A Dear Little Girl's Summer Holidays Part 22

"Oh, dear," echoed Dorothy. "Wasn't it terrible? I felt as if I were having a dreadful nightmare."

"I felt as if my head had been taken off and they were rolling it up and down the car tracks." This relieved the tension a little and they both laughed. "Now what are we going to do?" said Dorothy.

They stood on the sidewalk looking this way and that, uncertain what would be the best move. Presently a lady who had just come out of the subway, paused and looked at them. "Have you lost anything, little girls?" she asked kindly.

"We've lost our way and our friends," Edna told her.

"My, my, that is a great deal to lose. Where do you want to go?"

"We were going to Lexington, but it was so awful down there," Edna nodded toward the door through which they had just come, "and we would not go back for the world."

The lady smiled. "But what about your friends? Do they live in Lexington?"

"Oh, no, we are all staying at the Parker House. We went to see the Old North Church, and we were going to Lexington and Concord, all of us, but somehow we got separated from them, and we couldn't find them anywhere."

"We knew they were coming to the subway, for Ben said so," Dorothy chimed in, "and we thought we might find them there. A policeman showed us the way."

"That was like looking for a needle in a haystack," said the lady, "for you didn't know which of the subway stations they meant, did you? There are a great many, you know."

"We didn't know, for we never went down there before. We thought the subway was just one station, like the one we came into from the sh.o.r.e."

"Oh, I see. Well, I am a stranger in town too, that is, I don't live here, although I know Boston pretty well. I am staying at the Parker House, and as it isn't so very far from here, I think your best plan will be to go to the Parker House with me and wait there. I am sure your friends will think that is what you would be likely to do, and will make inquiries there before starting up an alarm for you."

"Oh, do you think they would do that? Do you mean they would ring bells or anything?" Dorothy asked with a vague idea of what might be done in the case of lost children.

"They mightn't ring bells," said their friend with a smile, "but they would notify all the police stations."

Edna nodded. "That's what papa did when I was lost. I wasn't really lost, only I was afraid of the cattle and I went up the steps so fast I fell and Mrs. Porter lived there; she was a friend of mine, you know."

Dorothy had heard all about this adventure before, and their new friend did not press inquiries. She felt sure the children would be anxiously looked for and that it was best to get them to their hotel as soon as could be.

It gave the two little girls a great sense of security to enter the place from which they had departed that morning, and they were heartily glad to reach the building. They found out that their kind acquaintance was named Mrs. c.o.x, and that she was from Was.h.i.+ngton. She told the clerk, at the desk, that if Mrs. Ramsey or any of her party came in or telephoned inquiries, that they were to be told instantly the little girls were there.

"I am always getting lost, it seems to me," said Edna plaintively, "and yet I am never really lost, or I wasn't before this time, only people will keep thinking I am. You know, Dorothy, I was perfectly safe at the bungalow when Louis thought I was lost, and I was perfectly safe at Mrs. Porter's when papa and mamma thought I was lost."

"And you are perfectly safe now when Mrs. Ramsey thinks you are lost," added Dorothy in a somewhat aggrieved tone. She felt a little conscience-stricken, knowing she was to blame in this instance, for it was she who insisted upon stopping to look in at the shop window.

They had not very long to wait, for from their place in the reception room, where Mrs. c.o.x told them it would be best to sit, they presently saw Ben hurrying along, a worried look on his face. The two children sprang out. "Here we are," they cried.

Ben rushed over and grabbed them both. "You young lunatics," he exclaimed, "don't you know better than to get yourselves lost in a city like Boston?"

"We didn't mean to, Ben," said Dorothy meekly.

"You didn't mean to," mimicked Ben in a mocking voice. "Well, you have scared us nearly to death, if that is any consolation to you."

"Where are Mrs. Ramsey and Jennie?" asked Edna, fearing one or the other might be in hysterics for Ben's manner was anything but rea.s.suring.

"They are in a cab trying to follow you up. Mrs. Ramsey said she would go over the ground we had just left when we missed you, and in the meantime I was to come here, if by any chance you had sense enough to come straight back to the hotel."

The children looked at each other with rather abashed faces, for they had not had sense enough to do that, and might not have thought of it but for Mrs. c.o.x.

"Before you give an account of yourselves," Ben went on, "I must telephone to Mrs. Ramsey and relieve her mind. We agreed that I was to do that and settled on a drug store where she would go to get any message I might have." He rushed off, leaving the little girls feeling very guilty. After all that Mrs. Ramsey had done for them to give her so much uneasiness, struck them both as being very heartless.

