“ARE YOU A POLICEMAN?” Dorothy’s Travels.“ARE YOU A POLICEMAN?”Dorothy’s Travels.
But he wasn’t. When he did come, after Mrs.Hungerford and Molly had had ample time to grow anxious themselves, it was with a woe-begone Miss Greatorex upon his arm and a very disturbed expression on his own face.
“Why, Papa, where’s Dolly? Why didn’t she come, too?” cried Molly, darting to meet him.
“That, my dear, is exactly what this lady and I would like to know. I was in hopes she might have seen you standing here and crossed to join you. Well, she’s been in too great haste, likely, and started by herself to go—I wonder where! Anyway, the best thing to be done is for you three to get into this carriage and drive to the Astor House and order dinner for all of us. It’s an old-time hotel where my father and I used to go when I was a boy myself, and I patronized it for old association’s sake. You, small daughter, had fixed your mind on nothing less than the Waldorf-Astoria, I expect! Never mind; you’ll get as good food in one place as the other.”
“But, Papa, aren’t you coming with us?”
“Not just yet. I’ll stop behind a bit and set a few policemen or small boys in search for Miss Dorothy. Tell me something by which we can recognize her when found. New York is pretty full of little girls, you know, and I might miss her among so many.”
The Judge tried to make his tone a careless one but there was real anxiety in it as his sister promptly understood; but she also felt it best to treat the matter lightly, for already poor Miss Isobel wason the point of collapse. So she answered readily enough:
“Very well, brother, so we’ll do. I reckon I know your tastes so that I can cater for you and—is there any limit to what we may order? I’m a bit hungry myself and always do crave the most expensive dishes on the menu. Good-by, for a little while.”
The Judge bade the driver: “To the Astor House;” lifted his hat to those within the carriage, and it moved away.
Then he summoned a policeman and asked that scouts be sent out all through that neighborhood, to search for a “thirteen-year-old girl, in a brown linen dress, dark curly hair, brown eyes, and—‘Oh! just too stylish for words!’” which was the description his daughter had given him. Indeed, he felt that this very “stylishness” might be a clue to the right person; since denizens of that locality, girls or women, are not apt to have that characteristic about them.
He was a weary man. He had been up late the night before, and previous to his journey hither had been extremely busy leaving matters right in his southern home for a prolonged absence. He had counted upon the hour or two before sailing in which to procure some additions to his sportsman’s outfit, and sorely begrudged this unexpected demand upon his time. Yet he could do no less than try to find the runaway, and to make the search as thorough as if it had been his own child’s case.
It was more than an hour later that he appeared in the dining-room of the hotel where his family awaited him. They had still delayed their own dinner, though Molly’s hunger had almost compelled her to enjoy hers. Only the thought of “eating with Papa,” had restrained her, because she had little fear that Dorothy would not be promptly found, or that she had done more than go a few blocks out of the way. She had often been in that city before, though only in its better parts, and it all seemed simple enough to her. It had been explained that the upper part was laid out in squares, with the avenues running north and south, the cross-streets easily told by their numbers. How then could anybody who could count be lost?
“No news, Schuyler?” asked Aunt Lucretia.
“Not yet. Not quite yet. But there will be, of course there will be. I’ve set a lot of people hunting that extremely ‘stylish’ young maiden, so I thought I’d best come down and get my dinner and let you know that all’s being done that can be. Don’t worry, Miss Greatorex. A capable girl like Dorothy isn’t easy to lose in a city full of policemen, if she’ll only use her tongue and ask for guidance. Probably she has gone back to the ‘Powell’ already, hoping to find us all there. Before I eat I’ll telephone again and inquire, although I did so just a little while ago, as I came in.”
The more he talked the less he convinced his listeners that it would be that “all right” he had so valiantly asserted. Even Molly’s hunger suddenlydeserted her and she pushed away a plate of especially enticing dessert with a shake of her head and an exclamation:
“Papa’s talking—just talking! Like he always does when he takes me to the dentist’s! His voice doesn’t ring true, Auntie Lu, and you know it. You needn’t smile and try to look happy, for you can’t. Dorothy is lost! My precious Dolly Doodles is lost—is LOST!”
For a moment nobody answered. Miss Greatorex echoed the exclamation in her own sinking heart, realizing at last how fully she had depended upon the Judge’s ability to find the girl, until he had once more appeared without her. He had promptly sent a messenger to telephone again and awaiting the reply made a feint of taking his soup. Mrs. Hungerford kept her eyes fixed upon her plate, not daring just then to lift them to Miss Greatorex’s white face; and altogether it was a very anxious party which sat at table then instead of the merry one which all had anticipated.
When their pretence of a meal was over and they rose, the Judge looked at his watch. Then he said:
“We have only time left to reach the ‘Prince’ in comfort. It is a long way up and across town to the dock on East river. You three must start for it at once. I’ll step into a store near by for a few things I need and follow you. Of course, Dorothy knew all about her trip, the steamer she would sail by, and its landing place. Even if she didn’t know that most of the officers would know and direct her.
“I now think that having missed us at the ‘Powell’ she has gone straight to the other boat and you will find her there. I’ll follow you in time for sailing and till then, good-by. A hack is ready for you at the door.”
Then he went hastily out, and Mrs. Hungerford said:
“Brother is wise. We certainly shan’t find Dolly here, and we may at the ‘Prince.’ Have you all your parcels, both of you? Then come.”
They followed her meekly enough but at the street entrance Miss Greatorex rebelled. Her anxiety gave a more than ordinary irritation to her temper and harshness to her voice, and her habitually ungracious manner became more repellent than ever as she announced:
“That’s all very well, Mrs. Hungerford, and Molly. But I shan’t go one step toward Nova Scotia till I’ve found my little girl. You three are all right,you’ve got yourselvesand of course other people don’t matter. But Dorothy saved my life and I’ll not desert her to nobody knows what dreadful fate! No, I will not, and you needn’t say another single word!”
As nobody had interrupted her excited speech this last admonition seemed rather uncalled for, but Molly waxed indignant thereat, though her Aunt Lucretia merely smiled compassionately. Then as they still stood upon the sidewalk, hesitating to enter their carriage, Miss Isobel waved her umbrella wildly toward another hack, and when it had obeyedher summons sprang into it and was whirled away.
Where was Dorothy all this time? Little she knew of the commotion she had caused. Indeed, for a long time, her only thought was for herself and her unfortunate predicament. She had never been so frightened in her life. Nothing had ever looked so big, so dismal, and so altogether hopeless as this wretched side street where her fugitive had disappeared. There was not a policeman in sight. She didn’t know which way to go, but promptly realized that she should not stay just there in that degraded neighborhood. Even the wider street from which she had diverged, with its endless lines of wagons and people, was better. But—she must go somewhere!
