more than sure -you don't lose the money-letter. When you board a car look to see -another isn't coming on the other track, to knock you down." - -The little girl came back and clung to Mrs. Chester for a moment, -laughing, yet feeling her own courage a trifle dashed by these -suggestions of peril. But she slipped away again, determining to do her -errands promptly, while, with a curious foreboding in her mind, the -housemistress re-entered her deserted home, reflecting: - -"John always laughs at my 'presentiments,' yet I never had one as strong -as this upon me now that I did not wish, afterward, I had yielded to it. -I've half a mind to follow the child and overtake her before she gets -into a car. I could snatch a little while to do those downtown errands -and she'd be perfectly safe here. Pshaw! How silly I am! Dorothy is old -enough to be trusted and can be. I'll put her out of mind till I hear -her gay little call at the door, when she rings its bell: 'It's I, -mother Martha! Please let me in!'" - -But alas! That familiar summons was never again to be heard at No. 77 -Brown Street. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -AN OFFICE SEEKER AND A CLIENT - - -"Well, little girl, what are you doing here?" - -Dorothy had safely reached the big post-office, which seemed to be the -busiest place she had ever entered; busier even than the department -stores on a "bargain day;" and she had timidly slipped into the quietest -corner she could find, to wait a moment while the crowd thinned. Then -she would present her note, that asked for father John's letter to be -given her, and which was in his own handwriting, to make sure. But the -crowd did not thin! Besides the swarms and swarms of postmen, wearing -just such gray uniforms as her father's, there were so many men. All -were hastening to or from the various windows which partitioned a big -inner room from this bigger outside one and behind which were other men -in uniform--all so busy, busy, busy! - -"Why! I didn't dream there could ever be so many letter-carriers! and -each one is so like father, that I'm all mixed up! I know I've got to go -to one those windows, to give this letter and get the other one, but how -will I ever get a chance to do it, between all those men?" - -Then while Dorothy thus wondered, growing half-frightened, there had -come that question, put in a familiar tone, and looking up she saw -another gray-uniformed person whom she recognized as her father's -friend. Once he had been to their house to dinner, and how glad she now -was for that. - -"Oh, Mr. Lathrop! How glad I am to see you! I've got to get a letter and -I don't see how I'll ever have the chance. The people don't stop coming, -not a minute." - -"That's so, little girl--Beg pardon, but I forget your name, though I -know you belong to John Chester." - -"Dorothy it is, Mr. Lathrop. Could you--could you possibly spare time to -help me?" - -"Well, I reckon there's nobody in this office but would spare any -amount of time to help one of John Chester's folks. I was just starting -on my rounds--second delivery--heavy mail--but come along with me and -I'll fix you out all right." - -He turned, shifted his heavy pouch a little, and caught her hand. Then -he threaded his way through the crowd with what seemed to his small -companion a marvelous dexterity. It happened to be the "rush hour" of -business, and at almost any other, Dorothy would not have found any -difficulty in making her own way around, but there was also the -confusion of a first visit. Presently, however, she found herself at the -right window to secure the letter she sought, received it, and heard Mr. -Lathrop say: - -"There. That's all right. I reckon you can find your way out all safe, -and I'm in a hurry. Please make my regards to your mother and tell her -we've heard where John is and some of us are going to see him, first -chance we get. Too bad such a thing should happen to him! Don't let -anybody snatch that letter from you, and good-bye." - -Then Dorothy found herself alone and no longer afraid. She had -accomplished her mother's errand--now she must attend to a much more -important one of her own. She gazed about her with keenest interest, -trying to understand the entire postal business, as there represented -before her, and assuring herself that after all it was extremely simple. - -"It's just because it's new. New things always puzzle folks. As soon as -I've been once or twice I shan't mind it, no more than any of these -people do. I wonder which way I must go? If he's the head man he ought -to have the head room, I should think. Hmm. I'll have to ask, -and--and--I sort of hate to. Never mind, Dorothy C.! You're doing it for -father John and mother Martha; and if you plan to be grown-up, in your -outsides, you must be inside, too. Father hates bold little girls. He -says they're a--a--annemoly, or something. It belongs to girl children -to be afraid of things. He thinks it's nice. Well, I'm all right nice -enough inside, this minute, but--I'll do it!" - -After these reflections and this sudden resolution Dorothy darted -forward and seized the arm of a negro who was cleaning the floor. - -"Please, boy, tell me the way to the head man's place. The real -postmaster of all." - -"Hey? I dunno as he's in, yet. He don't come down soon, o' mornin's. -What you want to see him for?" - -"On business of my own. The way, please," answered Dorothy, bracing her -resolution by the fancied air of a grown person. - -The negro grinned and resumed his scrubbing, but nodded backward over -his shoulder toward a tall gentleman just entering the building. - -"That's him. Now you got your chance, better take it." - -There was nothing to inspire fear in the face of this "head man of all," -nor was there anything left in Dorothy's mind but the desire to -accomplish her "business" at once and, of course, successfully. Another -instant, and the gentleman crossing the floor felt a detaining touch -upon his sleeve and beheld a bonny little face looking earnestly up into -his own. Also, a childish voice was saying: - -"I'm John Chester's little girl. May I ask you something?" - -"You seem already to be asking me something, but I'm happy to meet you, -Miss Chester, and shall be very glad to hear all about your father. He -was one of the very best men on the force, one of the most intelligent. -I can give you five minutes. Come this way, please." - -Dorothy flashed him one of her beautiful smiles, and the postmaster, who -happened to love all children, observed that this was a very handsome -child with a pair of wonderful, appealing eyes. Though, of course, he -did not express his admiration in words, Dorothy felt that she had -pleased him and her last hesitation vanished. - -As soon as they were seated in a private apartment, she burst into the -heart of the matter, saying: - -"Please, Mr. Postmaster, will you let me take my father's place?" - -"W-wh--at?" asked the gentleman, almost as if he whistled it in -astonishment. - -Dorothy laughed. "I know I'm pretty small to carry big pouches, -'specially the Christmas and Easter ones, but you always have 'extras' -then, anyway. I know my father's whole beat. I know it from end to -end--all the people's houses, the numbers to them, and lots of the folks -that live around. What I don't know I can read on the envelopes. I'm a -quick reader of handwriting, Miss Georgia says." - -The postmaster did not interrupt her by a word, but the twinkle in his -eyes grew brighter and brighter and at the end he laughed. Not harshly -nor in a manner to hurt her feelings, which he saw were deep and -sincere, but because he found this one of the most refreshing -experiences of his rather humdrum position. Here was a visitor, a -petitioner, quite different from the numberless illiterate men who -bothered him for office. He hated to disappoint her, just yet, so asked -with interest: - -"And who is Miss Georgia?" - -"She's my teacher. She's the vice principal of our school. She's -dreadful smart." - -"Indeed? But what, Miss Chester, put this notion into your head? By -taking your father's 'place' I conclude that you are applying for his -position as mail-carrier. Did you ever hear of a little girl postman?" - -"No, sir, I didn't, but there has to be a first time, a first one, to -everything, doesn't there? So I could be the first girl postman. And why -I want to is because I think I must support my parents." - -The applicant's reply was given with the serious importance due from a -young lady whom such a fine gentleman called "Miss Chester"; and when he -again desired to know whose idea it was that she should seek a place on -"the force," she answered proudly: - -"All my own. Nobody's else. Not a single body--not even my mother -Martha--ever suspects. I want it to be a surprise, a real, Christmassy -surprise. Oh! She's feeling terrible bad about our leaving our home and -not knowing what we'll have to live on. So I thought it all out and that -I'd come right to you and ask, before any other substitute got -appointed. - -"Well, maybe the notion came that last day my father carried the mail. -His poor legs and feet got so terribly wobbly that he was afraid he'd -fall down or something and couldn't finish his delivery. So I walked -alongside of him and ran up the steps and handed in the letters and -everybody was just as nice as nice to us, except old Mrs. Cecil, who -lives at Bellevieu. She was mad. She was real mad. She said we were -breaking the law, the two of us. Think of that! My father, John Chester, -a law-breaker! Why, he couldn't break a law to save his life. He's too -good." - -The postmaster smiled. He had, apparently, forgotten that he was to give -only five minutes to this small maid, and he was really charmed by her -simplicity and confidence. - -"Was that the day Mr. Chester was taken to the hospital? The boys have -told me about him--some things. How is he doing? Will he be there long? -You see, I can ask questions, too!" continued the gentleman, very -socially. - -"My mother says there's a chance he may get well. He's to be there only -this week that ever is. Then he's to be taken into the country, away, -away to some mountains in New York State. He's got to live right -outdoors all the time, and he mustn't worry, not a single worry. My -mother daren't even talk with him about selling, or renting, our house, -or the furniture, or--or anything. So she talks to me--some." - -"I hope you talk to her--more than 'some'; and I'm wondering if you had -done so before you came to me whether I should ever have had the -pleasure of your acquaintance." - -Was there a reproof in this? Dorothy's sensitive heart fancied so, yet -she couldn't imagine in what she had done wrong. With a little waning of -hope--the postmaster had been so delightful that she was already sure he -would grant her request--she asked: - -"Is it bad? why shouldn't I want to earn the money for my parents? Same -as they have for me and us all. If I had the place, they could go to the -country, just the same, and the money could be sent to them to live on -every month. Of course, I'd have to not go with them. I reckon Mrs. -Bruce, the plumber's wife, would let me live with her, if my folks paid -her board for me. Mabel and I could sleep together, and I'd help with -the dishes and work, 'cause if I were a postman I couldn't go to school, -of course. I'd have to study nights, same as father has. So, if I didn't -make much trouble, maybe Mrs. Bruce wouldn't charge much. But, excuse -me. My father John says I talk too much, and that when I go to do -errands I should stick to business. He says it doesn't make any -difference to the folks that hire you to work for them whether you're -rich or poor, sick or well. All they want is to have the work done--and -no talk about it. I'm sorry I've said so much. I didn't mean to, -but----" - -"But," repeated the postmaster, suggestively; and Dorothy finished her -sentence: - -"I haven't talked a single word to anybody else, and it seems so good to -do it now. I never had a secret--secrets, for I've got another one yet, -that I can't tell--before and I don't like them. I beg your pardon, -and--May I have my father's position?" said Dorothy, rising, and seeing -by the big clock on the wall that she had long overstayed the time -allotted for this interview. - -The gentleman also rose, and laid his hand kindly upon her shoulder, but -his face and voice were grave, as he answered: - -"No, my dear, I am sorry to disappoint you, but you ask the impossible. -You could not--But there's no use in details of explanation. As your -wise father has taught you, business should be reduced to its simplest -terms. I cannot give you the place, but I can, and do, give you the best -of advice--for one of your imaginative nature. Never cherish secrets! -Never, even such delightful, surprising ones, as this of yours has been. -Especially, never keep anything from your mother. When anything comes -into your mind which you feel you cannot tell _her_ banish the idea at -once and you'll stay on the safe side of things. Good-morning." - -Other people were entering the private office and Dorothy was being -courteously bowed out of it, before she fully realized that she had not -obtained her desire, and never would. For a few seconds, her temper -flamed, and she reflected, tartly: - -"Huh! I should make as good a postman as lots of them do. My father says -some of them are too ignorant for their places. _I_'m not ignorant. I'm -the best scholar in my class, and my class is the highest one in our -Primary. I could do it. I could so. But--Well, he was real nice. He -acted just as if he had little girls of his own and knew just how they -felt. He laughed at me, but he didn't laugh hateful, like Miss Georgia -does on her 'nervous days' when she mixes me all up in my lessons. And -anyhow, maybe it's just as well. If I'd got to be a letter-girl I -couldn't have gone to the country with father and mother, and I should -have about died of lonesomeness without them. Maybe Mrs. Bruce wouldn't -have had me, nor the minister's folks either. Anyway, I've got that -other, more splendid secret, still. I _have_ to have that, because I -have it already, and so can't help. Miss Georgia would say that there -were two too many 'haves' in that sentence, and the 'two too' sounds -funny, too. Now I must go home. I've got my money-letter all right and, -after all, I'm glad mother Martha doesn't know that I wanted father's -beat, she'd be so much disappointed to know how near we came to staying -here and couldn't." - -With which philosophic acceptance of facts and a cheerful looking -forward to the "next thing," the rejected seeker after public office ran -up the hill leading from the post-office and straight against another -opportunity, as it were. - -Just as she had signalled a car, the "gentleman" who had twice called -upon her and who had told her that his name was "John Smith," appeared -beside her on the sidewalk, raised his hat, and with an engaging air -exclaimed: - -"Why, Miss Chester, how fortunate! I was just on the point of going to -see you. Now, if you will go with me, instead, it will save time and -answer just as well. We don't take this car, but another. My office is -on Howard Street, and we'll walk till we meet a Linden Avenue car. This -way, please. Allow me?" - -But Dorothy shrank back from this overly pleasant man. It was with the -same feeling of repulsion that she had experienced on each of their -previous meetings, and which she had tried to conquer because of the -great benefit he claimed he had sought her to bestow upon her. - -Her next sensation was one of pride, remembering that this was the -second time that morning for her to be called "Miss Chester." Each time -it had been by a grown-up gentleman and the fact made her feel quite -grown-up and important, also. Besides, this present person was able, he -said, to more than compensate for any disappointment the postmaster had -inflicted--though, of course, that affair was known only to "the head -man of all" and herself. However, she couldn't accept Mr. Smith's -invitation, for, she explained: - -"Thank you, but I can't go with you now. I'm doing an errand for my -mother and she'll be expecting me home. She's very busy and needs me to -help her. Nor do I want to make her worry, for she has all the trouble -now she can bear. The first time I can come, if you'll tell me where, -I'll try to do so. Are you sure, sure, Mr. Smith, that I am really an -heiress and you will help me to get the money that belongs to me?" - -"Perfectly sure. A lawyer like me doesn't waste his time on any doubtful -business. I have more cases on hand, this very minute, than I can attend -to and ought not to stand idle here one moment. Don't, I beg of you, -also stand in your own light, against your real interests and the -interests of those who are dearer to you than yourself. It is very -simple. As soon as you reach the office I'll give you paper and pen and -you can send a message to your mother, explaining that you have been -detained on business but will soon be with her. Ah, yes, the note by all -means. It quite goes against my nature to cause anybody needless -anxiety. Here's our car. Step in, please." - -As she obeyed Dorothy thought that she had never heard anybody talk as -fast as the man did. Faster even than she did herself, and with an -assured air of authority which could not fail to impress an obedient -child, trained to accept the decisions of her elders without question. -She still tightly clutched the envelope containing the precious -ten-dollar bill, and had so nervously folded and unfolded it that, by -the time they reached the place on North Howard Street, it was in such a -state she was ashamed of it. - -"Right up stairs, Miss Chester. Sorry I haven't an elevator to assist -you," remarked the lawyer, curiously regarding her feet in their poor -shoes. "However, there are plenty willing to climb three flights of -stairs for the sake of my advice. I've been in business right here in -Baltimore longer than I care to remember--it makes me feel so old. -Lawyers who have lovely young clients prefer to remain young themselves, -you know." - -"No, I don't know. I know nothing about lawyers, anyway, and I don't -like it in here. I was never in such a dark house before. I--I think I -won't stay. I'll go home and tell my mother everything. That's what the -other gentleman advised and I--I _liked him_. Good-bye," said the now -frightened girl, and turned about on that flight to the third story. - -But Mr. Smith was right behind her. She'd have to brush past him to -descend the narrow stairway, and he was again chattering away, -pretending not to hear her objections, but glibly explaining: - -"The reason the house is so dark is because it is so old--one of the -oldest in the city, I've been told. Besides, each floor has been turned -into a flat, or suite of offices, and the tenants keep their doors -closed. That's why I chose the top story for my own use--it's so much -lighter, and--Here we are!" - -Here they were, indeed, but by no stretch of imagination could the -apartment be called light. There was a skylight over the top of the -stairs, but this was darkened by gray holland shades, and though there -appeared to be three rooms on this floor, the doors of all were closed -as the doors on the floors below. - -Dorothy was trembling visibly, as her guide opened the door of the -middle room--the "dark one" of the peculiarly constructed city -houses--and she faced absolute blackness. But her host seemed to know -the way and to be surprised that nobody was present to receive them. -With exclamations of annoyance he hurried to light a single gas jet and -the small flame illumined a dingy, most untidy "office." - -Yet still with a grand flourish of manner the lawyer pushed a chair -before a littered desk, rummaged till he found paper, ink, and pen, and -waved his small client toward it. She was almost in tears, from her -fright; yet still bolstered her courage with the thought: "For my father -and mother!" and resolved to see the business through. - -Certainly no such gentlemanly appearing person could intend injury to an -unprotected child. Why should she imagine it? - -Drawing the paper toward her she began to write and had quickly finished -the brief note which told her mother as much, and no more than, her -instructor had prescribed. He had kept his eyes rather closely fixed -upon the wrinkled envelope she held, and now carelessly remarked: - -"You could send that letter home with your note, too, if you wish, -though you'll be detained only a little while. I don't see why that -witness I spoke of hasn't come. I do hate a dilatory client! Will she -need it, do you think?" - -"She might. I will send it, I guess," answered poor Dorothy, and giving -the folded envelope still another twist, enclosed and sealed it in her -own note which she handed to her "lawyer." - -He took it, hastily, and informed her that he would "just trip down -those troublesome stairs and find a messenger boy, then be back in a -jiffy." - -As he reckoned time a "jiffy" must have meant several hours; for the -whole day had passed and still he had not returned. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -TENANTS FOR NO. 77 - - -"Oh! do get out of the way, Ma'am Puss! What possesses you to be always -under foot? If you're looking for your little mistress she's not here, -She's gone away down town on business," cried Mrs. Chester to the cat, -as she stumbled over the creature for the third time in about as many -minutes. - -The animal's behavior annoyed her. For some time it had kept up an -intermittent and most doleful mewing and, as if seeking some precious -thing no longer to be found, it had wandered in and out of corners in a -nerve-distracting way. - -The house mistress herself was almost as uneasy as the cat, and she had -endured about all the mental strain she could without collapse; or, at -least, venting her overtaxed patience upon somebody. Ma'am Puss happened -to be the "somebody" most convenient, and with a fresh sinking of her -spirits, Martha Chester recalled the many frolics her husband, as well -as daughter, had had with their pet. Would anything in her life ever be -again as it had been! - -Sitting down in the nearest chair, for a moment, the lonely woman took -the sleek maltese into her arms and held it close, stroking its fur -affectionately, and in a manner to surprise the recipient of this most -unusual attention. For Martha didn't like cats; and the only reason -Ma'am Puss was tolerated on her premises was because she liked rats and -mice still less. But now she not only petted but confided to the purring -feline the fact: - -"Dorothy has been gone four hours, and I'm dreadfully worried. At the -longest she shouldn't have been gone more'n two, even if there was a -hold-up on the car line. Besides, she wouldn't have waited for such a -thing, anyway. She'd have started home on her own feet, first, for she's -a loving child and knows I need her help. That money-letter! I'm afraid -somebody's waylaid her and took it away. It wasn't so much--to some -people--but ten dollars? Why, Puss, a man was murdered out Towson way -for less than that, not so long ago! I wish she'd come. Oh! How I wish -she'd come!" - -But Dorothy did not come. There was no sign of her on the street, no -matter how many times the anxious watcher ran to the door and looked -out; and the four hours were fast lengthening into five when the first -change came to divert Mrs. Chester's thoughts, for the time being, from -her terrible forebodings. As she gazed in one direction for the sight of -a blue gingham frock a cheerful voice called to her from another: - -"Howdy, Mis' Chester? Now ain't I brought you the greatest luck? Here's -my sister-in-law, without chick nor child to upset things, and only a -husband that's night watchman--is going to be--come right here to -Baltimore an' is looking for a house. Firm he's worked for is putting up -a new factory, right over in them open lots beyond an' nothin' to do but -he must take care of 'em. This is my sister-in-law, Mis' Jones, Mis' -Chester. I was a Jones myself. Well, they're ready to rent or buy, -reasonable, either one; and I reckon it's a chance you won't get in a -hurry--no children, too! What you say?" - -For a moment Martha could say nothing, except to bid her callers enter -the house and to place them comfortably in the cool parlor; and even her -first remark bore little on the subject Mrs. Bruce had presented. -Handing fans all round she ejaculated: - -"It's so terrible hot! I'm all beat out--picking up and--and worrying." - -"Well, to get your house off your hands so sudden'll be one worry less," -comforted Mrs. Bruce, fanning herself vigorously and looking as if such -a thing as anxiety had never entered her own contented mind. - -"I--I just stepped 'round to the drug-store, a spell ago, and telephoned -to three real-estate men to come up an' look things over. I--Why, it's -only Monday morning, and I've got a whole week yet. I mean--It seems so -sudden. I've got to see John--No, I haven't. It seems dreadful to take -such steps, do business without him, which I never have, but the -doctors--How much rent'd you be willing to pay, Mis' Jones?" - -Poor Mrs. Chester was strangely distraught. Her neighbor, the plumber's -wife, had never seen her like this, but she understood some part of what -the other was suffering, though, as yet, she was ignorant of Dorothy's -prolonged absence; and she again tried to console: - -"I know just how you feel. Havin' slaved so long to pay for the house, -out of a postman's salary, an' him an' you bein' such a happy contented -couple--Don't doubt I'm feelin' for you an' wantin' to lend a hand, if -so be I can. As to rent, there ain't never no houses on this one-hunderd -block of Brown Street _to_ rent. We both know that, 'cause it's the -nicest kept one, with the prettiest back yard anywhere's near. No negro -houses in the alleys, neither. So, course, this is a splendid chance for -Bill and Jane; but I asked Mr. Bruce an' he said twenty dollars a month -was fair and the goin' rates." - -Mrs. Chester listened with still greater dismay. At the utmost she had -expected the watchman would offer no more than fifteen dollars, but -twenty! The highest rate she had looked to receive from anybody. Of -course she wanted to rent--she had now fully decided not to sell--but to -succeed so promptly, was almost like having the ground taken from -beneath her feet. - -At last she forced herself to say: - -"I know it's a good chance. I'm not unmindful it's a neighborly thing in -you, Mrs. Bruce, or that Mrs. Jones'd make a good tenant. I'm--Well, -I'll try to give you your answer some time to-night. Will that do?" - -Mrs. Bruce rose and there was some asperity in her tone as she returned: - -"I s'pose it'll have to do, since you're the one to pass the word. But -we'll look round, other houses, anyway. My folks have left their old -place an' this week's the only idle one Bill'll have. He wants to help -Jane settle--she ain't overly strong--and they'd like to move in -a-Wednesday, or Thursday mornin' at the latest." - -"So--soon!" gasped the mistress of No. 77. Despite her will a tear -stole down her cheek and her warm-hearted neighbor was instantly moved -to greater sympathy. Laying her fat hand on Mrs. Chester's bowed head -she urged: - -"Keep up your spirit, Martha. If you just rent, why you know you can -come back any time. A month's notice, give an' take, that's all. I'm -hopin' John'll get well right away, an' you'll all come flyin' back to -Baltimore. By the way, where's Dorothy? Mabel said she wasn't goin' to -school no more." - -"Oh, Mrs. Bruce, I don't know! I don't know!" and the anxious mother -poured out her perplexities in the ear of this other mother, who -promptly said: - -"Well, if I was you, Martha Chester, I'd put on my hat and go straight -down to that post-office an' find out what had become of her. If 'twas -Mabel, I should." - -"Oh! that's what I've been longing to do! But I thought the real-estate -men might come, and I dared not leave. I'm getting so nervous I can't -keep still, and as for going on with my packing, it's no use. I must go -to see John, this afternoon, too, and----" - -"Martha Chester, have you had a bite to eat?" demanded Mrs. Bruce, in an -accusing tone. - -Martha smiled, and reluctantly answered: - -"I don't believe I have. I didn't think, but--course, it's past lunch -time." - -"Lunch! Hear her, Jane. She's one o' the fashionable women 't cooks her -dinner at sundown!" cried the plumber's wife, with an attempt at -raillery, but in her mind already deciding that hunger was half the -matter with her neighbor's nerves. "Now, look here, the pair of you. Me -an' him is more sensibler. We have our dinner at dinner time, and you -know that was as nice a vegetable soup we had this noon, Jane Jones, as -ever was made, an' you needn't deny it. You just stay here a minute an' -Martha'll show you round the house, an' the garden--That garden'll -tickle Bill 'most to death, he's that set on posies!