One afternoon Miss Armitage came. Bridget said she was sorry the ladies were out but the visitor said she wanted to see Marilla and the babies and went up stairs to the nursery. Playthings were all about; Marilla had been building houses for the twins to knock down. They glanced at Miss Armitage with wondering eyes, but they said "down, down" when Marilla took to a chair. Then they tumbled over her and buried their hands in her curly hair, even if it pulled. They showed they owned her, and it really was not an easy lot for the little girl. She did look pale and tired but she was so glad to see her friend.

Then the lady began to plan if there was any way to get her free. She went to see Mrs. Johnson.

"Why the child seems very well off," was the rather tart reply. "She is well fed and clothed and has nothing to do but amuse two little ones. Many a girl would jump at the place. It wouldn't do for us to be changing them about, you see. We do sometimes take away a child who is ill treated. I've visited this Mrs. Borden several times and found things very satisfactory."

"But she could be educated—"

"My dear lady, there are hundreds of these poor children who need a good home and to be fitted for their station in life which cannot be a very high one. Their heads must not be filled with dreams of wonderful fortunes. Real work is and must be the lot of those who are homeless and dependent. Now, if you wanted to adopt some child I have two lovely little girls here, one of them born to luxury it would seem, but misfortune and death made a waif of her. I do hope some well-to-do people will take a fancy to her."

No, she didn't want any stranger. She would wait and see. Why should she care so much for Marilla? The faint little voice haunted her—"Are you a fairy godmother?"

The Bordens were really disappointed when they found they had missed Miss Armitage. Then a dressmaker was to come, and friends were dropping in. Unless they shut the nursery door the little girls were in everything, and then they fairly howled for mama.

"Oh, Marilla, can't you keep those children entertained? It sounds as if they were getting murdered. Put on their things and take them out."

Then one night Pansy had the croup and there was a great scare.

"You've let her get cold some way, Marilla; you mustn't let the wagon stand while you keep looking at books and pictures in store windows. You better go straight over to the park, and don't talk to other girls. You're old enough now to have a little judgment."

Marilla made the babies ready. They were very fond of walking up and down stairs. Now she lifted them in the carriage, tucked them in with the pretty robe and they did look picturesque in their fluffy white hoods and fur cloaks. They uttered shrieks of delight as they went along. The Brant's were moving in the Jamreth house; she would remember hereafter to turn off at State street and not pass it. Somehow she felt very tired. At times there was such a fluttering somewhere inside of her that for a moment things went round and she had to gasp for breath. She would like to tell Dr. Richards about it. She had seen him twice, both times in the street and it had kept her happy for days.



CHAPTER X

ON THE BORDER OF TRAGEDY

For two days Jack had been out of school with a sore throat. Today it was better. The ladies wanted to go out to match some trimming and view some elegant new party frocks that might do for a wedding gown.

"Now don't tear the house down while we are gone. And if you are good Jack, I'll bring you home that new top you wanted. Remember the noise disturbs Aunt Hetty."

But the children enjoyed the noise. Aunt Hetty's bell rang.

"Oh, Marilla, can't you keep those children in a little better order," said the fretful voice. "And get me a drink of cold tea, I feel so queer."

"I'm so sorry," answered the child, "I'll try my best. If only Jack wasn't home."

Jack was throwing the ball at the babies who made vague efforts to catch it.

"I'm so afraid you'll hurt them."

"Oh, you old fraid cat! You can't let a fellow have any fun! I'll give it to you."

It was not a heavy ball but he sent it with all his angry might. It struck against her heart and she went down in a little heap.

"I fixed you that time! Come, you can't play possum over me, get up!"

He touched her with his foot. Pansy ran and fell over her.

"Get up, you little clumsy skunk! You'll half kill her!"

"Poor Illa. Det up, Illa. Did bad Jack hurt 'ou?"

Jack turned her partly over. Her face was ghastly, with the eyes rolled up.

Aunt Hetty's bell rang. Jack ran down stairs.

"O, come up Bridget, Marilla's killed!"

"Ah, now you want to frighten a body out of her wits! You ought to be skinned alive."

"Oh, come quick!" Jack began to cry.

Bridget walked up stairs very deliberately, "Oh, Holy Mother of God! Get up, children. Marilla, dear—Oh, what have you done to her?"

She took the limp figure in her arms.

"Oh, me darlint! Wurra! wurra! And that bell! As if no one wanted anything but that old body with one foot in the grave. Jack run in next door and ask Mrs. Seymour to come at once; quick, or I'll bat you with a stick."

Then she went up stairs. The poor old body was lying in the reclining chair, her face distraught with fright.

"Send for the doctor at once, something has happened to me, I can't stir. My legs are heavy as lead. Where's Marilla? I've rung and rung!"

"Marilla's fainted dead away. Yes, I'll get the doctor," and down Bridget flew to open the front door.

"Oh for the love of heaven, will you come and talk to that thing in the wall an' get the doctor! Why, I'm most crazy."

"Yes, what doctor?" Mrs. Seymour went to the telephone.

"Doctor Baker, and then to Miss Armitage in Loraine place."

"Dr. Baker would come at once."

They found the lady's number. She was just going out but would stop there first.

Then she took Mrs. Seymour through to the nursery. The children were patting and petting Marilla.

"Get away, children, you've had her smothered."

"Does she faint often? She seems so well and merry."

"She did that time last summer. She was out with the babies and fell off of a stoop, I believe, an' she kept looking like a ghost for ever so long. That Miss Armitage took her to her house an' took care of her. She's a good woman, that she is. An' it's just my belief that Marilla isn't strong enough for the rough an' tumble of life. Some ain't you know, an' she's tugged these fat babies about often; there isn't but one nurse kept."

"Oh, they were too heavy for her to lift."

"Mrs. Borden didn't want her to, much. I'll say that for her. She was afraid the babies backs might get out of shape some way by a bad fall. She's a fair dealin' woman or I wouldn't have staid with her all these years. But Marilla isn't strong enough for the work, and the old Aunt wants a good deal of waiting on. It's run up an' down until you'd think her legs would just fall out."

Mrs. Seymour had been trying various restoratives. Now Marilla gave a long shuddering sigh, opened her eyes but closed them again.

"What beautiful long lashes she has! And such silky hair—"

"Oh, the saints be praised! I began to think she was dead! Poor darlint! 'Rilla dear—its Bridget who'd do anything in the world for you."

Dr. Baker arrived. He entered the room, looked at Marilla, felt of her pulse, and listened to the faint heart beats. "Give her a little brandy," he said. "Where's Mrs. Borden? I thought the old lady—"

"Oh, she is!" interrupted Bridget, "she can't stir her legs one bit. She's rale poorly, now I tell you, an' this child's been looking after her as well as the babies."

"That's twice too much." He ran lightly up the stairs to meet with a torrent of up-braidings.

"I thought I'd have to die here all alone! Where's Marilla? I've rung and rung."

"The girl has been in a dead faint. She's worn out. And you must have a regular nurse."

"Oh, dear!" Aunt Hetty began to cry, "couldn't I have her? 'Twouldn't be as bad as them two young ones. And I'd pay her well, too. She's so nice and good tempered with her face full of smiles and sunshine. Oh, if she's going to be ill what shall we all do?"

The brandy revived Marilla a little. She tried to speak but her lips felt stiff. They took her up carefully and laid her on the old lounge. The babies started to climb up over her at once, and howled fearfully when Bridget pulled them down with an ungentle shake and sat them on the floor. Then she went to answer the door bell and ushered in Miss Armitage.

Dr. Baker came down at the same moment. "Can't you shut those children up in some dungeon? They've voices like a foghorn. Ah, Miss Armitage. How is this patient?"

"Oh, I'm—better," raising up suddenly then falling back in a half faint.

"Don't stir, keep as still as you can. You've no strength to throw away on make believes. See here, babies," and he disgorged a paper of peppermints that at once soothed broken hearts.

"When will Mrs. Borden return?"

"Well, she'll be home to dinner," and Bridget grinned. "Things were all well enough when she went out. You see there's some weddin' fixings goin' on, and sure Miss Borden deserves a good husband when she's waited five years. How's the old lady?"

"It's pretty bad with her, though there's no immediate signs of her dying. But it's paralysis. Her limbs are cold and useless and I think it is creeping up her left side. She'll be another baby added to the family, unless she will go to a hospital which would be far better for her. She must have a steady nurse. I've been rather afraid of this."

"I must go and see to my dinner. Miss Armitage won't you stay until the ladies come home?"

Miss Armitage signified her willingness and laid aside her hat.

The babies were fairly gorging themselves.

