INVITATIONS TO A CRUISE OF LOVING KINDNESS.
"Huh! Dolly's caught the Ford fashion of sending telegrams where a
letter would do!" exclaimed Jim Barlow, after he had opened the yellow
envelope which Griselda Roemer gave him when he came in from work.
He was back at Deerhurst, living with old Hans and Griselda, the
caretakers, and feeling more at home in his little room above the
lodge doorway than anywhere else. He had come to do any sort of labor
by which he might earn his keep, and to go on with his studies
whenever he had leisure. Mr. Seth Winters, the "Learned Blacksmith,"
and his faithful friend, would give him such help as was needed; and
the lad had settled down in the prospect of a fine winter at his
beloved books. After his long summer on the Colorado mountains he felt
rested and keener for knowledge than ever.
Now as he held the telegram in his hand his face clouded, so that
Griselda, watching, anxiously inquired:
"Is something wrong? Is our good lady sick?"
"It doesn't say so. It's from Dorothy. She wants me to come to
Baltimore and help her fool away lots more time on a house-boat! I
wish she'd mind her business!"
The friendly German woman stared. She had grown to look upon her
lodger, Jim, very much as if he were her own son. He wasn't often so
cross as this and never had been so against Dorothy.
"Well, well! Ah so! Well!"
With this brief comment she made haste to set the dinner on the table
and to call Hans from his own task of hoeing the driveway. Presently
he had washed his face and hands at the little sink in the kitchen,
rubbed them into a fine glow with the spotless roller-towel, and was
ready for the great meal of the day--his generous "Dutch dinner."
Usually Jim was as ready as Hans to enjoy it; but, to-day, he left his
food untasted on his plate while he stared gloomily out of the window,
and for so long that Griselda grew curious and went to see what might
be happening without.
"What seest thou, lad? Is aught wrong beyond already?"
"No. Oh! come back to table, Mrs. Roemer. I'll tell you. I'd just got
fixed, you know, to do a lot of hard work--both kinds. Now comes this
silly thing! I suppose Mrs. Calvert must have let Dolly ask me else
she wouldn't have done it. It seems some simpleton or other, likely
as not that Mr. Ford----"
"Call no names, son!" warned Hans, disposing of a great mouthful, to
promptly reprimand the angry youth. Hans was a man of peace. He hated
nothing so much as ill temper.
Jim said no more, but his wrath cooling began to eat his dinner with a
zeal that made up for lost time. Having finished he went out saying:
"I'll finish my job when I come back. I'm off now for the Shop."
He always spoke of the smithy under the Great Balm of Gilead Tree as
if it began with a capital letter. The old man who called himself a
"blacksmith"--and was, in fact, a good one--and dwelt in the place
stood to eager James Barlow as the type of everything good and great.
He was sure, as he hurried along the road, that Mr. Seth would agree
with him in regard to Dorothy's telegram.
"Hello, Jim! What's up? You look excited," was the blacksmith's
greeting as the lad's shadow darkened the smithy entrance.
"Read that, will you, Mr. Winters?"
The gentleman put on his "reading specs," adjusted the yellow slip of
paper conveniently, and exclaimed:
"Good enough! Mistress Betty has allowed the darling to accept it
then! First rate. Well?"
Then he looked up inquiringly, surprised by the impatience of the
boy's expression.
"Well--of course I sha'n't go. The idea of loafing for another two,
three months is--ridiculous! And what fool would give such a thing as
a house-boat to a chit of a girl like our Dorothy?"
Mr. Seth laughed and pointed to the settee.
"Sit down, chap, and cool off. The world is as full of fools as it is
of wise men. Which is which depends upon the point of view. I'm sorry
to have you number me amongst the first; because I happen to be the
stupid man who gave the 'Water Lily' and its belongings to little
Dorothy. I knew she'd make good use of it, if her aunt would let her
accept the gift, and she flatters you, I think, by inviting you to
come and engineer the craft. You'll go, of course."
Jim did sit down then, rather suddenly, while his face reddened with
shame, remembering what he had just called the wise man before him.
Finally, he faltered:
"I know next to nothing about a steam engine."
"I thought you had a good idea of the matter. Not as a trained expert,
of course, but enough to manage a simple affair like the one in
question. Dr. Sterling told me that you were often pottering about the
machine shops in Newburgh and had picked up some good notions about
steam and its force. He thought you might, eventually, turn your
attention to such a line of work. From the beginning I had you in mind
as helping Dolly to carry out her pleasant autumn plans."