--while I skip home -and fetch a pail of it. 'Twon't take a minute to do it, an' it can be -het up on the gas stove, even if the range fire's out. By that time -Dorothy C. 'll have got back: an' me an' Jane'll help her keep house -while you step across to Johns Hopkins. I reckon that's good plannin', -so you begin while I skip." - -The idea of corpulent Mrs. Bruce "skipping" brought a smile to both the -listeners' faces, but Martha was already greatly comforted and now -realized that she was, indeed, faint from want of food. She had taken -but little breakfast, being "too busy to eat," as she explained; but she -now set out on a tour of the little house with much pride in it, and in -the fact that taken unaware, even, it would be found in spotless order. -Her washing was already drying in the sunny garden among the roses and -Mrs. Jones's delight over that part of the premises was most flattering. - -Indeed, there was a dainty simplicity about the little country-woman -which now quite won Mrs. Chester's heart, and after they had examined -each of the rooms, and each had found Mrs. Jones more and more -enthusiastic, the impulsive housemistress exclaimed: - -"Maybe you'll think I'm queer, but I believe the Lord just sent you! -That you're the very one will love our home for us while we're away." - -"Oh! I'm glad to hear you say that. It's the way I feel about things. I -ain't so glib a talker as _his_ folks is, but I think a good deal. I've -always hankered to live in a city, where if _I_ wanted a bucket of -water, all I'd have to do would be to turn a spigot, 'stead of tugging -it up a hill from a spring or hauling it out a well. An' Bill, he's -tidy. I've trained him. I begun right off, soon's we was married. The -Joneses they--well, they ain't none of 'em too partic'lar, though -warmer-hearted folks never lived. But, my man? Why, bless you, now he'd -no more think o' comin' in from outdoors without takin' off his boots -an' puttin' on his slippers 'an he'd think o' flyin'. I didn't have to -scold him into it, neither. 'Twas just himself seein' me get down an' -scrub up the mud he'd tracked in, without even wipin' his feet. But, my! -I said I wasn't no talker, an' here I'm makin' myself out a -story-teller. But, if so be you an' him come to a right agreement, I -promise you one thing: I'll take just as good care, or better, of your -prop'ty as if it was my own. Nobody couldn't do more than that, could -they?" - -"No, indeed: and I'm glad I can have such good news to tell John when I -go to him. After all, Mrs. Jones, property troubles don't compare with -troubles of your heart. I feel so different, all in these few minutes, -so glad you came. I reckon there won't be no difficulty about the -agreement: and--look! There comes Mrs. Bruce already and a colored girl -with her." - -The plumber's wife entered, panting from her efforts to carry a big pail -of soup at sufficient distance from her fat sides to keep it from -spilling, and announcing that the basket the little colored maid had in -hand contained "a few other things I picked up, might come in nice." - -"An' I collared 'Mandy, here, on the street. She's the girl does my -front, an' I thought she might do yours, to-day. She does it for a -nickel and don't you pay her no more. Hear, 'Mandy? If you leave a speck -on this lady's steps, I won't give you that baker's cake I promised. -Where's your cleanin' things, Mis' Chester?" - -These were quickly produced and then the housemistress sat down to her -meal, her guests declining to join her in it, though more than willing -to sit beside her and talk while she ate. Moreover, Mrs. Bruce was -extremely proud to show this other notable housekeeper a specimen of her -own cooking, knowing that she was usually considered a failure in that -line, but had succeeded well this time. - -Then said Mrs. Jones: - -"I've been thinkin' things over a mite, whilst you two talked. Bill's -and my goods are to the depot here, ready packed an' waitin', and I've -not a hand's turn to do, till I get a place to unpack them in. If you'll -let me I'd admire to come help you get your stuff ready for movin'. -Havin' just done mine I've sort of got my hand in, so to speak, an' can -take hold capable. I'll look after the house, too, and learn the ways of -it, while you're off on your errands or seeing your husband, or the -like. What say, sister, to that notion?" - -"I call it first-rate: an' I'll be able to help some, 'tween times. Now, -Martha Chester, if you've finished your dinner, be off with you. Jane -an' me'll do everything all right, an' I'm getting as wild to have -Dorothy back as you are. Don't suppose she's one to run away an' play -with some the school children, do you?" said Mrs. Bruce. - -"No, I don't. I wish I did think she might, but Dorothy never ran away, -not in all her life, except when she was a mite of a thing and followed -her father on his route. Well, you can tell the real-estate men, if they -come, 't the thing is settled already. I say it 'tis, but I reckon -they'll be some put out, comin' up here for nothing. Good-bye. Do wish -me good luck! and I'll hurry back." - -Late though she felt that she was for her hospital visit, Mrs. Chester -hurried first to the post-office, her anxiety increasing all the way, -and reached it just as Mr. Lathrop was leaving it for his last delivery. -To her anxious inquiry he returned a discouraging: - -"No. I haven't seen Dorothy since early this morning, when I helped her -a bit in getting her money-letter. But I'll ask if anybody else knows -what became of her. Doubtless she'll turn up all right and with a -simple explanation of her absence. She's a bright little girl, you'll -find her all safe. I'll go back with you now." - -Thus for the second time that day, the busy postman delayed his own work -to do kindness to a comrade's family, nor could he quite understand why -his faith in his own words was less than he wished hers to be. It was -rare to hear of a child being lost in that safe city, and it would be a -bitter blow to the already afflicted John Chester if harm befell his -adopted daughter. When no good news could be obtained here, he advised -Martha to go on to the hospital but to say nothing to her husband of -Dorothy. He would notify the police, and if she had met with any -accident, or by some rare mischance lost her way, she would speedily be -traced. - -Because she could do no better, Mrs. Chester followed his advice, -boarded a car for the hospital, and was soon at her husband's side. But -alas! She was to find no comfort in this interview. With a natural -reaction from his first elation over the possibility of recovery he was -now greatly depressed. Having lived so long on will-power, and having -once given up, he had developed a great weakness of body, and, in a -degree, of mind. Before his wife was admitted to his presence she was -warned that nothing but the pleasantest topics must be discussed, and -was told that the doctors now desired him to be removed to the country -right away. - -"This terrible heat has injured him, as it has others. Get him out of -town at once, Mrs. Chester, if you would save his life." - -So when he asked for Dorothy she ignored his question, but talked glibly -of the fine chance that they had of letting the house: yet to her -amazement he showed no interest in this matter. - -"Do whatever you think best, little woman. I don't care. I don't believe -I'll ever care about anything in the world again." - -"Oh, John! Don't say that. You'll be better soon. But, good-bye till -to-morrow:" and hastily bidding him expect her then, with some home -flowers and "lots of good news," she hurried away. - -"No news?" she asked, as her own door opened to receive her, and the -gentle little country-woman welcomed her. - -"Oh! no. Not yet. Ain't hardly time!" cheerfully responded Jane Jones, -just as if she were imparting other tidings. "Mustn't look for miracles, -nowadays. That child's off visitin', somewheres, you may depend. And you -mustn't be hard on her when she comes back," advised this new friend. - -"Hard on her? Me? Why, I'd give ten years of my life to know she was -safe, this minute! _Hard on her!_ All I ask is to hold her fast in my -arms once more. But, course, you don't know Dorothy C. The little child -that was _sent_, and that's made John an' me so happy all her life. -Look. Here's her picture. We thought it was extravagant, but somehow we -felt we had to have it. 'Twas taken this very spring, on the same day we -found her on the steps." - -From a little secretary in the dining room Mrs. Chester produced the -photograph, still carefully wrapped in its waxed paper covering, and -displayed to her admiring guest the picture of a very lovely child. The -shapely head was crowned by short brown curls, the big brown eyes looked -eagerly forth, and the pretty red lips were curved in a half-smile that -was altogether bewitching. - -"Why! She's a beauty! A regular beauty! She looks as if she belonged to -high-up folks; I declare she does," commented Mrs. Jones. - -Mother Martha was touched by this sincere admiration, and lifting the -picture to her lips lightly pressed a kiss upon it. Then she carefully -put it away again, saying with a sigh: - -"We'd laid out to get it framed, soon, and hang it in the parlor. That's -why we had but one taken. John thought one big one was better worth -while than a dozen small ones. My! Hark! What's that? Such a ring--my -heart's in my mouth--you open the door--please--I can't!" and so -imploring, Mrs. Chester sank upon the lounge and covered her face with -her hands. - -Even Mrs. Jones was all a-tremble and her hands fumbled so with the -unfamiliar latch that the housemistress sprang to her feet and opened -the door herself with the glad cry: - -"Dorothy! Dorothy, have you come?" - -"Not Dorothy, Mrs. Chester; just Lathrop, you know, with a detective, -come to get some points." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -STRANGE EXPERIENCES - - -"Why doesn't he come back! Oh! what will my mother think of my staying -away like this? All the help she has now, too, and needing me so much. -I'll wait just five minutes longer, then I'll go home, anyway, whether -that 'witness' who's to tell me so much about myself and my real father -and mother comes or not. No father or mother could be as dear to me as -father John and mother Martha. I don't want any others. Let them keep -their old fortune the rest of the time, since they've kept it so long -and never sent for me," said Dorothy C. to herself, after she had waited -with what slight patience she could for Mr. Smith's return, and more -than an hour had already passed. - -Hitherto she had not deemed it polite to explore her present quarters, -but now began to do so in an idle sort of way. If her "lawyer" left her -so long alone he couldn't blame her if she amused herself in some -manner; and first she examined the few books which were tossed in a heap -on the untidy desk. They did not look like law-books, many of them, -though one or two were bound in dirty calf-skin and showed much -handling. In any case none of them interested her. - -Next she tried to open the window, that gave upon the hall from one side -of the room as the door by which she had entered did upon another, but -found it fast. - -"Why, that's funny! What would anybody want to nail an inside window -tight for? Oh! maybe because this is an apartment house, he said, and -other people might come in. My father says he wouldn't like to live in a -flat, it's so mixed up with different families. He'd rather have a tiny -house like ours and have it separate. Well! if I can't open the window, -I reckon I can that door which must go into a back room." - -Immediately she proceeded to try this second door, which was opposite -the nailed window, and, to her delight, found that it yielded easily to -her touch. But the room thus disclosed was almost as dark as the -"office" she had just quitted, although it had two windows at the back. -The upper sashes of these had been lowered as far as possible, but -behind them were wooden shutters and these were also nailed, or spiked -fast. There were crescent-shaped holes in the tops of the shutters and -through these a little air and light penetrated into the gloom of what, -now that her eyes had become accustomed to the dimness, she perceived -was a bedroom. From one side of this opened a bathroom, whose window was -secured like those of the bedroom, but where was the cheerful sound of -running water. - -Now terribly frightened by her strange surroundings, Dorothy's throat -grew so dry and parched that she hastened to get a drink from the -faucet, beneath which hung a rusty tin cup. Then she thought: - -"Maybe I can get out into the hall by this bathroom door!" - -It could not be opened, and now half-frantic with fear, the imprisoned -girl ran from one door to another, only to find that while she had the -freedom of the three apartments, every exit from these into the hall was -securely bolted, or locked, upon the outside, and realized that it was -with some evil intention she had been brought to this place. - -For hours she worked over doors, then windows, and back again to the -doors--testing her puny strength against them, only to fail each time. -The heat was intolerable in the rooms, for it was the top story of a -small house with the sun beating against the roof. Even below, in the -street, people mopped their faces and groaned beneath this unseasonable -temperature. As for poor Dorothy, she felt herself growing faint, and -remembered that she, as well as her mother, had taken but a light -breakfast; but her eyes had now grown accustomed to the dim light of the -rooms and the gas jet still flickered in the "office," so that, after a -time, she threw herself on the bed, worn out with her efforts and hoping -a few moments' rest might help her "to think a way out" of her prison. - -How long she slept, she never knew, for it was that of utter -exhaustion, but she was suddenly roused by the sound of a bolt shot in -its lock, and the opening of the "office" door. It was Mr. Smith -returning, profuse with apologies which Dorothy scarcely heard and -wholly disdained, as, darting past him, she made for the entrance with -all her speed. - -"Why, Miss Chester! Don't, I beg, don't treat me so suspiciously. -Indeed, it is quite as I tell you. I was--was detained against my will. -I have only just now been able to come back here, and you must -imagine--for I cannot describe them--what my sufferings have been on -your account. I know that you'll think hardly of me, but, indeed, I mean -you nothing but good. Wait, please; wait just a moment and taste these -sandwiches I've brought and this bottle of milk. You must be famished. -You can't? You won't? Why, my dear young lady, how am I ever to do you -any good if you mistrust me so on such slight grounds?" - -"Slight grounds!" almost screamed Dorothy, struggling to free herself -from the man's grasp, which, apparently gentle, was still far too firm -for her to resist. - -At once, also, he began again to talk, so fast, so plausibly, that his -words fairly tripped each other up, and still pressing upon her -acceptance a paper of very dainty sandwiches and a glass of most -innocent appearing milk. - -"Just take these first. I should be distressed beyond measure to have -you return to your home in this condition. I have a carriage at the door -to carry you there and we'll start immediately after you have eaten, or -at least drank something. You needn't be so alarmed. Your mother -received your note only a few moments after you sent it, with the -envelope enclosed. She is now most anxious for you to hear all that my -witness--witnesses, in fact--have to disclose as to your real parentage -and possessions. It is such a grand thing for her and her husband, now -that he has lost his health. Just five minutes, to keep yourself from -fainting, then we'll be off. Indeed, I'm far more anxious to be on the -road than you are, I so deeply regret this misadventure." - -At that moment there was the ring of sincerity in his words, and also -just then there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, followed by -the appearance at the door of a hack-driver in the attire of his class. - -"Time's erbout up, suh, 't I was hired for, an' soon's you-all's ready, -suh, I----" - -"All right, Jehu. I'll pay for overtime, but can't hurry a young lady, -you know. Especially one that's been shut up by accident almost all day -in my office." Then turning to Dorothy, who still refrained from -touching the sandwiches which, however, began to look irresistibly -tempting, he begged: "At least drink the milk. This good fellow seems to -be in haste, though it's only a few minutes' drive to Brown Street and -you can nibble the sandwiches in the carriage." - -She was not worldly-wise, she was very hungry, and the man seemed -profoundly distressed that she had suffered such treatment at his hands. -Moreover, it appeared that the shortest way to liberty was to obey him. -She would drink the milk, she was fairly famishing for it, but once -upon the street she would enter no carriage of his providing but trust -rather to her own nimble feet to reach her home, and, if need be, to the -protection of the first policeman she could summon. - -Wrapping the sandwiches once more in their paper, she hastily drank the -milk and again started to leave. This time she was not prevented nor as -they left the "office" did its proprietor use the precaution of the bolt -which anybody from outside could unfasten--none from within! But he did -turn out the gas, with a noteworthy prudence, and still retained his -courteous support of Dorothy's arm. - -Released at last from the imprisonment which had so terrified her she -was strangely dizzy. Her head felt very much as it had done when she had -been knocked down by Mrs. Cecil's big dogs, and it was now of her own -accord that she clutched Mr. Smith's arm, fearing she would fall. - -How far, far away sounded the hackman's footsteps, retreating before -them to the street! How queerly her feet jogged up and down on the -stairs, which seemed to spring upward into her very face as she -descended! In all her life she had never, never felt so tired and -curiously weak as now, when all the power to move her limbs seemed -suddenly to leave her. - -"Ah! the carriage!" She could dimly see it, in the glare of an electric -light, and now she welcomed it most eagerly. If ever she were to reach -that blessed haven of home she would have to be carried there. So she -made no remonstrance when she was bodily lifted into the coupé and -placed upon its cushions, where, at once, she went to sleep. - - * * * * * - -"Here girl. Time you woke up and took your breakfast." - -After that strange dizziness in descending the stairs of the house in -Howard Street, Dorothy's first sensation was one of languid surprise. A -big, coarse-looking woman stood beside the bed on which she lay, holding -a plate in one hand, a cup in the other. Broad beams of sunlight -streamed through an uncurtained window near, and a fresh breeze blew in -from the fields beyond. - -"Why--the country! Have we come to it so soon and I not knowing? Mother! -Where is my mother?" she asked, gaining in strength and rising upon her -elbow. Then she saw that she had lain down without undressing and -cautiously stepped to the floor, which was bare and not wholly clean. -Her head felt light and dizzy still, so that she suddenly again sat down -on the bed's edge to recover herself. Thereupon the woman dragged a -wooden chair forward and, placing the breakfast on it, said: - -"I can't bother no more. Eat it or leave it. I've got my fruit to pick." - -Then she turned away, but Dorothy reached forward, caught the blue denim -skirt, and demanded: - -"Tell me where my mother is? I want her. I want her right away." - -"Like enough. I don't know. I'm goin'. I'll be in to get your dinner. -You can lie down again or do what you want, only stay inside. Orders." - -Dorothy was very hungry. The hunger of yesterday was nothing compared to -the craving she felt now and, postponing all further questions till -that was satisfied, she fell to eating the contents of the great plate -with greed. Then she drank the bowl of coffee and, still strangely -drowsy, lay back upon the pillow and again instantly dropped asleep. - -The clatter of dishes in the room beyond that one where she lay was what -next roused her and her head was now nearly normal. Only a dull pain -remained and her wits were clearing of the mist that had enveloped them. -Memories of strange stories came to her, and she thought: - -"Something has happened to me, more than I dreamed. I've been kidnapped! -I see it, understand it all now. But--why? _Why?