What had happened!
Those who were sliding down that icy incline could not stop to see, and those who were on the ground below covered their eyes that they might not. Yet opened them again to stare helplessly at the dangling figure of a girl outside that terrible slide. For in a moment, when the clutching fingers must unclose, the poor child must drop to destruction. That was inevitable.
Then they saw it was Dorothy, who hung thus, suspended between life and death. Dorothy in her white and pink, the daintiest darling of them all, who had so enjoyed her first—and last!—day at this sport.
Fresh shudders ran through the onlookers as they realized this and the Lady Principal sank down in a faint. Then another groan escaped them—the merest possibility of hope.
Behold! The girl did not fall! Another’s small hand reached over the low side of the toboggan and clutched the blanket-covered shoulder of the imperiledchild. Another hand! the other shoulder, and hope grew stronger. Someone had caught the falling Dorothy—she and her would-be-rescuer were now moving—moving—slowly downward along the very edge—one swaying perilously with the motion, the other wholly unseen save for those outstretched hands, with their death-fast grip upon the snowy wool.
Down—down! And faster now! Till the hands of the tallest watchers could reach and clasp the feet, then the whole precious little body of “Miss Dixie,” their favorite from the Southland.
But even then, as strong arms drew her into their safe shelter, the small hands which had supported her to safety clung still so tight that only the Bishop’s could loose their clasp.
“Gwendolyn! You brave, sweet girl! Let go—let go. It’s all right now—Dorothy did not fall—You saved her life. Look up, my daughter. Don’t faint now when all is over. Look up, you noble child, and hear me tell you: Dorothy is safe and it is you who saved her life. At the risk of your own you saved her life.”
Clasped close in his fatherly arms, Gwendolyn shuddered but obeyed and looked up into the Bishop’s face.
“Say that again. Please. Say that again—very slow—if it’s the—the truth.”
“SOMEONE HAD CAUGHT THE FALLING GIRL.”“SOMEONE HAD CAUGHT THE FALLING GIRL.”Dorothy at Oak Knowe.
“Gwendolyn, I tell you now, in the presence of God and these witnesses, it has been your precious privilege to save a human life, by your swift thought and determined action you have saved the life of Dorothy Calvert, and God bless you for it.”
“Then we are quits!”
For another moment after she had said those words she still rested quietly where she was, then slowly rose and looked about her.
Dorothy had been in the greater peril of the two, yet more unconscious of it. She had not seen how high above the ground she hung, nor how directly beneath was the lake with the thinly frozen spots whence the thicker ice had been cut for the ice-houses; nor how there were heaped up rocks bordering the water, left as nature had designed to beautify the scene.
She was the quickest to recover her great fright and she was wholly unhurt. Her really greater wonder was that poor Miss Muriel should happen to faint away just then.
“I’m glad she did, though, if it won’t make her ill, ’cause then she didn’t see me dangling, like I must have, and get scared for that. Likely she stayed out doors too long. She isn’t very strong and it’s mighty cold, I think.”
So they hurried her indoors, Gwendolyn with her, yet neither of them allowed to discuss theaffair until they were both warmly dressed in ordinary clothes and set down to a cute little lunch table, “all for your two selves,” Nora explained: “And to eat all these warm things and drink hot coffee—as much of it as you like. It was Miss Muriel herself who said that!”
This was a treat indeed. Coffee at any meal was kept for a special treat, but to have unlimited portions of it was what Dolly called “a step beyond.”
Curious glances, but smiling and tender, came often their way, from other tables in the room, yet the sport, and happily ended hazard of the morning had given to every girl a fine appetite, so that, for once, knives and forks were more busily employed than tongues.
Neither did the two heroines of the recent tragic episode feel much like speech. Now that it was all over and they could think about it more clearly their hearts were filled with the solemnity of what had happened; and Gwendolyn said all that was needed for both, when once laying her hand on Dorothy’s she whispered:
“You saved my life—the Bishop says that I saved yours. After that we’re even and we must love each other all our lives.”
“Oh! we must, we must! And I do, I shall!” returned Dorothy, with tears rising.
Then this festive little lunch dispatched, they were captured by their schoolmates and led triumphantly into the cheerful library, the scene of all their confabs, and Winifred demanded:
“Now, in the name of all the Oak Knowe girls, I demand a detailed history of what happened. Begin at the beginning and don’t either of you dare to skip a single moment of the time from where you started down the old toboggan alongside of John Gilpin and that boy. I fancy if the tale were properly told his ride would outdo that of his namesake of old times. Dorothy Calvert, begin.”
“Why, dear, I don’t know what to say, except that, as you say, we started. My lovely toboggan went beautifully, as it had all the time, but theirs didn’t act right. I believe that the old man was scared so that he couldn’t do a thing except meddle with Robin, who doesn’t know much more about sliding than I do, or did. He—”
“I saw he was getting on the wrong side, right behind you two, as we shot past on ours,” interrupted Serena Huntington, “and we both called out: ‘steer! steer right!’ but I suppose they didn’t hear or understand. We were so far down then that I don’t know.”
“Gwen, dear, you tell the rest,” begged Dorothy, cuddling up to the girl she now so dearly loved.
It wasn’t often that Gwendolyn was called to the front like this, but she found it very pleasant; so readily took up the tale where Dorothy left it, “at the very beginning” as “Dixie” laughingly declared.
“It seems as if there was nothing to tell—it was all so quick—it just happened! Half way down, it must have been, the farmer’s sled hit ours. That scared me, too, and I called, just as Serena had, and as everybody on the slide was doing as they passed: ‘Steer right!’ I guess that only confused the poor old man, for he kept bobbing into us and that hindered our getting away from him ourselves.
“Next I knew, Dolly was off the sled and over the edge of the slide, clinging to it for her life. I knew she couldn’t hold on long and so I rolled off and grabbed her. Then we began to slide and I knew somebody was trying to help by pushing us downward toward the bottom. I don’t know who that was. I don’t know anything clearly. It was all like a flash—I guessed we would be killed—I shut my eyes and—that’s all.”
To break the too suggestive silence which followed with its hint of a different, sorrowful ending, Florita Sheraton exclaimed:
“I know who did that pushing! It was our little Robin Adair, or whatever his name is. Fact.That home-made toboggan of his came to grief. The old man has told me. He’s out in the kitchen now warming up his bruises. You see, there wasn’t anything to hang on by, on the sides. He had scorned Robin’s advice to nail something on and he nearly ground his fingers off holding on by the flat bottom. It went so swift—his fingers ached so—he yanked them out from under—Robin screeched—they ran into you—they both tumbled off—Robin lodged against you but John Gilpin rode to the bottom—thus wise!”
Florita illustrated by rolling one hand over and under the other; and thus, in fact, had John Gilpin taken his first toboggan slide.
