The next day Dorothy was ill as the result of the strain of the previous evening, and when Mr. Ludlow and Ruth called they found her resting on the couch in the living room. Ruth was eager to talk of the happenings of the night before, but Mr. Ludlow restrained her, saying:
“Dorothy, I am very proud of you, and I want to thank you for what you did last night. The morning papers are full of the news of the events of last night, and now every place you go you will be doubly welcomed and given hearty receptions. It was a very good thing for us as it has given you advance press notices, which are superior and more convincing than anything I could put in for you. You will probably get all kinds of letters from people wanting you to play at private concerts, but keep them, my dear, as sometimes they come in very handy, and you never can tell when you can use them.
“But for the present you must rest, that is, to-day and to-morrow. Tuesday we start on the noon train for Washington, so be prepared and on time. Ruth has much packing to do likewise, so we will go now and leave you to yourself.”
“Oh, can’t I stay and talk?” interrupted Ruth eagerly. “There are so many things I want to talk to Dorothy about.”
“No. I guess you had better go home and pack up. You know I want you to go to church to-night. There is to be a musical service at St. Bartholomew’s that I want you to hear,” added Mr. Ludlow.
“Can’t we all go?” questioned Ruth.
“I think Dorothy is better off home, here,” rejoined Aunt Betty. “She had better stay here and rest, just for to-day. Then you see, she has to pack and shop a little to-morrow.”
“I would like to go,” Alfy chimed in. “I just love church music, it is so grand, so very impressive and kind of awe inspiring.”
“All right,” answered Mr. Ludlow, “suppose you do. You can bring Jim with you, if he would care to come.”
“I know I should enjoy the services very much,” responded Jim, not very enthusiastically, but solong as he couldn’t be with Dorothy he could sit there and think of her, and Alfy was so anxious to go it would be unkind to refuse.
“Well, you two meet us there,” said Mr. Ludlow, and turning to Ruth, “Come along, my dear.”
“Good-bye, all,” said Ruth, and they departed.
Dorothy and Aunt Betty stayed home as arranged, while Jim and Alfy attended church, returning to the hotel just as Aunt Betty and Dorothy were about to retire.
“Oh, Dorothy,” exclaimed Alfy, eagerly, “you ought to have gone, you missed such a lot. The music was so beautiful. I just know that an organ has locked up in those big pipes the finest music in the world. It’s so solemn and impressive it most made me cry.”
“But you forget the wonderful singing,” interrupted Jim. “They had a full choir, and the voices of so many young boys sounded like the voices of angels. And as they played the recessional and marched out, the singing grew softer and softer, and sounded as if it were coming from Heaven indeed.”
Dorothy did not say anything at this, but looked at Jim earnestly.
“I am glad you enjoyed the services. Yes, theEpiscopal services, I do think, are the most impressive of all denominations,” said Aunt Betty.
“Did you see Ruth and Mr. Ludlow?” asked Dorothy, turning to Alfy. She was afraid to look at Jim for fear of seeing something in his eyes she felt she had no right at that time to see.
“Yes, we met them in time, and they both wished to be remembered to you and Aunt Betty, and hoped you were feeling rested now,” answered Alfy.
“Come, let’s go to bed now, dears,” said Aunt Betty. “We all have to do a lot to-morrow and must get up real early.” With that they all retired to rest till the morrow. That at least was their expectation, but soon there was to materialize a different aspect to affairs. New York, even at night, is a noisy place, so it is little wonder that when the cries of “Fire,” “Fire,” rent the air, few heard and the few who did hear paid not much attention.
But when someone knocked on Mrs. Calvert’s door with a terrific thud, and yelled, “Fire! Fire! All out! Use stairs to the left!” all three, Aunt Betty, Dorothy and Alfy, were out of their beds with unhesitating promptness, and remarkably scared at that.
“Fire! Fire!” rang through the air, and they could hear the bell-boys thump, thump, thump on each door.
“Put on your slippers and kimona and come at once!” commanded Aunt Betty, suiting actions to her words. “Come, Alfy, Dorothy, this way out!”
Very quickly, indeed, the girls, too bewildered to do much else but obey orders, followed close by, Alfy picking up her hat and a few other articles as she ran through her room.
“This way, ladies,” called the bell-boy. “This way. No danger, only it’s best to get out. Use this stair.”
Aunt Betty and the girls quickly gained the stairs, and ran down as fast as they could, one after the other. On reaching the main floor they heard the call of another attendant. “All step outside and across the street.” So they followed quietly on and outside till they stood on the opposite side of the street.
There were assembled a couple of hundred people, mainly guests of the hotel, most of them more or less asleep and very scantily clothed in garments hastily assumed. Some of the women and children were sobbing, and most of them shivering. Looking up at the hotel, Dorothy tried tolocate just where the fire was. She finally discovered a little flame and smoke curling up from the wing of the hotel, not where their rooms were, but far above, near the top floors. Quickly she ran her eye down and counted the floors, finding that the fire was on the tenth and eleventh floors.
Suddenly it came to her that her priceless violin, her precious Cremona, was back there in their rooms on the seventh floor. Suddenly she slipped away from Aunt Betty and started toward the building. Swiftly she made her way through the crowd, and very quietly passed the firemen and bell-boys who stood about the entrance to the burning building. In a second she was past them, and on her way up the long stairs as she knew that the elevators were not running, and would not take her up if they were. She felt sure that she could get to the room and return with safety without being missed.
In the meantime, Jim, who had not awakened at the first alarm, almost frantic at not being able to discover Aunt Betty and the girls, was wandering in and out of the crowd, scanning the faces of everyone very carefully, trying vainly to find the ones he loved best in all this wide, wide world. Suddenly a hand grasped his arm and a voice said,“Jim, Jim, we have been looking for you. Where have you been?” and Jim turned and saw it was Aunt Betty that spoke.
“What do you think of the fire?” she continued. “Do you think it is going to be real serious?”
“No. But one can hardly tell. I should judge that with the capable fire service that New York has, so fully equipped and strictly up-to-date, that they could get it under entire control with possible danger to only a couple of floors,” answered Jim.
“Then, maybe our floor will not be burned at all?” inquired Alfy.
“I hope not,” answered Aunt Betty.
Just then Jim turned to look at the girl, for she stood directly in back of Aunt Betty, and catching sight of her he laughed outright. “Why, Alfy, what have you there?” he exclaimed.
A funny sight, indeed, was Alfy, her little bedroom slippers of red just peeping out from under her bright pink kimona which she had slipped on over her night dress, and a bright red hat in her hand.