She set out forward, resolutely, and as it proved eastward toward that famous Broadway which threads the city from its north to south, but that was yet many blocks removed. Indeed, it seemed an endless way that stretched beyond her; and it was not until she had run for some distance that her common sense awoke with the thought:
“Why, how silly I am! I must go back to the boat. That’s where I’ll be missed and looked for. Of course, Miss Greatorex wouldn’t go on and leave me, and oh! dear! I reckon I’ve made her wait till she’ll be angry. I’ll ask the first nice looking gentleman I see, if no policeman comes, the way to the ‘Mary Powell.’ Here comes one now—”
A busy man came speeding toward her, whose coat skirt she tried to clutch; but he didn’t evenhear the question she put. He merely waved her aside, as he would any other street beggar with the passing remark: “Nothing. Get away!”
The second person to whom she applied was German and shook his head with a forcible negative. So he, too, moved on and she stopped to think and recover some portion of that courage which had almost deserted her.
“Of course. I couldn’t be really lost, not really truly so, right in the broad daylight and a city full of people. But I am ashamed to have stayed so long. Oh! good! There comes a man in uniform—a policeman, a policeman!”
Quite at rest now she darted forward and caught at the hand of the uniformed person who stared at her in surprise but not unkindly.
“Well, little maid, what’s wanted?”
“O, sir! Are you a policeman? Will you take me to where I belong?”
“Sorry to say ‘no’ to both your questions, but I’m only a railway conductor, in a hurry to catch my outgoing train. Wait a minute, child, and a real police officer will come and will look out for you.”
The blue-coated, much brass-buttoned man snatched his hand from her clinging grasp and strode westward in desperate haste. He had calculated his time to the last second and even this trifling delay annoyed him.
But he had prophesied aright. A policeman was coming into view, leisurely sauntering over his beat,and on the lookout for anything amiss. Dorothy hurried forward, planted herself firmly in this man’s path and demanded again:
“Are you a policeman?”
“Sure an’ ’tis that same that I be! Thanks for all mercies! Me first day alone at the job, an’ what can I do for ye, me pretty colleen?”
“Tell me, or take me, back to the ‘Mary Powell,’ please. I—I’ve lost my way.”
“Arrah musha! An’ if I was after doin’ that same I’d be losin’ mine! The ‘Mary Powell’ is it? Tell me where does she be livin’ at. I’m not long in this counthry and but new app’inted to the foruss. Faith it’s a biggish sort of town to be huntin’ one lone woman in.”
To anybody older or wiser than Dorothy Chester the very fact of his loquacity would have betrayed his newness to the “foruss.” There wasn’t a prouder nor happier man in the whole great city, that day, than Larry McCarthy, as he proceeded to explain:
“First cousin on me mother’s side to Alderman Bryan McCarthy, as has helped me over from Connemara, this late whiles, and has made me a free-born Amerikin citizen, glory be.”
“That must be very nice. I suppose an alderman is some sort of a very high-up man, isn’t he? But—”
“High is it, says she. Higher ’an I was when I was carryin’ me hod up wan thim ‘sky-scrapers’ they do build in this forsaken—I mane blessed—counthry, says he. Sure it’s a higher-up Bryan is, the foine lad.”
“Please, please, will you take me to the ‘Mary Powell’?”
“How can I since ye’ve not told me yet wherever she lives?”
“Why she isn’t a—she! She’s a boat!”
“Hear til the lass! She isn’t a she isn’t she? Then she must be a he, and that’d beat a priest to explain;” and at his own joke the newly-fledged officer indulged in a most unofficial burst of laughter. So long and so loud was this that Dorothy stamped her foot impatiently and another uniformed member of “the force,” passing by on the other side of the street, crossed over to investigate.
At whose arrival officer Larry straightened himself like a ramrod, squared his shoulders, and affected to be intensely angry with the small person who had delayed him upon his beat. But he could not deceive the keen eyes of the more experienced policeman and his superior in rank.
With a swift recognition of the newcomer’s greater intelligence, Dorothy put her inquiry to him, breathlessly stating her whole case, including the loss of her purse and her regret over it.
“’Cause now, you see, sir, I haven’t any money to pay for being taken back. Else I would have called a carriage, like people do sometimes, and got the carriage man to take me. That is,ifthere was any carriage, and any man, and I—I had any money. Oh! dear! That isn’t what I wanted tosay, but I’m so tired running and—and—it’s dreadful to be lost in a New York city!”
Her explanation ended in a miserable breakdown of sobs and tears. Now that help had come—she was sure of it after one glance into this second officer’s honest face—her courage collapsed entirely. The sergeant allowed her a moment to compose herself and then said, as he took out a notebook and prepared to write in it:
“Now, once more. Tell me exactly, or listen if I have the facts right. You are a pupil at the Rhinelander Academy in Newburgh. You are starting upon a trip for your summer vacation. You are under the care of Miss Greatorex, a teacher. You ran away from the steamer ‘Mary Powell’ in pursuit of a man whom you think carried off your own and a friend’s purse. Very well. I will send you to the boat and if your story is true you will be restored to your friends and nothing more will come of it. If it isn’t true, you will be sent to a station-house to await developments. McCarthy, proceed upon your beat.”
Larry shrugged his shoulders more snugly into his new uniform, assumed the bearing of a drum major and duly proceeded. The superior officer put a whistle to his lips, and like the genii in Arabian Nights, his servant instantly appeared.
“Call a cab. Take this young person to the ‘Mary Powell,’ foot of Desbrosses street. If her guardian is not there, drive to the other landing at Twenty-third street and inquire if the girl has beensought for there. If this is a false story, report to me at the station and, of course, bring the girl with you.”
The words “station house” sounded ominous in Dorothy’s ears. During her Baltimore life she had learned all that was necessary about such places to infect her with fear, having with other children sometimes watched the “police patrol wagons” make their dreary rounds. She had peered at the unhappy prisoners sitting within the van and had pitied them unspeakably, despite the fact that they must have been wicked. A picture of herself thus seated and despairing flashed before her mind, but she put it resolutely aside and with great humility stepped into the cab which her new protector had summoned.
This was one of those then new electric cabs and instantly riveted her attention. To move through the streets so swiftly without visible means of locomotion was as delightful as novel; and the skill with which the driver perched up behind twisted around corners and among crowding vehicles seemed fairly wonderful.
