Dorothy's House Party

“You’d hold your tongue!” snapped Molly, so viciously that her friends both stared and Dolly said no more. “I don’t mean to be so horrid, girls, but it is so vexatious! I’d spent all I had and meant it to be such an addition to our picnic dinner in the woods. I’m ashamed – course – and I apologize. Though I remember Miss Penelope says that apologies and explanations are almost worse than useless. Besides – ”

Here Molly paused and looked at Dorothy most meaningly; but whatever she meant to say further Dolly stopped by a shake of her head, adding:

“Now it’s my turn to apologize, Helena dear, but there’s something we two have in mind that we want to spring on the whole lot of you at once. Will you forgive and wait?”

“Surely. But – those children! I hope we’ll get back to the others soon and that Mr. Winters will have more influence with them than we’ve had.”

It proved that he had. One glance and word from him and the twins cowered as if they expected cruel blows, and without the slightest resistance permitted him to take away the nearly empty box.

“Doesn’t look very tempting now, I think. Best throw it away, especially as I had already provided sweeties for the crowd. Now, lads, westward ho! It’s nearly dinner time again, and I believe it’s being with so many other hungry youngsters makes me one too!” cried the Master, stepping to his place and saying with an air of authority which nobody disputed: “Hand over the twins. I’ll take them under my care for the rest of this day!”

The Headquarters which they were next to visit, and on whose grounds they were to picnic, was bordered by a stream that just there widened into a little lake. As they approached the place, cramped by their long ride, most of the lads left the wagons to finish the distance on foot.

“Ever hear the story of General Lafayette and this creek, Melvin?” asked Herbert. “Good enough to tell and not against your side either.”

“Go on,” said Melvin, resignedly. “I fancy I can match any yarn of yours with one of my own, don’t you know.”

“Can’t beat this. In those days there was no bridge here, not even a footbridge. One had to ford the stream. The General was going to a party at that very house yonder and was in his best togs. Course, he didn’t want to get his pumps wet so he hired an Irishman – more likely a Britisher – to carry him over. Half way over – a little slip – not intentional, of course! – and down goes my General, ker-splash! Just this way it was! Only it’s turn and turn about, now. Young America totes old England and – ”

“Lads, lads! That footbridge is unsafe! See! The plank’s gone in the middle – Oh! the careless fellows!”

Having been a boy himself the farrier was prepared for pranks; and the good-natured badinage between Herbert and the young Canadian had aroused no anxiety till now. He had been near enough to hear Herbert’s recital of the Lafayette incident but had merely been amused. Now – Oh! why didn’t they keep to the wide, safe bridge, that wagons used!

Already it was too late even for his warning. Herbert had only meant to catch up the slighter Melvin, scare him by pretending to drop him, but in reality carry him pick-a-pack safely to the further shore. He considered himself an athlete and wished to show “young England how they do things in Yankeeland,” and with a shout he darted forward. Headlong he came to the spot above the water where no foothold was – a space too wide for even his long legs to cover, and all the watchers shivered in fear.

But from his elevation on Herbert’s back, Melvin had already seen the chasm and as if he had been shot from a catapult – he cleared it!

“Hip, hip, hooray! England forever!” yelled Frazer Moore and every other lad in the company added his cheers.

Then Melvin, from his side the chasm, doffed his cap and bowed his graceful acknowledgments for his country’s sake. And at sight of that the girls cheered, too, for Herbert had already regained his feet in that shallow stream and they could see that he had taken no hurt beyond a slight wetting.

“Never mind that. He’ll dry off, same as the twins did,” laughed Molly Breckenridge. Which he did, for the sun was warm and his plunge had been a brief one; and in fact this “little international episode,” as Monty called it, but served to increase the jollity of that day.

Such a day it proved; without cloud or untoward incident to mar its happiness; and as they wandered here and there, inspecting for the last time the historical spot which had given them hospitable shelter, none dreamed of any mishap to come. Even the twins were tired enough to behave with uncommon docility, beyond continually removing from one another the ribbon which should have designated Ananias from Sapphira.

“They’ve changed it so often I’ve really forgotten which is which, but I’m sure – that is I think – I’m really positive – that the hair with a kink belongs to Sapphira! After all, that isn’t such a dreadful name when you say it softly,” said Molly.

“I think this is the loveliest old house I ever saw. I’d just like to stay here forever, seems if. The funny roof, so high up in front and away down, low almost as the ground behind. The great chimney – think of standing in a chimney so big you can look straight up, clear through to the sky!” murmured studious Jane Potter.

“’Tisn’t as big as the Newburgh one, and they haven’t any such Hessian boots, though it does have a secret staircase and chamber,” answered Jim who, also, was greatly interested in the ancient building. “But come on, Janie; they’re getting ready to leave.”