“My hat,” answered Alfy. “My best new hat. I saw it lying on the table so I picked it up as I passed. I couldn’t bear to think of losing it. It’smy favorite color and here it is.” She placed the hat on her head and laughed as she did so. Aunt Betty turned and laughed, too, and so did many of the people around them.
The girl looked funny indeed with the kimona and the hat. Her long, abundant growth of hair was braided down her back in two huge braids tied at the ends with blue hair ribbons which had long been discarded from day use. The red hat topping all looked as if the fire itself was there in their midst.
“Great heavens!” exclaimed Aunt Betty, suddenly. “Where is Dorothy? Where is she?” Whereat faintness overcame her, and she dropped helpless upon the sidewalk. Jim caught and held her in his young strong arms, and carried her over to a chair that had been brought out of the hotel. Here he put her in the care of a young matron, who had kindly offered assistance, and was aiding Alfy. Being sure that she was safe and well cared for, he quickly began to look for Dorothy. In a few seconds he ran through the crowd, his heart sinking, as he could not locate her anywhere.
Then he thought she might have gone back to the burning building. The thought of her, the girl he loved, up there in that dangerous placenearly drove him frantic. Quickly he rushed past the fire lines, yelling to the policemen who would have delayed him perhaps, when every moment was precious. He must find her. His Dorothy must be saved.
“There is someone in there I must save!” he shouted to those he passed.
He hurried on and ran into the building. First he went toward the elevator, but seeing no one there, turned and ran for the stairs. Quickly he mounted them quickly—indeed he ran! Up those seven long flights of stairs he went with an energy he never called forth before. As he neared their floor he saw that the fire had in some few places broken through to the seventh floor, and realized that he could go no higher, and had but a few moments more.
“Dorothy! Dorothy!” he called out. He thought he heard a very faint answer from her and rushed madly onward. He could not see, and was choked by the thickening smoke. Finding his way into the bath room he opened the window, then he picked up two large towels and hastily wet them with cold water. One of those he wrapped about his head, and then he called again. She answered faintly, and then he found the girl, herprecious violin in her hands. She choked with the smoke, and was all out of breath from her long race up the many flights of stairs.
“Jim,” she sobbed. “I just had to get this. I couldn’t leave my violin up here,” and fell into his arms.
“Come girl,” said Jim, sternly. “Here, put this around your face, so,” and he carefully adjusted the wet towel he had provided for the purpose.
“Now, follow me, and give me your hand.”
Just outside the doors the smoke was very dense.
“Lay down and creep!” ordered Jim, “and give me your violin.”
He took the violin and forced Dorothy down and beside him so that their heads would be close to the floor. As you doubtless know, smoke rises, and the place freest from smoke would be the lowest possible one. Thus they crept until they reached the stair.
“Stand up, now,” commanded Jim, “and take the violin again.” Then he took her in his arms and rapidly made his way down, till they had passed the zone of danger. Here for one brief moment he held the girl in his arms, murmuring lowly, “Thank God, darling, you are safe now.”
Then they quickly made their way to the place where he had left Aunt Betty and Alfy.
There sat Mrs. Calvert, pale but calm. On seeing her, Dorothy rushed into her aunt’s arms, and explained, “Dear Aunt Betty, I just went back after my violin. I couldn’t let it stay in there and get burned. And Jim came after me and saved me.”
“Dear, dear child, don’t you know how foolish that was to do? Why you are far more precious to me than any violin, no matter how priceless it may be.”
Just then they heard a voice calling the crowd to attention. It was the manager of the hotel, making an announcement. He told the people that while the firemen had the fire well in control, it was considered safest for none of the guests to return to their rooms until the morning, when it would be entirely safe. The Hotel Breslin, he informed them, would accommodate them for the night, and was but a few doors away.
The people began to follow his instructions at once, and the clerks at the Hotel Breslin were soon very busy apportioning rooms to them. All were very shortly trying to overcome their worries sufficientlyto enable them to regain the sleep they had lost.
The fire had been caused by the carelessness of some of the servants of the hotel in dropping lighted matches on the floor, the servants’ apartments being in the top of the building. It was therefore hoped that little damage had been done to the property of the guests.
The next morning, quite late, for it was nearly ten o’clock, Aunt Betty and the two girls arose. The hotel people had arranged to have the breakfasts sent up to all the unfortunate ones, and otherwise made them as comfortable as possible.
The trio breakfasted and Aunt Betty suggested, “Dorothy, dear, I think it would be a wise idea to telephone over to the hotel and find out if any of our things were left unharmed by the fire, and ask, too, if we might come back there now.”
“Yes, Aunt Betty,” answered Dorothy, as she started for the ’phone. She talked over the wire for several minutes, then returning to her aunt and Alfy said, “They say that some of our things have not been spoiled at all, but that the rooms are a complete wreck, because the firemen broke all the windows when they stopped the fire at that point. We have been given a suite on the second floor, and all the things which belong to us have been moved down there.”
“Ah,” interrupted Alfy. “I am so glad there are some things left. I was afraid we would have to go about all day in blankets and look like Indian squaws.”
“No, indeed,” answered Dorothy. “They are going to send us in our coats, so that we can get to the carriage that they have placed at the disposal of the guests and be driven right to the door.”
“They have certainly tried to be as considerate as possible to all their guests,” said Mrs. Calvert.
“Here,” said Dorothy, answering a loud knock at the door, “here are our coats now.”
“Come, let us see what we have left, for I feel sure that we will have to hurry and get more clothes for you girls if we have to start for Washington very soon,” rejoined Mrs. Calvert.
They all slipped on their outer garments, and very quickly were carried downstairs by the elevator. They hurried into their carriage and very soon were located in their new suite of rooms.
“Oh, just look, Aunt Betty!” exclaimed Dorothy. “See, the trunks we packed last night with all our good things are all right. The water never leaked through at all.”
“That saves us a good deal of trouble and expense,doesn’t it? I certainly thought that all three of us would have to be fitted out entirely again. I am very, very glad that we were so fortunate,” answered Aunt Betty.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Alfy. “Oh, dear, just see! Isn’t it too bad that I didn’t stay home and pack instead of going to church with Jim last night. All I have in my trunk is the two white dresses you made me at Bellevieu before we started on the trip, and my raincoat. Oh! Oh! Oh! And I forgot all about it. I intended to show it to you right away as soon as I reached Bellevieu. I begged Ma Babcock so for it, and then to think I clean forgot it! Ah, she will be so disappointed to know I forgot it.”