Laughter showed that the tension of excitement which had held these schoolgirls all that day had yielded to ordinary feelings, and now most of them went away for study or practicing, leaving Dorothy and Gwendolyn alone. After a moment, they also left the library, bound kitchenwards, to visit old John and see if Robin were still thereabouts.
“I wish there were something I could do for that boy,” said Gwen. “I feel so grateful to him for helping us and he looked so poor. Do you suppose, Dolly, if Mamma offered him money for that new coat he jested about, that he would be offended.”
“Of course, Gwen, I don’t know abouthim.You never can tell about other folks, but Uncle Seth thinks it’s a mighty safe rule ‘to put yourself in his place’; and if I were in Robin’s I’d be ‘mad as a hatter’ to have money offered me for doing a little thing like that. Wouldn’t you?”
“Why, yes, Dorothy, of course I would. The idea! But I’m rich, or my people are, which is the same thing. But he’s poor. His feelings may not, cannot, be the same as our sort have.”
“Why can’t they? I don’t like to have you think that way. You ought not. Gwen you must not. For that will make us break friendship square off. I’m not poor Dawkins’s niece, though I might be much worse off than that, but once I was ‘poor’ like Robin. I was a deserted baby, adopted by a poor letter carrier. Now, what do you think of that? Can’t I have nice feelings same as you? And am I a bit better—in myself—because in reality I belonged to a rich old family, than I was when I washed dishes in Mother Martha’s kitchen? Tell me that, before we go one step further.”
Dorothy had stopped short in the hall and faced about, anxiously studying the face of this “Peer,” who had now become so dear to her.
Gwendolyn’s face was a puzzle; as, for a time, the old opinions and the new struggled within her. But the struggle was brief. Her pride, her justice, and now her love, won the victory.
“No, you darling, brave little thing, you are not. Whatever you are you were born such, and I love you, I love you. If I’d only been born in the States I’d have had no silly notions.”
“Don’t you believe that, Gwen. Aunt Betty says that human nature is the same all the world over. You’d have been just as much of a snob if you’d been ‘raised in ol’ Ferginny’ as you are here. Oh! my! I didn’t mean that. I meant—You must understand what I mean!”
A flush of mortification at her too plain speaking made Dorothy hide her face, but her hands were swiftly pulled down and a kiss left in their place.
“Don’t you fret, Queenie! It’s taken lots of Mamma’s plain speaking to keep me half-way decent to others less rich than I, and I’m afraid it’ll take lots of yours, too, to put the finishing touches to that lesson. Come on. We love each other now, and love puts everything right. Come on. Let’s find that Robin and see what we can do for him without hurting his feelings.”
“Oh! yes, come, let’s hurry! But first to the Lady Principal. Maybe we can help them both. Won’t that be fine?”
But they were not to help Robin just then. A groan from the servants’ parlor, a pleasant room opening from the kitchen, arrested their attention and made them pause to listen. Punctuated byother sounds, a querulous voice was complaining:
“Seems if there warn’t a hull spot left on my old body that ain’t bruised sore as a bile. Why, sir, when I fell off that blamed sled we’d tinkered up”—groan—“I didn’t know anything. Just slid—an’ slid—an’ rolled over and over, never realizin’ which side of me was topmost till I fetched up—kerwhack! to the very bottom. Seemed as if I’d fell out o’ the sky into the bottomless pit. Oh! dear!”
Dawkins’s voice it was that answered him, both pitying and teasing him in the same breath:
“I’m sure it’s sorry I am, Mr. Gilpin, for what’s befell; but for a man that’s lived in a tobogganing country ever since he was born, you begun rather late in life to learn the sport. Why—”
“Ain’t no older’n the Bishop! Can’t one man do same’s t’other, I’d like to know, Mis’ Dawkins?”
“Seems not;” laughed the maid. “But, here, take this cup of hot spearmint tea. ’Twill warm your old bones and help ’em to mend; an’ next time you start playin’ children’s game—why don’t! And for goodness’ sake, John, quit groanin’! Takin’ on like that don’t help any and I tell you fair and square I’ve had about all the strain put on my nerves, to-day, ’t I can bear. What was your bit of a roll down that smooth ice compared to what our girls went through?”
“Has you got any nuts in your pockets? Has you?” broke in Millikins-Pillikins, who had been a patient listener to the confab between the farmer and the nurse till she could wait no longer. Never had the old man come to Oak Knowe without some dainty for the little girl and she expected such now.
“No, sissy, I haven’t. I dunno as I’ve got a pocket left. I dunno nothing, except—except—What’ll SHE say when I go home all lamed up like this! Oh! hum! Seems if I was possessed to ha’ done it, and so she thought. But ’twas Robin’s fault. If Robin hadn’t beset me so I’d never thought of it. Leastwise, not to go the length I did. If I’d—But there! What’s the use? But one thing’s sure. I’ll get shut of that boy, see if I don’t. He’s well now an’ why should I go to harboringreptilesin my buzzum? Tell me that if ye can!Reptiles.That’s what he was, a-teasin’ an’ misleadin’ a poor old man into destruction. Huh! I’ll make it warm for him—trust John Gilpin for that!”
Dawkins had long since departed, unable to bear the old man’s lamentations, and leaving the cup, or pot, of hot tea on the table beside him. But little Grace couldn’t tear herself away. She lingered, first hoping for the nuts she craved, and later in wonder about the “reptile” he said was inhis bosom. There were big books full of pictures in the library, that Auntie Prin sometimes let her see. She loved to have them opened on the rug and lie down beside them to study them. She knew what “reptiles” were. That was the very one of all the Natural History books with the blue bindings that she liked best, it was so delightfully crawly and sent such funny little thrills all through her. If a picture could do that what might not the real thing do!
“Show it to me, please, Mr. Gilpin. I never saw a reptile in all my whole life long! Never!”
The farmer had paid scant attention to her chatter; indeed, he scarcely heard it, his mind being wholly engrossed now with what his dame would say to him, on his return home; and in his absent-mindedness he reached out for the drink good Dawkins had left him and put the pot to his lips taking a great draught.
An instant later the pot flew out of his hand and he sprang to his feet, clutching frantically at his bosom and yelling as if he were stung. For the contents of the pot were boiling hot and he had scalded his throat most painfully.
But wide-eyed little Grace did not understand his wild action, as, still clutching his shirt front, he hurled the pot far from him. Of course, the “reptile” was biting! That must be why hescreeched so, and now all her desire for a personal acquaintance with such a creature vanished. She must get as far away from it as possible before it appeared on the surface of his smock and, darting doorward, was just in time to receive the pot and what was left in it upon her curly head. Down she dropped as if she had been shot, and Dorothy entering was just in time to see her fall. The scene apparently explained itself. The angry face of the old man, his arm still rigid, in the gesture of hurling, the fallen child and the broken pot—who could guess that it was horror at his uncalculated deed which kept him in that pose?
