Aunt Betty, she knew, sitting with Len and Jim in one of the front rows of the orchestra, would be eagerly awaiting her appearance. She resolved that not only her relative, but Herr Deichenberg, as well, should be proud of her achievements.

She heard the first number—a piano solo—then the great roar of applause that swept over the assemblage. This was followed by an encore. Then another round of applause.

The next number was a harp solo. This was followed by a piano duet, which, in turn, was succeeded by a vocal number. Following each the applause was almost deafening. Encores were allowed in each instance by the music master.

Finally, toward the close of another piano duet, a call boy came to the door of Dorothy's dressing-room to say:

"Herr Deichenberg says tell you your turn is next, and you will please come at once and wait in the wings."

Most girls would have felt a flutter of excitement when told that one of the crucial moments of their lives was at hand. Not so Dorothy Calvert. Her hands were steady and her confidence unbounded.

Holding her skirt slightly off the stage, that her new frock might present a spotless appearance, the girl, violin in hand, hurried to the wings.

The encore of the piano duet was just concluding. Herr Deichenberg nodded and smiled at her. Then the players, two young girls, scarcely older than she, arose, and with graceful bows, tripped off the stage within a few feet of her, their faces flushed with pleasure as great rounds of applause again rolled over the big auditorium. Herr Deichenberg sent them out for another bow, after which the noise simmered down, and the music master turned his attention to the next number.

The curtain was not lowered between numbers. There was merely a pause as the orchestra laid aside one set of music and turned to another.

"Be ready now," he warned, turning to Dorothy. "You enter from vhere you are, valking to de center of de stage, down near de footlights. Smile, Miss Dorothy, und do not put your violin to your shoulder until de orchestra is half way t'rough de introduction."

The girl inclined her head and smiled that she understood. Then, at a nod from the music master, the electrician flashed a signal to the orchestra. The leader raised his baton, then the instruments swept off into the overture of the piece Dorothy was to play.

"Now," said the Herr, giving her a gentle push.

The next instant Dorothy, for the first time in her life, found herself sweeping out on a great stage, with a sea of faces in front of her. She blinked once or twice as the footlights flashed in her eyes, then singling out Aunt Betty, Jim and Len—having previously located their seats—she smiled genially.

In the center of the great stage, but a few feet back from the footlights, she paused as Herr Deichenberg had told her. Then, as the orchestra approached the end of the overture, she raised her violin to her chin. With a graceful sweep of the bow she began.

There was a great hush over the auditorium, as the horns, bass viol and second violins left off playing, and the clear notes of Dorothy's instrument went floating into every corner of the building, accompanied by soft strains from the piano and first violins. The piece was one of the classics, recognized immediately by everyone, and there was an expectant move as the girl reached the more difficult parts.

Her eyes closed, her body swaying slightly, Dorothy played as she never had before. She forgot the audience, Aunt Betty, everything, except that here was a great orchestra playing her accompaniment—surely enough encouragement for any girl to do her best.

There came a pause in the music, and the girl lowered her violin, while the orchestra played on. There was a slight ripple of applause from several in the audience, who, apparently, thought the piece was at an end, but this died away as the girl again raised the instrument to her chin.

The second part was even more difficult than the first, but Dorothy swept into it with no thought but to play it as it should be played. Even the eyes of the orchestra leader lit up with admiration, and when at last the piece was concluded with a great flourish, and Dorothy had bowed herself off into the wings, the applause that swept over the assemblage was louder than at any other time during the evening.

Herr Deichenberg patted Dorothy reassuringly on the back as she stood in the wings, panting slightly from the exertion of her work, and well-pleased that so much of the ordeal was over.

The applause continued without cessation—first, the sharp clapping of hands, which spread over the audience as if by magic, finally the stamping of feet; later shrill whistles from the gallery.

"It means for you an encore," said the music master, smiling at Dorothy. Then he nodded to the electrician, who again flashed a signal to the orchestra leader, and the musicians struck off into the overture of Dorothy's second piece.

Bowing rather timidly, but with much grace, the girl again advanced to the center of the stage, and gazed out for a moment over the vast ocean of faces which stared up at her. Then as the orchestra finished the introduction, she again raised her violin to her chin.

The second piece was a sad, plaintive one, and as Dorothy drew her bow full length across the strings, the instrument sent forth loud wails, which, to anyone with a keen musical ear, denoted mortal anguish. This was followed by shorter, quicker parts, which finally resolved themselves into the coming of a storm. On her G string the girl brought forth all the terrors of the elements, running the whole gamut from incessant rumbling to the crashing of the thunder, while the orchestra supplied effective and necessary accompaniments.

It was a beautiful piece of music, well played, and when Dorothy had finished and again bowed herself off the stage, the storm of applause broke forth again. Under Herr Deichenberg's direction she took three bows in succession, only to find the applause, if anything, more pronounced.

She looked at the music master for her cue. He smilingly said:

"Vell, dey seem to like it. You may play another."

Again he signaled the orchestra, and once more Dorothy Calvert went tripping out on the stage, gratitude surging in her heart toward that great audience which had been so kind as to express approval of her work.

This time it was a medley of old Southern airs she played. The audience sat spellbound while the strains of "Old Black Joe," and "Old Folks at Home" were heard throughout the auditorium, and when Dorothy swung into the quick measures of her beloved "Dixie," such a roar shook the building as Aunt Betty had never heard before.

Again Dorothy bowed herself off into the first entrance. Again and again she was sent forth to bow her acknowledgments—to bow again and again until she was forced to throw up her hands in token of the fact that she had exhausted her repertoire.

The applause extended well into the beginning of the next number, and the young lady who was to perform on the piano after Dorothy, refused to go on the stage until the young violinist had taken another bow.

Then followed the appearance of Herr Deichenberg, whose reception was easily the greatest of the evening. Dorothy did not wait to hear her music master play, but hurried off to her dressing-room with her violin, her heart singing a song of gladness.

"Thus it is," she thought, "that success takes hold of our sensibilities, and in the same way does failure serve to discourage one, and put enthusiasm at a low ebb."

In her dressing-room she sat and heard the thunders of applause that followed the Herr's playing. Then, after a short wait, when the audience was quiet, the Herr appeared suddenly at the door of her dressing-room. With him was a smartly-dressed stranger who bowed and extended his hand in a cordial way as the old German said:

"Miss Calvert, allow me to introduce Mr. Ludlow, de theatrical manager from New York. He happened to be in de theater during your performance, and he hastened back to talk over with you a few matters of importance. I vill leave him with you."

The Herr disappeared, and after inviting Mr. Ludlow to have a seat, Dorothy reseated herself and turned expectantly toward him.

"I know you are wondering what I have to say to you, Miss Calvert, so I will come at once to the point. Being in the theatrical business, I am naturally on the lookout for talent along various lines. I have been vividly impressed with your playing to-night and I felt that I should not care to let the opportunity go by to inquire into your future plans."

This was put partly in the form of a question and the girl responded:

"Do you mean, Mr. Ludlow, that you would like to offer me an engagement?"

"That I shall, perhaps, be able to determine when I learn your plans."

"Well, I have none. My lessons are not over with Herr Deichenberg. I shall be under his instruction until next spring, at least."

"And after that?"

"Oh, I cannot say. Before talking over arrangements with you, I should like to discuss the matter with my aunt, Mrs. Calvert."

"That will be agreeable to me, I am sure."

"But she is out in front. I shall be unable to see her until the concert is over."

"To-morrow will do, Miss Calvert. I merely wish to-night to make sure you do not sign a contract with another manager without giving me a chance."

"Oh, I can safely promise that."

"Then I shall be content. Where can I see you to-morrow?"

"We shall be very glad to have you call at Bellvieu."

"Bellvieu, Miss Calvert?"

"Yes; our home in the suburbs. I had forgotten you were not a native Baltimorean."

"At what time will it be convenient for me to call?"

"Either in the morning or afternoon."

"Shall we say ten o'clock, then?"

"Yes."

"I trust I shall not inconvenience your aunt by calling so early."

"Not at all."

"It is imperative that I catch a train for New York at twelve."

Mr. Ludlow took his leave, after expressing his pleasure at having met Dorothy.

The girl's feelings would be hard to describe. That her playing should have awakened the interest of a professional manager was to her rather astonishing.

She was meditating over the offer, and wondering what her prim and staid Aunt Betty would think of it, when Frau Deichenberg entered the dressing-room. The Frau had been on the stage looking after several of the Herr's proteges, and was highly elated over the showing they had made.

"My dear, my dear," she cried. "You have done nobly! Herr Deichenberg is pleased with you beyond measure."

To which Dorothy responded:

"If I have deserved his praise, I am glad. But it seems that I have done so little."

"Ah, but did you not hear de audience? Dey liked your moosic, und dey clap their hands und stamp their feet. Dat iss de one true mark of appreciation."

When the concert was over and Dorothy was traveling homeward in the barouche with Aunt Betty, she told her of the visit of Mr. Ludlow. Aunt Betty listened patiently until she had finished, then said:

"Dear, I had supposed I was raising you up to something better than a stage career."

"But, auntie, the stage is all right—it must be, there are so many fine people connected with it. And then, it would be the concert stage in my case, and that is different from dramatic work, you know."

"Yes; but violinists, as well as other performers, sometimes listen to the call of the dollar, and go from the concert to the variety stage. I am not sure such connections would be the best for my little girl."

