That Little Girl of Miss Eliza's Part 18

Beth sighed with satisfaction. In her mind's eyes she saw Adee looking like the Princess in the fairy tale.

Eliza might not have decided in favor of buying a new gown, had not the man from the Oliver place come in that evening for his customary supplies. Beth, who could not keep anything to herself when she was excited, blurted out immediately that Adee was to help receive and that Sally, Carrie and herself were to be present as aids.

"I can scarcely wait. It's weeks yet," cried Beth. "I've never been to a really grown-up party. I know it will be simply grand. I wish it was this very evening."

"Nonsense, that would give you no time to get your party togs. They tell me that for such affairs, women 'dike' themselves out as fine as peac.o.c.ks. Gowns with trains coming after them like an afterthought, gloves up to the elbow. No, no, Beth, it is well for you that the reception is not tonight. It takes time to prepare one's togs for events as big as this will be."

Eliza, keen as she naturally was, never knew why he had spoken so. He knew how narrow and hemmed-in her social life had been. He would not have her go dressed unsuitably and made to feel ill at ease and out of place among other women. Eliza accepted it as a random remark but profited by it nevertheless.

"We're going to look fine," laughed Beth. "Adee and I have a plan. We'll not tell you. We'll keep it as a state secret until we burst upon you in all our glory. You'll be overcome. I know you'll say that we look fine."

"I'll believe that you do; but I'll not be at s.h.i.+ntown to see you. I'm going away tomorrow. The boards will go up on the log house again for-I cannot say how long."

"Going to leave?" Eliza was foolish enough to feel a strange sinking of the heart.

"Isn't this departure rather unexpected?"

"I always take to the woods and roads when fair weather sets in. I should have gone weeks ago. Now some of my old friends have warned me that the time has come to cut loose and show a good pair of heels. You see, Miss Eliza, not even a year of happy domesticity can make me break old habits. I'm starting out to visit old places. New cities have no attraction for me. By daylight, I'll be off."

He took up his milk-jug and was off. He had not even said good-bye or thanked Eliza for the little kindnesses she had shown him. Yet she felt herself his debtor. He had given her life a new impulse. He had opened a new line of work. Her pen would help her provide for her own old age and educate Beth. More than that, she found joy in expressing herself. She had gone from the beaten path, and had found the glorious possibilities which lay within her own soul, just as they lie in the soul of each one; though some are never discovered.

When Eliza and Beth went down the slope the following day, neither song nor whistling was heard from the Oliver log house. The windows and door had been boarded up. Already the place had an appearance of being abandoned.

"It makes me feel queer-sort of lonesome," said Beth. "I wonder if we'll ever see him again. I thought he was very nice, Adee. I think I never met any other man that I liked quite so well. I wish he had not gone. I wish he would come back and live here forever. We'll miss him dreadfully. Don't you wish he'd come back to live here always, Adee?"

Eliza had stopped to pluck a flower and had nothing at all to say.

During the walk to town, Beth did all the talking.

The time until the reception did pa.s.s. To Beth it dragged. It was as though the little G.o.d Time had hung leaden b.a.l.l.s on his feet. Beth counted the nights between. They pa.s.sed at last. The evening of the Woman's Club reception was at hand. Adee had yielded to Beth and bought a soft white gown of embroidered mull. It was just a little low at the neck and the sleeves ended in soft lace frills, just at the elbow. Best of all to Beth's way of thinking, there was a little sweep to it. The ruffles of val lace floated about Eliza's feet. Beth had put up her hair so that it was loose about the forehead and in a great coil like a crown upon her head. A pink rose finished it, to Beth's satisfaction.

When all was completed, the girl stood aside to contemplate her work.

"You look like a dream, a perfect poem. You'll be the sweetest thing there, Adee. Oh, I'm glad I belong to you. Put on your gloves. Sally says to let the tops wrinkle; not to draw them tight. There."

Beth wore a simple white frock that had been made for the senior reception. When she had finished dressing, she came to the door of Eliza's room with a little box in her hand.

"Adee-I'll have no gloves, you know. The girls do not intend to wear them; but Sally and Helen both wear rings. Don't you think it would be all right if I would wear these?" She opened the box, and taking out the rings which she believed belonged to the woman who had been killed when Old Prince had taken fright, she held them up for Eliza to see.

"They fit me, Adee. I'd dearly love to wear them. They're rather odd, but I think they are prettier than the ones the girls wear. May I wear them, Adee?"

Eliza considered. "The only thing against your wearing them is that they might be lost. You may need them sometime if you ever meet your own people. You know that I have always had a feeling, Beth, that sometime you'll find, somewhere, sisters or brothers; perhaps you have a father living."

"It's strange he did not try to find me. Sometime, I feel, Adee, that no one but my mother wanted me. When she was killed, no one came. If any one had cared, don't you think they would have hunted for me everywhere.

I'd walk from town to town until I dropped from weariness. But no one looked for me, Adee. I'm to be your girl always and forever, Adee. No one else ever wanted me, it seems." She smiled up at Eliza. She was really very happy and contented. Only a few times had she permitted herself to think that she was without kin of any kind. Sometimes she longed for her mother. She knew that no one, however kind and lovable, could ever take a mother's place. But she loved Adee dearly, and had made up her mind that she would make neither her foster-mother nor herself miserable about that which could not be remedied. She stood looking at Eliza with an appealing look in her eyes.