“Why, Alfy child,” remonstrated Aunt Betty. “What are you talking about? There now, calm yourself and tell me.”
“It’s this,” replied Alfy, holding up a piece of linen about a foot square, “this sampler. I found it in an old box in the closet of the spare room Ma had fixed up in the barn, when I was searching for my raincoat just before I left home. Ma said a school friend, a little Baltimore girl who was ‘up Mounting’ summering, and who fell ill and stayed all winter and went to schoolwith Ma, made it for her.” And Alfy handed the square of linen to Mrs. Calvert. Aunt Betty took it up and carefully examined it while Dorothy looked over her shoulder and tried to see it too.
“Why,” exclaimed Mrs. Calvert, “this is beautiful work! Just beautiful! And what is the name? Dorothy dear, will you see if you can find my glasses? I put them in my work bag, which I put in the tray of the trunk. Yes, way down in the right hand corner.”
Dorothy crossed over to the trunk and immediately found the desired bag, and opening it took out the glasses. “Here they are, Aunt Betty,” she said, handing them to her.
Aunt Betty put the glasses on and proceeded carefully to examine the sampler.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I have it now! The name is in this corner, and as far as I can make it out is ‘Hannah.’ ‘Hannah’ something. ‘Morrow.’ Maybe that’s it.”
“Let me see,” interrupted Dorothy, “maybe I can make it out. I think the first letter is ‘W,’ not ‘M,’” and turning to Alfy, “what did Ma Babcock say about the name?”
“Ma said that it was Hannah somebody, andthat she was a poor sickly girl. She lived in Baltimore and married a man who did not treat her well, and died shortly after. I forget what she said her last name was. But she said she married a man whose name was ‘Halley’ or ‘Haley,’” answered Alfy.
“Oh, Aunt Betty, I have it!” exclaimed Dorothy joyously. “I have it! It’s ‘Woodrow,’ ‘W-o-o-d-r-o-w, Woodrow.’”
“Yes, that’s it. I recollect, now, ma saying, ‘Hannah Woodrow,’” chimed in Alfy.
“I wonder,” said Aunt Betty, slowly, for she had been thinking, “I wonder if it could be? You see, little Lem, Lem Haley, had no mother or father, and just lived with his uncle, who abused him terribly. It was he we found that night in the forest when we were camping. Do you think it could be possible that this sampler was made by his mother? Poor, unfortunate woman.”
“Maybe we have some clue to work on now,” said Dorothy. “Wouldn’t it be odd if it was his mother who made this sampler? She could sew well if it was, for there are many hard and difficult stitches in that.”
“And,” added Alfy, “Ma said she was a rich girl; her folks had lots of money, ’cause shedressed so nicely. And they paid Grandma Brown good board, so ma said.”
“May I have the sampler, Alfy?” asked Mrs. Calvert.
“Yes, indeed,” answered Alfy. “Ma Babcock said for me to give it to you, as maybe you would be interested in it.”
“I am going to take it to my lawyer and see what he says about it. You say you think that Mrs. Haley, or Hannah Woodrow, is dead?” added Aunt Betty.
“Yes, ma said that she had not heard from her in so long that she was sure that the poor unfortunate lady was dead,” answered Alfaretta.
“I have felt all along that there was some dreadful catastrophe or mystery about little Lem. His uncle was such a hard, cruel man, and little Lem knew very little or nothing about his early life or parents. All that he knew was that he was bound out to this harsh and cruel man whom he called uncle, and made to work very hard, too hard, indeed, for a child, for his board,” remarked Aunt Betty.
“I do hope we can find out something about his people. He is such a good boy, and now he goesto school and he is such an apt pupil,” added Dorothy.
“Come now, we must dress and arrange our things and see what we need. You girls please dress as quickly as possible and each make out a list of what you have lost. In that way I can tell at a glance what is needed, and we can go shopping this afternoon. I will also send Jim to my lawyer with a note, and this sampler,” remarked Aunt Betty. And they all hurried away to dress.
Aunt Betty, finishing first, rang for Jim. Jim came to her and she said, “Jim, here is a sampler that Ma Babcock had and let Alfy bring to me. It was made by a girl named Hannah Woodrow, who married a man named Haley, who was cruel to her. It is supposed that the unfortunate woman died. The girl was a Baltimore girl who spent a year with Mrs. Babcock’s mother and attended school with Ma Babcock. She is thought to have been rich. I wonder if in any way she could have been related to little Lem Haley. We must try to trace up all facts and get to the bottom of things. I have written a letter, and I thought you would not mind taking it and the sampler to my lawyer.”
“Where is it?” asked Jim. “I will go gladly.”
“You go to Mr. Van Zandt, at 115 Broadway,” replied Mrs. Calvert. “Give him the package and the letter and tell him I am going out of town to-morrow at noon to Washington, and that I will send him a complete route list later on as soon as all our plans are made.”
“All right,” answered Jim, taking the package and putting the letter into his coat pocket. “I will not be back directly, if that makes no difference to you. I have a little shopping I should like to do this afternoon.” So saying, Jim left on his errand.
At Mrs. Calvert’s suggestion the girls began making out a list of things that were missing so that they could replace them that afternoon if possible.
Suddenly Dorothy rushed into the room where Aunt Betty was quietly seated reading and trying to collect her nerves that she said had been shattered by the experiences of the night before.
“Aunt Betty, dear Aunt Betty, I can’t find my locket!” she cried. “Alfy and I have hunted all over. We searched everything before we came to you with the news. We didn’t want to bother you till we were sure that we hadn’t merely mislaid it.”
“Are you sure, dear, you have looked all over everything you have?” questioned Aunt Betty.
“Yes, and there is no trace of it anywhere,” replied the girl. “And it’s the only locket I have and has the pictures of mother and father in it. The only pictures we have of them.”
“Well, dear, don’t let’s give up hope yet. Let me go with you and look,” answered her aunt.
“Dear Aunt Betty, I am sure it isn’t in there. I always wear it. You know I do. Ever since you gave it to me it has been my most cherished possession,” bewailed Dorothy.
“No, it isn’t anywhere in there,” said Alfy, decidedly, walking into the room at that moment. “I, myself, have searched everywhere, and you know how thorough I am, Mrs. Calvert.”
“Maybe it’s upstairs in our old rooms,” suggested Aunt Betty. “They might have mislaid it.”