"But, Aunt Betty, it is my life's ambition," said the girl, a queer little catch in her voice.

"There, there," Aunt Betty responded, as she put her arm about the shoulder of her great-niece. "Don't take what I say so much to heart. We will think this matter over, and you may be very sure of one thing, dear—we shall do what is right and for the best."

And with this for the time being Dorothy was forced to be content.

The matter was put in abeyance for an indefinite time, however, by a message from Mr. Ludlow, the following morning, in which he said he had been called back to New York earlier than he had expected, but that he would not forget the girl, and upon his next visit to Baltimore during the course of the fall or winter, he would arrange to call and settle matters to Dorothy's entire satisfaction.

"And who knows, by then I may have won Aunt Betty over," muttered the girl, who, however, decided to drop the subject until the opportune moment arrived to discuss it.



CHAPTER XI

CHRISTMAS AT BELLVIEU

The fall days slipped rapidly by, and still Dorothy continued to take instruction from Herr Deichenberg, improving her technique with each lesson under the old music master's careful guidance. The concert had been a revelation to her. For the first time in her life she had stood before a great assemblage and heard the roars of applause which her playing aroused, and it had given her confidence as nothing else could.

Aunt Betty's deep-rooted prejudice against a stage career was the only thing that served to mar the girl's pleasure, and even this caused no great unhappiness, for Aunt Betty's refusal to allow Dorothy to play professional engagements took the form only of feeble protests. This led the girl to hope her relative might gradually be won over.

Then, as the holidays approached, bringing a letter from Molly in which she stated that she and the Judge would arrive at Bellvieu several days before Christmas, the stage career was for the time relegated to the innermost recesses of her mind, and she joined Aunt Betty in an effort to have a real, old-fashioned Christmas. This, with the aid of Ephraim, Dinah and Chloe, they were fortunately able to do. As the preparations went forward, Aunt Betty's delight knew no bounds, and her soul was filled with rapturousness as joy after joy unfolded itself to relieve the tedium and monotony of her old age.

A week before the eventful day, Ephraim and Metty, with two other negroes, hired for the occasion, took a team and sleigh and set out for the timber along the shore of the bay. There had been a heavy fall of snow the night before and the ground was covered with a sparkling mantle, while an invigorating breeze from the north filled everyone with energetic desires.

Once at their destination Ephraim and his men felled a large black gum tree from which two logs were cut. These were just short of four feet in length and cut with the especial purpose of filling the two large fire-places in the Calvert mansion.

Returning late in the evening with their load, they rolled the big logs into the duck pond back of the barn, where the crust of ice was thin, there to soak until Christmas morning, at which time they would be placed in their respective fire-places in the big dining and living-rooms of the house, and a fire kindled.

Ephraim was thoroughly familiar with the old custom, and it was understood between him and Aunt Betty that he should keep good fires burning during the day and banked during the night after bed time. Logs such as these would, by this process, last ten days, or until the holidays had come and gone, for they were burned until not a vestige remained but ashes.

During the latter part of November Aunt Betty had caused a half dozen of her finest turkeys to be put up to fatten. Some days later several huge pound cakes had been baked and a nice little pig put in the pen to grow round and tender, later to be roasted whole, with a tempting red apple in his mouth. Mincemeat, souse, and stuffed sausages, those edibles of the early days, which Aunt Betty had grown to love and yearn for, were provided on this occasion by Chloe and Dinah, and when, a few days before Christmas, Metty returned from the woods with a fine, fat possum, the mistress of Bellvieu began to feel that her Christmas would be indeed complete.

A store of sweet potatoes had been laid by, and green apple, pumpkin, potato and other pies made and stored in the cellar.

In the days of Aunt Betty's girlhood, when there were no cooking stoves, turkeys were cooked in a turkey roaster made of sheet iron, with a dripping-pan in the bottom and a large tin lid, much resembling a buggy top, over the pan. When Mr. Turkey was stuffed and otherwise prepared for the feast, he was spitted on an iron rod that passed through the sides of the roaster and on through his body from end to end. Then he was ready for the finishing touches over a red-hot fire. The roasters had legs at each corner, so that hot embers could be placed under it when necessary. The tin top reflected the heat and had hinges so that it could be turned back when the cook basted the turkey with a prepared sauce. The dripping-pan at the bottom served to catch and hold the rich gravy.

As Aunt Betty stood now, watching the preparations for the roasting of one of the turkeys, her thoughts traveled back to those other days, and she marveled at the progress of civilization.

"Lawsee, Mis' Betty!" cried Chloe, as she stopped to wipe her hands on her gingham apron. "We's gwine tuh hab 'nuff food in dis yere house tuh feed er million people, looks like tuh me."

Aunt Betty laughed.

"Better too much than not enough," she observed. "I reckon there won't be much left by the time New Year's Day has come and gone. Gerald and Aurora Blank will be over for Christmas dinner, and will drop in for occasional meals during holiday week. Then, with Miss Molly and her father, and Herr and Frau Deichenberg, there will be a nice little party here at home. Those boys, Jim and Len, have appetites that will startle you. Oh, yes; we have lots to eat, Chloe, but—well, you just watch it disappear!"

"Yas'm; we'll watch hit, all right, en I reckon, Mis' Betty, dat Ephy, Dinah en me'll sort o' help it disappear, too!"

Chloe, bending nearly double, guffawed loudly at her own joke.

Aunt Betty smiled, too, then went to the front of the house to meet the carriage which had been sent to the train, with Dorothy and Jim in it, to meet Judge Breckenridge and Molly.

Dorothy's chum waved her hand at Aunt Betty, then came hurrying up the walk, to be the first to greet the mistress of Bellvieu. Then came the Judge, cane in hand, assisted by Jim, looking much better, but still somewhat enfeebled in health.

"I'm glad indeed to see you again, Judge Breckenridge," greeted Aunt Betty, as she clasped one of his hands in both her own. "I am particularly pleased to be able to welcome you to a Christmas at Bellvieu."

"And I am more than pleased to be here," was the Judge's response. "I am sure it will be one of the most delightful trips of my life."

Once inside, and ensconced in easy chairs in the living-room, Aunt Betty pressed him for news concerning his sister, Lucretia, as well as Mrs. Hungerford, Mrs. Stark and Mrs. Cook, not forgetting to ask if the Judge ever heard from Joel Snackenberg. These questions answered to her entire satisfaction, Aunt Betty excused herself to see to the preparing of the mid-day meal, leaving Jim to talk to the Judge.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, my boy," said Molly's father, "but it seems to me you are growing into a fine, strong young man. Molly tells me you've left Dr. Sterling for good."

"Yes, sir; I thought I'd better strike out for myself."

"And what do you intend doing, if I may ask?"

"I intend learning electricity, sir—in fact, it is on Dr. Sterling's advice that I do so. Aunt Betty through some of her friends here, has arranged to secure me a place the first of the year. I have been idle during the past few months waiting for this position to materialize, and I'm certainly glad it is coming out all right."

"You will have to serve an apprenticeship, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, electricity is a good thing to know, Jim. I wish you every success. Hello—who is this?"

The Judge's eyes were turned toward a lad who entered the room at that moment. It was Len Haley, attired in a brand new Christmas suit, and looking as spick and span as one could wish.

"Oh, I'd forgotten you didn't know Len, sir. Surely you've heard Molly speak of Len Haley, sir? He's the boy we rescued from a cruel uncle on our camping trip last summer. Aunt Betty has had him under her wing ever since. This is Molly's father, Len."

"Yes, yes," said the Judge. "So this is Len Haley, the boy who was lost in the woods in the dead of night?" The judge reached out and took Len's hand. "I am glad to know you, my boy, and to learn that you have found such a fortunate way around your troubles."

"Thank you, sir."

"Anyone whom Mrs. Betty Calvert stands sponsor for is surely to be envied."

"I think so too, sir," said Len, beginning to thaw out under Judge Breckenridge's good-natured smile.

When Dorothy and Molly came downstairs and joined them, they made a merry party. Molly had changed her traveling dress for a clean frock, and with her hair arranged prettily in the latest mode, made even Jim Barlow "sit up and take notice." As for the Judge and his gayety, if old in years, he was young in heart, and forgot his infirmities to such an extent that Aunt Betty, entering suddenly, threw up her hands in amazement.

"I knew this trip would make a wonderful improvement in you, Judge," said she, "but had no idea the change would be effected in so rapid a manner."

"I just can't help it, Mrs. Calvert. To see these young folks about me makes me feel young again, which reminds me that I have never been happier than when I once took the boys and girls on a jaunt through the Nova Scotia woods."

"A jaunt that ended in my giving a house party at Deerhurst," said Dorothy. "That was after I had learned that I was not a homeless waif, but the great-niece of Mrs. Betty Calvert."

"It was papa, if you remember, who ran down the clues leading to the discovery that Mrs. Calvert was your relative," said Molly.

"And I'll never forget how overjoyed we all were when we knew to whom our girl friend was related," and the old Judge leaned over and stroked Dorothy's hand as he spoke.