Not Dorothy, who caught up little Grace and turned a furious face upon poor John, crying out in fierce contempt:
“Oh! you horrible old man! First you tried to kill me and now you have killed her!”
Dorothy ran straight to the Lady Principal’s room, too horrified by what she imagined was the case to pause on the way and too excited to feel the heavy burden she carried.
Nobody met her to stop her or inquire what had happened. Gwendolyn had been called to join her mother and had seen nothing of the incident, and Dorothy burst into the pretty parlor—only to find it empty. Laying Millikins down on the couch she started to find help, but was promptly called back by the child herself.
“Where you going, Dolly Doodles? What you carry me for, running so?”
“Why—why—darling—can youspeak? Are youalive? Oh! you dear—you dear! I thought you were killed!” cried the relieved girl kneeling beside the couch and hugging the astonished little one.
“Why for can’t I speak, Dorothy? Why for can’t I be alive? The ‘reptile’ didn’t bite me, it bitedhim. That’s why he hollered so and flungthings. See, Dolly, I’m all wet with smelly stuff like ‘meddy’ some kind, that Dawkins made him. And what you think? Soon’s he started drinking it the ‘reptile’ must not have liked it and must have bited him to make him stop—‘Ou-u-c-ch!’ Just like that he said it, an’ course I runned, an’ the tea-pot flew, an’ I fell down, and you come, grabbed me and said things, and—and—But the reptile didn’t get Gracie, did it? No it didn’t, ’cause I runned like anything, and ’cause you come, and—Say, Dolly! I guess I’d rather see ’em in the book. I guess I don’t want to get acquainted with no live ones like I thought I did. No, sir!”
“What in the world do you mean, Baby? Whatever are you talking about? Oh! you mischief, you gave poor Dolly such a fright when you fell down like that!”
“Why, Dolly Doodles, how funny! I fall down lots of times. Some days I fall down two-ten-five times, and sometimes I’d cry, but Auntie Prin don’t like that. She’ll say right off: ‘There, Millikins, I wouldn’t bother to do that. You haven’t hurt the floor any.’ So course I stop. ’Cause if I had hurted the floor she’d let me cry a lot. She said so, once. Mr. Gilpin didn’t have a single nut in his pockets. He said so. And he talked awful funny! Not as if to me at all, so must ha’ been to the ‘reptile’ in his ‘buzzum.’ Do ‘reptiles’buzz, Dolly, same as sting-bees do? And wouldn’t you rather carry nuts in your pockets for such nice little girls as me, than crawly things inside your smock to bite you? I think a smock’s the funniest kind of clothes, and Mr. Gilpin’s the funniest kind of man inside ’em. Don’t you?”
“If either one can match you for funniness, you midget, I’ll lose my guess. Seems if this had been the ‘funniest’ kind of day ever was. But I’ll give you up till you get ready to explain your ‘reptile’ talk. Changing the subject, did you get a slide to-day?”
“Yes, lots of them. What do think? I didn’t have anybody give me a nice new toboggan with my name on it, like you had; so the Bishop he told Auntie Prin that he’d look out for me this year same’s he did last year. I hadn’t grown so much bigger, he thought. Course he’s terrible big and I’m terrible little, so all he does is tuck me inside his great toboggan coat. Buttons it right around me—this way—so I never could slip out, could I? And I don’t have to hold on at all he holds on for me and Auntie’s not afraid, that way. Don’t you think it was terrible nice for Gwendolyn to give you your things?”
“What things, dear? Gwen has given me nothing that I know of. Is this another mystery of yours?”
“It isn’t not no mystery, I don’t know what them are, except when girls like you get lost right in their own houses and don’t get found again right soon. But I know ‘secrets.’ Secrets are what the one you have ’em about don’t get told. That was a secret about your things, Gwen said. You didn’t get told, did you?”
“I have a suspicion that I’m being told now,” answered Dorothy, soberly. “Suppose you finish the telling, dear, while we are airing the subject. What are the things you’re talking about?”
“Why, aren’t you stupid, Dolly? About the be-a-u-tiful blankets were made into your suit. Auntie said they were the handsomest ever was. Lady Jane had bought ’em to have new things made for Gwen, ’cause Lady Jane’s going far away across the ocean and she wanted to provide every single thing Gwen might want. In case anything happened to Gwen’s old one.
“So Gwen said, no, she didn’t need ’em and you did. She guessed your folks hadn’t much money, she’d overheard the Bishop say so. That’s the way she knows everything is ’cause she always ‘overhears.’ I told Auntie Prin that I thought that was terrible nice, and I’d like to learn overhearing; and she sauced me back the funniest! My! she did! Said if she ever caught me overhearing I’d be put to bed with nothing but bread and water to eat,until I forgot the art. Just like that she said it! Seems if overhearing is badness. She does so want Gwendolyn to be really noble. Auntie Prin thinks it noble for Gwen to give up her blankets and to have that be-a-u-tiful toboggan bought for you with your name on it. You aren’t real poor, are you, Dolly? Not like the beggar folks come ‘tramping’ by and has ‘victuals’ given to them? Bishop says all little girls must be good to the poor. That’s when he wants me to put my pennies in my Mite Box for the little heathen. I don’t so much care about the heathen and Hugh—”
But Dorothy suddenly put the child down, knowing that once started upon the theme of “Brother Hugh” the little sister’s talk was endless. And she was deeply troubled.
She had altogether forgotten John Gilpin and the accusation she had hurled at him. Nothing now remained in her mind but thoughts of Gwendolyn’s rich gifts and indignation against her. Why had she done it? As a sort of payment for Dorothy’s assistance at the Maiden’s Bath?
Meeting Miss Muriel in the hall she cried:
“Oh! my dear lady, I am in such trouble! May I talk to you a moment?”
“Certainly, Dorothy. Come this way. Surely there can be nothing further have happened to you, to-day.”
Safe in the shelter and privacy of a small classroom, Dorothy told her story into wise and loving ears; and to be comforted at once.
“You are all wrong, Dorothy. I am sure that there was no such thought as payment for any deed of yours in poor Gwendolyn’s mind. You have been invariably kind to her in every way possible; and until this chance came she had found none in which to show you that she realized this and loved you for it. Why, my dear, if you could have seen her happiness when I told her it was a beautiful thing for her to do, you would certainly have understood her and been glad to give her the chance she was glad to take. It is often harder to accept favors than to bestow them. It takes more grace. Now, dear, let’s call that ‘ghost laid,’ as Dawkins says. Hunt up Gwen, tell her how grateful you are to her for her rich, unselfish gifts, and—do it with a real Dorothy face; not with any hint of offended pride—which is not natural to it! And go at once, then drop the subject and forget it. We were all so thankful that you chose her this morning without knowing.”