_ An orphan foundling -like me--what should anybody steal me away from my home for? Father and -mother have no money to pay ransom--like that little boy father read -about in the paper--who was stolen and not given back till thousands of -dollars were sent. But I'm somewhere in the country now, and in a house -that's all open, every side. It's easy to get away from _here_. I'll go. -I'll go right away, soon as I wash my face and brush my hair--if I can -find a brush. I'll go into that other room and act just as if I wasn't -afraid and--that dinner smells good!" - -The big woman, whose denim skirt and blouse suggested the overalls of a -day laborer, was bending over a small cooking stove whereon was frying -some bacon and eggs. A great pot of boiled potatoes waited on the -stove-hearth, and on an oilcloth-covered table were set out a few -dishes. A boy was just entering the kitchen from the lean-to beyond and -was carrying a wooden pail of water with a tin dipper. He was almost as -tall as the woman but bore no further resemblance to her, being -extremely thin and fair. Indeed, his hair was so nearly white that -Dorothy stared at it, and his eyes were very blue, while the woman -looked like a swarthy foreigner from some south country. - -Mother Martha had a saying, when anybody about her was inclined to -sharpness of speech, that "you can catch more flies with molasses than -with vinegar," and, oddly enough, the adage came to Dorothy's mind at -that very instant. She had come into the kitchen prepared to demand her -liberty and to be directed home, but she now spoke as politely as she -would have done to the minister's wife: - -"Please, madam, will you show me where I can wash and freshen myself a -little? I feel so dirty I'd like to do it before I eat my dinner or go -home." - -The woman rose from above her frying pan with a face of astonishment. -She was so tanned and burned by the sun as well as by the heat of -cooking that the contrast between herself and her son--if he were her -son--made him look fairly ghostlike. Furthermore, as the inwardly -anxious, if outwardly suave, little girl perceived--her face was more -stupid than vicious. - -Without the waste of a word the woman nodded over her shoulder toward -the lean-to and proceeded to dish up her bacon, now cooked to her -satisfaction. She placed it in the middle of a great yellow platter, the -eggs around it, and a row of potatoes around them. Then she set the -platter on the table, drew her own chair to it, filled a tin plate with -the mixture, and proceeded with her dinner. She made no remark when the -boy, also, sat down, and neither of them waited an instant for their -girl guest. - -But Dorothy's spirit was now roused and she felt herself fully equal to -dealing with these rustics: and it was with all the dignity she could -summon that she drew a third chair to the table and herself sat down, -saying: - -"Now, if you please, I wish to be told where I am and how I came here." - -The hostess paid no more heed than if a fly had touched her, but the lad -paused in the act of shoveling food into his mouth and stared at -Dorothy, as he might have done at the same fly, could it have spoken. -Nor did he remove his gaze from her till she had repeated her question. -Then he shifted it to the woman's face, who waited awhile longer, then -said: - -"I tell nothing. Drink your milk." - -"Oh, indeed! Then I suppose I must find out for myself. I don't care for -the milk, thank you. I rarely drink it at home, but I'm fond of bacon -and eggs, and yours look nice. Please serve me some." - -The woman made no answer. She had finished her own meal and left the -others to do the same. So, as the taciturn creature departed for the -open fields, with a hoe over her shoulder, Dorothy drew the platter -toward her, found a third empty tin plate, and helped herself. - -She had noticed one thing that the others had, apparently, not known she -had: a sign of silence interchanged between the woman and the lanky lad. -He had been bidden to hold his tongue and been left to clear up the -dinner matters. He did this as deftly as a girl, though not after the -manner in which Dorothy had been trained: and casting a look of contempt -upon him, she finished her dinner, rose, and quietly left the room and -the house. - -But she got no further than a few rods' distance when she felt a strong -hand on her arm, herself turned rudely about, and led back to the -cottage. There she was pushed upon the doorstep and a note thrust into -her hand by this abnormally silent woman, who had returned from the -field as suddenly as if she had sprung from the earth at the girl's very -feet. - -The note was plainly enough written and to the point: - - "Stay quiet where you are and you'll soon be set free. Try to run - away and you'll meet big trouble." - -There was no signature and the handwriting was unknown: and Dorothy was -still blankly gazing at it when it was snatched from her hand, the woman -had again disappeared, and a huge mastiff had come around the corner of -the cottage, to seat himself upon the doorstep beside her. His -attentions might have been friendly; but Dorothy was afraid of dogs, and -shrank from this one into the smallest space possible, while there -fluttered down over her shoulder the note that had been seized. There -was now pinned to it a scrap of paper on which were scrawled three -words: - -"Drink no milk." - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE FLITTING - - -Disappointed, Mrs. Chester had stepped back into her little hall, and -the postman with the detective followed. Then they went further still -and settled themselves in the parlor, as if come for a prolonged stay. -To the detective's inquiry whether the missing Dorothy had recently met -any strangers, made acquaintances who might be able to furnish some clew -to her present whereabouts--as friends of longer standing had not been -able--the mother answered: "No. She was always at home or in the -immediate neighborhood." - -But conquering her timidity, the country-woman now interrupted: - -"Wait a minute. Mabel was here yesterday, wasn't she?" - -"Why, yes. She came home with my little girl from Sunday school and -spent part of the day. Why she did not stay longer I don't know. What -of it?" returned mother Martha, drearily. - -"She didn't stay longer because she was sent home. I was there and I -noticed what a good-natured child she was not to get mad about it. She -told her mother that Dorothy had a gentleman caller and had to see him -on business. We both laughed over it, 'cause 'twas so grown-up an' -old-fashioned like. An', sister, she said as how city children didn't -scarce have any childhood, they begun to be beauin' each other round so -early. We _laughed_, but still, I thought 'twas a pity, for I like -little girls to stay such, long as they can." - -"Nonsense! My Dorothy is--was the simplest child in the world. A -gentleman caller--the idea is ridiculous!" cried Mrs. Chester, -indignantly, and poor Mrs. Jones felt herself snubbed and wished that -she had held her tongue. - -Not so the detective, who quietly asked: - -"Who is this Mabel, and where can she be found?" - -"She's my niece an' likely she'll be found in bed, by now. No matter -about that, though. If you'd like to see her I'll fetch her to once," -answered Mrs. Jones, promptly rising. - -"Do so, please," said the officer, and the woman hurried away. - -The postman friend employed the interval of her absence in telling the -plans formed by "the boys" for the benefit of their ailing comrade. - -"You see, Mrs. Chester, John's about the best liked man on the force and -we want he should be the best cared for. So, to-night, after I saw you I -ran over to the hospital myself and saw one the doctors--the one that -has most to say about John. He wants to get him into the country right -away. Then back I hurried and got leave of absence, from Wednesday night -till next Monday morning, and I'm going with you, to help you on the -trip and see him settled all straight. No--Don't say a word yet! It'll -be all right. It's settled. You can get ready." - -"Oh! but I can't, I can't!" protested Martha, deeply touched by this -kindness, yet feeling as if she were being fairly hurled out of her old -life into the new one. Besides, if this mystery of Dorothy's -disappearance were not cleared she could never leave the city, never! -and so she stoutly declared. - -"But--it's a case of adopted daughter _versus_ a husband's life, seems -to me," put in the detective quietly. "Moreover, I'm told by Lathrop, -here, that Chester isn't to be worried about anything. _Anything._ His -chance of recovery depends on it." - -The tortured housemistress was vastly relieved to see not only Mabel, -but the entire household of Bruce-and-Jones, coming swiftly toward the -house and presently entering at the doorway, left open because of the -great heat. Both the plumber and his wife were panting from their -exertions; Mr. Jones was as excited as if he were going to a circus; his -wife uncommonly proud of her part in the occasion; and the terrified -Mabel weeping loudly: - -"I don't know a thing! I don't--I don't!" - -"Why, Miss Bruce, what a surprising statement from such a bright-looking -young lady as you!" exclaimed the detective, suavely, and the girl -stopped sobbing long enough to see that this was no formidable -policeman in blue-and-brass but a very simple gentleman, in a business -suit rather the worse for wear. In another moment he had gallantly -placed this possibly important witness in the coziest corner of the -sofa, and had placed himself beside her, as if to protect her from the -inquisitiveness of her friends. - -Then in a tone so low that it effectually prevented their words being -overheard, he deftly drew from the now reassured Mabel a much better -description of Dorothy's caller than fear would have extorted. Indeed, -she became inclined to enlarge upon facts, as she saw her statements -recorded in a small notebook. But this finally held no more than the -brief entry: - -"Tall. Light hair. Left eye squints. Eyebrows meet. Glib. Name not -given." - -Then the notebook was closed and pocketed, the cross-examination was -over, and all were free to take a part in a discussion--which they did -so volubly, that the detective smiled and called a halt. Moreover, his -words had the weight of one who knew, as he said: - -"We've gone into this business very promptly, and it must, for the -present, be kept out of the newspapers, else the guilty party who is -detaining Dorothy--if there is such a party--will be warned and may -escape. It is but twelve hours since the child disappeared. At the end -of another twenty-four will be time enough to publish. Meanwhile, Madam, -rest assured that we shall keep steadily at work, trying to locate your -missing daughter and--I wish you all good-evening." - -The gentleman's departure was a relief. It seemed to lessen the horror -of Dorothy's absence, though her mother was glad to know that the -efforts of the police were being made to trace her. But--Why, the -darling might come walking in, at any moment, and how distressed she'd -be to find herself an object of such unpleasant importance! - -"Now, Mrs. Chester," said Mr. Lathrop, "we 'boys' don't want you to -worry one minute about this moving business. We've agreed to send a -professional packer and his men here, the first thing to-morrow morning. -You needn't touch one thing. It's better that you should not, for if -all is left to this man he is responsible for everything. You just -rest, visit John and get him braced up for his journey, and take it -easy. If little Dorothy is back before Thursday morning, when we start, -all right. She shall go with us and be the life of the party. If she -isn't--why, as soon as she does come, some way will be found, somebody, -to bring her safely to you." - -"Oh, Mr. Lathrop! You and the 'boys' are goodness itself, but I can't--I -cannot go away in such uncertainty. If Dorothy isn't found--John will be -the first one to say that we must wait until she is." - -This was a natural attitude of mind, and Mr. Lathrop, as well as all the -other friends of the Chesters, anticipated it. But by slow degrees, the -arguments of her pastor, the hospital doctors, and the honest neighbors -who sympathized with the tortured mother, finally succeeded in bringing -her to view the matter as they did. - -"Not an effort shall be relaxed, any more than if you were on the spot -to direct us. We all feel as if we, too, had lost a beloved child and -none of us will rest until this mystery is cleared. Trust the advice of -all your best-wishers, Mrs. Chester, and take this fine chance offered -your lame husband to make the long journey under the care of his postman -friend," urged the minister, and his final argument procured her -consent. - -"Oh! these last two days! Shall I ever forget them!" cried Mrs. Chester, -when Wednesday evening had arrived and she sat in her dismantled home -upon one of her incoming tenant's chairs. "To think that on Monday -morning, when you came, Mrs. Jones, I hadn't touched a single thing to -pack! and now--there isn't one left. All in boxes an' crates, over there -to the station; me all alone; no Dorothy C.; no John--I'm just -heart-broke!" - -Mrs. Jones's patience was tried. For these two busy days she and her -"Bill" had stayed at No. 77, helping where help was needed, and keeping -a careful eye to the "professional" packing which they more than half -distrusted. The frail country-woman had just gone through the same sort -of business, almost single-handed, and she felt that her new friend -failed to realize the blessings of her lot and that a reproof was in -order. - -"Well, Mis' Chester, you may be. I can't tell. I never had chick nor -child to make me sad or glad, ary one. But if I'd adopted one, right out -of the streets as you did, an' she'd seen fit to run away an' turn her -back on a good home, after enjoyin' it so long, an' I'd still got my -_man_ left, an' folks had been that generous to me, payin' for -everything--Laws! I sh'd think I had some mercies left. _Some._" - -Mother Martha rose. She was not offended, but she was deeply hurt and -she was glad the time had come to say good-bye. With a weary smile she -held out her hand, saying: - -"Well, that's right, too, but you don't understand. Nobody can who -hasn't lived with _Dorothy_. There was never a child like her. Never. -I'll be going. I said good-bye to everybody--everything, this side the -city, and I've fixed it to sleep at a boarding house right across the -street from the Hospital. We've got to make an early start and I'll be -close on hand. If she--O my darling!--Good-bye. I--I hope you'll be as -happy here as I was before all this trouble came upon me. No. I don't -want company. I want to be alone. It's the only way I can bear it -and--good-bye, old home! Good-bye--good-bye!" - -The door opened and the mistress of the prettiest house on Brown Street -vanished into the darkness of a somber, sultry night; and what her -feelings were only those who have thus parted with a beloved home can -understand; and what the hours of sleeplessness which followed only she -herself knew. - -The morning found her sunshiny and bright, as if her whole heart were in -this sudden flitting, and waiting in the carriage at the hospital door, -while an orderly and Mr. Lathrop, superintended by a nurse and doctor, -helped John Chester to make his first short journey upon crutches. - -The excitement of the event had sent a flush to his cheeks and a -brightness to his eyes which made him look so like his old self that his -wife rejoiced that, after all, there had been no delay in their removal. -Yet, once in the carriage, with his useless legs stretched out before -him, he suddenly demanded: - -"Why, where's my girl? Where's Dorothy C.?" - -He looked toward his wife, but it was Mr. Lathrop who answered: - -"Oh! she's coming later. We--we couldn't bother with a child, this -trip." - -"Couldn't 'bother' with my Dorothy! Why, friend, you're the best I have, -but you don't know Dorothy. Humph! She's more brains in her curly head -than anybody in this party has in theirs. Beg pardon, all, but--but you -see I'm rather daft on Dorothy. I simply cannot go without her. What's -more, I shan't even try." - -This was worse than they had expected. Martha had felt that her husband -should no longer be deceived as to the state of things; even in his -weakened condition she believed that his good sense would support him -under their dreadful trial, and that he would suffer less if the news -were gently broken to him here than if he were left to learn it later, -in some ruder way. But her judgment had been overruled even as now his -decision was; for without an instant's delay Mr. Lathrop ordered the -carriage to drive on and that memorable journey had begun. - -As he was lifted out of the vehicle at the station entrance, he turned -upon his wife and for the first time in her memory of him spoke harshly -to her: - -"Martha, you're deceiving me. Taking advantage of my helplessness. -You've always been jealous of my love for little Dorothy, and now, I -suppose, just because I can't work to support her you've got rid of her. -Well, I shall have her back. I may be a cripple, but my brain isn't -lame--it's only my legs--and I'll find some way to take care of her. She -shall come back. Trust me. Now, go ahead!" - -He submitted to the porter and his friend Lathrop, and, the train just -rolling in, he was carried through the gates and placed aboard it in the -parlor car where seats had been procured. He had never before traveled -in such luxury, but instead of the gay abandon with which he would once -have accepted and enjoyed it, he seemed now not to notice anything -about him. Except that, just as the train was moving out, he caught at a -newsboy hurrying from it, seized a paper, tossed a nickel, and spread -the sheet open on his knee. - -Alas! for all the over-wise precautions of his friends! The first words -his eyes rested upon were the scare-head capitals of this sentence: - - THE FATE OF POSTMAN JOHN CHESTER'S DAUGHTER DOROTHY STILL - UNKNOWN--KIDNAPPING AND MURDER THE PROBABLE SOLUTION OF THE - MYSTERY. - -He stared at the letters as if they had no significance. Then he read -them singly, in pairs, in dozens--trying to make his shocked brain -comprehend their meaning. The utmost he could do was to see them as -letters of fire, printed on the air before him, and on the darkness of -the tunnel they now entered. A darkness so suggestive of the misery that -had shrouded a once happy household that poor Martha, burying her face -in her hands, could only sob aloud. - -But from the stricken "father John" came neither sob nor groan, for -there was still upon him the numbness of the shock he had received; and -it was in that same silence that he made the long journey, with its -several changes, and came at last to the farmhouse on the hilltop, which -was to have been made glad by a child's presence and was now so -desolate. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -JIM BARLOW - - -Dorothy reread the note. Then she took off the scrawl attached to it and -tore it into bits, remarking to the mastiff, or whoever might hear: - -"Well, I don't want any milk. I shall never like it again. I believe -that dreadful man put something in it last night--was it only last -night?--that made me go to sleep and not know a thing was happening -after I got into the carriage till I woke up here. Milk! Ugh!" - -With a shudder of repulsion she looked over her shoulder just as a -sibilant, warning "S-Ssh!" came from the room behind. Then she stood up -and screamed as the mastiff, likewise rising, grasped her skirt in his -teeth. - -"Hush! you better not let her hear you!" was the second, whispered -warning, and though she peered into the kitchen she could see nobody, -till, after a moment, she discovered a pair of dirty bare feet -protruding from under the bed that stood in one corner. - -Dorothy was afraid of the dog that held her, but she was not usually -afraid of human beings; so she called quite loudly: - -"You long white boy, come out from that place. I want to talk to you!" - -The dog loosened its grip long enough to growl, then took a fresh hold, -as the lad cautiously drew himself into full sight and noiselessly stood -up. But he laid one grimy hand on his lips, again commanding silence, -and snatching a big basket from the floor ran out of a rear door. - -The girl tried to follow. Of the two human beings she had seen in this -isolated cottage the long boy seemed the gentler, and she was determined -to make him, or somebody, tell her where she was. The mastiff still held -her prisoner and she suspected he was acting upon orders. Her temper -rose and with it her courage. It was absurd that she could not do as she -pleased in a little bit of a country cottage like this, where there were -no locks nor bolts to hinder! So for the third time she moved, and for -the third time the dog's great teeth set themselves more firmly on her -light clothing. Clenching her small hands in her impotent wrath, she -began to screech and yell, at the top of her voice, incessantly, -deafeningly, defiantly. Pausing only long enough to renew her breath, -and wondering if that old woman she could see yonder, picking berries -from a bed, could endure the noise as long as she could endure to make -it. - -Apparently, the uproar had no further result than to tire her own -throat; for, until she had finished gathering the strawberries from one -long row of vines, the woman did not pause. But, having reached the -limit of the bed and of the crate she moved along before her as she -worked, she suddenly stood up, lifted the crate to her head, and strode -back to the house. There she deposited her precious fruit in an outer -shed and entered the kitchen. From the small clock-shelf she gathered a -pad of writing paper, a bunch of envelopes, and a lead pencil; which -with an air of pride, and the first semblance of a smile Dorothy had -seen upon her grim features, she offered to the child. - -"Here. To write on. To your ma. He left 'em. Tige, let go!" - -Instantly, the mastiff loosened his hold of Dorothy's skirts and -followed his mistress into the strawberry patch whither she had again -gone, carrying another crate filled with empty baskets. Evidently, this -was a truck-farm and the mistress of it was preparing for market. Just -such crates and cups, or little baskets, were now plentiful at all the -city shops where groceries were sold, and Dorothy's hopes rose at the -thought that she might be taken thither with this woman when she went to -sell her stuff. - -"Oh! that's what she'll let me do! So what's the use of writing? And how -fine those berries look! I'd like to pick some myself. I'd rather do it -than do nothing. I'll just go and offer to help." - -In better spirits than she would have thought possible, even a few -moments before, the homesick girl ran across the garden and to the -woman's side, who merely looked up and said nothing, till Dorothy -lifted one of the wooden cups and began to pick fruit into it. - -For a brief space the other watched her closely, as the nimble little -fingers plucked the beautiful berries; till by mischance Dorothy pulled -off an entire stem, holding not only ripened fruit but several green and -half-turned drupes. Whereupon her fingers were smartly tapped and by -example, rather than speech, she was instructed in the art of berry -picking. - -"Oh! I do love to learn things, and I see, I see!" cried the novice, and -smiling up into the old face now so near her own, she began the task -afresh. Already the market-woman had resumed her own work, and it seemed -incredible that such coarse fingers as hers could so deftly strip the -vines of perfect berries only, leaving all others intact for a future -picking. Also, she had a swift way of packing them in the cups that left -each berry showing its best side and filled the receptacle without -crowding. - -"Ah! I see! I'm getting the trick of it! And that's what mother means -by paying for a quart and not getting a quart, isn't it? Oh! how -delicious they are!" and, without asking, Dorothy popped the plumpest -berry she had yet found into her own mouth. - -That was a mistake, as the frown upon the woman's face promptly told -her; and with a sudden sinking of her heart she realized again that she -was, after all, a prisoner in an unknown place. She rose, apologized in -a haughty manner, and would have retreated to the cottage again had she -been permitted. But having proved herself of service, retreat was not so -easy. Again she was pulled down to a stooping posture and her cup thrust -back into her hand. - -"Work. Eat spoiled ones. Don't dally." - -Dorothy obeyed; but alas! her self-elected task grew very wearisome. The -heat was still great and the afternoon sun shone full upon her back, and -there seemed positively no end to the berries. There were rows upon rows -of them, and the woman had only just begun when Dorothy joined her. Or -so it seemed, though there were already several crates waiting in the -little shed till the full day's crop should be garnered. - -At the end of one row of vines she stood up and protested: - -"I can't pick any more. I'm so tired. Please tell me where I am and what -your name is. Tell me, too, when I can go home and the way." - -"No matter. Go. Write. I'll take it. Here;" and this big woman of small -speech held out on the palm of her great hand a half-dozen over-ripe -berries, which Dorothy hesitated to accept, yet found delicious when she -did so. - -"Thank you! and if you won't tell me who you are or where I am, I shall -call you Mrs. Denim, after the clothes you wear; and I shall find out -where this farm is and run away from it at the first chance. I'd rather -that horrid old dog would eat me up than be kept a prisoner this way. Is -that long boy your son? May I go talk to him? May he show me the way -home to Baltimore?" - -To none of these questions was any answer vouchsafed, and offended -Dorothy was moved to remark: - -"Humph! You're the savingest woman I ever saw! You don't waste even a -word, let alone a spoiled strawberry. Oh! I beg your pardon! I didn't -mean to be quite so saucy, but I'm almost crazy to go home. I want to go -home--_I want to go home_!" - -There was such misery in this wail that the long boy, weeding onions a -few