"Then came my humiliation," said Aunt Betty in a reminiscent tone. "I was forced to admit to you all that when my nephew's baby came I was indignant, feeling that I was too old to have a squalling infant forced upon me. Then, better thoughts prevailing, I saw in Dorothy traces of my own family likeness and wanted to keep her. Then I listened to Dinah and Ephraim, and finally took their advice to hunt up a worthy couple unburdened with children of their own, and force the child upon them to be reared in simple, sensible ways. When I found that you had discovered the relationship between us, I did only what my heart had been bidding me do for many years—took Dorothy to my bosom, and into my household where she belonged."

Dinah came to the door to say that lunch was served, and the party filed into the dining-room to continue the discussion at the table.

On the following morning—the day before Christmas—a great bundle of presents arrived from one of the Baltimore department stores, and was taken upstairs by Ephraim, there to be concealed.

On the night before Christmas, following the time-honored custom, stockings of every size and color were strung up around the big fire-place in the living-room. Those of the Judge, Jim and Len not being large enough, garments of a satisfactory size were generously tendered by Dorothy and Molly. Going late to bed, hoping that old Santa Claus would be good to each of them, the young folks awoke in the morning to find their stockings fairly bulging with good things.

There was a cane and a pocketbook from the Judge to Jim, and wearing apparel running from neckties to shirts from Aunt Betty and the girls. Len came in for a similar lot of presents, his gift from the Judge being a shining five-dollar gold piece, which he declared should go in the savings bank as a foundation of his fortune.

Dorothy and Molly were well remembered, the gifts being both pretty and useful, and running principally to toilet articles and lingerie, while Aunt Betty found great difficulty in lifting her stocking from its peg over the fire-place, so heavy was it.

Early Christmas morning came a belated 'phone message from Herr Deichenberg, accepting on the part of him and Frau Deichenberg, the kind invitation extended by Aunt Betty to gather around the festive Christmas board. It had been necessary to postpone two lessons, the music master said, which accounted for the delay in letting them know.

At ten o'clock Gerald and Aurora arrived. There had been a slight protest on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Blank at the children being away from home for Christmas dinner, but a compromise had been effected by which they were to eat with their parents on New Year's Day.

With the arrival of Herr and Frau Deichenberg nothing then remained but to serve the dinner. Metty and Ephraim were both pressed into service, and with Chloe and Dinah working like Trojans in the kitchen, the meal was served on scheduled time, and to the entire satisfaction of everyone concerned.

Tale and jest passed around the table, as the members of the Christmas party made merry.

"Christmas comes but once a year," some one has said, and with this in their minds, trouble was given its conge for the time being, and mirth and gayety reigned supreme.

Herr Deichenberg was asked to tell of the old German customs at Christmas time, which he did in an interesting way. He told of the toymakers of Nuremberg and other cities, and how easily and dexterously they did their work. Then there were many humorous incidents of his own boyhood, which he remembered and told with such success, that he had the entire party roaring with laughter before the meal was half over.

When he had finished, the Judge and Aunt Betty took turns telling of strange and funny incidents that had come under their observation at various Christmas times, and by the time dessert was reached everyone felt at peace with the world.

It was a dinner long to be remembered, and when it was over they all gathered in the living-room, where the Herr was induced to play a number of his favorite pieces, Dorothy's violin being pressed into service for the occasion.

Dorothy next took her turn with the violin, Herr Deichenberg playing her accompaniments on the piano. Molly, who had not heard her chum play for many months, was astonished at the progress she had made, as was the Judge, and they complimented both master and pupil, after three pieces had been rendered. The players then stopped under protest, promising to play more before the gathering broke up.

Jim sang a bass solo. Gerald also rendered a song, his sweet tenor voice delighting his auditors, after which the old quartette of the mountain camp was formed again and sang familiar pieces in such a manner as to win the heartiest of commendation from all—even that captious critic, Herr Deichenberg.

Aunt Betty was asked to speak one of her girlhood pieces, but begged to be allowed to substitute old Ephraim, who, upon being urged, recited the following verses, remembered since his earliest recollection:

"Sho' 'nuff, is dat yo', buddie? Why, I sca'ce beliebs mah eyes! Yo's growed so slendah en so tall, I like not tuh know yo' size. Does yo' eber hunt de possum— Climb de ole p'simmon tree? Like we did in de good ole times W'en de niggah wasn't free? We'd take ole Tige, en den a torch, Den we'd start out fo' a spree, Lots o' fellers wuz in dat chase, Erside, mah boy, frum yo' en me, After a w'ile ole Tige'd yelp, Den we'd know dar's sumpthin' round, Er rabbit, coon, er possum, sho', Er gittin' ober de ground. W'en up de tree de possum run, Den ole Tige he'd change he tune, Den wif de torch we'd shine his eyes Den we'd nab him pretty soon, We'd break he neck, en build er fire Den a tater roast, yo' mind; Why, bress yo' heart, dis make me cry, Nebber mo' dem times yo' find. De Massa's gone—ole Missus, gone, En mah ole woman am, too; I'm laid up now wif rheumatiz, En mah days am growin' few. Ole Tige mos' blind en crippled up, So dat he can't hunt no mo'; No possums now tuh grease de chops, Oh, I's feelin' mighty po'!"

As Ephraim concluded he made a most elaborate bow, touching his hand to his forelock—or where the forelock should have been.

The old negro's interested listeners burst into loud applause, and the bow was repeated again and again. The verses had been rendered with considerable feeling and some sense of their poetic value, which, of course, Ephraim had learned from hearing the verses recited by others.

Len Haley, upon being called on for a contribution to the entertainment, spoke the first—and last—piece he had learned during the few short months he had attended school. It was a temperance piece, and if not thoroughly in keeping with the festive occasion, was at least one of the most earnest efforts of the afternoon.

Aurora, who was an elocutionist of no mean merit, rendered Longfellow's "Hiawatha," with such realistic touches that Herr Deichenberg sat spellbound through her recital, to spring up and grasp her hand when she had finished.

"My dear girl," he cried, "dat was excellent—excellent. I am proud, indeed, to know you."

"I trust you will never have occasion to change your mind," was the girl's pleasant response.

The entertainment over, Herr Deichenberg and Judge Breckenridge engaged in a checker contest, which was so closely fought that the others stopped whatever they were doing to look on. The Herr was finally triumphant, taking four games out of seven.

When the Christmas party broke up that evening, all were agreed that it had been one of the most glorious holiday times they had ever spent.



CHAPTER XII

MR. LUDLOW'S OFFER

The holidays passed all too quickly to the happy party at Old Bellvieu. Herr and Frau Deichenberg came no more during the stay of the Judge and Molly, but Gerald and Aurora were over nearly every evening.

One night, toward the close of the week, Aunt Betty and the Judge chaperoned a party of young people, including Dorothy, Molly, Aurora, Gerald, Jim and Len to the theater, where one of the reigning comic opera successes was on view. It was an imported piece of the "Merry Widow" type, and everyone enjoyed it to the utmost. Aunt Betty and the Judge found their risibilities thoroughly shaken by the antics of the star, a comedian of prominence, while the tastes of the young people seemed to incline toward the bright chorus numbers, and the individual songs and duets.

Len was perhaps the most joyous member of the party. It was his first experience at the theater, and the elaborate stage settings, the bright lights, and the catchy music had opened to him the gates of Fairyland, as it were.

When one of the characters cracked a joke, and the comedian replied that he was very fond of walnuts and hickory nuts, but not at all partial to chestnuts, Len nearly fell out of his seat, and the young lady who followed them on the stage was well through her song before he controlled his laughter enough to realize what was going on.

Len's merriment so pleased Aunt Betty and Judge Breckenridge that they, too, burst into laughter, which continued until a whispered "Sh!" from Dorothy warned them that they were attracting the attention of others in the theater. Then the Judge put his finger to his lips and looked solemnly at Len and Aunt Betty, whereupon the trio instantly became sober, and turned their attention again to the stage.

After the theater the Judge insisted on treating the party to hot chocolate and cake, so they were led to a popular resort often frequented during the days by Dorothy and Aurora. This served to round off a very pleasant evening, and as there was nothing to prevent each member of the party from sleeping late the following morning, their happiness was complete.

So urgently did Aunt Betty and Dorothy beg Molly and the Judge to spend the early part of January with them, that the Judge consented, greatly to Molly's delight.

"Business really demands my attention in New York," he said, "but I suppose that can wait another week. We don't have times like this every year, do we Molly, girl?"

"Indeed, no," responded the person addressed.

"But it will not be my fault hereafter, if you do not have them each year," said Aunt Betty. "I hereby issue a standing invitation for you both to spend the next holiday season with us, and the next, and the next, and so on, and next year, Judge, you must bring your sister Lucretia. It was an oversight on my part in not inviting her on this occasion."

"Lucretia has been very busy doing some settlement work, and Christmas is her busy time, hence, she would have been unable to accept your kind invitation. Next year, however, things may have changed. If so, we shall certainly bring her with us."

There followed a succession of trips to nearby points of interest. The snow, which lay thick during the holidays, began to melt soon after the new year dawned, and, the roads drying hard, Gerald came over one day in the auto and took them for a jaunt in the country.

A fishing excursion to the shores of the bay on another day, with Jim and Ephraim as the pilots, served to demonstrate to the Judge that he was every bit as good a fisherman as he had been in the early days, for he caught eight speckled sea-trout, and three red-fish—a better record than was made by any other member of the party.

Finally, the Judge and Molly took their departure, the former declaring that the duties in New York had become imperative ones. Dorothy hated to lose her chum again, they saw each other so seldom, but agreed with Molly that the latter must spend some time in her own home.