Back came the smiles as Miss Muriel hoped to see them, and away sped Dorothy to put the good advice in practice; and five minutes later Gwendolyn was the happiest girl at Oak Knowe, becauseher gifts had been ascribed to real affection only.
“Now, Gwen, that we’ve settledthat, let’s go and see what we can do for Robin. Heigho, Winifred! you’re just in time to aid a worthy cause—Come on to Lady Principal!”
“Exactly whither I was bound!” waving a letter overhead. “Going a-begging, my dears, if you please!” she returned, clasping Gwen’s waist on one side to walk three abreast. A trivial action in itself but delightful to the “Peer,” showing that this free-spoken “Commoner” no longer regarded her as “stand-offish” but “just one of the crowd.”
“Begging for what, Win?”
“That’s a secret!”
“Pooh! You might as well tell. Secrets always get found out. I’ve just discovered one—by way of chattering Millikins-Pillikins. Guess it.”
“I couldn’t, Dolly, I’m too full of my own. As for that child’s talk—but half of it has sense.”
“So I thought, too, listening to her. Buthalf didhave sense and that is—Who do you think gave me my beautiful toboggan things?”
“Why, your Aunt Betty, I suppose, since she does everything else for you,” answered Winifred promptly. “Anyhow, don’t waste time on guesses—Tell!”
Then she glanced up into Gwendolyn’s face and saw how happy it was, and hastily added:
“No, you needn’t tell, after all, I know. It was Gwen, here, the big-hearted dear old thing! She’s the only girl at Oak Knowe who’s rich enough and generous enough to do such a splendid thing.”
“Good for you, Win, you guessed right at once!” answered Dolly trying to clap her hands but unable to loosen them from her comrades’ clasp. “Now for yours!”
“Wait till we get to the ‘audience chamber’! Come on.”
But even yet they were hindered. In the distance, down at the end of the hall, Dorothy caught sight of Mr. Gilpin, evidently just departing from the house. A more dejected figure could scarcely be imagined, nor a more ludicrous one, as he limped toward the entrance, hands on hips and himself bent forward forlornly. Below his rough top-coat which he had discarded on his arrival, hung the tatters of his smock that had been worn to ribbons by his roll down the slide.
Nobody knew what had become of his own old beaver hat, but a light colored derby, which thechefhad loaned him, sat rakishly over one ear, in size too small for the whole top of his bald head.
“Looks as if he had two foreheads!” said Winifred,who couldn’t help laughing at his comical appearance, with part of his baldness showing at front and back of the borrowed hat.
Dorothy laughed, too, yet felt a guilty regret at the way she had spoken to him. She had accused him of “trying to kill her” as well as Gwen and little Grace; but he “kill anything”? Wicked, even to say that.
“There goes John Gilpin, and, girls, I must speak to him. Come—I can’t let him go that way!”
As his “good foot” crossed the threshold Dorothy’s hand was on his shoulder and her voice begging:
“Oh! please, Mr. Gilpin! Do forgive that horrible thing I said! I didn’t know, I didn’t understand, I didn’t mean it—I thought—it looked—Do come back just a minute and let me explain.”
The old fellow turned and gazed into her pleading eyes, but at first scarcely heard her.
“Why, ’tis the little maid! hersel’ that was cryin’ that night on the big railway platform. The night that Robin lad was anigh kilt. Something’s mixed up in me head. What’s it, lassie, you want?”
“I want your forgiveness, Mr. Gilpin. When I saw Gracie on the floor and the broken pot beside her I thought—you’d—you’d tried—and account of your sled hitting Gwen and me—Do come in and rest. You’re worse hurt than anybodythought, I’m afraid. There, there, that’s right. Come back and rest till the team goes into town for the Saturday night’s supplies. It always goes you know, and Michael will get the driver to drop you at your own door. I’m sure he will.”
Obediently, he allowed her to lead him back into the hall and to seat him on the settle beside the radiator. The warmth of that and the comfort of three sympathetic girls soon restored his wandering wits and he was as ready to talk as they to listen.
“You do forgive, don’t you, dear old John?”
“Sure, lassie, there’s nought about forgiveness, uther side. It was a bit misunderstandin’ was all. The wee woman a-pleadin’ for treats out of pocket, and me thinkin’ hard o’ Robin, for coaxin’ an old man to make a fool of hissel’. Me feeling that minute as if ’twas all his fault and thinking I’d cherished a snake, a reptile, in my buzzum, and sayin’ it out loud, likes I have a bad habit of doing.
“Silly I was, not remembering how’t a child takes all things literal. Ha, ha, ha! To think it! When I scalded mysel’ with the hot tea the bairnie should fancy I yelled at a sarpent’s bite! Sure, I could split my sides a-laughin’ but for the hurt I gave her. How is she doin’, lass? I’ve waited this long spell for someone to pass by and give me the word, but nobody has. Leastwise,them that passes has no mind for old John in his dumps.”
“Why, Mr. Gilpin, she wasn’t hurt at all; and it’s just as you said. She thought you had a real snake in your clothes and it had bitten you. She’s all right now, right as can be; and so will you be as soon as you get home and into your wife’s good care. She—”
“Ah, my Dorothy! ’Tis she I dread. Not a word’ll she say, like enough, but the look she will give to my silly face—Hmm. She’s a rare silent woman is my Dame, but she can do a power o’ thinkin’.”
“Yes, she can, and the first thing she’ll think is how glad she is to have her husband back again, safe and sound.”
“Aye, but Dorothy, hark ye! I’m safe, I’ll grant ye that; but—sound? ’Tis different letters spells that word. Sound? I’ll no’ be that for weeks to come!” and the poor fellow, who certainly had been badly bruised and lucky to have escaped broken bones, sighed profoundly.
Winifred had an inspiration.
“Speaking of Robins, suppose we write her a round-robin letter? Right here and now, on the back of this letter of Father’s? It’s a grand good letter for me and we’ll write so nicely of you, Mr. John, that it’ll be a good one for her, too.”
“Will ye? A real letter explainin’ about the accident, when the lassie’s toboggan got in our way and we got that mixed ’twas nigh the death of the lot? Dame’d be proud enough to get that letter. Sure, I believe ’twould set her thinkin’ of other things, and she’ll be liker to overlook my foolishness.”
They all laughed at the crafty manner in which he shipped his responsibility for the accident from his shoulders to theirs; but Winifred plumped herself down on the settle beside him and, using it for a desk, concocted an amusing story of the whole day’s happenings. The other girls had less of the gift of writing, but each added a few words and signed her name with a flourish. Altogether it was a wonderful document, so the farmer thought, as Winifred tore that half-sheet from her father’s letter, folded it in a fantastic way and gave it him.