"I'll be in again presently. I'll leave this for the child, to be given every half hour and she is to lie perfectly still."

Miss Armitage smiled down in the pallid face. It had grown quite thin again, but it seemed to hold an ethical sweetness. Marilla put out one slim hand.

"It seems too bad the old lady should be taken ill at this juncture," said Mrs. Seymour. "And Manila's been such a faithful child. She's been growing tall this summer and autumn and I suppose has run ahead of her strength. Then with the two children to look after—well a little nurse girl has rather hard lines—they seldom have more than one, or if they do the others are older. My two boys are in boarding school. I've wished one was a girl, they are so much more company for the mother. But I'd wanted her to be pretty," she cast a sidelong glance at the twins. "It's a pity Jack should have taken all the beauty."

The twins felt so comfortable over the candy that they went to playing with their blocks. Miss Armitage gave her patient the second dose of her medicine and she closed her eyes.

There was almost a shriek as Bridget opened the hall door with—"the merciful saints preserve us! Has Jack been run over by one of them fury things?"

Jack was crying and the blood was streaming from his nose all over his blouse.

"He's been fighting, the bad boy, with a nasty, dirty tramp!"

Bridget in her inmost heart hoped he had the worst of it. "Whist!" she exclaimed, "there's two sick folks in the house, the doctor's been an' he's coming again!"

"Sick! Oh, what has happened?"

"Well, the old lady's had a stroke, an' Marilla had a bad faint again. I thought sure she was dead."

Mrs. Borden dropped into the hall chair and began to cry hysterically.

"Jack, go straight up to the bath room," said his aunt.

"And the neighbors came in, Mrs. Seymour to talk through that funnel, and then Miss Armitage and the doctor," went on Bridget.

"It's a pity one can't stir out of the house without something happening," sobbed the mistress. "And we're both so tired."

"There dear, come up stairs." Florence took Mrs. Borden by the arm, and they ascended together. "Now I'll go and look after Jack."

She put a big apron over her dress. Jack sat on the bath room floor crying.

"Get up and take off those dirty things. Come, your father will soon be home and I don't know what he'll do to you," said his aunt.

"He may strap me if he likes, but I ain't going to be called a snotnosed scabby sneak of a devil—"

"Hush! hush! I won't listen to such a talk—"

"—And he slapped me in the face, and I kicked his shins good, and then we fit and I give him a punch in the belly and a good bunk in the eye—"

"Stop Jack, I won't hear another word. Let me get you washed up. There comes your father."

Jack's nose had stopped bleeding and he was washed and put in some clean clothes. Mrs. Borden laid aside her wrap and hat and went through to the nursery. The peppermint must have been a sedative to nerves and stomach for the twins looked up with an angelic smile and went on house building. Mrs. Seymour made the explanations.

"What could Marilla have been doing? She was well enough when we went out."

Miss Armitage gave the hand she held a gentle squeeze and she saw the eyelids quiver.

"I'm sure I am very much obliged to you both. I was sorry to miss you that day you called, Miss Armitage. Oh dear, how you must have been frightened! And poor Aunt Hetty! Is it really true—"

"The doctor couldn't tell the absolute danger so soon—"

"Oh, I think it has been coming on some time. She's dragged her feet and she had a quick, almost spiteful way of walking, if one may call it that. She protested against people slouching round without animation enough to lift their feet. And some days she wouldn't come down to any meal. Well, she's a pretty old lady; we've always let her have her way."

Jack came into the room rather meek but a handsome little fellow in spite of a lump on his forehead. He had run out of doors without waiting to hear the result of Marilla's fall.

"Well, Captain!" said his father, holding out his hand.

Mrs. Seymour went home after proffering her services if she should be needed through the night. The dinner bell rang and Miss Borden insisted the guest must go down to dinner and she would stay with the children.

"We're having our dinner a little late this evening on account of a guest; otherwise I would accept. I can stay half an hour longer. Then if you won't mind my coming around about nine to hear the doctor's verdict."

"Oh, you are very sympathetic. Thank you. I only hope Marilla won't have a bad time as she did last summer. Why she's never fainted since."

Jack behaved beautifully at the table. No one spoke of the fight. But he kept up a shivery thought of wondering if the ball he had thrown at Marilla had really hurt her. It wasn't a hard ball, at least not as hard as they had sometimes in the street.

No one appeared very hungry. Mrs. Borden went up to look after Aunt Hetty who seemed disinclined to talk and only wanted a cup of tea. Mr. Borden looked at Marilla who had fallen asleep. Then he went through to the other room and took Jack on his knee.

"Now let's hear about the fight," he said, but his voice didn't seem very stern.

Jack really wanted to cry. He felt sort of bruised and beaten though he had knocked down his adversary and would have stamped on him if his mother had not appeared at that moment and carried him off.

"Well, you see"—and the boy winked very hard.

"Who begun it?"

"Why, that Patsy's a reg'lar bum! He's called me names—he plays hookey too, and he tried to trip me up and I give him a left-hander, and he called me a stinking pup and ever so many nasty names and then we went at it. Papa, you may strap me if you want to, but if I hadn't fit the boys would have made fun of me and called me sissy, and we went at it like fury. He made my nose bleed, and I guess I gave him a black eye; and I kicked his shins—he's got fat legs. He's just a bounder and teacher said he'd wind up in the reform school. I just wish he would!" with an angry zest.

"How do boys learn such shocking talk?" asked Aunt Florence, "When they never hear it at home, and as for fighting—"

"It is in the outside air and perhaps like measles runs through boyhood. Jack, I want you to stand up for yourself though I don't admire street fights."

"But I won't be called nasty names, and he said I was a sneak of a devil—"

"Try and keep out of the way of such boys. But if you must fight stand up to it boldly. I think you didn't get the worst of it, but I guess it's good your mother came along just then, and now little boy you had better go to bed."

Jack was very glad nothing had been asked him about Marilla. He was tired and drowsy. But Aunt Florence said, "Jack I think you were a very bad boy."

Dr. Baker came in and took another look at Marilla whose pulse was still very fluttering.

"What do you suppose it is?" asked Mrs. Borden, anxiously.

"The child has a weak heart. Perhaps no organic disease at present, and if she gets through the next two or three years safely all may go well with her. But she ought not have any severe strain. Do you know anything about her family?"

"She hasn't any, I took her from that Bethany Home. She's a nice, willing, pleasant girl and a splendid hand with babies. But she was with Miss Armitage all through that awful time we had with the children teething, and the babies are good. I resolved I'd never make children so troublesome as Jack was, waiting on them hand and foot. I've had a different system with them."

"The system seems to have worked well, but I think you need a stronger nursemaid."

"I've never let her lift them, I knew it was not safe for them," laughing. "Though think how poor children carry babies about; but now tell me about Aunt Hetty."

"I think it is the beginning of the end. You can't quite tell, but she's pretty well worn out with the years, and she must have a steady nurse. A hospital would be best."

"Yes, we will talk that over."

"Have you any one for tonight?"

"No. Is it as bad as that?" and Mrs. Borden turned pale.

"I should advise an emergency nurse for a week or so; by that time you can make some plans."

Mrs. Vanderveer was comfortable, but she did not want to be left alone.

"Oh, isn't it dreadful, Florence, that this should happen just now. If it only could have waited until Christmas," Mrs. Borden said with tears in her eyes. "I meant you should have such a happy wedding. You've always been like an own sister to me."

"Well, we won't worry tonight. Only—"

Miss Armitage came in and heard the story through.

"Let me telephone at once to the nurses' home, then you will feel relieved. And perhaps it would be a good thing to send Marilla to me for a little while again."

"I cannot do without a nurse girl."

"But a week or two may restore Marilla."

The nurse came, a wholesome middle aged body who had been for weeks with a helpless paralytic. And so the midnight found them all comfortable. Marilla was left on the lounge. Miss Armitage sat a long while in her soft wrapper planning about the child she felt she must rescue. Oh, she did want her. She did not try to give any reason for the love that had stolen almost unaware in her heart, or the faith that this child would not disappoint her. Every year she was growing older, every year she longed more for some one of her very own. Why should she not play fairy godmother in earnest? She must have Dr. Richard's verdict.

For Mrs. Borden with many kindly qualities looked at matters only as they applied to herself. When Marilla was eighteen she would come to the freedom of a bound-out girl, too old to begin another life, settled in a rut—if she lived. Was she not one of the little ones that might be rescued and live out a higher life? There were many who could not, but she felt she must go carefully.

Mrs. Holmes proved an admirable nurse and Aunt Hetty took to her in an astonishing manner. She was attractive to the children, as well, who greeted her with a smile.