Then, as February passed, and the winds of March began to make themselves felt, things settled down to their usual routine at Bellvieu.

Dorothy, who had resumed her lessons immediately upon Molly's departure, was fast approaching a point where, Herr Deichenberg declared, she would be able to appear before an audience in the most critical of musical centers. He advised that she immediately seek the opportunity, or allow him to seek one for her.

Again Aunt Betty interposed a mild objection, and the music master, with a sly wink at Dorothy, observed under his breath:

"Just leave it to me."

This Dorothy did, and with good results, as will be seen.

She dropped the subject entirely when Aunt Betty was around, resolved to wait until the psychological moment arrived to again broach the matter, or until she heard further from Herr Deichenberg.

Two weeks passed and finally Herr Deichenberg came out to the house one morning with Mr. Ludlow, whom he presented to Aunt Betty.

At first the mistress of Bellvieu was inclined to receive the theatrical man coldly, believing he had come to entice her niece away, but gradually, under Herr Deichenberg's careful urging, she began to see matters in a new light.

"Mr. Ludlow has no desire to take Miss Dorothy avay from you," said the Herr, earnestly. "Please believe me vhen I tell you. Also believe me vhen I say dat all of Miss Dorothy's lessons vill go for naught, if she does not seek a time und place to exploit her talents. There is open for her a career of great prominence—of dat I am very sure, but to attain de pinnacle of success, she must first go a few steps above de middle rounds of de ladder. Mr. Ludlow has a good proposition to make to her, und one dat meets with my hearty approval. I beg of you, Mrs. Calvert, listen carefully to vhat he has to say, und deliberate before you give him an answer."

"If Dorothy's welfare is at stake I shall listen, of course; I should have listened, anyway, but with some prejudice, I will admit. I cannot see where it will do my niece any great good to become a stage celebrity, but if Mr. Ludlow can convince me, I stand ready to acknowledge my error."

"I am sure that is fair enough," said Mr. Ludlow, smiling genially. He had a pleasant personality—refined, even striking in the more serious moments, and Aunt Betty felt attracted to him the instant he began to speak.

"A career for your niece, Mrs. Calvert—a professional career—under proper management, is distinctly the proper thing for her. I heard her play at Herr Deichenberg's concert here last fall, and knew at once that she had an exceptional amount of talent, which, if fostered, under the Herr's careful methods, would make of her one of the musical wonders of the age. It was then I made my offer—which was merely a tentative one—to Miss Calvert, not meaning to in any way override your authority, but merely for the purpose of sounding her out and winning a promise that she would give me an option on her services, provided she decided to adopt the concert stage as a career."

"She told me of her conversation with you," returned Aunt Betty, "and I am free to admit that I was prejudiced against it."

"You were also prejudiced against riding fast in Gerald's automobile, auntie," said Dorothy, smiling. "But Gerald overcame that just as Mr. Ludlow is going to try to overcome this."

"From speeding in an automobile, to adopting the concert stage as a career, is a far cry, my dear," returned Aunt Betty, rather severely, Dorothy thought.

Had she known what was passing in her relative's mind, however, the girl would not for a moment have condemned her. Had she known, for instance, that Aunt Betty's prejudice against the stage as a career was not at the bottom of her refusal, but the fact that she feared Dorothy would be taken away from her in her old age, just when she had found her a second time, and learned to know and love her, she would have immediately thrown her arms around Aunt Betty's neck and making no comment have kissed her affectionately.

"Of course, I do not know the state of your finances, nor would I be so presuming as to inquire," Mr. Ludlow went on, "but it may interest you to know that if Miss Dorothy goes on the concert stage it will mean quite a tidy sum of money for her—and money, I am sure, will always prove a handy asset to have around. So, both artistically and financially, it seems the proper thing for her to do."

"But I have heard that girls on the stage are exposed to many temptations," protested Aunt Betty, who felt the ground slipping from under her arguments. Realizing, as she did, that it was Dorothy's wish that she give the concert stage a trial, she was inclined to be lenient.

"A wrong impression, madame—an entirely wrong impression," said Mr. Ludlow, emphatically. "There are temptations in stage life, yes; but so there are in other professions, and he or she who falters will find their steps to be hard ones, no matter who they are or where they be. Force of character rules on the stage, Mrs. Calvert, just as it does in every other walk of life. Thus it is that the theatrical profession shelters some of the smartest, most wonderful women the world has ever known. Because a few notoriety seekers have caused the finger of scorn to be pointed at an honorable profession, just as one dishonest employe can, and frequently does, cause a whole institution to be looked at with suspicion, should the dramatic profession, as a whole, be made to suffer? I ask you this in all fairness, madame, and await your answer."

"Well, really, I hadn't considered it in that light," said Aunt Betty, slowly, deliberately. "I believe you are right, Mr. Ludlow, and I thank you sincerely for changing my viewpoint. Ever since I saw that great play, 'The Music Master,' with David Warfield in the part of Herr von Barwig, I have wondered if the theatrical profession was wholly a bad one. Now, I think I understand."

"I am glad it remained for me to tell you, Mrs. Calvert."

"And if my niece sees fit to arrange with you for a metropolitan appearance, and you feel that it will be a great triumph for her, I shall certainly not stand in the way."

"Oh, you dear, good auntie!" Dorothy cried, throwing her arms about Mrs. Calvert's neck and giving her a resounding kiss. "I shall thank you all my life for those few words."

"Mrs. Calvert, you have made a very sensible decision," Herr Deichenberg remarked with no little degree of satisfaction. "Believe me, I know vhat I say iss true. Und now, if you vill please allow Mr. Ludlow to make some necessary arrangements before he takes his leave, it vill greatly facilitate matters."

Aunt Betty quickly assented, and turning to Dorothy, Mr. Ludlow said:

"What I wish is for you to appear at a preliminary concert in New York City, at a date yet to be decided upon. You will be under the watchful eye of your music master, and the affair will be given under his auspices. You will, perhaps, have some prominent vocalist to help you fill in the evening's entertainment. I wish to know if this will be agreeable?"

"Yes, if the date is not too soon," the girl replied.

"As to that, we shall suit your pleasure, so it occurs before warm weather sets in."

"It need not be later than the first of May."

"Then please sign this contract. I have drawn it up with the approval of Herr Deichenberg, but before attaching your name, I will ask you to read it and be sure you thoroughly understand it."

"Perhaps my lawyers might—" Aunt Betty began.

Herr Deichenberg raised his hand in dissent.

"Madame, it iss unnecessary. I am familiar with every form of contract und I say to you dat de one offered your niece by Mr. Ludlow is equitable and just, and can only be to her advantage."

"We will take your word, of course," replied Aunt Betty. "The only reason I spoke is that neither Dorothy or myself is well versed in contracts of any sort."

"The very reason why I prepared the contract after suggestions offered by Herr Deichenberg," said Mr. Ludlow with a good-natured smile.

"Oh, Aunt Betty!" cried Dorothy, as she read the document, "for one appearance in New York, I am to receive one hundred dollars and my expenses both ways. I think that is a very liberal offer."

"Merely a pittance, Miss Calvert, beside what you will get if your concert pleases the music lovers of the metropolis, who, as you are no doubt aware, are the most discriminating in the country."

"Oh, I hope I shall please them. I shall try so hard."

"You just leave dat to me," said Herr Deichenberg. "Any young lady who played as you did at my concert, need have no fear of facing a metropolitan audience."

"The plan is, Miss Calvert," Mr. Ludlow went on, in a thoroughly business-like tone, "if your New York concert proves a success, for you to sign contracts to appear next season under my management in the principal cities of the country. When we know positively that this is advisable, we will discuss terms, and I assure you we shall not quarrel over the matter of a few dollars, more or less."

"I'm sure we won't," replied Dorothy.

Aunt Betty found herself hoping for the success of the plan. All opposition to the matter seemed, for the time, to have slipped her mind.

Mr. Ludlow bade them good-by shortly after, and left in company with Herr Deichenberg.

Dorothy closed the door softly behind them, then, happy that her ambition was at last to become a reality, threw herself in the arms of Aunt Betty and sobbed:

"Oh, auntie, auntie, it has come at last, but it won't—it won't take me away from you."

"We must not be too sure of that, my dear," Aunt Betty replied, as calmly as she could. Her wildly-beating heart cried out for the love and sympathy that she knew only this girl could give her. How could she ever, ever bear to give her up?

"Auntie, dear," Dorothy said, straightening up and wiping her eyes with quick, nervous little dabs, "if such a thing as separation is even suggested, I shall never move a step from old Bellvieu—never, never!"

"Oh, my dear, I cannot expect you to give up a great career for me."

"What would any sort of a career be without you? Nothing—absolutely nothing! I wouldn't listen to it for a moment. Where I go there you shall go also."

"But I am getting too old to travel."

Aunt Betty's protest, however, sounded rather feeble.

"Nonsense!" the girl replied. "You were the very life of our camping party, and I'm sure riding in railroad trains is not half so strenuous as speeding forty miles an hour over country roads in an automobile. No objections, now, auntie dear, unless you want me to give up my career before it is begun."

"No, no, of course, I—"

"Of course you don't want me to do that. Certainly not. For that very reason, if for no other, you are going to accompany me wherever I go, which means that you may as well start planning that new spring dress, for we will be traveling New Yorkward ere many weeks have passed."