Indeed, he was so pleased with it and so anxious to get it into his wife’s hands that, after turning it over and about, in admiration of the “true lover’s knot” into which Win had folded it, he rose to go away. All his stiffness was forgotten, he almost neglected to drag his lame foot, he firmly declined to stay for supper or any ride with the Oak Knowe team, so completely had the kindness of the three girls cured him.
“A letter for the Dame! Sure she’ll be the proud woman the night, and maybe she’ll think I’d more sense after all. I don’t mind she’d ary letter come before since we was married. Good night, young ladies. Tell the bit woman ’t next time there’ll be nuts in me pockets, all right, and no fear for her o’ more snakes. Good-by.”
They watched him down the path, fairly strutting in his pride over the note which a mere whim on Winifred’s part had suggested, and Dorothy exclaimed:
“What a dear, simple old soul he is! That a tiny thing like that could make so happy. I believe he was more delighted with that half-sheet of your paper than you are with your father’s other half.”
Winifred caught the others about the waist and whirled them indoors again, first gleefully kissing her father’s bit of writing and asking:
“Think so? Then he’s the gladdest person in the world, to-night. Oh—ee!”
“Well, Win, you can be glad without squeezing the breath out of a body, can’t you? Heigho, Robin! Where’d you come from?” said Dolly, as the boy came suddenly upon them from a side hall.
“Why, from the kitchen. The folks there made me eat a lot of good stuff and a woman—I guessit was the housekeeper—she made me put on some of the men’s clothes while she took my knickers and mended them. I’d torn them all to flinders on that slide, or old botched up sled, and she said I was a sight. I was, too. She was awful kind. She made me tell all about Mother and my getting hurt and everything. But she said I ought to go right away and find Mr. Gilpin and get friends with him again. Isn’t it funny? He blamesmefor all that happened and for teasing him to make that wretched sled, yet, sir, if you’ll believe me he was the one spoke of it first. True! Said he’d never had a toboggan ride in all his life, long as that was, because he hadn’t anybody to go with him. But ‘he’d admire’ to have just one before he died—”
“He had it, didn’t he?” laughed Winifred.
“He had a hard time getting Mrs. Gilpin’s consent. She treats him as if he were a little boy, worse’n Mother does me, but he doesn’t get mad at all. He thinks she’s the most wonderful woman in the world, but I must find him and put myself right with him before we go home and tackle her. He’ll need my help then more’n he did makin’ that beastly sled! It was awful—really awful—the way he went rolling down that icy slide, but to save my life I can’t help laughing when I think of it. Can you?”
At the lad’s absurd movements, as he now pictured John’s remarkable “ride” they all laughed; but suddenly Dorothy demanded:
“You sit right down yonder on that settle and wait for me. You can’t find Mr. Gilpin, now, he’s far on the road home. But there’s something I must ask Miss Tross-Kingdon—”
“No! You don’t ask Miss Tross-Kingdon one single thing till I’ve had my ask first, Dorothy Calvert! Here I’m nearly crazy, trying to hold in my secret, and—”
“I claim my chance too! I’ve a petition of my own if you please and let the first to arrive win!” shouted Gwendolyn, speeding after the other two toward the “audience chamber.”
Thus deserted, Robin laughed and curled up on the bench to wait; while the Lady Principal’s sanctum was boisterously invaded by three petitioners, forgetful of the required decorum, and each trying to forestall the others, with her:
“Oh! Miss Muriel, may I—?” “Please, Miss Tross-Kingdon, my father’s—”
“Hear me first, dear Lady Principal, before he gets away. Can—”
But the Lady Principal merely clapped her hands over her ears and ordered:
“One at a time. Count twenty.”
“I’ve counted! And I beg pardon for rushing in here like that. But I was afraid the others had favors to ask and I wanted to get mine in first!” said Gwendolyn, after the brief pause Miss Tross-Kingdon had suggested.
“Oh! you sweet, unselfish thing!” mocked Winifred, “your favor can’t be half as fine as mine—”
“Nor mine! Oh! do please let me speak first, for fear he gets away!” begged Dorothy, eagerly.
“First come first served, Dolly, please!” coaxed Gwendolyn and the teacher nodded to her to speak.
“Mine’s for next Saturday. Mrs. Jarley’s Wax Works are to be in town and Mamma says if you’ll allow I may invite the whole school to go. She’ll have big sleighs sent out for us and will let us have supper at the hotel where she stops. May we go?”
“Wait a moment, Gwendolyn. Did you say the ‘whole school’?”
Each year Lady Jane had allowed her daughter to entertain her schoolmates in some such manner but the number had, heretofore, been limited to“Peers” only. Such a wholesale invitation as this required some explanation.
Gwendolyn’s eyes fell and her cheek flushed, while the other girls listened in wondering delight for her answer, which came after some hesitation. But came frankly at last in the girl’s own manner.
“I’m ashamed now of the silly notions I used to have. I wanted to do something which would prove that I am; so instead of picking out a few of what we called ‘our set’ I want every girl at Oak Knowe to join us. You’ll understand, of course, that there will be no expense to anybody. It’s Mamma’s farewell treat to us girls, before she goes abroad. May she and I give it?”
“Indeed, you may, Gwendolyn, if the Bishop approves. With the understanding that no lessons are neglected. The winter is about over. Spring exams are near, and ‘Honors’ or even ‘Distinction’ will not be won without hard work.”
“Thank you, Miss Muriel. May I go now and ask the Bishop, then tell the girls?”
“Certainly,” and there was an expression of greater pleasure on the lady’s face than on that of Gwendolyn’s even.
Winifred executed what she called a “war dance” as Gwen disappeared, crying:
“That’s what I call a wholesale burying of the hatchet! That ‘Honorable’ young woman is distinguishingherself. Don’t you think so, Miss Muriel?”
“I am pleased. I am very pleased. Gwendolyn has surely dropped her foolishness and I’m proud of her. It’s so much safer for anyone to be normal, without fads or fancies—”
“Oh! come now, you dear Schoolma’am! Never mind the pretty talk just this minute, ’cause I can’t wait to tell you—Father’s coming—my Father is coming and a proper good time with him! If you’ll only remember I wasn’t saucy then—A girl you’d raised to hand, like me, couldn’t really be saucy, could she? And—and please just wait a minute. Please let me talk first. BecauseIcan’t askeverybody, but my darling Father means just as well as Lady Jane. His invite is only for a dozen—round baker’s dozen, to take a trip in his car to Montreal and visit the Ice Palace! Think of that! The beautiful Ice Palace that I’ve never seen in all my life. If you’ll say ‘yes,’ if you’ll be the picker out of ’em, besides yourself and Miss Hexam and Dawkins—Oh! dear! You three grown-ups take off three from my dozen-thirteen! But there’ll be ten left, any way, and please say yes and how many days we may be gone and—Oh! I love you, Miss Muriel, you know I do!”
