CHAPTER XIIITHE PALACE OF BEAUTY
IT was a lovely June afternoon, and an automobile was bowling swiftly along the Hudson Boulevard, away from the big, noisy city. It was a large touring-car, and in it were four persons. On the front seat were a lady and gentleman, the latter of whom was running the car himself, and in the back were a little girl and a maid. The little girl, to whom motoring was still a novelty, was looking about her in wide-eyed interest, and uttering little ejaculations of delight every few seconds.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Higgins?” she cried, turning to the maid. “I didn’t know there were such beautiful places anywhere near New York, did you?”
“It’s very pretty, miss,” returned Higgins, guardedly, “but hit hain’t to be compared with Hengland. You should see Lord Carresford’s hestate. Hif you could see that, Miss Gretel, you might well call hit beautiful.”
But Gretel did not look convinced.
“I don’t see how any place can be more beautiful than this,” she maintained. “See that big house on the hill? It looks just like a castle, doesn’t it? I wonder who lives there?”
“Most likely some of the millionaires,” responded Higgins, who would have died sooner than admit that anything American could equal her beloved England. “Hit’s a pretty place, but hit don’t compare with what I’ve seen hin the old country.”
At that moment the lady in the front seat turned her head with the announcement—
“We are almost home, Gretel; that is our place on the hill.”
Gretel gave a great gasp of astonishment; speech failed her at that moment. Even the solid Higgins opened her eyes in surprise, as the car turned in at a pair of iron gates, and in two minutes more had dashed up a wide avenue lined with beautiful old trees, and drawn up before a large stone house with pillars. It was the very house Gretel had described as “looking like a castle.”
“Well, how do you like it, Gretel?” her brother asked, smiling, as he sprang out of the car, and came to help Higgins unpack their belongings.
“It’s the most beautiful place I ever saw,” declared Gretel, finding her voice at last. “Is this really where you and Barbara live, and am I going to live here, too?”
“We are going to spend the summer here, at any rate,” Mr. Douane answered. “I have rented the place for six months.”
“Come in, Gretel,” said her sister-in-law, “I want to show you your room.” And she led the way into a wide hall hung with pictures.
“I really believe it is a castle,” laughed Gretel, pausing on the threshold to gaze about her with eager, delighted eyes. “I feel as if I must be a princess, and you and Percy are the king and queen.”
“Poor little Cinderella,” said Mrs. Douane, and there was a sudden dimness in her eyes, as she led the way up the wide staircase to the second floor.
“No, it isn’t a castle, but just a dear old house, filled with beautiful things. The old lady who owns it was a friend of my mother’s, and she has let us have the place just as it is. I used to visit here when I was a little girl, and have always loved the house, so when I heard that Mrs. Atterbury was going abroad this summer, andwanted to rent her place, I persuaded Percy to come and look at it, and he was as much delighted as I was. We have even taken the old servants; two of them have lived here for more than twenty years and knew me when I wasn’t as old as you. This is your room, right opposite mine. Come in and see how you like it.”
“Like it!” cried Gretel, and that was really all she could say just then. It was such a pretty room, with such lovely old furniture in it, and the walls were covered with charming prints and engravings. There were two big windows looking off toward the river, and the mountains on the opposite shore; and the little white bed, with its dainty furnishings was truly a joy to behold. But it was not any of these things which caused Gretel to spring forward, with a little cry. It was the sight of an old rag doll sitting in solemn state by one of the windows, and a row of shabby old books on a shelf over the writing-desk.
“They’re my own things, my own precious things!” she cried, snatching up the rag doll, and hugging it to her heart. “This is my Jemima, that Father gave me for a Christmas present, when I was only seven, and there are all my dear, dear books and the German Bible, and everything.”
“Open the desk and see what is inside,” said Mrs. Douane, smiling.
With trembling hands, Gretel opened one of the drawers in the writing-desk, and there lay a pile of old letters, tied together with a piece of faded blue ribbon. Gretel gave one little sob as she caught them up and kissed them. They were her greatest treasure of all; the letters from her father.
“Oh, Barbara, how did you get them?” she cried, rapturously. “Percy said I should have them again, but I didn’t believe I really could. I was so afraid Mrs. Marsh had thrown them away. She said she hated keeping old things; they cluttered up drawers and made more trouble in house-cleaning.”
With a sudden impulse, Mrs. Douane took her little sister in her arms, and kissed her.
“You dear child,” she said. “Of course Mrs. Marsh did not throw away your treasures; she would not have dared to do such a thing. Percy wrote her from Old Point, asking her to keep everything until he could send for them.”
“Oh, I am so happy,” cried Gretel. “I think I’m the happiest person in the world. Did Percy go to see Mrs. Marsh?”
“No, he wrote to her, giving the address, andshe sent the parcel at once. Percy also received a note from Miss Marsh, announcing her engagement to a Mr. Pendleton. She expects to be married this month.”
Gretel looked pleased.