It was a most charming ride, despite the fact that she was a lost person seeking her friends, and it came all too soon to an end at the dock she had named. She recognized the place at once and was out of the cab, hurrying along the wharf, calling back to her guide:
“Here she is! This is the ‘Mary Powell!’ See?”
He was promptly at her side again, his duty being not to lose sight of her until that “report” had been duly made when and where ordered. Also, the recognition of her by “Fanny” and the other boat hands proved that thus much of her tale was true. She had come down the river on that steamer’s last trip and people had been back upon it, frantically seeking news of her.
“You oughtn’t to have run away like that, little girl, and scare them people into forty fits. That nice Judge—somebody, he said his name was—he hired no end of people to go searching for you and now you’ve come and he hasn’t. Like enough they’ve gone to the other landing, up-town, to seek you. Better drive there, policeman, and see.”
“All right. But, stewardess, if anybody comes again to inquire, say that she’ll be taken to the ‘Prince’ steamship, East river, and be held there till the boat sails. Afterward at station number —.”
There is no need to follow all of Dorothy’s seeking of her friends. Already, as has been told, they had made a fruitless search for her; and when at length fully convinced that she was telling a “straight case” the official who had her in charge, failing to find Miss Greatorex at that “up-town landing”—though a dock-hand said that she had been there and again hurried away “as if she was a crazy piece”—the cab was turned toward that east-side dock whence the voyage to Nova Scotia was to be made.
Here everything was verified. Dorothy’s luggagemarked with her name was in the baggage-room, having been sent down the day before in order to prevent mischance. With it was the luggage of Molly Breckenridge and Miss Greatorex. Also upon the steamer’s sailing list was her name and the stateroom to which she had been assigned. To this point then must all the rest of the party come if they were to sail by that vessel. Obviously, it was the safest place for her to await her friends, and she was promptly permitted to go aboard and watch for them.
She had expected to see a much larger craft than the “Prince.” Why, it wasn’t half as large, it seemed to her, as some of the boats which passed up and down the Hudson. It had but one deck, high up, so that to reach it she had to climb a ladder, or gang-plank almost as steep as a roof. But she climbed it with a feeling of infinite relief and security. Sitting close to the rail upon one of the many steamer chairs she found there, herself almost the only passenger who had yet come aboard, she leaned her weary head against the rail, and, despite the hunger which tormented her, fell fast asleep. She knew nothing more; heard none of the busy sounds of loading the luggage, now constantly arriving, and was peacefully dreaming, when a girlish voice from the dock pierced through the babel and the dream:
“Why, Papa Breckenridge! There she sits—asleep!That runaway!Dorothy—Dorothy! how came you here? How dared you scare us so?”
She sprang to her feet and looked down, answering with a rapturous cry. There they were, Molly, Auntie Lu and the Judge! But—and now she rubbed her eyes the better to see if they deceived her—where was Isobel Greatorex.
Alas! That was the question the others were all asking:
“Where is Miss Greatorex? Only two minutes to sailing—but where is Miss Greatorex?”
There wasn’t an instant to waste in questions. The captain of this steamship prided himself upon his exceeding punctuality, and had often declared that if he delayed for one passenger one day he would have to do so the next; that somebody was always late; that it might be that delinquent’s misfortune if he were left but was not Captain Murray’s fault.
Knowing this fact Judge Breckenridge handed his sister her ticket and Molly’s, hastily bade her:
“Go aboard, Lucretia, while I claim our luggage. Miss Greatorex may already be there.”
“Step lively, please!” requested a sailor in a blue uniform as the lady began to slowly mount the almost upright ladder. Other sailors were speeding up and down it, between the ascending passengers and an air of great bustle and haste pervaded the whole scene.
Then the blue-coat gallantly put his hand under Mrs. Hungerford’s arm and fairly shoved her up the plank. Molly sprang lightly after, caught herfoot in one of the little cross-pieces nailed across the plank to prevent people slipping and sprawled her length, hindering everybody a deal more than if she had climbed more slowly.
However, they gained the deck and Dorothy’s side in safety, and took their stand against the rail to watch the Judge and many another passenger hurriedly identifying their baggage ranged under the wharf shed; and, as each piece was claimed, to see it swiftly tossed upon a skid and rolled into the lower part of the ship.
Captain Murray stood at the foot of the ladder, chronometer in hand, a picture of calm decision; while another uniformed official faced him from the other side the plank, to scan the tickets presented. Judge Breckenridge finished his task and also climbed to the deck, while a sigh of relief escaped Aunt Lucretia’s lips.
“That’s all right! I got so worried lest we should miss the steamer and there isn’t another sailing for three days. I’m so glad to get our things! I never do feel comfortable until I see my trunks aboard my train or steamer.”
“Yes, indeed! A woman bereft of her ‘things’ is a forlorn creature!” laughed the Judge, in gentle sarcasm, but his sister disdained reply. She merely reflected how much greater annoyance her brother would have felt had his sporting outfit been delayed and this was the very first piece of luggage he had identified—her trunk the last. However, there was the utmost good nature in their jesting intercourse,and both now turned their attention to the wharf where the “very last” passenger was hurrying to the ladder.
After him ascended the two officers, and the boat and dock hands seized the ropes to haul the plank aboard. The whistle was blowing, wheels were turning, passengers crowded the rails to wave farewells to friends ashore who had come to see them off, and at this very last second a cab came dashing furiously down the street and up to the steamer’s side.
A woman leaped out, and rushed to the spot where the ship had been moored. She was almost past speaking from haste and excitement as she scanned the groups upon the deck, then with a look of satisfaction at sight of the Judge’s party, clasped her hands imploringly toward the captain and the mate.
“Don’t leave her, Captain Murray! I know her—she belongs to us—it isn’t her fault—throw the ladder out again, even if—” shouted the Judge.
There was no withstanding the sight of so many clasped, entreating hands, even by such a rigid disciplinarian as this fine skipper. For not only Miss Greatorex upon the wharf, but the two girls and Mrs. Hungerford had clasped theirs, also, begging a brief delay.
Then the officer waved his hand, down went the plank again, and a couple of sailors sprang forward to the teacher’s assistance. They had fairly to drag her up the now slippery incline, and almost to tossher upon the deck, where the Judge’s arm shot out for her support and the captain himself helped her to a chair.
Another instant they had put a stretch of water between them and the land, and a fresh uproar of whistles and bells announced that the steamer “Prince” had sailed.