"I wish that old window was in the bottom of the sea before I ever stopped to look in," presently said Dorothy vindictively.

Edna made no reply. She knew that it was not the fault of the window, but of their own curiosity and heedlessness. They should have kept directly behind their friends, she well knew. Her mother had told her times enough that it was cowardly to blame inanimate objects for things which we were to blame for ourselves, and Aunt Elizabeth went further and said no one but a person without any wits would abuse a senseless thing for what was his own thoughtlessness or carelessness.

But she was spared moralizing upon this to Dorothy, for Ben returned saying that Mrs. Ramsey would be here in a few moments and that the expedition to Lexington and Concord would be given up for the day, as it was too late now to undertake so long a trip. He was quite grumpy about it and the little girls were most unhappy at being under his displeasure, for Ben was usually the sunniest of persons and rarely gave them a cross look. He did not stay to talk to them now, but went to the door to meet Mrs. Ramsey when she should return and the children sat one at either end of the sofa, silent and downcast.

Mrs. c.o.x had not waited for further developments once she had seen that her charges were safe, and had gone out again. After what was a long time to the two culprits they saw Mrs. Ramsey and Ben approaching with Jennie. At sight of them Edna could no longer restrain her tears, but burst into a noiseless fit of weeping, and Dorothy, seeing this, began to do the same.

This was too much for Ben. He was very fond of his little cousin and hated to see her cry. "Here, here," he cried, "don't do that.

Why, Ande, you are safe now. What's the use of crying when it's all over?" He sat down beside her and began to wipe away the tears. "I say, Mrs. Ramsey," he went on, looking up, "it is really my fault as much as theirs. In that thickly settled part of the city, among all those crooked streets, I ought to have kept a better lookout for these children, and we don't know yet how it happened, anyhow. I haven't even asked them. They may have been knocked down or anything else may have happened for all we know."

The two felt that this was very generous of Ben, and their tears flowed less plentifully. Mrs. Ramsey drew up a chair and said in a pleasant, confidential tone, "Now tell us all about it. How did it happen?"

The children faltered out an explanation in which the queer things in the shop-window, the hideous old woman, the man at the church and the subway all figured. Once or twice Mrs. Ramsey repressed a smile, though for the most part she listened very soberly. At the close of the narrative she turned to Ben. "It is just as you said; we ought to have kept better watch upon them. One of us should have walked with them instead of leaving them to follow alone."

Ben nodded. "That's just what I think. Now, chicks, dry your eyes. We are going to have an early lunch and go somewhere, to see the gla.s.s flowers, very likely."

"Yes," put in Jennie, "please don't cry any more, girls. It makes me so miserable to see you. I might have done the same thing if I had been with you."

Thus comforted, the girls dried their eyes and followed Jennie and Mrs.

Ramsey upstairs to bathe their faces and get ready for lunch. It was too bad to have lost a whole morning, but there could be a great deal crowded into an afternoon, and, by the time the gla.s.s flowers had been found, peace reigned and everyone was happy.

There was a drive around the beautiful parkway that evening and a visit to the splendid library that night. "We shall have to leave Plymouth Rock till another year," Mrs. Ramsey remarked as they set out for their trip the next morning. "I think you will enjoy Lexington and Concord more than a rather longer journey by water as you have just come from the seash.o.r.e." This time there was no delay and there was plenty of time to visit the old battle-field, to see the brown house where dear Louisa Alcott used to live, to hunt up Emerson's home and the spot endeared by memories of Hawthorne. Ben was intensely interested in it all and told the girls many things which made them understand much better what they were seeing.

They must return in time to meet Mr. Ramsey at the Parker House, and to get ready for their journey home, but there was a chance to walk through the botanical gardens and the Commons, to look across at the gilded dome of the State House, and to see the church where the great Phillips Brooks had preached.

It was hard to part with Jennie and her mother, but the thought of home and the dear ones there was too happy an antic.i.p.ation to cause any tears to be shed, and the little girls went off with a memory of Boston marred only by that unfortunate shop window in the foreign quarter.

CHAPTER XII

HOME AGAIN

"Are you going all the way home with us?" Edna asked Ben as they left the boat at the wharf.

"Yes, Mr. Ramsey thinks he should stay in New York for the day, and has handed you over to my tender mercies, so if we can get a good train you will be at home in a very few hours."

"Now that we are so near I'm just crazy to get there," said Dorothy.

"Will they know exactly when we are coming, Ben?"

"We can easily let them know either by telephone or telegraph."

"I think I'd rather surprise them, wouldn't you, Edna?"