On the next day Dr. Baker admitted the paralysis was gaining rapidly and thought she could not last long. That evening she said to the nurse, "Send Mr. Borden up here, and you stay down with the ladies."

He came up and greeted her cordially, hoping for better things, as friends are wont to say.

"No, John, there will not be any better, so we won't indulge in make believes. Carry and James were quite sure this way of living wasn't good for me. They wanted me to buy a house and make it over to them and they would care for me the rest of my life. I've lived with Carry, paid her good board, too, so I knew what that would be. I couldn't live quite alone, you see—I always wanted some one round that I could see if I wanted to. Old people do get queer. So when I had to foreclose here I made you this offer. You're the only one of them all who has not asked me outright for money, and I honor you for it. Your mortgage here is twenty-three hundred."

"Yes," he said with a vague sort of hope that she wasn't going to ask him to settle it.

"I want you to get it cancelled; I'll give you the order. I've meant to do this the last year. Carry worried so at me that I went away with her and felt none the better for it. I'd rather staid at home with Bridget. So you see to that at once. And I want to make a new will."

"Aunt Hetty! Well, I don't know what to say," and his tone showed his surprise. "Don't say anything." She gave her little cackle of a laugh that always had a sound of derision in it. "You know I can't take any of it with me, and I'd like to know it will make few people pleased and happy. I'm going to make you executor, so get some one else to write out the will. I fixed it to my liking today. You've all been very good to put up with my whims and queernesses. Old people don't like too much advice, especially where money is concerned. Look in the second drawer there—in a long envelope."

"Thank you for this expression of your satisfaction. The babies and Jack may have been a nuisance at times."

"But that little girl's been good enough to make up for any annoyance—not that there's been much. Jack's a smart, funny little fellow. You know they're all more or less bad, but they grow up pretty fair. There now, I'm tired."

Mr. Borden wished her a kindly good-night and went down stairs to recount the wonderful interview.

"Oh, John!" Mrs. Borden leaned her head down on her husband's shoulder. "What a streak of good fortune! Now we really do own the house free and clear, I thought our summering would be quite moderate but it wasn't. Still it did the babies an immense deal of good after they got over their awful time. And they're so nice and well now, and are growing better looking all the time. If Marilla only could make their hair curl! It's so stringy, and we haven't worried at Aunt Hetty for what she did or what she didn't do, and weren't snappy when she found fault. I used to think she needn't have rung for Marilla quite so much, but the child never minded running up and down."

"How has she been today?"

"Well, I don't just know; Dr. Baker said she must keep pretty still, so she's laid on the old lounge, but the babies would crawl over her. It does seem as if we must have someone else—an older person, though some of them object to taking out children. But if we want to get much sewing done—"

"I think I'll have a seamstress for a week or so," said Aunt Florence, "time goes on so fast."

Marilla had gone up stairs to her own bed, where Bridget had crooned over her in tender Irish fashion.

"An' I'm sore afraid them babies'll be the death of you, poor lamb! They drag on you so, and their chatter would drive me crazy."

"But they're so funny."

"I don't call it funny with their hundred and fifty wants," sniffed Bridget.

Marilla turned faint now and then but for several days she was not sent out with the children. Miss Armitage came over every day to inquire about both invalids. Mrs. Vanderveer dozed a good deal and the numbness seemed crawling further up her body.

"She may have another stroke and she may go just this way," said Mrs. Holmes, "I wouldn't give her more than a month at the longest. I've seen it so many times. But it is merciful for them not to last years."

It was mid-October then. The seamstress proved a treasure. Garments were completed and laid away.

"I want most of the work finished up in November," said Mrs. Borden, "then we can plan all the other matters."

"I shall have to look up some one else. I want a nurse to take up the children in the morning and wash and dress them, and they must go out. They're losing all their lovely weather. Marilla doesn't seem to get along at all. If she's going to develop some heart trouble she will just be good for nothing. Of course, when I took her she seemed healthy enough, and it was the best thing to do then. John has had some good luck this fall and we don't need to think of saving up money for the mortgage. I could afford a regular nurse, and it would ease me up so much. I don't suppose they'd take Marilla back at the Home."

"Talk to John about it if; we could find a new place for her. Why, she would make a nice little waitress. If you could keep three girls," laughingly.

"Dear me, we must not spread out too rapidly, and somehow I'd hate to give her up. She trains the children so nicely. And have you noticed how sort of gentlemanly Jack is growing toward her? He was real rude."

Jack had experienced many qualms of conscience about throwing the ball that day, but Marilla made no reference to it. Still she might tell Bridget, she and Bridget were such cronies, and Bridget would make an awful fuss.

"Marilla," he said one night when she was getting him ready for bed—"I didn't mean to hurt you that day with the ball—you know. I didn't think girls were so tender."

"I was tired and there had been something stopping my breath like, now and then, maybe it wasn't the ball."

"You were good not to tell on a fellow. I'll never, never hurt you again, nor pinch you, nor be ugly to you. You're so sweet, Marilla," and he clasped his arms around her neck, kissing her.



CHAPTER XI

THE ARK OF LOVE

The glowing golden October weather had given place to several lowering days. Furnaces and grates were started up, and overcoats brought out, and pedestrians hurried along. Even children did not stop to play, for now a cold drizzle had set in.

It was very warm and cheery in Miss Armitage's library. There was a fire in the grate, a pot of beautiful red carnations on one stand, a great vase of roses on the other, and a dainty tea table set out with Wedgewood. Thursday afternoon she was always at home. From some cause there had been very few in. Jane came and put two big lumps of cannel coal on the fire and said a few words, then went to answer the ring at the door; it was Dr. Richards.

"I'm glad to see you," she said. "Will you please light a burner or two?"

"Oh, no, let us sit in this mysterious light and watch the blaze leaping over and around those black hillocks. Have you been busy today?"

"Not very. Some days I don't feel in a working humor. I had only two calls this afternoon. Will you have a cup of tea?"

"Yes; when have you been to the Bordens?"

"Yesterday."

"And how are the invalids?"

"Mrs. Vanderveer is sinking in a comatose state; she doesn't suffer, which is a great blessing toward the last. As for Marilla"—she made a pause.

"Well—" inquiringly.

"I'm not satisfied, she has such a blue, tired look. But she is about as usual. Dr. Richards, I want her."

Something in the tone touched him. It seemed the cry of motherhood.

"Well, wouldn't they give her up?"

"I really think they would; a friend came to see if they did not want her nursemaid, a nice well trained girl of twenty; an excellent seamstress. She is going to California. Mrs. Borden told me this as we were down in the hall. Dr. Baker said something about the child's health that rather startled her. But before we could have any discussion another visitor called. She thinks Marilla doesn't have anything much to do; but the babies are a constant care. They want to be entertained every minute of the time. Violet is developing quite a temper and slaps her little nurse. All her mother said was 'Violet, that's naughty.' But you should have seen Pansy speak some Mother Goose rhymes. Marilla had been training her. The gestures, the roll of the eyes, the coquettish turn of the head was the daintiest thing you ever saw. Then she repeated—'Where are you going, my pretty maid?' and she had a little milk pail on her arm, and she managed to keep the two parts wonderfully distinct—it was remarkable in a child not three years old, and when she said—'Then I won't marry you, my pretty maid' and answered so pertly—'Nobody asked you, sir, she said,' it would have done credit to an exhibition. Her mother sprang up and kissed her rapturously, crying—'Isn't she the dearest and sweetest thing and the smartest! Think of her learning that and acting it off so completely, and not three years old! She is smarter than Violet'—and then Violet set up such a howl! Her mother pacified her by saying Marilla should tell her a piece, and after several efforts Cinderella did induce her to say by a great deal of prompting 'Milkman, Milkman, where have you been?' Think of the wear on the child's nerves, and she looked so tired. I really couldn't stand it a moment longer. They think she has nothing to do but just amuse those two strong irrepressible children who climb over her and torment her in every fashion. I can't stand it. I hardly slept last night thinking of it."

"Can't you bring her over for a visit?"

"I thought of proposing that. If I could persuade her to transfer the child to me—"

"But if she gets another nurse?"

"Yes, I must try. The strain on her is too great, and now for almost a week she has not been out of the house; Mrs. Borden bewails it for the childrens' sake. She thinks only of them with a mother's selfishness, and she doesn't give Marilla credit for these pretty ways or their intelligence. She is just their nurse girl. It is a cruel waste of the child's gifts."

"I'd like to see Dr. Baker; most of all I'd like to see Marilla, but it wouldn't be etiquette to call."