“I will ring for a maid and then Alfy and I will go up with her and look,” answered Dorothy, immediately acting on the suggestion.
“It must be up there, dear, as everything else came down safely, and all my jewelry is intact,” added Mrs. Calvert.
“I do hope it is. It has given me such a scare,” rejoined Alfy.
“Come along, Alfy; we are going up now,” said Dorothy, as the maid appeared in answer to her summons.
“We’ll be right down, Aunt Betty.” And with that the girls departed.
In a few moments they came back, and by just glancing at them Aunt Betty knew that the quest had failed.
“No, it is nowhere there,” said Dorothy sadly, “nowhere there.”
“Ring for the manager, dear, and I will see him and see what he suggests doing. The locket is of no value to anyone else. Its main value is in the pictures. I am very sorry I have no other copy of them. I have a picture of your father when he was younger, a mere boy at our Baltimore home, Bellevieu, but I never had another picture of your mother, dear,” said Aunt Betty.
The manager came now in response to their call, and Aunt Betty told him of the loss of the locket, and wherein its value lay. He was very sorry indeed to hear of the loss, but felt hopeful that he could restore the locket to them in the course of an hour or two.
Dorothy turned to Aunt Betty as the manager left the room, and flung herself weeping into her lap.
“Dear, dear child,” soothed Aunt Betty, “don’t be foolish, dear. There are still hopes of its being found.”
“But they are the only pictures I ever had of them,” bemoaned the little girl. The dear old lady took the young girl in her arms and comforted her with hopeful suggestion and loving words of encouragement.
On his way downtown, Jim paused in front of Lebolt’s on Fifth avenue, one of New York’s biggest jewelry houses. The windows were full of attractive pieces of jewelry. One thing in particular caught his eye, a little pendant of gold and pearls. He thought at once of Dorothy and wanted very much to give her something—something nice because of the previous day’s happenings—something that would help her to remember him very often—a little token of his regard.
He went inside and inquired of a clerk where he could see pendants, and was directed to a near counter. He was shown many, and after having quite a hard time choosing which he liked best at a price he could afford to pay he finally decided on a little bunch of grapes formed of a cluster of pearls, with the leaves and vine of gold hung on a slender chain—altogether a very dainty and appropriate gift. And he left the store thinkingof how he would present this to Dorothy, for he wanted no one to know of his reasons for giving it to her but himself—and she.
Taking a car he soon came to the vicinity of the lawyer’s office and looking over the bulletin at the entrance he located a sign with his name upon it. On reaching a small outer office he asked of a pleasant faced girl sitting there, “Can I see Mr. Van Zandt? I have a package and letter to deliver to him personally.”
“Mr. Van Zandt,” answered the girl, “is just now very busy. He is conferring with another lawyer, and I cannot disturb him, as he left word that on no account and for no one should I bother him. He will not be much longer, and if you would care to wait for a half hour, I am sure that you could see him then.”
“I will wait,” said Jim in reply. The girl then showed him into a little library off to one side of the office where there were some easy chairs. Picking out one that looked particularly comfortable to him he took up a magazine from the well laden table, and seating himself started to read.
After waiting half an hour or more, he was finally admitted into a room wherein sat Mr. Van Zandt, at a desk strewn entirely with legal papers.
“Mr. Van Zandt, I am from Mrs. Calvert. She sent me here with a letter and package for you,” said Jim.
“Most opportune, most opportune,” answered Mr. Van Zandt, gravely, taking the letter and package from Jim.
“Excuse me, young man, excuse me, while I see what Mrs. Calvert has to say,” he added, breaking the seal of Aunt Betty’s letter and slowly reading its contents. “Ah! So you are the Jim she speaks of in the letter, and says I may question concerning these matters?”
“Yes, indeed,” responded Jim. “Is there anything you would like to ask me?”
“No. Not that I just think of now. But I have a little story to tell you. Listen carefully and see if you can repeat the same to Mrs. Calvert, when you see her later this afternoon,” replied Mr. Van Zandt. “This was told me by a fellow colleague, the man you no doubt saw leave this office as you entered it. Strange how things come about. Long years ago there was an English family named Winchester, a father and mother and six children, four of them girls and two boys. The parents were very strict with their children, and one boy, the oldest, ran awayfrom home, and was never heard of by the old people again. The youngest girl had a very pretty love affair, but because her parents disapproved, and I believe they would have disapproved of a saint from heaven if he wished to marry their child Marrie, she took the vows and became a sister. Two died very young, and the other two daughters lived to be old maids, and in time all died.
“The runaway son married, so much we have learned, and had one very beautiful daughter, who after, mother fashion, also ran away and married. The daughter’s name was Dorothy Winchester. The man she married was a Calvert. These two died early deaths, leaving behind, so ’tis said, a little daughter named after the mother, Dorothy Winchester Calvert.”
“Our Dorothy,” whispered Jim.
“Now, it seems to me that Mrs. Calvert was sister-in-law to the Calvert that married the beautiful Dorothy Winchester. And from what I know, Dorothy Calvert, Mrs. Calvert’s ward, is the child of the former two. But as a large estate, consisting of much property in England and a great deal of money, is left to the heir or heirs of this Dorothy Winchester, we shall have to havelegal proof that this girl is the right child. And when the right proof is found, my colleague will turn over to me the various papers and deeds to the estate. And after proving herself the legal heir of this estate, Miss Calvert may have to take a trip to England to see the London solicitors and straighten matters out there. They have been working on this estate for many years now, and finally, but only recently traced the son to America. That is how things have come to this point now. Will you tell Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy that I would like to see them at their earliest convenience, bringing letters, pictures and any other form of proof they may have with them?”
“I will tell them that, sir.”
“Very well. Good afternoon, young man, good afternoon,” and Mr. Van Zandt closed the interview.
Jim, after leaving Mr. Van Zandt, hurried back to the hotel, all the time thinking of the wonderful story he had to tell to Dorothy. He also wondered just how things would stand between them if Dorothy became a great English heiress. On reaching the hotel he went straight up to the girl’s rooms and there found Dorothy weeping in Aunt Betty’s lap.
“I have such good news, such wonderful news,” cried Jim. “I can’t wait to tell you. Why, Dorothy, what has happened? Tell me,” he added, catching sight of Dorothy at her aunt’s feet, her face in her lap.
Just then Dorothy smiled up at him and said, “Nothing. I was just a little foolish. Go on and tell us all your wonderful news. I would rather hear good news than tell sad, any day.”