The lady Principal calmly loosened Winifred’s clasping arms, and smilingly looked into the sparkling,pleading eyes before her. Who could be stern with the whimsical child she had cared for during so many years, and under whose apparently saucy manner, lay a deep love and respect? She did not enlighten the pleader on the fact that this was no new thing she had just heard; nor that there had been written communications passing between Mr. Christie and the Bishop with consent already won. But she put her answer off by saying:
“We’ll see about it, Winifred: and I’m glad there was nobody save Dorothy here to see you so misbehave! But if we go, and if the selection is left to me, I may not please you; for I should choose those whose record for good conduct is highest and whose preparation for exams is most complete.”
Winifred wrinkled her brows. Of course she, as hostess couldn’t be counted either out or in, but she knew without telling that but few of her own class-ten would be allowed to go. They were the jolliest “ten” at Oak Knowe and oftener in disgrace about lessons than free from it.
“Oh! dear! I do wish we’d dreamed this treat was coming! I’d have forced the ‘Aldriches’ to study as hard as they played—if—if I had to do it at the point of my mahl-stick. I guess it’ll be a lesson to them.”
“I trust it will, dear, but Dorothy has waited allthis time. Three little maids with three little wishes, regular fairy-tale like, and two of them granted already. What’s yours, Dorothy?”
Since listening to the others’ requests, her own seemed very simple, almost foolish; but she answered promptly:
“I want to get you a boot-boy.”
Winifred laughed.
“Hey, Dolly! To switch off from a private-car-ice-palace-trip into a boot-boy’s jacket is funny enough. Who’s the candidate you’re electioneering for?”
Miss Muriel hushed Winifred’s nonsense which had gone far enough and was due, she knew, to the girl’s wild delight over her father’s promised visit.
“If you could find a good one for me, Dorothy, you would certainly be doing me a favor, not I one for you. Whom do you mean?”
“Robin Locke, Miss Tross-Kingdon. He’s so very poor.”
“Poverty isn’t always a recommendation for usefulness. Is he old enough? Is it that lad who came with Mr. Gilpin?”
“Yes, Miss Muriel. He’s just the loveliest boy I’ve seen in Canada—”
“Theonlyone, except Jack!” interrupted Winifred.
“It was because of me and my carelessness hegot hurt and broke himself. He was carrying my telegram that I ought to have sent long before and he was so starved he fell off his bicycle and always ever since I’ve wished I could help him some way and he’d have such a nice home here and he wouldn’t bring in goats, and his mother could do things to help and I thought maybe he could do the shoes and other things would be easier than what he did and could be a golf-boy for the Bishop when the time comes and it’s pretty near and—”
“There, Dorothy, take your breath, and put a comma or two into your sentences. Then we’ll talk about this project of yours. Where’s Robin now?”
“Right out on the settle this minute waiting—if he hasn’t gone away—May I—”
“Yes, honey, step-an’-fetch him!” laughed Winifred again, “he’s used to that sort of talk.”
Away flashed Dorothy and now, at a really serious rebuke from the Lady Principal, Winifred sobered her lively spirits to be an interested witness of the coming interview, as Dorothy came speeding back, literally dragging the shy Robin behind her.
But, as before, the presence of other young folks and Miss Muriel’s first question put him at his ease.
“Robin, are you willing to work rather hard, ina good home, for your mother and to provide one for her, too?”
“Why, of course, Ma’am. That’s what I was a-doin’ when I fell off. Goody! Wouldn’t I? Did you ever see my mother, lady?”
“Yes, Robin, at our Hallowe’en Party,” answered Miss Tross-Kingdon, smiling into the beautiful, animated face of this loyal son.
“You’d like her, Ma’am, you couldn’t help it. She’s ‘the sweetest thing in the garden,’ Father used to say, and he knew. She feels bad now, thinking we’ve been so long at the farmer’s ’cause she don’t see how ’t we ever can pay them. And the doctor, too. Oh! Ma’am, did you hear tell of such a place? Do you think I could get it?”
“Yes, lad, I did hear of just such, for Dorothy told me. It’s right here at Oak Knowe. The work is to pick up row after row of girls’ shoes, standing over night outside their bedroom doors and to blacken them, or whiten them, as the case might be, and to have them punctually back in place, in time for their owners to put on. Cleaning boots isn’t such a difficult task as it is a tedious one. The maids complain that it’s more tiresome than scrubbing, and a boy I knew grew very careless about his work. If I asked you and your mother to come here to live, would you get tired? Or would she dislike to help care for the linen mending? Ofcourse, you would be paid a fair wage as well as she. What do you think?”
What Robin thought was evident: for away he ran to Dorothy’s side and catching her hand kissed it over and over.
“Oh! you dear, good girl! It was you who helped the doctor set my bones, it was you who let me slide on your new toboggan, and it’s you who’ve ‘spoke for me’ to this lady. Oh! I do thank you. And now I’m not afraid to go back and see Mr. Gilpin. He was so vexed with me because he thought—May I go now, Ma’am? and when do you want us, Mother and me?”
“To-morrow morning, at daybreak. Will you be here?”
“Will I not? Oh! good-by. I must go quick! and tell my Mother that she needn’t worry any more. Oh! how glad I am!”
With a bow toward Miss Tross-Kingdon and a gay wave of his hand toward the girls, he vanished from the room, fairly running down the corridor and whistling as he went. The rules of Oak Knowe had yet all to be learned but it certainly was a cheerful “noise in halls” to which they listened now.
“And that’s another ‘link’ in life, such as Uncle Seth was always watching for. If I hadn’t delayed that telegram and he hadn’t fallen down and—everythingelse that happened—Robin would never have had such a lovely chance,” said Dorothy proudly.
“That’s a dangerous doctrine, Dorothy. It’s fine to see the ‘links’ you speak of, but not at all fine to do evil that good may come. I’d rather have you believe that this same good might have come to the lad without your own first mistake. But it’s time for studying Sunday lessons and you must go.”
“Catch me studying ‘links’ for things, Dolly, if it gets a body lectured. Dear Lady Principal does so love to cap her kindnesses with ‘a few remarks.’ There’s a soft side and a hard side to that woman, and a middle sort of schoolma’amy side between. She can’t help it, poor thing, and mostly her soft side was in front just now.
“Think of it! Wax Works and Ice Palaces all in one term! I do just hope Mrs. Jarley’ll have a lot of real blood-curdling ‘figgers’ to look at and not all miminy-piminy ones. Well, good night, honey, I’m off to be as good as gold.”
Every pupil at Oak Knowe, in the week that followed, tried to be “as good as gold,” for a pleasure such as Lady Jane proposed to give the school was as welcome to the highest Form as to the lowest Minims, and the result was that none was left out of the party—not one.
It was all perfectly arranged, even the weather conspiring to further the good time, with a beautifully clear day and the air turned mild, with a promise of the coming spring. The snow was beginning to waste, yet the sleighing held fine and the city stables had been ransacked to obtain the most gorgeous outfits with the safest drivers.