"I'll go tomorrow with courage enough to have a gentle talk or a straight out one," said Miss Armitage resolutely. "We try to save other lives, why not this one? And this one is dear to me. It has so much of promise in it, and life gets lonely sometimes."

He longed to come into it, but he kept his promise. Until she made some sign he must be content with friendship. He rose abruptly and said he must be going. She did not detain him.

It was raining a-softly now and he hurried along. His office was in a little ell part in a rather inviting looking house, and he took his meals with the tenant. The office boy was on the lookout for him, it was time he went home.

"There's a gentleman in there waiting for you," he said with his good-night.

The gentleman was comfortably ensconced in the Morris chair, smoking a cigar. Doctor Richards took a second look.

"Why, Lorimer!" he exclaimed. "Where have you dropped from? I haven't seen you in an age—but I'm glad, old fellow; I was feeling rather down; I should have had a gay presentiment."

"Remembering old times when we were both bloated aristocrats, favorites with the gods."

"And are now earning daily bread," laughed the doctor. "At least I am and trying to help suffering humanity. Isn't that neatly put?"

"I don't know whether I can claim all that; now and then I get some poor fellow's affairs out of a snarl and make him pay for it, and one end of something has drifted here to Newton and I'm after that, but I thought I'd hunt you up first. I've been here a good half hour."

"And supper is ready in the house. Then we will have a good hour before any one drops in. Come in," and he opened a side door into a hall.

There were three persons at the table, an elderly couple and a woman in the thirties. They made Mr. Lorimer cordially welcome and the supper was inviting. The guest asked some questions about Newton which was a quiet rather old fashioned town quite set in its ways.

Afterward they settled themselves comfortably in the office.

"I've come to hunt up some one—do you know anything about a Bethany Home for orphans, girls, I believe."

Dr. Richards roused from his lazy position. "Yes, I know about it, though I never been on the staff. Why?"

"I want to learn about a child placed there four or five years ago. Let me see," referring to a memorandum, "name, Marilla Bond; mother and father died in this town."

"Marilla Bond. Yes. I know the child. What of her?"

"I'll begin at the very first. Hardly two years ago Peter Schermerhorn died at the age of ninety-eight. He was the black sheep of an otherwise respectable family, went off and spent his portion in riotous living, afterward bought a tract of ground above Harlem, turned hermit, raised geese and ducks and pigs, married and had three daughters and they in turn married, glad, I suppose, to get away from the penurious living. So it went on. He had to give up the pigs and geese, did a little gardening and two years ago died without a will. Oddly enough he had kept a family record which has been of great service to us. The old shanty was a disgrace, the ground valuable. The city was bringing up one of its fine avenues and a syndicate made a proffer for the land. Of course the heirs soon scented this out, and our firm has been trying to settle the estate so the property can be turned into money, and a good deed given. We have found about everybody, I believe, but the mother of this child who is in very direct descent, eluded us a long while."

"And this child is one of the heirs?" in surprise.

"Exactly. Her mother came here after her marriage. The father was killed in some machinery mishap. The mother was in a store, a bakery, I believe, and dying, gave her little girl to the friend she had lived with, and the friend married and went out to Easton. We found she did not take the child with her but put her in this Bethany Home with some important papers. So we want the child and the papers."

"The child was twelve, a year ago September. She was bound-out to some fairly nice people as a little nursemaid. And an heiress!" in a tone of glad surprise.

"Well not to any great extent. There are a good many heirs it seems—ten thousand or so. But we had to know whether she was living or not on account of the title."

His little Cinderella! Truly this was a fairy story. "Oh, are you quite sure?" he said.

"Oh, there's no doubt, if she is the true heir. But the woman at Easton attested a very straight story and knew of the husband's death, though she had not known him personally. The money is on the mother's side, you see, so his death is neither here nor there. And now—can't we go out and interview this place and the keeper?"

"Hardly tonight. The matron is a rather rigid person I believe. We had best tackle her by daylight, and the child is almost in this vicinity. A rather unusual child I think, very sweet natured. Oh, I can't express all my delight. She is the kind of girl that ought to be educated, that should live in an atmosphere of love, and she is not really strong enough to take the rough and tumble of life. Oh, I can't tell you how glad I am." Lorimer surveyed his friend with a rather humorous smile. They had been chums during a summer in Switzerland and Holland, but he had not thought Richards much given to either love or romance.

Then they branched off into old times when both had been rather wasteful. Lorimer was working hard to redeem that youthful extravagance; Dr. Richards cared nothing at all for the moneyed end of life.

He would fain have kept his friend all night but Lorimer had engaged his room at a hotel. They were to meet as soon as possible in the morning.

Bethany Home was quite in the suburbs, reached by a walk after one had left the trolley. The house was a big rambling place to which there had been made several additions. It had been a gift from a benevolently disposed woman, with a small endowment that was occasionally added to. There was quite a spacious garden and an abundance of rose vines.

Yes, Mrs. Johnson was in and they were ushered into a large old fashioned apartment, scrupulously neat and formal. Mrs. Johnson was a somewhat portly woman turned of sixty, whose face had settled into severe lines, and she eyed her visitors rather suspiciously.

"I am Dr. Richards," he began with a softening of the countenance, "and my friend Mr. Lorimer is a lawyer from New York who comes on a matter of business concerning a little girl who was an inmate of the Home until a little over a year ago—Marilla Bond."

"Yes"—in a rather questioning manner.

Lorimer told his story and the surprise in the woman's face was evident.

"What is of most importance is to learn whether there are any papers to substantiate the claim. One has to be careful in the legal matters."

She seemed to consider. "Yes," rather reluctantly. "The person who brought her here gave quite a box of papers and some trinkets to my safe keeping. We take charge of them until the girls are eighteen—then they have served out their time and are legally their own mistresses. Ours is quite a private institution and has no connection with the city, although it has a board of officers, of which I am president. Of course I keep watch over the girls who are bound-out. This Marilla has a very nice place. She was away all summer with the family. One of our managers visited this Mrs. Borden on her return and found everything satisfactory and the child content."

"Could we look over the papers?"

She seemed rather loth to produce them but she could find no excuse. She recalled the fact that she had seen Dr. Richards' name in connection with the Children's Hospital.

Certainly there was enough to substantiate the claim. A marriage certificate, an attestation of the baby's birth, and old Dr. Langdon was still alive, though he had retired from practice. A packet of letters as well, two notices of Mr. Bond's accident and death. Everything was ready for corroboration.

Mr. Lorimer gathered up the important papers. At first Mrs. Johnson rather demurred about his taking them away.

"Why, I would have no object in destroying them. I should not be the gainer by it. And this is the last heir we have to trace. Now we can proceed to a settlement. The syndicate takes more than half the property and pays cash. The remainder can be easily sold. No one seems disposed to demand an extravagant price. You will hear from me before long, and I will return the papers."

After they had settled that and left the lady, Lorimer said—

"Now let us interview this Doctor Langdon."

He was a somewhat feeble, white haired old man but received them very graciously and was much interested in the story. Turning to his book he refreshed his memory. Yes, there was the birth of the child. The mother he put down as rather delicate. A note some time after substantiated the accident and death of the father. He was very willing to give an affidavit. "You've been a tremendous help to me, Al," said Mr. Lorimer, "estates that have to be settled this way are an enormous bother, and thanks are poor pay," laughing.

"I believe I shall demand something more. The child will need a guardian. She has several warm friends here, I'm not willing to lose sight of her. So I shall ask that office."

"Well—why not? Some one must act until she is of age. Yes, I'll remember. I'm glad you spoke of it. I'll be up again. Indeed I'm quite curious to see how she takes her fortune."

So the friends parted. Dr. Richards made several calls, stopped for some lunch, found a number of patients awaiting him and a message that had come from Miss Armitage, who wished to see him at once. She had had quite an eventful morning as well. Some vague presentiment had haunted her about Marilla and after disposing of a few business calls she hurried around to Arch street.

Mrs. Borden answered the door.

"Oh, Miss Armitage! We're so full of trouble! Aunt Hetty has just died and Marilla—oh, I don't know what will become of the child!"

"She is not ill?" in a tone of anxiety.