But those near her had thought now only for Miss Greatorex. Her face was at first intensely red and she leaned back in her chair, with closed eyes and gasping breath. Indeed, so difficult her breathing that it seemed as if after each respiration she would never breathe again. Mrs. Hungerford made haste to hold a smelling bottle to the sufferer’s nostrils, but it was feebly waved aside as if it hindered rather than helped.
Then the color faded from the crimson face and all that terrible gasping ceased, so that those watching thought for a moment that life itself had ended.
“Fainted!” said the captain, tersely. “Get her to bed. Number Eight, take her ticket to the purser, get her stateroom key, and send the stewardess. Prompt, now.”
Fortunately, the room engaged for Miss Greatorex and Dorothy was on that deck and very near; and thither the dignified lady was quickly conveyed, very much as a sack of corn might have been. But as for Dorothy’s thoughts during this brief transit there is nothing comforting to say.
“Oh, I’ve killed her, I’ve killed her! If I hadn’t been so careless and left the purses, and if I hadn’tchased that ‘shiny man’ and made all this trouble, she wouldn’t have—I can’t bear it. What shall I do!” she wailed to Molly, as they followed hand in hand, where Miss Greatorex was carried.
“You can stop saying ‘if’ and worrying so. You didn’t do anything on purpose and she’s to blame herself. If she hadn’t gone off mad from the hotel and left Auntie and me, maybe she wouldn’t have run too hard and hurt herself. If—if—if! It isn’t a very happy beginning of a vacation is it? Even though we have got Papa and Auntie Lu and everything. And I don’t know yet what you did after you ran away from the boat. We can’t do a thing here to help. Let’s go to Papa, there and you tell us the whole story. He took a lot of trouble to find you and paid a lot of money to men to seek you, and he looks awful tired and—and disgusted. I guess he wishes he’d just brought Auntie and me and not bothered himself with you and Miss Greatorex. And that’s my fault, too. If I hadn’t asked him to do it he would never have thought of it. Seems if things never do go just as you plan them, do they?”
Under other circumstances Dorothy might have replied to her friend’s unflattering frankness by some reproaches of her own, but not now. She realized the truth but was too humble to resent it. So she merely glanced once more through the door of the little stateroom at Miss Greatorex stretched upon the bed and Mrs. Hungerford with the stewardess attending her, and followed Molly.
The Judge met them with an encouraging smile and the command:
“Shorten up your countenances, little maids! This is a holiday, did you know? Folks don’t go holiday-ing with faces as long as your arm. Here, cuddle down beside me and watch the sights. Tell me too, Miss Dorothy, all that befell you after you disappeared. I’m as curious as Molly is, and she’s ‘just suffering’ to know. Don’t worry about Miss Greatorex, either. She’s simply over-exerted herself and allowed herself to get too anxious about this one small girl. The idea! What’s one small girl more or less, when the world’s chock full of them?”
But the affectionate squeeze he gave to the “girl’s” shoulders as she sat down beside him, while Molly sat herself upon his knee, told her that he had already forgiven any annoyance she had caused him. He was too warm hearted to hold a grudge against anybody; least of all against as penitent a child as Dorothy.
She related her adventures and the Judge laughed heartily over her mimicry of Larry McCarthy, the “new policeman.” Nor did he make any criticisms when the story was ended. She had been sufficiently punished, he considered, for any lapses from prudence and the lessons her experience had taught would be far more valuable than any word of his. So he merely called their attention to the scenery before them.
“This beautiful, green spot that we are passingis Blackwell’s Island, where the city’s criminals and other unfortunates are sent. Doesn’t seem as if wicked people could be hidden behind those walls, does it? Well keep out of mischief and don’t go there!
“Soon we’ll be going up Long Island Sound, and you’ll get a glimpse of some handsome homes. Hello! What’s this? My little bugler, as I live! Good day to you, Melvin; and what is this present ‘toot’ for, if you please?”
A fair-faced boy came rather shyly forward and accepted the hearty hand grasp which the Judge extended, but he seemed to shrink from the keen observation of the two girls; though a flush of pleasure dyed his smooth cheeks, which were as pink-and-white as blond Molly’s own.
“My respects, Judge Breckenridge, and glad to see you aboard again, sir. To get your table seats, sir, if you’ll remember.”
“Thank you, lad, and good enough! Come on, lassies, let’s go down and scramble for best places and first table, when eating time comes.”
All over the deck people were beginning to rise and make their way toward a further door, from which a flight of stairs descended to the dining-room, and these three followed the crowd. The very mention of “eating” had brought back to Dorothy a sensation of terrible hunger. She had eaten nothing since her breakfast at the Academy, and her sail had sharpened her appetite beyond ordinary. During her late experiences in the cityand her terror concerning Miss Greatorex she had forgotten this matter, but now it came back with a positive pang. Suddenly Molly, too, remembered the fact and exclaimed:
“Why, you poor girlie! Talk about eating—you can’t have had a bit of dinner! Papa, Dorothy hasn’t had her dinner this livelong day!”
Her tone was so tragic that people behind her smiled, as her abrupt pause upon the stairs arrested their own progress, and she was promptly urged forward again by her father’s hand.
“Heigho! That’s a calamity—nothing less! But one that can be conquered, let us hope. Now, fall into line close behind me and watch this interesting proceeding.”
From the earnestness depicted upon the countenances of the passengers, this securing of good seats at the first table, in a room which would not allow the serving of all at one time, was a vital matter. The purser stood at the entrance of the saloon and assigned a seat to each person upon the examination of a ticket presented. His office was not a pleasant one. There were the usual grumblers and malcontents, but he preserved his good nature amid all the fault-finding and selfishness; and the Judge had the good fortune to secure five places at the Captain’s table, which was significant of “first call to meals.”
This accomplished he led his charges out of line, carefully deposited his “meal tickets” in an innermost pocket, and crossed an ante-room to wherethere were plates of ship’s biscuits and slices of cheese.
“Take all you want, all you can eat, both of you youngsters. Sorry to say no regular meal will be served, not even for Dorothy’s benefit, till the six o’clock dinner. Unless she choses to get seasick; when she would have tea and toast sent to her and wouldn’t be able to touch it! Enough? Take plenty. There’s no stinting on Captain Murray’s good ship though a lot of cast-iron rules that one must never break. Hark! There’s Melvin’s toot again! There must be a great crowd on board, if all haven’t come to get their seats here yet. Now we’ll interview our women folk and see how they’re faring.”
Munching their crackers and cheese the girls hurried to “Number Thirteen,” the only stateroom on the promenade deck which Miss Rhinelander had been able to secure for her cousin Isobel and Dorothy; and though she had held her peace concerning it Miss Greatorex had inwardly revolted against this “unlucky” number.