"Well, I presume it really will make no difference. They are your rings and you are surely old enough now to take care of them. Wear them if you wish, Beth."

CHAPTER XVII.

The reception parlors were ma.s.sed with ferns, palms and roses. The soft strains of an orchestra floated through the rooms. There were men in full dress and women in soft-tinted gowns, moving about like a swarm of gay b.u.t.terflies. The receiving line was made up of a dozen women. Miss Ellis stood at the head, next to her was Mrs. Laurens who was an officer in the National Federation of the Club. Then came Eliza. They had barely time to take their places before the guests began making their way from the dressing-rooms on the floor above. A colored man, in full evening dress, stood in the doorway and called out the names of those entering.

The head of the line shook hands, introduced the person to the next in line, and so each one pa.s.sed on. There were so many that the names became but a jumble to Eliza. "Dr. James Smith, Mrs. Ellington Roche, Miss Brown," and so on. She smiled, shook hands and handed the guest on to the next. She was performing her duties in a mechanical sort of way, forgetting name and person the instant he had pa.s.sed before her.

Suddenly she started and became very much alert. Mrs. Laurens was addressing her personally. "Miss Wells, permit me to introduce Dr.

William Barnes Hillis, the scientist. He has asked to be introduced. I am surprised that you have not met before. Dr. Hillis has been in your neighborhood for a year, living the life of a hermit in order that he might finish his new book and win new laurels."

Eliza extended her hand. Speech failed her. She looked up into the laughing eyes of the "tramp." He was dressed in conventional evening dress.

"Miss Wells, I am delighted to meet you." His smile was radiant. Eliza could not even smile. She stood quite still and looked at him.

"Beth was right about how fine you would look." He spoke so low that no one else might hear, and then moved along the line.

The greater number of guests had arrived. There was time for a word between the hostesses. Mrs. Laurens turned to Eliza. "I'm sure you will like Hillis-I presume I should say Dr. Hillis. He is authority on plant life and has delved deep into all kindred sciences. He shut himself up somewhere in the wilds the last year in order to devote his time to writing. He dropped in upon us last night and demanded that I give him a card to the reception. He told me something else. He's going to make a tour of the eastern countries. I think he starts early in the fall. He's not going alone. He told me that the prospective Mrs. Hillis would be here tonight, and defied me to discover her."

"Yes-how-interesting-romantic." Eliza did not recognize her own voice.

It was hollow, stilted, false.

The last guest had been bidden welcome. The hostesses moved from the reception line, and mingled with those they were entertaining.

In a room adjoining, the young girls were serving fruit punch from a side-table. Helen and Sallie were ladling it from a bowl hidden among flowers and ferns. Beth and Carrie Laire were hidden amid ma.s.ses of cut roses. As the guests came to them, they pinned a rose upon them.

Mrs. Laurens came up with a group of four.

"Roses presenting roses," said one of the gentlemen as Carrie pinned the flower on his coat. Beth's face had been turned away. She was selecting a fine half-blown rose for Mrs. Laurens. She turned to present it. Her hands with their peculiar old-fas.h.i.+oned rings were brought into evidence.

"Will you have a rose?" Mrs. Laurens did not answer. She stood as though transfixed, her eyes upon Beth's hands.

Suddenly she seized them tight into her own. "Your rings! Your rings!

Where did you get them? They are mine. I'd give worlds to know of them.

They're mine! They're mine!"

Her voice rang out clear and strong. Everyone in the great room heard.

Poor Beth was frightened so that she could not speak. People came crowding closer. Eliza and Dr. Hillis, fearing that something had happened to Beth, hurried forward. There stood Mrs. Laurens clutching Beth's hands and crying out, "The rings! The rings are mine. I must know where you got them, child."

Dr. Hillis was the first to understand. He came to them. "You and Beth come with me into this little private parlor. We can explain better there." Taking them by the arm, he led them away. "Come with us," he said to Eliza. She followed. The door closed upon them, and there the explanation was given.

Very simple of course it was. Mrs. Laurens was Beth's mother, to be sure. It was as clear as could be when one knew it.

When Beth was a baby, Mrs. Laurens had taken her to Florida where Mr.

Laurens had undertaken heavy contracts. She had with her Bena Benson, a Swedish servant who had been with the family for years and who dearly loved Beth.

Mr. Laurens was taken ill during the winter and was in the hospital. A few weeks later, his wife was taken with the same low-running fever. The physician forbade their being moved north to their home. The little child could not be left in a hotel in a servant's care. There was a risk in staying in the infected region. The only thing to be done was to send the child and nurse north to friends.

Mrs. Laurens wore several rings which had come down to her from her mother's people. She was ill in the hospital. Fearing that the rings might be lost, she instructed Bena to take them home with her. At Baltimore, the Swedish woman had become confused. She asked for information as to the best way to "Yamestown," as she called it. Her p.r.o.nunciation was foreign. Instead of selling her a ticket and checking her baggage to the right destination, the man in his hurry misunderstood and sent her hundreds of miles out of her way. She had realized her mistake when the train reached Farwell. She had left the train there and was walking to the Lehigh station in the hope of returning to Baltimore.

Weeks had pa.s.sed before Mr. and Mrs. Laurens heard of her. They were too ill to be conscious of the lapse of time. When they began the search all trace was lost, even the newspaper accounts had gone astray.