"Do you think blue would be becoming, dear?"

Dorothy could have laughed outright with delight, when she saw how quickly Aunt Betty became lost in contemplation over what she should wear on the trip.

"Well, yes, if it is of the proper shade, auntie, but you know nothing becomes you so well as black."

"Black it shall be, then—black panama, with a nice new bonnet to match."

"And I, auntie, dear, what shall I wear? How are we to afford all these fine things when our finances are at a low ebb?"

"Our finances are in better condition than they were, dear. A letter a few days since from my lawyers, states that certain property I have placed in their hands is rapidly increasing in value, and that I shall be able to realize from time to time such sums as I may need."

"Oh, I'm so glad! Strange you didn't tell me."

"I'd forgotten it. I really believe I am getting absent-minded."

Had Dorothy known the truth—that though the lawyers had agreed to advance certain sums, it meant a mortgage on old Bellvieu, her peace of mind would have been sadly disturbed.

But Aunt Betty took good care she did not know it—self-sacrificing soul that she was.



CHAPTER XIII

IN THE METROPOLIS

New York!

A magic word to Dorothy Calvert, and as she stepped from the train in the great Pennsylvania railway station, curiosity and interest were expressed in her glance. Not since her trip to California with Aunt Betty and Ephraim had the girl been in Gay Gotham, which, to her, had always been a place of great enchantment.

The noise of the trains, the clangor of trucks, as they were whirled up and down the station platform by the baggagemen; the noise of the subway and surface cars, mingled with countless other sounds, were sufficient to distract any girl's attention, and Dorothy came out of her reverie and turned, only when Aunt Betty cried out from the car steps:

"Dorothy Calvert, wherever are you going?"

"Oh, I—"

"Are you going to leave me behind?"

"I—I—why, auntie—I—"

"One would think you had never been in a great city before. Wait for me! Remember, I am going everywhere you go. You did not bring me this far from Bellvieu to leave me in the lurch, young lady."

"Goodness knows, I had no idea of doing anything of the sort, auntie."

"Well, you just wait! I'm not as spry as I used to be."

Jim Barlow carefully helped Aunt Betty to the platform, while Ephraim followed with a load of suit cases. Then came Herr and Frau Deichenberg, each with a little hand satchel, the professor guarding jealously his beloved violin. No heavy luggage for the Deichenbergs, the Frau had told Aunt Betty on the journey up from Baltimore.

"Ve shan't be here for long; de concert occurs to-morrow night, und ve shall go straight back home vhen ve are t'rough," was the way she put it.

The Herr was attired in his customary black. He had maintained his usual phlegmatic manner all through the journey, and apparently had no intention of departing from it now. Having spent many years in New York after his arrival in America, the city's fascination for the average mortal seemed to make no appeal to him.

Once off the train, Jim began to search diligently in the crowd for a familiar face. For a moment a blank look expressed his disappointment. Then his features lighted up and he waved his hand at a tall, spectacled gentleman who came eagerly forward to meet him.

"Jim, I am glad to see you," greeted this individual.

"And I to see you, Dr. Sterling."

A hearty hand-clasp followed.

"Why it is Dr. Sterling!" cried Aunt Betty, adjusting her glasses that she might better see him. "How good it seems to find you here in New York. How did you leave things up the Hudson, and especially at Deerhurst?"

"Same as of yore," he replied. "Hans and Griselda, faithful souls, are keeping the place in spick and span condition." His face lighted suddenly. "And here is Miss Dorothy, grown into a tall young lady since last I saw her."

"Don't accuse me of being too tall, Dr. Sterling," said Dorothy, in a tone of mild reproof. "That is getting to be a sore subject with me. I have no intention of being either a toothpick or a beanstalk, though if what my friends tell me is true, I am in a fair way to be either, or both."

Dr. Sterling laughed.

"You mustn't mind a bit of a joke, you know. You are at an age where nothing can stop your growth. Your height seems to you exaggerated—that's all—and your friends merely perpetuate the belief with the idea of teasing you."

"I'll take your word for that, doctor. And now, let me present my music teacher, Herr Deichenberg, and Mrs. Deichenberg," Dorothy then said.

The introductions were duly acknowledged, after which the party went into the station, and thence to the street beyond.

"Where are you going to stop?" Dr. Sterling wanted to know, as he turned an inquisitive glance on Aunt Betty.

"I've forgotten the name of the place," replied the mistress of Bellvieu, "but Herr Deichenberg can enlighten you. He wired ahead for the rooms."

"It iss de Arlington," the music master vouchsafed. "De proprietor iss a personal friend of mine, und de accommodations vill be of de very best."

"Then I shall immediately change my quarters," said the genial doctor. "I am farther down town, but as we are to be in the city but a couple of days, it is well for us to be together as much as possible."

This programme was followed to the letter, and before noon Dorothy and Aunt Betty had washed, and changed their attire for fresh, clean linen suits, after which they announced themselves in readiness for any events that might be on the programme.

Dr. Sterling, who had been holding a conference with Jim, proposed a boat trip down the bay.

"Oh, that will be delightful," Dorothy said. "How can it be arranged?"

"I have a friend in New York, a Mr. Ronald, who owns a very handsome private yacht. This he has placed at my disposal on all occasions. I shall immediately call him up by 'phone and find if the boat is available for this afternoon."

This the doctor did, and returned a few moments later with the good news that Mr. Ronald would personally see that the party viewed all the sights of the bay and river front.

While at lunch one of the surprises of the day revealed itself in the shape of Judge Breckenridge and Molly, who walked in on the astonished Calverts totally unannounced.

"Molly!"

"Dorothy!"

These exclamations were followed by a bear-like hug as the girls flew into each other's arms. Many of the diners became interested and stopped eating long enough to watch the lingering embrace to the end.

The Judge shook hands all around, then places were made for him and Molly at the table occupied by Aunt Betty, Dorothy and Jim.

Dorothy quickly won their promise to go down the bay in the yacht, and lunch over, the party immediately made preparations to start.

Herr Deichenberg and his wife were sure the trip would prove rather trying for them, as neither was fond of the water, so decided to remain at the hotel and receive Mr. Ludlow, who was due at four o'clock.

Upon Dorothy's insisting that perhaps she had better stay and meet the manager, also, the Herr shook his head.

"No, no; dat iss entirely unnecessary."

"Then give him my regards, and say that I shall see him to-night or in the morning," cried the girl.

"I vill do dat. In de meantime enjoy yourself. Forget there iss such a t'ing as a concert. To-morrow night, vhen you stand before de great audience in de theater, iss time enough to t'ink of dat."

Aunt Betty at first thought she, too, would remain behind, but after lunch she was feeling in such unusually good spirits that she announced her intention of going, if only to have an old-time chat with the Judge.

"Auntie, you are getting younger every day," cried Dorothy, pleased that her relative was so spry at her advanced age.

"And I intend to continue to grow younger as long as I may, dear. It is a privilege not given many women, and I shall make the most of it. If I have the opportunity I may even set my cap for a beau."

"Oh, Aunt Betty, how can you say such a thing!"

"'Such a thing,' as you call it, would be perfectly proper. Would it not, Judge Breckenridge?"

"Quite proper, madame—quite proper," responded the judge gallantly—"in fact, judging by the evidence of my eyes, I see no other solution of the matter."

"What a gallant speech," laughed Molly. "You may be a semi-invalid, papa, but you will never, never lose your courtly ways."

"An example which all young men should emulate," said Aunt Betty, looking pointedly at Jim, who grinned broadly.

It was a merry party that boarded the trim gasoline yacht Nautilus at one of the wharves an hour later. Aunt Betty, assisted by the Judge and Jim, was the first aboard. Doctor Sterling, with Dorothy and Molly followed.

The owner of the yacht was introduced by Dr. Sterling, and when all were comfortably seated in the deck chairs forward, Mr. Ronald signaled the man in the wheelhouse, who in turn signaled the engine-room to go ahead.

"Ah, this is my style of boating," sighed the Judge, as, with a deep sigh of satisfaction he dropped into one of the comfortable chairs on the forward deck. "When a boy I used to sail a little sloop, but after all, it is better to have something to push you besides the wind."

The steamer whistle screeched hoarsely.

"We're off!" cried Dr. Sterling.

Though a strong breeze, in which there was a tinge of dampness, came in from the ocean as the yacht went spinning down the bay, no one chose to retire to the cabin, even Aunt Betty protesting that the fresh air was doing her good.

A heavy swell was running, but the Nautilus weathered the waves in true ocean style, only a slight rocking movement being perceptible.

When they were well started down the bay, Mr. Ronald came to ask if they cared to visit the Statue of Liberty.

"I think that's an excellent idea," said Dr. Sterling. "Judge Breckenridge and Mrs. Calvert cannot, of course, climb the spiral stairs leading up into the statue, but we younger people can, and will, if you say the word."

"Oh, I think it will be jolly," cried Dorothy, who had seen the Statue of Liberty from the Brooklyn bridge and wondered what was inside it.

Molly and Jim fell promptly in with the plan, so the yacht was moored to the little island, after which Dr. Sterling guided the girls and Jim up to the dizzy height represented by the statue's hand. Quite a climb it was, too, but one which amply rewarded them, for they were able to gaze out over city and bay to such an advantage that they were loath to descend.

