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diff --git a/old/64911-0.txt b/old/64911-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index dba0b95..0000000 --- a/old/64911-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3940 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mislaid Uncle, by Evelyn Raymond - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Mislaid Uncle - -Author: Evelyn Raymond - -Release Date: March 23, 2021 [eBook #64911] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by the Library - of Congress) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISLAID UNCLE *** - -[Illustration: THE LITTLE FACE DROPPED UPON THE OPEN PAGE.] - - - - - THE - MISLAID - UNCLE - - _by_ EVELYN RAYMOND - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - THOMAS Y· CROWELL & CO· - PUBLISHERS - - - - - Copyright, 1903, - BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY. - - _Published September, 1903._ - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. DIVERSE WAYS 1 - - II. A HUMAN EXPRESS PARCEL 14 - - III. ARRIVAL 34 - - IV. A MULTITUDE OF JOSEPHS 46 - - V. A WILD MARCH MORNING 63 - - VI. MEMORIES AND MELODIES 80 - - VII. THE BOY FROM NEXT DOOR 95 - - VIII. AFTER THE FROLIC 111 - - IX. NEIGHBORLY AMENITIES 123 - - X. TOM, DICK, HARRY, AND THE BABY 138 - - XI. THE DISPOSAL OF THE PARCEL 150 - - - - -THE MISLAID UNCLE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -DIVERSE WAYS. - - -Three people were together in a very pleasant little parlor, in a land -where the sun shines nearly all the time. They were Doctor Mack, whose -long, full name was Alexander MacDonald; mamma, who was Mrs. John -Smith; and Josephine, who was Mrs. Smith’s little girl with a pretty -big name of her own. - -Doctor Mack called Mrs. Smith “Cousin Helen,” and was very good to her. -Indeed, ever since papa John Smith had had to go away and leave his -wife and child to house-keep by themselves the busy doctor-cousin had -done many things for them, and mamma was accustomed to go to him for -advice about all little business matters. It was because she needed -his advice once more that she had summoned him to the cottage now; even -though he was busier than ever, since he was making ready to leave San -Diego that very day for the long voyage to the Philippine Islands. - -Evidently the advice that had so promptly been given was not agreeable; -for when Josephine looked up from the floor where she was dressing -Rudanthy, mamma was crying softly, and Doctor Mack was saying in his -gravest take-your-medicine-right-away kind of a voice that there was -“nothing else to do.” - -“Oh, my poor darling! She is so young, so innocent. I cannot, I -cannot!” wailed the mother. - -“She is the most self-reliant, independent young lady of her age that I -ever knew,” returned the doctor. - -Josephine realized that they were talking about her, but didn’t see why -that should make her mother sad. It must be all the cousin-doctor’s -fault. She had never liked him since he had come a few weeks before, -and scratched her arm and made it sore. “Vaccinated” it, mamma had -said, to keep her from being ill sometime. Which had been very puzzling -to the little girl, because “sometime” might never come, while the -arm-scratching had made her miserable for the present. She now asked, -in fresh perplexity: - -“Am I ‘poor,’ mamma?” - -“At this moment I feel that you are very poor indeed, my baby,” -answered the lady. - -Josephine glanced about the familiar room, in which nothing seemed -changed except her mother’s face. That had suddenly grown pale and sad, -and even wrinkled, for there was a deep, deep crease between its brows. - -“That’s funny. Where are my rags?” asked the child. - -Mamma smiled; but the doctor laughed outright, and said: - -“There is more than one way of being poor, little missy. Come and show -me your arm.” - -Josephine shivered as she obeyed. However, there was nothing to -fear now, for the arm was well healed, and the gentleman patted it -approvingly, adding: - -“You are a good little girl, Josephine.” - -“Yes, Doctor Mack, I try to be.” - -“Yet you don’t love me, do you?” - -“Not--not so--so very much,” answered the truthful child, painfully -conscious of her own rudeness. - -“Not so well as Rudanthy,” he persisted. - -“Oh, nothing like!” - -“Josephine,” reproved mamma; then caught her daughter in her arms, and -began to lament over her. “My darling! my darling! How can I part from -you?” - -Before any reply could be made to this strange question, the door-bell -rang, and there came in another of those blue-coated messenger boys, -who had been coming at intervals all that day and yesterday. He brought -a telegram which mamma opened with trembling fingers. When she had read -it, she passed it to Doctor Mack, who also read it; after which he -folded and returned it to the lady, saying: - -“Well, Cousin Helen, you must make your decision at once. The steamer -starts this afternoon. If you sail by her there’s no time to be lost. -If you go, I will delay my own preparations to help you off.” - -For one moment more Mrs. Smith stood silent, pressing her hands to her -throbbing temples, and gazing at Josephine as if she could not take her -eyes from the sweet, childish face. Then she turned toward the kind -doctor and said, quite calmly: - -“Yes, Cousin Aleck, I will go.” - -He went away quickly, and mamma rang the bell for big Bridget, who came -reluctantly, wiping her eyes on her apron. But her mistress was not -crying now, and announced: - -“Bridget, I am starting for Chili by this afternoon’s steamer. -Josephine is going to Baltimore by the six o’clock overland. There -isn’t a moment to waste. Please bring the empty trunks from the -storeroom and pack them while I attend to other matters, though I will -help you as I can. Put my clothes into the large trunk and Josephine’s -into the small one. There, there, good soul, don’t begin to cry again. -I need all my own will to get through this awful day; and please make -haste.” - -During the busy hours which followed both mamma and Bridget seemed -to have forgotten the little girl, save, now and then, to answer her -questions; and one of these was: - -“What’s Chili, Bridget?” - -“Sure, it’s a kind of pickle-sauce, darlin’.” - -“Haven’t we got some of it in the cupboard?” - -“Slathers, my colleen.” - -“Chili is a country, my daughter,” corrected mamma, looking up from the -letter she was writing so hurriedly that her pen went scratch, scratch. - -“Is it red, mamma?” - -“Hush, little one. Don’t be botherin’ the mistress the now. Here’s -Rudanthy’s best clothes. Put ’em on, and have her ready for the start.” - -“Is Rudanthy going a journey, too, Bridget?” - -“‘Over the seas and far away’--or over the land; what differ?” - -When the doll had been arrayed in its finery mamma had finished her -writing, and, rising from her desk, called the child to her. Then she -took her on her lap and said, very earnestly: - -“Josephine, you are eight years old.” - -“Yes, mamma. This very last birthday that ever was.” - -“That is old enough to be brave and helpful.” - -“Oh, quite, mamma. I didn’t cry when Doctor Mack vaccinated me, and I -sewed a button on my apron all myself.” - -“For a time I am obliged to go away from you, my--my precious!” - -Josephine put up her hand and stroked her mother’s cheek, begging: - -“Don’t cry, mamma, and please, please don’t go away.” - -The lady’s answer was a question: - -“Do you love papa, darling?” - -“Why, mamma! How funny to ask! Course I do, dearly, dearly.” - -“Poor papa is ill. Very ill, I fear. He is alone in a far, strange -country. He needs me to take care of him. He has sent for me, and I am -going to him. But I cannot take you. For many reasons--the climate, -the uncertainty--I am going to send you East to your Uncle Joe’s; the -uncle for whom you were named, your father’s twin brother. Do you -understand me, dear?” - -“Yes, mamma. You are going to papa, and I am going to Uncle Joe. Who is -going with me there?” - -“Nobody, darling. There is nobody who can go. We have no relatives -here, except our doctor-cousin, and he is too busy. So we are going to -send you by express. It is a safe way, though a lonely one, and-- Oh, -my darling, my darling; how can I! how can I!” - -Ever since papa had gone, so long ago, Josephine had had to comfort -mamma. She did so now, smoothing the tear-wet cheek with her fat little -hand, and chattering away about the things Bridget had put in her trunk. - -“But she mustn’t pack Rudanthy. I can’t have her all smothered up. I -will take Rudanthy in my arms. She is so little and so sweet.” - -“So little and so sweet!” echoed the mother’s heart, sadly; and it -was well for all that Doctor Mack returned just then. For he was so -brisk and business-like, he had so many directions to give, he was so -cheerful and even gay, that, despite her own forebodings, Mrs. Smith -caught something of his spirit, and completed her preparations for -departure calmly and promptly. - -Toward nightfall it was all over: the parting that had been so bitter -to the mother and so little understood by the child. Mamma was standing -on the deck of the outward moving steamer, straining her eyes backward -over the blue Pacific toward the pretty harbor of San Diego, almost -believing she could still see a little scarlet-clad figure waving -a cheerful farewell from the vanishing wharf. But Josephine, duly -ticketed and labelled, was already curled up on the cushions of her -section in the sleeper, and staring out of window at the sights which -sped by. - -“The same old ocean, but so big, so big! Mamma says it is peacock-blue, -like the wadded kimono she bought at the Japanese store. Isn’t it queer -that the world should fly past us like this! That’s what it means in -the jogaphy about the earth turning round, I suppose. If it doesn’t -stop pretty soon I shall get dreadful dizzy and, maybe, go to sleep. -But how could I? I’m an express parcel now. Cousin-Doctor Mack said so, -and dear mamma. Parcels don’t go to sleep ever, do they, Rudanthy?” - -But Rudanthy herself, lying flat in her mistress’ lap, had closed her -own waxen lids and made no answer. The only one she could have made, -indeed, would have been “Papa,” or “Mamma,” and that wouldn’t have been -a “truly” answer, anyway. - -Besides, just then a big man, shining with brass buttons and a -brass-banded cap, came along and demanded: - -“Tickets, please.” - -Josephine clutched Rudanthy and woke that indolent creature rather -suddenly. - -“Dolly, dolly, sit up! The shiny-blue man is hollering at the people -dreadful loud. Maybe it’s wrong for dolls to go to sleep in these -railway things.” - -[Illustration: “WHERE’S YOUR FOLKS?”] - -The shiny-blue man stopped right at Josephine’s seat, and demanded -fiercely, or it sounded fierce to the little girl: - -“Sissy, where’s your folks?” - -“Please, I haven’t got any,” she answered politely. - -“Who do you belong to, then?” asked he. - -“I’m Mrs. John Smith’s little girl, Josephine,” she explained. - -“Hmm. Well, where’s Mrs. John Smith?” he persisted. - -“She’s gone away,” said she, wishing he, too, would go away. - -“Indeed. Tell me where to find her. You’re small enough, but there -should be somebody else in this section.” - -“I guess you can’t find her. She’s sailing and sailing on a steamer to -my papa, who’s sick and needs her more ’n I do.” - -“Hello! this is odd!” said the conductor, and passed on. But not before -he added the caution: - -“You stay right exactly where you are, sissy, till I come back. I’ll -find out your party and have you looked after.” - -Josephine tried to obey to the very letter. She did not even lay aside -the doll she had clasped to her breast, nor turn her head to look out -of the window. The enchanting, fairy-like landscape might fly by and by -her in its bewildering way; she dared gaze upon it no more. - -After a while there were lights in the coach, and these made -Josephine’s eyes blink faster and faster. They blinked so fast, in -fact, that she never knew when they ceased doing so, or anything that -went on about her, till she felt herself lifted in somebody’s arms, and -raised her heavy lids, to see the shiny-blue man’s face close above her -own, and to hear his voice saying: - -“Poor little kid! Make her berth up with double blankets, Bob, and keep -an eye on it through the night. My! Think of a baby like this making a -three-thousand-mile journey alone. My own little ones--Pshaw! What made -me remember them just now?” - -Then Josephine felt a scratchy mustache upon her check, and a hard -thing which might have been a brass button jam itself into her temple. -Next she was put down into the softest little bed in the world, the -wheels went to singing “Chug-chug-chug,” in the drowsiest sort of -lullaby, and that was all she knew for a long time. - -But something roused her, suddenly, and she stretched out her hand to -clasp, yet failed to find, her own familiar bed-fellow. Missing this -she sat up in her berth and shrieked aloud: - -“Rudanthy! Ru-dan-thy! RUDANTHY!” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -A HUMAN EXPRESS PARCEL. - - -“Hush, sissy! Don’t make such a noise. You’re disturbing a whole car -full of people,” said somebody near her. - -Josephine suppressed her cries, but could not stifle the mighty sob -which shook her. She looked up into the face of the black porter, -Bob, studied it attentively, found it not unkind, and regained her -self-possession. - -“My name is not sissy. It’s Josephine Smith. I want my dolly. I cannot -go to sleep without her. Her name is Rudanthy. Fetch me Rudanthy, boy.” - -Bob was the most familiar object she had yet seen. He might have -come from the big hotel where she and mamma had taken their meals. -Her mother’s cottage had been close by, and sometimes of a morning a -waiter had brought their breakfast across to them. That waiter was a -favorite, and in this dimness she fancied he had appeared before her. - -“Do you live at the ‘Florence,’ boy?” she asked. - -“No, missy, but my brother does,” he answered. - -“Ah! Fetch me Rudanthy, please.” - -After much rummaging, and some annoyance to a lady who now occupied -the upper berth, the doll was found and restored. But by this time -Josephine was wide awake and disposed to ask questions. - -“What’s all the curtains hung in a row for, Bob?” - -“To hide the berths, missy. I guess you’d better not talk now.” - -“No, I won’t. What you doing now, Bob?” she continued. - -“Making up the section across from yours, missy. Best go to sleep,” -advised the man. - -“Oh, I’m not a bit sleepy. Are you?” was her next demand. - -“Umm,” came the unsatisfactory response. - -“What you say? You mustn’t mumble. Mamma never allows me to mumble. I -always speak outright,” was Josephine’s next comment. - -“Reckon that’s true enough,” murmured the porter, under his breath. - -“What, Bob? I didn’t hear,” from the little girl. - -“No matter, I’ll tell you in the morning,” he whispered. - -“I’d rather know now.” - -No response coming to this, she went on: - -“Bob! Please to mind me, boy. I--want--to--hear--now,” very distinctly -and emphatically. Josephine had been accustomed to having her wishes -attended to immediately. That was about all mamma and big Bridget -seemed to live for. - -The lady in the berth above leaned over the edge and said, in a shrill -whisper: - -“Little girl, keep still.” - -“Yes, lady.” - -Bob finished the opposite section, and a woman in a red kimono came -from the dressing-room and slipped behind the curtain. Josephine knew -a red kimono. It belonged to Mrs. Dutton, the minister’s wife, and Mrs. -Dutton often stayed at mamma’s cottage. Could this be Mrs. Dutton? - -The child was out of bed, across the narrow aisle, swaying with the -motion of the car, pulling the curtains apart, and clutching wildly at -a figure in the lower berth. - -“Mrs. Dutton. Oh! Mrs. Dutton! Here’s Josephine.” - -“Ugh! Ouch! Eh! What?” - -“Oh! ’Xcuse me. I thought you were Mrs. Dutton.” - -“Well, I’m not. Go away. Draw that curtain again. Go back to your -folks. Your mother should know better than to let you roam about the -sleeper at night.” - -“My mother knows--everything!” said Josephine, loyally. “I’m dreadful -sorry you’re not Mrs. Dutton, ’cause she’d have tooken off my coat and -things. My coat is new. My mamma wouldn’t like me to sleep in it. But -the buttons stick. I can’t undo it.” - -“Go to your mother, child. I don’t wish to be annoyed.” - -“I can’t, ’cause she’s over seas, big Bridget says, to that red-pickle -country. I s’pose I’ll have to, then. Good-night. I hope you’ll rest -well.” - -The lady in the red kimono did not feel as if she would. She was always -nervous in a sleeping-car, anyway; and what did the child mean by “over -seas in the red-pickle country”? Was it possible she was travelling -alone? Were there people in the world so foolish as to allow such a -thing? - -After a few moments of much thinking, the lady rose, carefully adjusted -her kimono, and stepped to Josephine’s berth. The child lay holding -the curtains apart, much to the disgust of the person overhead, and -gazing at the lamp above. Her cheeks were wet, her free hand clutched -Rudanthy, and the expression of her face was one that no woman could -see and not pity. - -“My dear little girl, don’t cry. I’ve come to take off your cloak. -Please sit up a minute.” - -“Oh, that’s nice! Thank you. I--I--if mamma”-- - -“I’ll try to do what mamma would. There. It’s unfastened. Such a pretty -coat it is, too. Haven’t you a little gown of some sort to put on?” - -“All my things are in the satchel. Big Bridget put them there. She told -me--I forget what she did tell me. Bob tucked the satchel away.” - -“I’ll find it.” - -By this time the upper berth lady was again looking over its edge and -airing her views on the subject: - -“The idea! If I’d known I was going to be pushed off up here and that -chit of a child put in below I’d have made a row.” - -“I believe you,” said Red Kimono, calmly. “Yet I suppose this lower bed -must have been taken and paid for in the little one’s name.” - -“’Xcuse me, Mrs. Kimono. I’m not a little one. I’m quite, quite big. -I’m Josephine.” - -“And is there nobody on this train belonging to you, Miss Josie?” asked -Mrs. Red Kimono. - -“Josephine. My mamma doesn’t like nicknames. There’s nobody but the -expressman. And everybody. Doctor Mack said to my mamma that everybody -would take care of me. I heard him. It is the truth. Doctor Mack is a -grown-up gentleman. Gentlemen never tell wrong stories. Do they?” asked -the little girl. - -“They ought not, surely. And we ought not to be talking now. It is in -the middle of the night, and all the tired people want to sleep. Are -you comfortable? Then curl down here with Rudanthy and shut your eyes. -If you happen to wake again, and feel lonely, just come across to my -berth and creep in with me. There’s room in it for two when one of the -two is so small. Good-night. I’ll see you in the morning.” - -Red Kimono ceased whispering, pressed a kiss on the round cheek, and -disappeared. She was also travelling alone, but felt not half so lonely -since she had comforted the little child, who was again asleep, but -smiling this time, and who awoke only when a lady in a plain gray -costume pulled the curtains apart and touched her lightly on the -shoulder. This was “Red Kimono” in her day attire. - -“Time to get up, Josephine. Breakfast is ready and your section-mate -will want the place fixed up. May I take you to the dressing-room?” - -“Our colleen’s one of them good-natured kind that wakes up wide to-once -and laughin’,” had been big Bridget’s boast even when her charge was -but an infant, nor had the little girl outgrown her very sensible -babyish custom. She responded to the stranger’s greeting with a merry -smile and “Good morning!” and was instantly ready for whatever was to -come. - -She was full of wonder over the cramped little apartment which all the -women travellers used in succession as a lavatory, and