Dorothy's House Party

“Oh! then deliver us from the learned Jane Potter! Problem: If a small school dictionary can work such havoc with a young maid’s brain will the Unabridged drive her to a lunatic asylum? or to the mill where the Little Red Hen – Next!” put in Herbert, as his contribution.

“The little Red Hen being now corn-fed, and the Mill a thing she never would reach, the Mouse and the Grouse thought best to put an end to her checkered career and boil her in a pot over a slow fire; because that’s the way to make a fowl who had traveled and endured so much grow tender and soft-hearted and fit to eat, corn and all, popped or unpopped – Pass the pan, Alfaretta! while the pot boils and the Little Red Hen – Next!” continued Littlejohn Smith, with a readiness which was unexpected; while Molly B. took up the nonsense with the remark that:

“The Little Red Hen has as many lives as a cat. All our great-great-great-grandmothers have heard about her. She was living ages and – and eons ago! She was in the Ark with Noah – in my toy Ark, anyway; and being made of wood she didn’t boil tender as had been hoped; also, all the lovely red she wore came off in the boil and – what’s happening? ’Tother side the ring where Dolly Doodles is holding Luna with both hands and staring – staring – staring – Oh! My! What’s happening to our own Little Red Hen!”

What, indeed!

CHAPTER XVI

THE FINDING OF THE MONEY

In this instance the Little Red Hen was Luna. As always when possible she had seated herself by Dorothy, who shared none of that repugnance which some of the others, especially Helena, felt toward the unfortunate. She had been cleanly if plainly clothed when she arrived at Deerhurst, but the changes which had been made in her attire pleased her by their bright colors and finer quality.

The waif always rebelled when Dinah or Norah sought to dress her in the gray gown she had originally worn or to put her hair into a snug knot. She clung to the cardinal-hued frock that Dorothy had given her and pulled out the pins with which her attendants tried to confine her white curls. In this respect she was like a spoiled child and she always carried her point – as spoiled children usually do.

Thus to-night: To the old nurse it had seemed wise that the witless one should go to her bed, instead of into that gay scene at the barn. Luna had decided otherwise. Commonly so drowsy and willing to sleep anywhere and anyhow, she was this night wide awake. Nothing could persuade her to stay indoors, nothing that is, short of actual force and, of course, such would never be tried. For there was infinite pity in the hearts of most at Deerhurst, and a general feeling that nothing they could do could possibly make up to her for the intelligence she had never possessed. Also, they were all sorry for her homelessness, as well as full of wonder concerning it. The indifferent manner in which she had been left uncalled for seemed to prove that she had been gotten rid of for a purpose. Those who had lost her evidently did not wish to find her again. Yet, there was still a mystery in the matter; and one which Mrs. Calvert, coming fresh upon it, was naturally resolved to discover. The poor thing was perfectly at home at Deerhurst now, and judging by her habitual smile, as happy as such an one could be. But though the mistress of the mansion felt that her household had done right in sheltering the wanderer and in allowing her to partake of all their festivities, she did not at all intend to give a permanent home to this stranger. She could not. Her own plans were for far different things; and since she had, at last, been so fortunate as to bestow the twins in their legitimate home, she meant to find the same for Luna.

So the guest who was both child and woman had carried her point and was one in the ring of story-tellers. She paid no heed to what was going on but amused herself with folding and unfolding her red skirt; or in smoothing the fanciful silk in which Dorothy appeared as a belle of long ago.

The pair were sitting on a pile of hay, leaning against a higher one, and Dorothy had been absorbed in listening to the composite story and wondering what she should add to it. Her head was bent toward Luna and she dreamily watched the movements of her neighbor’s tiny wrinkled hands. Suddenly she became aware that there was a method in their action; that they were half-pulling out, half-thrusting back, something from the fastening of the scarlet blouse.

This something was green; it was paper; it was prized by its possessor, for each time Dorothy moved, Luna thrust her treasures back out of sight and smiled her meaningless smile into the face above her. But Dorothy ceased to move at all, and the dreaminess left her gaze, which had now become breathlessly alert and strained.

She watched her opportunity and when again Luna drew her plaything from her blouse, Dorothy snatched it from her and sprang to her feet, crying:

“The money is found! The money is found! My lost one hundred dollars!”

Strangely enough Luna neither protested nor noticed her loss. The drowsiness that often came upon her, like a flash, did so now and she sank back against her hay-support, sound asleep.

All crowded about Dorothy, excited, incredulous, delighted, sorely puzzled.

“Could Luna have stolen it, that foolish one?”

“But she wasn’t in the house the night it was lost. Don’t you remember? It was then that Dolly found her out by the pond. It couldn’t have been she!”

“Do you suppose it blew out of the window and she picked it up?”

“It couldn’t. The window wasn’t opened. It stormed, you know.”

Such were the questions and answering speculations that followed Dorothy’s exclamation, as the lads and lassies found this real drama far more absorbing than the composite tale had been.

Mrs. Calvert and Mr. Seth alone said nothing, but they watched with tender anxiety to see Dorothy’s next action. That it satisfied them was evident, from the smiles of approval gathering on their faces and the joyous nodding of the gray heads. Their girl hadn’t disappointed them – she was their precious Dorothy still.

She had gone straight to where old Ephraim and his cronies now sat in a distant part of the barn, enjoying their share of the good things Alfy and Danny had provided, and kneeling down beside him had laid the roll of money on his knee. Then audibly enough for all to hear, she said:

“Dear Ephraim, forgive me, if you can. This is the money I lost, the ten crisp ten-dollar bills. Count them and see.”