“In just a minute. Just one single minute, ’cause I shan’t ever likely come here again, even if I do live so near it as our mountain.”

Home through the twilight they drove, for kindly Seth couldn’t abridge for his beloved young folks that long, delightful day; and they were ready to declare, most of them, that even the circus to come could hardly be more enjoyable than this day’s “Headquartering” had been.

It was then, on that happy return, that Dorothy had found the telegram awaiting, and had caught it up with a loving thought of her indulgent Aunt Betty. Then her happiness dashed as by cold water she had flown out of the room and shut herself in her pretty chamber to cry and feel herself the most unhappy girl in all the world.

Twice had Norah come to her door to summon her to supper before she felt composed enough to go below among her guests.

Over and over she assured herself that none of them should ever know how badly she had been treated. Nobody, of course, except Alfaretta, and the first thing that girl would be sure to ask would be:

“Have you caught your hare?” In other words: “Did she send the money?”

But in this she did poor Alfy great injustice. It had needed but one glance to tell her – being in the secret – what sort of an answer had come to Dorothy by way of that unexplained yellow envelope. Well, it was too bad! After all, Mrs. Betty Calvert must be a terribly stingy old woman not to give all the money she wanted to her new-found, or new-acknowledged great niece! Huh! She was awful sorry for Dolly Doodles, to have to belong to just – great aunts! She’d rather have Ma Babcock, a thousand times over, than a rich old creature like Dolly had to live with. She would so!

Therefore it was not at all of news from town that warm-hearted Alfaretta inquired, as Dorothy at last appeared in the supper room, but with an indifferent glance around:

“Why, where’s Jane Potter?”

CHAPTER X

MUSIC AND APPARITIONS

Where, indeed, was good Jane Potter! The least troublesome, the most self-effacing, staidest girl of them all.

“Didn’t she ride home with you?”

“Why no. I supposed she did with you. That is – I never thought.”

“But – somebody should have thought!” cried Dorothy, diverted from her own unhappiness by this strange happening.

“Yes, and that ‘somebody’ should have been myself,” admitted Mr. Seth, after question had followed question and paling faces had turned toward one another.

“Are you sure she isn’t in her room?” asked Helena.

“Sure as sure. I thought it funny she didn’t come to clean herself, I mean put on her afternoon things; but I guessed she was too tired, and, anyway, Jane never gets mussed up as I do,” answered Molly Martin, tears rising in her eyes.

The Master rose from his unfinished meal.

“Then we’ve left her behind and the poor child will be terrified. I’ll have one of the work horses put to the pony cart at once, and go back for her. I’d like one of you lads to go with me. I might need somebody.”

Jim rose and Herbert, and, oddly enough, Mr. Winters nodded to Herbert; adding to Dorothy:

“Have a bottle of milk and some food, besides a heavy wrap sent out to the cart. She will have missed her supper.”

“But you and Herbert are missing yours, too. I shall send something extra for you two and mind you eat it. I – I’m sure you’ll find Jane all right only maybe frightened,” said Dorothy, doing her utmost to banish anxiety from her friends, though she felt troubled enough in her own mind. If it had been any other girl but Jane, the steady!

However, there was the long evening to get through, even though the rescuing party made their best speed. Many miles stretched between the old mansion and this with the distance to cover twice; and all the time there lay on the hostess’s heart the burden of her own personal grief. But she mustn’t think of that. She must not. She was a Calvert, no matter what Aunt Betty said. A gentlewoman.

Only yesterday Helena had explained that a gentlewoman, “in society,” had no thought save for the comfort of others. Well, she was in “society” now, and – She almost wished she wasn’t! She’d rather have been a poor little girl, unknowing her own name, who’d never dreamed of being an heiress and who’d have been free to run away and hide and cry her eyes out – if she wished!

So she put her best efforts to her task of entertaining and a jolly evening followed; though now and then one or another would pause in the midst of a game and ask:

“Ought we to be carrying on like this, while we don’t know what’s happened to Janie?” Then the spirit of fun would sway them all again; for, as Alfaretta practically put it: “Whether we laugh or cry don’t make any difference to her. Time enough to solemn down when we find out she’s hurt.”

They were rather noisily singing the old round of “Three Blind Mice,” with each particular “mouse” putting itself into its neighbors’ way, so that the refrain never would come out in the proper order, when it was caught up by lusty voices in the outer hall and Mr. Seth’s deep tones leading.

“They’ve come! They’ve come – and it must be all right, else they wouldn’t sing like that!” cried Molly Martin, infinitely relieved on her friend’s and room-mate’s account; she and the sedate Jane being as close chums as Dolly and the other Molly were.