"Well, come in and sit down and let me tell you. They thought the first part of the night the poor old lady was dropping off quietly. Then toward morning she seemed to rally, and kept calling for Marilla. John had been up there most of the time and he said bring the child up. We didn't suppose she was really conscious. So Marilla went up. It was daylight, and just as soon as she went to the bedside the poor old lady held out both hands, and Mrs. Holmes said she really smiled, and then a horrible thing happened, like a fit, and her mouth all curled up and her eyes rolled up to the whites and Marilla screamed and fainted and the old lady was dead in a minute, and then the child fainted several times and they put her in her own bed—we'd had her down stairs. What did your doctor say about her last summer? Dr. Baker said her heart was weak. Now I think they oughtn't have sent a girl out from the Home who had any such thing the matter with her. She had it real easy, sitting on the floor playing with the babies. And we never let her carry them up and down stairs or put anything hard on her, and now you know they run all over and are very little trouble. They have always been such good babies, but if she is going to faint at every little thing she won't be much good. Mr. Borden has gone for that other girl and to attend to the necessary business. There will be the funeral and we shall have to take in some of the folks, I know. Mrs. Holmes will stay right along until we are straight again, but, it's asking a good deal I admit," and she paused.

"Yes, let me take her." Miss Armitage had come primed with several arguments, but she saw they would not be needed.

"Of course the shock was awful. Mrs. Holmes said she wasn't surprised, for Marilla was just going to clasp the outstretched hands, but the old lady came back to her natural looks and I'm so glad; but of course Marilla will be haunted by the sight—"

"Yes, and you will have so much on your hands. Do you think she could walk that far or shall I order a hack?"

"Oh, she came down to the nursery and Bridget brought her up some breakfast. There's the undertaker—"

"I'll go up to the nursery," said Miss Armitage.

A very wan little girl was pillowed upon the lounge. Jack had been sent to school without hearing of the happening. Violet was marching up and down ringing a little bell and saying "Go to door, Illa, go to door." Pansy was leaning over her with a book crying authoritatively—"Read to me, read to me."

Miss Armitage lifted Pansy down but she started to climb up again. The lady sat down in the place and drew Marilla's head to her bosom and let the child cry there.

"Illa can't read to you now," she said. "Poor Illa's sick."

"'Tain't your Illa," said the child obstinately.

"My dear," Miss Armitage began soothingly, kissing the tremulous lips, "you are going home with me. It has been dreadful I know, but you must try to forget it. Jane will be glad to have you and Dr. Richards will comfort you. Don't you remember what a nice time we had last summer? There dear—little Cinderella."

Marina smiled faintly through her tears.

"Oh, I am so glad. It was so sudden you know, and when she stretched out her hands."

"She must have known you, and after all it was sweet to be remembered then. Are you very weak? But I'm afraid you couldn't walk to Loraine place."

"I'm so—so shaky—"

Aunt Florence entered the room and snatched the bell from Violet. "You must not make such a noise," she declared. "Oh Miss Armitage, you are always shocked by a death, aren't you? And poor Aunt Hetty has been dying the last week, though the doctor said she did not really suffer. But she's past eighty and that's a good long life. I do wonder if she really knew she was calling for Marilla, and the poor child has had a bad time. How good of you to offer to take her for awhile. Funerals are so dismal to a child."

"I think I had better have a cab," said the guest. "Will you kindly telephone for one?"

Miss Borden assented. Then she brought a frock for Marilla, and between them they had her dressed. Violet tumbled her box of blocks on the floor and began kicking them around.

"Oh, dear! When you want quiet, children are always the worst! When that new girl comes she shall take them out in their carriage and we will have peace for a little while."

Mr. Borden entered at that moment with a very pleasant-faced young woman.

"Come through in my room," said Miss Borden, "and you can watch for the cab." She shut the door between, but the babies burst into a howl and she went back to pacify them.

"Oh, I do feel better," exclaimed Marilla, and her eyes lightened up, "but no one seems to know just what to do to amuse the babies, I've grown so used to it."

"They must get along without you for awhile. It is a pity they couldn't be sent away as well."

The cab came presently. Mr. Borden almost carried Marilla down stairs. "Now get good and rested," he said. "It will be a sad time. Death always is."

Oh, how delightful the beautiful house was! They went through to the library where the grate fire had been kindled and Marilla drew a long, happy breath. Why she felt almost well. Jane brought her some hot milk and presently spread a dainty little luncheon on the library table. They had quite a cheerful time and it seemed as if she improved every moment.

Dr. Richards thought he would never get through with the office patients this afternoon and he was impatient to know what had happened. As for his own experiences they must be kept to himself for some time. Indeed he almost felt as if it was a dream. He had seen Marilla only three times since her return. First she had gone to the office to report to him and let him see what the seaside had done for her, then the episode of measles had kept her indoors as well as the babies. He had met her twice with her precious freight, and even on Sundays she had not found time to go to Miss Armitage.

She told the story over to save the child's nerves. "And so the poor old lady has gone. Yet I think it hardly fair for you to have to wait upon her so much."

"Oh then Mrs. Holmes came and she was very nice. But as soon as I came in with the babies she went out for her walk and Aunt Hetty wanted me to read to her. She liked so to have me read, and somehow she seemed gentler and quite sweet like after she was so poorly. I liked it better than being so much with the children. They were growing so big and strong and wanted to keep tumbling over me. It made me so tired sometimes."

"Marilla is never going back there," Dr. Richards said decisively. "She isn't strong enough for a nurse girl."

"No, she is not going back. I went out awhile ago to see that Mrs. Johnson, but she thought the place an excellent one, and that it was a bad thing to change girls about, making them dissatisfied everywhere, but I meant to bide my time, and find an opportunity. Now I think they will be willing to give her up as they have a grown-up woman. She came while I was there. Dr. Baker told them Marilla had a weak heart, and I think it startled them. They have no idea how hard she has been worked."

Oh, he longed to tell her of Marilla's good fortune. Somehow they must manage to share the child between them. She had the lovely home and the mother heart, and he wanted a home with a sweet little girl in it.

At Arch street there was a good deal of confusion. Cousins and nieces who had called only at rare intervals on Mrs. Vanderveer were most attentive, suddenly. They did wonder between themselves if Aunt Hetty was going to leave all her money to John Borden!

The new nurse, Lizzie by name, was really a great comfort. She took up the babies in the morning, bathed and dressed them and gave them their breakfast. They still took their midday nap but she managed to introduce some discipline, yet she was not harsh. Master Jack stood a little in awe of her. She was a good seamstress also.

So passed the three days and they brought Aunt Hetty down in the parlor and put her in a fine casket, keeping the doors shut until the hour for service. Mrs. Seymour had the nurse bring the children in her house. So they said prayers reverently, sang some lovely parting hymns and laid her away, her long life on earth finished.

The relatives were asked to meet at Mr. Borden's office the next day at ten to hear the will read.

Was ever any will satisfactory where property was divided up into small gifts? Five hundred dollars to this one and to that one, three hundred apiece to some others. Jack, Jr., had five hundred, the babies, three hundred, and Marilla Bond, three hundred.

"It was very nice of her in a way," said Mrs. Borden, "but I think one hundred dollars would have been remembrance enough for the little waiting on she did, and I find Lizzie is of much more service than she was. Of course she costs more. I shall go out to the Home some day and give her up on account of her health. Miss Armitage might as well take her. She'll make a nice little waitress maid. And now that the house is clear I feel that we needn't economize so closely. You and John get your five hundred with the rest, and she gave me her diamond ear rings after we came back in the summer. It was smart in her not to have John make her will, so none of them can say he persuaded her. Well, now we can settle ourselves to the next thing."



CHAPTER XII

A WONDERFUL HAPPENING

Mrs. Borden was surprised that Mrs. Johnson received back Marilla Bond's indentures with no remonstrance or objection. She certainly had not known about this weak heart. The child had never been ill, but something else might come to hand. She was glad there was no other reason and that the little girl had proved trustworthy.

Miss Armitage was also surprised that Mrs. Johnson would not agree to an immediate transferrence.

"You may go on keeping her for awhile," said the lady in a lofty manner. "You may tire of her. We will see presently."

That was all the permission she could get and it was a blow to Miss Armitage. She had come to love the child with a fervor she had hardly dreamed of and Marilla simply adored her. Dr. Richards teased her a little about her fortune. She was quite a welcome guest at the Bordens and the twins almost devoured her when she came, but poor Bridget was nearly heart broken.

"If I had a little girl of my own I could hardly love her any better, and Marilla Bond, if I was a rich woman I'd steal you some day and we'd go off to some place in Europe, Paris, maybe, and have a beautiful house and servants to wait on us and horses and a carriage and we'd travel about like grand folks. It would be as nice as that night when you went to the palace and danced with the Prince, and I'd buy you fine clothes and diamonds and I'd wait on you hand and foot; I don't wonder the babies loved you. You are the sweetest thing the good God ever sent down here!"