“I have just come from your lawyer’s, Mr. Van Zandt’s, where I heard a most wonderful story. I gave him the letter and package. He read the former, and said he would give the matter attention. I had to wait for over a half hour. He was conferring with a colleague,” continued Jim.
“Oh, do hurry and get to the real story part,” said the ever impatient Alfaretta.
“Be still, Alfy. How can Jim tell us while you are talking?” commanded Dorothy.
“To go on where I left off,” continued Jim, “Mr. Van Zandt said that his colleague told him a story which he would tell me and which I was to repeat to you.
“It seems that many years ago a family named Winchester had a large estate and plenty of money in England. They had children, and one, theeldest, ran away, came to America and married. He had a little daughter who grew up to be very beautiful. Her name was Dorothy Winchester.”
At this point in the story, Aunt Betty heaved a great sigh, and grew quite pale.
“The beautiful young girl ran off with a handsome young man whose name was Calvert. And, Mrs. Calvert, the lawyer thought that to be your brother-in-law. The young couple suffered early deaths, leaving a child, a girl named after the mother, Dorothy Winchester Calvert. That, dear, is you,” and Jim paused to see the effect of his words.
Dorothy had risen, and coming to him, placed her hands in his and said, “Is this all true or just a joke?” looking eagerly in his eyes for the answer.
“Yes,” answered Jim, with an attempt at gaiety, “yes, all true.”
“Then do I understand that all Dorothy has to do is to prove she is Dorothy Winchester Calvert and she will come into this inheritance?” said Aunt Betty.
“Yes. Mr. Van Zandt said for me to tell you that he would like to see you and Dorothy as early as possible in the morning, and for youto bring with you any proofs, such as letters, pictures, etc., which you have handy in your possession,” instructed Jim.
The word pictures immediately recalled to Dorothy her late misfortune, and she turned to Aunt Betty, saying, “Dear Aunt Betty, there is all my proof gone—the pictures in that locket. They would have been just what was needed, and now the locket is gone.”
“Why has the locket gone?” questioned Jim.
“That is the sad news we had to tell you when you came in with the good news,” said Mrs. Calvert. “Dorothy has either mislaid or someone has stolen her locket, the one I gave her with the pictures of her father and mother in it.”
“There,” interrupted Alfy. “There is someone knocking. Maybe it is the manager returning with the locket. It’s an hour since he said that he would have it back to Dorothy in that time.”
The manager entered and came over to Mrs. Calvert’s chair, and said, “I am very sorry, madam, but I have not been able to recover mademoiselle’s trinket. It is nowhere to be found. I have had three maids searched, three of them, who readily admitted going into the suite upstairs.The maids were very angry, and threatened to leave my employ. Nothing could be found. We have found no trace of it at all. All we can do, madam, is to hope. I will get a detective and have him try to locate the thief. Is it of great value?”
“Just now we have had news that makes the locket of precious value. An estate, a large inheritance, hangs upon its recovery, as therein lies the only proof we have, or, I should say, did have,” answered Mrs. Calvert.
“We will do all we can,” continued the manager, “and make every effort to restore the locket as quickly as possible.” He then departed, and prepared to have the lost article traced without any delay.
“I have my list of clothes and things that are missing and will have to be replaced all made out,” said Alfy to Mrs. Calvert.
“Very good,” answered Aunt Betty. “Come into your room and I will look over your things and verify the list and see if you need anything else beside what you have written down.” Alfy and Aunt Betty went off to see about the outlay necessary to replace the loss Alfy sustained from the fire.
No sooner had they gone than Jim came over to Dorothy, looked into her eyes and said, “Girl, will this—this estate, make any difference—if the large fortune comes to you? I was so glad to hear the news, and be the one to tell you of it while I was there with Mr. Van Zandt, but somehow on my way back to the hotel I became sorry, sorry because it will mean that you will be a great English heiress, and I—I—”
“You, Jim? You will always be my great big Jim,” said Dorothy, with a sweet, sincere smile. “But isn’t it too bad that the locket just disappeared when we needed it? And, fortune or no fortune, it’s the only picture I had of my own mother.”
“Girl,” said Jim, softly, taking the small purple velvet box out of his vest pocket, “I brought you this. It’s only a little remembrance of what has gone between us. Just a little token of my eternal regard for you. I wish it could have been more.” And he placed the little jewel box in Dorothy’s hands. He watched her carefully, noting the pleasure in her face when she opened the box and saw the dainty pendant encased in the white satin. Carefully she drew it out.
“Oh, what a beauty!” exclaimed the girl. “Jim,dear, you are so good and thoughtful. It’s just as good and dainty as it can be, and far too good for me.”
“Let me clasp it around your neck for you,” he replied. “I am glad you like it.”
But when he had his arms around the girl’s neck, clasping the slender chain in place, Jim could not resist the temptation of drawing her close to him. She did not resist, so he held her closer for a moment in a fond embrace, and then raising her head, their lips met in a loving kiss.
“My little girl,” murmured Jim. “My dear little girl.” Then releasing her he said, “I chose this pendant because I knew you would not accept a ring.” Dorothy shook her head, but made no audible response.
“Not until you have had plenty of time to know your own mind, but that you should have by the time you have returned from your trip. Then, Dorothy girl, you will give me my answer?”
“Perhaps, Jim,” whispered Dorothy. “Perhaps then I will.”
“Can’t we keep the reason, the real reason, secret. We can have this one secret from everyone else, can’t we? Tell them all it is a little parting gift from me. Then when you come back,girl, you can tell them, if you decide to—if you can love me enough. Until then it’s our secret,” said Jim.
“I must go show it to Aunt Betty and Alfy. It’s such a beautiful pendant I want everyone to see it,” said Dorothy. “And I must get my things collected, for you see I have a lot to do. I wonder if I can prove anything without the locket.”
“Maybe they will accept Aunt Betty’s word for things. But the hard part of it all is that you go away to-morrow for such a long trip,” said Jim. “And, Dorothy, how I shall miss you! I won’t know what to do without you.”
“Yes, you will,” responded Dorothy. “You will have to work and work very hard at your new position.”
“Yes, indeed I will,” laughed Jim, “very hard indeed. If I want to get married soon, I shall have to economize and save all I can.”
“Foolish boy,” said Dorothy. “Good-bye; I am going to leave you here all, all alone,” and she ran over to Jim, put her hands in his and looked up at him, saying, “You are a dear, good boy, and I shall prize my pendant highly, and wear it always, and when I do think of you.”