But it was in fact among the very best on that small steamship. It’s door opening directly upon the deck so that after retiring one could lie and watch the stars and breathe the pure air of the sea. Also, her short sojourn in it was to do her much good physically. Even now, when Molly and Dorothy peeped in they saw her sitting upright, drinking a cup of tea and chatting with the stewardess as calmly as usual.
At sight of Dorothy, however, she promptly dismissed the attendant and bade the girl enter and explain everything that had happened after her disappearance from the “Mary Powell.”
Molly made a grimace, and Dolly sighed. Repetition of unpleasant things made them doubly disagreeable, and she now longed to enter into the Judge’s spirit and feel that this was happy holiday. She cut the tale as short as she could; listened meekly to Miss Isobel’s reproofs; waited upon that fidgetty person with admirable patience; and with equal patience received all the many instructions as to “suitable conduct” during their whole journey. When the final word had been said, and she had been told that no other “allowance” could be hers until “advices” had been received from Miss Rhinelander, and that she must report every cent expended, she ventured to cut the “lecture” also short, by kneeling in the little aisle between their berths and kissing her guardian’s hand with the petition:
“Please forgive me, dear Miss Greatorex, for all the worry I gave you. I will be good. I will be ‘prudent,’ I will remember—everything—if only you’ll say you’ll love me just the same again!”
Miss Isobel was touched. In her heart she was very fond of Dorothy and grateful to her, on account of her bravery that night of the fire. But she felt it beneath her dignity to show this fondness openly, and answered more coldly than she felt:
“Certainly, it would be unworthy in me to harbor ill will against anybody. But I trust you will give me no further annoyance. Rise, please; and there is Molly. Thank you, Miss Breckenridge, I am much better. It was but a momentary weakness to which I yielded. Please make my regards to your father for his courteous messages of regret. Yes, Dorothy, you may go with your friend for a walk on the deck. I will join you very soon.”
“Hope she won’t, mean old thing!” grumbled Molly, under her breath. “She’s one of the plans that didn’t go right. Instead of darling Miss Penelope with her sweet mother-ways to have the ‘Grater’ forced on us this way is too bad. I know Papa and Auntie Lu aren’t pleased with her either, though they’re too polite to say so.”
“O, Molly, don’t! I was bad, I can’t deny it and I deserve to have her stiff and cross with me. I don’t believe she’s half so vexed as she seems but she doesn’t think it’s ‘proper’ to let me know how thankful she is I wasn’t really lost. Folks can’t help being themselves, anyway; else I’d be a perfectly angelic sort of a girl, and be it quick! Hark! Those bells!”
“Yes, honey, let me tell you! Papa just told me. That’s four o’clock, ‘eight bells.’ In half an hour it’ll strike once. At five will strike twice. Every half hour one more stroke till at the end of four hours it’ll be eight bells again. That’s the beginning and the end of a ‘watch.’ A ‘watch’ is four hours long and the sailors change off then,one lot comes from ‘duty’ and another lot ‘stand’ theirs. Isn’t it odd and interesting? Oh! I think being on shipboard is just too lovely for words! And aren’t we going to have a glorious time after all?”
“Oh! Molly, I hope so. Course I think it’s splendidly interesting, too, if I could get over feeling so ashamed of myself and my foolishness. I don’t like to go near your father for he must think I have been horrid. I don’t know how I can ever pay him back the money he spent hiring folks to hunt for me, and the trouble I gave him—oh! dear! Why didn’t I let that old ‘shiny man’ go and not try to follow him!”
“Give it up Dolly Doodles. Reckon you happened to value that five dollars more than you did us, just about then. And you might as well have ‘let him go’ since he went anyhow and our precious purses with him. Now, honey, you quit. Don’t you say another single word of whathashappened but let’s just think of all the nice things thatare goingto happen. Ah! Hold up your head, put on all your ‘style,’ make yourself as pretty as you can, for here comes that adorable young bugler and he’s perfectly enchanting! Oh! I do so love boys! Don’t you?”
“Molly Breckenridge, stop making me giggle. He’ll think we’re laughing at him and I don’t like to hurt anybody’s feelings.”
“My dear innocent! You couldn’t hurt his. Why, Papa says that all the passengers try to makea pet of that sweet youth, so he knows he’s all right no matter who laughs. The trouble is he’ll never speak to anybody if he can help it and unless it happens to be his duty. Sailors are great for ‘duty,’ you know. But did you ever see such funny clothes?”
The girls continued their walk around the deck, the bugler passed them by, unseeing—apparently; and quoth mischievous Molly:
“I’m going to get acquainted with that Melvin before we leave this ship, see if I don’t! I believe he has a lot of fun in him, if he wasn’t afraid of his ‘duty.’ Papa said he was the only son of his mother and their home is at Yarmouth. Papa met her last summer when he stopped there for a few weeks’ fishing. I’ll make him understand I’m my father’s daughter; you see!”
“Molly Breckenridge, you’ll do nothing to disgrace that father, understand me too. Here comes ‘Number Eight.’ Isn’t he funny?”
To their unaccustomed eyes the sailor’s clothing did look odd. The Judge had explained to Molly that these “numbered” officials were recognized by their numbers only. That they acted in various capacities; as table-waiters, and especially as “chamber maids.” Each “number” had his own section of staterooms to attend, each one his especial table to serve in the dining saloon.
In a natural reaction from their anxiety of the earlier day the spirits of both girls had risen proportionately. They were ready to see humor in everythingand poor Number Eight came in for his share of absurd comment, when he had passed out of hearing.
“He’s such a big, red-faced, red-haired man, and his jacket is so little. Looks as if his arms and shoulders had just been squeezed into it by some machine. Did you notice his monstrous trousers? Enough in them to piece out the jacket, I should think, and never be missed. All these Numbers are dressed alike; little bit o’ coaties, divided skirts for panties, and such dudish little caps! Who wouldn’t be a sailor on the bright blue sea, if he could wear clothes cut that fashion? ‘A life on the ocean wave,’” she quoted. “‘A home on the rolling deep—’”
“‘Where the scattered waters rave. And the winds their revels keep. The wi-i-inds their r-r-r-ev-el-s-s k-e-e-e-ep!’” A rich voice had caught the burden of Molly’s song and finished it with an absurd flourish.
“Now, Papa!” cried the girl, facing suddenly about. So suddenly, indeed, that she collided with an unseen somebody, slipped on the freshly washed boards, and fell at her victim’s feet. A bugle shot out from under his arm and banged against the deck-rail; but before he recovered that Melvin had stooped, said “Allow me!” and helped Molly up again. Then he lifted his cap, picked up his bugle, and proceeded on his way without so much as another word.