“No, no, li’l Missy! No, no. An’ fo’ de lan’, doan you-all kneel to a pore ole niggah lak me! Fo’ de lan’, Missy, whe’-all’s yo’ pride an’ mannehs?”

Her posture so distressed him that she rose and said, turning to her friends that all might hear:

“It was I, and I alone, who put that money out of sight. I remember now as clearly as if it were this minute. That red frock was the one I wore that night when Luna came. There is a rip in it, between the lining and the outside of the waist. It was an oversight of the maker’s, I suppose, that left it so, but I never mended it, because it made such a handy pocket, and there was no other. I remember plain. When the crash came I gathered up the money and thrust it into that place. Instinct told me it was something to be cared for, I guess, because I’m sure I didn’t stop to think. Then when I went to bed I must have been too excited to remember about it and left it there. The next day I gave that frock to Luna and she has worn it ever since. How long before she found the ‘pocket’ and what was in it, she can’t tell us. We’ve heard the ‘help’ say how quickly she noticed when money was around and I suppose she’s been afraid we’d take it from her; although she didn’t resent it just now when I did. Oh! I am so ashamed of myself, so ashamed!”

Nobody spoke for a moment, till Ephraim rose and taking his fiddle solemnly played the Doxology. That wasn’t speaking, either, in a sense; but it told plainer than words the gratitude of the simple old man that the shadow on his character was banished forever.

Seth Winters nodded his own gray head in understanding of the negro’s sentiment, while Dorothy sped with the bills to lay them in her Aunt Betty’s lap, and to hide her mortified countenance upon the lady’s shoulder. Thence it was presently lifted, when Mrs. Calvert said:

“Now the lost is found, I’d like to inquire what shall be done with it? It’ll never seem just like other money to me or to my forgetful darling here. Let’s put it to vote. Here’s my notebook, Dolly; tear out a few leaves and give a scrap of the paper to each. Pass the pencil along with them and let each write what she or he thinks the most beneficent use for this restored one hundred dollars.”

So it was done; even those among the servants grouped inside the great doors, having their share of the evening’s sport, even among these those who could write put down their wish.

Then Jim Barlow collected the ballots and sorted them; and Seth Winters’s face shone with delight when it proved the majority had voted:

“For the old man at St. Michael’s.”

So at once they made him take the money in charge; and it made all glad to hear him say:

“That will keep the poor old chap in comfort for many a day,” for he would not damp their joy by his own knowledge that Hiram Bowen’s days could not be “many,” though he meant that they should be the most comfortable of all that pain-tormented life.

“Well, our rainy day has proved a blessed one! Also, the storm is over and to-morrow should bring us fair weather for – the County Fair! All in favor of going say Aye!” cried the Master.

The rafters rang again and again, and they moved doorwards, regretful for the fun just past yet eager for that to come; while there was not a young heart there but inwardly resolved never again to harbor suspicion of evil in others, but to keep faith in the goodness of humanity.

Meanwhile, what had this rainy day seen at Heartsease Farm? Where the twins of evil names had been left to their new life, and their maternal grandfather had so coolly turned his back upon them, while they satisfied their material little souls with such cookies as they had never tasted before.

Dorcas let them alone till they had devoured more than she felt was good for them, and until Ananias turning from the table demanded:

“Gimme a drink.”

“Gimme a drink!” echoed his mate; and the old lady thought it was wonderful to hear them speak so plainly, or even that they could speak at all. But she also felt that discipline should begin at once; and though not given to embellishment of language she realized that their “plain speech” was not exactly that of the Friends.

“Thee tell me thy name, first. Then thee shall drink.”

“A-n an, a, ana, n-i ni, a-s as, Ananias.”

“S-a-p sap, p-h-i phi, r-a ra,” glibly repeated the girl, almost tripping over her brother in her eagerness to outdo him.

Dorcas Sands paled with horror. Such names as these! Forced upon the innocent babes of her Rose! It was incredible!

Then, in an instant, the meekness, the downtroddenness of the woman vanished. Her mission in life was not finished! Her sons had gone out from her home and her daughter was dead, but here were those who were dearer than all because they were “brands” to be saved from the burning.

“Hear me, Rose’s Babies! Thee is Benjamin, and a truth-teller; and thee is Ruth. Let me never hear either say otherwise than as I said. Now come. There is the bench and there the basin. The first child that is clean shall have the first drink – but no quarreling. Birthright Friends are gentle and well mannered. Forget it not.”

The sternness of mild people is usually impressive. The twins found it so. For the rest of that day, either because of the novelty of their surroundings or their difficulty in mastering – without blows – the spelling of their new names, they behaved with exceptionable demureness; and when, in some fear their grandmother dispatched Benjamin to Oliver’s office to announce dinner, the miller fairly stared to hear the midget say:

“Thee is to come to dinner, Oliver. Dorcas says so. Thee is to make haste because there is lamb and it soon cools. Dorcas says the lamb had wool once and that thee has the wool. Give it to me; Oliver. B-e-n ben, j-a ja, m-i-n min, Benjamin. That’s who I am now and I’m to have anything I want on this Heartsease Farm because I’m Rose’s baby. The Dorcas woman says so. Oliver, did thee know Rose?”

This was the “plain speech” with a vengeance! The miller could scarcely credit his own ears and doubting them used his eyes to the greater advantage. What he saw was a bonny little face, from which looked out a pair of fearless eyes; and a crown of yellow hair that made a touch of sunlight in that dark room. “Did he know Rose?”