it may be that -this wonder made her submit without hindrance to the rather clumsy -brushing of her curls which Red Kimono attempted. - -“’Xcuse me, that isn’t the way mamma or big Bridget does. They put me -in the bath, first off; then my hair, and then my clothes. Haven’t you -got any little girls to your house, Red Kimono?” inquired the young -traveller. - -“No, dear, I haven’t even a house;” answered the lady, rather sadly. -“But your own dear mamma would have to forego the bath on a railway -sleeper, so let’s make haste and give the other people their rightful -use of this place.” - -By this time several women had collected in the narrow passage leading -to the dressing-room, and were watching through the crack of its door -till Josephine’s toilet should be completed and their own chance could -come. - -“What makes all them folks out there look so cross, dear Red Kimono?” - -“Selfishness, dearie. And hunger. First come best fed, on a railway -dining-car, I fancy. There. You look quite fresh and nice. Let us go at -once.” - -As they passed down the aisle where Bob was swiftly and deftly making -the sections ready for the day’s occupancy, Josephine was inclined to -pause and watch him, but was hurried onward by her new friend, who -advised: - -“Don’t loiter, Josephine. If we don’t get to table promptly we’ll miss -our seats. Hurry, please.” - -“Are you one of the selfish-hungry ones, Mrs. Red Kimono?” - -The lady flushed, and was about to make an indignant reply, but -reflected that indignation would be wasted on such a little person as -this. - -“It may be that I am, child. Certainly I am hungry, and so should you -be. I don’t remember seeing you at supper last night.” - -“I had my supper with Doctor Mack before we started. Oh, he was nice to -me that time. He gave me turkey and mince-pie, and--and everything that -was on the bill of fare that I wanted, so’s I wouldn’t cry. He said -I’d be sick, but he didn’t mind that so long as I didn’t cry. He hates -crying people, Doctor Mack does. He likes mamma ’cause she’s so brave. -Once my papa was a soldier, and he’s a Company F man now; but most he’s -a ’lectrickeller, and has to go away to the funny pickle place to earn -the money for mamma and me. So then she and me never cry once. We just -keep on laughing like we didn’t mind, even if we do hate to say good-by -to papa for so long a while. I said I wouldn’t cry, not on all this -car ride; never, not at all. I--maybe I forgot, though. Did I cry last -night, Mrs. Red Kimono?” - -“Possibly, just a little; not worth mentioning. Here, dear, climb into -this chair,” was the lady’s hasty reply. - -“What a cute table! Just like hotel ones, only littler. It’s dreadful -wobbly, though. It makes my head feel funny. I--oh! I’m--I guess--I’m -sick!” - -The lady shivered quite as visibly as poor Josephine. The dining-car -was the last one of the long train, and swayed from side to side in a -very unpleasant manner. The motion did not improve anybody’s appetite, -and the grown-up traveller was now vexed with herself for befriending -the childish one. - -“She was nothing to me. Why should I break over my fixed rules of -looking out for number one and minding my own business? Well, I’ll get -through this meal somehow, and then rid my hands of the matter. I’m -not the only woman in our car. Let some of the others take a chance. -The idea! sending a little thing like that to travel alone. It’s -preposterous--perfectly preposterous.” - -Unconsciously she finished her thought aloud, and Josephine heard her, -and asked: - -“What does it mean, that big word, Mrs. Kimono?” - -“It means--my name is--isn’t--no matter. Are you better? Can you eat? -It’s small wonder you were upset after the supper that foolish doctor -gave you. What is your breakfast at home?” - -“Oatmeal and fruit. Sometimes, if I’m good, some meat and potato.” - -“I will order it for you.” - -“Thank you, but I can order for myself. Mamma always allows me to. She -wishes me to be myself, not anybody else,” returned the child. - -“Oh, indeed! Then do so.” - -Josephine recognized from the lady’s tone that she had given offence, -though didn’t know why. Now, it was another of her wise mother’s rules -that her little daughter should punish herself when any punishment was -needed. Opinions didn’t always agree upon the subject, yet, as a rule, -the conscientious child could be trusted to deal with her own faults -more sternly than anybody else would do. She realized that here was -a case in point, and, though the steak and potatoes which Red Kimono -ordered for herself looked very tempting, asked only for oatmeal and -milk, “without any sugar, if you please, boy.” - -The lady frowned inquiringly. - -“Are you still ill, Josephine?” - -“No, Mrs. Kimono.” - -“Aren’t you hungry?” - -“Dreadful.” Indeed, the hunger was evident enough. - -“Then why don’t you take some heartier food? If you’re bashful-- Yet -you’re certainly not that. If you’re hungry, child, for goodness sake -eat.” - -“It’s for goodness sake I can’t. I daren’t. It wouldn’t be right. Maybe -I can eat my dinner. Maybe.” - -Tears were very near the big brown eyes, but the sweet little face was -turned resolutely away from the table toward the window and the sights -outside. One spoonful of unsweetened, flavorless meal was gulped down, -and the trembling lips remarked: - -“It’s all begun again, hasn’t it?” - -“What’s begun, Josephine?” - -“The all-out-doors to go by and by us, like it did last night.” - -“It is we who are going by the ‘all-out-doors,’ dear. The train moves, -the landscape stands still. Were you never on the cars before?” -inquired the lady. - -“Never, not in all my whole life.” - -“Indeed! But that’s not been such a long time, after all.” - -Another brave effort at the plain breakfast, and the answer came: - -“It’s pretty long to me. It seems--_forever_ since yesterday!” - -The lady could not endure the sight of Josephine’s evident distress and -softly slipped a morsel of juicy steak upon the oatmeal saucer. With -gaze still averted the spoon came down into the dish, picked up the -morsel, and conveyed it to the reluctant mouth. The red lips closed, -smacked, opened, and the child faced about. With her napkin to hide the -movement she carefully replaced the morsel on the empty plate beside -the saucer and said, reproachfully: - -“You oughtn’t to done that, Mrs. Kimono. Don’t you s’pose it’s bad -enough to be just starved, almost, and not be tempted? That’s like big -Bridget; and my mamma has to speak right sharp to her, she has. Quite -often, too. Once it was pudding, and I--I ate it. Then I had to do -myself sorry all over again. Please ’xcuse me.” - -“You strange child! Yes, I will excuse you. I’m leaving table myself. -You mustn’t attempt to go back through the train to our car alone. Eh? -What? Beg pardon?” she said, turning around. - -An official in uniform was respectfully addressing the lady: - -“Pardon, madam, but I think this must be my little ‘Parcel.’ I’ve been -looking for her. Did you have your breakfast, little girl?” - -“Yes, thank you,” she answered. - -“I hope you enjoyed it.” - -“I didn’t much,” was her frank reply to this kind wish. - -“Why, wasn’t it right? Here, waiter! I want you to take this young lady -under your special care. See that she has the best of everything, and -is served promptly, no matter who else waits. It’s a point of honor -with the service, madam,” he explained to the wondering lady beside -them. - -“The service? Beg pardon, but I don’t understand. The child seemed to -be alone and I tried to look after her a bit.” - -“Thank you for doing so, I’m sure. The Express Service, I refer to. -I’m the train agent between San Diego and Chicago; she is under my -care. There the agent of the other line takes her in charge. She’s -billed through to Baltimore and no expense is to be spared by anybody -concerned, that she makes the trip in safety and the greatest possible -comfort. We flatter ourselves, madam, that our company can fix the -thing as it should be. She’s not the first little human ‘parcel’ we’ve -handled successfully. Is there anything you’d like, Miss”-- - -He paused, pulled a notebook from his pocket, discovered her name, and -concluded: - -“Miss Josephine Smith?” - -“Smith, Josephine Smith, singular!” murmured Mrs. Kimono, under her -breath. “But not so singular after all. Smith is not an uncommon name, -nor Baltimore the only city where Smiths reside.” - -Meanwhile the express agent had taken Josephine’s hand in his, and -was carefully guiding her back through the many carriages to the one -where she belonged. His statement that Doctor Mack had put her into -his care made her consider him an old friend, and loosened her tongue -accordingly. - -Porter Bob received her with a smile, and asked if he had arranged her -half of the section to her pleasure; pointed out that Rudanthy’s attire -had been duly brushed, and begged her not to hesitate about ringing for -him whenever she needed him. - -By this time Mrs. Upper Berth, as the child mentally called her, had -returned from her own breakfast and proved to be “not half so cross as -you sounded, are you?” - -To which the lady replied with a laugh and the assurance that tired -people were apt to be a “little crisp,” then added: - -“But I’ve heard all about you now, my dear; and I’m glad to have as -section-mate such a dainty little ‘parcel.’ I’m sure we’ll be the best -of friends before we reach our parting-place at Chicago.” - -So they proved to be. So, indeed, did everybody in the car. “Little -Parcel” was made so much of by the grown-up travellers that she might -have been spoiled had the journey continued longer than it did. But at -Chicago a change was made. The express agent put her into a carriage, -and whisked her away to another station, another train, and a new, -strange set of people. Not a face with which she had become familiar -during the first stage of her long journey was visible. Even Bob had -disappeared, and in his stead was a gray-haired porter who grumbled at -each of the demands, such as it had become natural for her to make upon -the friendly Bob. - -There was no Red Kimono in the section opposite; not even a -be-spectacled Upper Berth lady to make whimsical comments on her -neighbors; and the new agent to whom she had been transferred looked -cross, as if he were in a dreadful hurry and hated to be bothered. -Altogether things were changed for the worse, and Josephine’s heart -would perhaps have broken if it hadn’t been for the dear companionship -of Rudanthy, who smiled and slept in a placid waxen manner that was -restfully familiar. - -Besides, all journeys have an end; and the six days’ trip of the little -San Diegan came to its own before the door of a stately mansion, gay -with the red brick and white marble which mark most Baltimore homes, -and the ring of an electric bell that the expressman touched: - -“A ‘parcel’ for Joseph Smith. Billed from San Diego, Cal. Live here, -eh?” - -It was a colored man in livery who replied: - -“Yes, suh. Mister Joseph Smith, he done live here, suh.” - -“Sign, please. That is, if you can write.” - -“Course I can write. I allays signs parcels for Mister Smith, suh. -Where’s the parcel at, suh?” returned the liveried negro. - -“Sign. I’ll fetch it,” came the prompt answer. - -Old Peter signed, being the trusted and trustworthy servant of his -master, and returned the book to the agent’s hands, who himself -returned to the carriage, lifted out Josephine and Rudanthy, conveyed -them up the glistening steps, and left them to their fate. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -ARRIVAL. - - -Peter stared, but said nothing. Not even when the agent ran back -from the carriage with a little satchel and a strap full of shawls -and picture-books. The hack rolled away, the keen March wind chilled -the young Californian, who stood, doll in hand, respectfully waiting -admission to the warm hall beyond the door. Finally, since the servant -seemed to have been stricken speechless, she found her own voice, and -said: - -“Please, boy, I’d like to see my Uncle Joe.” - -“Your--Uncle--Joe, little miss?” - -“That’s what I said. I must come in. I’m very cold. If this is -Baltimore, that the folks on the cars said was pretty, I guess they -didn’t know what they were talking about. I want to come in, please.” - -The old man found his wits returning. This was the queerest “parcel” -for which he had ever signed a receipt in an express-book, and he knew -there was some mistake. Yet he couldn’t withstand the pleading brown -eyes under the scarlet hat, even if he hadn’t been “raised” to a habit -of hospitality. - -“Suah, little lady. Come right in. ’Tis dreadful cold out to-day. I -’most froze goin’ to market, an’ I’se right down ashamed of myself -leavin’ comp’ny waitin’ this way. Step right in the drawin’-room, -little missy, and tell me who ’tis you’d like to see.” - -Picking up the luggage that had been deposited on the topmost of the -gleaming marble steps, which, even in winter, unlike his neighbors, -the master of the house disdained to hide beneath a wooden casing, the -negro led the way into the luxurious parlor. To Josephine, fresh from -the chill of the cloudy, windy day without, the whole place seemed -aglow. A rosy light came through the red-curtained windows, shone from -the open grate, repeated itself in the deep crimson carpet that was so -delightfully soft and warm. - -“Sit down by the fire, little lady. There. That’s nice. Put your dolly -right here. Maybe she’s cold, too. Now, then, suah you’se fixed so fine -you can tell me who ’tis you’ve come to see,” said the man. - -“What is your name, boy?” inquired Josephine. - -“Peter, missy. My name’s Peter.” - -“Well, then, Peter, don’t be stupid. Or are you deaf, maybe?” she asked. - -“Land, no, missy. I’se got my hearin’ fust class,” he replied, somewhat -indignantly. - -“I have come to see my Uncle Joe. I wish to see him now. Please tell -him,” she commanded. - -The negro scratched his gray wool and reflected. He had been born and -raised in the service of the family where he still “officiated,” and -knew its history thoroughly. His present master was the only son of an -only son, and there had never been a daughter. No, nor wife, at least -to this household. There were cousins in plenty, with whom Mr. Joseph -Smith was not on good terms. There were property interests dividing -them, and Mr. Joseph kept his vast wealth for his own use alone. Some -thought he should have shared it with others, but he did not so think -and lived his quiet life, with a trio of colored men-servants. His -house was one of the best appointed on the wide avenue, but, also, one -of the quietest. It was the first time that old Peter had ever heard a -child’s voice in that great room, and its clear tones seemed to confuse -him. - -“I want to see my Uncle Joe. I want to see him right away. Go, boy, and -call him,” Josephine explained. - -This was command, and Peter was used to obey, so he replied: - -“All right, little missy, I’ll go see. Has you got your card? Who shall -I say ’tis?” - -Josephine reflected. Once mamma had had some dear little visiting cards -engraved with her small daughter’s name, and the child remembered with -regret that if they had been packed with her “things” at all, it must -have been in the trunk, which the expressman said would arrive by and -by from the railway station. She could merely say: - -“Uncles don’t need cards when their folks come to see them. I’ve come -from mamma. She’s gone to the pickley land to see papa. Just tell him -Josephine. What’s that stuff out there?” - -She ran to the window, pulled the lace curtains apart, and peered out. -The air was now full of great white flakes that whirled and skurried -about as if in the wildest sort of play. - -“What is it, Peter? Quick, what is it?” she demanded. - -“Huh! Don’t you know snow when you see it, little missy? Where you -lived at all your born days?” he cried, surprised. - -“Oh, just snow. Course I’ve seen it, coming here on the cars. It was on -the ground, though, not in the air and the sky. I’ve lived with mamma. -Now I’ve come to live with Uncle Joe. Why don’t you tell him? If a lady -called to see my mamma do you s’pose big Bridget wouldn’t say so?” - -“I’se goin’,” he said, and went. - -But he was gone so long, and the expected uncle was so slow to welcome -her, that even that beautiful room began to look dismal to the little -stranger. The violent storm which had sprung up with such suddenness, -darkened the air, and a terrible homesickness threatened to bring on -a burst of tears. Then, all at once, Josephine remembered what Doctor -Mack had said: - -“Don’t be a weeper, little lady, whatever else you are. Be a smiler, -like my Cousin Helen, your mamma. You’re pretty small to tackle the -world alone, but just do it with a laugh and it will laugh back upon -you.” - -Not all of which she understood, though she recalled every one of the -impressive words, but the “laughing part” was plain enough. - -“Course, Rudanthy. No Uncle Joe would be glad to get a crying little -girl to his house. I’ll take off my coat and yours, darling. You are -pretty tired, I guess. I wonder where they’ll let us sleep, that black -boy and my uncle. I hope the room will have a pretty fire in it, like -this one. Don’t you?” - -Rudanthy did not answer, but as Josephine laid her flat upon the -carpet, to remove her travelling cloak, she immediately closed her -waxen lids, and her little mother took this for assent. - -“Oh, you sweetest thing! How I do love you!” - -There followed a close hug of the faithful doll, which was witnessed -by a trio of colored men from a rear door, where they stood, open-eyed -and mouthed, wondering what in the world the master would say when he -returned and found this little trespasser upon his hearth-stone. - -When Rudanthy had been embraced, to the detriment of her jute ringlets -and her mistress’ comfort, Josephine curled down on the rug before the -grate to put the doll asleep, observing: - -“You’re so cold, Rudanthy. Colder than I am, even. Your precious hands -are like ice. You must lie right here close to the fire, ’tween me and -it. By-and-by Uncle Joe will come and then--My! Won’t he be surprised? -That Peter boy is so dreadful stupid, like’s not he’ll forget to say a -single word about us. Never mind. He’s my papa’s twin brother. Do you -know what twins are, Rudanthy? I do. Big Bridget’s sister’s got a pair -of them. They’re two of a kind, though sometimes one of them is the -other kind. I mean, you know, sometimes one twin isn’t a brother, it’s -a sister. That’s what big Bridget’s sister’s was. Oh, dear. I’m tired. -I’m hungry. I liked it better on that nice first railway car where -everybody took care of me and gave me sweeties. It’s terrible still -here. I--I’m afraid I’m going to sleep.” - -In another moment the fear of the weary little traveller had become a -fact. Rudanthy was already slumbering; and, alas! that was to prove -the last of her many naps. But Josephine was unconscious of the grief -awaiting her own awakening; and, fortunately, too young to know what a -different welcome should have been accorded herself by the relative she -had come so far to visit. - -Peter peeped in, from time to time, found all peaceful, and retired -in thankfulness for the temporary lull. He was trembling in his -shoes against the hour when the master should return and find him so -unfaithful to his trust as to have admitted that curly-haired intruder -upon their dignified privacy. Yet he encouraged himself with the -reflection: - -“Well, no need crossin’ no bridges till you meet up with ’em, and this -bridge ain’t a crossin’ till Massa Joe’s key turns in that lock. Reckon -I was guided to pick out that fine duck for dinner this night, I do. -S’posin’, now, the market had been poor? Huh! Every trouble sets better -on a full stummick ’an a empty. Massa Joe’s powerful fond of duck, -lessen it’s spoiled in the cookin’. I’ll go warn that ’Pollo to be -mighty careful it done to a turn.” - -Peter departed kitchen ward, where he tarried gossipping over the small -guest above stairs and the probable outcome of her advent. - -“Nobody what’s a Christian goin’ to turn a little gell outen their -doors such an evenin’ as this,” said Apollo, deftly basting the fowl in -the pan. - -[Illustration: “I’M JOSEPHINE!”] - -“Mebbe not, mebbe not. But I reckon we can’t, none of us, callate -on whatever Massa Joe’s goin’ to do about anything till he does it. -He’s off to a board meeting, this evening, and I hope he sets on it -comfortable. When them boards are too hard, like, he comes home mighty -’rascible. Keep a right smart watch on that bird, ’Pollo, won’t you? -whiles I go lay the table.” - -But here another question arose to puzzle the old man. Should he, or -should he not, prepare that table for the unexpected guest? There was -nobody more particular than Mr. Smith that all his orders should be -obeyed to the letter. Each evening he wished his dinner to be served -after one prescribed fashion, and any infraction of his rules brought a -reprimand to Peter. - -However, in this case he determined to risk a little for hospitality’s -sake, reflecting that if the master were displeased he could whisk off -the extra plate before it was discovered. - -“Massa Joe’s just as like to scold if I don’t put it on as if I do. -Never allays account for what’ll please him best. Depends on how he -takes it.” - -Busy in his dining-room he did not hear the cab roll over the snowy -street and stop at the door, nor the turn of the key in the lock. Nor, -lost in his own thoughts, did the master of the house summon a servant -to help him off with his coat and overshoes. He repaired immediately -to his library, arranged a few papers, went to his dressing-room and -attired himself for dinner, with the carefulness to which he had -been trained from childhood, and afterward strolled leisurely toward -the great parlor, turned on the electric light, and paused upon its -threshold amazed, exclaiming: - -“What is this? What in the world is--_this_?” - -The sudden radiance which touched her eyelids, rather than his startled -exclamation, roused small Josephine from her restful nap. She sat -up, rubbed her eyes, which brightened with a radiance beyond that of -electricity, and sprang to her feet. With outstretched arms she flung -herself upon the astonished gentleman, crying: - -“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful man! You darling, precious Uncle Joe! I’m -Josephine! I’ve come!