Thirty handsome sleighs with their floating plumes and luxurious robes, drawn by thirty spans of beautiful horses was the alluring procession which entered Oak Knowe grounds on the eventful Saturday; and three hundred happy girls, each in her best attire piled into them. Yes, and one small boy! For who could bear to leave behind that one last child of the great family? And a boy who in but a week’s time had learned to clean shoes so well and promptly?
So clad in his new suit, of the school’s uniform, “Such as all we men folks wear”—as he had proudly explained to his mother when he first appeared in this before her—and with a warm top-coat and cap to match, the happy youngster rode in the leading sleigh in which sat Lady Jane herself.
Of how those happy young folks took possession of the exhibition hall, that had been reserved for them; and smiled or shuddered over the lifelike images of famous men and women; and finally tore themselves away from the glib tongue of the exhibitorand his fascinating show—all this any schoolgirl reader can picture for herself.
Then of the dinner at the great hotel, in a beautiful room also reserved that they might indulge their appetites as hunger craved without fear or observation of other guests: the slow drive about the city, and the swift drive home—with not one whit of the gayety dimmed by any untoward accident.
“Oh! it’s been a perfect success! Nothing has happened that should not, and I believe that I’ve been the happiest girl of all! But such a crowd of them. Better count your flock, Miss Tross-Kingdon, maybe, and see if any are missing;” said Lady Jane as she stepped down at the Oak Knowe door.
“I don’t see how there could be, under your care, my Lady, but I’ll call a mental roll.”
So she did. But the roll was not perfect. Two were missing. Why?
Miss Tross-Kingdon entered Miss Hexam’s room, looking so disturbed that the latter asked:
“Why, Muriel, what is the matter?”
They two were of kin and called each other by their first names.
“Matter enough, Wilda. I’m worried and angry. And to think it should happen while the Bishop is away on that trip of his to the States!”
“Tell me,” urged the gentle little woman, pushing a chair forward into which the Lady Principal wearily dropped.
“It’s that Dorothy Calvert. She’s lost herself again!”
“She has a knack of doing that! But she’ll be found.”
“Maybe. Worst is she’s taken another with her. Robin, the new boot-boy.”
Miss Hexam laughed:
“Well, I admit that is the greater loss just now! Girls are plentiful enough at Oak Knowe but boot-boys are scarce. And this Robin was a paragon,wasn’t he? Also, I thought Dorothy was away up toward the ‘good conduct medal,’ as well as ‘distinction’ in music. I don’t see why she should do so foolish a thing as you say and lessen her chances for the prize.”
“Wilda, you don’t understand how serious it is. It was one thing to have it happen in this house but it’s night now and she away in a strange city. I declare I almost wish she’d never come at all.”
For a moment Miss Hexam said no more. She knew that Miss Muriel loved the missing girl with sincere affection and was extremely proud of her great progress in her studies. All the school had readily conceded that in her own Form Dorothy stood highest, and would certainly win the “honors” of that Form. When the Principal had rested quietly a while longer she asked:
“Now tell me all about it, Muriel.”
“Nobody missed her, but, she did not come home with the rest. I’ve ’phoned to the police to look for for her and the boy, but it’s a disgrace to the school to have to do such a thing. Besides, Robin’s mother is half wild about him and declares she must walk into town to seek him.”
“You’re foolish, the pair of you. Stop and reason. Robin is thoroughly familiar with the city and suburbs, from his messenger-boy experience. Dorothy is blessed with a fair share of commonsense. If they wandered away somewhere, they’ll soon wander back again when they realize what they have done. I’m sorry you stirred up the police and they should be warned to keep the matter quiet.”
“Oh! they have been,” answered the weary Lady Principal. “It does seem, lately, that every good time we allow the girls ends in disaster.”
“Never mind. You go to bed. You’ve done all you can till morning.”
Miss Muriel did go away but only to spend the night in watching along with Lady Jane in the library, the latter deeply regretting that she had ever suggested this outing and, like the Lady Principal, both sorry and angry over its ending.
Dorothy had ridden to the exhibition in the very last sleigh of all, as Robin had in the first, and when they all left the hotel after dinner he had lingered beside her while she waited for the other teams to drive on and her own to come up.
This took a long time, there was so much ado in settling so many girls to the satisfaction of all; and looking backward he saw that there would still be a delay of several moments.
“I say, Dorothy, come on. I want to show you where we used to live before my father died. We’ll be back in plenty time. It’s the dearest little house, with only two rooms in it; but after weleft it nobody lived there and it’s all gone to pieces. Makes me feel bad but I’d like to show you. Just down that block and around a side street. Come on. What’s the use standing here?”
“Sure we can be back in time, Robin?”
“Certain. Cross my heart. I’m telling you the truth. It’s only a step or so.”
“Well, then, let’s hurry.”
Hurry they did, he whistling as usual, until they came to a narrow alley that had used to be open but had now been closed by a great pile of lumber, impossible for them to climb.
“Oh! pshaw! Somebody must be going to build here. But never mind. Our house was right yonder, we can go another way.”
His interest as well as hers in exploring “new places,” made them forget everything else; and when, at last, they came to Robin’s old home a full half-hour had passed.
It was, indeed, a sorry place. Broken windows, hanging doors and shutters, chimney fallen, and doorstep gone. Nobody occupied it now except, possibly, a passing tramp or the street gamin who had destroyed it.
“My! I’m glad my Mother can’t see it now. She never has since we moved down to our cottage in the glen. It would break her dear heart, for my father built it when they were first married.That was the kitchen, that the bedroom—Hark! What’s that?”
“Sounded like a cat.”
“Didn’t to me. Cats are squealier’n that was. I wonder if anybody or thing is in there now. If I had time I’d go and see.”
“Robin, wouldn’t you be afraid?”
“Afraid? Afraid to go into my own house, that was, that my father built with his own hands? Huh! What do you take me for? I’d as soon go in there as eat my din—Hello! There certainly—”
They put their heads close to the paneless window and listened intently. That was a human groan. That was a curious patter of small hoofs—Dorothy had heard just such a sound before. That surely was a most familiar wail:
“Oh, Baal! My jiminy cricket!”
“Jiminy cricket yourself, Jack-boot-boy! What you doing in my house? I’m living in yours—I mean I’m boot-boy now. How are you?” cried Robin, through the window.
“Who’m you? Have you got anything to eat? Quick! Have you?”
The voice which put the question was surely Jack’s but oddly weak and tremulous. Dorothy answered:
“Not here, Jack, course. Are you hungry?”
“Starvin’! Starvin’! I ain’t touched food nor drink this two days. Oh! Have you?”