feet away, paused in his tedious task and raised his shock head with -a look of pity on his face. But the woman seemed to know his every -movement, even though her own head was bowed above the vines, and shot -him such an angry glance that he returned to his weeding with no further -expression of his sympathy. - -Poor Dorothy C.! Homesickness in its bitterest form had come upon her -and her grief made her feel so ill that she dropped down just where she -was, unable longer to stand upright. Instantly, she was snatched up -again by "Mrs. Denim's" strong arms and violently shaken. That anybody, -even an ignorant stranger, should lie down in a strawberry patch and -thus ruin many valuable berries was the height of folly! So, without -more ado, Dorothy was carried indoors, almost tossed upon the bed in the -kitchen, and the paper and pencil thrown upon the patchwork quilt beside -her. Then she was left to recover at her leisure, while whistling to -Tige to watch the girl, "Mrs. Denim" returned to her outdoor labors; nor -was she seen again till darkness had filled the narrow room. - -Then once again Dorothy was lifted and was now carried to a loft above -the kitchen, where, by the dim light of a tallow candle, she was shown a -rude bed on the floor and a plate of food. Also, there was a bowl of -milk, but at this the girl looked with a shudder. She wasn't hungry, but -she reflected that people grew faint and ill without food, so she forced -herself to nibble at the brown bread, which had been dipped in molasses, -instead of being spread with butter, and its sweetness gave her a great -thirst. Slipping down the stairs, she found the pail and dipper and got -her drink, and it was with some surprise that she did this unreproved. - -However, a snore from the bed explained why. "Mrs. Denim" was asleep -and the "long boy" was invisible. At the foot of the stairs, Dorothy -hesitated. Wasn't this a chance to steal away and start for home? Once -out of this house and on some road, she would meet people who would -direct her. She had heard her father say, time and time again, that the -world was full of kindness; and, though her present circumstances seemed -to contradict this statement, she was anxious to believe it true. But, -as she stood there debating whether she dare run away in the darkness or -wait until daylight, the sleepless Tiger gave a vicious growl and -bounded in from the shed where he had lain. - -That settled it. With a leap as swift as his own Dorothy sped back over -the stairs and flung herself on the "shake-down" where she had been told -to sleep; and again silence, broken only by its mistress's snores, fell -upon this lonely cottage in the fields. - -Dorothy's own sleep was fitful. This low room under the eaves was close -and warm. Her head ached strangely, and her throat was sore. At times -she seemed burning up with fever, and the next instant found herself -shaking with the cold. She roused, at length, from one disturbed nap to -hear the sound of wheels creaking heavily over rough ground, and to see -the attic dimly lighted. - -"Can it be morning already? Is that woman going to market and not taking -me, after all I begged her so?" cried the girl aloud and, hurrying from -the bed to the low window, looked out. - -It was the light of a late-rising moon that brightened the scene and -there was slowly disappearing in the distance one of those curious, -schooner-shaped vehicles which truck-farmers use: and with a vain belief -that she could overtake it, Dorothy again rushed down the stairs and -plump upon the mastiff crouched on the floor below, and evidently on -guard. - -But, yawning and stretching his long limbs, there just then entered the -shock-headed youth; and his "Pshaw!" Dorothy's "O-Oh!" and Tiger's growl -made a trio of sounds in the silent house: to which he promptly added -his question: - -"Huh? you awake?" - -"Yes, yes! But I want to go with that woman! Call off the dog--I must -go--I _must_!" - -The boy did call the dog to him and laid his hand upon the creature's -collar; then he said: - -"I'm glad of it." - -"Glad that I'm left, you--horrid thing!" cried Dorothy, trying to run -past him and out of the door. - -But she was not permitted, even had her own strength not suddenly -forsaken her: for the lad put out his free hand and stopped her. - -"Glad you're awake. So's we can talk," he said; and now releasing the -mastiff, whom he bade: "Lie down!" he led her to the doorstep and made -her sit down, with him beside her. - -"So you _can_ talk, if you want to! I thought you were tongue-tied!" she -remarked, now realizing that the wagon had passed beyond reach, but -thankful to have speech with anybody, even this silly-looking fellow. -"What's your name?" - -"Jim. Jim Barlow. I hain't got no folks. All dead. I work for her," he -answered, readily enough, and she understood that it was only from fear -he had been so silent until now. - -"Are you afraid of her? Do you mean 'her' to be that dreadful woman?" - -"Yep. She ain't so bad. She's only queer, and she's scared herself of -_him_. What's yourn?" - -"My name, you mean? Dorothy Chester. Who's 'him'? Has 'she' gone to -market? Does she go every market day? To Lexington, or Hollins, or -Richmond--which? What's her name?" - -Jim gasped. His experience of girls was limited, and he didn't know -which of these many questions to answer first. He began with the last: -and now that he had the chance he seemed as willing to talk as Dorothy -was to listen. Apparently, neither of them now thought of the hour and -its fitness for sleep: though Tiger had lain down before them on the -flat stone step and was himself snoring, his need of vigilance past for -the time being. Said the boy: - -"Stott. Mirandy Stott. Her man died. _He_ was a baby. She brung him -up--good. She earned this hull truck-farm. She makes money. All for him -an' he keeps her close. She sent him to school an' made a man of him. -She can't read nor write. She makes her 'mark,' but he can, the -first-ratest ever was. I can, too, some. I'm learnin' myself. I'm goin' -to school some time, myself, after I leave her." - -"If you're going to school, I should think it was time you began. You're -a big boy," said Dorothy. "Why don't you leave her now?" - -"Well--'cause. She--I come here when my folks died an' I hadn't no other -place. She treats me decent, only makes me hold my tongue. She hates -folks that talk. _He_ talks fast enough, though. So I--I've just stayed -on, a-waitin' my chance. I get good grub an' she don't lick me. She -likes me, I guess, next to him. She likes him better even than she likes -money. I don't. I'm scared of him. So's she. She does what he says every -time. That's why I said 'no milk.'" - -"Who is 'he'? Does he live here? What is about the milk?" - -There was nobody anywhere near them except the dog. By no possibility -could anybody besides Dorothy hear the information next imparted: yet -Jim stood up, peered in every direction, and when he again sat down -resumed in a whisper: - -"You ain't the first one. 'Tother was a boy, real little. He cried all -the time, first off. Then 'he' fetched some white powders an' she put -'em in the kid's milk. After that he didn't cry no more but he slept -most all the time. I seen her. I watched. I seen her put one in yourn. I -liked you. I thought if you stayed you'd be comp'ny, if you was awake. -That's why." - -"What became of the little boy?" asked Dorothy, also whispering, and -frightened. - -"He took him away. I studied out 't he gets money that way. He wouldn't -do it, 'less he did, seems if. I guess that's what he's plannin' 'bout -you. I'll watch. You watch. Don't mad her an' she'll treat you good -enough. 'Less--'less he should tell her different. Then I don't know." - -Dorothy sat silent for a long time. She was horrified to find her own -suspicions verified by this other person though he seemed to be -friendly; and her mind formed plan after plan of escape, only to reject -each as impossible. Finally she asked: - -"Where is this house? How far from Baltimore?" - -"'Bout a dozen mile, more or less. Ain't no town or village nigh. That's -why she bought it cheap, the land laying away off that way. So fur is -the reason she has to have four mules, 'stead of two, for the -truck-wagon. She makes money! All for him. Him an' money--that's the -hull of her." - -"Say, Jim, do you like me? Really, as you said?" demanded Dorothy, after -another period of confused thought, her brain seeming strangely dull and -stupid, and a desire to lie down and rest greater, for the present, than -that for freedom. - -"Course. I said so," he responded, promptly. - -"Will you help me get away from here, back to my home? Listen. You told -me about yourself, I'll tell about myself:" and as simply as possible -she did so. Her story fell in exactly with his own ideas, that money was -to be extorted for her restoration to her family, but his promise to -help her was not forthcoming: and when he did not reply, she -impatiently exclaimed: "You won't help me! You horrid, hateful wretch!" - -"Ain't nuther. Hark. One thing I know if I don't know another. I won't -lie for nobody, even her or him. If I can--_if I can_--I'll help you, -but I ain't promisin' nothin' more. I'll watch out. You watch, an' _if I -can_, without makin' it worse for you, I will. Now I'm goin' to bed. You -best, too. She's found out you can work an' you'll have to. I've got -plowin' to do. I sleep out yonder, in the shed. Tige, you stay where you -be." - -Without further words, Jim retreated to his bunk in the shed and Dorothy -to her attic. She was now conscious only of utter weariness and a -racking pain through her whole body. She was, in fact, a very sick -girl. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -DOROTHY'S ILLNESS - - -"Measles." - -This was the one-word-verdict announced by Mrs. Stott's lips, as a few -hours later, she stood beside the bed in the kitchen and sternly -regarded the girl whom she had just brought from the attic and laid -there. She didn't look pleased, and poor Dorothy had never felt so -guilty in her life--nor so wretched. Yet she plucked up spirit enough to -retort: - -"I didn't get them on purpose!" - -Then she covered her eyes with her hands and fell to weeping, -remembering mother Martha's tenderness whenever she had "come down" with -any childish disease. Remembering, too, how father John had teased her -about being such a "catcher." "Such a sympathetic child nobody must have -chicken pox, scarlatina, or even mumps, but you must share them! Well, -a good thing to get through all your childish complaints in your -childhood, and have done with them!" Almost she could hear his dear -voice saying those very words and see the tender smile that belied their -jest. Oh! to feel herself lifted once more in his strong arms! and to -know that, no matter what was amiss with her, he never shrank from -fondling or comforting her. - -This woman did shrink, yet how could it be from fear of infection to -herself? Besides, she made Jim stay wholly outside in the shed; and thus -the acquaintance begun during the night was suddenly suspended. Still, -though there was real consternation in her mind, the farm mistress was -not unkind. It may be that she felt the shortest way to a recovery was, -also, the least expensive one to herself; and immediately she went to -work upon her patient, after one more question: - -"Know anybody had 'em?" - -"Yes. Lots. Half my class," answered Dorothy, defiantly. - -"Hmm. Yes. Measles," commented Mrs. Stott, as she put on her sunbonnet -and went out to rummage in her sage bed for fresh sprigs with which to -make a tea. This she forced Dorothy to drink, scalding hot; next she -covered her up with the heavy quilt, fastened the windows down, and -ordered Tige to take up his post beside the bed. Then she commanded: -"Stay in that bed. Get out, take cold, die. Not on my hands." - -"Suppose she doesn't care if I do die on the hands of somebody else!" -reflected the patient, but said nothing aloud. Yet she watched the woman -do a strange thing--go to the door at the foot of the attic stairs, lock -it, and put the key in her pocket. Then she went out of the cottage and -took Jim with her. - -Left alone with the dog, Dorothy C. had many sad thoughts; but soon -bodily discomfort banished her more serious anxieties and she became -wholly absorbed in efforts to find some spot on that hard couch where -she might rest. - -"I'll get up! I can't bear this heat!" she cried, at last, and tossed -the heavy covers from her. But no sooner had she done so than a heavy -chill succeeded and she crept back again, shivering. Thus passed the -morning and nobody came near; but at noon when the farm woman re-entered -the kitchen Dorothy's piteous plea was for "Water! Water!" and she had -become oblivious to almost all else save the terrible thirst. - -With the ignorance of her class the now really alarmed Mrs. Stott -refused the comforting drink, only to see her charge sink back in a -state of utter collapse; and, thereafter, for several days, the child -realized little that went on about her. On the few occasions when she -did rouse, she was so weakly patient that even the hard-natured woman -who nursed her felt her own heart softened to a sincere pity. Curiously, -too, Tiger became devoted to her. He would stand beside the bed and lick -the wan hand that lay on the quilt, as if trying to express his -sympathy; and his black, cool nose was grateful in her hot palm. - -Miranda Stott smiled grimly over this new friendship and, for the -present, did not interfere with it. Dorothy couldn't get away then, even -with the mastiff's connivance; but her hostess most heartily regretted -that the girl had ever come. She had perplexities of her own, now, which -this enforced guest and her illness greatly increased; and, as she -gradually returned to strength, Dorothy often observed a deep frown on -the woman's face and, in her whole bearing, a strange attitude of -listening and of fear. - -One afternoon, when Miranda and Jim were hard at work in the field -beyond the house and Dorothy still lay upon the bed, though for the -first time dressed in her own clothes, which her nurse had found time to -launder, the girl fancied that she heard a groan from somewhere. - -"Why, Tige, what's that?" she asked, half rising and listening intently. - -He answered by a thump of his tail on the boards and his head turned -sidewise, with his ears pricked up. Evidently, he, too, had caught the -sound, and was puzzled by it. - -A moment later, Dorothy was certain she heard a movement of somebody in -the room overhead. There was but one, she knew, and it covered the -entire width of the small house, for she had seen that during her brief -occupation of it. Who could it be? - -Half-frightened and wholly curious she crossed from the bed to the door -and looked out. Yes, the two other inmates of the cottage were still in -the field, setting out celery plants, as she had heard them discussing -at dinner. - -Tiger kept close beside her and, now that she was upon her feet again, -seemed doubtful whether he were to remain her friend or again become her -watchful enemy. She settled that question, however, by her loving pat on -his head and the smile she gave him. His attentions to her, while she -had lain so weak and helpless, had won her own affection and made her -feel that she would never again be afraid of any dog. - -Suddenly Mrs. Stott looked round and saw the girl in the doorway. Then -she at once stood up, said something to Jim, and hurried to the house: -demanding, as she reached it and with evident alarm: - -"What's the matter?" - -Dorothy smiled. She had been so dependent on this woman that she had -learned to really like her, and she answered brightly: - -"Nothing but fancies, I reckon! I thought, Tiger, too, thought, we heard -somebody in the room upstairs. Then we came to the door and saw you were -both outdoors, so there couldn't have been, could there? You never have -burglars in this out-of-the-way place, do you? My darling mother Martha -is always looking out for them and there's none ever came. Oh! I'm so -glad to be well, almost well, once more. You'll let me go home to her, -won't you? The very next time you go to market? I've been such a trouble -I'm sure you'll be glad to be rid of me!" and Dorothy impulsively caught -at the woman's hand and kissed it. - -For an instant Miranda Stott looked as if she could have been "knocked -down with a feather." A kiss was as unknown and startling a thing to her -as it was possible to imagine and it disconcerted her. But her answer -was: - -"Yes, I'm glad too. I'll fetch a chair. Do you good." - -So she caught up a chair in one strong hand, leaving a muddy impress -upon it; and, seeing this, covered her other hand with her apron, then -thrust it under Dorothy's arm and so piloted her out to the celery -patch. There were no trees allowed to grow in that utilitarian spot, -except here and there a fruit tree; and under the sparse shade of a -slender plum-sapling Dorothy was made to sit, while Jim went on with his -dropping of tiny seedlings into holes filled with water. Mrs. Stott had -gone again to the house and for a moment the boy and girl were free to -talk, and all her own old interest in gardening returned. Besides, she -wanted to learn all she could about it, so that she might be useful when -she, at last, got to that home "in the country" where they were all -going so soon. - -"Why do you do that, Jim?" she asked, intently watching his long fingers -straighten the fine roots of the plants, then drop them into the -prepared drill. - -"Why, to make 'em grow. 'Cause it's the way," he answered, surprised -that anybody should ask such a foolish question. - -"Oh, I see. You drill a place with a wooden peg, then you pour water -into it, then you plant the plant. Hmm. That's easy. I'll know how to -make our celery grow, too." - -Jim looked up. "Where's your celery at?" - -"I reckon it's 'at' a seed store, yet. 'Cause we haven't got there. Say, -Jim, were you afraid you'd 'catch' the measles? the reason why you -didn't come into the kitchen at all." - -The lad laughed, slyly. - -"No, I wasn't. She was, though. 'Cause I've had 'em. She didn't know an' -I didn't tell her. Stayin' out in the barn I had time to myself. I -learned myself six more words. Hear me?" - -"Maybe I don't know them myself. Then I shouldn't know if you spelled -them right or wrong," she cautiously answered. "If I had a book I'd hear -them, gladly." - -Jim forgot that he was never expected to pause in any labor on hand and -stood up: his thin body appearing to elongate indefinitely with surprise -as he returned: - -"Why--but _you've_ been to school! Anybody could hear 'em off a book. I -could hear 'em myself that way! Pshaw!" and into this mild expletive he -put such a world of contempt that Dorothy's cheeks tingled. - -"Go ahead. Maybe I know them, but--you'd better work; Mrs. Stott is -coming." - -The woman was, indeed, almost upon them and listening suspiciously to -what they might be saying; and though there was scorn in her expression -there was also relief. She couldn't understand what any farm hand needed -of "book learning," but it sounded harmless enough when Jim pronounced -the word: "Baker. B-a-k-e-r, baker," and the girl applauded with a clap -of her hands and the exclamation: "Good! Right! Fine! Next!" - -Back on his knees again, the lad cast a sheepish glance toward his -employer, as if asking her permission to continue. She did not forbid -him, so he went on with: "Tinker. T-i-n, tin, k-e-r, ker, tinker." - -Again Dorothy commended him and was thankful that her own knowledge was -sufficiently in advance of his that she should not be put to -shame--"without a book." Also, by the time the ambitious youth had -recited his new lesson of six words, in their entirety, both he and -Dorothy were in a fine glow of enthusiasm. She, also, loved study and -found it easy; and she longed with all her heart that she could put -inside this Jim's head as much as she already learned. - -Then he was sent away to attend to the cattle for the night, to see that -the market-wagon was again packed, and to put all utensils safely under -cover. Because she could afford no waste, or thought she couldn't, -Miranda Stott took better care of her farm implements than most farmers -did; and if indoors there was much to be desired in the way of neatness, -out-of-doors all was ship-shape and tidy. She finished the celery -planting herself, and Dorothy wondered if there were people enough in -the world to eat all those plants, after they were grown. Then Miranda -took the chair from Dorothy and said: - -"Come, I want my bed again. I'll fix you outside." And as if some -further explanation were needed, added: "It's healthier. You've got to -get well, quick." - -"Oh! I want to. I am, almost, already. It is so good to be out of doors, -and--are you going to take me home, to-night, when you drive in?" - -"No. Take letter. See?" answered this laconic woman, and led the girl -into the barn and into what had been a small harness-room partitioned -from one side. This had, evidently, been prepared for occupation and -there was a suspicious air of wisdom on Jim's face, as Dorothy passed -him, fastening the cattle-stanchions, betraying that this barn bedroom -was a familiar place to him. - -"Why, it is a bedroom! If the bed is only a pile of hay! There are -sheets on it and a pillow and a blanket. My! It smells so sweet and -outdoor-sy!" cried Dorothy, thinking how much more restful such a couch -would be than that hot feather bed in the kitchen, on which she had lain -and tossed. - -"Yours. Stay here now. Jim'll bring your supper, and a chair. Fetch the -paper, boy," she concluded, as he departed for the cellar under the -cottage which was used for a dairy. - -Then Mrs. Stott went away, Tiger nestled up to her--as if offering his -society--and the still weak girl dropped down on the sweet-smelling bed -and felt almost happy, even though still refused a return home. - -"Well, it's something to be let to write to mother. I was so sick I -haven't done it often; but if, as that Mr. Smith said, she knew I was -safe she won't worry much. Not so very much. But, oh! How I want her, -how I want her!" - -The farm-mistress herself brought back the chair and paper, and waited -while Jim followed with the supper of bread and cold meat. He added a -pitcher of water without bidding, and, supposing him to have finished, -his mistress left the place. Indeed, she seemed so changed and -preoccupied that Dorothy wondered and pitied. Her own sorrows were -teaching her the divine gift of compassion, and though she was this -woman's prisoner she longed to share and soothe the distress she was so -evidently suffering. - -But she dared not. With a gesture of despair, Mrs. Stott suddenly threw -both hands outward, then hurried away into the cottage, leaving the boy -and girl staring after her. Even Jim did not tarry, though he longed to -do so; yet he managed to whisper, in his own mysterious fashion: - -"It's _him_. He's got 'em. They're goin' hard--he's old." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE PLUMBER AND HIS GOSSIP - - -The eagle-gate was open again. Mrs. Cecil had recovered from her -illness, and was once more upon her broad piazza. This time she was not -awaiting the arrival of the postman but of the plumber. The sudden heat -of the southern city reminded her of her northern home in the highlands -and she was anxious to remove there as soon as possible. But, with true -Maryland housewifery, she must personally see to all the details of the -annual flitting. - -In every room of the house pictures were being swathed in tarletan, -chandeliers wrapped in the same stuff, carpets lifted, furniture put -into freshly starched slips, and the entire interior protected to the -utmost against the summer's dust and fading. Only one matter did not -progress as rapidly as this impatient little mistress of the mansion -felt it should. Nobody came at her instant command to examine the -plumbing and see that it was in order for the season. - -"And water makes more trouble than even flies. Dinah, girl! Are you sure -a message was sent to that man how I was waiting?" - -"Posi_tive_-ly sho, Miss Betty. Laws, honey, don't go worritin' yo'se'f -an' you-all jus' done gettin' ovah yo' misery. He'll be comin' erlong, -bime-by," comforted the maid, officiously folding a shawl about Mrs. -Cecil's shoulders, and having the shawl instantly tossed aside, with a -gesture of disgust. - -"O you girl! Do stop fussing about me. I'm nearly suffocated, already, -in this awful heat, and I won't--I won't be wrapped up in flannel, like -a mummy. You never had any sense, Dinah!" - -"Yas'm. I 'low dat's so, Miss Betty. Mebbe on account you-all nevah done -beaten me ernough. Yas'm, but I doan 'pear to be acquainted wid er -mummy, Miss Betty. What-all be dey like?" And with imperturbable good -nature, Dinah picked up the shawl and again placed it around her lady, -who permitted it to remain without further protest. - -"Hmm. No matter what they're like, Dinah. But you know, girl, you know -as well as I do what trouble it made for us last year, when we went away -and forgot to have the water turned off from the fountain, yonder. That -care-taker we left--Oh! dear! Is there anybody in this world fit to be -trusted!" - -Mrs. Cecil was not yet as strong as she professed to be, but her -weakened nerves seemed to add strength to her temper. A red spot was -already coming out upon her pale cheeks when there sauntered through the -gateway a corpulent man, with a kit of plumber's tools over his -shoulder. He slowly advanced to the steps, lifted his hat, and, bowing -courteously, said: - -"Good-morning, Mrs. Cecil. Glad to see you able to enjoy the fine -weather." - -"Fine weather! Morning! I should think it was afternoon--by the way -you've kept me waiting. Didn't you get my message?" - -"Oh! yes, I did. A pickaninny about as big as a button brought it. -What's to be done? The usual shutting-off, Ma'am?" - -"Everything's to be done, this year, and thoroughly. The water made no -end of trouble last season, for half the faucets weren't looked after. -As soon as we got home in the fall and turned it on in the bathroom, the -whole place was flooded." - -"So, so? That was a pity. Yes, I remember. Well, it shall be gone over -now, and I promise you nothing shall happen. By the way, all my men were -out. Can one of your 'boys' wait on me and hand me my tools? I'm kind of -stout and stooping bothers----" - -She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. A small black boy was -throwing stones at the sparrows on the lawn, and him she summoned by the -absurd title of: - -"Methuselah Bonaparte Washington, come wait on this man!" - -The poor little wizened specimen of humanity, whose mighty name seemed -to have stunted his growth, timidly approached. His great dark eyes -were appealingly lifted, as if protesting against a forthcoming blow, -and his face was as sad as that of a weary old man. The sight of him -amused the plumber and called forth from his mistress the question: - -"Did anybody ever see such a woe-begone infant? He acts as if he had -been thrashed within an inch of his life and on every day of it, but I -know he's never been struck once. Been better for him if he had been, -likely. He's Ephraim's grandchild and petted to death. His grandfather -gave him his first name, Dinah his second, and as a graceful finish I -tucked on the last. In real fact he's simply Brown." - -Mrs. Cecil had now quite recovered her usual cheerfulness, which nothing -greatly affected except the failure of other people to instantly obey -her commands. Besides, she was lonely. She didn't like the postman who -had taken "Johnnie's" place, and was never on hand when he appeared, -indeed had not been able until now. Almost all her personal friends were -already out of town: and with her old desire to hear about her -neighbors, as well as a determination to look after the plumber's work -this time, she rose and followed him into the house and to the upper -floor where his examination of the spigots began. - -Mr. Bruce had worked at Bellevieu ever since he was an apprentice and -had not done so without learning something of its mistress's character. -So, to please her love of gossip, he turned to where she had taken a -chair to watch him and remarked: - -"Terrible sad thing about John Chester's girl." - -"'Girl'? Servant, do you mean?" instantly interested by the name of -"Chester." - -"Servant? Oh! no. That's a luxury my neighbor never had, nor any of us -in Brown Street, except when somebody was sick. We're work-a-day folks -on my block, Mrs. Cecil." - -"Humph. What do you mean, then, by 'girl'?" - -"His adopted daughter, Dorothy C. Haven't you seen about her in the -paper?" he continued, well pleased that he had found some topic -interesting to his employer. - -"No. I've seen no papers. I've been ill, or that foolish doctor said I -was, which amounts to the same thing. Anyway, I hardly ever do read the -papers in the summer time. There's never anything in them--with -everybody out of town, so." - -The plumber laughed, a trifle grimly; answering with some spirit: - -"Well, _everybody_ isn't away, when there are several hundred people -swelter all the hot season right here in Baltimore." - -"Why don't they go away? Why do they 'swelter'--such a horrid word that -is!" returned the lady, more to calm a strangely rising flutter of her -own spirits than because there was sense in the words; which sounded so -foolish to herself even, that she laughed. But her laugh was a nervous -one and was instantly followed by the inquiry: - -"What--what happened to the child?" - -"Nobody knows. Kidnapped, I suppose, or murdered. All _is_ known--she -was sent to the post-office to get a letter of her father's. He couldn't -go himself, being lame and off to a hospital. Letter was one like the -rest that came every month, and had come ever since Dorothy was left on -the Chesters' doorstep. There was ten dollars in it, likely. She got the -letter, was seen to go out of the office, and has never been seen since. -No trace of her, either, though the post-office 'boys' clubbed together -and offered a reward. A hundred dollars for any information sent, -whether dead or alive. Do you want both these spigots to have new -washers on? They need it, I think." - -"Spigots? Spigots?" repeated Mrs. Cecil, as if she did not comprehend; -and, looking up, the plumber saw to his surprise and alarm that the lady -was trembling and had turned very pale. He went to her and asked: - -"Feeling bad, Ma'am? Shall I call somebody?" - -She put her white hand to her head in a confused way and returned: - -"Bad? It's horrible! Horrible! A--_hundred_--_dollars_!" - -Mr. Bruce fancied she imagined the sum to be too large and was -indignant. He reflected, also, that this was a childless old woman, and -a rich one. In his experience he had found the wealthy also the most -miserly, and nobody who had not a daughter of her own could understand -what the loss of one might mean to a parent. His own beloved Mabel, ill -at that moment with the measles, then epidemic--what would life be worth -without her? Yet he knew, as well as anybody, that dear as his child -was, Dorothy had been infinitely her superior in way of appearance, -intelligence, even in affection. So much greater her loss then! and with -a crispness that might easily hurt his business, he demanded: - -"Do you think a hundred dollars too much to pay for the life of a -child?" - -"Too much? _Too--much!_" - -Again she was repeating his words, in that peculiar manner which might -mean either contempt or admiration. In any case she was acting -strangely. She had evidently lost all interest in the business on hand, -yet there was no suggestion of feebleness in the step with which she now -hurried out of the room, and the plumber looked after her in fresh -amazement. These idle people! How hard they were to be understood! But, -in any case, he was glad to be rid of the lady's presence. He could work -so much faster and better by himself, and if there were any harm to -Bellevieu, that coming season of its owner's absence, it should not be -his fault. There shouldn't be an inch of water-pipe, nor a single -faucet, that didn't have his critical inspection--and bill according! - -Mrs. Cecil's bell rang sharply, and Dinah hurried to answer it, that is, -she fancied she was hurrying, though her mistress knew she really -"dawdled" on the way and so informed "the creature" as she appeared. - -"Oh, you lazy thing! I must get a younger woman--I certainly must! -Didn't you hear me ring?" - -"Yas'm, I sho done did. An' I come, ain't I? What's wantin', Miss Betty? -Is yo' feelin' po'ly again, honey?" - -"Tell Ephraim to have the carriage round within five minutes--not one -instant later. Then come back and get me my outdoor things." - -"Yas'm. Dat's so. I ain't no younger 'n I was yestiddy. But what for -you-all done want Ephraim fotch de kerridge? Yo' know, Miss Betty, I -ain't gwine let yo' out ridin', yet a spell. Yas'm." - -"Will _you_ tell him or must _I_? Between you and that wretched doctor -I've been kept in this terrible ignorance. I'll never forgive you, -never, for shutting me up in my bedroom, unknowing all these days, until -now it's too late! Too late!" cried Mrs. Cecil, strangely excited and -hastily tossing off her morning gown to replace it by another fit for -the street. - -Dinah was unperturbed. She understood that her mistress would have her -will, but felt that it was a foolish one and should not be encouraged by -any enthusiasm on her own part. With an exasperating calmness she lifted -the discarded garment and carried it to a closet. From this with equal -calmness, and an annoying deliberation, she brought her mistress's -outside wraps and a black silk gown, such as she usually wore when -driving out. But she purposely made the mistake of offering a winter -one, heavily lined. She hoped that the "fuss" of dressing would change -Mrs. Cecil's plans, for it was really far too warm to go out then. Later -in the day, after the sun had set, she would help the scheme most -willingly. - -But the gentlewoman was now gaining control of her nerves and fully -understood that it was over-affection, rather than disobedience, which -made Dinah act so provokingly. With one of her kindest smiles, she took -the heavy gown back to the closet herself, and secured the lighter one -suitable to the day. Then she explained: - -"It's no silly whim, my girl, that sends me down town on such a hot -morning. Something serious has happened. Something which has just come -to my knowledge and that I must try to set right at once. If you love -me--help me, not hinder. You are to go with me, also. So, hurry and put -on a fresh apron and cap. I can finish by myself." - -"Yas'm. But yo' knows, honey, you-all only done lef yo' bed a speck o' -time. Cayn't yo' business be put off, Miss Betty?" - -"Not a minute. Not one single minute longer than necessary to take me to -Baltimore Street. Hurry. Fix your own self. Don't bother about me." - -"Yes'm. I'se gwine hu'y. But dat yere plumber gempleman--what erbout -leabin' him, to go rummagin' 'round, puttin' new fixin's in whe' ol' -ones do? Ain't you-all done bettah wait a little spell, an' 'tend to -him, yo'se'f? Hey, Miss Betty?" - -Dinah had touched upon her mistress's own regret, but a regret swallowed -by so much of a calamity that she put it aside and merely pointed to the -door, as if further speech were useless. - -It was more than five minutes before Ephraim drove his well-groomed -horses out of the eagle-gate, but it was in a very short time for one -who moved as slowly as he, and he turned his head for orders, with -expectation of: "The Park." - -Quite to the contrary the word was: - -"Baltimore Street. Kidder & Kidder's." - -"Hey? 'D you say Eutaw Place, er Moun' Ver'n Avenoo?" he inquired. - -"There, boy. You're not half so deaf as you pretend. Drive to Kidder & -Kidder's, and do it at once," she repeated with decision. - -"Yas'm. But does yo' know, Miss Betty, erbout a man was sunstroke -yestiddy, Baltimo' Street way? It sutenly is pow'ful wa'm." - -Mrs. Cecil vouchsafed no further parley with her too devoted coachman, -though Dinah took it upon herself to administer one reproof which her -fellow servant coolly ignored. - -However, he had seen that in Mrs. Cecil's eye which brooked no -disobedience, and so he guided his bays southward through the city, by -wide thoroughfares and narrow, past crowding wagons and jangling street -cars, till he turned into the densely packed street his lady had -designated. - -"Kidder & Kidder" were her men of business. He knew that. There had been -no time, for years upon years, when a firm of this same name had not -served the owners of Bellevieu. The first lawyer of that race had handed -down the business to his heirs, as the first tenant of the rich estate -had willed that to his. But it was now more common for the lady of the -mansion to send for her advisers to visit her, than for her to visit -them; and that there was something unusual in her present business both -her old servitors realized. - -It was something worth while to see how the elder Mr. Kidder, himself an -octogenarian, retaining an almost youthful vigor, rose and salaamed, as -this beautiful old gentlewoman, followed by her gray-haired maid in -spotless attire, entered his rather dingy office. How the old-time -courtesies were exchanged between these remnants of an earlier society, -when brusqueness was considered ill-bred and suavity the mark of good -blood. - -A few such greetings past, and the old lawyer conducted his -distinguished client into an inner room, exclusively his own, leaving -Dinah to wait without, and whence the pair soon emerged; the lady -urging: "You will kindly attend to it at once, please;" and he -answering, with equal earnestness: "Immediately, Madam." - -Then he escorted her to her carriage and stood bareheaded while she -entered it: each courteously saluting the other as it rolled away, and -he returning to his office with a look of anxiety on his fine face, as -there was one of relief on hers. - -"Well, I've done the best I could--now!" she exclaimed, after a time. -"I've never entrusted any matter to Kidder & Kidder that did not end -satisfactorily. That old firm is a rock in the midst of this shifting -modernity!" - -To which Dinah, not comprehending, replied with her usual: - -"Yas'm. I spec' dat's so, honey, Miss Betty." - -That evening both Ephraim and the maid, sitting under their own back -porch, exchanged speculations concerning their lady's morning trip, and -her subsequent quietude during the whole day. - -"I 'low 'twas anudder will, our Miss Betty, she done get made. Dat's -what dem lawyer gentlemen is most inginerally for. How many dem wills -has she had writ, a'ready, Dinah?" queried Ephraim. - -"Huh! I doan' know. Erbout fifty sixty, I reckon. She will her prop'ty -off so many times, dey won' be nottin lef to will, bimeby. 'Twas dat, -though, Ephraim, I 'low, too. Mebbe--Does dey put erbout makin' wills in -de papahs, boy?" - -"I doan' know. Likely. Why, Dinah?" - -"Cayse, warn't no res' twel Miss Betty done sent yo' Methusalem out to -de drug-sto' fo' to buy de ebenin' one. Spec' she was lookin' had Massa -Kiddah done got it printed right. Doan' know what she want o' papahs, -when she ain't looked at one this long spell, scusin 'twas to find out -dat." - -But neither of them guessed that Mrs. Cecil's interest lay in a -large-typed advertisement, offering five hundred dollars reward for the -return of the lost, humble little Dorothy C. Nor that this sum would -have been twice as great, had not the worldly wisdom of Kidder & Kidder -been larger than that of their aristocratic client. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE BITER BIT - - -Even healthy Dorothy had rarely slept as soundly as she did that night, -there in the airy barn on her bed of hay; and she had lain down as soon -as she had finished her brief letter to her mother--which like those -that had gone before it would travel no further than Mrs. Stott's range -fire. - -She woke in the morning to find it much later than usual when she was -roused and that it was only Jim who was calling her. He did so softly, -yet with evident excitement; and as soon as possible the girl got out of -her hostess's too big nightgown and into her own clothes, still fresh -from yesterday's laundering. Then she opened the door and ran to the -trough of water, used for the cattle; and after a liberal ducking of her -curly head, shook herself dry--for want of a better towel. Afterwards, -to the barnyard, calling eagerly: - -"Jim! O Jim!" - -"Here I be. Don't holler. I'll come, soon's I take the milk in. I -thought you'd sleep till doomsday!" he replied, still in a low tone, yet -with less caution than he usually displayed. - -She sat down on the barn door sill and waited. She had a strong -reluctance to enter the cottage which was tightly closed and where she -had so greatly suffered. So that it was with real delight she saw the -lad was bringing a plate with him, as he returned, and guessed it to be -her breakfast. - -"Oh! how nice! I'll love to picnic out here, but how does it happen? -and, Jim, what makes you so sober? Is--is she sick? Didn't she go to -market last night? Tell--talk--why can't you? I want to hear everything, -every single thing. I didn't know--I went to sleep--What a funny wagon -it is, anyway!" - -The big vehicle stood in the yard before them, its shafts resting on the -ground; and the four mules used to draw it were feeding in the pasture -beyond. Dorothy thought it wonderful how anybody, most of all a woman, -could drive four mules, as Miranda did, without reins to guide them, yet -make them so obedient to her will. The wagon, also, was a curiosity to -her, though she had often seen similar ones on the streets at home. - -It was a large affair, rising several feet upwards from its box, its -ends projecting; forward over the dashboard and, at the rear, backward -beyond a step and a row of chicken crates. The top was of canvas, that -had once been white, and the tall sides were half of a brick-red, half -of bright blue. Its capacity was enormous, and so prolific was the -truck-farm that it was always well filled when it made its city trips. - -"Have you had your breakfast, too, Jim?" asked Dorothy, rather -critically inspecting hers, which did not at all suggest the dainty -cooking of mother Martha. - -"Yep. All I wanted. He--I reckon he's powerful sick." - -"Can't you sit down by me for company? I feel so good this morning. I'd -like somebody to talk to." - -"A minute, maybe. I can make it up later." - -"Jim Barlow, I think you're a splendid boy. I never saw anybody so -faithful to such a horrid old woman. You never waste a bit of time, you -only study when you ought to sleep, and yet--yet I didn't like you at -all when I first saw you. When I get home and my father gets well, I'm -going to tell him or the minister all about you, and ask them to get you -a better place. To send you to school, or do anything you like." - -The lad flushed with pleasure, and vainly tried to keep the bare feet of -which he was so conscious out of sight in the hay upon the barn floor, -where, for this brief moment, he dared to linger. Dorothy saw the -movement and laughingly thrust forth her own pink toes, fresh from an -ablution in the trough, and from which she had had to permanently -discard her ragged ties. - -"That's nothing. We're both the same. Anyway, a barefooted boy came to -be president! Think of that. President James Barlow, of the United -States! I salute you, Excellency, and request the honor of your sharing -my brown-bread-and-treacle!" - -Then she laughed, as she had not done for many days; from the sheer -delight of life and the beautiful world around her. For it was -beautiful, that first June day, despite the ugly cottage which blotted -the landscape and the sordid implements of labor all about. - -To his own amazement, the orphan farm boy laughed with her, as he did -not know he could, as he surely never had before. This girl's coming had -opened a new world to him. She had commended his ambition and made light -of the difficulties in way of its achievement. She had assured him that -"learning is easy as easy!" and she knew such a lot! She didn't scorn -him because he was uncouth and ill-clad; and--Well, at that moment he -was distinctly glad that she was barefooted like himself. - -Recklessly forgetting that he was "using the time I was hired for"--the -hire being board and lodging, only--he dropped down on the step and -watched as she ate, so daintily that he could think of nothing but the -sparrows on the ground. And as she ate she also talked; which in itself -was wonderful. For he--Well, he couldn't talk and eat at the same time. -It was an accomplishment far beyond him, one that had never been taught -at the table of Miranda Stott. She not only chattered away but she made -him chatter, too, now, in this unwonted freedom from his mistress's eye. - -"Who's 'him'? Why, he's _hern_," he explained. "Her son, you know." - -"No, I don't know. I know nothing--except that I'm a stolen little girl -who's lost everybody, everything in the world she loves!" cried poor -Dorothy, suddenly overcome in the midst of her gayety by the thought of -her own sorrows. - -Jim had never known girls and their ways, but he had the innate -masculine dread of tears, and by the look of Dorothy's brown eyes he saw -that tears portended. To change the subject, he answered her question -definitely: - -"He's the man what brought you here. _That's_ him. He's _hern_." - -"That man--_Smith_? He here? In the cottage yonder? Then--_good-bye_!" - -Reckless of the sharp stones and stubble of the barnyard that so cruelly -hurt her tender feet, the girl was up and away; only to find herself -rudely pulled back again and to hear Jim's familiar: - -"Pshaw! He can't harm you none. He's dreadful sick. He come----" - -Here the lad paused for some time, pondering in his too honest heart how -much of his employer's affairs he had the right to make known, even to -this Dorothy. Then having decided that she already knew so much there -could be no danger in her learning more, he went on: - -"He come one night whilst you was so sick. She fetched him in the wagon -an', 'cause you was in her bed, she put him up-attic, in yourn. Ain't -but them two rooms, you know, an' the shed where I did sleep but don't -now. I don't know what he'd done but--somethin' 't made him scared of -stayin' in the city. He's been that way afore an' come out here, 'to -rest' he called it. 'To hide,' seems if, to me. 'Cause he'd never go out -door, till me or his ma'd look round to see if anybody was comin'. -Nobody does come. Never did, only them he fetched, or her did." - -Again a shudder of fear and repulsion swept over Dorothy, and again she -would have run away but Jim's next words detained her. - -"He can't move, hair ner hide. He's ketched them measles offen you an' -he's terrible bad. She thinks he's goin' to die an', queer, but now she -don't care for nothin' else. Her sun's riz an' sot in him, an' he's -treated her mean. Leastways, _I_ call it mean. She don't. She'd 'bout -lie down on the floor an' let him tramp all over her, if he'd wanted to. -She's goin' round, doin' things inside there, but she's clean forgot how -it's berry-day agin an' the crop wastin'. - -"So 'm _I_ wastin' time, an' she claims that's money. I didn't know, -afore, whuther 'twas him er money she liked best, but now I guess it's -him. If you was a mind you could help pick berries for her. _If you was -a mind_," said Jim, rising and shouldering a crate of cups, then -starting for the strawberry patch. - -Dorothy C. looked after him with some contempt. He seemed a lad of -mighty little spirit. To work like a slave even when there was nobody to -domineer over him! Indeed, she fancied that he was even more diligent in -business now than he had been before. It was very strange. - -"It's all strange. Life's so strange, too. They say 'Providence leads.' -Well, it seems a queer sort of leading that I should be sent to do an -errand and then that I should be so silly as to go with a man my folks -didn't know--and get stolen. That's what I am, now: just a stolen child, -of no use to anybody. Why? Why, too, should my father John be let to get -an 'ataxious' something in his legs, so he had to lose his place? And -mother Martha have to give up her pretty house she loves so, and go away -off to the country where she doesn't know anybody? Why should I come -here to this old truck-farm and a horrid woman and a horrider man and -get the measles and give them to him? Was it just to learn how to plant -things? I wondered about that the time I watched them do the celery. -Well, I could learn so much out of books. I needn't be kidnapped to do -it! And why on earth should I feel so sorry now for that woman in there? -Just 'cause she loves her son, who's the wickedest man I ever heard of. -And that Jim boy! I--I believe I'm going to hate him! Just positively -hate. He makes me feel so--so little and mean. Just as if I hadn't a -right to sit on this old barn door sill and do nothing but eat my -breakfast. A horrid breakfast, too, to match the horrid woman and the -horrid house and the horrider man, and the horridest-of-all-boys, Jim!" - -With that Dorothy's cogitations came to a sudden end. No poor -insignificant farm lad should put her to shame, in the matter of -conscience, or generosity, or honor, or any other of those disagreeable -high-sounding things! She'd show him! and she'd pick those old -strawberries, if her back did get hot and the sun make her head ache! No -such creature as that Jim Barlow should make her "feel all -wiggley-woggley inside," as she had used to feel when she had been real -small and disobeyed mother Martha. - -Why she shouldn't run away and try to find her home, now that Mrs. Stott -was out of sight, puzzled even herself. Yet, for some reason, she dared -not. She had no idea of the direction in which that home lay, and there -was no house visible anywhere, strain her eyes as she might to discover -one at which she might ask protection. - -The truck-farm seemed to be away off, "in the middle of nowhere." A -crooked lane ran northward from it and Dorothy knew that this must -strike a road--somewhere. But dear old Baltimore must be miles and miles -distant; since Mrs. Stott spent so many hours in going to and from it -with her produce, and in her bare feet the child felt she couldn't make -the journey and endure. More than that, down deep in her heart was a -keen resentment of the fact that, despite her own letters written and -sent by the farm-woman, mother Martha