“That’s all I could ask,” answered Jim. “And, girl, please do take care of yourself and be careful all through this trip. I regret so much that I can’t be along with you.”
“Dorothy! Dorothy!” called Aunt Betty, from the girl’s room.
“Yes, Aunt Betty, I am coming,” answered Dorothy. As she left the room she threw a kiss with her dainty finger tips to Jim.
That afternoon was spent in ordering things they all needed, and as time saving and convenient much was done by telephone. Then in trying on various things as they came all wrapped up in attractive bundles from the stores.
Aunt Betty bought Alfy a complete new outfit, as her things were entirely ruined, and she was more than delighted with each new article. There was a plain gray suit, and one just like it for Dorothy. Alfy insisted that they would be mistaken for twins in them. And Aunt Betty ordered as a surprise to the girl a plain grey felt outing hat, which was to come in the morning.
Dorothy had a few new shirt waists and a couple of pairs of slippers; also two new gowns, one pale yellow chiffon trimmed with a little gold lace; the other a very pale shell pink crepe dechine and shadow lace. These were for her to use on the stage, and at any private affairs that might come up.
Alfy was very much pleased with a pale blue evening dress, as she had never had one before in all her life. This pretty little party dress was very simple, being made of pale blue chiffon over a shell pink satin slip, and the only trimming it had was one large rose of pink shade, catching the skirt in a dainty fold, and a few dainty pink rose buds edging the neck and sleeves.
When she tried it on she ran carefully to Dorothy and exclaimed, “Dorothy, dear, just see my new dress! Isn’t it wonderful? Do you like it? Do you think it is becoming? And look at these!” and she held up a new pair of pink satin slippers, and gloves to match.
Dorothy laughed gayly, saying, “Dear, dear Alfy, they are beautiful things, and I have never seen you look quite so fine before.”
“I must show Jim,” she answered. And off she went to the next room, where Jim sat thinking and dreaming. “What do you think of me?” she asked him.
Jim looked up, saw Alfy, and said, “You look like a very fine young lady who has just steppedout of a picture.” And he made a mental note of the fact that the girl had no ornament about her neck, and made a resolution to get up early and go out the next morning and buy Alfy a string of coral beads that he thought were just needed to finish her costume. These he would give Alfy for her parting gift.
The next morning Jim carried out his purpose and bought the string of corals, pale pink, graduated beads, a string just long enough to go around the girl’s neck. And for Mrs. Calvert he bought a set of collar and belt pins to match in heavy dull gold.
These two gifts he labeled and sent up to them. He was busy that morning moving his possessions to Mrs. Quarren’s so that he would be all ready to occupy his room there that evening. He was to meet Dorothy and the rest of her party at the Pennsylvania station at noon time.
Mrs. Calvert, Dorothy and Alfaretta, as early as possible, went down to the lawyer’s office.
“Mr. Van Zandt will receive you in his room right away. He expected you,” said the pleasant faced girl, as Aunt Betty and the two girls walked into the office.
“Mr. Van Zandt, this is my ward and niece, MissDorothy Winchester Calvert and her friend, Miss Alfaretta Babcock,” said Aunt Betty, introducing the two girls.
“So you are the fortunate Miss Dorothy Winchester Calvert,” the lawyer gravely said. “Let me see, little miss, how about the proof I must have? Proof is what is needed now. My colleague has to be satisfied. So do the London solicitors.”
“Until yesterday, Mr. Van Zandt, Dorothy always wore a locket around her neck in which were her mother’s and father’s pictures. We were unfortunately caught in a hotel fire, and some of our things were destroyed. This locket has been missing since the fire. The hotel people have since then done their utmost to trace the missing article, whose value now is priceless, and nothing has been seen of it. Detectives are now working on the case.”
“Most unfortunate—most unfortunate,” commented Mr. Van Zandt. “Have you no other proof?”
“There is my word, some old letters, and a picture of Dorothy’s father taken when he was quite young, which I have at Bellevieu. I will send for them and have Jim bring them to you. In themeantime, he has promised to attend to the tracing of the locket, and will report to you about it,” answered Aunt Betty.
“I will let you know, too, Mrs. Calvert, how my colleague takes this news, and,” added the lawyer, “I would like you and Miss Dorothy to sign a number of papers, and Miss Babcock can sign as a witness for Miss Dorothy.”
Before long they had all affixed their signatures to quite a number of important looking papers. Alfaretta felt very consequential and trembled visibly.
This did not take long, and, bidding Mr. Van Zandt good-bye, they were soon hastening to the Pennsylvania depot, to await the coming of Jim, and the others of the troupe who were to travel with them.
Dorothy hoped that Mr. Ludlow would not forget their private car, as she was anxious to see it. Aunt Betty was to have charge of it, Ruth, Alfy, and Dorothy being in her care for the entire trip.
Alfy was slowly counting the minutes off. She wanted to thank Jim, as she thought more of the little string of corals than anything else in the world just then. They had pleased her beyondwords. Dorothy was glad, too, because in giving Alfy the string of corals and Aunt Betty the pins it detracted from the strangeness of his giving such a lovely present to her. Aunt Betty and Alfy were both hearty in praise of Dorothy’s new ornament, and commented on Jim’s taste in selecting it.
At the Pennsylvania station they found Jim waiting.
“What did Mr. Van Zandt say?” he questioned, coming to meet them. “I have tended to your trunks, and put them and your suit cases in your private car. Mr. Ludlow and his gathering party are over in the other side of the station, and I will take you over to them in a few minutes.”
“We can’t very well prove Dorothy’s identity without that locket. It is most necessary for Mr. Van Zandt to have it. I told him,” informed Mrs. Calvert, “that you would keep track of the search, and bring it to him immediately it is found. Also, Jim, I must write to Bellevieu and have some things, a picture of Mr. Calvert and one or two letters I have there, forwarded to you. Will you see that they are placed in Mr. Van Zandt’s hands safely? We had to sign a great many papers. The trouble is in convincing Mr. Van Zandt’s colleagueand the London solicitors who have the property in their hands.”
“I will certainly do my level best,” answered Jim, “to get the locket back, and will let you know of everything that comes up.”
Then they all walked slowly across the immense waiting room of the station, and in a far secluded corner found Mr. Ludlow and Ruth, among a group of chattering people, some old, some young, and Dorothy wondered just who belonged to the company and who did not.