And then Marilla hugged Bridget and kissed her and they both cried out of pure love.

"That Lizzie does very well and don't bother me, but it isn't like having some one to slip up to you with a smile of sunshine that warms your heart through and through."

Yet it was flattering to be so well loved, but she did not want to come back and be a nurse maid again. Ah, if she could only stay with Miss Armitage! She began to study a little, she was so eager to learn. The music enchanted her and she was delighted to pick out tunes with her soft touch.

"I don't understand what Mrs. Johnson means," Miss Armitage said to the doctor. "I offered to adopt Marilla and educate her and see that she was well placed in life. I have no near relatives, and I don't believe I shall ever marry, I like my life as it is, but she was so sort of mysterious and secretive and declared she could not give an answer at present, as if she had some further plans. I did make the most of her having a weak heart—you said so and Doctor Baker as well. Oh, do you believe there is any real danger?"

She turned pale at the thought.

"With care I think she will outgrow it. She has lived in an overstrained atmosphere with those children. Then it was a dreadful shock to have the old lady die that way when she was looking for a tender recognition. What happened about a fortnight before?"

"I do not know, I found her unconscious. The ladies were out, the old Aunt had a stroke. It is such a sweet, promising life, and can be developed into something worth while. You may think me visionary—"

Oh, why could she not see this other life that might be blessed and broadened by her love!

"I am afraid there is something back of it all that I cannot fathom," she continued. "It haunts me. Suppose you were to see this Mrs. Johnson. A man can sometimes penetrate plans—"

And he was in collusion with Mrs. Johnson, keeping the secret from the woman he loved, but if there should be some mistake!

"Yes, I will see Mrs. Johnson," he said slowly.

A light footfall came down the stairs, and Marilla flew to his side.

"Oh, I thought I heard your voice," and both small hands clasped his. "Fairy godmother I have spelled all those queer words until I can just feel them in my brain. Oh, doctor, when I wrote you that letter last summer wasn't some words wrongly spelled? You see I had forgotten some things, and I am learning so much. I want to stay here, and I don't believe any one else wants me—only the babies might."

When she glanced up at times it seemed as if the pupil that was so much darker than the iris that it flooded it with the tint of the under wave that seemed to overflow the crest of the swell. They were unusual eyes, changing with every emotion. She looked quite well again, and the lips were rosy.

"Oh, you don't?" with a queer little smile. "Well the babies can't have you."

"Oh, Bridget thinks if she were rich she would run away with me," and she laughingly detailed the woman's plan for their journeying about.

"If Bridget should get a windfall—servants do sometimes, we should have to keep a sharp eye on you both, and now I must go."

"Can't he stay to dinner?" She crossed over and pressed Miss Armitage's hand to her soft cheek.

"Why we shall be glad to have him, but you must notify Jane and Norah."

She returned with the compliments of both. While they were waiting for the summons and being beguiled with her pleasant chatter he was thinking what a charming family group they would make. If he only had the old fortune!

They had an enjoyable time and when they returned to the library she begged him to play chess. She was so fond of following the devious course of the opposing parties.

"Office calls will not begin until eight," he said and she rolled up the table and brought out the beautiful chess men. She was always so deft it was a pleasure to watch her.

He was playing for the white queen; he often did. This time he studied his moves cautiously. But Miss Armitage had played so much with her uncle. Then the telephone rang and he went astray.

She answered it. "For Dr. Richards, a Mr. Lorimer was in the office, wanted to see him at once. Important; everything was progressing finely. Could he not see the little heiress that evening?"

He looked at Miss Armitage in ludicrous dismay.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Your sin finds you out, doesn't it?" with an amused yet deprecating smile. "I suppose I ought to have explained before, but really I could hardly believe it would amount to anything. Marilla must have come from fairy land to have all these things happen to her. May I ask Mr. Lorimer here?"

"Certainly. You are very mysterious."

Dr. Richards went on with the telephone talk, giving explicit directions how to find Loraine place where they were all assembled, and, all anxious to hear his story. Then he took both little soft hands in his.

"What would you say if a real fortune was coming to you?"

"Why there's Aunt Hetty's money and that will double in fourteen years, Mr. Borden said, but I like fairy godmother better than any fortune. Come, and go on with the game."

"No, I must explain to Miss Armitage. This was why Mrs. Johnson acted rather queer. She was enjoined to silence. And the funny thing was she didn't half believe it."

He sat down and placed his arm around Marilla, drawing her nearer. Miss Armitage had a little jealous pang.

"On the side of Marilla's mother an old man died recently who was nearly a hundred. He had a sort of farm and an old house and lived like a hermit with pigs and ducks and chickens. He had six children, but they married and went off. This is the fourth generation. There was no will so they had to find all the heirs in order to get a good deed to the property. They traced Mrs. Bond and learned she has left a child. They found the woman who had kept her, but on her re-marriage she had placed the child at Bethany Home, Newton. So Mr. Lorimer, an old chum of mine came to this place, as he is a member of the firm settling the estate. We went out to the Home—"

"How long ago?" asked Miss Armitage.

"Well, something over a fortnight. We had a rather difficult time to persuade Mrs. Johnson to give up the important papers. She is very matter of fact and I suppose has heard many a wild story that came to nothing. You see she always keeps whatever comes with a child until the girl is eighteen, when they are given to her. We found old Doctor Langdon who could substantiate everything and who gave an affidavit, so they were to proceed at once to a settlement. The city has taken a strip for an avenue extension, and they want a good deed. I heard from Lorimer a few days ago, and he said that everything was right, that he should be at Newton shortly and wanted to see Marilla Bond."

"And how much may this wonderful fortune be?" The lady's tone was slightly sarcastic. "They are apt to shrink by payment time."

"Somewhere about ten thousand, I believe. Not enough to make one a millionaire, but it will educate her and give her some journeys outside of fairy land," laughing a little. "Perhaps fairy godmother won't send you adrift for such an accident," looking down in the wondering eyes.

"The best fortune of all is fairy godmother." Marilla went around and kissed her, clasped both her hands.

"When I heard from Lorimer that it was all fair sailing I went out and called on Mrs. Johnson. Well, you should have seen her! She was quite set up on a pinnacle and declared that she must write out the story. It is as well I suppose that Newton should have it first hand, and she will take most of the glory. The Bordens will be surprised."

There was a touch of awkwardness in the silence. Miss Armitage did not take kindly to the fortune. She would rather have the child owe everything to her. She had plenty of money. It would be like a young sister growing up beside her, for somehow she felt curiously young. Marilla had a simple charming grace that would render her very attractive. Her perfect candor and honesty joined with a peculiar fine reticence unusual in a child had appealed strongly to Miss Armitage. Even her gratitude had a winsome delicacy in it, and it would be a gracious work to train her in lovely womanly ways through the years to come.

Did the child feel the subtle atmosphere?

"Fairy godmother, you will always be the best thing in my life," she said in a soft, sweet tone. "In the summer when I was wondering in that strange country and could not remember much, I felt a sweet quiet when you came, just as if some one found me and I was safe. Oh, I had never loved any one so dearly. I saw so little of my own mother and she was always tired, fairy godmothers are different."

The door bell rang. "That must be Lorimer," said Dr. Richards and he reached the hall just as Jane opened the door. Miss Armitage let him greet his friend before she rose.

"Can't I bring him in here?" asked the doctor.

"Oh, yes."

"This room is my ideal, Lorimer. The grate fire and the shelves of books give one an immediate welcome. And allow me to present you to the presiding genius, Miss Armitage."

It was indeed a charming home with an atmosphere that penetrated one's soul, and they two looked as if they might have been born in it, they impressed you as being a subtle part of it. It was like a vision as Lorimer was seating himself, and his eyes caught the situation of the chess men.

"Some one made a false move," he exclaimed, laughing.

"Is the white queen in danger? I can't have her taken," Marilla said breathlessly.

"Oh, are you on her side? If I had time I'd rescue her. I suppose my friend here, the doctor, has explained my errand—the rest is—you are the little white queen and I am an ogre come to capture you and take you away."

"But I'm not going," returned the child. "When one has a fairy godmother one is enchanted and the evil ogre is powerless."

"Oh, is it that way? Then I must sue humbly to the power above and present my case, for indeed, if you didn't want your fortune you would stop the wheels of division and perhaps be accused of contempt of court—which you don't know a word about. You are quite a little heroine with your romantic story, and I am charged to bring you into court and prove you are Marilla Bond, entitled to a slice of this pie they are going to serve."

"Are there four and twenty black birds in it?" she asked mirthfully.