Back to the yacht they finally went, however, and the Nautilus again turned her nose down the upper bay.

On one side lay Brooklyn, on the other Jersey City, while about them craft of all shapes and sizes puffed and snorted as they performed their daily tasks.

On down into the lower bay the yacht went skimming, breasting the heavy swells of the Atlantic, and causing exclamations of delight from both Molly and Dorothy, neither of whom had ever been this far at sea.

Down between the upper quarantine and the Staten Island shore they went at a speed of twelve knots, then, rounding the lower quarantine, stood straight for Rockaway Beach.

It was too early in the season for any of the resorts to be open, hence the girls were unable to view the scenes of activity that make these famous places the mecca of the bathers in the warm season.

"I imagine I should like to spend a summer here," said Dorothy.

"And perhaps some of these days you will have the opportunity—who knows?" remarked Aunt Betty.

"Well, when she comes I must be included in the party or there will be big trouble," Molly put in.

"Lots of trouble you'd make your best chum, young lady," replied Aunt Betty, chucking the Judge's daughter playfully under the chin.

After a run of some twenty minutes, the yacht again turned, this time nosing its way back along the coast toward the lower bay.

"In a few moments, I will show you Brighton and Manhattan Beaches," said Dr. Sterling—"also the famous Coney Island of which you have heard so much."

"I should dearly love to visit Coney," said Dorothy.

"I have been there twice," said Molly, proudly, "and it is a veritable city of wonders. I have never been able to understand how a brain can conceive all those funny things which amuse you."

"Great brains are capable of many things in these days," Jim said.

"Oh, are they now, my noble philosopher?"

"Yes, Miss Saucy, they are!"

"What's that stretch of water east of us, with all the little islands in it?" asked Dorothy, suddenly.

"That is Jamaica Bay," replied Mr. Ronald. "It lies across the peninsula from Rockaway Beach."

"I thought Jamaica was in the West Indies, or some other forsaken spot," said Molly.

"Come, come," chided Dr. Sterling. "Remember your geography."

"You certainly ought to know where the ginger comes from," said Jim, in the same bantering spirit.

"Well, I guess I do, if anybody asks you, Mr. Barlow," she returned, saucily. "But that's no sign I knew there was a Jamaica Bay in New York State. My geography didn't teach me that."

"Of course it did," taunted the boy, "but you did not take the trouble to remember it."

Further discussion of this unimportant subject was cut short by a crash from the engine-room of the yacht, followed by a hissing noise as of escaping steam, and the propeller, which was being driven at many thousands of revolutions per minute, began suddenly to slow up.

A shriek from Aunt Betty drew Dorothy quickly to her side, while Mr. Ronald cried out:

"Something has happened to the engine!"

Then he made a dash below decks, followed by Dr. Sterling, and, a few seconds later, by Jim, who saw in the yacht's misfortune another opportunity to satisfy his mechanical curiosity.

The boy reached the engine-room directly on the heels of Mr. Ronald and Dr. Sterling, and saw the engineer and his assistant flat on their backs trying to locate the trouble.

"Something apparently broke inside her, sir," the engineer was saying, in response to a question from Mr. Ronald. "I can't say how serious it is till we find it, sir."

"Then of course you do not know how long we shall be delayed?"

"No; I couldn't say, sir. Can't even promise that we can run in on one pair of cylinders, sir, for they all seem to be affected alike."

At this a shadow overspread the owner's face and he turned to Dr. Sterling.

"Sorry, Doc," he said. "What did you tell me about getting to town before dark?"

"I merely mentioned the fact that Miss Calvert should be early to bed, because she appears at a concert to-morrow evening, and it is necessary that she feel as well as possible."

"It is after four now," said Mr. Ronald, looking at his watch, "and I don't know what to tell you until Sharley—that's my engineer—locates the trouble."

"Then perhaps we had better withhold from those on deck the fact that there may be an indefinite delay, merely making the general statement that the trouble is being rectified as rapidly as possible."

"Very well; will you tell them, and make my excuses? I shall want to stay pretty close here till this trouble is found."

"I'll tell them," said the doctor, and motioning Jim to follow went on deck. So the news which, poorly told, might have brought consternation to Dorothy and her aunt, merely aroused their curiosity. Soon they were laughing and talking with all thoughts of the accident gone from their minds.

Meanwhile, below, Mr. Ronald, Sharley and the assistant engineer, were going over every inch of the gasoline motors, hoping to find what had been the cause of their sudden refusal to do their work.

Screws were tightened and several other minor matters remedied. Then Sharley signaled the pilot house that he was going to try her again. Having tested his batteries with the buzzer, and adjusted the timer, he turned on the gasoline and slowly opened the throttle.

There was no response.

Sharley repeated the operation several times without getting the desired explosion. Then he retested the batteries with the buzzer and adjusted the carburetor, discovering that the gasoline had not been turned on at that point—or, at least, had been turned off after the trouble started. More cranking followed, but without success.

The Nautilus was now drifting in toward the shore, and a peep through a porthole told Sharley that he would be upon the sands of Rockaway if something were not done soon.

"Told you she ought to have a sail equipment for emergencies," he said to Mr. Ronald.

"Yes; you told me—that's not your fault. The question now is, what are we going to do?"

"Nothing that I can see but throw out our anchor. Ain't more than twenty feet of water here, and she's growing less all the time."

"But I can't throw out the anchor without alarming the ladies."

"Have to alarm 'em, then, I guess. That's better than going aground and paying somebody salvage to get you off, eh, Mr. Ronald?" and the engineer laughed.

Mr. Ronald admitted the force of the statement, then went on deck to break the news to his guests.



CHAPTER XIV

THE STORM

Mr. Ronald's appearance on deck was the signal for a jubilant shout from Dorothy, Molly and Jim.

"Now we'll be off again in a jiffy!" Molly cried. "I can see it in Mr. Ronald's face."

"Which only goes to show that looks are really deceiving," returned the owner of the yacht, good-naturedly.

"What!" cried Dorothy, while Molly gave vent to a disappointed, "Oh!"

"Do you mean that the engineer hasn't yet got to the seat of the trouble?" queried Dr. Sterling.

"I regret to say that his efforts are not meeting with the success we had hoped for, and as we are slowly drifting in toward the beach, with only a few feet of water under our keel, we shall be forced to drop anchor, pending further developments in the engine-room."

"That means that the trouble is serious," groaned Aunt Betty.

"Not necessarily," said Judge Breckenridge, in an encouraging tone, "but if we run aground we will be 'suah 'nuff' in trouble, as old Ephraim would say."

"The trouble is merely temporary, I assure you," Mr. Ronald went on. "If you will excuse me again, I'll order the anchor dropped. Then we can at least make our minds easy as to where we will stay until the trouble is located."

The others nodded their assent and he hurried forward. A moment later, with a rattling of chains, the anchor plunged into the waters of the bay.

Mr. Ronald then rejoined his guests, and in spite of the anxiety that was surging in Dorothy's breast, she entered into the spirit of the occasion with the others. Story and jest rang out over the water as the sun gradually approached the horizon.

It was after six when Sharley came on deck to say that the trouble was as elusive as ever.

"We've been over every inch of her," he said, "and can't find a thing the matter. Yet, she won't budge an inch. The gasoline supply is O. K., and the batteries are in good shape. There's no trouble at all about exploding the spark, but I can't get the engine to turn a wheel, sir."

Mr. Ronald cast an uneasy glance toward the eastern sky, where a heavy bank of clouds was appearing above the sky-line. The rapidity with which they were approaching seemed to indicate that a storm was brewing. He said nothing of this to his guests, though, but smilingly remarked that he would go below again to go over the matter another time with Sharley. Then owner and engineer disappeared below decks together.

Anxiously those on deck awaited some report from the engine-room; but the minutes slipped by and none came.

Finally, Dorothy noticed the approaching storm, and gave vent to a startled exclamation, which, caused Aunt Betty to jump, and Molly to grab her chum nervously by the arm.

"What is it?" Aunt Betty wanted to know.

Dorothy extended her finger toward the formidable looking bank of clouds.

"A storm is coming," she replied, "and if we don't hurry and fix the engines we shall be caught in it."

As if in answer to Dorothy's remark, Mr. Ronald appeared on deck at this instant. His face wore a troubled expression and the hopes of the guests fell as they noticed it.

"It's of no use; we can't find the trouble," he said. "Looks very like we were in a trap and destined to quite a stay."

The wind had already commenced to blow. The Nautilus had swung around bow on to the east and was tugging viciously at her anchor.

"If some other boat would only come by and pick us up!" cried Aunt Betty. "Why, we may have to stay out here all night."

"What of it?" queried Judge Breckenridge.

"Why, Dorothy will be in no shape for the concert to-morrow night—that's what of it. And Herr and Frau Deichenberg will be worried over our continued absence."

"The cabin of the yacht will afford comfortable sleeping quarters for you ladies," said Mr. Ronald. "I regret this occurrence, but now that we are here, with no prospect for getting away under several hours, we must make the best of a bad bargain."

"Let me suggest that we all go inside," said Dr. Sterling. "The wind is getting too cool for you, Mrs. Calvert."

"I suppose that's an insinuation against my age," returned the person addressed, with some spirit. "But I'll forgive you, doctor; we had best look the facts in the face."