Mr. Ludlow came forward. With him was a tall, dark young man. “Mrs. Calvert,” said he, “let me introduce Mr. Dauntrey. Mr. Dauntrey is our treasurer. This is Miss Dorothy Calvert, of whom you have often heard me speak, and her friend, Miss Babcock. Mr. Dauntrey, ladies.”
“I am sure I am very pleased to meet you all, and I am sure we shall all be firm friends before long,” said Mr. Dauntrey, pleasantly, his eyes lingering longer on Dorothy than any of the rest.
Just then Ruth rushed up to Dorothy and exclaimed, “Dear, dear Dorothy, I have been hearing wonderful tales about you—about how you saved your precious violin from the fire, and then were gallantly rescued by Jim, our new hero. Oh,tell me all about it! I am dying to hear it all from you! It must have been very thrilling. Oh, why is it I never get into any such wonderful adventures?”
“I will tell you what little there is to tell when we get started on our trip. We shall have lots of time on the train,” answered the girl.
“Yes, indeed,” said Ruth, “and I shall see that you do not forget your promise. Come over here and let me introduce you to some of the members of our company. I sing. You play the violin. That blonde lady over there, Miss Mary Robbia, has a wonderful contralto voice. The little girl over there, Florence Winter, is a dancer. She does all kinds of classical dances and is considered very wonderful. And Mr. Carlton is the pianist. He is the man standing over there talking to the lady in black.”
Dorothy looked at each person as Ruth pointed them out, and felt that she would enjoy her trip very much, for they all looked like nice, congenial people. Mr. Ludlow came up to her then and presented Mrs. Calvert, Dorothy and Alfy to all the members of the company, each in turn, Miss Robbia, Miss Winter and Mr. Carlton.
They then all said good-bye to all their friendsand relatives who had come to see them off, and hastened to board their car, which was to start in a few minutes.
“Good-bye, my little girl,” whispered Jim, kissing a stray lock of Dorothy’s hair as he swung off the car.
The car gave one jerk and then started out. The girls waved good-bye from the car windows till they could no longer see the ones they were leaving behind.
It would take the remainder of the afternoon to reach Washington, and there they were to meet one or two more members of the company, and to learn of the final plans for the whole trip.
The train ride passed quickly enough, and just gave Aunt Betty time for a rest. Between intervals of reading, Dorothy told Ruth of all the previous day’s happenings, and before they knew it they had arrived in Washington.
Mr. Dauntrey came to Dorothy and volunteered to take care of their baggage. Aunt Betty had packed the suit cases for all three of them, so she gave him these, saying, “If you will have these in the hotel bus, Mr. Dauntrey, I will be obliged. We shall not get our trunk up to the hotel till late this evening, I heard Mr. Ludlow say.”
“What hotel do we stop at, Mr. Dauntrey?” inquired Ruth.
“At the Willard, Miss Boothington,” he answered, politely adding, “I will come back for your suit cases and tend to you in just a few seconds if you will wait in the car for me.”
“Thank you,” the girl answered, going back into the car to gather her things together. “There, that is all, I guess, a bag, a hat box and one suit case. I can manage to exist with that much for a few days.”
“Come along. Just follow me,” cried Mr. Ludlow, just loud enough for all to hear him. “This way. I want to get you all taken care of and over to the hotel as quickly as possible. I have made reservations and I hope everything will be ready at once for us.”
“Come Ruth,” sang out Dorothy, as she and Aunt Betty and Alfaretta made their way after Mr. Ludlow. “Come or you will be left behind.”
“I promised I’d wait here for Mr. Dauntrey,” answered Ruth. “He is coming back for me. My luggage is all here, and I can’t manage it.”
“Very well, we will wait for you in the stage,” answered Dorothy, and linking her arm in Alfaretta’s, followed close after Mrs. Calvert, who was walking just in front with Mr. Ludlow.
“There’s Mr. Dauntrey,” whispered Alfaretta. “He’s with that little dancer, Miss Winters.”
“So he is,” whispered Dorothy, “I hope he has not forgotten Ruth. Mr. Ludlow usually attendsto Ruth himself; I wonder why he has not thought of her?”
“Maybe he is provoked at her,” answered Alfy, very softly so as the couple just in front would not hear them. “He looked at her real cross like, at the Pennsylvania station to-day. She was standing, talking very earnestly with Mr. Dauntrey, and Mr. Ludlow called to her twice and she never heard him.”
“Maybe that’s why. But see, there he goes back. I guess he has gone after Ruth now,” replied Dorothy.
“Here we are. Now all get in. We must hurry,” announced Mr. Ludlow. “Are we all here? Let me see—Mrs. Calvert, Dorothy, Alfaretta, Miss Winters, Miss Robbia and Mr. Carleton,” as the pianist came in sight carrying two suit cases, “but where is Ruth? Ruth and Mr. Dauntrey, where are they?”
“Mr. Dauntrey has just gone back after Ruth. She was gathering her luggage together as I left the car. Mr. Dauntrey said he would hurry back and get her if she would wait,” answered Dorothy.
Just then Ruth and Mr. Dauntrey came in sight. The girl held his arm and was looking up into hisface, chatting pleasantly, while in back a porter, very much laden down with Ruth’s belongings, trailed along after them.
The occupants of the bus caught just then a sentence spoken by a passing couple. “See the little bride and groom here on their honeymoon.” At these words Mr. Ludlow frowned deeply and looked very cross indeed. He spoke not a word to Ruth as she was handed into the bus by Mr. Dauntrey, but quickly got in and shut the door behind him.
In a few minutes they had reached the hotel. Mr. Ludlow registered for the party and then the keys were supplied for the rooms assigned to them. Mrs. Calvert and the girls went quickly upstairs and dressed for dinner. The evening meal is always quite a function in Washington. The people for the most part dress in evening clothes. The hotels are almost always crowded with the government people, senators, representatives and officers of various degrees.
Mrs. Calvert went down first and sent a card to Jim telling him of their safe arrival, then the girls joined her.
Mr. Ludlow had arranged for a dinner party. They found some of the company waiting in thelounging room. Soon they were all assembled and Mr. Ludlow and Mrs. Calvert led them into the brilliant dining room where they all had a very gay dinner.
Mr. Ludlow suggested that they visit the Library of Congress, as the evening was a very favorable hour for such a visit. At that time the beautiful interior decorations were seen to great advantage under the brilliant illumination.
“Come, let us get our wraps,” said Mrs. Calvert. “The building closes about ten and there is much of interest to be seen there.”
“Very well,” answered Dorothy. “Do you want your black wrap? I will get it. You sit here.”