"I'd likely enough blow up the whole concern--through dumb ignorance.
And--and--I was going to study double hard. I do want to get to
college next year!"
"This trip will help you. I wish I could take it myself, though I
couldn't manage even a tiny engine. Besides, lad, as I understand, the
'Water Lily' doesn't wholly depend upon steam for her 'power.'
She--but you'll find out in two minutes of inspection more than I can
suggest in an hour. If you take the seven-thirty train to New York,
to-morrow morning, you can reach Baltimore by three in the afternoon,
easily enough. 'James Barlow. Been given house-boat. You're engineer.
Be Union Station, three, Wednesday.' Signed: 'Dorothy.'"
This was the short dispatch which Mr. Winters now re-read, aloud, with
the comment:
"The child is learning to condense. She's got this message down to the
regulation ten-words-for-a-quarter."
Then he crossed to the bookcase and began to select certain volumes
from its shelves, while Jim watched eagerly, almost hungrily. One
after another, these were the beloved books whose contents he had
hoped to master during the weeks to come. To see them now from the
outside only was fresh disappointment and he rose to leave, saying:
"Well, if I must I must an' no bones about it. I wouldn't stir hand
nor foot, 'cept it's Mrs. Calvert and----"
"Don't leave out Dolly Doodles, boy! She was your first friend among
us all, and your first little teacher in the art of spelling. Oh! I
know. Of course, such a boy as you would have learned, anyway, but
'Praise the bridge that carries you safe over.' Dorothy was the first
'bridge' between you and these volumes, in those far-back days when
you both picked strawberries on Miranda Stott's truck-farm. There. I
think these will be all you can do justice to before you come back.
There's an old 'telescope' satchel of mine in the inner closet that
will hold them nicely. Fetch it and be off with you."
"Those--why, those are your own best beloved books! Would you trust
them with me away from home? Will they be of any use on a house-boat?"
"Yes, yes, you 'doubting Thomas.' Now--how much money have you on
hand?"
"Ten dollars. I'd saved it for a lexicon and some--some other things."
"This bulky fellow is a lexicon I used in my youth; and since Latin is
a 'dead language' it's as much alive and as helpful now as ever. That
book is my parting gift to you; and ten dollars is sufficient for your
fare and a day's needs. Good-bye."
All the time he had been talking Mr. Winters had been deftly packing
the calf-bound volumes in the shabby "telescope," and now strapped it
securely. Then he held out his hand with a cheerful smile lighting
his fine face, and remarking:
"When you see my dear ones just say everything good to them and say I
said it. Good-bye."
Jim hurried away lest his friend should see the moisture that suddenly
filled his eyes. He "hated good-byes" and could never get used to
partings. So he fairly ran over the road to the gates of Deerhurst and
worked off his troublesome emotion by hoeing every vestige of a weed
from the broad driveways on its grounds. He toiled so swiftly and so
well that old Hans felt himself relieved of the task and quietly went
to sleep in his chair by the lodge door.
Gradually, too, the house-boat idea began to interest him. He had but
a vague notion of what such a craft was like and found himself
thinking about it with considerable pleasure. So that when, at three
o'clock the next afternoon, he stepped down from the train at Union
Station he was his old, eager, good-natured self.
"Hello, Doll!"
"O Jim! The three weeks since I saw you seems an age! Isn't it just
glorious? I'm so glad!"
With that the impulsive girl threw her arms around the lad's neck and
tip-toed upwards to reach his brown cheek with her lips. Only to find
her arms unclasped and herself set down with considerable energy.
"Quit that, girlie. Makes me look like a fool!"
"I should think it did. Your face is as red--as red! Aren't you glad
to see me, again?" demanded Miss Dorothy, folding her arms and
standing firmly before him.
She looked so pretty, so bewitching, that some passers-by smiled, at
which poor Jim's face turned even a deeper crimson and he picked up
his luggage to go forward with the crowd.
"But aren't you glad, Jim?" she again mischievously asked, playfully
obstructing his progress.
"Oh! bother! Course. But boys can be glad without such silly kissin'.
I don't know what ails girls, anyway, likin' so to make a feller look
ridic'lous."
Dorothy laughed and now marched along beside him, contenting herself
by a clasp of his burdened arms.
"Jim, you're a dear. But you're cross. I can always tell when you're
that by your 'relapsing into the vernacular,' as I read in Aunt
Betty's book. Never mind, Jim, I'm in trouble!"
"Shucks! I'd never dream it!"