Molly stared after him, blushing and mortified,shaking her tiny fist toward his blue-uniformed back, and remarking:
“Huh! Master Melvin! I’d just declared I’d get acquainted with you but I didn’t mean to do it in quite that way!”
Maybe, too, her chagrin would have been deeper could she have seen the amused expression of the young bugler’s face; and again she observed—to Dorothy as she supposed:
“Anyhow, if you’d been a gentleman, a real gentleman-boy, you’d have stopped to ask if I was hurt. Huh! you’re terribly ‘sot up’ and top-lofty, just because you wear a uniform and toot-ti-ti-toot on little tin-horn kind of a thing that I could play myself, if I wanted to. Don’t you think so, Papa and Dolly? Wasn’t it horrid of him to trip me up that way and make me look so silly? Why don’t you answer, one of you?”
She turned the better to see “why,” and found herself gazing into the stern countenance of Captain Murray. That strict gentleman had recently been annoyed by the “skylarking” of girlish passengers who had tried “flirting” with his “boys” and was bent upon preventing any further annoyance of that sort.
“Your father has gone forward to meet your ailing friend and the little girl is with him. I would advise you to join them.”
That was all the reproof he administered, but it was sufficient to make Molly Breckenridge flush scarlet again, and this time with anger againstthe skipper. She hurried to “join” the others who had met Miss Greatorex and exclaimed with great heat:
“I just detest that horrid stiff Captain! He looked—he believed I tumbled against that precious bugler of his just on purpose! I wish I need never see either one of them again or hear that wretched thing toot!”
She could not then foresee how important a part in her own life that “toot” was yet to play; nor was the laughter with which her outburst was received very comforting.
However and despite her declaration to the contrary it was a most welcome “toot” which sounded along the deck and announced to the hungry voyagers that dinner was served; and Molly was among the first to spring up and hurry her father tableward.
“Seems as if I’d never had anything to eat in all my life!” she exclaimed. “Come on, Dolly Doodles,youmust be actually famished.”
“I am pretty hungry,” admitted Dorothy; but mindful now of her recent resolve to do everything as Miss Greatorex would have her, she waited until that lady rose from her steamer chair, gathered her wraps about her, and anxiously inquired of Mrs. Hungerford:
“Will it be safe to leave my rug behind? or should I carry it with me to table?”
“Oh! leave it, by all means. There’s none too much room below and I never worry about my things. Lay it on your chair and that will prove to anybody who comes along that your especial seatis ‘reserved.’ I’m leaving mine, you see;” answered the more experienced traveler, wondering if Miss Isobel’s nervousness would not prove a most unpleasant factor in their vacation fun. Also thinking that she had too readily given consent to Molly’s written plea: that Dorothy and a teacher should be invited to join them on this trip.
Because there had been some question as to where the girl should pass the long vacation. Deerhurst would not be open, even if Mrs. Calvert had expressed any desire for a visit from Dorothy, which she had not. The old gentlewoman was to spend that season at the White Sulphur Springs, whither she had been in the habit of going during many years; and where among other old aristocrats she queened it at their own exclusive hotel.
The mountain cottage would, of course, be in the hands of the Martin family, and Mother Martha had not approved Dorothy’s coming to Baltimore and passing the heated term there with herself. Indeed, deep in the little woman’s heart was a resentment against the unknown benefactor who was now supporting her adopted child and sending her to such an expensive school. As she complained to the aged relative with whom she now lived:
“I feel, Aunt Chloe, that I’ve been meanly treated. I’ve had all the care of Dorothy through her growing up and having the measles, scarlet fever, whooping cough, and all the other children’s diseases. I’ve sewed for her, and washed and ironed for her, and taught her all the useful things sheknows; yet now, just as she is big enough to be some company and comfort—off she’s snatched and I not even told by whom. I doubt if John knows, either, though he won’t say one way or other, except that ‘it’s all right and he knows it.’ So I say I shan’t worry; and I wouldn’t think it right, anyway, for her to come down south if only this far after being north for so long.”
Seth Winters had not come back to his beloved mountain, so that she could not go to him; and the only thing that was left was to go to her father at his Sanitorium or remain with Miss Rhinelander.
Neither of these plans was satisfactory. Father John did not want her to pass her holidays in an atmosphere of illness; and Miss Rhinelander craved freedom and rest for herself. There were still extensive repairs to be made to the Academy and she wished to superintend them.
Finally, Molly Breckenridge had taken the matter in hand with the result related; and with the one unlooked for feature, the presence of Miss Greatorex where Miss Penelope had been desired.
However, here they all were at last; a few hours outward bound on their short ocean trip and looking forward to the most enjoyable of summers in lovely Nova Scotia. They were to make a complete tour of the Province, then settle down in some quiet place near the fishing and hunting grounds where the Judge would go into camp.
Molly was thankful that her table-seat was well removed from that of Captain Murray at its head.But she soon found that she need not have worried, and that the closer she could be to him—when he was off duty—the better she would like it. This wasn’t the austere officer in command! who told such amusing tales of life at sea, who kept his guests so interested and absorbed, and who so solicitously watched his waiters lest anybody’s wants should be unsupplied! No, indeed. He was simply a most courteous host and delightful talker, and before that first meal was over she had forgotten her dislike of him, and, after her impulsive manner had “fallen in love” with him.
Then back to the deck, to watch the moon rise and to settle themselves comfortably for a long and happy evening; and after awhile, begged Molly:
“Now, Papa darling, if your dinner’s ‘settled,’ please to sing. Remember I haven’t heard you do so in almost a year.”
“Now, my love, you don’t expect me to make an orchestra of myself, I hope? I notice they haven’t one aboard this little steamship. Nobody but Melvin to make music for us. I must tell you girls about that lad. He—”
“Never mindhimnow, Papa. He will keep. He can wait. But I do want you to sing! Dorothy, go take that chair on Papa’s other side; and here comes Number Eight with more rugs. Wouldn’t think it could be so cool, almost cold, would you, after that dreadful heat back there in New York? Now, sir, begin!” and the Judge’sadoring “domestic tyrant” patted his hand with great impatience.
“Very well, Miss Tease. Only it must be softly, so as not to disturb other people who may not have as great fancy for my warbling as you have.”
Mrs. Hungerford leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes in great content. Like his daughter she thought there was no sweeter singer anywhere than her beloved brother; but the too-correct Miss Isobel drew herself stiffly erect with an unspoken protest against this odd proceeding. She was quite sure that it wasn’t good form for anybody to sing in such a public place and under such circumstances. Least of all a Judge. A Judge of the Supreme Court! More than ever was she amazed when he began with a college song: “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean,” in which Molly presently joined and, after a moment, Dorothy also.