“Yes, dear. The black one,” answered Aunt Betty, seating herself and waiting for Dorothy to return.
“Come Alfy,” called Dorothy, and the girls quickly disappeared down the long, brilliantly lighted corridor which was crowded with guests. They were gone but a few moments and returned with their wraps securely fastened and carrying Aunt Betty’s.
“Let me help you into it,” said a cheery voice behind them. Turning, they saw, much to their surprise, Mr. Dauntrey.
“Come with me. I have already secured a taxi, and it will just hold four. The others can follow.”
He took Mrs. Calvert’s arm and gallantly helped her into the taxicab, then Dorothy, and then Alfaretta, each with the same niceness of manner. He then quickly got in himself, taking the one vacant seat beside Dorothy. He closed the door and off they started.
The entrances to the library are in the front, facing the Capitol. A grand staircase leads up to the doorways of the central pavilion, giving access to the main floor. Up this staircase the quartette slowly climbed.
“Just look!” exclaimed Dorothy, when they had reached the top. “Just look around. See all the lights of the Capitol over there. Isn’t it all very beautiful?”
“And look down at the fountain!” cried Alfy. “See how the sea-creatures are blowing water from their mouths, and in the centre ‘Apollo.’”
“No, if I may correct you, that is Neptune,” said Mr. Dauntrey. “I have a guide book here. It is freely placed at your disposal, ladies.”
“I think every one that visits the Capitol should have a guide book,” said Aunt Betty. “Itadds immeasurably to one’s pleasure. I have an old one at the hotel, and I have been looking it over. I read it through the last time I was here, not so many years ago. I do not recall the publisher’s name.”
“The one I have here is Rand, McNally Company’s,” said Mr. Dauntrey.
“And so was mine, I remember now, and it was fine, too,” replied Aunt Betty.
“Although that is not Apollo,” said Mr. Dauntrey, “your mention of the name reminds me of a western politician who once visited here. He had great wealth, but little education, and when someone in his presence spoke of a statue of Apollo, he said, ‘Oh, yes, I have one on my parlor mantle. On one end I have Apollo, and on the other, Appolinaris.’”
“An amusing anecdote, and I don’t doubt a real one,” said Aunt Betty, laughing with the others, “but isn’t that a wonderful old fountain? See the beautiful effects produced by the water as it is thrown in cross lines from all those miniature turtles, sea serpents and what not, that are supposed to populate ocean and stream.”
They stepped up the last tread and entered a long corridor, stretching along the front andforming an exaggerated vestibule. They gazed between piers of Italian marble supporting arches, an entrancing vista. In heavy brackets they noted pairs of figures, advanced somewhat from the walls, “Minerva in War,” armed with sword and torch, and “Minerva in Peace,” equipped with scroll and globe.
Before these, greatly admiring them, the girls stood, and Mrs. Calvert said, “Dorothy, those are the most admired ornaments in the whole building, but you can see them again as you pass out. Come, let’s go inside.”
“Yes, if you enjoy great art, Miss Dorothy,” spoke up Mr. Dauntrey, “I will be pleased to personally conduct you through the Art Museum. Art, too, is my one hobby. To be happy I must always have the beautiful, always the beautiful.”
Passing on through the screen of arches, they entered the main hall, in the centre of which ran a magnificent stairway leading to the second floor and rotunda gallery.
“Oh!” gasped Alfaretta. “Isn’t the floor lovely? All little colored marbles. I hate to step on it. What is that brass disk for?”
“Those little pieces of colored marbles are the essential materials for mosaic work, and the brassrayed disk is to show the points of the compass,” said Mr. Dauntrey, kindly looking at the girl with an amused expression.
“Look!” cried Dorothy, “over that way, way far back. See the carved figures?”
“Yes,” answered Aunt Betty. “The one thing the arch typifies is study. The youth eager to learn and the aged man contemplating the fruits of knowledge. It is a very famous group. I have a postcard picture of it that a relative sent me and I always remembered and liked it.”
“Here is something I always thought was interesting, on this side,” said Mr. Dauntrey, leading them to the other side of the hall. “These two boys sitting beside the map of Africa and America. The one in the feathered head-dress and other accoutrements represents the original inhabitants of our country, the American Indian, the other, showing the lack of dress and the war equipment of the ignorant African. Then those two opposite, the one typifying the Mongolian tribes of Asia, the other in classic gown, surrounded by types of civilization indicating the pre-eminence of the Caucasian race in all things, such, for instance, as your chosen profession, music.”
“That would be a good way to study geography,” said Alfy. “Then you would hardly ever fail if you had those interesting figures to look at.”
Aunt Betty then called their attention to the ceiling which was elaborately ornamented with carvings and stucco work with symbols of arts and sciences. The southern walls were full of rare and beautiful paintings, the most striking of these being, “Lyric Poetry,” painted by Walker. It represents Lyric Poetry in an encompassing forest, striking a lyre and surrounded by Pathos, Beauty, Truth, Devotion, and playful Mirth.
The east end of this hall which looks out on the reading rooms is reserved for Senators and members of the House of Representatives. It is decorated in subjects chosen from Greek mythology.
“Come in here,” said Dorothy, entering the periodical or public reading room. “See here, any one, no matter where he is from, can find one of his home papers.”
“Can any one stay here and read anything they want, and as long as they want?” inquired Alfy.
“Yes. It is free to anyone,” answered Mrs. Calvert.
Next they passed into an exhibition hall, where in cases of glass made like a table they saw a great number of rare and curious books representing the beginning time of printing and bookmaking. There were a great many early printed Bibles and specimens of famous special editions of Bibles. Some of them, so they learned, dated back to the fifteenth century and were of much value on account of their rarity. One table in this room especially interested Dorothy. It contained manuscripts, autographs and curious prints relating to the history of our United States.
The print room interested Alfy greatly. This room is devoted to an extensive exhibit of the art of making pictures mechanically. Here are a great series of prints illustrating the development of lithography, and the processes a lithograph goes through whether printed in one or in varied color. Also here are examples of every sort of engraving upon wood, copper and steel. About the walls hang examples of etchings and engravings.
They then entered the Rotunda Galleries. They paused for a moment to look at two paintings there, one of Joy and the other of Sadness.
“I like Joy the best by far,” exclaimed Alfy.Joy, here, was represented by a light-haired, cheerful woman, amid flowers and happy in the sunshine. She went nearer the picture and read out loud the beautiful words of Milton’s famous “L’Allegro.”