"Oh, more than that, but there is no flaw in your claim, and I have unearthed a delightful relative for you, a cousin of your mother's with whom much of her early life was passed. After her marriage they seemed to fall apart as people often do, and she heard you were all dead. She has three charming girls, fourteen, eleven and seven. Mrs. Warren made me promise to bring you direct to her; she is very anxious to see you and will take good care of you."

Miss Armitage had a stunned sort of feeling. There were relatives who might have a right to her. She was no longer a waif for some one's charity.

"You will bring her back?" she said hurriedly.

"Oh, of course. They are not likely to make her a ward in chancery as if she had a million. Dr. Richards will be her guardian, you will like that, won't you?" smiling at her bright-eyed watchfulness.

"I don't quite know what a guardian is," doubtfully, glancing at her oldest friend, "Mr. Borden never spoke of one."

"That estate has not been settled yet," remarked the doctor. "A trustee might answer for that."

"A guardian is a person appointed to see that you have a good home, and do not waste your money, but I have heard of guardians who wasted it for you. We shall have the doctor bound securely, and you must have an allowance for clothes and various needs, such as ice cream and candy."

Marilla laughed then. It seemed amusing and very delightful that the doctor should have some real right to her.

"You have never been to New York?"

"Oh, no!" with a wonder in her tone.

"Then it will be a great treat. Can she be ready by tomorrow morning?"

"Will she be really needed?"

"Oh, yes, tomorrow is set for the finishing of her business; I must get back early. There is a big fight on another estate. What an amount of litigation money does make! This has been clear sailing after we found all the heirs and fenced out all those who had no claim. Miss Marilla Bond, I congratulate you, and I should really like to hear Mrs. Johnson on the subject. Were you happy there?"

"I liked it better at Mrs. Borden's, but it is best here," she answered.

They branched off into several amusing episodes. Miss Armitage ordered some coffee and cake. Lorimer glanced at the chess men.

"Why were you on the side of the white queen?" he asked.

"Because—because I chose her for Miss Armitage, and nothing must happen to her."

Oh! There was an earnest of love in the beautiful eyes. She was a charming little girl.

Then they made all arrangements; they were to take the 8:10 train. "Could Marilla be ready that early in the morning?"

"Yes," was the rather reluctant answer.

They made their adieu. Lorimer thanked her for a delightful evening.

"I suppose it's all settled, old fellow! You are lucky with the prospect of such a home and such a presiding—shall I call her the goddess of the hearth? That room is a perfect gem, and you three people are to the manner born."

"Not so fast if you please. It is outside of my daily life, a place of rest and refreshing where a pilgrim may pause now and then."

"You two people are in love."

"I am, I admit."

"Then you are a dolt if you don't go in and win."

"I asked her more than a year ago. She gave me friendship. We are simply good comrades in our work for the world."

"She doesn't look like a woman whose heart is buried in some one's grave."

"She has a foolish, insurmountable reason. I am a few years her junior," he said in a half satiric tone. "And I have a reason that escaped me then. She is rich and I am comparatively poor."

"Nonsense! There should never be anything but pure love between the man and the woman who are the complement of each other. What a fascinating picture you three made! And you both love the child. I'm glad she is going to have a chance with education. With those eyes she ought to be beyond the ordinary."

"Then she will be in good hands."

"Al—you are an idiot. Some day you will rue this shilly-shallying."

Dr. Richards' reply was an unmirthful laugh, as if he was not rueing the mischance all the time. But he was proud and would not go back of his word.



CHAPTER XIII

A NEW ATMOSPHERE

They came back to the sleepy grate fire. Miss Armitage said—"You must go to bed for you will have to be up early in the morning."

"I shall only stay a little while," as if she had been musing over her journey. "Fairy godmother why don't you come, too?"

"Well, you see I was not asked, I am outside of all this business."

The voice was on the verge of a touch of bitterness, though nature and endeavor had made it sweet.

"Why, that's funny. They did not know how much I should want you. I'll ask the doctor in the morning. Oh, I wonder if I shall like those little cousins?"

"No, dear, you must not speak of it. There is nothing for me to do. Sometime we will go to the city together and have a nice outing."

"Are you glad the doctor is going to be my guardian, and—about the fortune?"

"You couldn't have a better one."

"Can't women be guardians? But I'd rather have you for a fairy godmother. No one else in the whole wide world could be that, you know. For the one in the dream wasn't truly alive. I don't believe she could have taken care of a sick body. Oh you are so sweet! I love you! love you!"

Would the child always love her? She was coming to the crucial years. She was very fond and sincere now, but she had cause to be grateful. She knew so little of the world, she had a winsome charm that was unfolding every day, she would be attractive to others. Jane was her fervent admirer, Bridget adored her, the babies capered around when they saw her in a species of Indian dance.

Yes, she would win love, she would not be dependent on her alone. Would there come a time when she would flit from the wing of fairy godmother and find her only an ordinary friend?

There seemed a sudden dreariness in the world like a bright day clouding over. It ought not look so to a woman of five and thirty with health and prosperity and plenty of work that did interest her. Other orphan girls might appeal to her to make their lonely lives blossom with hope and happiness.

Yes, she must let her go with earnest wishes for her future. She would rejoice in whatever came to her and not ask all the fragrance of the sweet young soul. So she kissed Marilla a tender good-night.

There were tears in the child's eyes when she started on her journey. Mr. Lorimer met them at the station with a beautiful box of chocolates, and there was a pile of illustrated papers. She had so little idea of money that even now it was not to be weighed in the balance with fairy godmother.

They passed through pretty towns but autumn had stripped the gardens of their beauty. Even the clumps of evergreens on the lawns looked lonesome. She had never gone through a gloomy tunnel before and was a little frightened. Emerging from it the great city filled her with wonder.

Then they took a hack. Oh, how full of everything the streets were, pedestrians dodging this way and that, vehicles in a snarl and trolleys whizzing by. It was a miracle people did not get run over.

They reached their destination and Lorimer ushered them in a sort of ante room, taking her to a lady who rose to greet them.

"And so this is cousin Marion's little girl who has been motherless for years! We heard you were dead. If I had known you were living I should have come for you. We were very dear to each other but on her marriage she went away. I can't see that you resemble her much except that she was fair and had light curly hair, and how she did hate it!" laughed Mrs. Warren.

"I like it," rejoined Marilla.

"And she used to soap it and brush it and would never let it really curl; but it was a bed of waves. Oh, child! I'm glad to see you. I was very fond of your mother, and though our fortunes are not very large I suppose we can be thankful for them. It was a great surprise to me. You're hardly old enough to realize all its benefits."

Lorimer went to see when their turn would come. Mrs. Warren and the doctor talked about Marilla. Then they were summoned to a crowded room where men were signing papers and there was such a hum of talking it was like a swarm of bees.

Marilla held tightly to Mrs. Warren's hand. Dr. Richards was answering questions and a man seemed to verify them from books and papers. They had a corner to themselves. Then Marilla was questioned about the Home and her being bound-out and she had to declare she was the same little girl, that her mother and father were dead, that she had always lived at Newton.

Then some papers were signed and she was taken in a small room which was filled with tall cases and a great business desk where sat a sharp-eyed man. He wheeled around so suddenly that she started.

"Don't be frightened," he said. "Is Dr. Richards a relative? Do you live with him?"

"No, but he had been so good to her when Miss Armitage had taken her in so she need not go to the hospital. She had been bound-out but the family could not take care of her. Some one had just died."

"Would she like Dr. Richards for her guardian? Had any one told her she must have him?"

"Oh, I want him, I love him," and the flood of eager joy in her sweet face answered him as truly as the words.

He was curiously interested and drew her out a little further, charmed with her simplicity.

Then Doctor Richards had to sign the bond and they were dismissed. Mrs. Warren would take her home, and her guardian would come in the afternoon and take dinner with them and meet Mr. Warren.

There were two trolley rides, then a walk from the corner. The house was in a brick row up on the East side with a little park opposite, and the river only a block away.

The basement windows had tall iron bars that suggested a prison to the child. They ascended the high stoop and the hall door was flung open while a chorus of eager voices cried—

"Oh, is this the new cousin?"

"Yes, Marilla Bond. This is Edith, this is May and this is our baby Jessie—"

"We were afraid you wouldn't get here in time. We had begun our lunch—"

"Run back dears, we will be down in a minute."

They kissed Marilla with sweet heartiness that won her at once. Mrs. Warren took off her wrap and hat and they went down. How strange it was to have these girls smiling and expressing delight.

"You're going to keep her, mother?" declared Edith.

"Oh yes, as long as her guardian will let her stay. You will find her here when you come back."