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -A MULTITUDE OF JOSEPHS. - - -“So I perceive!” responded the master of the house, when he could rally -from this onslaught of affection. “I’m sure I’m very pleased to welcome -you. I--when--how did you arrive?” - -“I’m a ’xpress ‘parcel,’” she answered, laughing, for she had learned -before this that she had made her long journey in rather an unusual -fashion. “Mamma had to go away on the peacock-blue ocean; and Doctor -Mack couldn’t bother with me, ’cause he’s going to the folks that eat -almonds together and give presents; and there wasn’t anybody else -’xcept big Bridget, and she’d spent all her money, and mamma said you -wouldn’t want a ‘wild Irish girl’ to plague you. Would you?” - -“I’m not fond of being plagued by anybody,” said the gentleman, -rather dryly. He was puzzled as much by her odd talk as her unexpected -appearance, and wondered if children so young were ever lunatics. The -better to consider the matter he sat down in the nearest chair, and -instantly Josephine was upon his knee. The sensation this gave him was -most peculiar. He didn’t remember that he had ever taken any child on -his lap, yet permitted this one to remain there, because he didn’t know -what better to do. He had heard that one should treat a lunatic as if -all vagaries were real. Opposition only made an insane person worse. -What worse could this little crazy creature, with the lovely face and -dreadful manners, do to a finical old bachelor in evening clothes than -crush the creases out of his trouser knees? - -The lap was not as comfortable as Doctor Mack’s, and far, far from as -cosey as mamma’s. Uncle Joe’s long legs had a downward slant to them -that made Josephine’s perch upon them rather uncertain. After sliding -toward the floor once or twice, and hitching up again, she slipped to -her feet and leaned affectionately against his shoulder, saying: - -“That’s better. I guess you’re not used to holding little girls, are -you, Uncle Joe?” - -“No, Josephine. What is your other name?” said he. - -“Smith. Just like yours. You’re my papa’s dear twin, you know.” - -“Oh, am I?” he asked. - -“Course. Didn’t you know that? How funny. That’s because you haven’t -mamma to remind you, I s’pose. Mamma remembers everything. Mamma never -is naughty. Mamma knows everything. Mamma is dear, dear, dear. And, oh, -I want her, I want her!” - -Josephine’s arms went round the gentleman’s neck, and her tears fell -freely upon his spotless shirt-front. She had been very brave, she had -done what she promised Doctor Mack, and kept a “laughing front” as long -as she could; but now here, in the home of her papa’s twin, with her -“own folks,” her self-control gave way, and she cried as she had never -cried before in all her short and happy life. - -Mr. Smith was hopelessly distressed. He didn’t know what to say or do, -and this proved most fortunate for both of them. For whatever he might -have said would have puzzled his visitor as greatly as she was puzzling -him. Happily for both, the deluge of tears was soon over, and Josephine -lifted a face on which the smiles seemed all the brighter because of -the moisture that still bedewed it. - -“Please ’xcuse me, Uncle Joe. I didn’t mean to cry once, but it--it’s -so lovely to have you at last. It was a long, long way on the railway, -uncle. Rudanthy got terribly tired,” explained the visitor. - -“Did she? Who is Rudanthy?” - -“You, my uncle, yet don’t know Rudanthy, that has been mine ever since -I was? Mamma says she has to change heads now and then, and once in -awhile she buys her a new pair of feet or hands; but it’s the same -darling dolly, whether her head’s new or old. I’ll fetch her. It’s time -she waked up, anyway.” - -Josephine sped to the rug before the grate, stooped to lift her -playmate, paused, and uttered a terrified cry. - -“Uncle! Uncle Joe, come here quick--quick!” - -Smiling at his own acquiescence, the gentleman obeyed her demand, and -stooped over her as she also bent above the object on the rug. All -that was left of poor Rudanthy--who had travelled three thousand miles -to be melted into a shapeless mass before the first hearth-fire which -received her. - -Josephine did not cry now. This was a trouble too deep for tears. - -“What ails her, Uncle Joe? I never, never saw her look like that. -Her nose and her lips and her checks are all flattened out, and her -eyes--her eyes are just round glass balls. Her lovely curls”-- The -little hands flew to the top of the speaker’s own head, but found no -change there. Yet she looked up rather anxiously into the face above -her. “Do you s’pose I’d have got to look that dreadful way if I hadn’t -waked up when I did, Uncle Joe?” - -“No, Josephine. No, indeed. Your unhappy Rudanthy was a waxen young -person who was indiscreet enough to lie down before an open fire. You -seem to be real flesh and blood, and might easily scorch, yet would -hardly melt. Next time you take a nap, however, I’d advise you to lie -on a lounge or a bed.” - -“I will. I wouldn’t like to look like her. But what shall I do? I don’t -know a store here,” she wailed. - -“I do. I might be able to find you a new doll, if you won’t cry,” came -the answer which surprised himself. - -“Oh, I shan’t cry any more. Never any more--if I can help it. That’s -a promise. But I shouldn’t want a new doll. I only want a head. Poor -Rudanthy! Do you s’pose she suffered much?” was the next anxious -question. - -“It’s not likely. But let Rudanthy lie yonder on the cool window sill. -I want to talk with you. I want you to answer a few questions. Sit down -by me, please. Is this comfortable?” - -Josephine sank into the midst of the cushions he piled for her on the -wide sofa and sighed luxuriously, answering: - -“It’s lovely. This is the nicest place I ever, ever saw.” - -“Thank you. Now, child, tell me something about other places you -remember, and, also, please tell me your name.” - -Josephine was surprised. What a very short memory this uncle had, to -be sure. It wouldn’t be polite to say so, though, and it was an easy -question to answer. - -“My name is Josephine Smith. I’m named after you, you know, ’cause -you’re my papa’s twin. I’m sent to you because”--and she went on to -explain the reasons, so far as she understood them, of her long journey -and her presence in his house. She brought her coat and showed him, -neatly sewed inside its flap, a square of glazed holland on which was -written her name, to whom consigned, and the express company by which -she had been “specially shipped and delivered.” - -It was all plain and straightforward. This was the very house -designated on the tag, and he was Joseph Smith; but it was, also, a -riddle too deep for him to guess. - -“I see, I see. Well, since you are here we must make the best of it. -I think there’s a mistake, but I dare say the morning will set it all -right. Meanwhile, it’s snowing too fast to make any inquiries to-night. -It is about dinner time, for me. Have you had your dinner?” asked the -host. - -“I had one on the train. That seems a great while ago,” said the guest. - -“I beg pardon, but I think there is a little smut upon your pretty -nose. After a railway journey travellers usually like to wash up, and -so on. I don’t know much about little girls, yet”--he rather timidly -suggested. - -“I should be so glad. Just see my hands, Uncle Joe!” and she extended a -pair of plump palms which sadly needed soap and water. - -“I’m not your”--he began, meaning to set her right concerning their -relationship; then thought better of it. What would a child do who -had come to visit an unknown uncle and found herself in the home of a -stranger? Weep, most likely. He didn’t want that. He’d had enough of -tears, as witness one spoiled shirt-front. He began also to change his -mind regarding the little one’s manners. She had evidently lived with -gentlefolks and when some one came to claim her in the morning he would -wish them to understand that she had been treated courteously. - -So he rang for Peter, who appeared as suddenly as if he had come from -the hall without. - -“Been listening at the doorway, boy? Take care. Go up to the guest -room, turn on the heat and light, and see that there are plenty of -fresh towels. Take this young lady’s things with you. She will probably -spend the night here. I hope you have a decent dinner provided.” - -“Fine, Massa Joe. Just supreme. Yes, suh. Certainly, suh,” answered the -servant. - -“Uncle Joe, is there a bathroom in this house?” asked she. - -“Three of them, Josephine.” - -“May I use one? I haven’t had a bath since I was in San Diego, and -I’m--mamma would not allow me at table, I guess; I’m dreadful dirty.” - -If Josephine had tried to find the shortest way to Mr. Smith’s heart -she could not have chosen more wisely. - -“To be sure, to be sure. Peter, make a bath ready next the guest room. -Will an hour give you time enough, little lady?” - -“I don’t want so long. I’m so glad I learned to dress myself, aren’t -you? ’Cause all the women to this house seem to be men, don’t they?” - -“Yes, child. Poor, unfortunate house!” - -“It’s a beautiful house, Uncle Joe; and you needn’t care any more. I’ve -come, now. I, Josephine. I’ll take care of you. Good-by. When you see -me again I’ll be looking lovely, ’cause I’ll put on the new white wool -dress that mamma embroidered with forget-me-nots.” - -“Vanity!” thought Mr. Smith, regretfully, which shows that he didn’t -as yet understand his little visitor, whose “lovely” referred to her -clothes alone, and not at all to herself. - -The dinner hour at 1000 Bismarck Avenue was precisely half-past six. -Even for the most notable of the few guests entertained by the master -of the house he rarely delayed more than five minutes, and on no -occasion had it been served a moment earlier. The old-fashioned hall -clock had ticked the hour for generations of Smiths “from Virginia,” -and was regulated nowadays by the tower timepiece at Mt. Royal station. -It was fortunate for Josephine that just as the minute hand dropped -to its place, midway between the six and seven on the dial, she came -tripping down the wide stair, radiant from her bath and the comfort of -fresh clothing, and eager to be again with the handsome Uncle Joe, who -was waiting for her at the stair’s foot with some impatience. - -Her promptness pleased him, and the uncommon vision of her childish -loveliness pleased him even more. He had believed that he disliked -children, but was now inclined to change his opinion. - -“I’m glad you are punctual, Miss Josephine, else I’d have had to -begin my dinner without you. I never put back meals for anybody,” he -remarked. - -“Would you? Don’t you? Then I’m glad, too. Isn’t the frock pretty? -My mamma worked all these flowers with her own little white hands. I -love it. I had to kiss them before I could put it on,” she said, again -lifting her skirt and touching it with her lips. - -“I suppose you love your mamma very dearly. What is she like?” - -He was leading her along the hall toward the dining-room, and Peter, -standing within its entrance, congratulated himself that he had -laid the table for two. He glanced at his master’s face, found it -good-natured and interested, and took his own cue therefrom. - -“She is like--she is like the most beautiful thing in the world, dear -Uncle Joe. Don’t you remember?” asked the astonished child. - -“Well, no, not exactly.” - -“That’s a pity, and you my papa’s twin. Papa hasn’t nice gray hair -like yours, though, and there isn’t any shiny bare place on top of -his head. I mean there wasn’t when he went away last year. His hair -was dark, like mamma’s, and his mustache was brown and curly. I think -he isn’t as big as you, Uncle Joe, and his clothes are gray, with -buttony fixings on them. He has a beautiful sash around his waist, -sometimes, and lovely shoulder trimmings. He’s an officer, my papa is, -in Company F. That’s for ’musement, mamma says. For the business, he’s -a ’lectrickeller. Is this my place? Thank you, Peter.” - -Mr. Smith handed his little visitor to her chair, which the old butler -had pulled back for her, with the same courtly manner he would have -shown the pastor’s wife. Indeed, if he had been asked he would have -admitted that he found the present guest the more interesting of the -two. - -Peter made ready to serve the soup, but a look from the strange child -restrained him. She added a word to the look: - -“Why, boy, you forgot. Uncle Joe hasn’t said the grace yet.” - -Now, Mr. Smith was a faithful and devout church member, but was in the -habit of omitting this little ceremony at his solitary meals. He was -disconcerted for the moment, but presently bowed his head and repeated -the formula to which he had been accustomed in his youth. It proved -to be the same that the little girl was used to hearing from her own -parents’ lips, and she believed it to be the ordinary habit of every -household. She did not dream that she had instituted a new order of -things, and unfolded her napkin with a smile, saying: - -“Now, I’m dreadful hungry, Uncle Joe. Are you?” - -“I believe I am, little one.” - -Peter served with much dignity and flourish; but Josephine had dined -at hotel tables often enough to accept his attentions as a matter of -course. Her quiet behavior, her daintiness, and her chatter, amused and -delighted her host. He found himself in a much better humor than when -he returned through the storm from an unsatisfactory board meeting, -and was grateful for the mischance which had brought him such pleasant -company. - -As for old Peter, his dark face glowed with enthusiasm. He was deeply -religious, and now believed that this unknown child had been sent by -heaven itself to gladden their big, empty house. He didn’t understand -how his master could be “uncle” to anybody, yet, since that master -accepted the fact so genially, he was only too glad to do likewise. - -It was a fine and stately dinner, and as course after course was -served, Josephine’s wonder grew, till she had to inquire: - -“Is it like this always, to your home, Uncle Joe?” - -“What do you mean?” he asked. - -“Such a birthday table, and no folks, ’xcept you and me.” - -“It is the same, usually, unless Peter fails to find a good market. -Have you finished? No more cream or cake?” he explained and questioned. - -“No, thank you. I’m never asked to take two helpings. Only on the car -I had three, sometimes, though I didn’t eat them. Mamma wouldn’t have -liked it.” - -“And do you always remember what ‘mamma’ wishes?” - -“No. I’m a terrible forgetter. But I try. Somehow it’s easier now I -can’t see her,” she answered. - -“Quite natural. Suppose we go into the library for a little while. I -want to consult the directory.” - -She clasped his hand, looked up confidingly, but felt as if she should -fall asleep on the way thither. She wondered if it ever came bedtime in -that house, and how many hours had passed since she entered it. - -“There, Miss Josephine, I think you’ll find that chair a comfortable -one,” said the host, when they had reached the library, rich with all -that is desirable in such a room. “Do you like pictures?” - -“Oh, I love them!” - -“That’s good. So do I. I’ll get you some.” - -But Mr. Smith was not used to the “loves” of little girls, and his -selection was made rather because he wanted to see how she would -handle a book than because he thought about the subject chosen. A -volume of Dore’s grotesque drawings happened to be in most shabby -condition, and he reflected that she “couldn’t hurt that much, anyway, -for it’s to be rebound.” - -Afterward he opened the directory for himself, and Josephine thought -it a dull-looking book. For some time both were interested and silent; -then Uncle Joe cried out with startling suddenness: - -“Three thousand Smiths in this little city; and seventy-five of them -are Josephs! Well, my child, you’re mighty rich in ‘uncles’!” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -A WILD MARCH MORNING. - - -Josephine was half-asleep. A woman would have thought about her fatigue -and sent her early to bed. “Uncle Joe” thought of nothing now save the -array of common and uncommon names in the city directory. He counted -and recounted the “Smiths,” “Smyths,” and “Smythes,” and jotted down -his figures in a notebook. He copied, also, any address of any Smith -whose residence was in a locality which he considered suitable for -relatives of his small guest. He became so absorbed in this study that -an hour had passed before he remembered her, and the extraordinary -quiet of her lively tongue. - -Josephine had dozed and waked, dozed and waked, and dreamed many dreams -during that hour of silence. Her tired little brain was all confused -with the weird pictures of tortured men gazing at her from the trunks -of gnarled trees, and thoughts of a myriad of uncles, each wearing -eyeglasses, and sitting with glistening bald head beneath a brilliant -light. The light dazzled her, the dreams terrified her, and the little -face that dropped at length upon the open page of the great folio was -drawn and distressed. - -“For goodness sake! I suppose she’s sleepy. I believe that children -do go to bed early. At least they should. If I’m to be a correct sort -of ‘uncle,’ even for one night, I must get her there. I wonder how!” -considered the gentleman. - -The first thing was to wake her, and he attempted it, saying: - -“Josephine! Josephine!” - -The child stirred uneasily, but slumbered on. - -“Uncle Joe” laid his hand upon her shoulder rather gingerly. He was -much more afraid of her than she could ever be of him. - -“Miss Josephine! If you please, wake up.” - -She responded with a suddenness that startled him. - -“Why--where am I? Oh! I know. Did I go to sleep, Uncle Joe?” - -“I should judge that you did. Would you like to go to bed?” - -“If you please, uncle.” - -He smiled faintly at the odd situation in which he found himself, -playing nurse to a little girl. A boy would have been less -disconcerting, for he had been a boy himself, once, and remembered his -childhood. But he had never been a little girl, had never lived in a -house with a little girl, and didn’t know how little girls expected to -be treated. He volunteered one question: - -“If somebody takes you to your room, could you--could you do the rest -for yourself, Josephine?” - -“Why, course. I began when I was eight years old. That was my last -birthday that ever was. Big Bridget was not to wait on me any more -after that, mamma said. But she did. She loved it. Mamma, even, loved -it, too. And nobody need go upstairs with me. I know the way. I -remember it all. If-- May I say my prayers by you, Uncle Joe? Mamma”-- - -One glance about the strange room, one thought of the absent mother, -and the little girl’s lip quivered. Then came a second thought, and she -remembered her promise. She was never to cry again, if she could help -it. By winking very fast and thinking about other things than mamma and -home she would be able to help it. - -Before he touched her shoulder to wake her, Mr. Smith had rung for -Peter, who now stood waiting orders in the parting of the portière, -and beheld a sight such as he had never dreamed to see in that great, -lonely house: Josephine kneeling reverently beside his master’s knee, -saying aloud the Lord’s Prayer and the familiar “Now I lay me.” - -Then she rose, flung her arms about the gentleman’s neck, saw the -moisture in his eyes, and asked in surprise: - -[Illustration: “NOW I LAY ME.”] - -“Do you feel bad, Uncle Joe? Aren’t you happy, Uncle Joe? Can’t I -help you, you dear, dear man?” - -The “dear” man’s arms went round the little figure, and he drew it -close to his lonely heart with a jealous wish that he might always -keep it there. All at once he felt that he hated that other unknown, -rightful uncle to whom this charming “parcel” belonged, and almost he -wished that no such person might ever be found. Then he unclasped her -clinging arms and--actually kissed her! - -“You are helping me very greatly, Josephine. You are a dear child. -Peter will see that your room is all right for the night. Tell him -anything you need and he’ll get it for you. Good-night, little girl.” - -“Good-night, Uncle Joe. Dear Uncle Joe. I think--I think you are just -too sweet for words! I hope you’ll rest well. Good-night.” - -She vanished through the curtains, looking back and kissing her -finger-tips to him, and smiling trustingly upon him to the last. But -the old man sat long looking after her before he turned again to his -books, reflecting: - -“Strange! Only a few hours of a child’s presence in this silent place, -yet it seems transfigured. ‘An angel’s visit,’ maybe. To show me that, -after all, I am something softer and more human than the crusty old -bachelor I thought myself. What would her mother say, that absent, -perfect ‘mamma,’ if she knew into what strange hands her darling had -fallen? Of course, my first duty to-morrow is to hunt up this mislaid -uncle of little Josephine’s and restore her to him. But--Well, it’s my -duty, and of course I shall do it.” - -The great bed in the guest room was big enough, Josephine thought, to -have held mamma herself, and even big Bridget without crowding. It was -far softer than her own little white cot in the San Diegan cottage, and -plunged in its great depths the small traveller instantly fell asleep. -She did not hear Peter come in and lower the light, and knew nothing -more, indeed, till morning. Then she roused with a confused feeling, -not quite realizing where she was or what had happened to her. For a -few moments she lay still, expecting mamma’s or big Bridget’s face to -appear beneath the silken curtains which draped the bed’s head; then -she remembered everything, and that in a house without women she was -bound to do all things for herself. - -“But it’s dreadful dark everywhere. I guess I don’t like such thick -curtains as Uncle Joe has. Mamma’s are thin white ones and it’s always -sunshiny at home--’xcept when it isn’t. That’s only when the rains -come, and that’s most always the nicest of all. Then we have a dear -little fire in the grate, and mamma reads to me, and big Bridget bakes -and cooks the best things. We write letters to papa, and mamma sings -and plays, and--it’s just lovely! Never mind, Josephine. You’ll be back -there soon’s papa gets well again, and Uncle Joe was sort of cryey -round his eyes last night. Mamma said I was to be like his own little -daughter to him and take care of him and never make him any trouble. So -I will.” - -There was no prouder child in that city that morning than the little -stranger within its gates. She prepared her bath without aid, brushed -her hair and dressed herself entirely. It was true that her curls did -not look much as they did after mamma’s loving fingers had handled -them, and the less said about those on the back of her head the better. -Nor were the buttons in the right places to match the buttonholes, and -the result was that the little frock which had always been so tidy hung -at a curious angle from its wearer’s shoulders. - -But who’d mind a trifle like that, in a beginner? - -Not Uncle Joe, who saw only the fair front of his visitor, as she ran -down the hall to meet him, emerging from his own chamber. Indeed, he -was not now in a mood to observe anything save himself, though he -answered Josephine’s gay “Good morning” with another rather grimly -spoken. - -The child paused, astonished. There were no longer tears in his -eyes, but he looked as if a “good cry” would be relief. His face was -distorted with pain, and every time he put one of his feet to the floor -he winced as if it hurt him. He seemed as dim and glum as the day -outside, and that was dreary beyond anything the little Californian had -ever seen. The snow had fallen steadily all the night, and the avenue -was almost impassable. A few milk-carts forced their way along, and a -man in a gray uniform, with a leather bag over his shoulder, was wading -up each flight of steps to the doorways above them and handing in the -morning mail. - -“Aren’t you well, Uncle Joe? Didn’t you rest well?” she inquired -solicitously. - -“No, I’ve got that wretched old gout again,” he snapped. - -“What’s that?” - -“It’s a horrible, useless, nerve-racking ‘misery’ in my foot. It’s -being out in that storm yesterday, and this senseless heap of snow on -the ground. March is supposed to be spring, but this beastly climate -doesn’t know what spring means. Ugh!” he groaned. - -“Doesn’t it?” she asked, amazed by this statement. - -“Hum, child. There’s no need of your repeating everything I say in -another question. I’m always cross when I’m gouty. Don’t heed me. Just -enjoy yourself the best you can, for I don’t see how I’m to hunt up -your uncle for you in such weather.” - -Josephine thought he was talking queerly, but said nothing; only -followed him slowly to the breakfast room, which Peter had done his -best to make cheerful. - -Mr. Smith sat down at table and began to open the pile of letters which -lay beside his plate. Then he unfolded his newspaper, looked at a few -items, and sipped his coffee. He had forgotten Josephine, though she -had not forgotten him, and sat waiting until such time as it should -please him to ask the blessing. - -For the sake of her patient yet eager face, Peter took an unheard-of -liberty: he nudged his master’s shoulder. - -“Hey? What? Peter!” angrily demanded Mr. Smith. - -“Yes, suh. Certainly, suh. But I reckon little missy won’t eat -withouten it.” - -It was almost as disagreeable to the gentleman to be reminded of his -duty, and that, too, by a servant, as to suffer his present physical -pangs. But he swallowed the lesson with the remainder of his coffee, -and bowed his head, resolving that never again while that brown-eyed -child sat opposite him should such a reminder be necessary. - -As before, with the conclusion of the simple grace, Josephine’s tongue -and appetite were released from guard, and she commented: - -“This is an awful funny Baltimore, isn’t it?” - -“I don’t know. Do you always state a thing and then ask it?” returned -Uncle Joe, crisply. - -“I ’xpect I do ask a heap of questions. Mamma has to correct me -sometimes. But I can’t help it, can I? How shall I know things I don’t -know if I don’t ask folks that do know, you know?” - -“You’ll be a very knowing young person if you keep on,” said he. - -“Oh! I want to be. I want to know every single thing there is in the -whole world. Papa used to say there was a ‘why’ always, and I like to -find out the ‘whys.’” - -“I believe you. Peter, another chop, please.” - -“With your foot, Massa Joe?” remonstrated the butler. - -“No. With my roll and fresh cup of coffee,” was the retort. - -“Excuse me, Massa Joe, but you told me last time that next time I was -to remember you ’bout the doctor saying ‘no meat with the gout.’” - -“Doctors know little. I’m hungry. If I’ve got to suffer I might as well -be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I’ve already eaten two chops. Another, -Peter, and a juicy one.” - -The order was obeyed, though the old negro knew that soon he would be -reprimanded as much for yielding to his master’s whim as he had already -been for opposing it. - -“Doctor Mack knows everything,” said Josephine. - -“Huh! Everybody belonging to you is perfect, I conclude,” said the -host, with some sarcasm. - -“I don’t like him, though. Not very well. He gives me medicine -sometimes, though mamma says I don’t need it. I’m glad he’s gone to -eat those philopenas. Aren’t you?” - -“I don’t care a rap where he goes,” answered Uncle Joe testily. - -Josephine opened her eyes to their widest. This old man in the soiled -green dressing-gown, unshaven, frowning and wincing in a horrible -manner, was like another person to the handsome gentleman with whom -she had dined overnight. He was not half so agreeable, and-- Well, -mamma often said that nobody in this world had a right to be “cross” -and make themselves unpleasant to other people. She was sorry for poor -Uncle Joe, and remembered that he had not had the advantage of mamma’s -society and wisdom. - -“Uncle Joe, you look just like one of them picture-men that was shut up -in a tree trunk. You know. You showed them to me last night. I wish you -wouldn’t make up such a face,” she observed. - -Mr. Smith’s mouth flew open in sheer amazement, while Peter tossed his -hands aloft and rolled his eyes till the whites alone were visible. In -all his service he had never heard anybody dare to speak so plainly to -his master, whose temper was none of the mildest. He dreaded what would -follow, and was more astonished than ever when it proved to be a quiet: - -“Humph! Children and fools speak truth, ’tis said. You’re a sharp-eyed, -unflattering little lady, Miss Josephine; but I’ll try to control my -ugly visage for your benefit.” - -The tone in which this was said, rather than the words themselves, was -a reproof to the child, who immediately left her place, ran to her -uncle’s side, and laid her hand pleadingly upon his arm. - -“Please forgive me, poor Uncle Joe. I guess that was saucy. I--I -didn’t think. That’s a way I have. I say things first, and think them -afterward. I guess it isn’t a nice way. I’ll try to get over that. My! -won’t that be fun? You trying not to make up faces, and I trying not to -say wrong things. I’ll tell you. Have you got a little box anywhere?” - -“Yes, I presume so. Go eat your breakfast, child. Why?” - -“’Cause. Did you know there was heathens?” she asked gravely. - -“I’ve heard so. I’ve met a few.” - -“You have? How delightful!” came the swift exclamation. - -“I didn’t find it so. Why, I say?” he inquired. - -“Each of us that forgot and broke over must put a penny, a cent, I -mean, in the box. It must be shut tight, and the cover gum-mucilaged -down. You must make a hole in the cover with your penknife, and when -you screw up your face, just for nothing, you put a penny in. I’ll -watch and tell you. Then I’ll put one in when I say wrong things. I’ve -a lot of money in my satchel. Mamma and Doctor Mack each gave me some -to buy things on the way. But there wasn’t anything to buy, and I can -use it all, only for Rudanthy’s new head. Can we go buy that to-day, -Uncle Joe?” - -“No. Nobody knows when I’ll get out again, if this weather holds. The -idea of a snowstorm like this in March. _In March!_” angrily. - -“Yes, suh,” responded Peter respectfully, since some reply seemed -expected. - -“Here, boy. Carry my mail to the library. Get a good heat on. Fetch -that old soft shawl I put over my foot when it’s bad, and, for goodness -sake, keep that child out of the way and contented, somehow.” - -Josephine had gone to the window, pulled the draperies apart, and was -looking out on a very different world from any she had ever seen. White -was every object on which her eye rested, save the red fronts of the -houses, and even these were festooned with snowy wreaths wherever such -could find a resting place. The scene impressed and almost frightened -her; but when, presently, it stopped snowing, and a boy ran out from a -neighboring house, dragging a red sled through the drifts, her spirits -rose. It had been one long, long week since she had exchanged a single -word with any child, and this was an opportunity to be improved. She -darted from the room, sped to the hall door, which stood ajar for -Lafayette’s convenience in clearing off the steps, and dashed outward. - -Her feet sank deep into the cold, soft stuff, but she didn’t even -notice that, as she cried, eagerly: - -“Little boy! Oh, little boy! Come here quick! I want somebody to play -with me.” - -A moment’s pause of surprise, that a child should issue from “old Mr. -Smith’s,” and the answer came cheerily back: - -“Wish I could; but I’m going sledding.” - -“I’ll go with you! I never went a-sledding in all my”-- - -The sentence was never finished, for somebody jerked her forcibly back -within doors just as a great express wagon crawled to a pause before -the entrance. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -MEMORIES AND MELODIES. - - -“My trunk! my trunk! My darling little blue trunk!” - -“Massa Joe says for you to go right straight back to the library, -missy. He says you done get the pneumony, cuttin’ up that way in the -snow, and you not raised in it. He says not to let that boy in here. -I--I’s sorry to disoblige any little lady what’s a-visitin’ of us, -but”-- - -“It’s my trunk, Peter. Don’t you hear?” - -“Yes, missy. But Lafayette, that’s his business, hauling luggage. I’se -the butler, I is.” - -Josephine retreated a few paces from the door. She had lived in the -open air, but had never felt it pinch her nose as this did. Her feet, -also, were cold, and growing wet from the snow which was melting on -them. But Peter was attending to that. He was wiping them carefully -with his red handkerchief, and Josephine lifted first one, then the -other, in silent obedience to his touch. But her interest was wholly -in the trunk, which had now been deposited in the vestibule, and from -which Lafayette was carefully removing all particles of snow before he -carried it up over the carpeted stair. - -Mr. Smith limped to the library door and looked out. He had meant to -send word that the trunk should be retained at the railway station for -the present, or until he should find out to whom Josephine had really -been “consigned,” and asked, in vexation: - -“Come already, has it? Humph! If it had been something I wanted in -a hurry, they’d have taken their own time about delivering it. Said -they couldn’t handle goods in a storm, and such nonsense. I don’t see, -Peter, as it need be taken upstairs. Have it put in the storeroom, -where it will be handier to get at when she leaves.” - -Both Peter and Josephine heard him with amazement. - -“What is that, Uncle Joe? That ‘when I leave.’ Have I--have I been -so--so saucy and forgetful that--that you can’t let me stay?” - -“No, no, child. I merely meant-- There, don’t look so distressed. You -are here for the day, anyway, because none of us can go trudging about -in such weather. I’ll telephone for-- There. No matter. It’s right. -It’s all right. Don’t, for goodness sake, cry. Anything, anything but -that. Ugh! my foot. I must get out of this draught,” he almost yelled. - -Josephine was very grave. She walked quietly to Uncle Joe’s side, and -clasped the hand which did not hold a cane with both her own. - -“It’s dreadful funny, seems to me. Aren’t we going to stay in this -house all the time? I wish--I’m sorry I spoke about the box and the -heatheny money. But if you don’t mind, I must, I must, get into my -trunk. The key is in my satchel in my room. Mamma put it there with the -clean clothes I wore last night. She said they would last till the -trunk came; but that as soon as ever it did I must open it and take out -a little box was in it for you. The very, very moment. I must mind my -mamma, mustn’t I?” - -“Yes, child, I suppose so,” he slowly returned. - -Mr. Smith was now in his reclining chair, with his inflamed foot -stretched out in momentary comfort. He spoke gently, rather sadly, in -fact, as he added: - -“My child, you may open your trunk. I will never counsel you to do -anything against your mother’s wishes. She seems to be a sensible -woman. But there has been a mistake which I cannot understand. I am -Joseph Smith. I have lived in this house for many years, and it is the -street and number which is written on the tag you showed me. Do you -understand me, so far?” - -“Course. Why not?” - -“Very well. I’m sorry to tell you that I have no twin brother, no -‘sister Helen,’ and no niece anywhere in this world. I have many -cousins whom I distrust, and who don’t like me because I happen to be -richer than they. That’s why I live here alone, with my colored ‘boys.’ -In short, though I am Joseph Smith, of number 1000 Bismarck Avenue, I -am not this same Joseph Smith to whom your mamma sent you. To-morrow -we will try to find this other Joseph Smith, your mislaid uncle. Even -to-day I will send for somebody who will search for him in my stead. -Until he is found you will be safe with me, and I shall be very happy -to have you for my guest. Do you still understand? Can you follow what -I say?” - -“Course,” she instantly responded. - -But after this brief reply Josephine dropped down upon the rug and -gazed so long and so silently into the fire that her host was impelled -to put an end to her reflections by asking: - -“Well, little girl, of what are you thinking?” - -“How nice it would be to have two Uncle Joes.” - -“Thank you. That’s quite complimentary to me. But I’m afraid that the -other one might prove much dearer than I. Then I should be jealous,” -he returned, smiling a little. - -Josephine looked up brightly. - -“I know what that means. I had a kitten, Spot, and a dog, Keno; and -whenever I petted Spot Keno would put his tail between his legs and go -off under the sofa and look just--mis’able. Mamma said it was jealousy -made him do it. Would you go off under a table if the other Uncle Joe -got petted? Oh! I mean--you know. Would you?” - -Though this was not so very lucid, Mr. Smith appeared to comprehend her -meaning. Just then, too, a severe twinge made him contort his features -and utter a groan. - -Josephine was on her feet and at his side instantly, crying out: - -“Oh, does it hurt you so dreadful much? Can’t I do something for it? I -can bathe feet beautiful. Bridget sprained her ankle and mamma let me -bathe it with arnica. Big Bridget said that was what cured it so quick. -Have you got any arnica? May I bathe it?” - -“Would you really handle a red, unpleasant, swollen old foot and not -dislike it?” - -“I guess I shouldn’t like it much. I didn’t like big Bridget’s. I felt -queer little feelings all up my arm when I touched it. She said it hurt -me worse than it did her. But I’d do it. I’d love to do it even if I -didn’t like it,” she answered bravely. - -“Peter, fetch the arnica. Then get a basin of hot water,” he ordered. - -The pain was returning with redoubled force, and Mr. Smith shut his -lips grimly. He looked at Josephine’s plump little hands, and felt that -their touch might be very soothing; as, indeed, it proved. For when the -servant brought the things desired, the little girl sat down upon the -hassock beside the great chair and ministered to him, as she had done -to big Bridget. The applications were always helpful, but the tender -strokes of her small fingers were infinitely more grateful than the -similar ministrations of the faithful, yet hard-handed, Peter. - -“Now I’ll put it to bed, as if it were Rudanthy. Poor Rudanthy! How -bad she must feel without any face. That’s worse than having a sore -foot, isn’t it?” as she heaped the coverings over the gouty toes. - -“Far worse. Only waxen faces are not subject to pain.” - -“I s’pose not. Now, Uncle Joe, would you like me to sing to you?” - -“Can you sing?” - -“Course. Mamma sings beautifully. She is the leader in our choir. My -papa says she makes him think of angels when she sings. I don’t sing -like her. Course not. But I can do some things, if you like me to.” - -“What about the trunk, Josephine? Though I really think you would -better leave it packed pretty nearly as it is, since”-- - -“Uncle Joe, I’ve been thinking about that other uncle we’ve lost. If he -isn’t nice, and mamma will let me, I’ll stay with you.” - -He did not dampen her spirits by suggesting that she would better wait -for him to ask her to stay, and merely answered: - -“Well, time will show what’s best. Shall Peter unlock that trunk?” - -Mr. Smith did not wish to break into anybody’s confidence; yet, since -she had spoken of a box destined for the mislaid “Uncle Joe,” he felt -that he would be justified in examining, at least, the outside of it. - -Josephine went away with the old colored man, but did not tarry long. -The tin box was very near the top of the trunk, and she was in haste to -give it to her patient, to whom she explained: - -“I know what’s in it. Nothing but some California flowers. Mamma said -that you would like them, even if they faded a little. But she hoped -they wouldn’t fade. The box is tight, like the big one she and papa -take when they go botanizing. Mamma is making a collection of all the -flowers she can and putting them in a big, big book. She knows their -names and all about them. Mamma knows--everything.” - -“I begin to think so, too, little girl. I never before heard of so -much virtue and wisdom shut up in one woman. Yes, I see. The box is -addressed exactly like the tag. Still, I do not feel I have a right to -open it, for it is sealed, you see.” - -“That’s only paper. It is to keep out the air. The air is what spoils -things like violets. Please do open it, or let me. Mamma would be so -dreadfully disappointed if you didn’t. Why, think! We were in that -terrible hurry, yet she took time to fix it. She hadn’t seen you in so -many years, she said, and so she _must_ send it. Please.” - -“But I am not the ‘you’ she meant, you know, Josephine.” - -“Well, you’re somebody, aren’t you? You’re my Uncle Joe, anyway, -whether you’re the regular one or not. Shall I?” and she held the box -edgewise, ready to tear the strip of paper which fastened its edges. - -“Y-es, I suppose so. It may lead to the explanation of this riddle,” he -assented. - -As the little girl had said, there was nothing whatever in the tin box -except a quantity of violets, with some of the wild blossoms that -brighten the mesas in spring-time, and one tiny scrap of paper, on -which was written, in evident haste - - “DEAR BROTHER JOE: Let these violets tell you all that I would say; - and, as you are good to our little one, may God be good to you. - - “HELEN.” - -“Well, there’s no great injury done anybody by that deed, I think. -We’ll put the note back in the box and the flowers in water. When the -mislaid Joseph arrives we’ll restore him his property in the best shape -we can,” said Mr. Smith. - -Peter listened, surprised. His master was almost mirthful, and that, -too, even during an attack of his dreaded malady. If this were the -effect of Josephine’s presence, he hoped that she would remain; though -he was shrewd enough to comprehend, from Mr. Smith’s words, that this -was doubtful. - -“The worst I hopes about it is that that other out-of-the-way Joe -Smith turns out a wuthless creetur’ that Massa Joe won’t be trustin’ -little missy with. I ain’t a-wishin’ nobody no harm, I ain’t, but I’se -powerful willin’ the mislaid uncle stays lost forever. Yes, suh,” he -assured his fellow-servants. - -The violets were in a cut-glass bowl which Peter received no reprimand -for bringing, though it was the choicest piece in his master’s -possession, but, as the old man reasoned: “The fittenest one for -posies what had travelled in a little gell’s trunk, all the way from -Californy.” The gouty foot had ceased to torment its owner; the street -without was utterly quiet; the fire glowed in the grate, and its glow -was reflected in a lonely old man’s heart as on the happy face of a -little girl who nestled beside him. He remembered her statement that -she could sing, but he had been musical in his own day and shrank from -discord. Could a child so young make real melody? He doubted it, yet -it was now his intention to make her as happy as it lay in his power -to do, for the brief while that he might keep her; and he recalled her -mother’s written words: - -“As you are good to our little one, may God be good to you.” - -So he forced himself to say: - -“If you want to sing now, Josephine, I will listen.” - -It wasn’t a very gracious request, but the other did not notice that. -The sight of the home flowers had brought back a crowd of happy -memories, and without delay she began: - - “Maxwelton braes are bonny, - Where early fa’s the dew,” - -and had not proceeded thus far before the old Virginian had raised -himself upright in his chair and was listening with all his -keenly-critical ears to the sweetest music he had ever heard. - -Josephine sang for love of singing. She could no more help it than a -bird could, for song came to her as naturally as to it. Her voice was -birdlike, too, in its clearness and compass, and true in every note. - -“Do you like that song, Uncle Joe?” she asked. - -“Like it? It’s wonderful. Child, who trained you?” - -“I--why, I’ve just sung with mamma; though papa says that when I am -older, if he is able, I shall have other teachers. I don’t think -anybody can be better than mamma, though,” she answered. - -“Something else, little girl,” came the prompt request. - -It was as pure enjoyment to her as to him. She sang whatever came to -her mind, and many old ballads suggested by himself. With each one he -grew more enthusiastic, and finally called Peter to bring him his flute. - -By this time that bewildered creature was prepared for anything. -When he and Massa Joe had been young, music and the flute had been -their mutual delight. But it was years and years since that ancient -instrument had been breathed upon, though it always lay, wrapped in its -swaddling clothes, convenient to its owner’s desk. Alas, when it was -brought, it uttered but the ghosts of former melodies, yet nobody in -that small company was the sadder for that. The unusual sounds stole -through the house, bewitched Lafayette from his cleaning and Apollo -from his range. Open-eyed, they stood without the library door and -wasted their time, with none to reprove; because, for once, the sharp -eyes of the major-domo, Peter, were bent upon a more delectable sight. - -Into the midst of this happy scene came the discordant ring of the -electric bell, and instantly all other sounds ceased. - -“Who in the world would trespass upon us, on such a day as this!” cried -Mr. Smith, at last arousing from the unusual mood into which he had -been betrayed by Josephine’s sweet voice. - -“Maybe it’s company, Uncle Joe.” - -“No company comes here without invitation, child.” - -“I came, didn’t I? But we didn’t know that, then.” - -“Business, I suppose. Always business; and to-day I’m unfitted for all -business.” - -Business, indeed. For there was ushered into the room, by the frowning -Peter, the man whom of all others his master now least wished to see. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE BOY FROM NEXT DOOR. - - -The unwelcome visitor was a Mr. Wakeman, confidential clerk and -business manager, under Mr. Smith, of that gentleman’s many vast -enterprises. He was an alert young man, rather jaunty of dress and -manner, and almost too eager to please his employer. - -“Good morning, Mr. Smith.” - -“Morning. Terrible prompt, aren’t you!” - -“I’m always prompt, sir, if you remember.” - -The stranger had brought an air of haste and unrest into the quiet -library, and its owner’s comfort was at an end. He moved suddenly and -his foot began to ache afresh. Even Josephine sat up erect and smoothed -the folds of her red frock, while she gazed upon Mr. Wakeman’s face -with the critical keenness of childhood. On his part, he bestowed upon -her a smile intended to be sweet, yet that succeeded in being merely -patronizing. - -“Good morning, sissy. Didn’t know you had any grandchildren, Mr. -Smith,” he remarked. - -“Haven’t. Of course,” was the retort. - -“Beg pardon. I’d forgotten, for the moment, that you were a bachelor. I -got your telephone message,” said the clerk. - -“Naturally.” - -“Thought I’d best see you personally before conducting the inquiries,” -went on the young man. - -“Unnecessary. Repeat the message you received.” - -Mr. Wakeman fidgetted. He realized that he had been over-zealous, but -proved his reliability by saying: “‘Find out if there’s another Joseph -Smith in town whose residence number resembles mine.’” - -“Hmm. Exactly. Have you done so?” demanded the employer. - -“Not yet. As I was explaining”-- - -“Explanations are rarely useful. Implicit obedience is what I require. -When you have followed my instructions bring me the results. I--I am -in no especial haste. You needn’t come again to-day. To-morrow morning -will answer. Peter, show the gentleman out.” - -But for once Peter was not on hand when wanted. Commonly, during -an attack of gout, he kept as close to his master as that exacting -person’s “own shadow.” The old man now looked around in surprise, for -not only had Peter, but Josephine, disappeared. There were also voices -in the hall, and one of these was unfamiliar. - -“Peter! Peter!” he called, and loudly. - -“Yes, Massa Joe. Here am I,” answered the butler, reappearing. - -“Who’s out yonder?” - -“A--er--ahem!--the little boy from next door, suh.” - -“That rough fellow? What’s he want?” - -“He, I reckon, he’s just come to call on our Miss Josephine, suh.” - -Mr. Smith leaned back in his chair, overcome by astonishment, and Mr. -Wakeman quietly slipped away. - -“Send her back in here,” ordered the master of the house. - -The little girl came, attended by a red-headed lad, somewhat taller -than herself, with whom she had already established a delightful -intimacy; for she held fast to his hand and beamed upon him with the -tenderest of smiles as she cried: - -“Oh, Uncle Joe! Here’s Michael!” - -“Huh! Well, Michael, what’s wanted?” - -“Josephine, Mr. Smith,” returned the lad. - -“Michael, Josephine! How long have you two been acquainted?” - -“About five minutes, I guess,” answered the manly little chap, pulling -a battered silver watch from his jacket pocket. The watch was minus a -crystal and he calmly adjusted the hands with one red little finger -as he announced the hour. “It was just eleven o’clock when I rang the -bell, and it’s six minutes past now, Mr. Smith.” Then he shook up his -timepiece, generously held it toward Josephine and informed her: “It -goes best when it’s hung up sidewise. I’ve had it ever so long. ’Most -six months, I reckon.” - -“And I’ve had my watch sixteen years,” remarked Mr. Smith, displaying -his own costly chronometer, with its double dials and elegant case. -“But I should never think of using it as you do yours. Well, what’s -wanted with Josephine?” he asked, with an abrupt change. - -“I’d like to take her sledding,” explained the visitor. - -“Well, you can’t. She doesn’t belong to me, and I never lend borrowed -articles.” - -The countenances of both children fell. - -“What put it into your head to come here, anyway?” demanded Mr. Smith. - -“She did,” answered Michael. - -“Josephine? How could she?” - -“She saw me when I started out, before the sidewalks were shovelled, -and hollered after me. I couldn’t stop then, ’cause I was going to meet -another fellow. When I went in to get a cracker I told my grandmother -that there was a little girl in here and she wouldn’t believe it. She -said”-- - -Michael paused with so much confusion that his questioner was -determined to hear just what the lady had remarked, and ordered: - -“Well, go on. Never stop in the middle of a sentence, boy.” - -“Not even if the sentence isn’t--isn’t a very polite one?” - -“What did she say?” repeated Mr. Smith. - -“She said you were too selfish and fussy to allow a child within your -doors,” said the boy, reluctantly. - -“You see she was mistaken, don’t you?” - -“Yes, Mr. Smith. I explained it to her. I said she must be a visitor, -and grandma thought in that case she’d be very lonely. She sent me in -to ask permission to take her a ride around the park on my sled. We -don’t often have such nice sledding in Baltimore, you know, Mr. Smith.” - -“And, Uncle Joe, I was never on a sled in all my whole life!” entreated -Josephine, folding her hands imploringly. - -“No, sir, that’s what she says. She’s a Californian, from away the -other side the map. Where the oranges come from. Say, Josephine, did -you bring any oranges with you?” inquired Michael. - -“Not one,” said the little girl, regretfully. “I guess there wasn’t -time. Mamma and big Bridget had so much packing to do, and Doctor Mack -prob’ly didn’t think. I wish I had. I do wish I had.” - -“There are plenty of oranges in this city, child. I presume Peter has -some now in his pantry. You may ask him, if you like,” said Mr. Smith. - -Peter didn’t wait for the asking, but disappeared for a few moments, -then to return with a dish of them and place them on the table. The -eyes of both children sparkled, for it was the finest of fruit, yet -they waited until the butler had brought them plates and napkins before -beginning their feast. This little action pleased the fastidious old -gentleman, and made him realize that small people are less often -ill-bred than he had hitherto imagined them to be. He had based his -opinion upon the behavior of some other little folks whom it had been -his misfortune to meet upon cars or steamboats, who seemed to be always -munching, and utterly careless where their crumbs or nutshells fell. -This pair was different. - -Indeed, had the host known it, Michael had been reared as daintily -as Josephine had been. “Company manners” were every-day manners with -him, and it was one of Mr. Smith’s beliefs that “breeding shows more -plainly at table than anywhere else.” He watched the boy with keenness, -and it was due to his present conduct, of which the lad himself was -unconscious, that final consent was given to Josephine’s outing. - -Selecting an orange the boy asked: - -“Shall I fix it for you?” - -“If you please,” answered the little girl. - -Michael cut the fruit in halves, placed it on a plate, laid a spoon -beside it, and offered it to Josephine, who received it with a quiet -“Thank you,” and began at once to take the juice in her spoon. When -each had finished an orange they were pressed to have a second, and -the boy frankly accepted, though the girl found more interest in this -young companion than in eating. - -“It makes a fellow terribly hungry to be out in the snow all morning, -Mr. Smith. Seems as if I was always hungry, anyway. Grandma says I am, -but I reckon she doesn’t mind. Oh! I forgot. Why, she sent you a note. -I never do remember things, somehow.” - -“Neither do I,” said Josephine, with ready sympathy. - -“You ought to, then. Girls ought to be a great deal better than boys,” -answered Michael. - -“Why?” - -“Oh, because. ’Cause they’re girls, you know.” - -Uncle Joe looked up from reading the brief, courteous note and felt -that that, added to the boy’s own manner, made it safe for him to -entrust his guest to Michael’s care for a short time. - -“Very well, Josephine. Mrs. Merriman, my neighbor, whom I know but -slightly, yet is kind to you, requests that I allow you to play with -her grandson for an hour. You may do so. But put on your cloak and hat -and overshoes, if you have them.” - -“I haven’t, Uncle Joe. But I don’t need them. My shoes are as thick -as thick. See? Oh, I’m so glad. I never rode on a red sled in all -my life, and now I’m going to. Once my papa rode on sleds. He and -you--I mean that other uncle, away up in New York somewhere. He’s seen -snow as high as my head, my papa has. I never. I never saw only the -teeniest-teeniest bit before. It’s lovely, just lovely. If it wasn’t -quite so cold. To ride on a sled, a sled, like papa!” - -Josephine was anything but quiet now. She danced around and around the -room, pausing once and again to hug her uncle, who submitted to the -outbursts of affection with wonderful patience, “considerin’,” as Peter -reflected. - -“What did you ride on, the other side the map?” asked Michael, laying -his hand on her arm to stop her movements. - -“Why--nothing, ’xcept burros.” - -“Huh! Them! Huh! I ride a regular horse in the summer-time, I do. Go -get ready, if you’re going. I can’t stand here all day. The fellows are -outside now, whistling. Don’t you hear them?” - -“But I said she might go with you, because you are--well, your -grandmother’s grandson. I didn’t say she might hob-nob with Tom, Dick -and Harry.” - -Michael fidgetted. The whistling of his comrades had already put -another aspect on the matter. So long as there were no boys in sight to -play with, he felt that it would be some fun to play with even a girl; -especially one who was so frank and ready as she whom he had seen in -Mr. Smith’s doorway. But now the boys were back. They’d likely laugh -and call him “sissy” if he bothered with Josephine, and what fellow -likes to be “sissied,” I’d wish to know! - -Josephine felt the change in his manner, and realized that there was -need for haste, yet, fortunately, nothing deeper than that. It never -occurred to her that she could be in anybody’s way, and she returned to -the library very promptly, her red hat thrust coquettishly on one side -of her head, and her coat flying apart as she ran. She was so pretty -and so eager that the red-headed boy began to feel ashamed of himself, -and remembered what his grandmother often told him: that it was the -mark of a gentleman to be courteous to women. He was a gentleman, of -course. All his forefathers had been, down in their ancient home in -Virginia, which seemed to be considered a little finer portion of the -United States than could be found elsewhere. Let the boys jeer, if they -wanted to. He was in for it and couldn’t back out. So he walked up to -Josephine who was giving Uncle Joe a parting kiss, and remarked: - -“I’ll button your coat. But put your hat on straight. It won’t stay a -minute that way, and when I’m drawing you, I can’t stop all the time to -be picking it up. Where’s your gloves? Forgot ’em? Never mind. Here’s -my mittens. Ready? Come on, then. Good morning, Mr. Smith. I’ll take -good care of