“I’m glad,” she said; “I liked Mr. Pendleton; he was always very kind. Once when he came to see Ada he brought me some chocolates.”
“Well, I am glad, too, if you are,” laughed Mrs. Douane, “though I never had the pleasure of meeting Miss Ada. Here comes Higgins, and I am going to leave you to wash off some of that horrid dust while I get ready for dinner. Dust is really the only drawback to motoring.”
But Gretel did not think that even dust could be considered a drawback to such a delightful amusement. She had never been so happy or excited in her life, and it was rather hard work to stand still and have her hair brushed and tied with a fresh ribbon, while there was still so much to see and admire in this beautiful new home. The past month had been a very pleasant one. Mr. and Mrs. Barlow had been as kind as possible, and she and the twins had become the best of friends. They had remained at Old Point until the first of June, and then gone to Washington for a week on their way north. Gretelhad seen the Capitol, and the White House, and spent one delightful afternoon at Mount Vernon, wandering about the beautiful old home of General Washington. They had left Washington only that morning, and on reaching the station in New York, Gretel had been met by her brother and sister in their new touring-car. It had been a rather sad parting, for at the last moment, Geraldine—to everybody’s surprise—had suddenly burst into tears, and flinging her arms round Gretel’s neck, had positively refused to be parted from her friend. It was not until Mr. and Mrs. Douane had given the twins a most urgent invitation to visit Gretel in her new home, that Geraldine had at last consented to be torn away, and allow Gretel to depart with her family.
The dinner that evening was another revelation to Gretel. The prettily decorated table, with a big bowl of roses in the center; the neat, white-capped maid, who waited on them, and her sister-in-law, looking lovelier than ever in her white evening dress, all combined to fill the little girl with wonder and admiration.
“It is a palace, and Percy and Barbara are the prince and princess,” she told herself. “I’m Cinderella, and I’ve come to live with them, butoh, how dreadful it would be if it should all come to an end when the clock strikes twelve.”
“What are you thinking of, Gretel?” her brother asked, noticing the look of sudden anxiety on the child’s hitherto radiant face.
Gretel laughed and blushed.
“It was very silly,” she said, “but I couldn’t help it. I was thinking how perfectly wonderful everything was, and then just for a minute I thought how terrible it would be if it should all come to an end just as it did with Cinderella when the clock struck twelve.”
Mr. and Mrs. Douane both smiled, and the latter said—
“I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. This little Cinderella has come home to stay, and we are all going to have a happy summer together.”
“By the way, Barbara,” said Mr. Douane, “I saw the man about that pony this morning. I am going to have you learn to ride, Gretel; it’s the best exercise in the world, and we must have you fat and rosy before you go to school in the autumn.”
It was a beautiful moonlight night, and after dinner they all went out on the piazza, and sat watching the boats on the river. It was so stillthat they could hear the band on the Albany steamer, as it passed, and so warm that scarcely a leaf stirred. Gretel would have liked to linger there for hours, with the two people she loved best in the world, but at nine o’clock her sister-in-law advised her to go to bed.
“You have been traveling all day,” she said, “and need a good night’s rest.”
“I feel so wide awake that I don’t think I can possibly go to sleep,” said Gretel, rising rather reluctantly, “but I’ll try if you want me to.” And she kissed her brother and sister good night, and went up-stairs to her pretty room, where she found the faithful Higgins busy unpacking.
Gretel had so many things to say to Higgins, that the process of undressing was a rather lengthy one, but it was over at last, and Higgins, having seen her charge safely in bed, was preparing to leave the room, when Gretel called her back.
“Higgins,” she said a little timidly, “I don’t believe you are very fond of being kissed, are you?”
“I’m not much haddicted to hit,” admitted Higgins, who was fond of using long words. “In fact, I ’aven’t kissed any one since I saidgood-by to my mother hin the hold country. What do you want to know for, miss?”
“I was thinking that—but perhaps you’d rather not do it,” said Gretel, evasively. “It’s only that I’m so very happy to-night, I feel as if I should like to kiss everybody in the world.”
“You mean you would like to kiss me, miss?” There was something like consternation in Higgins’ voice, but she flushed all over her plain face, and looked for the moment really quite embarrassed.
“I should like to very much indeed if you wouldn’t mind,” said Gretel, and as the English woman bent down her face, she threw two soft little arms round Higgins’ neck, and kissed her heartily.
Higgins did not say anything, but switched out the light very hurriedly, and Gretel did not see the tears in her eyes, or hear her murmur softly as she left the room—
“There never was a sweeter child hin this country or the hold one either.”
It was quite true that Gretel was not sleepy. She was far too happy and excited to sleep, and she lay for some time, with wide-open eyes, living over all the delightful events of the day. She had taken the old rag doll to bed with her, andslipped the packet of her father’s letters under her pillow. It was so good to know that all her treasures were safe, and in her own possession once more. She was just beginning to feel a little sleepy, when her ear caught the sound of a distant piano, and she started up wide awake again.
