That Little Girl of Miss Eliza's Part 12

The guests who were being ushered in were worth notice. The dignified, stately judge with his silver hair, and judicial, yet kindly bearing; Colonel Evans, who bore the marks of military training in every move, although years were heavy upon them. Mr. Laurens, a prominent engineer and construction man who had built the finest bridges in the world, and who was always called in for conference whenever any great engineering feat was in prospect. He was a man in the forties, perhaps. He was particularly fine appearing, with no thought of self in his bearing or expression. Indeed, his whole att.i.tude was centered upon his wife. He was careful of her comfort, and most considerate toward her in every way. She was a dainty woman, slender in physique, with delicate, exquisite coloring, and wonderfully expressive eyes. She smiled and laughed as she talked with Miss Ward, yet her face, when at rest, expressed only sadness.

Beth's eyes rested upon her and remained there. She fairly held her breath. Never in her life had she seen anything so exquisite as this woman. Her heart gave a great leap. Beth watched her while she was talking and until she moved across the room and took her place with the others before the school. Then the woman sat silent, and the peculiar look of wistful sadness came to her face. Beth felt it. She did not know what had caused the change in her own feelings; but her heart sank, and great tears sprang to her eyes.

"She's so sweet that it makes my heart ache," she told herself.

"Wouldn't it be heavenly to be her little girl. I'd love her to death.

I'd hug her until she couldn't breathe."

Poor little prosaic Beth had grown sentimental. She sat quite still with her eyes upon the woman. She neither spoke nor moved. She forgot that there was any one else in the room. As far as she was concerned, Mrs.

Laurens was the only one.

But the woman's glance never turned in Beth's direction. After that sweet, fleeting glance over the room, she had let her eyes droop upon her hands folded in her lap, and she did not raise them again. Her husband sat near her. He talked with those about him and seemed a part of everything, yet it was evident that his wife engrossed his thoughts, for his tender, yet uneasy glances were turned upon her. She seemed unconscious of this and sat quiet as though in deep thought.

The program began. There was a general stiffening of spines. Carrie Laire leaned over to ask Beth if she didn't think Mrs. Laurens the most beautiful creature in the world, and if she was not sorry that she did not have a mother who would come to visit school. Adee had come and was sitting up in front among the visitors. Mrs. Laire was near her.

"I have Adee. She's better than any mother I ever saw. She's the prettiest woman there-except Mrs. Laurens," she said.

Tilly Jones was straightening out her hair-ribbons. She smoothed her sash and drew it over the edge of the seat that it might not muss. Then she adjusted her rings and bracelets. Her fussiness brought the eyes of the visitors upon her. Tilly was not abashed. She met their glances and turned to give a loving pat to her sash. Then she leaned forward to speak to Beth. "Look at Mrs. Laurens' motor-coat. Isn't it simply divine? It must have cost fifty dollars. Look at the heels of her shoes.

They're the most expensive shoes that can be bought. My aunt Tilly-."

She continued her monologue in a whisper. Beth was not listening to a word she said. Her eyes and mind were upon the wonderful woman who sat at the front of the room.

The fairy-stories and "make-believe" tales between Adee and Beth had continued all the years that they were together, so that the child's native imagination had been well developed. This would be such a lovely story. The lady would be the princess or queen who had had a great sorrow. Beth thought it all out as she sat there. She would write about it, and read it at the next meeting of the Literary Society. She was glad that Sally Monroe had put her on the program.

The exercises were progressing nicely. Some one thumped out a solo on the piano. There were essays on subjects which a sage would have hesitated to handle. _The High School Daily_ was presented. Harvey Lackard, the red-headed, freckle-faced boy, was editor-in-chief and read the edition. There were editorials and poems. Beth sat up to listen.

This was something new and really worth while. She forgot for a time the sweet-faced woman sitting before her. She laughed aloud when Harvey read, "What They Remind Me Of." There followed a list of the pupils with some characteristic appended.

Tilly Jones-An Animated Price List.

Carrie Laire-The Living Question Mark.

Sally Monroe-A Lubricating Oil Can.

Beth Wells-The Verbal Pugilist.

Beth laughed as heartily as any at the gibe at herself. It was a little odd. Only twice in her life had she spoken sharply. Harvey had been present. He knew nothing of the thousand times she had maintained a discreet, though painful, silence.