They had climbed the iron stairway leading to the street above and
were now waiting for a street-car to carry them to Bellvieu. So Jim
set down his heavy telescope and light bag of clothing to rest his
arms, while old Ephraim approached from the rear. He had gone with his
"li'l miss" to meet the newcomer but had kept out of sight until now.
"Howdy, Marse Jim. Howdy."
Then he picked up the bag of books and shrugged his shoulders at its
weight. Setting it back on the sidewalk he raised his hand and
beckoned small Methuselah, half-hiding behind a pillar of the
building. That youngster came tremblingly forward. He was attired in
his livery, that he had been forbidden to wear when "off duty," or
save when in attendance upon "Miss Betty." But having been so recently
promoted to the glory of a uniform he appeared in it whenever
possible.
On this trip to the station he had lingered till his grandfather had
already boarded the street-car and too late for him to be sent home to
change. Now he cowered before Ephraim's frown and fear of what would
happen when they two were alone together in the "harness room" of the
old stable. On its walls reposed other whips than those used for Mrs.
Calvert's horses.
"Yeah, chile. Tote dem valeeshes home. Doan' yo let no grass grow,
nudder, whiles yo' doin' it. I'll tend to yo' case bimeby. I ain'
gwine fo'get."
Then he put the little fellow aboard the first car that came by,
hoisted the luggage after him, and had to join in the mirth the
child's appearance afforded--with his scrawny body half-buried beneath
the livery "made to grow in."
Jim was laughing, too, yet anxious over the disappearance of his
books, and explained to Dorothy:
"That gray telescope's full of Mr. Seth's books. We better get the
next car an' follow, else maybe he'll lose 'em."
"He'll not dare. And we're not going home yet. We're going down to the
Water Lily. Oh! she's a beauty! and think that we can do just what we
like with her! No, not that one! This is our car. It runs away down to
the jumping-off place of the city and out to the wharves beyond. Yes,
of course, Ephraim will go with us. That's why Metty was brought
along. To take your things home and to let Aunt Betty know you had
come. O Jim, I'm so worried!"
He looked and laughed his surprise, but she shook her head, and when
they were well on their way disclosed her perplexities, that were,
indeed, real and serious enough.
"Jim Barlow, Aunt Betty's got to give up Bellvieu--and it's just
killing her!"
"Dolly Doodles--what you sayin'?"
It sounded very pleasant to hear that old pet name again and proved
that this was the same loving, faithful Jim, even if he did hate
kissing. But then he'd always done that.
"I mean just what I say and I'm so glad to have you to talk it over
with. I daren't say a word to her about it, of course, and I can't
talk to the servants. They get just frantic. Once I said something to
Dinah and she went into a fit, nearly. Said she'd tear the house down
stone by stone 'scusin' she'd let her 'li'l Miss Betty what was
borned yeah be tu'ned outen it.' You see that dear Auntie, in the
goodness of her heart, has taken care of a lot of old women and old
men, in a big house the family used to own down in the country.
Something or somebody has 'failed' whatever that means and most of
Aunt Betty's money has failed too. If she sells Bellvieu, as the
'city' has been urging her to do for ever so long, she'll have enough
money left to still take care of her 'old folks' and keep up their
Home. If she doesn't--Well there isn't enough to do everything. And,
though she doesn't say a word of complaint, it's heart-breaking to see
the way she goes around the house and grounds, laying her old white
hand on this thing or that in such a loving way--as if she were saying
good-bye to it! Then, too, Jim, did you know that poor Mabel Bruce has
lost her father? He died very suddenly and her mother has been left
real poor. Mabel grieves dreadfully; so, of course, she must be one of
our guests on the Water Lily. She won't cheer up Aunt Betty very well,
but you must do that. She's very fond of _you_, Jim, Aunt Betty is,
and it's just splendid that you're free from Dr. Sterling now and can
come to manage our boat. Why, boy, what's the matter? Why do you look
so 'sollumcolic?' Didn't you want to come? Aren't you glad that 'Uncle
Seth' gave me the 'Water Lily'?"
"No. I didn't want to come. And if Mrs. Betty's so poor, what you
doing with a house-boat, anyway?"
Promptly, they fell into such a heated argument that Ephraim
felt obliged to interfere and remind his "li'l miss" that she
was in a public conveyance and must be more "succumspec' in yo'
behavesomeness." But she gaily returned that they were now the
only passengers left in the car and she must make stupid Jim
understand--everything.