had made no response beyond that -verbal one conveyed by "Mr. Smith," that everything was "all right" and -that, in the prospect of gaining her "fortune" Dorothy was wise to -submit to some unpleasant things for the present. - -Then would arise that alternate belief that she had been "kidnapped," -and instantly following would come the conviction that she might be much -worse dealt with if she attempted escape. If "Mr. Smith" was wicked -enough to steal her, as she in this mood believed, he would stop at -nothing which would save himself from discovery and punishment. - -Jim Barlow was tormented by none of these shifting moods. His nature was -simple and held to belief in but two things--right and wrong. He must do -the one and avoid the other. This necessity was born in him and he could -not have discussed it in words, or even thoughts, as did the imaginative -Dorothy C. the questions that perplexed her. - -At that particular moment he knew that the "right" for him was to save -his employer's berries from decay, even though this meant no reward for -him save a tired back and a crust of bread for dinner. But rewards -didn't matter. Jim _had_ to do his duty. He couldn't help it. - -Now Dorothy watching from the barn doorway saw this and thought that -"duty" was "the hatefullest word in the English language. It always -means something a body dislikes!" Yet, so strong is example, that almost -before she knew it the little girl had picked her gingerly way over the -rough ground to the lad's side and had petulantly exclaimed: - -"Give me some cups then! I hate it! I hate here! I--I want to go home! -But--_give me some cups_!" - -Jim didn't even notice her petulance. He handed her a pile of "empties" -and went on swiftly gathering the berries without even raising his head, -though one long hand pointed to the row upon which she should begin. He -was pondering how these same berries were to be marketed; whether the -anxious woman in the cottage loved money so well she would leave a -possibly dying son to sell them for herself; or if she would trust the -business to him. The last possibility sent a thrill of pride through -him. If she would! If she only would, he would drive the hardest -bargains for her, he would bring home more of the beloved cash than she -expected, he would prove himself altogether worthy of trust. He knew the -way, she had taken him with her once, at a Christmas time, when she -needed his help in the extra handling. It had been a revelation to -him--that wonderful Christmas market; with all its southern richness and -plenitude, its beautifully decorated stalls, its forests of trees and -mountains of red-berried holly, and over and above all the gay good -nature of every human creature thronging the merry place. - -That had been Jim's one glimpse, one bit of knowledge what Christmas -meant, and though he knew that this was a far different season, the -glamour of his first "marketing" still hung over the place where he had -been so briefly happy. Why, even Miranda Stott, moved by the universal -good will of that day, had spent a whole cent, a fresh, new, good cent, -upon a tin whistle, and given it to her helper. She had done more; she -had allowed him to blow upon it, on their long ride home, to the -astonishment of the mules and his own intense, if silly, delight. -Suddenly, into these happy memories and hopes, broke Dorothy's voice: - -"A 'penny for your thoughts,' Sobersides! And see? since you made me -pick berries I made up my mind to beat you. I have. I've filled five -cups while you've been filling three. Your hands are so big, I s'pose, -you can't help being slow!" - -Unmoved by her gibes, which he quite failed to understand, he rose and -took her cups from her. He had reached the end of his row and must pass -to another, else he might not have wasted so much time! But he was glad -of her swiftness and felt that she would almost make up for Mrs. Stott's -absence from the field; and encouragingly remarked: - -"Take the next row, beyond mine, when you get that one done." - -"Huh! A case of 'virtue' and its 'own reward'! The more I work the -longer I may work, eh? Generous soul! But, I don't work for nothing, as -you do. Behold, I take my pay as I go!" and so saying, Dorothy plumped a -magnificent berry into her mouth--as far as it would go! For the fruit -was so large it easily made more than the proverbial "two bites." - -Jim laughed. He couldn't help it. She looked so pretty and so innocent, -though he--well, he wouldn't eat a single berry that was not given to -him. He didn't even warn her not to eat more, yet, somehow, she no -longer cared to do so. - -Dorothy never forgot that busy day. Miranda did not appear, except at -rare intervals, to give some advice but not once to reprove. Her coarse, -masculine face was so sad, so empty of that greed which had been its -chief blemish, that tender-hearted Dorothy was moved to lay her hand on -the mother's arm and say: - -"I'm so sorry for you. Sorry I gave anybody you love the measles." - -The market-woman looked at the child half-seeing, half-comforted by this -sympathy, till the last words, apparently just penetrating to her -consciousness, she rudely shook off the little hand with a look of -bitter hatred. Then she went back into the house, and for the rest of -that day the boy and girl were left to themselves. - -At noon, which he told by the sun, Jim made a little fire in one corner -of the field and roasted some potatoes under it. Then he fixed a -crotched stick above the blaze, hung on a tin pail and boiled some eggs; -and these with some bread made their dinner. Their supper was the same, -and both had appetites to give the food a relish. - -At dusk Miranda came out, ordered Dorothy into the harness room and to -bed, and this time she closed the door upon her, turning the wooden -button which fastened it upon the outside. Indignation made no -difference--Dorothy's wishes were ignored as if they had not been -expressed, and the farm-woman's manner was far harsher than it had been -at any time. So harsh, indeed, that the girl was terribly frightened and -wondered if she were going to be punished in some dreadful way for her -unconscious infection of "Mr. Smith." - -The hope that Jim might be sent to market in place of his mistress and -that he would take her with him died in her heart. She did not realize, -till she heard her prison door slam shut, how deeply she had cherished -this hope; even this belief that she was passing her last day on the -truck-farm; and when the climax of her disappointment was reached by -hearing Tiger ordered to lie down outside her door and "Watch!" she -threw herself on the hay-bed and sobbed herself to sleep. - -"H-hsst!" - -Dorothy sat up, freshly alarmed by this warning sound. - -"Why! It's daylight! I must have slept all night! That's Jim--and -nothing's happened! I'm alive, I'm well, I feel fine!" - -Delighted surprise at this state of things promptly succeeded her first -alarm, and when to the "H-hsst!" there followed the fumbling of somebody -with the door's button, she sprang to her feet and asked: - -"That you, Jim? Time to get up, already?" - -She had not undressed, and hurried to push the door open, but could not -imagine what was the matter with the "long boy." He had a newspaper in -his hand which he wildly waved above his head, then held at arm's length -the better to study, while between times, he executed a crazy dance, his -bare feet making no sound upon the hay-littered floor. - -A second later, Dorothy had rushed at him, seized the paper from his -hand, recognized that it was father John's favorite daily, and found her -own gaze startled by the sentence that had caught his: - -FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD! - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE FLIGHT IN THE NIGHT - - -"What does it mean? What does it mean!" cried the astonished girl, -scarcely believing the words that were printed so plainly yet seemed so -impossible. "It's my own name. I'm Dorothy Chester, called Dorothy C. -It's about me--I see it's about me--there couldn't be another right here -in Baltimore--and money--all that money--who? Where? What? O long boy, -talk, talk, tell!" - -He was really as excited as she. For once he forgot caution and was -indifferent to the opinion of his mistress, whether that were good or -ill. He could not read very well. He had had to study that advertisement -slowly before he could make out even its sentences, and to do a deal of -thinking before he could actually comprehend their meaning. But he knew -that it concerned his new friend even more than himself, and laying his -hand upon her shoulder to steady her while he answered, began: - -"I did go to market. She went, too. She had to get some things for him, -an' soon's the stores was open. I sold the stuff. Some of the things she -bought was wrapped up and a pair o' shoes was in this here. I ain't got -books. I want 'em. I keep every scrap o' paper ever gets this way, an' I -learn out o' them. She fired _this_ away, for cattle-beddin'--'cause she -can't read herself--an' 'twould save a speck of straw. I called it -wicked waste, myself, so I hid it. Then whilst I was milkin' I begun to -study it out. Thinks I, mebbe I can learn a hull new word afore I get -through; an' I hit fust off on that there 'Dorothy,' 'cause 'twas yourn -an' had so many 'O's' it looked easy. I read that, then I read the -next--some more--I forgot to milk--I thought you'd never wake -up--an'--Pshaw! Pshaw--_pshaw_--PSHAW!!" - -Only by that word could the excited lad begin to express his fierce -emotions; while for a brief time Dorothy was silent, trying to -understand. Finally, and almost calmly, she said: - -"I don't know a thing about this printed stuff except that it must mean -me. I can't guess who would pay money for me, for just a little girl; -though maybe father John would if he had it. But he hadn't. He was poor, -he said, real poor; even if we did live so nice and cozy. He hadn't -anything but what he earned and out of that he had to buy the food -and clothes and pay on the house. I don't believe he ever had -five hundred dollars in all his life, at one time. Think of it! -Five--whole--hundred--dollars! Fifty--thousand--cents! My!" - -Jim regarded her with awe. Such erudition as this almost took away his -breath. That anybody, a little girl so much younger than himself, could -"reckon" figures at such lightning speed was away beyond his dreams. -More than that it convinced him that now she must be saved, restored to -people who valued her at such enormous price. His simple rule of "right -or wrong" resolved itself into two questions: Should he be loyal to his -employer and help to keep this valuable Dorothy on the truck-farm, and -show its owner how to get all that money? Because it wasn't she -herself, who had brought the girl here, and if she took Dorothy back the -reward would be hers. He reasoned that out to the end. - -On the other hand: If Dorothy belonged to somebody who wanted her so -much, shouldn't he help to restore her to that person and save them--or -him--the money? - -It was a knotty problem; one almost too profound for the mind of this -honest farm-boy. He would do right, he must; but--which was "the -rightest right of them two"? - -Dorothy settled it. Dorothy who was the most concerned in the affair and -had so much more wisdom than he. She had ceased to wonder at the strange -advertisement and had now decided how to turn it to the best account. -She was almost positively glad for all her misadventures and suffering -since it could result in infinite good to another; and that other none -but the "long boy" she had laughed at in the beginning. With a little -joyful clap of her hands, she exclaimed: - -"I know how! I know how! You have _been_--you can find the way--you -must help me back to Baltimore, to my folks, to these Kidder-Kiddery men -that offer all that money. I never heard of them. I can't imagine why -they want to pay so many good dollars for a girl, just a girl they can't -even know. I wouldn't trust them. I wouldn't go into anybody's 'office' -again for all the world. But you take me, show me the way to the city -and I'll show you the way to Baltimore Street. I know it. I know it -quite well. I've been there on a street car. Then I'll stand outside -while you go in and ask for the money. If they won't give it to you, -bring them to the street and show them--ME! I ought to call myself in -capital letters, same as I'm printed there, if I'm so expensive as that! -Think of it, Jim Barlow! If you get that five hundred dollars you can -live somewhere else and study all the time and go to college and be -President, just exactly as I told you! Oh! Oh! O--Oh! Let's start now, -this minute! I can't wait, I cannot!" - -Jim listened intently. With a slowly growing wonder and delight on his -homely features, with a widening of his blue eyes, and--at last with a -burst of tears. He was ashamed of them, instantly, but he couldn't have -helped shedding them at that supreme moment any more than he could have -helped breathing. It was as if the girl's words had opened wide the -gates of Paradise--the Paradise of Knowledge--and let him look within. - -Then the cottage door opened and Miranda Stott looked forth. The sight -of her restored him to the present and the practical side of life. The -five hundred dollars wouldn't be his, of course. That notion of -Dorothy's was as wild as--as the flight of that chicken-hawk sailing -over the barnyard. Nor could he start at once, as she demanded. He had -lived here for years and he still owed his employer allegiance--to a -certain extent. Less than ever would he leave her alone with all this -farm work on hand as well as a sick son. He must find somebody to take -his place. Then he would help Dorothy back to town, but they'd have to -be careful. - -Dorothy, also, had seen Mrs. Stott at the door, but now had a strange -indifference to her. How could anybody hurt a girl who was worth five -hundred dollars to somebody? She stopped Jim as he was moving away and -demanded: - -"Are you ready? Can we start now--when she's shut the door?" - -"Not yet." - -Her face saddened and he hastened to add: - -"S-ssh! Don't say nothin'. We'll go. I've got to think it over--how. An' -to hunt somebody to work. But--we'll go--_we'll go_!" - -He hastily turned away from the sight of her reproachful eyes nor did he -blame her for the angry: "You mean boy!" which she hurled after him as -he went into the house. But he made a chance soon to talk with her, -unheard by Miranda, and to lay his plans before her. - -"I know a feller'll come, I guess. He was in the county-farm an' jobs -round, somewheres. He don't live nowheres. I seen him loafin' round them -woods, yonder, yesterday, an' I'll try find him. If I do I'll coax him -to stay an' help whilst I'm gone. Noonin' I'll leave you get the grub, -whilst I seek him. Go 'long, just's if nothin' was different an' I'll -help you." - -Dorothy had made sundry "starts" already, but had feared to go all -alone. If Jim would only go with her and knew the way it would be all -right, but the day seemed interminable; and when her friend disappeared -at noon she was so frightened that she retreated to her barn bedroom and -shut the door upon herself. She could not lock it, for its one fastening -was on the outside; but she called Tiger to come inside with her and -felt a sort of protection in his company, sharing her chunk of brown -bread with him, even giving him by far the larger portion. - -Then Jim came back and, missing her, guessed where to find her. - -"Open the door a minute. Lemme in." - -"Oh! I'm so glad you've come! It seems--awful. That house so tight shut; -that man in it; that dreadful woman that looked at me so--so angry! I -want to get away, I must--_I must_!" - -Tired with his breathless run to the woods and back, the youth dropped -down on the floor to recover himself; then informed her: - -"I found him. He was fishin' in the run. He'll fish all day if he's let. -He'll come. He ain't got all his buttons----" - -"Wh-a-t?" - -"His buttons. His wits. He ain't so smart as some of us, but he can hoe -an' 'tend cattle first-rate. We'll go, to-night, soon's it's dark. I'll -tie some rags on your feet so's they won't get sore an' give out. I'll -have to muzzle Tige, or, if I can, I'll give him some them powders in -his milk she'd ha' used to make you dopy, if you'd give trouble. She -won't miss us first off, an' when she does--Why, we'll be gone. Be you a -good, free traveler?" - -"Why, I don't know. I never traveled," answered Dorothy, perplexed. If -they were going to walk, or run, as his talk about trying on rags -suggested, how could they travel? To her "travel" meant a journey by -boat or rail, and surely neither of these conveniences were visible. - -"Pshaw! Fer a smart girl you're the biggest fool!" returned the -farm-boy testily. He was tired, body and brain; he was trying to make -safe plans for her comfort, yet she couldn't understand plain English. -"What I mean is--can you walk, hoof it, good? Course, we can't go no -other way. If you can we'll strike 'cross lots--the nighest. If you -can't we'll have to take to the road, on the chance of bein' took up." - -"Oh! I'll walk, I'll travel, I'll 'hoof' it, fast as you want me to. -Till I die and give out; but don't, don't go anywhere near the danger of -being took up!" cried Dorothy, pleading meekly. - -Again these two young Americans had failed to understand each other's -speech. To the city-reared girl, being "taken up" meant being arrested -by the police; to the country-grown boy it was giving a ride to a -pedestrian by some passing vehicle. He looked at her a moment and let -the matter drop. Then he rose, advising: - -"You better go to work an' not waste time. To-morrow's Sunday. We -gen'ally pick all day, so's to be ready for Monday mornin' market. Stuff -fetches the best prices a-Monday. I'd like to leave her in good shape -agin I didn't get back. But I'll take you. You can trust me." - -And as she saw him return to that endless weeding in the garden, Dorothy -knew that she could do so; and that it was his simple devotion to the -"duty" she disliked that made him so reliable. - -"But oh! what a day this is! Will it never, never end? Do you know, Jim -Barlow, that it seems longer than all the days put together since I saw -my mother?" - -"Yep. I know. I've been that way. Once--once I went to--a--circus! Once -I got to go!" answered the lad, carefully storing the baskets of early -pease he had picked in the depths of the schooner. He made the statement -with bated breath, remembering the supreme felicity of the event. "She -went. She'd had big prices an' felt good. She told me 'twas a-comin' an' -I could; and--Pshaw! I never seen a week so long in all my born days, -never! An' when it got to the last one of all--time just natchally drug! -I know. But we'll go. An' say, Dorothy. The faster you pick an' pack an' -pull weeds, the shorter the day'll be. That's the onliest way I ever -lived through that last one afore that circus," comforted Jim, himself -toiling almost breathlessly, in order to leave Miranda in "as good -shape" as he could. He knew how she would miss him, and that she had -depended upon him as firmly as upon herself. - -But all days come to an end, even ones weighted with expectations such -as Dorothy's; and at nightfall Jim announced that they might stop work. -Leaving the girl to wait in the harness-room he went to the house, -secured a whole loaf of bread and two of the sleeping powders he had -seen administered to the crying boy, and a bundle of rags, with some -string. In carrying the milk to the dairy he had reserved a basin full; -and into this his first business it was to drop the powders. Then he -called Tige to drink the milk, and the always hungry animal greedily -obeyed. - -"That seems dreadful, Jim! Suppose the stuff kills him? He isn't to -blame and I should hate terribly to really hurt him," cried Dorothy, -frightened by the deed to which she had eagerly consented but now -regretted--too late. - -Jim sniffed. He supposed that all girls must be changeable. This one -veered from one opinion to another in a most trying way and the only -thing he could do was to pay no attention to her whimsies. He had -carefully explained the action of these powders and their harmlessness -and wasn't going to do it the second time. Besides, he was delighted to -find them promptly affecting the mastiff, who might have hindered their -flight. So he merely motioned Dorothy to sit down on the door sill, at -the rear of the barn and out of sight from the cottage, then bade her: - -"Hold up your foot. I'll fix 'em. Then we'll go. We can eat on the road. -Ain't so dark as I wish it was but she's asleep--right on the kitchen -floor--an' it's our chance. She's slept that way ever since he was so -bad. He don't 'pear to know nothin' now. I'm sorry for her." - -"Why, that's real ingenious! That's almost like a regular shoe! And a -good deal better than a shoe too small!" laughed the girl, wild with -pleasure that her helper had, at last, begun to do something toward -their trip. She found, too, that with these rude sandals tied on she -could walk much faster than in her tender bare feet, although Jim -cautioned: - -"Ain't nothin' but rags an' paper. Remember that. Ain't no call to go -scuffin' 'em out, needless." - -Whereupon Dorothy ceased to dance and prance, as she had been doing to -work off some of her excitement, and became quite as sober as he could -desire. Also, though she had been so anxious to start, it came with -suddenness when he said: - -"Ready. Come!" - -She glanced at Tiger, who very closely resembled a dead dog as he lay -beside the basin on the floor, then toward the house. Utter silence -everywhere; save for the fretful fussing of some hens, settling to -roost, and a low rumble of thunder from the west where it now looked -quite dark enough to satisfy even Jim Barlow. - -They struck off across lots, past the teeming garden which the active -young farmer really loved and which he felt that he would never see -again. He held Dorothy's hand in one of his, while the other carried a -stick and bundle thrown over his shoulder. The bundle was a bit of old -cloth, containing his beloved spelling book, the newspaper with the -alluring advertisement, and their loaf of bread. Nothing else; and thus -equipped, this uncouth, modern knight errant turned his back on all he -had ever known for the sake of a helpless girl, and with as true a -chivalry as ever filled the breast of ancient man-at-arms. - -For some distance neither spoke. The hearts of both were beating high -with excitement and some fear; but after a time, when no call had -followed them and they had reached the little run where Jim had sought -the half-wit, the farm-boy said: - -"Best eat our grub, now. Can't travel fast on empty stummicks. Mebbe -your feet need fixin' over, too. I brung some more rags in my jumper, -case them give out. Here's a good place to set. We can get a drink out -the brook." - -"I'd rather go on. I'm not a bit hungry!" pleaded Dorothy, who already -felt as if her mother's arms were folding about her and who longed to -make this fancy prove the dear reality. - -"I be, then. I didn't eat no noonin', recollec'?" returned Jim, and -dropped down on the bank with a sigh. - -"Oh! I'm sorry I forgot. Of course we'll stop--just as long as you -want," returned the girl, with keen self-reproach, and sat down beside -him. As she did so, there came a fresh rumble from the west and the pale -light which had guided them so far was suddenly obscured, so that she -cried out in fear: "There's going to be a fearful gust! We shall be wet -through!" - -"Reckon we will; here's a chunk o' bread," answered the matter-of-fact -youth, reaching through the gloom to place the "chunk" on her lap, and, -to his surprise, to find her wringing her hands as if in fright or pain. -"Why, tell me what ails you now." - -"No-nothing--only--ouch! Don't--don't worry--it's--Ooo-oh!" - -Despite her fierce will to the contrary Dorothy could not restrain a -bitter groan. She had not meant to hinder their flight by any breakdown -on her own part. She had intended to "travel," to "hoof it" just as -rapidly and as "freely" as her guide could; but something had happened -just now, though her feet had hurt her almost from the first moment of -their walk; but this was worse, and reaching down she felt what she -could not see--one end of a great thorn or splinter projecting from the -ball of her foot. - -"What's the matter, I say?" demanded Jim, quite fiercely for him. He had -no fear but that her pluck would be equal to any strain put upon it, but -of her physical endurance he wasn't so sure. - -"It's a thorn--or a splinter--and oh! it hurts! put your hand -here--feel!" Yet as she guided his fingers to that queer thing sticking -from her wonderful "sandals" she winced and almost screamed. "I guess -you mustn't touch it. I can't bear it. I've run something in and I -daren't pull it out--I can't--it's awful!" - -Indeed the agony was making her feel faint and queer and the boy felt, -rather than saw, that she swayed where she sat as if she were about to -sink down on the ground. - -Here was plainly another case of "duty" and an unpleasant one, from -which the lad shrank. He would much rather have borne any amount of pain -himself than have inflicted more on this forlorn little girl who -depended upon him; but all he said was: "Pshaw!" as setting his teeth, -he suddenly gripped her foot and--in an instant the great bramble was -out! - -It was heroic treatment and Dorothy screamed; then promptly fainted -away. When she came to herself she was dripping with water from the -brook, with which Jim had drenched her--not knowing what better to do; -and from a sudden downpour of rain which came almost unhindered through -the branches overhead. - -"Pshaw! I'd oughter 'a' took to the road. I hadn't no business to try -this way, though 'tis nigher!" - -That was the first thing Dorothy realized; the next that her foot was -aching horribly, but not in that sickening way it had before; and lastly -that, as the only means of keeping it dry, Jim had thrust their loaf -back into the bundle and was sitting upon that! A lightning flash -revealed this to her, but did not prepare her for her companion's next -words: - -"We got to go back!