But even her primness could not withstand the witchery of the gentleman’s superb tenor voice, with its high culture and feeling; because even into that humdrum refrain he put a pathos and longing which quite transformed it.
People sitting within hearing hitched their chairs nearer, but softly—not to disturb the singers; who sang on quietly, unconsciously, as if in their own private home. Drifting from one song to another, with little pauses between and always beginning by a suggestive note from Molly, the time passed unperceived.
Evidently, father and child had thus sung togetherduring all their lives; and long before her that “other Molly,” her dead mother, of whom his child was the very counterpart, had also joined her exquisite tones to his. Into many melodies they passed, college songs left behind, and deeper feelings stirred by the words they uttered; till finally perceiving that his own mood was growing most un-holiday like, the Judge suddenly burst forth with “John Brown’s Body.”
Then, indeed, did mirth and jollification begin. Far and near, all sorts and conditions of voices caught up the old melody and added their quota to the music; and when their leader began mischievously to alter the refrain by dropping the last word, and shortening it each time by one word less, delight was general and the fun waxed fast and furious.
The abrupt termination left many a singer in the lurch; and when the last verse was sung and ended only with “John—,” “John—,” “John,” there were still some who wandered on into “the grave” and had to join in the laugh their want of observation had brought upon them.
By this time also Miss Isobel Greatorex had become quite resigned to a proceeding which no other passenger had disapproved and which, she could but confess, had added a charm to that never-to-be-forgotten evening. Moonlight flooded the sea and the deck. The simplicity and good-fellowship of Judge Breckenridge and his sister had brought all these strangers into a harmony which bridged all distinctionsof class or interest and rendered that first night afloat a most happy one for all.
Until—was the moonlight growing clouded? Did those six strokes of the bell actually mean eleven o’clock? So late—and suddenly so—so—so queer!
Even if the little concert had not already ended nobody could have sung just then.
“I guess we’ve left the Sound and struck the ocean;” remarked one gentleman, in a peculiar tone. “Good night all,” and he disappeared.
A lady next Miss Greatorex made an effort to extricate herself from her rugs and chair and observed:
“I’ve such a curious feeling. So—so dizzy. My head swims. Is—is there a different—motion to the boat? Have you noticed?”
Yes, Miss Greatorex had noticed, but she couldn’t reply just then. Nor was this because of her “stiffness” toward a person who had not been properly “introduced.” It was simply that—that—dear, dear! She felt so very queer herself. She would try and get to her stateroom. In any case it was very late and everybody was moving.
A petulant cry from Molly expressed her own desires exactly.
“Papa, dear Papa! What makes the folks go wobbling around the way they do? I wish they wouldn’t! I wish they would—would keep real—perfectly—still! I wish! Oh! dear!”
The Judge rose at once and, despite her size, caught up his daughter and marched off with her toward Mrs. Hungerford’s stateroom, whither that experienced voyager had as suddenly preceded him. When he came back, a few minutes later, he found that Miss Greatorex had vanished, and that Dorothy sat alone on the deserted deck wondering what in the world was the matter to make everybody rush off at once, or almost everybody. Wondering whether she should follow, and if her guardian would return and need her rugs again; yet placidly thinking over the delightful evening she had spent and how strange it was for her, “just plain Dorothy,” to be having such a splendid trip in such charming company.
“Well, lassie, are you all right? Don’tyoufeel a ‘little queer,’ too?”
“Yes, thank you, Judge Breckenridge. I’m right enough but I don’t know whether Miss Greatorex wants me to come to our room now or whether she’ll need her things again. She went away in a great hurry, seems if; and so—so did ’most everybody else. Funny for them all to get sleepy just in a minute so.”
The old traveler laughed and patted Dorothy’s shoulder.
“A ‘fog swell’ is what we’ve struck. That explains the darkness and the hasty departure of our neighbors. Seasick, poor creatures! and no suffering worse, while it lasts. Sure you aren’t yourself, Dorothy?”
“No. I don’t feel any different from ever, yet, Judge Breckenridge.”
“Good enough. I’m mighty glad for you. Poor little Moll will be apt to have a sorry time of it until we reach Yarmouth and land. By the way, lassie, I observe that you’ve been well trained to give a person their name and title when you speak to them. But we’re on our holiday now, you know, and mustn’t work more than we can help. So, my dear, suppose you call me Uncle Schuy, or simply Uncle, while we are together. ‘Judge Breckenridge’ is considerable of a mouthful for a small maid who, I hope, will have to address me a great many times. I shall find it pleasant to be ‘Uncled’ for I greatly miss our boy, Tom.”
He did not add, as he might, that some pity mingled in this desire. Coming unobserved upon the little figure sitting alone in the steamer-chair, amid a pile of rugs which almost hid her from sight, deserted, and possibly also in the throes of illness, he had resolved to make her time with him and his as happy as he could. He would have done this under any circumstances; but Molly’s fervid description of Dorothy’s orphanage and ignorance of her real parentage had touched him profoundly.
Loving his own little daughter beyond all others in the world he loved this deserted child for Molly’s sake; and felt that he should promptly love her for her own.
Sitting down again beside her he covered himselfwith rugs and begged permission to smoke; remarking:
“It’s a shame to keep you up longer but I fancy that your stateroom wouldn’t be very pleasant just now. It’s next to my sister’s, you know, and I saw Number Eight coming out of it with considerable haste. Miss Greatorex is probably ill, but should be better once she gets settled in bed. Then you must go and also get to rest. Quite likely you’ll be the only little girl-companion I’ll have for the rest of the trip. I was afraid Molly would make a poor sailor, and she’s proving me correct. My sister, though, never suffers from seasickness and is a charming traveling companion as you’ll find.”
He relapsed into silence and a great drowsiness began to overpower Dorothy. Her day had been long and most eventful and the sea air was strong. Presently, her head drooped against the back of her chair, the Judge grew indistinct in her sight, and she fell asleep.
He considered then what was best to do; and presently decided that, if she wasn’t sent for, she might well and safely pass the night on deck as he intended to do.
Indeed, so often had he voyaged on that ship that its employees had learned his wishes without telling; and now there came to him one Number Seven, his own room attendant, bringing a pillow and more rugs. He was dispatched for another pillow and between them they gently lowered theback of Dorothy’s chair, placed a pillow under her unconscious head and tucked her warmly in. Then he settled himself to rest and neither of them knew distinctly anything more until the daylight came and the sunshine struggled with the enwrapping fog.