Finally, she succeeded so far that he knew the facts:
How and why the house-boat had become Dorothy's property; that she
had three hundred dollars in money, all her own; and that, instead of
putting it in the bank as she had expected, she was going to use it
to sail the Water Lily and give some unhappy people a real good time;
that Jim was expected to work without wages and must manage the craft
for pure love of the folks who sailed in it; that Aunt Betty had said
Dorothy might invite whom she chose to be her guests; and that, first
and foremost, Mrs. Calvert herself must be made perfectly happy and
comfortable.
"Here we are! There she is! That pretty thing all white and gold, with
the white flag flying her own sweet name--Water Lily! Doesn't she look
exactly like one? Wasn't it a pretty notion to paint the tender green
like a real lily 'Pad?' and that cute little row-boat a reddish brown,
like an actual 'Stem?' Aren't you glad you came? Aren't we going to be
gloriously happy? Does it seem it can be true that it's really, truly
ours?" demanded Dorothy, skipping along the pier beside the soberer
Jim.
But his face brightened as he drew nearer the beautiful boat and a
great pride thrilled him that he was to be in practical charge of her.
"Skipper Jim, the Water Lily. Water Lily, let me introduce you to
your Commodore!" cried Dorothy, as they reached the gang-plank and
were about to go aboard. Then her expression changed to one of
astonishment. Somebody--several somebodies, indeed--had presumed to
take possession of the house-boat and were evidently having "afternoon
tea" in the main saloon.
The wharf master came out of his office and hastily joined the
newcomers. He was evidently annoyed and hastened to explain:
"Son and daughter of Mr. Blank with some of their friends. Come down
here while I was off duty and told my helper they had a right to do
that. He didn't look for you to come, to-day, and anyway, he'd hardly
have stopped them. Sorry. Ah! Elsa! Afraid to stay alone back there?"
A girl, about Dorothy's age, had followed the master and now slipped
her hand about his arm. She was very thin and sallow, with eyes that
seemed too large for her face, and walked with a painful limp. There
was an expression of great timidity on her countenance, so that she
shrank half behind her father, though he patted her hand to reassure
her and explained to Dorothy:
"This is my own motherless little girl. She's not very strong and
rather nervous. I brought her down here this afternoon to show her
your boat, but we haven't been aboard. Those people--they had no
right--I regret--"
Dolly, vexatious with the "interlopers," as she considered the party
aboard the Water Lily, gave place to a sudden, keen liking for the
fragile Elsa. She looked as if she had never had a good time in her
life and the more fortunate girl instantly resolved to give her one.
Taking Elsa's other hand in both of hers, she exclaimed:
"Come along with Jim and me and pick out the little stateroom you'll
have for your own when we start on our cruise--next Monday morning!
You'll be my guest, won't you? The first one invited."
Elsa's large eyes were lifted in amazed delight; then as quickly
dropped, while a fit of violent trembling shook her slight frame. She
was so agitated that her equally astonished father put his arm about
her to support her, and the look he gave Dorothy was very keen as he
said:
"Elsa has always lived alone. She isn't used to the jests of other
girls, Miss Calvert."
"Isn't she? But I wasn't jesting. My aunt has given me permission to
choose my own guests and I choose Elsa, first, if she will come. Will
you, dear?" and again Dolly gave the hand she held an affectionate
squeeze. "Come and help us make our little cruise a perfectly
delightful one."
Once more the great, dark eyes looked into Dorothy's brown ones and
Elsa answered softly: "Ye-es, I'll come. If--if you begin like
this--with a poor girl like me--it should be called 'The Cruise of
Loving Kindness.' I guess--I know--God sent you."
Neither Dorothy nor Jim could find anything to say. It was evident
that this stranger was different from any of their old companions, and
it scarcely needed the father's explanation to convince them that
"Elsa is a deeply religious dreamer." Jim hoped that she wouldn't
prove a "wet blanket" and was provoked with Dorothy's impulsive
invitation; deciding to warn her against any more such as soon as he
could get her alone.
Already the lad was feeling as if he, too, were proprietor of this
wonderful Water Lily, and carried himself with a masterful air which
made Dolly smile, as he now stepped across the little deck into the
main cabin.
It was funny, too, to see the "How-dare-you" sort of expression with
which he regarded the "impudent" company of youngsters that filled the
place, and he was again annoyed by the graciousness with which "Doll"
advanced to meet them. In her place--hello! what was that she was
saying?
"Very happy to meet you, Miss Blank--if I am right in the name."