"And wasn't it funny to have a fortune drop down on you? Mother could hardly believe it at first, and then we were so glad to find you."

Marilla glanced up with a smile, but she wanted to cry for very joy.

Then they kissed her again and ran off to school.

"Were there any children where you lived?"

"Not at Miss Armitage's. That was where I was ill. She took me in, but I had to go back to Mrs. Borden's when I was strong enough. And then an old lady died and I fainted again and the doctor said it was something with the heart, and they had to take a bigger girl. Then I went to Miss Armitage again. She is so dear and sweet. I want to stay there always."

"You poor child! You see we were in Western New York when your mother died and we didn't hear of it in a long while. We should not have let you go to that Home. Were they good to you?"

"Well, you see some of the children were not very good, and they only gave you so much to eat. Sometimes you felt real hungry. I tried to be good for I didn't like to be punished," she said naively. "You had to scrub floors and learn psalms, when you didn't get whipped. I liked the hymns, only they were not always sweet and pretty, and we went in school at nine and had one little recess. Then after dinner, and school until four, and if you missed you had to stay in. You sewed half an hour then and could play out of doors until six, then you had supper and went to bed."

"What kind of sewing was it?"

"Oh, you hemmed towels and sheets and pillow cases, and mended. The little girls couldn't, so you had to look after their things, and darn their stockings. On Saturday afternoon one of the teachers took you out walking but it was in the woods and the country. All the girls were so glad when they were twelve or almost, so they could get away. Mrs. Johnson was very sharp."

"And the lady you went to live with?"

"Oh she was very nice; and her sister. There was a boy of five and twin babies—"

"You didn't have to take care of the babies?"

"Only to play with them and amuse them. They were very fat and Mrs. Borden didn't like me to lift them. Then I used to wheel them in their carriage. I liked that only when it was very cold—or hot. The stores were so pretty, and you met other girls. I used to read the books in the windows; Jack had lots of books. I used to show the pictures to the babies and tell them stories and they would laugh so, just as if they understood it all. They were very good and merry, but it was a long while before they could walk, they were so fat."

"How did she come to let you go?"

"It was one very hot day—and somehow I was so dreadfully tired all the time, I sat down on a stoop—it was a beautiful, shady street with great trees, and most everybody had gone away. The babies were not very well and a little cross. You had to be doing things all the while, and—I don't know what happened, but I fell off the stoop and some one picked me up and then Miss Armitage who lived opposite came over and had me taken to her house and for a long while I just seemed in the dark and didn't know anything. It was then that Dr. Richards came. They were all so good, and it was like being in heaven. The Bordens had gone to Long Island and the babies were very sick getting some teeth, and they wanted me, I was bound, you know, so I had to go as soon as I was well enough. Part of it was very nice; the babies could walk then. After we came back"—she made a little pause for she had not even told Dr. Richards Jack's part in the mishap—"I fainted one day. Their old aunt was ill and she wanted me, so I went and—it was dreadful—she died and I fainted again. Then Miss Armitage came and took me home with her. Mrs. Borden took a new nursemaid, a grown up woman and was willing to let me go, and these other things happened. Oh, I want to stay always with Miss Armitage."

"You poor little girl! I think you have had a rather hard time. What does Dr. Richards say?"

"The other doctor said I had a weak heart. Does that make you faint away? It's almost like dying—you don't seem to know anything for a long while, and it is very hard to get back."

"You have been worked pretty hard I guess." How simply the child had told her story. "But now life will be better. I am very glad this little fortune has come to you, and now I am going up stairs a few moments, and you may look over the books on the table. I will soon be back."

Instead Marilla looked about the room. The front one was the parlor, very nicely furnished. The back one shut off the end of the hall. There were three French windows reaching to the floor, the last one being a door leading out to an enclosed porch with windows that would be very pleasant in summer. There was only a small yard with a tiny grass plot and an alleyway running through at the back.

There was a big book case in one recess, a lounge, a Morris chair and a substantial center table containing books and papers. It had a home-like, well used look, with several cosy rocking chairs.

Mrs. Warren returned with some sewing and without evincing undue curiosity led Marilla to talk of her past, though the child really knew very little about her mother and seemed to have no tender or regretful regard for this Mrs. Jaques. But her whole heart went out to Miss Armitage in something like worship.

The girls came home and in a short time they were all friends. It seemed odd to them that Marilla had never been to a real school. Jessie was in the kindergarten, but would enter the primary in February. May was there and Edith hoped to get in the High School another year. Then they carried her off to their play room. This was the hall bedroom on the next floor. There was a small book case, a sort of closet with glass doors where playthings were kept and one shelf devoted to dolls. Marilla stood entranced before it.

"Have you many dolls?" asked May.

"I never had a doll since my mama died," and there were tears in the child's voice.

"But at Christmas—didn't you ever get a doll?"

"I was in a home for orphan girls, Mrs. Johnson didn't think it was right for girls to waste their time on dolls. One Christmas some store sent such a beautiful lot and she returned them all. Some of us cried and we had to learn a lot of bible verses about improving your time. Occasionally a girl would get a clothes pin and tie the middle of her handkerchief around the head, and play it was a baby, and lend it out, then they would all get punished. I used to feel so sorry. Dolls are so sweet if they are only make believe. Where I lived the babies had rubber dolls that they could bang on the floor, but they were ugly. This one is splendid."

"That is mine," said Edith. "One of our cousins brought it from Paris. It can walk a little and say 'Mama.' I'm too big to play with dolls, and I've given the others to May and Jessie."

"And we play tea with them. It is so lovely out on the back porch in the summer and mother lets us take the things down there. And I can make clothes," said May. "But now you can have a doll, because you are going to have some money of your very own."

"Yes," she returned slowly.

There were many pretty things that Marilla wondered at. Edith took out her doll and put it in the visitor's arms. It had such a lovely face that Marilla hugged it up tight and wanted to kiss it. Why it was fifty times sweeter than the twins.

Then they led her to their room. There were two pretty brass beds.

"Edith has the smaller one because she sleeps alone," explained May, "and we little ones love to sleep together."

There were two chiffoniers, and a big closet between the rooms, two pretty willow rockers and some lovely pictures beside various small gifts one could hang up or stand around. How charming it was!

Edith said she must go and study her lessons. May brought out her pretty dishes and her card albums. One was partly full of such pretty kittens Marilla wanted to hug them. Another was Christmas, Easter and birthday cards.

Marilla gave a soft little sigh. How many precious things she had missed out of her life! And though she could not have put it into words it was the tender companionship of childhood, of kindred tastes and eager loves. In the desert of Bethany Home all these emotions had been rigorously repressed. It was best for girls not to expect too much in the homes of other people, the little Cinderella whose place was in the chimney corner.

"Marilla," called the voice of Mrs. Warren, in a sort of joyous tone, "Dr. Richards has come."

She almost flew down stairs and he clasped her in his arms.

"I am so happy," she cried in a voice tremulous with emotion. "It seems such a long, long while since morning so much has happened, and Mrs. Warren is to be my Aunt Grace, she said so, and I have three cousins!"

Her face was alight with happiness.

"I wonder if you would get homesick if we did not go back to Newton until some time next week?"

"Oh, no. I shouldn't get homesick at all! But I couldn't stay away from fairy godmother a long while. If I didn't have her, Aunt Grace would take me, and the girls are just splendid!"

"I've been to a hospital this afternoon and I want to learn some new things to take home with me, so I will write. You must write, too. I've brought you some envelopes addressed and stamped. Why do you smile?"

"I was thinking of the letter I wrote to you in the summer, and I had to beg everything to write with, and Edith has such a nice portable writing desk, and the girls have portfolios, and they all go to school. Oh, it must be splendid to go to school with a crowd of nice girls and have a lovely teacher."

She had been leading him through the parlor. Mrs. Warren met them and he went on in the sitting room, apologizing for his early appearance.

"Oh, I want you to come in and see your ward whenever you can, and I shall beg for quite a visit from her."

"That will suit me. I feel that I have grown a little rusty and want to look into some new methods. What a wonderful city it is! It quite shames a country doctor."

"I suppose so," smiling. "You should come in often. Mr. Warren will be home presently and glad to meet you. Will you excuse me a few moments? This is my eldest daughter, Edith."

"And can't the others come?" asked Marilla.

"Why, yes, if you like."

Dr. Richards was used to children. He thought he liked girls the best, and this was an attractive circle. How Marilla was enjoying it. Her eyes quivered with flashes of pleasure. Yes, children needed other children to start the real flow of delight through their veins, and his little Cinderella did not suffer by comparison.