her and fetch her back all right.” - -He seized Josephine’s hand, lifted his cap, dropped it over his red -hair, and darted from the house. - -A group of lads, his mates, had congregated before the house, -recognizing his sled upon the steps, and wondering what could have sent -him into that forbidding mansion. They were ready with questions and -demands the instant he should appear, but paused, open-mouthed, when he -did actually step out on the marble, leading Josephine. He was not “a -Virginian and a gentleman” for nothing. Instinct guided his first words: - -“Hello, boys! This is Josephine Smith, from San Diego, California. -She’s never seen snow before, worth mentioning, and I’m going to give -her a sleighride. Her first one. S’pose we make it a four-in-hand, and -something worth while? What say?” - -“Will she be afraid?” asked one of them. - -“Are you a ’fraid-cat, Josephine?” demanded Michael, sternly, in -a don’t-you-dare-to-say-you-are kind of voice, and the little -Californian rose to the occasion gallantly. - -“No, I am not. I’m not afraid of anything or anybody--here.” - -“Come on, then.” - -Ropes were unhitched from another sled and tied to lengthen that on -Michael’s, while he and another carefully placed the little passenger -upon the “Firefly,” bade her “Hold on tight!” and shouted: “Off we are! -Let her go, boys, let her go!” - -Then began not one hour, but two, of the wildest sport the old square -had ever witnessed. The walks traversing it had already been cleared of -the snow, but for once there was no restricting “Keep off the grass” -visible. - -The park was like a great, snowy meadow, across which the four -lads darted and pranced, at the risk of many upsets, their own -and Josephine’s, who accepted the plunges into the banks of snow -heaped beside the paths with the same delight she brought to the -smoother passages, where the sled fairly flew behind its hilarious -“four-in-hands.” - -Pedestrians crossing the square were gayly informed that this was “a -girl who’d never seen snow before, and we’re giving her enough of it -to remember!” Michael was leader, as always, and he led them a merry -round, shouting his orders till he was hoarse, losing his cap and -forgetting to pick it up, his red head always to the fore, and his own -enjoyment intense. - -As for Josephine--words fail to express what those two hours were to -her. The excitement of her new friends was mild compared to her own. -The snow sparkling in the sunlight, the keen frosty air, the utter -enchanting newness of the scene, convinced her that she had entered -fairyland. Her hat slipped back and hung behind her head, her curls -streamed on the wind, her eyes gleamed, her cheeks grew rosy, and her -breath came faster and faster, till at last it seemed that she could -only gasp. - -Just then appeared old Peter, holding up a warning hand, since a -warning voice would not be heard. The four human ponies came to a -reluctant pause, stamping their feet and jerking their heads after the -approved manner of high-bred horses, impatient of the bit. - -“For the land sakes, honey! You done get your death! You’se been out -here a right smart longer’n Massa Joe told you might. You come right -home with me, little missy, now, if you please,” said the butler. - -“We’ll draw her there, Peter. Why, I didn’t know we’d been so long,” -apologized Michael. - -“Thought you was a young gentleman what carried a watch!” - -“So I am, old Peter,” then producing that valuable timepiece he turned -it on its side, studied its face, and informed his mates: “Half-past -one, fellows, and my grandmother has lunch at one! Whew! Home’s the -word!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -AFTER THE FROLIC. - - -Reaction followed excitement. Josephine had never been so tired, no, -not even during her long railway journey. She had laughed and shouted -till her throat ached; her eyes were still dazzled by the gleam of -sunlight upon snow; and her clothing was wet through. She stepped from -the “Firefly” and climbed the cold marble stoop, holding on to Peter’s -hand as if without its aid she could not have mounted it at all. She -allowed him to take off her hat and cloak, without protesting that she -liked to do things for herself, and sat down by the register with a -shiver of content. - -“Tired, little missy?” - -“Terrible tired, Peter, thank you.” - -“Massa Joe’s takin’ his luncheon, Miss Josephine.” - -“Is he?” she asked indifferently. - -“Reckon you better come get yours. Massa Joe don’t wait for nobody, -he don’t. Less’n ever when he’s got the gout on. Better hurry, maybe, -honey,” urged the butler. - -Josephine rose, observed that she must go wash her hands and fix her -hair before she could go to table, and wearily ascended the stairs to -her own grand room. Once there the bed looked so inviting, despite its -great size, that she climbed upon it and dropped her hot face on the -cool pillow. She forgot to remove her wet shoes, nor thought how her -dampened clothing might stain the delicate lace spread. She meant to -stay there for a moment only, “Just till my eyes get right,” but she -fell asleep almost instantly. - -She did not notice that the window was open, nor that the heat had been -turned off, the better to warm the library below. She noticed nothing, -in fact, till some time later when old Peter shook her sharply, -exclaiming still more indignantly: - -“For land, honey, don’t you know no better’n go sleepin’ with your -window open right here in March? ’Tisn’t your fault, missy, if -you don’t done ketch the pneumony. Massa Joe says for you to come -downstairs. Little gells what live to his house must learn not to keep -table waitin’, less’n they can’t stay. Better get up, Miss Josephine.” - -She obeyed him, but shivered afresh as she did so. The next moment she -was so warm she ran to the window and thrust her head out of it. Peter -drew her back and closed the sash with a bang. Then he led her to the -washstand and made a futile attempt to brush her tangled curls. - -“Never mind, good Peter. I can do it. I’m sorry I went to sleep. Has -Uncle Joe wanted me?” she interrupted. - -“Reckon he has, honey. He done suffer terrible. He like to hear you -sing them songs again, likely.” - -“Well, I will, if I’m not too tired,” she answered. - -The butler looked at her anxiously. Was she going to be sick? If she -were, whatever could he do with her? A sick man--that was one thing; -but a sick little girl, that was quite another matter. She would have -to go, he feared, and to lose her now would seem very hard. - -After all, she did not appear ill. She laughed and apologized so -sweetly to her would-be-angry host that he forgot his indignation and -forgave her on the spot. Only warned her gravely that he was a man -who meant exactly what he said, and intended anybody belonging to him -should do the same. One hour was never two; and, in case they never -came across that missing uncle of hers, he supposed she would have to -stay where she was until such time as her own parents could claim her; -ending his lecture with the question: - -“Would she remember?” - -She’d promise to try and remember; and would he like to hear all about -what a lovely, lovely time she had had? Did he know what snow felt -like? Had he ever ridden and ridden till he couldn’t see, and been -dumped into high banks and buried underneath the soft, cold stuff, -till he was nearly smothered, and got his stockings all wet, and -shouted till he couldn’t shout another shout? Had he? she cried. - -“I suppose I have. Many, many years ago. But wet stockings? Have you -got such on your little feet?” he anxiously asked. - -Then, though he shrank from contact with anything damp or cold, fearing -fresh pangs to himself, he drew off her shoe and felt the moist but now -hot, little foot within. - -“Child, you’re crazy. Never go round like that. Run up to your bathroom -and take a hot bath. Then put on everything clean and dry. Don’t you -know better than to behave as you have done? Didn’t your mother have -sense”-- - -There he paused, arrested by the piteous look which came over his -guest’s bonny face. - -“Never mind. Don’t cry. I couldn’t stand that. It’s bad enough to have -the gout, and a little girl in the house who doesn’t--won’t--hasn’t -changed her stocking--Oh! Ouch! Clear out, can’t you? My foot, my -foot!” he shouted. - -Josephine might have echoed, “My throat! my throat!” but she disdained -any such outcry. Her lip curled in a fine scorn, and at sight of the -grimace he made she laughed outright. Laughed foolishly, convulsively, -began to cry, and with a little wail of “Mamma! Mamma!” ran out of the -room. - -Old Peter followed, saw that her room was made warm, prepared her bath, -helped her to lay out clean, dry clothing, and left her, with the -consoling remark: - -“Don’t you never mind Massa Joe when he’s gouty. Men-folks ain’t done -got the gumption little gells has to keep their mouth shut and not -groan. Groanin’ lets a powerful lot of bad temper outen gouty people, -missy, and don’t you mind, honey. Just you call on me for what you’se -needin’ and everything will all come right. Now fix yourself up pretty -and come laughin’ down the stairs, like you done last night, and see -what’ll happen.” - -Josephine was comforted. The hot bath did make her feel all right, -and the pretty frock she had selected reminded her quite happily of -mamma and the days when she had sat sewing upon it. The very tucks in -its skirt seemed to bring that dear presence nearer, and she reflected -that they were absent from each other only till such time as poor papa -should get quite well. She appeared below, saying: - -“Now I’m good, Uncle Joe. Forgive me for being bad. I’ll sing again if -you want me.” - -“Of course I want you. Maybe I was a bit stern, too, little lady. I -hope this wretched pain will leave me by to-morrow, then I’ll be able -to think of something else besides that hateful foot.” - -“Poor foot!” she exclaimed. - -“Now sing, if you will.” - -Josephine tried, but it was altogether another sort of voice which -essayed “Old Lang Syne” from that which had warbled it so sweetly -earlier in the day; so that she was promptly bidden to give over the -attempt, Mr. Smith adding: - -“You’re as hoarse as a raven. A few more such rough plays with a parcel -of boys and your voice would be ruined. Then your mother would never -forgive me. I know enough about music to realize what your singing is -to her. Here. Take a book and read. By-and-by it will be dinner time. -Maybe the hot soup will soothe your throat.” - -He directed her to a bookcase and a vellum-bound copy of “The Pilgrim’s -Progress;” observing with fresh pleasure that it was her habit, not an -accident of the previous evening, that she handled all books daintily -and with respect for them. Then he forgot her in his own Review, and -his foot grew easier as the afternoon wore on. - -Josephine sat patiently poring over the familiar story, which she could -easily read in her own copy at home, but that seemed different in this -grand volume; and after a time the words began to mix themselves up in -a curious sort of jumble. She closed her eyes the better to clear her -vision, didn’t think to open them again, and her head sank down upon -the pictured page. - -“Huh!” said Mr. Smith, at last laying aside his own magazine, and -regarding the sleeper across the table with some amusement. “Old -Bunyan’s a trifle heavy for that pretty head. I must hunt up some -lighter stuff. Grimm or Andersen, if I’ve such books in the library. If -not, I’ll send out after them. How lovely and innocent she looks, and -how red her cheeks are. Her whole face is red, even, and-- Peter!” - -“Yes, Massa Joe. Yes, suh,” answered the butler. - -“Doesn’t that child seem a bit feverish? Do you know anything about -children, Peter?” asked “Uncle Joe.” - -“Mighty little, I’se afraid, suh.” - -“Well, sleep can’t hurt anybody. Carry her upstairs and lay her on her -bed. Cover her warm, and probably she’ll be all right afterward. She -mustn’t get sick. She must not _dare_ to get sick on my hands, Peter!” - -“No, Massa Joe. No, suh. She dastn’t,” said the negro, quickly. - -Peter lifted the little girl as tenderly as a woman, and carried her -off to rest. She did not rouse at all, but her head dropped heavily -on the pillow as if her neck were too slender to support it, and her -breath came with a strange whistling sound. - -The old negro laid his hand upon her temples and found them hot. Though -he knew little about children, he did know that cold water was good -in such a case, so dipped a towel and folded it across her head. The -application seemed to soothe her, for her features became more natural, -and, after a time, as she appeared to be resting well enough, he stole -cautiously from the room and went about his business. Though his -interest was now wholly with Josephine, he dared not neglect his duties -below stairs, and knew that, as usual when he was ill, Mr. Smith would -expect the best of dinners that evening. It had been so stormy early -in the day that he had not attended to his marketing, and must now -make haste to repair the delay. Apollo was apt to lay the blame on the -butler, if things failed to turn out as desired, and there was need for -haste if the roast beef were to be secured of the cut preferred. - -“I’ll just fetch a posy for the little lady, I will. If market’s over -they’s plenty them flower-stores, and maybe it’ll make her forget all -her lonesomeness. Poor little missy! What the Lord done sent to bless -this great, empty house. Nothing mustn’t happen to hurt her, nothing -mustn’t. No, suh,” reflected the good old man. - -When Peter returned from his marketing Josephine was still asleep. -He did not disturb her, though he listened anxiously to her hoarse -breathing and carefully replaced the damp towel which her restlessness -had tossed aside. He also laid the bunch of carnations on the coverlet -beside her and cautiously retreated to the hall, where he kept as close -a watch upon her as he could find time to give. - -“Dinner is served, Massa Joe,” he announced, when its hour arrived. - -“Is Miss Josephine ready?” asked the host. - -“She done sleepin’ mighty comf’table, suh,” protested Peter. - -“Seems to me I’ve read somewhere that children should sleep half the -time. Is that so, Peter?” - -“Certainly, suh, I reckon likely ’tis,” replied the other, willing to -agree. - -“Then don’t wake her. You--you may have a little dinner put back for -her,” said “Uncle Joe,” with some hesitation. - -The butler stared at this unheard-of condescension, but answered after -his common formula. Yet the plate of food he so carefully prepared and -set in the hot-water dish to keep warm for her was destined never to be -eaten. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -NEIGHBORLY AMENITIES. - - -Mrs. Merriman’s bell rang violently once, twice, and the lady laid -aside her book, exclaiming: - -“Who can that be, so late as this? Half-past nine, and almost bedtime. -Run, Michael. Though I thought you’d gone upstairs before now. It takes -the maid so long to answer. There it is again. Hurry. Dear, dear! I -_hope_ it isn’t a telegram.” - -“I’m going, Mary,” called the lad to the maid, as he rushed to the door. - -Peter stood outside, bareheaded and looking almost white in his terror. - -“For mercy’s sake, Massa Michael, is there a woman in this house?” - -“Of course. Lots of them. Grandmother, Mary, waitress, Samanda--Why?” - -“Our little Miss Josephine. I reckon she’ll die.” - -“Die, Peter? That little girl? What’s the matter?” cried Michael. - -“Goodness knows, I don’t. She can’t hardly breathe, she can’t. Massa -Joe’s sent for his doctor and his doctor he’s out, and we don’t have no -faith in them others round the square, and--_Will_ some of your women -please just step in and take a look at our poor little missy?” - -Michael darted back into the sitting-room, exclaiming: - -“Grandma, that little girl next door is awful sick. Peter’s frightened -most to death himself. He wants some of our women to go in there and -help them.” - -“Our women! Of what use would they be, either of them? I’ll go myself. -Ring for Mary, please,” said the old lady, rising. - -The maid appeared, and was directed to bring: - -“My shawl and scarf, Mary. I’m going in next door to see a sick child. -You stay right here in the hall and keep the latch up, so that -there’ll be no delay if I send in for you or anything needed. Yes, -Michael, you may go with me to help me up and down the steps, though -you ought to be in bed. Yet come. It must be something serious for Mr. -Smith to thus far forego his reserve.” - -Uncle Joe was waiting at the head of the stairs as Mrs. Merriman -ascended them, with that activity upon which she prided herself, and -asked: - -“Are you in trouble, neighbor? What is it?” - -“The little girl. I don’t know whose even. Came to me, an express -‘parcel,’ and I haven’t traced the blunder, found the right--no matter. -This way, please. I’ll explain later.” - -There was no trace of the gout left in the gentleman’s movements as he -preceded his neighbor to Josephine’s room, where the child lay gasping, -feverish, and clutching at her own throat in an agony of terror. - -One glance, and Mrs. Merriman’s shawl was tossed aside, and she had -lifted the little sufferer in her arms, observing: - -“Not even undressed! How long has she been like this?” - -“For several hours, Peter says, but growing steadily worse. I’ve sent -for the doctor, but he hasn’t come. He”-- - -She interrupted him with: - -“Send for another. The nearest possible. It’s croup. Short and quick, -usually. Michael, run in for Mary. Now, Peter, heat some blankets. Find -me her night-clothes. Warm that bed. A foot-tub of hot water. Any oil -in the house? Epicac? Any other household remedies?” - -“There’s the medicine for the gout, madam,” suggested Mr. Smith. - -“Oh, bother the gout. That’s nothing. _This_ is--serious. There, Mary, -lend a hand. Michael, run for Doctor Wilson. Hurry. If you can’t find -him, then the next one. There are seven of them around this square, -perched like vultures, seeking whom they may devour. As a rule, I -ignore the whole crowd, but I’m thinking of this little one’s mother -now. Hurry, lad,” directed Mrs. Merriman. - -Mr. Smith stood silent, helpless, and admiring. This was a gentlewoman -of the old school, such as he remembered his own mother to have been, -who was not afraid to use her own hands in ministering to the suffering -and who wasted no time in questions. Every movement of her wrinkled -but still firm fingers meant some solace to the little child, whose -brown eyes roamed from one to another with a silent, pitiful appeal. -In a twinkling, it seemed, Josephine was undressed, reclothed in soft, -warm garments, her chest anointed with the relaxing oil, and a swallow -of hot milk forced between her lips. Then Michael was dispatched to -the nearest drug store and brought back a dose of the old-fashioned -remedy Mrs. Merriman had used for her own little children. But she had -hardly time to administer it before one of the physicians summoned -had appeared, and to him she promptly resigned the direction of -affairs. His first order was that Mr. Smith should go below to his own -comfortable library and remain quiet, adding: - -“I’ll report as soon as your child is better, sir.” - -“She isn’t my child, doctor, but do you care for her as if she were. -Spare no expense. She must not, she must not die upon my hands. I’d no -right to retain her as long as I have, but--but-- Don’t let her die, -doctor, and you’ll save me from everlasting remorse.” - -“Go below, Mr. Smith. Peter, attend your master. There are enough of -us here, and this little lady will soon be all right. It’s croup only, -and-- What has she been eating lately?” - -“What has she not? How can I tell? But one thing I know, she ate no -dinner to-night,” answered the host. - -“So much the better. Now, Mr. Smith”--a wave of the hand in the -direction