She arose as she spoke, and taking Jim's arm, walked slowly toward the cabin. The others followed.

No sooner were they inside than the storm descended with a roar. Sheets of water, wind-driven, beat against the windows of the cabin, and the yacht rose on top of great waves to plunge down into the trough of the sea with a motion that gave Aunt Betty a sinking feeling.

"It's like going down in an elevator," she confided to Dorothy. "I just know I'm going to be seasick."

"You will if you think about it every minute," said Dr. Sterling. "Get your mind on something else and you will be all right."

"Easier said than done, doctor."

"Oh, I don't know. Now, that reminds me of a story," and he went on to relate a certain incident of his career which took the thoughts of seasickness and storm away from Aunt Betty's mind.

It soon grew so dark it became necessary to switch on the electric lights. Then, while the yacht rolled and tossed on the heavy waves, Mr. Ronald and his guests entertained themselves as best they could.

Through the windows a glare marked the location of the city, though no objects were visible on the ink-black surface of the water. As Dorothy looked longingly out into the darkness she wondered what Herr Deichenberg and Mr. Ludlow would be thinking by this time.

Knowing she had gone out on the yacht, and that a storm had descended on both bay and city, they would be worried, no doubt, and there was no means of communicating with them to allay their fears until the yacht was able to pull up anchor and steam into the city by her own motive power. And this seemed unlikely to happen soon, for no word of encouragement had come from the engine-room, though Engineer Sharley and his assistant were still making a diligent search for the trouble.

Fortunately the larder of the Nautilus was well-stocked with food, and Mr. Ronald, with the help of one of the deck hands, was able to serve a very satisfactory lunch to the storm-bound, hungry guests.

Steaming coffee was made on a little electric range, and this, with rolls, canned salmon, and bread and butter, served to satisfy the appetites of all.

"How nice and cozy this would be," said Molly, as they were gathered about the table, "if it were not storming so hard, and Dorothy was not worried as to when she is to reach the city."

"Why, pshaw! there's nothing to worry over," said Jim. "The storm won't last forever, and I'm sure if the engines are not fixed by morning, Mr. Ronald will signal for a tow to pull us into the city."

"That will be the only thing to do," said the yachtsman. "But the trouble will be remedied before morning, I am sure."

At ten o'clock the storm had abated to some extent, though the rain was still beating in sheets against the cabin windows. The wind, however, seemed to have lost its great velocity, and the yacht did not toss as badly.

Under these comforting circumstances the girls and Aunt Betty retired to the staterooms of the yacht, where they threw themselves in the bunks thoroughly dressed, resolved to get what rest they could.

In the cabin the men smoked and told stories, while Jim sat near, an interested listener. At midnight the boy curled up on a seat built against the side of the cabin and went to sleep. Judge Breckenridge was nodding in a big Morris chair, so Dr. Sterling and Mr. Ronald left them and went to the engine-room, where Sharley and his assistant were still laboring faithfully at the machinery.

"Well, we've got it located," said the grimy engineer, smiling good-naturedly. "The trouble is on this end of the propeller shaft. A piece of metal is lodged between the cogs, and we've been unable so far to get it out. It's only a question of time, though. Bill is hammering away with a cold chisel and something is bound to give 'way soon."

"Can we run into the city in the storm, Sharley, or will it be better to wait till it clears?"

"Well, it's pretty misty out, and hard to see the lights of other boats, but we'll chance it if you say so, sir."

"I'll think it over. Let me know when the engine is fixed and we'll decide what is best to do. Come, Sterling; let's go on deck for a breath of air."

Donning heavy ulsters, they were soon on the slippery deck of the yacht, the storm beating in their faces. The man in the wheelhouse, encased in heavy oilskins, was nodding in the shelter of his little quarters. He started up as Mr. Ronald and his friend came slipping along the deck.

"A bad night, sir, but the storm's going down," he remarked, pleasantly.

"The engines will soon be fixed, Donnelly, and if it's let up sufficiently we may try to make the city at once. Otherwise we will wait till daylight."

"Yes, sir; all right, sir," and the man bowed as Mr. Ronald and Dr. Sterling passed on.

In the meantime, Dorothy and Molly lay in their bunks, talking on various subjects, but mostly of the coming concert. Dorothy, of course, was worried, and was trying to borrow trouble by declaring the storm would keep up all the following day, and that she might be forced to miss the concert altogether—an idea which Molly "pooh-poohed" in vigorous terms.

"I'm surprised at you, Dorothy Calvert," she said. "You're not a quitter. Nothing in the world will keep you from being at the theater to-morrow night, and you will play as you have never played before. Difficulties will but serve to spur you on to greater deeds."

"You're right, chum," Dorothy replied. "That is a well-deserved rebuke and I thank you for it. Which reminds me that my fears were groundless, for the wind is going down and it does not seem to be raining as hard as it was."

"Of course not, you goosey! These storms rarely last more than a few hours. The sun will be shining in the morning, and all you'll see to remind you of to-night will be the rather worn looks of your companions. But what is one night's loss of sleep, anyway? I just know when you were at school you lost many a good night's sleep through some prank. Now, didn't you?"

"That would be telling tales out of school," smiled Dorothy.

"An evasion means an assent," remarked her chum. "And the next evening you were feeling as well as ever—just as a nice, warm bath and a rub-down will make you forget your troubles of to-night."

And Molly was a true prophet. The storm went down rapidly after midnight, until there was only a slight mist falling, and the wind came in fitful little gusts, which lacked the force to do damage even of a slight nature.

After one o'clock, with the cheering intelligence that the engines would soon be in working order, called to them through the stateroom door by Dr. Sterling, the girls fell asleep, to be awakened some hours later by the motion of the boat.

"Oh, look, Molly!" Dorothy cried, shaking her chum out of a sound sleep. "The yacht is under way."

"Didn't I tell you so?" was the rather discomforting reply, as Molly sat up, rubbing her eyes. "First thing we know we'll be back at the hotel."

"We'll have to reach the dock first, though."

"Thanks for the information," said Molly, as she began to arrange her hair.

The sun was streaming in through the port-holes and the water without was as smooth as glass. The yacht was headed toward the city, and moving along at a steady pace, though not at full speed.

The girls smoothed out their crumpled dresses, gave several other touches to their attire, and after a vigorous use of powder rags, taken from their hand-satchels, they aroused Aunt Betty and together went into the cabin, thence to the deck.

"Good morning!" greeted Judge Breckenridge, who, seated near the rail amidships, was smoking an early morning cigar in the keenest enjoyment.

"It is good morning, sure enough!" cried Dorothy, drawing her lungs full of the pure, sweet air. "And I'm so glad. I hope we reach the city soon, for Herr Deichenberg and Mr. Ludlow will be worried to death over my absence."

"In half an hour we'll be at the wharf," said Mr. Ronald, who approached at this moment. "I trust you rested well?"

This remark was directed principally toward Aunt Betty, who replied:

"I didn't hear a sound all night long. The last noise I heard was the chatter of the two young magpies who occupied the berths across from me, but no misfortune, no matter how dire or dreadful, could bridle their tongues, so that was to be expected."

"That sounds very much like a libel to me," said Dorothy, laughing.

"Well, you're my niece, and I can libel you if I wish," was the spirited response.

"But Molly isn't your niece, auntie."

"Never mind; she insists on keeping company with you. Under those circumstances she must expect to take home to herself most of the things I say about you."

"I'm not worried," said Molly. "I suppose we are all you say we are, and more, Mrs. Calvert."

"That's a charitable view to take of it," said Dr. Sterling.

The engines were working so well that before they realized it the Nautilus was lying snugly moored to her wharf in the North River.

Mr. Ronald's guests bade him good-by and left the boat, after making him promise to be at Dorothy's concert in the evening.

At the hotel, early as was the hour, Dorothy found Herr Deichenberg and Mr. Ludlow in conference over her continued absence.

"My goodness! My goodness!" cried the music master. "Would you drive us crazy, Miss Dorothy, that you stay avay all night and make us believe you are lost in the storm?"

"I did not make you believe anything, Herr Deichenberg. You took that upon yourself. And perhaps I was lost in the storm, sir," replied the girl, then extended her hand to Mr. Ludlow.

"I forgive you, Miss Calvert, and trust you have not so impaired your faculties that your work will fall below its usual standard to-night," said the manager.

"I have not, I assure you. We were very comfortable in the berths, and put in some good time sleeping between midnight and morning. Molly will tell you that we have no reason for feeling badly."

"Indeed, no, and Dorothy will be in perfect trim, Mr. Ludlow."

"Your assurance makes my mind perfectly easy," was his reply.

"But vhy didn't you let us know?" Herr Deichenberg asked excitedly. "Vhy? Vhy?"

"Because the yacht was not equipped with a wireless apparatus, I suppose," Jim Barlow put in, rather testily. "She has done the best she knew how, sir, and that's all anyone can do."

"Truly spoken, my boy," replied the Herr, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder. "You must not mind me; I am a little nervous—dat iss all."

"The nervousness will pass away now the truant has returned," Aunt Betty assured him.

Frau Deichenberg, who approached at that moment, nodded, smiling:

"Ah, madame, dat iss true. You must not mind him. He iss like dat vhenever anyt'ing goes wrong. But he means not'ing—not'ing!" She extended her hand. "I am glad to see you safely back."