Daylight was already fading and street lights flashing out but this by-way of the town had no such break to the darkness. Robin was over the rickety threshold in an instant and Dorothy quickly followed. Neither had now any thought save for the boy within and his suffering.
They found him lying on a pile of old rags or pieces of discarded burlap which he had picked up on the streets, or that some former lodger in the room had gathered. Beside him was Baal, bleating piteously, as if he, too, were starving. The reason for this was evident when Robin stumbled over a rope by which the animal was fastened to the window sash; else he might have strolled abroad and foraged for himself.
But if Robin fell he was up in a second and with the instincts of a city bred boy knew just what to do and how to do it.
“Got any money, Dorothy?”
“Yes. Twenty-five cents, my week’s allowance.”
“I’ve got ten. Mother said I might keep that much out of my week’s wages. Give it here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He was gone and Dorothy dropped down on the dusty floor beside Jack and asked his story. Hetold it readily enough, as far as willingness went, but his speech lagged for once and from sheer lack of strength.
“I left—seeking my fortune. It warn’t so easy as I thought it would be. I’ve hired for odd jobs, held horses, run arrants, helped ’round taverns, but didn’t get no place for steady. Trouble was, folks don’t take no great to Baal. They’d put with him a spell, treat him real decent till he’d up and butt somebody over—then his dough was cooked. The worse he was used the better I liked him, though I’d ha’ sold him for money if I could, I’ve been hungry so much the time. And that right here, Dorothy,in a town full o’ victuals! Just chock full. See ’em in the winders, see ’em in the markets, on wagons—and every created place, but not a speck for me. But I got along, I’d ha’ made out, if I hadn’t et somethin’ made me dretful sick. It was somethin’ in a can I picked up out a garbage pail, some sort o’ fish I guess, and I’ve been terr’ble ever since. What’d he go for? Why don’t he come back?”
“I don’t know. I reckon he went for food. How did you keep warm in here, if this is where you lived?”
“Didn’t keep warm. How could I? I ain’t been warm, not real clean through, since the last night I slep’ in my nice bed at Oak Knowe.”
“Why didn’t you come back? Or go to the railway stations? They are always heated, I reckon.”
“Did. Turned me out. Lemme stay a spell but then turned me out. Said I better go to the poorhouse but—won’t that boy never come!”
“He’s coming now, Jack,” she answered and was almost as glad as he of the fact.
Robin came whistling in, good cheer in the very sound.
“Here you are neighbor! Candle and matches—two cents. Pint of milk—three. Drink it down while I light up!”
Jack grabbed the milk bottle with both hands and drained it; then fell back again with a groan.
“’T hurts my stummick! Hurts my stummick awful!”
“Never mind. I’ll turn Baal loose and let him find something outside. A likely supper of tin cans and old shoes’ll set him up to a T. Scoot, Baal!”
The goat was glad enough to go, apparently, yet in a moment came bleating back to his master. Dorothy thought that was pathetic but Robin declared it disgusting.
“Clear out, you old heathen, and hunt your supper—”
“Oh! don’t be cruel to the loving creature,Robin! Suppose he should get lost?” begged Dorothy.
“Lost? You can’t lose Baal, don’t you fret. Look-a-here, boy! here’s a sandwich! Come from the best place in town. I know it. Give the biggest slice for the least money. Can’t tell me anything about that, for I’ve been nigh starved myself too often in this same old town. What? You don’t want it? Can’t eat it? Then what do you want?”
Provoked that his efforts to please Jack failed so fully, Robin whistled again, but not at all merrily this time; for he had at last begun to think of his own predicament and Dorothy’s. Here they were stranded in town, Oak Knowe so far away, night fast falling and, doubtless, a stern reprimand due—should they ever reach that happy haven again.
“Robin, I do believe he is sick. Real, terrible sick. It wasn’t just starving ailed him. Do you s’pose we could get a doctor to him?”
“To this shanty? No, I don’t. But if he’s sick, there’s hospitals. Slathers of ’em. Hurray! There’s the one that Dr. Winston is head of. There’s an emergency ward there and free ones—and it’s the very checker!”
Jack had ceased moaning and lay very still. Sostill that they were both frightened and Dolly asked:
“How can we get him there, if they would take him in? He’s terrible heavy to carry.”
Even dimly seen by the light of the flickering candle struck on the floor, Dorothy thought the pose of superiority Robin now affected the funniest thing, and was not offended when he answered with lofty scorn:
“Carry him? I should say not. We couldn’t and we won’t. I’ll just step to the corner and ring up an ambulance. I know the name. You stay here. I’ll meet it when it comes and don’t get scared when the gong clangs to get out of the way.”
Dorothy’s own life in a southern city returned to her now and she remembered some of its advantages which Robin had spoken of. So she was not at all frightened when she heard the ambulance come into the street beyond the alley, which was too narrow for it to enter, nor when two men in hospital uniforms appeared at the door of the room. They had lanterns and a stretcher and at once placed poor Jack upon it and hurried away.
They needed not to ask questions for Robin had followed them and was glibly explaining all he knew of the “case” and the rest which he had guessed.
“Ate spoiled fish out of a garbage can, did he? So you think it’s ptomaine poisoning, do you Doctor Jack-o’-my-thumb? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised if your diagnosis is correct. Steady now, mate, this is a—Hello! What’s that?”
“That” proved to be Baal, returned to inquire what was being done to his master by prodding the orderly’s legs with his horns, so that the stretcher nearly fell out of his hand.
Baal got his answer by way of a vicious kick which landed him out of reach and permitted the men to carry their burden quickly away. Left behind, the pair of young Samaritans stared for an instant at one another, dismayed at their own delay.
It was Dorothy who came to a decision:
“We’ve done as bad as we could and as good. Seems awful queer how it all happened. Now we must go home. Can we get a carriage anywhere and would it take us back without any money to pay it? Would Miss Tross-Kingdon pay it, do you think? The Bishop would but he’s gone traveling.”
Leaving their candle still flickering on the floor they anxiously left the shanty; and it may be stated here, for the guidance of other careless ones that there was an item in the next morning’s paper stating that a certain “old rookery had been burneddown during the night; origin of fire unknown; a benefit to the city for it had long been infested by hoboes and tramps.” To which of these classes poor Jack belonged it did not state; but either one was a far call to the “great artist” he had said he would become.
There were cabs in plenty to be seen and, probably, to be hired; but they did not summon one. A vision of Miss Tross-Kingdon’s face at its sternest rose before Dorothy and she dared not venture on the lady’s generosity. Another thought came, a far happier one:
“I’ll tell you! Let’s follow Jack. Maybe Dr. Winston would be there or somebody would know about us—if we told—and would telephone to Oak Knowe what trouble we’re in. For it is trouble now, Robin Locke, and you needn’t say it isn’t. You’re scared almost to death and so am I. I wish—I wish I’d never heard of a Wax Works, so there!”