of the doorway suggested that the master of the house was -banished from the sickroom. - -Daylight was breaking when at last the doctor led Mrs. Merriman down -the stairs and to her own home, leaving Mary and Peter on watch, and -promising a speedy return, with the assurance that all danger was now -past. At the door of the library the old lady paused and looked in. Mr. -Smith still sat erect in his chair, and seemed as wide awake as she was -drowsy, and she advised him: - -“Go to bed, neighbor. The little one is all right again. We’ve had a -tussle for it, but she’s pulled through. Go to bed and get some rest. -I’m really sorry for you that this uninvited trouble has come upon you, -and will help you share it, so far as I may. But, doubtless, we’ll all -see why it was allowed, before we’ve done with it.” - -He returned, gallantly enough: - -“For one reason, it may be, madam, to render me more just and tolerant -to my neighbors. You have laid me under great”-- - -But she checked him, saying: - -“Beg pardon, under nothing at all. It was the little child for whom -I came, and if I have served you, too, why so much the better. Good -morning.” - -She went at once, leaving him to reflect: - -“To go to bed at daylight! When ever did I such a thing? But I will. -Though I wonder if I am quite right in my mind. The idea of one small -child upsetting two such households, all for the sake of a sled-ride! -Hmm. Hmm. Peter! Here, Peter. I’m for bed at breakfast time! After an -hour or two of rest I’ll set about finding that mislaid Joseph Smith -and hand over to him this little-too-absorbing responsibility. Thank -God, boy, that she did not die.” - -“Aye, Massa Joe. I’se been a-thinkin’ of him the whole endurin’ night. -Powerful queer, ain’t it? Just such a little speck of while, and now -seems if that little missy worth more to old Peter than the whole -universe. Yes, suh, the whole universe!” - -“Much you know about the universe, boy. There, there! Take care that -foot. If you set it aching again--Ouch!” - -It was not one but many hours that Mr. Smith slept, worn out by his -late physical suffering and his anxiety of the last night. When he woke -his first inquiry was for Josephine. - -“Laws, Massa Joe, it’s just wonderful. That child seems if nothing ever -ailed her. The doctor done been here again and told what to give her -for breakfast. She eat it like she was ’most starved, the little lamb. -Now she’s sleepin’ again, the beautifullest ever was. I ’xpect ’twas -that sleddin’ round the square done fetched it on. Next time”-- - -“Hush, boy. Don’t count on any ‘next time’ for her here. I must hunt up -that other Joseph Smith and hand her over to him forthwith,” said the -master. - -Peter’s heart sank. How could they ever endure that great house now -with this little child gone out of it? Well, there was one thing which -nobody could prevent--his wishing that the “other Joseph” might never -be found! - -After Mr. Smith had eaten he paid a flying visit to the little one’s -room, gazed at her now peaceful, if pale face, and stole downstairs -again with softened tread. He limped but slightly, and made a critical -survey of himself before he issued from the great hall into the street. - -“If you’s going down town, Massa Joe, like enough you better have a -cab. ’Counten your foot,” suggested Peter. - -“You may ’phone for one, boy. No. Stay. I’ll not baby myself thus far. -The air is warm as summer, almost, and the streets cleared. I’ll take a -car; but--Shut that door, Peter. I don’t need you further. If anything -happens to Miss Josephine, or any news comes concerning her, send me -word at once. Shut that door, can’t you?” he finished testily. - -“Certainly, suh;” yet good Peter left it a crack ajar, the better to -watch his master, whose actions somehow suggested a different order of -things from usual. He saw Mr. Smith descend his own and ascend Mrs. -Merriman’s stoop, and threw up his hands in dismay, exclaiming: - -“For goodness! I do hope Massa Joe ain’t done gone rake up all that old -line-fence trouble, just after her bein’ so good to our little missy. -What if ’tis five inches on our ground, and she claimin’ it’s just so -far ’tother way, and the lawyers argifying the money outen both their -pockets, this ain’t no time for to go hatchin’ fresh miseries. And I -never, not once, all these dozen years seen Massa Joe go a callin’ and -a visitin’ nobody, not for just pure visit. Whenever he has, ’twas -’cause there was some sort of business tacked on to the end of it -somehow. Huh! I never done looked for this, I didn’t.” - -Neither had the lady expected the call which was made upon her. But she -greeted her guest with a friendly courtesy that made him all the more -remorseful for the legal difficulties he had placed in her way in the -past, and quite ready to offer his apologies for the same at a fitting -opportunity. At present his visit was to express his gratitude for her -services to Josephine, and to ask her advice. - -“My advice, Mr. Smith? I am the last person in the world to advise so -capable a person as yourself. My opinion you’re most welcome to, if you -explain what I should express it about,” she returned. - -“The little girl, Josephine;” and he told all he knew and had -thought concerning her; finishing with the words, “I have so little -information to go upon.” - -She promptly inquired: - -“Beg pardon, but have you gone upon what little you do possess?” - -“Madam?” he asked. - -“I mean, have you really set about finding this mislaid uncle as if -your heart was in it?” she explained. - -“I haven’t hurried. I deputized my business man to look the thing up, -but--I don’t deny that I wish the other rightful Joseph Smith might be -found to have left the country,” he answered. - -“Even despite the anxiety Josephine has caused you?” - -“Yes, madam. I mean to be honest. I hate to set detectives on the task, -yet I will. But meanwhile, until the child’s relatives are found, what -shall I do with her? Can you direct me to a capable woman who will -engage to look after her welfare for the few days I may need her?” - -Mrs. Merriman looked at him critically, with a twinkle gleaming in her -eye. An audacious thought had come to her, yet a thought so full of -possibilities for good--and, maybe, ill--that she decided to act upon -it, and quietly replied: - -“Yes, Mr. Smith, I think I do know just the right woman. She has lately -returned from a winter in California, where she has been nursing an -invalid back to health. She is a trained nurse and was with me last -year, during my long illness. I received her card recently saying -that she would be in this city about now. Indeed, she must have left -Southern California at about the same time as your little ward, though -she was to delay a day or so at Chicago. I will send to inquire if she -is at home, at her boarding-house, if you desire.” - -He assented, adding: - -“I should be very grateful. I trust I may be able to prove later on -that I am not unappreciative of all your goodness.” - -“Don’t mention it. Good morning. I will write the note immediately, and -until some person is regularly established in your house to look after -little Josephine, I will step in there now and then, myself, to see -that all is right.” - -They parted most amicably, and the first action of Mr. Smith, upon -reaching his office, was to send for his lawyer and tell him that he -had abandoned the question of line-fences entirely; that Mrs. Merriman -should be notified that all claim to the “insignificant strip of land -midway their respective side-yards was hereby and forever relinquished, -with no costs to herself.” - -Her own proceeding was the writing of a note to her friend, the nurse, -and so imperative was the summons it contained that the lady answered -in person, although not yet sufficiently rested from the fatigue of a -long journey and her previous engagement to desire another so promptly. - -As for Josephine, after a morning of dreamless, health-restoring sleep, -she woke to find a familiar figure sitting by her bedside, smiling -affectionately upon her. A brief, puzzled glance, a rubbing of the -brown eyes to make sure they saw aright, and the child sprang out of -bed, into the woman’s arms crying: - -“Oh, Red Kimono! You dear, kind, Mrs. Red Kimono, where did you come -from?” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -TOM, DICK, HARRY, AND THE BABY. - - -For the next week Mr. Smith was untiring in his efforts to find the -missing Joseph Smith, his namesake. Telegrams sped back and forth -between Baltimore and San Diego, with the result that the only -information gained was: on the very day, or the next following that, -on which Mrs. John Smith sailed from San Diego for Santiago de Chile, -Doctor Alexander MacDonald, otherwise known as “Doctor Mack,” had -departed for the Philippines. No person at their recent home knew -anything further concerning these two persons, and owing to their long -journeys all communication with them was for the present impossible. - -The seventy-five Joseph Smiths residing in or around Baltimore had all -been unearthed, so to speak, without finding one who in any particular -beyond the name resembled the desired one. Not one was anybody’s twin, -not one happened to have had any relative in either San Diego or -Santiago, and not one welcomed the thought of receiving a strange child -into his household. - -One Joseph Smith had, indeed, been found to have lately resided at -1000 Bismarck Street and this confusion of street and avenue explained -to Uncle Joe’s mind the whole curious, yet simple blunder. This -Bismarck-Street Joseph Smith was, doubtless, the right one; but, also, -he was the only one of the seventy-five who could not now be located! -He had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed him, -and Josephine’s present guardian rested his efforts; merely causing an -advertisement to be inserted in each of the daily papers to the effect -that the person answering it might hear of something to his advantage -by calling at the newspaper office and leaving his address for the -advertiser, “S.” - -Nobody called. Matters dropped into a comfortable routine. Uncle Joe -was disturbed at finding the name of the trained nurse was also Smith, -and to prevent unpleasant complications, requested that he might call -her as the little girl did, “Mrs. Red Kimono,” or, more briefly, “Miss -Kimono,” she having set him right as to her maidenly condition. - -She readily and smilingly agreed to this, and, reporting the matter -to Mrs. Merriman, laughed so heartily over it, that that lady -remonstrated, saying: - -“Dear Miss Desire, it’s outrageous. Under the circumstances I would -never permit it. The idea! He excludes you from table with himself and -the little girl, does he not? For so Michael tells me.” - -“Yes. Not, I fancy, from arrogance, but merely from force of habit. -He dislikes women, utterly and sincerely. Or he thinks he does. But -Josephine has won his whole heart for childhood, and he likes her to -be with him as constantly as possible. From what the servants tell me, -she has wrought a complete transformation in the household. And she -is so lovely, so winning, that eventually she’ll bring everything -right. I don’t mind the table business; the main thing is that I am -in his house, tolerated there, and determined, if the time is not too -short, to prove to him that blood is thicker than water, and that, just -though he thinks himself, he has been wholly unjust in his treatment of -others. Oh, I don’t object to the situation. I get lots of quiet fun -out of it, and haven’t felt so happy in a long time. I’ve even lost -all bitterness against him, poor, solitary, prejudice-bound old man,” -returned the nurse. - -“Well, may I be there to see when the revelation is at last made! -Though I prophesy that his behavior in the matter will be as -straightforward as it was about the line-fence. Think! We squabbled -over it like a couple of silly children, for years and years. I can’t -understand now how I could ever have been so absurd. Must you go? Well, -then, since your employer wishes you to take little Josephine down -town to get that Rudanthy a head, suppose you both go with me in my -carriage? I will call for you at three o’clock.” - -Miss Kimono thanked her friend and departed; and that same afternoon -the unhappy doll’s ruined countenance was replaced by one so beautiful -that it almost consoled Josephine for the loss of the more familiar -face. - -That very day, too, away out in a suburban village, where rents were -cheap and needs few, three little lads sat on a bare floor, surrounding -a baby, who rejoiced in the high-sounding name of Penelope, but -rejoiced in very little else. Even now she was crying for her dinner, -and each of the “triplets,” as they were called by the neighbors, -was doing his utmost to console her. In reality they were not -triplets, though the eldest were twins, and their names were those so -objectionable in Uncle Joe’s ears, Tom, Dick, and Harry. - -“Here, Penel! You may play with my pin-wheel!” cried the latter. - -“No, Harry, she must not. She’ll swallow it. The pin’ll scratch her -insides. She swallows everything, Penelope does. And you mustn’t say -just ‘Penel.’ Mother doesn’t like that. She says it’s a beautiful name -and mustn’t be spoiled.” - -“Oh, Tom, you’re always a c’recting a fellow. Well, if she can’t have -my pin-wheel, what shall I give her to make her shut up?” - -“Maybe I can find something in mother’s cupboard, maybe,” answered -Harry. - -The tone was doubtful, but the suggestion cheering, and with one accord -the triplets left the baby to its fate and betook themselves to the -rear room where they ransacked a small pantry, only to find their -search rewarded by nothing more palatable than a stale loaf of bread -and a few raw potatoes. - -“She can’t eat taters, and she can’t eat this bread, ’ithout it’s -softened. And there isn’t any milk,” said Dick, despondingly. “I don’t -see why we don’t have things like we used to have. I don’t know what -made my folks move ’way out here to nowhere, anyway. I was just going -to get a new ’rithmetic to my school, and now, I--I hate this.” - -“No, you don’t hate it, Dicky. Not always. You’re hungry, that’s all,” -said the more thoughtful Tom. - -“Well, so are you!” retorted Dick, resenting the statement as if it -were an implication of guilt. - -“If you can’t get milk, water must do,” answered Tom, taking the loaf -from his brother’s hand and carefully breaking off a portion of it, to -moisten it under the spigot. - -The others watched him with keen interest, and Harry inquired: - -“Do you s’pose I could have just a little bit, Tom?” - -“No, I don’t s’pose anything like it. You aren’t a baby, are you? Only -babies eat when ’tisn’t dinner time, now.” - -“Once I used to eat when ’twasn’t dinner. Once I did,” answered the -little boy, with something like a quiver of the lip. - -“Does our father or our mother eat ’tween meals, Harry Smith?” demanded -Tom, indignantly. - -“No. Come on. If we can’t have bread let’s play hop-toad.” - -“All right. After I’ve set Penelope up against the wall so’s we shan’t -knock her over,” answered the brother. - -The little maid was soon propped securely across an angle of the -whitewashed wall, with a chair before her to keep her from creeping -forward into danger, and the small triplets were soon leaping over -one another’s backs, around and around the room. Fortunately, there -was little furniture to obstruct their movements and therefore little -danger of hurting themselves; and though the exercise tended to -increase their always-present hunger, that was nothing new. - -“A fellow can have a good time even if he doesn’t have a good dinner,” -was their father’s assertion; and to them father was an oracle. - -While the fun was at its height there came a knock on the little street -door. The house was but the tiniest of cottages, and its floor raised -but slightly above the street. Its door hung loosely from its upper -hinge and dragged so heavily in closing that it was commonly left ajar. -No landlord cared to fix it up for such poor tenants as now occupied -the property, and they had not done it for him. So that when his knock -was unanswered, because unheard, the visitor calmly entered, followed -the noise, and presented himself before the gaze of the astonished, -suddenly quieted lads. - -“Hello, youngsters, hard at it?” demanded the stranger, playfully. - -“Hop-toad, leap-frog; having frolics,” answered Harry, boldly, while -his brothers, the twins, clung together and looked anxiously at the man. - -“Nice game. Used to play it myself, when I was a little shaver. Don’t -know but I might be persuaded to try it again, if I was invited,” said -the unknown visitor. - -None of the trio responded to this suggestion, nor was the game -resumed. The three children stood utterly silent, regarding the -gentleman with the intensely critical gaze of childhood which pretence -finds so disconcerting. The stranger felt as if six gimlets were boring -their way through his outward amiability to the vexation beneath; a -vexation that he had allowed himself to come so far out of his way -to find a man who could not possibly reside in such a hovel. None -the less, since here he was he would ask a question or two for the -satisfaction of it, and put the first one, thus: - -“Say, youngsters, what’s your name?” - -“Tom, Dick, and Harry. That’s me,” answered the latter, placing his -arms akimbo, the better to stare at the questioner, it seemed. - -“The mischief! Saucy, aren’t you!” rejoined the newcomer. - -“And the baby. That’s Penelope,” added Tom, with his usual precise -gravity. - -“Tom, Dick, and Harry, and the baby; a hopeful lot of you. All right. -So much for first names, though I don’t believe they’re genuine. Give -us the last name and be quick about it,” ordered this odd man. - -“Our name is Smith. That’s our father’s name and our mother’s. Why? _Do -they owe you something?_ ’Cause if they do, I wish, I wish you’d please -go away, quick as a wink, and not let them know you’ve been here. My -father can’t help it. He--something got wrong with the business, and -I’ve heard them talk lots of times. They”--explained Tom. - -Just there it occurred to the little fellow that he was discussing -family affairs too freely with a stranger, and instinct made him pause. - -“Well, ‘they’ what? Is his name Joseph? Joseph Smith? Has he a brother -who is a twin?” asked the stranger. - -Tom considered, there seemed no harm in answering these questions. - -“Yes, his name is Joseph. He has a brother who is a twin, same as me -and Dick.” - -Then there ensued the following dialogue, begun by the visitor with the -next question: - -“Where does this uncle of yours live?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“Don’t know? Haven’t you ever seen him?” - -“No. Never.” - -“Where’s your father?” - -“Out looking for work. Maybe he’ll get it to-day, maybe.” - -The wistfulness of the childish voice told its own story, and even Mr. -Wakeman’s heart was touched by it. He was compelled to say: - -“Likely he will, chappie. Likely enough he will. And your mother? I -suppose you have a mother?” - -“Course. The nicest mother there is.” - -“Does she happen to be at home?” - -Tom’s gaze flew past the questioner toward a little woman who had -entered unperceived, and who was closely followed by a handsome man -with a mien as bright and undaunted as if he were not evidently -half-starved and poor in the extreme. With the gentlest of movements -he placed himself between the lady and the stranger, as if to ward off -from her any fresh misfortune. - -“Your errand, Mr.”-- - -“Wakeman. My name is Wakeman. Since you didn’t answer our advertisement -I looked you up, myself. I represent Joseph Smith, of the Stock -Exchange.” - -“Ah!” The ejaculation spoke volumes. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE DISPOSAL OF THE PARCEL. - - -In that little word “Ah!” were expressed hope, relief, eagerness, and -gratitude. The name was that of a well-known financier; one who had the -power of dispensing good or ill to hundreds of other men. It could not -forebode ill to the master of this insignificant home, since he was no -debtor to it; therefore it must denote some blessing. A situation, the -chance to earn a living for these precious ones whom his failure and -his honesty had impoverished. For the first time, at the relief of this -fancy, tears leaped to the bright, clear eyes of this new Joseph Smith, -and unconsciously, it seemed, he clasped his wife’s thin waist with his -strong arm. - -“Cheer for us, Kitty, girl. Doubtless this other Joseph Smith needs -an accountant and has heard of my skill that way. I was an expert, -sir, before I went into business for myself and failed, attempting a -commercial line I did not understand,” explained the man, yet losing -his own courage as the explanation went on. He had boasted thus of his -reputation the better to comfort his wife, but he read no encouragement -in the countenance of Mr. Wakeman, which grew more forbidding each -instant. - -“Do not mistake, Mr. Smith. My errand is not of the sort which you -appear to expect. My employer--I am myself an expert accountant, and -the only one necessary to our business--my employer does not know of my -present visit. Some days ago he entrusted a private bit of detective -work to me, and I have now, I think, brought it to a finish. Why, -however, may I ask, did you not reply to our advertisement?” - -“I have seen none. This,” waving his hand around the bare apartment, -“is hardly the place where the luxury of newspapers may be looked for. -What was the advertisement, if you please?” - -Mr. Wakeman explained. Explained, added, itemized, and diffused himself -all over the argument, so to speak, while the faces of his audience -grew more and more tense and disturbed. At length he finished: - -“That is the way it stands, sir, you see. Your brother John consigned -this child to my employer, through a mistake in the address. Simply -that. Now an old gentleman and--feeble, I may say”-- Oh! if Uncle Joe -could have heard him! “A feeble old man is not the one to be burdened -with other folks’ relations. When I go back to town, now, I’ll be able -to report that the missing uncle of this waif has been found at last, -and that--Shall I say when you will call to reclaim her?” - -Father and mother looked into each other’s eyes, one questioning the -other, and reading in each but the same answer. Then said Joseph Smith, -rightful uncle of our Josephine: - -“Spare yourself the trouble, Mr. Wakeman. My brother’s child is our -child, as dear and near. Alas, that I can offer her no better shelter! -but it is a safe one and will be more comfortable. I shall soon get a -situation; I _must_ soon get one. It is impossible that skill shall go -forever unrecognized. In any case the little Josephine must come home -to us. Eh, Kitty, girl?” - -She answered him valiantly, seeing through his unusual boastfulness, -who was commonly so modest of his own attainments, and smiling back -upon him with the same undaunted courage he brought to their changed -life. It was taking bread from her own children’s mouths to do what now -she did, yet her step never faltered as she walked across to the little -cupboard and took from some hidden nook, known only to herself, their -last quarter dollar. This she gave to her husband, saying cheerily: - -“If you go at once, Joe, you may be home again in time for dinner. -I’d like to be prompt with it for I’ve secured a dress to make for a -woman in the neighborhood and can begin it to-night. Besides, I’m all -impatience to see this little Josephine. Think of it, dear, the child -who was named for you. How little we dreamed she was right here in our -own Baltimore all this time. Go, dear, at once.” - -With something like a groan the man caught the brave little creature in -his arms, and was not ashamed to kiss her then and there before this -staring stranger who had brought them this news. Ill or good, which -would it prove? Then he put on his hat and went directly away. - -Mr. Wakeman followed more slowly. He did not feel as much elated over -his success as an amateur detective as he fancied he should feel. He -was thinking of many things. Suppose this fellow, who was so down on -his luck, this other unknown, insignificant Joseph Smith, should happen -to take the fancy of the great Joseph Smith, of whom the world of -business stood in such awe, and that magnate should happen to employ -him on certain little matters of his own? Suppose those inquiries were -directed toward his, Mr. Wakeman’s, own accounts, what would follow? -Who could tell? Hmm! Yes, indeed. To prevent any such “happenings” -that might prove unpleasant, it would be as well to make a little -detour around by the office, even though it was after office hours and -business all done for that day. In any case the new-found Uncle Joe, -the real article, was now _en route_ for 1000 Bismarck Avenue, and it -wouldn’t take two to tell the same story. Mr. Wakeman hoped the story -would be told, and that child which had caused him so much trouble well -out of the way before he again met his master. Then would be quite time -enough to look for a reward, such as was due from a multi-millionaire -to his trusted and effective man of affairs. - -Pondering thus, Mr. Wakeman rode back to town in a livery hack, while -the impecunious uncle of the little Californian rode thither in a -democratic street car. The faster the car sped the more impatient the -improvident young man became. He wondered if his twin’s little daughter -could be half as pretty and interesting as his own small people. He -was glad he had never once written John or Helen anything about his -business troubles. They supposed him to be doing uncommonly well and -living in comfort, if not in luxury. Well, if this young Josephine -were of the same good stock as her father a little poverty and -privation in her youth wouldn’t hurt her; and where, search the wide -world over, could any child find a sweeter, better foster-mother than -his own Kitty? - -When he arrived at Bismarck Avenue, things were already happening there -which were out of the ordinary, to say the least. Among the day’s -mail had come several letters to one Miss Desire Parkinson Smith, -care of Mr. Joseph Smith. These letters had been handed to the master -along with his own, and had caused him surprise amounting almost to -consternation. - -“Desire Parkinson! Desire Parkinson! And Smith! The combination is -remarkable, if nothing more, Peter,” he exclaimed. - -“Yes, suh, Massa Joe. Yes, suh,” returned the also startled negro. - -“Do you see these letters?” asked the master. - -“Yes, sir,” said the butler. - -“Notice the superscription. Ever been any others with the same?” - -“Yes, suh, heaps. Most all of them comes to Miss Kimono. Though some is -just plain Miss Smith.” - -“Hmm! Hmm! This is--this is--disturbing,” admitted Mr. Smith. - -Uncle Joe dropped into deep thought and sat so long in profound quiet -that Josephine, playing on the carpet near by, folded her hands and -watched him anxiously. She had grown to love his stern old face, that -was never stern to her, with all the fervor of her affectionate heart; -and presently she could not refrain from tiptoeing to him and laying -her soft fingers tentatively upon his arm. He looked up at her, smiled, -and murmured, more to himself than to her: - -“Strange, strange. I’ve noticed something, a familiar trick of manner, -something unforgotten from boyhood, Aunt Sophronia-- Little Josephine, -where is your--your nurse?” - -“In the sitting-room with Mrs. Merriman, Uncle Joe. Shall I call her?” -she answered. - -“If you will, dear. I’d like to speak with her a moment,” said he. - -The ladies were deep in the intricacies of a new lace pattern, and -though Miss Kimono rose obediently to the summons Josephine delivered, -Mrs. Merriman for once forgot the requirements of etiquette and -followed without invitation. But Mr. Smith was now too excited to -notice this, and so it happened that one of the old gentlewoman’s -wishes was gratified without anybody’s connivance. “May I be there to -see,” she had said, and here she was. - -“Miss Smith, what is your Christian name?” demanded the master of the -house. - -“Desire Parkinson, Mr. Smith,” glancing toward the letters lying on his -table, replied the nurse. They flung their brief remarks at each other, -as though they were tossing balls, thus: - -HE: “That is an uncommon name, Miss--Smith.” - -SHE: “As uncommon, I suppose, as our mutual surname is common.” - -HE: “Were you named for anybody in especial?” - -SHE: “For a very dear lady in especial. For my mother’s twin sister.” - -HE: “She was a Parkinson?” - -SHE: “She was a Parkinson.” - -HE: “She married a Smith?” - -SHE: “She married a Smith, of Virginia. So did my mother another Smith, -of another State. The world is full of them, Mr. Smith. We shall never -be lonely because of a dearth of our patronymic.” The lady was smiling -in great amusement, and, it is possible, the amusement was tinctured by -a spice of malice. - -HE: “What was your mother’s Christian name, if I may ask?” - -SHE: “Surely you may ask, and I will answer to the best of my ability. -Her name was Sophronia.” - -HE: “Then you and I are--are”-- - -SHE: “Bear up, Mr. Smith, we are first cousins.” - -HE: “You--you knew this before?” - -SHE: “I’ve known it ever since our branch of the family began fighting -you to recover their portion of the old family estates in--Virginia!” - -The excitement of the moment, so long anticipated by her and undreamed -of by him, was tinging her cheeks with a little color which made her, -for the time being, nearly as handsome as he was and that brought -out with distinctness a strong family likeness. This resemblance -was swiftly detected by little Josephine, who caught a hand of each -exclaiming: - -“Why, you’re just the same as one another, my darling Kimono and my -precious Uncle Joe! We’re all folks together? We’re all the same Smith -folks together!” - -Upon this tableau the portières parted, and the dignified voice of -Peter obtruded the announcement: - -“Mr. Joseph Smith.” - -Utter silence for an instant, then Josephine dropped the hands she was -clasping and bounded toward the newcomer, almost screaming her delight: - -“Papa! Papa! Papa!” - -“My little Joe! John’s one baby daughter! My precious little namesake!” - -The mislaid uncle had been found! That truth was evident in the -spontaneous recognition of him, by his likeness so strong to his twin, -that even the daughter had confounded the pair. A moment later, though, -the child had perceived her own mistake and was regarding him more -shyly, from the safe refuge of the old Uncle Joe’s knee, which had long -since learned to adjust itself to the convenience of small maidens. - -Something prompted Mrs. Merriman and Miss Kimono to withdraw from -a scene they dreaded might be painful, and they thoughtfully -took Josephine away with them. They knew, far better than she, -how wonderfully she had grown into the lonely heart of the aged -millionaire, whose money was so powerless to buy for him what this -other, younger Joseph was so rich in. It were kinder and wiser to leave -the two uncles alone, and face to face to adjust their complicated -affairs as best they might. - -Nobody need have feared, though. When folk are honest-minded, and love -a common object, such as little Josephine, matters are soon arranged. -In half an hour the conference was over, and the child ran back into -the library to find the two Uncle Joes standing before its window and -looking across the pretty square--where the crocuses were peeping -through the tender grass and no sign of snow remained--toward a small -house on its sunny northeastern corner. - -The child slipped in between the two and caught a hand of both, while -for an instant each diverted his gaze to her sweet face and smiled upon -her. Then began again the deep, well-beloved tones of the old Uncle Joe: - -“There, Joseph, that’s the house. It’s empty. I bought it on a -speculation, and fitted it up well. It’s completely furnished, and so -nicely I wouldn’t let it to every tenant who’s applied. That will go -with the position, in addition to the salary. I’ve been dissatisfied -with Mr. Wakeman this long time. He’s too officious, too grasping, too -eager. I’m thankful he found you, and will pay him well for it. But -that ends his service to me. I’ll give him an advance of wages and -shake him. You can enter upon your duties--to-morrow, if you like. I’ll -send out a van or two to move in your effects.” - -The new Uncle Joe held up his hand. - -“Unnecessary, dear Mr. Smith. Our effects could easily be brought in on -a pushcart;” yet saying this the man’s smile was neither less bright -nor more ashamed. Why should he be ashamed? He had gone down in one -battle with the world, but he was up again and ready for another. - -The answer, somehow, pleased the elder man. He liked simplicity, and -he liked frankness. Josephine’s new uncle possessed both these, with -an added cheerfulness which communicated itself to all who met him. -He was, or had been, as ready to take his brother’s charge upon his -hands in his penury as he now seemed to be in his suddenly acquired -prosperity. - -Looking across the square at the home offered him, his eye kindled and -his cheek glowed. His figure that had stooped somewhat from the wasted -strength due insufficient food became erect, and his whole bearing -assumed a military poise that was so fondly familiar to the little -Californian. - -“Oh, my, Uncle Joe! My dear, sweet, new Uncle Joe! You’re more and -more like my papa all the time. If you had on his gray, bright-buttony -soldier clothes, and his lovely red sash, you would be a regular -Company F--er! wouldn’t you? I wish mamma was here, and papa and Doctor -Mack and funny big Bridget!” - -“So they all shall be some day, Josephine. But first you’ll have to get -acquainted with Tom, Dick, Harry, and Penelope, and the sweetest Aunt -Kitty that ever the sun shone on,” he answered heartily. - -Josephine’s brown eyes opened in astonishment, and she said, with a -deprecating look at the old Uncle Joe: - -“I’d like to, if you’d like me to, but he--this one--_he_’d not like -me to. He said, he told Michael, that lovely red-headed Michael, that -I couldn’t hob-nob--whatever that is--with any Tom, Dick, or Harry who -was in the square. Didn’t you, Uncle Joe?” - -It pleased the old gentleman that she still retained her familiar name -for him, and he lifted her tenderly to his breast, replying: - -“Yes, little lassie, I did; but that was before I knew these were real -children who were coming to live in my house yonder. Such boys as are -brought up by this gentleman, and your own cousins--why, of course, -it’s different.” - -From her safe place within the first uncle’s arms, she questioned the -younger man: - -“Have you got all those to your house, Uncle Joe?” - -“Yes, little girl. Will you come and live with them when we all move to -that pretty house on the corner?” he responded. - -Her arm went around her first friend’s neck, and he now didn’t fret in -the least because it rumpled his fresh linen, as she cuddled her cheek -against his, and asked: - -“Who’ll live here with you in this big house, first Uncle Joe?” - -“Oh, I suppose my colored ‘boys’ only; as before you came,” was his -low-toned answer. - -“Nobody else?” she continued, in tones equally low. - -He sighed: “Who else could, lassie?” - -“Why, me! He’s got so many, and it’s only across the square. And Red -Kimono, who’s your own cousin, you know. Shall we?” - -“If you will, darling,” answered the old man, with moistened eyes. - -“Then when papa and mamma come back from that far off red-pickley -country maybe they’d be glad to stay, too. Can’t ’lectrickellers find -places to earn money in this Baltimore, Uncle Joe?” - -“Be sure that your Uncle Joe and I will find your electrician a fine -place, little one; and we’ll call Red Kimono by her real name, Cousin -Desire, because she was my mother’s twin sister’s child; and we’ll -send for big Bridget to wait upon this real Tom, Dick, and Harry -combination of youngsters; and--anything you like!” he answered, so -gleefully that even Peter scarcely recognized him. - -“Will you? Will you? Oh, I love you--I love you! I love you both, both. -But isn’t it the twiniest kind of world ever was! Papa and Uncle Joe -are twins; and your mamma and Red Kimono’s mamma were twins; and Tom -and Dick are twins; and big Bridget’s folks are twins; and--Oh, oh, -there’s my darling, red-headed Michael going by! I must call him in, I -truly must! Won’t he be the gladdest boy ever lived, to know all about -my new cousins that I never saw coming to live and play with us in the -square? He hasn’t any child to his house and you haven’t any child but -me to yours, Uncle Joe; and the line-fence is down; so nothing’s to -hinder Michael and me making another pair of twins, is there?” - -Nobody prevented the child’s movement to bring in her first -child-friend in that strange city to which she had come, and presently -entered the jolly lad, flushed and breathless and a trifle unkempt, -as was his habit, but with such a manly bearing and such a world of -good-fellowship beaming from his freckled face, that the new Uncle Joe -instantly rejoiced in the prospect of such a comrade for his own small -lads. - -“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith and--Mr. Smith; and is it all just as she -says?” demanded the small gentleman from Virginia. “Has the little -‘Express Parcel’ really found her right uncle at last? ’Cause it’s just -like a ’Rabian Night’s story, seems to me, and girls--well, girls, you -know, they--they’re sometimes silly, ’cept Josephine, maybe.” Then, as -if a sudden fear attacked him he turned upon her, firmly admonishing -her to remember: “If I’m to be your twin, as you say, you’ve got to -have no nonsense in it. If I say ‘go in’ when there’s a lot of boys out -in the square you’ll have to mind, ’cause they don’t always act polite, -you see. Oh, bother! It’s all boys, anyway, isn’t it! I wish there was -another girl, to even up”-- - -“Why, Michael Merriman!” cried Josephine, interrupting her playmate’s -long speech. “There is another girl! You forget--how _could_ you -forget--_Penelope!_” - -At which the new Uncle Joe threw back his handsome head and laughed -as he had not laughed in many a day; for in fancy he could see Miss -Penelope, aged seven months, helping “Cousin Josephine” to maintain -the dignity of their mutual girlhood, as against a square full of -rollicking lads. - -Presently everybody was laughing, for happiness is delightfully -infectious, and always even more “catching” than the measles. Grandma -Merriman and Cousin Desire, who had come quietly into the room; the -three black “boys” in the hall outside; the two Uncle Joes and Michael; -and most heartily, most musically of all, the little San Diegan, who -for very joy could not keep still, but went skipping and flying about -the room, like a bewilderingly lovely butterfly, demanding between -whiles of the person nearest: - -“Oh, isn’t it beautiful, beautiful? Aren’t you glad I was a wrong -‘parcel,’ and came to this wrong, splendid, old Uncle Joe?” - -“I am,” answered that gentleman, with sweet solemnity; “since your -coming has showed me how to deal justly, and love mercy, and find -happiness in my barren wealth. God bless you, little ‘Parcel’!” - -“Amen, and amen!” echoed the other Uncle Joe, as he went softly and -swiftly out, to carry the good news to those whom he loved. - - -THE END. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Alternate or archaic spelling has been retained from the original. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISLAID UNCLE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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