“It’s Barbara!” she cried joyfully. “Oh, what a beautiful ending to the day to hear Barbara play before I go to sleep.”
She had no idea of doing anything wrong, or even unusual, as she sprang out of bed, and hastily putting on her wrapper and bath slippers—which Higgins had left on a chair by the bedside—opened the door, and stole softly out into the hall. In the old studio days she had often sat up till midnight while her father and his friends played and sang. Yes, Barbara was playing, and eager to get as near as possible to the music she loved, Gretel went on to the head of the stairs. The drawing-room door was directly opposite the staircase, and Gretel could hear every note as distinctly as if she had been in the room. With a little sigh of utter content, she sat down on the top stair, intending to enjoy another sensation of bliss before going back to bed again. The moonlight streaming inthrough the hall window, fell across the little figure in the blue flannel wrapper, and rested softly on the child’s rapt face.
Mrs. Douane finished the nocturne she was playing, and in the pause which followed, Gretel heard her brother say—
“Play something from Wagner.”
“I’ll play The Swan Song from ‘Lohengrin,’” his wife answered, and after turning over some music, she began a melody Gretel knew, and which set the child’s heart to beating fast, while the hot color rushed up into her cheeks. How well she remembered it all; the crowded opera house; the beautiful scene; the great orchestra, and the clear tenor voice of Lohengrin, singing the farewell to his beloved swan. Then the coming out into the cold, windy street and the shame and remorse that followed.
Suddenly the music stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Mr. Douane asked, in surprise; “have you forgotten it?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten it,” his wife answered, with something between a sob and a laugh, “but I can’t play it to-night; my heart is too full. I haven’t played Lohengrin since—why I don’t believe I ever told you about my tragic experience last winter.”
“You have told me of experiences which seemed to me sufficiently tragic, but what is this particular one?”
“I suppose I was foolish to take it as seriously as I did,” said Mrs. Douane. “It really wasn’t as tragic as many other things, but it came at a time when I had just about reached the end of my tether, and you know it is always the last straw that breaks the camel’s back. It was in March, and I was about as blue and discouraged as any one well could be. I had been hungering for a little music for once, but never felt I could spare the money for a ticket to a concert. Then one day I happened to see in the paper that they were giving ‘Lohengrin’ at the Saturday matinée that week, and the temptation proved too great to be resisted. I struggled with my economical scruples for two days, and then on Friday afternoon, I let scruples go to the winds, went to the opera house, and bought a ticket for the balcony. It cost me three dollars, and I knew I hadn’t a dollar to waste on frivolities, but it was my one dissipation of the winter.
“I hurried home with my treasure, feeling like a naughty child, who has stolen a piece of cake, and then what do you suppose I discovered?”
“What?” inquired Mr. Douane, as his wife paused dramatically, and Gretel, on the stairs, held her breath, and leaned forward to catch every word.
“I had lost my ticket,” said Mrs. Douane, solemnly.
“Lost your ticket?” repeated her husband; “how did it happen—where did you put it?”
“In my purse, I thought, but it must have dropped out, for I found the clasp unfastened. I really don’t think I ever had quite such a shock in my life. I rushed back to the opera house, hoping the ticket might have been picked up and returned to the box office, but of course it was of no use. It was a very windy day, and the envelope may have been blown away, nobody knows where. There was nothing to be done but go home and bear the disappointment as well as I could.”
“Poor little girl,” said Mr. Douane, tenderly, “I can imagine what it meant to you. I should like to find the fellow who picked up that ticket, and give him a piece of my mind. Any one should have known that the proper thing to do was to return it to the box office. Did you go back again? It might have been returned later, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I tried twice more before giving up all hope. Unfortunately, I did not remember the number of my seat, and the man at the box office assured me there was no hope. Whoever found the ticket must have used it, but perhaps it was never picked up at all. I think I was about as unhappy that night as any girl could be, but you know the old saying, ‘The darkest hour is always just before dawn.’ It was the very next day that Mrs. Barlow’s letter came, asking me to go to Old Point, and it was only a week later that you and I met; so I ought not to complain, ought I?”
“Well, perhaps not, but I still maintain that I should like to find the person who picked up that ticket. It was a confoundedly dishonest trick not to have handed it in at the box office.”
Mr. Douane said a good deal more, but that was all Gretel heard. As silently as it had come, the little figure on the stairs rose and slipped away. The child’s face was very white, and her eyes were big and frightened. When she reached her own room, she closed the door softly, and sank down in a little heap on the bed. She was trembling all over.
“It was Barbara’s ticket to fairy-land, and I stole it,” she whispered. “Percy said it was aconfoundedly dishonest thing to do. Barbara loves ‘Lohengrin’ as much as I do, and she was poor, too. I knew I had been wicked, but I never knew I’d really been dishonest. I love Barbara better than any one in the world, and I stole her ticket to fairy-land!”
Poor little repentant Cinderella! Her happy day was over; the clock had struck twelve.