She laughed, but nevertheless she was sorry that Harvey had received such an unpleasant impression of her.

Tilly Jones was to recite. When her name was called, there was a little flutter of excitement about her desk, she straightened her sash and turned her bracelet about so that the sets might show. She did this while she walked up the aisle. All the while she watched the visitors to see how her elegance was impressing them. They smiled. She accepted this as a sign of admiration, and, self-confident, took her stand in the middle of the platform. There was a moment's silence. She twisted her bracelet, put her hand back of her and coughed. This was followed by a longer silence. She raised her eyes imploringly toward Miss Ward. The teacher knew the symptoms.

"The a.s.syrian came down like a wolf," repeated Miss Ward.

"The a.s.syrian came down like a wolf," cried Tilly confidently. Then she paused, coughed, and brought her hands to the front.

"The a.s.syrian came down like a wolf," she said again. After this, she straightened herself, changed her weight to her left foot, and caught the ends of her sash. She bent her head as though trying to recall the elusive next line. She pressed her lips and fixed her eyes vacantly upon a picture at the farthest end of the room.

"The a.s.syrian came down like a wolf-like a wolf-"

"Take your seat," said Miss Ward.

Tilly obeyed. As she pa.s.sed Harvey Lackard he whispered, and every one heard: "All price lists marked down." Tilly smiled good-naturedly. She had not grasped the wit of his remark and in no way thought it applied to her.

Mrs. Laurens's eyes followed her until she took her seat. Beth had moved so that her face was in full view. The eyes of the woman fell upon her.

Then she leaned forward, looking intently at Beth, studying her face as an artist might study that of the subject he would put on canvas.

A moment she sat intent, rigid, with her eyes fixed on Beth's face. Then turning to her husband, she laid her hand upon his arm and spoke to him in a low tone.

He looked startled, surprised. Then he too looked at Beth with more than pa.s.sing interest. He turned to his wife and talked with her. Then he arose and, offering his arm, led her from the room.

"Mrs. Laurens has become faint," he said. "If you will excuse us, Miss Ward."

"Miss Hanscom, escort them to the teachers' room," said Miss Ward. The younger teacher did as requested. The rest room was across the hall. Mr.

Laurens found a chair for his wife.

"You are very foolish, Ermann," he said gently, "do give up this feeling. Control yourself, please do."

"Have I not up to this? I have kept everything to myself until now. The resemblance was startling. She looks just like you and your sisters, Joe."

"Such resemblances often appear," he said, sitting down beside her.

"It might be-strange things happen, you know. I've always had a queer feeling about coming here. I've had a premonition. You know how I felt.

I have not been so eager for anything for years. She's such a dear looking child, Joe, and just about the age that our girl is."

"Would have been," he corrected. "You know we decided over a year ago that we would give up hope of finding her. We'll think of her as dead.

That will be a better way of looking at it."

"I try, but I can't. Something within me will not let me think of her but living. Who knows, Joe? This might be. We might have been led here."

"I think it nonsense," was the reply. "No doubt the child's parents live here. You saw that she was dressed well, and looked happy. She looked like a child of well-to-do parents."

"But Joe, you might inquire," she pleaded. No one could resist the entreaty of her eyes.

"I will, but make up your mind that the thing cannot be true. You know how you feel after a disappointment. I'll ask, but you must expect nothing. I'll not have you 'f.a.gged.' Remember that you have me yet. You must brace up and be cheerful for my sake."

"I'll try, Joe. You'll ask?"

Miss Hanscom had gone into the cla.s.s-room adjoining. Mr. Laurens went to her.

"Who was the little girl who failed in her recitation?" he asked.

"Tilly Jones. We always expect Tilly to do that. We never permit her name on the program when visitors are present. We always have the same experience with her. Your coming was unexpected."

He waved her suggested apologies away.

"And the little girl who sits in front of her?" Walking to the swinging doors, he pushed them slightly open. "She's sitting there now. Who is she?"

Miss Hanscom peeped into the room.

"That's Elizabeth Wells, or Beth, as we call her."

"Ah, yes. Her face attracted me. Does the family live here?"

Miss Hanscom really did not know, but she never was at a loss at giving information. She would not say, "I have been here but a few years and do not know all the people about here." Not to know was to argue herself unknown. So she straightened her shoulders and set forth impressions as though they were facts.