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -A GOOD SAMARITAN - - -"Never! Never! I'd rather die right here in the woods!" cried Dorothy, -aghast. "Dead or alive that man shall never get me in his power again. -But I'm not afraid. God is good to orphan children--He will take care of -me--He will, He will!" - -In some way she managed to get upon her knees and the next flash of -lightning showed her thus, with her face uplifted and her hands clasped, -while an agony of supplication was in her wide brown eyes. - -Religion was an unknown thing to poor Jim Barlow, whose simple integrity -was of nature, not culture. His Sundays had been merely days on which to -toil a little harder against the morrow's market, nor had he ever been -inside a church. But something in the sight of this child kneeling -there in the night and the storm touched an unknown chord of his soul, -and before he knew it he was kneeling beside her. Not to pray, as she -did, but to hold her firmly, to comfort her by his human touch for this -fresh terror he did not understand. - -After a moment she turned and sat down again and said just as firmly as -before, but quite calmly now: - -"If you want to go back you may. I shall not. God will take care of me, -even if you leave me all alone. I've asked Him." - -"Leave you alone? I hadn't thunk of it. What you mean?" - -"You said we must go back. I shall not." - -"_Pshaw!_" It was several seconds before honest Jim could say anything -more, but those five letters held a world of meaning. Finally, he was -able to add to them and to help her seat herself again on the ground, -and he is scarcely to be blamed if he did this with some force. From his -point of view Dorothy was stupid. She should have known that he never -gave up doing that to which he had set his hand. He had promised to get -her back to Baltimore, some way, and he would keep his promise. With -another, rather milder "Pshaw!" he explained: - -"Go back an' try the road, silly! These cross-cuts are dreadful -onsartain. Full o' blackberry bushes an' thorny stuff would hurt a -tougher foot 'an yourn. More'n that: shoes made out o' rags an' paper -ain't much good in a rain storm. We'll get back to the road. Even that's -a long way off, but it's over open medders an' it's so dark nobody won't -see us er stop us. It ain't rainin' nigh so hard now. You eat a bite, -then we'll try agin." - -"Oh! forgive me, Jim Barlow, for thinking you would be so mean. I'll -trust you now, no matter what happens, but I don't want to eat. I -can't--yet." - -"Does your foot hurt bad?" - -"Not--not--so very!" - -"Well, hold on. I'll break that there sapling off an' make you a stick -to help walk on. 'Tother hand you can lean on my shoulder. Now, soon's -you say the word we'll go. Not the way we come, but another, slatin'er. -Try?" - -They stood up: Dorothy with more pain than she would acknowledge, but -putting a brave face on the matter, and Jim more anxious than he had -ever been about anybody in his life. He didn't speculate as to why all -these strange things had come into his life, as Dorothy had done, but he -accepted them as simple facts of which he must make the best. The best -he could make of this present situation was to get this lamed girl to a -public highway as soon as he could. Even that might be deserted now, on -a rainy Saturday night, but he hoped for some help there. - -"Now--come." - -Dorothy made a valiant effort and managed to get ahead a few inches. -Then, half-laughing, half-crying, she explained: - -"I can't manage it. I can't walk on one foot and drag the other. -I--Can't you hide me here, somewhere, and go on by yourself, then send -somebody back after me? Would it be safe, do you think?" - -"No, 'twouldn't, an' I shan't. If you can't walk--then hop!" - -So, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other upon the stick he had -broken, the girl--hopped! It was very awkward, very painful, and very -slow; but it was only the slowness that mattered. This was exasperating -to one whose blood was in a ferment of anxiety to be at her journey's -end. Even Jim lost patience after they had gone some distance and -stopped short, saying, with a sigh: - -"This won't do. I'll have to haul you. You're limpin' worse all the -time, an' it'd take a month o' Sundays to travel a mile this gait. Now, -whilst I stoop down, you reach up an' put your arms 'round my neck. Make -yourself light's you can, an' we'll try it that way a spell. When I gin -out we'll wait an' rest. Now ketch hold!" - -He took her staff in one hand, stooped his back like a bow, and Dorothy -clasped her arms about his shoulders. Then he straightened himself and -her feet swung clear of the ground. Fortunately, she was slight and he -strong, and for another little while they proceeded quite rapidly. Also, -he knew perfectly well the direction he ought to take, even in this -darkness of night; and he was accustomed to walking in the fields. Then, -suddenly, he had to stop. - -"Guess we better rest a spell. 'Twon't do to get _all_ tuckered out -first off;" and with that he dumped her on the wet grass, very much as -he might a sack of meal. Then he sat down himself, while she merrily -cried: - -"That's the first time I've been carried pick-a-back since I was ever so -little! How splendid and strong you are! Do you suppose we have come -half-way yet?" - -"Half-way? Pshaw! We ain't got no furder 'an the first half-mile, if so -fur. My sake, girls are orful silly, ain't they?" - -Dorothy's temper flamed. She felt she had been very brave, for her foot -had swollen rapidly and pained her greatly, yet she had suppressed every -groan and had made "herself as light as she could," according to Jim's -command. Now she would have none of his help. No matter what she -suffered she would go on by herself. Then some evil thing tempted her to -ask: - -"Do you know where you're going, Jim Barlow, anyway?" - -And he retorted with equal spirit: - -"D' you s'pose I'd haul such a heavy creatur' 's you so fur on a wrong -road?" - -After which little interchange of amenities, the pair crawled forward -again and came at last to a hedge of honeysuckle bordering a wide lane. -The fragrance brought back to Dorothy's memory her own one, carefully -tended vine in the little garden on Brown Street, and sent a desolate -feeling through her heart. Sent repentant tears, also, to her eyes and -made her reach her hand out toward her companion, with a fresh apology: - -"Jim, I've got to say 'forgive me,' again and--I do say it--yet I hate -it. You've been so good and--Smell the honeysuckle! My darling father -John told me there were quantities of it growing wild all through -Maryland, but I never half-believed it before. It makes me cry!" - -"Set down an' cry, then, if you want to. I just as lief's you would. I'm -tired." - -This concession had the remarkable effect of banishing tears from -Dorothy's eyes. She had tottered along on one foot and the tips of the -toes of the other, till the injured one had become seriously strained -and pained her so that rest she must, whether he were willing or not. It -was comparatively dry on the further side the hedge, and the vines -themselves, so closely interwoven, made a comfortable support for their -tired backs. As she leaned against it, the girl's sense of humor made -her exclaim: - -"That's the funniest thing! I felt I must cry my eyes out, yet when you -said 'go ahead and do it,' every tear dried up! But, I'm sleepy. Do you -suppose we dare go to sleep for a few minutes." - -"Pshaw! I'm sleepy, too. An' I'm goin'--s'posin' er no s'posin'." - -After that, there was a long silence under the honeysuckle hedge. A -second shower, longer and more violent than the first, arose, and dashed -its cool drops on the faces of these young sleepers, but they knew -nothing of that. The storm cleared and the late moon came out and shone -upon them, yet still they did not stir. It was not until the sun itself -sent its hot, summer rays across their closed lids that Jim awoke and -saw a man standing beside them in the lane and staring at Dorothy with -the keenest attention. - -Instantly the lad's fear was alert. He had not spoken of it to Dorothy, -but he knew that many others besides himself must have seen that -wonderful advertisement in the daily paper; and though he was not wise -enough to also know that every wandering child would suggest to somebody -the chance of earning that five hundred, he had made up his mind that -nobody should earn it. Dorothy should be restored without price, and he -had promised her his should be the task. There was that about this -staring stranger which made him throw a protecting arm over the still -sleeping Dorothy and say: - -"Well! Think you'll know us when you see us agin?" - -"Come, come, boy! keep a civil tongue in your head. Who is that little -girl?" - -"None o' your business." - -"Hold on. I'll make it my business, and lively, too, if you don't look -out. Where'd you two come from?" - -"Where we was last at." - -"You scallawag! Your very impudence proves you're up to some mischief, -but I'll ask you once more, and don't you dare give me a lying answer: -Where did you two come from?" - -"Norphan asylum," said Jim, patting Dorothy's hand to quiet her alarm; -for she had, also, waked and was frightened by the stranger, as well as -by that strange numbness all through her body and the terrible pain in -her foot. - -"Girl, what's your name?" - -Dorothy did not answer. She did not appear even to hear, but with a -stupid expression turned her head about on the honeysuckle branches and -again closed her eyes. Part of this dullness was real, part was feigned. -She felt very ill and, anyway, there was Jim. Let him do what talking -was necessary. - -Again the stranger demanded: - -"Who is that girl? Where did you get her? Is she deaf and dumb--or just -a plain everyday fool?" - -"Dunno, stranger. Give it up," said Jim, at the same time managing to -nudge Dorothy unperceived, by way of hint that that suggested -deaf-and-dumbness might serve them well. - -The man who was quizzing them so sharply had been riding a spirited -horse, which now began to prance about the lane in a dangerous way, and -for the moment distracted his attention from the children. Indeed, in -order to quiet the animal he had to mount and race it up and down for a -time, though he by no means intended to leave that place until he had -satisfied himself whether this were or were not the missing little girl, -of whose disappearance all the papers were now so full. If it were and -five hundred dollars depended on her rescue from that country -bumpkin--he was the man for the rescue! Being none other than a suburban -"constable" with a small salary, as well as a local horse jockey, -exercising a rich gentleman's new hunter--also for hire. - -As he galloped past them, to and fro, Dorothy grew more and more -frightened and ill. Her long sleep in her water-soaked clothing, added -to the pain in her foot and her lack of food, affected her seriously; -and a bed with warm blankets and hot drinks was what she needed just -then. Finally, when to the thud of the racer's feet there also sounded -the rumble of approaching wheels, she felt that her doom was sealed and -let her tears stream freely over her wan, dirt-streaked cheeks. - -Jim, also, felt a shiver of fear steal through his long limbs, and -instinctively drew his young charge closer to him, resolved to protect -her to the last. But, as the wheels drew nearer, there was mingled with -their rumble the notes of a good old hymn, and presently both wheels and -music came to an abrupt halt before the hedge and the forlorn pair -half-hidden in it. - -"Why, bless my heart! Younkers, where'd you hail from? and why should a -pretty little girl be crying on the first Sunday morning in June? When -everything else in God's dear world is fairly laughing with joy! Why, -honey, little one--what--what--what!" - -It was a tiny, very rickety gig from which the singer had leaped with -the agility of youth, though his head was almost white, and green -goggles covered his faded old eyes; and he had not finished speaking -before he had climbed upon the bank to the hedge and had put his -fatherly arms around the sobbing Dorothy. - -She opened her own eyes long enough to see that benignant, grizzled -countenance close to her, and--in an instant her arms had clasped about -the stranger's neck! With the unerring instinct of childhood she knew a -friend at first glance, and she clung to this man as if she would never -let him go, while the astonished Jim looked on, fairly gasping for the -breath that he at last emitted in the one word: "P-S-H-A-W!!" Here was -another phase of that changeable creature--girl! To cry her eyes out at -sight of one stranger and to fling herself headlong into the arms of -another--not half so good looking! - -Leaning back among the vines and coolly folding his arms, the farm-boy -resigned himself to whatever might come next. He had most carefully -planned all their trip "home" and not a single detail of it had followed -his plan. "Give it up!" he remarked for the second time, and was -immediately answered by the old man: - -"No, you don't. Nobody decent ever does give up in this sunshiny world -of God's. That isn't what He put us in it for, but to keep right on -jogging along, shedding happiness, loving Him, being content. How did -this poor little darling ever hurt her tiny foot like that?" - -Already the old fellow had Dorothy on his lap and was examining with -careful tenderness the angry-looking wound she had received, while her -curly head rested as contentedly against his breast as if it had been -that of father John himself. - -She opened her lips to tell, but she was too tired. Indeed, if she had -felt equal to the labor of it she would have poured forth her whole -story then and there. But it is doubtful if he would have tarried to -hear it, for he rose at once, carrying the girl in his arms so gently, -so lovingly, that a great wave of happiness swept over her, and she -flashed her own old beautiful smile into his goggles: - -"Oh! you good man. God sent you, didn't He?" - -"Sure, sure! To you, one of His lambs! Come, son. We'll be going! This -poor little foot must be attended to right away, and this is my 'busy -day.' On my way to preach at an early service, for the poor colored folk -who can't come later. Then to another one for scattered white folks--the -rest of the day at the hospitals--Why, bless my heart! If my Sundays -were fifty times as long I could fill every minute of them with the -Master's work!" - -More nimbly than Jim could have done, the happy old man scrambled back -into the gig, never once releasing his hold of Dorothy, gathered up his -reins, bade the lad "Hang on behind, some way!" chirruped to his sleepy -nag, and drove on singing out of the lane. - - "Bringing in the sheaves! Bringing in the sheaves! - We will come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves!" - -Once, in a pause of his song, Dorothy reached up and stroked his cheek, -saying: - -"You're taking me home, aren't you!" - -"Sure, sure! To my home, first, to your home next--if I can;--to your -heavenly home, when the Master wills." - -His home came soon; a tiny, one-storied building with but two rooms, a -kitchen and bedroom; smaller, even, than the cottage of Miranda Stott, -but far neater and cozier. At its door the old minister sprang from the -gig and directed Jim to leave it where it stood. - -"Old Nan won't move unless she's bid. I'll fix up this little one's -wound while you get breakfast. Happens I haven't had my own, yet, and I -know you haven't had yours. The coffee's in that canister on the shelf. -The fire's ready to the match--and the match right here! There's boiled -ham in that cupboard, potatoes to fry, in the ice-box in the shed, bread -and butter in the cellar, as well as a pail of milk. Show yourself a man -by setting the table, my boy. How glad I am to have company! I try to -have somebody most the time; but I don't often get them so easily as -I've gotten you two. Young folks, besides; you ought to eat lots! which -will give me extra appetite--not that I need it, oh no! A fine -digestion is another of my Father's good gifts to me; and do you know, -laddie, that I rarely have to buy the food to feed my guests? Always -comes in of its own accord, seem's if. Of the Lord's accord, more truly. -He's not the One to bid you feed the hungry and give drink to the -thirsty without providing the means. 'Old St. John's' is known as a free -'hotel' in all this countryside, and my children--In His Name I bid you -welcome to it this glorious Sunday morning!" - -Dorothy was on the bed in the inner room, and all the time he was -talking her jolly host was also attending to her as well as to Jim. She -was better already, simply from the cheer of his speech, and that sense -of perfect security that had come to her so promptly. Such a well-stored -little house as that was! From somewhere, out came a bundle of bandages -already prepared, a box of soothing ointment, and a basin of soft warm -water to bathe the jagged wound. - -"Learned to be a sort of doctor, too, you see. Never know when a body -may come limping up, needing care--just as you have. Tear my bandages -evenings when it rains. Never have to buy the muslin or linen--neighbors -all save it for me. Boy--what's your name?--just turn those potatoes -again. The secret of nice fried potatoes is to keep them stirred till -every bit is yellow-browned, even and tasty. It's a sin, the way some -people cook; spoiling the good gifts of the Lord by their own -carelessness. Put into everything you do--milking, plowing, cooking, -preaching, praying, the very best that's in you! That's the way to get -at the core of life, at its deepest-down happiness and content. That's -good! I reckon you're the right sort, only want a little training. The -way you slice that ham shows you're thorough. Now, watch me settle this -coffee and then--for all Thy Mercies, Lord, we humbly thank Thee." - -Such a breakfast as that had never been spread before Jim Barlow. -Dorothy had enjoyed many fine ones in her own happy home, but even she -found this something out of common; and from the chair of state in which -she had been placed at the head of the little table, beamed satisfaction -on the others while she poured their coffee, as deftly as if she were, -indeed, the "little woman" the old man called her. - -When the meal was over, said he: - -"Lad, I'm a busy man, you seem to be an idle fellow. I'll leave you to -wash the dishes and put away the food. Carefully, as you found it, -against the need of the next comer. My name is Daniel St. John. My pride -it is to bear the name of that disciple Jesus loved. Good-bye. Tarry -here as long or as short a time as you will. I never lock the door. -Good-bye. If we do not meet again on earth, I shall look for you in -Heaven." - -He was already passing out into the sunshine but Dorothy cried after -him: - -"One moment, please. You have told us your name, but we haven't told you -ours. Yes, Jim, I shall tell! It's right and this dear man will help us, -not hinder. So you needn't hold up your finger that way. Mr. St. John, I -thank you, we both thank you, more than we can say. That boy's name is -James Barlow. He's an orphan. I'm an orphan, too. My name is----" - -"Thank you for confidence. If my day didn't belong to the Master, not to -myself, I'd drive you home in the gig. If you stay here till to-morrow I -will do so, anyway. Now, I am late about His business, and must be off -at once!" - -With that he jumped into his gig, shook the reins over old Nan's back, -who went ambling down the road to the music of "Throw out the life -line!" sung to the surrounding hills and dales as only old Daniel St. -John could sing it. - -For some hours the two wanderers rested in that sunny little home, both -most reluctant to leave it, and Dorothy's own wish now being to remain -until the Monday when, as he said, their new acquaintance would be at -liberty to take them to the city. Jim was not so anxious to remain. It -was not until his companion's entreaties grew more persistent, that he -told her the truth: - -"Dorothy, we _can't_ stay. We mustn't. I dassent. You was scared o' that -feller on horseback. Well, he's been ridin' by here two, three times, -an' he's fetched another feller along. Them men mean bad to us. I've -studied out 't they ain't sure the old man ain't to home. If they was -they wouldn't wait to ketch us long. The first man, he seen us come with -St. John. He must. He couldn't have rid so fur he didn't. Well, I feel's -if _he_ ketched us, 'twould be out the fryin'-pan into the fire. We -couldn't get shet o' him--till he got that five hundred dollars. We've -got to go on, someway, somewheres. An'--go _now_, whilst they've rid -back agin, out o' sight." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -A SUNDAY DRIVE - - -Mrs. Cecil was extremely restless. She had been so ever since her visit -to Kidder & Kidder. She would roam from room to room of her great house, -staying long in none, finding fault with everybody and everything, in a -manner most unusual. For though she was sharp of speech, at times, the -times were fortunately at intervals, not incessant; but now she had -altered and her dependents felt it to be for the worse. - -"I declar' my soul, Ephraim, looks lak ouah Miss Betty done got somepin' -on her min', de way she ca'y on erbout nottin er tall. Jus' cayse cook, -she done put sallyratus in dem biscuits, stidder raisin' 'em yeas' cake -way, she done 'most flung 'em offen de table. All de time fussin' wid -some us boys an' girls, erbout some fault er nother; an' I lay out it's -her own min' is all corrodin' wid wickedness. What's yo' 'pinion now, -Ephraim, boy?" - -The old colored man pushed away his plate and scratched his white wool. -He was loyalty itself to his Miss Betty, but in his heart he agreed with -Dinah that the house of Calvert had fallen upon uncomfortable times. -Fortunately, he was saved the trouble of a reply, by the sharp ringing -of the stable bell. - -"What now!" cried Dinah, hurrying away. - -Dinner had been served as usual. As usual Mrs. Cecil had attended -service at old St. Paul's, but had felt herself defrauded because the -rector had invited a stranger to occupy the pulpit: "when he knows as -well as I do that this is my last Sunday in Baltimore, before the -autumn, and should have paid me the respect of preaching himself," she -had confided to her next-pew neighbor. Whereupon that other old member -had felt herself also aggrieved, and had left the edifice for her -carriage in a most unchristian state of mind. As usual, the one -church-going and the stately dinner over, the household had settled into -a Sunday somnolence. Ephraim had a comfortable lounge in the -carriage-house loft and was ready for his afternoon nap. Cook was -already asleep, in her kitchen rocker; and having finished her own -grumble, Dinah was about to follow the universal custom, and seek repose -in the little waiting-room beyond her mistress's boudoir, while that -lady enjoyed the same within. For that stable bell to ring at this -unwonted hour was enough to startle both old servants, and to send Dinah -speeding to answer it. - -"Bless yo' heart, Miss Betty, did you-all done ring dat bell? Or did dat -Methusalem done it, fo' mischievousness?" - -"I rang it, Dinah. Tell Ephraim to harness his horses. I'm going out for -a drive." - -Dinah delayed to obey. Drive on Sunday? Such a thing was unheard of, -except on the rare occasion of some intimate friend being desperately -ill. Instantly the maid's thought ran over the list of her mistress's -intimates, but could find none who was ailing, or hardly one who was -still in town. - -"Lawd, honey, Miss Betty, who-all's sick?" - -"Nobody, you foolish girl. Can't I stir off these grounds unless somebody -is ill? I'm going to drive. I've no need to tell you, you've no right to -ask me--but one must humor imbecility! _I--am--going--to--drive!