A tall girl, somewhat resembling Helena Montaigne, though with less
refinement of appearance, had risen as Dorothy moved forward and stood
defiantly awaiting what might happen. Her face turned as pink as her
rose-trimmed hat but she still retained her haughty pose, as she
stiffly returned:
"Quite right. I'm Aurora Blank. These are my friends. That's my
brother. My father owns--I mean--he ought--We came down for a farewell
lark. We'd all expected to cruise in her all autumn till--. Have a cup
of tea, Miss--Calvert, is it?"
"Yes, I'm Dorothy. This is Elsa Carruthers and this--James Barlow. You
seem to be having a lovely time and we won't disturb you. We're going
to inspect the tender. Ephraim, please help Elsa across when we come
to the plank."
The silence which followed proved that the company of merrymakers was
duly impressed by Dolly's treatment of their intrusion. Also, the
dignity with which the old colored man followed and obeyed his small
mistress convinced these other Southerners that his "family" was
"quality." Dorothy's simple suit, worn with her own unconscious
"style," seemed to make the gayer costumes of the Blank party look
tawdry and loud; while the eager spirituality of Elsa's face became a
silent reproof to their boisterous fun, which ceased before it.
Only one member of the tea-party joined the later visitors. This was
the foppish youth whom Aurora had designated as "my brother." Though
ill at ease he forced himself to follow and accost Dorothy with the
excuse:
"Beg pardon, Miss Calvert, but we owe you an apology. We had no
business down here, you know, and I say--it's beastly. I told Rora
so, but--I mean, I'm as much to blame as she. And I say, you know,
I hope you'll have as good times in the Lily as we expected to
have--and--I'll bid you good day. We'll clear out, at once."
But Dorothy laid her hand on his arm to detain him a moment.
"Please don't. Finish your stay--I should be so sorry if you didn't,
and you've saved me a lot of trouble."
Gerald Blank stared and asked:
"In what way, please? I'm glad to think it."
"Why, I was going to hunt up your address, or that of your family. I'd
like to have you and your sister go with us next week on our cruise.
We mayn't take the same route you'd have chosen, but--will you come?
It's fair you should and I'd be real glad. Talk it over with your
sister and let me know, to-morrow, please, at this address. Good-bye."
She had slipped a visiting-card into his hand and while he stood
still, surprised by her unexpected invitation, she hurried after her
own friends--and to meet the disgusted look on Jim Barlow's face.
"I say, Dolly Calvert, have you lost your senses?"
"I hope not. Why?"
"Askin' that fellow to go with us! The idea! Well, I'll tell you right
here and now, there won't be room enough on this boat for that
popinjay an' me at the same time. I don't like his cut. Mrs. Calvert
won't, either, and you'd ought to consult your elders before you
launch out promiscuous, this way. All told, it's nothing but a boat.
Where you going to stow them all, child?"
"Oh, there'll be room enough, and you should be studying your engine
instead of scolding me. You're all right, though, Jimmy-boy, so I
don't mind telling you that whatever invitations I've given so far,
were planned from the very day I was allowed to accept the Lily. Now
get pleasant right away and find out how much or little you know about
that engine."
Jim laughed. Nobody could be offended with happy Dorothy that day, and
he was soon deep in exploration of his new charge; his pride in his
ability to handle such a perfect bit of machinery increasing every
moment.
When they returned from the tender to the main saloon they found it
empty and in order. Everything was as shipshape as possible, the
young Blanks having proudly demonstrated their father's skill
in arrangement, and then quietly departing. Gerald's whispered
announcement to his sister had secured her prompt help in breaking
up their tea-party, and she now felt as ashamed of the affair as he
had been.
At last, even Jim was willing to leave the Water Lily, reminded by
hunger that he'd eaten nothing since his early breakfast; and
returning the grateful Elsa to her father's care, he and Dorothy
walked swiftly down the pier to the car line beyond, to take the first
car which came. It was full of workmen returning from the factories
beyond and for a time Dorothy found no seat, while Jim went far
forward and Ephraim remained on the rear platform, whence, by peering
through the back window, he could still keep a watchful eye over his
beloved "li'l miss."
Somebody left the car and he saw the girl pushed into a vacant place
beside a rough, seafaring man with crutches, and poorly clad. He
resented the "old codger's" nearness to his dainty darling and his
talking to her. Next he saw that the talk was mostly on Dorothy's side
and that when the cripple presently left the car it was with a cordial
handshake of his little lady, and a smiling good-bye from her. Then the
"codger" limped to the street and Ephraim looked after him curiously.
Little did he guess how much he would yet owe that vagrant.