She, indeed, had had vague dreams of what went on about her. Had heard muffled bells and passing footsteps, but these had mingled only pleasantly with her sense of rest and happiness; and it was a very surprised young person who at last opened her eyes upon a gray expanse of mist-covered ocean and a gray-haired man asleep on a chair beside her.
Sitting up, she stared about her for a moment till she realized what had happened; then smiled to think she had actually slept out of doors. Afterward, she wondered with some anxiety if Miss Greatorex had sent for her during the night, or if she were still too ill to care about anybody save herself.
“Anyhow, I must go and see. My! how damp these rugs are and yet I am as warm as can be. That’s what dear Miss Penelope said she meant to do—sleep on deck. But she didn’t come and I’ve done it in her stead. What a queer world it is and how things do get twisted round! Now I must be still as still and not wake that dear Judge—‘Uncle’, who’s so lovely to me!”
With these thoughts she slipped softly out of her rugs and tiptoed away, having some slight trouble to locate “Number Thirteen” stateroom; and, havingdone so, discovered its door ajar, fastened against intrusion by a chain.
She peeped through the opening. Miss Isobel lay with her eyes closed, but whether asleep or not Dorothy couldn’t decide. She was very pale and perfectly motionless, and a too-suggestive tin basin was fastened to the railing of her berth.
“Ugh! I can’t go in there and wake her, if she’s asleep; or to go any way. I’ll slip around to this other side the boat where there are such heaps of chairs and nobody in them. My! It’s cold and I haven’t anything to put over me here. Never mind, I’ll stay. If I go back to where I was I might wake Judge Breckenridge, and I shouldn’t like to do that. I don’t wonder Molly called him a handsome man. He looked better than handsome to me, sleeping there, he lookednoble.”
Thus reflecting she settled herself on a chair against the inner wall and watched the men at work mopping the wet decks and putting the steamer generally “ship-shape” against the day’s voyage. It was a forlorn outlook into the world of fog, through which the sound of the bells rang strangely. Also, there was an almost continuous blowing of whistles and a look of some anxiety on the faces of such of the crew as passed by.
Finally, out of some far-off stairway, young bugler Melvin came tripping and hurried along the deck in her direction. She fancied a look of surprise in his eyes as he perceived her and that he would pass on without further notice. Yet, just ashe reached a point opposite her chair, he flashed one glance toward her; and almost as quickly turned about to retrace his steps. Shivering and rather miserable she watched him idly, and now the surprise was her own.
He returned and still without speaking, yet with an almost painful flush on his face, tossed two heavy rugs into her lap and instantly passed on. She had no chance to thank him, but readily answered a laugh from a deck-hand near by who had witnessed the little incident and enjoyed it. The “Bashful Bugler” was Melvin’s shipboard nickname and no lad ever better deserved such. Yet he had been well “raised” and there was something very appealing to the chivalry of any lad in the look of Dorothy’s just now sad eyes; though commonly their brown depths held only sunshine.
The sweeper on the deck moved the chairs near her and even her own, though without her leaving it, the better to clear off the moisture which the fog had deposited. She had echoed his laugh and he remarked:
“Nice boy, ‘Bashful’ is; but no more fitted to go round ’mongst strangers’n a picked chicken.”
Both the sailor and Dorothy were glad to speak with anybody, and she asked:
“Will this fog last long? Is it often so cold right in the summer time?”
“Cold enough to freeze the legs off an iron pot, slathers of times. This is one of ’em! As for fogs lastin’, I reckon, little Miss, there won’t be no moresunshine ’twixt here and Yarmouth harbor. If you’re cold out here though, and don’t want to go to your room, you’ll find things snug down yonder in that music-room, or what you call it.”
“Oh! is there a place? Under shelter? Will you show me?”
“Sure. If ’tis open yet. Sometimes it’s shut overnight but likely not now. I’ll take them rugs for you, Sissy, if you like.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much. How nice everybody is on a steamship! Is it living all the time on the water makes you kind, I wonder?”
“Give it up!” answered this able seaman, not a little flattered by Dorothy’s appreciation of his service, and in Molly’s own frequent manner. With another smile at this memory, Dorothy followed as he walked ahead, dragging his mop behind him and leaving a shining streak in his wake.
They found the little saloon, music-room, writing-room, or “what you call it,” closed, but the door opened readily enough, and Dorothy was delighted to creep within the warmth and comfort of the place. It was dark inside but the man turned on the electric light, and, doffing his cap, went out, shut the door behind him, and left her to her solitary enjoyment.
“What a pretty room! How cozy and warm! I’m going to cuddle down in this easy chair and take another nap. There’s nobody stirring much and I heard one man say to another that there were more folks sick this trip than had been all summer.I wonder if poor Molly is yet! I’d go and see only I don’t want to disturb Mrs. Hungerford.
“Now, Dorothy girl, shut your eyes and don’t open them again till breakfast time. I am awfully disappointed. I’d counted upon watching the sun rise over the ocean and was going to get up so early to do it: Huh! I’m early enough, but the poor sun is taking a bath and can’t be seen.”
Artificial heat had been turned into the room which accounted for the warmth she found so grateful. This, succeeding her shivering fit, made her drowsy and she shut her eyes “just for forty winks.” But a good many times “forty” had passed before she opened them once more and found herself still alone. She got up and looked about her, thinking that she must go to “Number Thirteen” and bathe her face and hands, though not much more than that could be accomplished in such limited quarters. She’d go in just a minute. Meanwhile there was a piano. She’d like to try it, though her lessons on that instrument had been but few. However—
“Oh! joy! There’s a violin case on the shelf yonder! I’m going to look at it. If there’s a violin inside—There is! I’d love, just love to try that, far more than a jingling piano. I wonder would anybody hear me? I don’t believe so. It’s so far away. I’m going to—I am!”
With a fiddle once more under her chin Dorothy forgot all but that happy fact. Delicately and timidly at first, she drew her bow across the strings,fearing an interruption; but when none came she gathered boldness and played as she would have done in Herr von Peter’s own helpful presence.
How long she stood there, swaying to her own music, enwrapped in it and no longer lonely, she didn’t know; but after a time the minor chords of her last and “loveliest lesson” were rudely broken in upon by other strains which cut short her practicing and set her face toward the door.
There stood the “Bashful Bugler” tooting his “first call to breakfast” directly toward her, and her response was a crash of discord from the violin. The effect upon Melvin was to make him lower his bugle and flash out of sight as if propelled by a hurricane.