_ I--I'm -not sleeping as well as usual, and I need the air. Now, get my things, and -don't stare." - -"Yas'm. Co'se. Yas'm. But year me, Miss Betty Somerset, if yo' po' maw -was er libin' you-all wouldn't get to go no ridin' on a Sunday ebenin', -jus' if yo' didn' know no diff'rent. Lak dem po' no-'count folks what -doan' b'long to good famblies. You-all may go, whuther er no, cayse yo' -does most inginerally take yo' own way. But I owes it to yo' maw to -recommind you-all o' yo' plain, Christian duty." - -With that Dinah felt she had relieved herself of all obligation either -to duty or tradition, and proceeded with great dignity to bring out her -lady's handsome wrap and hat: while down deep in that old gentlewoman's -breast fluttered a feeling of actual guilt. It was a lifelong habit she -was about to break; a habit that had been the law of her parents in the -days of her youth. When one was a privileged person of leisure, who -could take her outings on any week-day, she should pay strictest honor -to the Sabbath. - -However, Miss Betty had made up her mind to go and Miss Betty went. Not -only thus endangering her own soul but those of Dinah and Ephraim as -well; and once well out of city limits and the possible observation of -friends, the affair began to have for all three the sweet flavor of -stolen fruit. - -"It's delightful. It's such a perfect day. 'Twould be more sinful to -waste it indoors, asleep, than to be out here on the highway, passing -through such loveliness. We'll--_We'll come again_, some other Sunday, -Dinah," observed Mrs. Cecil, when they had already traveled some few -miles. - -But it was Dinah's hour for sleep, and having been prevented from -indulging herself at home in a proper place and condition, she saw no -reason why she shouldn't nod here and now. The carriage was full as -comfortable as her own easy-chair, and she had been ordered to ride, not -to stay awake. - -So, finding her remarks unheeded, Mrs. Cecil set herself to studying the -landscape; and she found this so soothing to her tired nerves that when -the coachman asked if he should turn about, she indignantly answered: - -"No. Time for that when I give the order. It's my carriage, as I often -have to remind you, Ephraim." - -"Yas'm. Dat's so, Miss Betty. But dese yere hosses, dey ain' much usen -to trabelin' so fur, cos' erspecially not inginerally on a _Sunday_." - -"Do them good, boy, do them good. They're so fat they can hardly trot a -rod before they're winded. When we get into the country, and they have -to climb up and down those hills of the highlands, they'll lose some of -their bulk. They're a sight now. I'm fairly ashamed of them. Touch them -up, boy, touch them up. See if they can travel at all. They had a good -deal of spirit when I bought them, but you'd ruin any team you shook -the reins over, Ephraim. Touch them up!" - -Ephraim groaned, but obeyed; and, for a brief distance, the bays did -trot fairly well, as if there had come to their equine minds a memory of -that past when they had been young and frisky. Then they settled down -again to their ordinary jog, quite unlike their mistress's mood, which -grew more and more excited and gay the longer she trespassed upon her -old-time habits. - -Nobody, who loved nature at all, could resist the influence of that -golden summer afternoon--"evening" as southerners call it. To Mrs. Cecil -as to little Dorothy, hours before, came the sweet, suggestive odor of -honeysuckle; that brought back old memories, touched to tenderness her -heart, and to an undefinable longing for something and somebody on which -to expend all that stored-up affection. - -"Tu'n yet, Miss Betty? Dat off hoss done gettin' badly breathed," -suggested Ephraim, rudely breaking in upon Mrs. Cecil's reflections. - -"Oh, you tiresome boy! One-half mile more, then turn if you will and -must. For me--I haven't enjoyed myself nor felt so at peace in--in -several days. Not since that wretched plumber came to Bellevieu and -stirred me all up with his--gossip. I could drive on forever! but, of -course, I'm human, and I'll remember you, Ephraim, as well as my poor, -abused horses! One mile--did I say a half? Well, drive on, anyway." - -It was at the very turn of the road that she saw them. - -A long, lanky lad, far worse winded than her fat bays, skulking along -behind the honeysuckle hedge-rows, as if in hiding from somebody. As -they approached each other--she in her roomy carriage, he on his bruised -and aching feet--she saw that he was almost spent; that he carried a -girl on his back; and that the desperation of fear was on both their -young faces. Then looking forward along her side of the hedge, down the -road that stretched so smooth and even, she saw two men on horseback. -They were riding swiftly, and now and then one would rise in his -stirrups and peer over the hedge, as if to keep in sight the struggling -children, then settle back again into that easy lope that was certain of -speedy victory. - -Mrs. Cecil's nerves tingled with a new--an old--sensation. In the days -of her girlhood she had followed the hounds over many a well-contested -field. Behold here again was a fox-hunt--with two human children for -foxes! Whatever they might have done, how deserved re-capture, she -didn't pause to inquire. All her old sporting blood rose in her, but--on -the side of the foxes! - -"Drive, drive, Ephraim, drive! Kill the horses--save those children!" - -Ephraim had once been young, too, and he caught his lady's spirit with a -readiness that delighted her. In a moment the carriage was abreast the -fleeing children on that further side the hedge, and Mrs. Cecil's voice -was excitedly calling: - -"Come through! Come through the hedge! We'll befriend you!" - -It had been a weary, weary race. Although her foot had been so carefully -bandaged by Daniel St. John, it was not fit to be used and Dorothy's -suffering could not be told in words. Jim had done his best. He had -comforted, encouraged, carried her; at times, incessantly, but with a -now fast-dying hope that they could succeed in evading these pursuers, -so relentlessly intent upon their capture. - -"It's the money, Dorothy, they want. They mustn't get it. That's your -folkses'--do try--you _must_ keep on! I'll--they shan't--Oh, pshaw!" - -Wheels again! again added to that thump, thump, thump of steel-shod -hoofs along the hard road! and the youth felt that the race was -over--himself beaten. - -Then he peered through a break in the honeysuckle and saw a wonderful -old lady with snow-white hair and a beautiful face, standing up in a -finer vehicle than he had known could be constructed, and eagerly -beckoning him to: "Come! Come!" - -He stood still, panting for breath, and Dorothy lifted her face which -she had hidden on his shoulder and--what was that the child was calling? - -"Mrs. Cecil! Mrs. Cecil! Don't you know me? John Chester's little girl? -'Johnnie'--postman 'Johnnie'--you know him--take me home!" - -The two horsemen came riding up and reined in shortly. There was -bewilderment on their faces and disappointment in their hearts; for -behold! here were five hundred dollars being swept out of their very -grasp by a wealthy old woman who didn't need a cent! - -And what was that happy old creature answering to the fugitive's appeal -but an equally joyful: - -"Dorothy C.! You poor lost darling--Dorothy C.! Thank God you're found! -Thank Him I took this ride this day!" - -Another moment and not only Dorothy but poor Jim Barlow, mud-stained, -unkempt, as awkward a lad as ever lived and as humble, was riding toward -Baltimore city in state, on a velvet-covered cushion beside one of its -most aristocratic dames! - -This was a turn in affairs, indeed; and the discomfited horsemen, who -had felt a goodly sum already within their pockets, followed the -equipage into town to learn the outcome of the matter. - -Dorothy was on Mrs. Cecil's own lap; who minded nothing of the soiled -little garments but held the child close with a pitying maternity, -pathetic in so old and childless a woman. - -But, oddly enough, she permitted no talk or explanation. There would be -time enough for that when the safe shelter of Bellevieu was reached and -there were no following interlopers to overhear. Even Dinah could only -sit and stare, wondering if her beloved "honey" had suddenly lost her -wits; but Ephraim comprehended that his mistress now meant it when she -urged "Speed! speed!" and put his fat bays to a run such as they had not -taken since their earliest youth. - -Through the eagle-gateway, into the beautiful grounds, around to that -broad piazza where Dorothy had made disastrous acquaintance with the two -Great Danes, and on quite into the house. But there Jim would have -retreated, and even Dorothy looked and wondered: saying, as she was -gently taken in old Dinah's arms and laid upon the mistress's own -lounge: - -"Thank you, but I won't lie down here, if you please. I love you so much -for bringing me back, but home--home's just around the corner, and I -can't wait! Jim and I will go now--please--and thank you! thank you!" - -Yet now, back in her own home, it was a very calm and courteous old -gentlewoman--no longer an impulsive one--who answered: - -"For the present, Dorothy C., you will have to be content with -Bellevieu. John Chester and his wife have gone to the country. To a -far-away state, and to a little property she owns. Fortunately, I am -going to that same place very soon and will take you to them. I am sorry -for your disappointment, but you are safe with me till then." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -CONCLUSION - - -Mr. Kidder, of Kidder & Kidder, had by request waited upon the lady of -Bellevieu. He was prepared to explain some uncertain matters to her and -had delayed his own removal to his country place for that purpose. The -heat which had made Baltimore so uncomfortable had, for the time being, -passed; and there was now blowing through the big east-parlor, a breeze, -redolent of the perfumes of sweet brier and lily-of-the-valley; -old-fashioned flowers which grew in rank luxuriance outside the wide -bay-window. - -Presently there entered the mistress of the mansion, looking almost -youthful in a white gown and with a calm serenity upon her handsome -features. She walked with that graceful, undulating movement--a sort of -quiet gliding--which had been the most approved mode of her girlhood, -and the mere sight of that was restful to the old attorney, who detested -the modern, jerky carriage of most maidens. - -Dorothy attended her hostess and she, too, was in white. Indeed Mrs. -Cecil considered that to be the only suitable home-wear for either maid -or matron, after the spring days came; and looking critically upon the -pair, the old lawyer fancied he saw a faint resemblance. - -Each had large brown and most expressive eyes; each had a hand and foot, -fit subject for feminine pride, and each bore herself with the same air -of composed self-sufficiency. Well, it was a fine experiment his client -was trying; he could but hope it would not end in disappointment. - -She seemed to know his thoughts without his expressing them; and as she -sat down, she bade Dorothy lay aside her cane and sit beside her. The -injured foot had received the best of medical treatment since the -child's arrival at Bellevieu and was now almost well, though some -support had still to be used as a safeguard against strain. - -"This is the child, Mr. Kidder. I think she has intelligence. A fine -intelligence," began the lady, as if Dorothy had not ears to hear. Then -feeling the girl's eyes raised inquiringly, added rather hastily: "It's -on account of 'Johnnie,' you understand, Mr. Kidder. He was one of the -most faithful persons I ever knew. That was why he was selected. Why I -am going to take his little Dorothy C. back to him as fast as -to-morrow's train will carry us. Have you learned anything?" - -"Yes, Madam. I came prepared--but----" He paused again and glanced at -the girl, whom her hostess promptly sent away. Then he proceeded: - -"It is the same man I suspected in the beginning. He was a clerk in my -office some years ago, at the time, indeed, when I first saw your ward. -He listened at a keyhole and heard all arrangements made, but--did not -see who was closeted with me and never learned your identity until -recently. That is why you have escaped blackmail so long; and he is the -author of the letters you sent me--unopened. He had his eye upon Dorothy -C. for years, but could use her to no advantage till he traced--I don't -yet know how, and it doesn't matter--the connection between yourself and -the monthly letters. He has been in scrapes innumerable. I discharged -him almost immediately after I hired him, and he has owed me a grudge -ever since. But--he'll trouble Baltimore people no more. If he recovers -from the dangerous illness he is suffering now he will be offered the -choice of exile from the state or a residence in the prison. By the way, -isn't it a case of poetic justice, that he should be thus innocently -punished by the child he stole?" - -"It is, indeed. As to the boy, James. 'Jim,' Dorothy calls him. He seems -to be without friends, a fine, uncouth, most manly fellow, with an -overpowering ambition 'to know things'! To see him look at a book, as if -he adored it but dared not touch it, is enough--to make me long to throw -it at him, almost! He is to be tested. I want to go slow with him. So -many of my protégés have disappointed me. But, if he's worth it, I want -to help him make a man of himself." - -"The right word. Just the right, exact word, Madam. 'Help _him_ to make -a man of himself.' Because if he doesn't take a hand in the business -himself, all the extraneous help in the world will be useless. Well, -then I think we understand each other. I have all your latest advices in -my safe, with duplicate copies in that of my son. - -"You leave to-morrow? From Union Station? I wish you, Madam, a safe -journey, a pleasant summer, and an early return. Good-morning." - -On the very evening of Dorothy's arrival at Bellevieu, now some days -past, she had begged so to "go home," and so failed to comprehend how -her parents could have left it without her, that Mrs. Cecil sent for the -plumber and his wife to come to her and to bring Mabel with them. - -"Why, husband! I fair believe the world must be comin' to an end! -Dorothy found, alive, and that rich woman the one to find her! Go! -Course we'll go--right off." - -Mr. Bruce was just as eager to pay the visit as his wife, but he prided -himself on being a "free-born American" citizen and resented being -ordered to the mansion, "on a Sunday just as if it were a work-day. If -the lady has business with us, it's her place to come to Brown Street, -herself." - -"Fiddle-de-diddle-de-dee! Since when have we got so top-lofty?" demanded -his better half with a laugh. "On with your best duds, man alive, and -we'll be off! Why, I--I myself am all of a flutter, I can't wait! Do -hurry an' step 'round to 77 an' get Mabel. She's been to supper with her -aunt, an' Jane'll be wild to hear the news, too. Tell everybody you see -on the block--Dorothy C. is found! Dorothy C. is found! An' whilst -you're after Mabel, I'll just whisk Dorothy's clothes, 'at her mother -left with me for her, into a satchel an' take 'em along. Stands to -reason that folks wicked enough to steal a child wouldn't be decent -enough to give her a change of clothing; and if she's wore one set ever -sence she's been gone--My! I reckon Martha Chester'd fair squirm--just -to think of it!" - -Now, as has been stated, in his heart the honest plumber was fully as -eager to see Dorothy C., as his wife was, and long before she had -finished speaking he was on his way to number 77. It was such a lovely -evening that all his neighbors were sitting out upon their doorsteps, in -true Baltimore fashion, so it was easy as delightful to spread the -tidings; and never, never, had the one-hundred-block of cleanly Brown -Street risen in such an uproar. An uproar of joy that was almost -hilarious; and all uninvited, everybody who had ever known Dorothy C. -set off for Bellevieu, so that even before the Bruce-Jones party had -arrived the lovely grounds were full to overflowing and the aristocratic -silence of the place was broken by cries of: - -"Dorothy! Dorothy Chester! Show us little Dorothy, and we'll believe our -ears. Seeing is believing--Show us little Dorothy!" - -These, and similar, outcries bombarded the hearing of Mrs. Cecil and, -for a moment, frightened her. Glancing out of the window she beheld the -throng and called to Ephraim: - -"Boy! Telephone--the police! It's a riot of some sort! We're being -mobbed!" - -But Dinah knew better. She didn't yet understand why her mistress should -bother with a couple of runaway young folks, but since she had done so -it was her own part to share in that bother. So she promptly lifted the -girl in her strong arms and carried her out to the broad piazza, so -crowded with people in Sunday attire, and quietly explained to -whomsoever would listen: - -"Heah she is! Yas'm. Dis yere's de pos'man's li'l gal what's gone away -wid de misery in his laigs. Yas'm. It sho'ly am. An' my Miss Betty, -she's done foun' out how where he's gone at is right erjinin' ouah own -prop'ty o' Deerhurst-on-de-Heights, where we-all's gwine in a right -smart li'l while. Won't nottin' more bad happen dis li'l one, now my -Miss Betty done got de care ob her. Yas'm, ladies an' gemplemen; an' so, -bein's it Sunday, an' my folks mos' tuckered out, if you-all'd be so -perlite as to go back to yo' housen an' done leab us res', we-all done -be much obleeged. Yas'm. Good-bye." - -Dinah's good-natured speech, added to the one glimpse of the rescued -child, acted more powerfully than the police whom her mistress would -have summoned; and soon the crowd drifted away, pausing only here and -there to admire the beautiful grounds which, hitherto, most of these -visitors had seen only from outside the gates. - -But the Bruce family remained; and oh! the pride and importance which -attached to them, thus distinguished! Or of that glad reunion with these -old friends and neighbors, when Dorothy was once more in their arms, who -could fitly tell? Then while Mabel and her restored playmate chattered -of all that had happened to either since their parting, Mrs. Cecil drew -the plumber aside and consulted him upon the very prosaic matter of -clothes--clothes for now ill-clad Jim Barlow. - -"I've decided to take him with us to New York State when we go, in a -very few days. I shall employ him as a gardener on my property there, -but he isn't fit to travel--as he's fixed now. Will you, at regular -wages for your time, take him down town to-morrow morning and fit him -out with suitable clothing, plain and serviceable but ample in quantity, -and bring the bill to me? I'd rather you'd not let him out of your -sight, for now that Dorothy is safe, the boy has ridiculous notions -about his 'duty' to that dreadful old truck-farming woman who has let -him work for her during several years at--nothing a year! And anybody -who's so saturated with 'duty,' is just the man I want at Deerhurst, be -he old or young." - -To which the plumber answered: - -"Indeed, Mrs. Cecil, I'm a proud man to be selected for the job and as -to pay for my time--just you settle with me when I ask you for that. -Pay? For such a neighborly turn? Well, I guess not. Not till I'm a good -deal poorer than I am now. And if there's anything needed for Dorothy -C., my wife'll tend to that, too, and be proud." - -So with that matter settled, these good friends of the rescued children -departed to their home and to what sleep they might find after so much -delightful excitement. - -Next day, too, because the doctor called in said that Dorothy must -attempt no more walking until the end of the week, Mrs. Cecil had a pony -cart sent for, and Ephraim with Dinah took the child upon a round of -calls to all whom she had ever known in that friendly neighborhood. -Mabel was invited to accompany her, and did so--the proudest little -maiden in Baltimore. They even went to their school, and Miss Georgia -left her class for full five minutes to go out and congratulate her late -pupil upon this happy turn of affairs. But at number 77 Dorothy would -not stop; would not even look. She felt she could not bear its changed -condition, for underneath all this present joy her heart ached with -longing for those beloved ones who had made that little house a home. - -Also, now that it was drawing certainly near, it seemed as if the day of -their reunion would never come; and when some time before, old Ephraim -was sent on ahead with the horses and carriages, and the great heap of -luggage which his lady found necessary to this annual removal, the child -pleaded piteously to go with him. - -"No, my dear, not yet. Two days more and you shall. You may count the -hours. I sometimes think that helps time to pass, when one is impatient. -They've been telegraphed to, have known all about you ever since Sunday -night. They'll have time to make ready for you--and that's all. But, -Brown Eyes, a 'penny for your thoughts!' What are they, pray, to make -you look so serious?" - -"I was thinking you're like a fairy godmother. You seem so able to do -everything you want for everybody. I was wondering, too, what makes you -so kind to--to me, after that day when I was saucy to you." - -It came to the lady's mind to answer: "Darling, who could be aught but -kind to you!" but flattery was not one of her failings and she had begun -to fear that all the attention of these past days was turning her -charge's head. So she merely suggested: - -"I suppose I might be doing it for 'Johnnie.' I am very fond of him." - -Thus Dorothy's vanity received a possibly needful snub; for a girl who -was well treated because of her father couldn't be so much of a heroine -after all! - -The railway journey from Baltimore to New York was like a passage -through fairyland to Dorothy C. and the farm-boy Jim. The wonders of -their luxurious parlor-car surroundings kept them almost speechless with -delight; but when at the latter great city they embarked upon a Hudson -river steamer and they were free to roam about the palatial vessel, -their tongues were loosened. Thereafter they talked so fast and so much -that they hardly realized what was happening as Dinah called them to -listen and obey the boat-officer's command: - -"All ashore what's goin'! Aft' gangway fo' Cornwall! -A-L-L--A-S-H-O-O-R-E!" - -Over the gangplank, into the midst of a waiting crowd, and there was -Ephraim with the carriage and the bays; and into the roomy vehicle -bundled everybody, glad to be so near the end of that famous journey, -and Dorothy quite unable to keep still for two consecutive moments. - -"Up, up, up! How high we are going! Straight into the skies it seems!" -cried the girl to Jim Barlow, whom nobody who had known him on the -truck-farm would have recognized as the same lad, so neat and trim he -now appeared. - -But he had no words to answer. The wonderful upland country through -which their course lay impressed him to silence, and the strength of -those everlasting hills entered his ambitious soul--making him believe -that to him who dared all high achievements were possible. - -"Will--we never--_never_ get there?" almost gasped Dorothy, in the -breathless eagerness of these last few moments of separation from her -loved ones. But Mrs. Cecil answered: - -"Yes, my child. Round this turn of the road and behold! we are arrived! -See, that big place yonder whose gates stand wide open is Deerhurst, my -home, to which I hope you will often come. And, look this way--there is -Skyrie! The little stone cottage on a rock, half-hidden in vines, empty -for years, and now--Who is that upon its threshold? That man in the -wheeled chair, risking his neck to hasten your meeting? Who that dainty -little woman flying down the path to clasp you in her arms? Ah! Dorothy -C.! Father and mother, indeed, they have proved to you and glad am I to -restore you to them, safe and sound!" - -Happy, happy Dorothy! At last, at last she was in the arms whose care -had sheltered her through all her life; and there, for the time being, -we must leave her. Of her life at Skyrie, of its haps and mishaps, of -the mystery which still surrounded her birth and parentage, another book -must tell. - -Or how beautiful Mrs. Cecil, gay and satisfied as that veritable fairy -godmother to which Dorothy had likened her, drove briskly home to -Deerhurst and its accustomed stateliness, with humble Jim Barlow too -grateful for speech, already beginning his new and richer life. - -All these things and more belong with Dorothy Chester at Skyrie, and of -them you shall hear by and by. Till then we leave her, well content. - - - - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: - -Obvious printer and typographical errors have been corrected without -comment. In addition to obvious errors, the following changes have been -made: - - Page 218: "t'was" was changed to "'twas" in the phrase, "... t'was - to find out dat." - - Page 251: "need less" was changed to "needless" in the phrase, "... - scuffin' 'em out, needless." - - Page 297: "the" was added to the phrase, "Glancing out of the - window...." - -With the exception of the above corrections, the author's original -spelling, punctuation, use of grammar, etc., is retained as it appears -in the original publication. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dorothy, by Evelyn Raymond - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOROTHY *** - -***** This file should be named 40300-8.txt or 40300-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/3/0/40300/ - -Produced by D Alexander, Cathy Maxam and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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