Assuring Mr. Ludlow that she would be on hand in the evening without fail, and promising to see him during the afternoon if he called, Dorothy went up to her room, where a hot bath and a nap of several hours' duration put her in excellent physical trim for the ordeal that night—for an ordeal she knew it was to be—an ordeal that would be the making or the breaking of her career.



CHAPTER XV

DOROTHY'S TRIUMPH

At last the hour was approaching when Dorothy would make her appearance before a metropolitan audience. As evening drew near she felt a nervous sensation, mingled with a faint suspicion of nausea, and wondered at it. Upon the occasion of her appearance in Baltimore not even a tremor of excitement had possessed her; yet, the very thought of appearing in the glare of the footlights in this great New York theater gave her an almost uncontrollable desire to fly away—anywhere—away from the people of this city whose opinions seemed to mean so much to the followers of music and the drama.

Arriving at the theater early, just as she had on the occasion of her appearance in her home city, Dorothy again peeped through a small hole in the curtain, to find the great gold-and-green auditorium a perfect blaze of light.

To her right, in the stage box, sat Aunt Betty, Molly, the Judge, Frau Deichenberg, Mr. Ronald and Jim Barlow chatting gayly, and awaiting the time when the curtain should rise for Dorothy's opening number.

The murmur of many voices reached the girl, as she looked. It was an audience of taste and culture. Mr. Ludlow had seen to that. His affairs were looked upon by music lovers as distinctly out of the ordinary, hence the better class of people attended them—even sought eagerly for seats.

By the time Herr Deichenberg appeared on the stage to flash the orchestra a signal for the overture, the house was packed almost to the doors. People were even standing three deep in the back, apparently in the best of humor and seeming not to mind in the least the discomforts attending "standing room only."

Dorothy sought her dressing-room, a great lump in her throat, and taking her violin from the case, nervously thumbed the strings. It was so unusual—this feeling of helplessness—the feeling that she was but an unimportant atom in this great sea of people who were waiting for her to appear that they might subject her to scathing criticism.

Herr Deichenberg smiled in at the door a moment later.

"Und how iss my little lady?" he inquired.

"Oh, Herr, I have such a strange sensation. It seems as if my heart is going to stop beating."

"Ah, ha! You t'ink so, but it iss not so, Miss Dorothy. De heart has changed its place of residence—dat iss all. It is now lodged in de mouth, vhere it vill stay until you get before de audience und realize dat you vill have to play. Den it vill leave you."

"If I could only be sure!"

"Vhat I tell you iss true. I have been there, many iss de time. You vill find dat de audience vill be your inspiration."

Shortly after, when the orchestra was in the last bars of the overture, the music master hurried Dorothy out of her dressing-room to her place in the wings. The sinking feeling grew more intense. She could not get her mind off the ordeal which was before her. If she had only agreed not to come, she argued with herself, she might have saved her reputation. But now the merciless critics of the metropolis would subject her to comparisons with greater and more famous artists, and she would surely be the loser thereby. Strange she had not thought of that before!

She was startled out of her meditation by Herr Deichenberg, who cried:

"Ready, now, young lady! Look your prettiest! Valk out as you did before, und forget there iss an audience. Take your time und vait till de orchestra iss t'rough with de introduction."

She nodded, her lower lip trembling visibly. Then, with a sudden shake of her head, she forced a smile and stepped out into view of the audience!

And as those staid old New Yorkers saw this slim, young girl advancing, violin in hand, toward the footlights, while the great orchestra roared and thundered through the introduction to Rubenstein's "Barcarole," they burst into a round of applause. And Dorothy, surprised at the reception thus accorded her, when she had expected nothing but silence and curious stares, all but stopped in the center of the stage and forgot what she was doing.

Then, realizing that the orchestra was rapidly approaching the place where she was to begin playing, she had the presence of mind to bow and smile. And just back of the footlights, with the faces of her auditors but a blurred spot on her vision, the girl put her violin under her chin and gently drew the bow across the strings.

As the orchestra played a low accompaniment, there suddenly filled the air a sound of deep melody, which swept down the aisles and filled with melodious sweetness every corner of the big theater. It was a melody such as sets the heart beating—a melody full of the most witchingly sweet low notes.

Dorothy swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the music, and the audience listened spellbound. To Aunt Betty and the other attentive auditors it seemed that all the world was music—that, as played by this young girl, it was the greatest and best of all earthly things.

As she played on, by, as it seemed to her, some strange miracle, all her fears and tremblings vanished. Herr Deichenberg had been right, and now her only thought was for her work—how best to do it to the satisfaction of those who had honored her with their presence.

When it was finished and she had bowed herself off into the first entrance, applause such as she had never heard before, thundered through the building. Out she stepped and bowed, but still the plaudits continued, and finally, walking out, she signified with a nod of her head her willingness to respond with an encore.

She played a simple little piece far removed from the great Rubenstein melody, and it went straight to the hearts of the audience, as Herr Deichenberg, keen old musician that he was had intended that it should. From that moment Dorothy Calvert had her audience with her heart and soul.

As she swept into the concluding bars of the melody, the audience fairly rose to its feet and applauded. She took seven bows before the curtain was allowed to descend. The first part of the entertainment was over and Dorothy sought her dressing-room to rest, closing and locking the door so that no one might intrude on her privacy.

There she lay, eyes half-closed, breathing rather heavily, more from excitement than from actual physical exertion, while the popular tenor whom Mr. Ludlow had engaged to assist in the concert was singing a song from "Lucia." She heard his encore but faintly—enough, however, to recognize one of the solos from a popular comic opera, then someone rapped on her door and bade her be ready for her second turn.

Words fail to describe the reception she met as she played Schubert's Sonata, followed by the march from "Lenore," the latter seeming to strike the chord of popular approval in a very forcible manner.

She bowed herself off again, after taking ten curtain calls, to give the tenor another chance. Again she rested in her dressing-room, and again ventured forth for the last, and to her most difficult, part of the entertainment.

Two of the classics she played, then, upon insistent calls from the audience for more, nodded to the orchestra and struck into her old medley of southern airs. As the plaintive notes of "The Old Folks At Home" echoed and reechoed through the theater, Dorothy watched the effect on her audience, and saw that many handkerchiefs were used as the sadder strains were played. "Old Black Joe" produced much the same effect, and "Dixie" aroused them to cheers which increased as the girl played "The Star Bangled Banner" and, finally, "Home, Sweet Home."

Again and again the curtain descended, only to rise again, as the girl bowed her acknowledgments to the great audience that had received her with such marked expressions of approval. Then, to her dressing-room she went, to find that Aunt Betty and her friends had reached the stage through an entrance back of their box, and were awaiting her.

"Oh, auntie, auntie!" was all she could say, as she threw herself into the arms of her aged relative and sobbed through sheer joy.

"My dear, it is the triumph of your life. I am indeed proud to call you my own."

"And she wasn't one tiny bit scared," said Molly.

"Shows you don't know what you're talking about," Dorothy replied, with some spirit. "Herr Deichenberg had all he could do to induce me to leave my dressing-room. Let the announcement sound as absurd as it may, I was literally scared to death."

"If you can play like that when you're literally scared to death," said Molly, "I wish someone would scare me."

"Here's Mr. Ludlow," said Jim. "Let's hear what he has to say."

"Mr. Ludlow is about the happiest man in New York to-night," said the manager, "realizing, as he does, that he has discovered, with the aid of Herr Deichenberg, a young lady who is destined to set the whole country afire with her playing. Miss Calvert, I congratulate you most heartily. It was the finest thing of its kind I have ever heard in my long theatrical experience."

Dorothy choked up and could not speak as she took his hand.

"Don't try to thank me," he went on, observing her embarrassment. "It is I who should thank you. And now, I know you are anxious to return to your hotel. I shall see you in the morning before you leave for home and discuss with you our future plans."

It was not until the early hours of the morning that Dorothy Calvert wooed sleep successfully, and when she did, she dreamed of violins, music masters, stages and scenery—all inextricably mixed.

She arose early, however, as they were to catch a train for Baltimore during the forenoon. Jim Barlow came into the room occupied by Dorothy and Aunt Betty as soon as they had dressed, bringing the morning papers. The music critics were almost unanimous in pronouncing the young violinist a player of exceptional merit, and one destined to become a great force in the musical world.

Dorothy hastened to show the papers to Aunt Betty and Molly, who, of course, were greatly rejoiced over her success.

Mr. Ludlow called as he had promised, and when he took his departure Dorothy had put her signature to a contract, calling for a forty weeks' tour of the United States and Canada, starting the last week in September. And the contract called for a salary of $200 per week and expenses. Those interested in our heroine's welfare may learn as to the outcome in the next volume named "Dorothy's Tour."

Dorothy could hardly believe her good fortune; nor could Aunt Betty, whose resources were so low that the only thing in prospect was a mortgage on her beloved Bellvieu.

The fact that Aunt Betty was in such sore financial straits became known by accident to Dorothy after they had returned home. But once the girl was familiar with conditions, she showed what a loyal niece she could be by depositing in one of the Baltimore banks the money she had received for her concert, subject to Aunt Betty's order. Then, in company with Aunt Betty, she called upon the lawyers who had the Calvert estate in charge, and by explaining her prospects for the coming season, and exhibiting her contract with Mr. Ludlow, arranged for such funds as she and Aunt Betty might need between then and the end of September.