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DOROTHY AT OAK KNOWE
by
EVELYN RAYMOND
New York
Hurst & Co., Inc.
Publishers
* * * * *
THE DOROTHY BOOKS
By EVELYN RAYMOND
These stories of an American girl by an American author have made
"Dorothy" a household synonym for all that is fascinating. Truth and
realism are stamped on every page. The interest never flags, and is
ofttimes intense. No more happy choice can be made for gift books, so
sure are they to win approval and please not only the young in years,
but also "grown-ups" who are young in heart and spirit.
Dorothy
Dorothy at Skyrie
Dorothy's Schooling
Dorothy's Travels
Dorothy's House Party
Dorothy in California
Dorothy on a Ranch
Dorothy's House Boat
Dorothy at Oak Knowe
Dorothy's Triumph
Dorothy's Tour
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
THE PLATT & PECK CO.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "EVER RIDE IN AN OX-CART"? _Dorothy at Oak Knowe._]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ON THE ROAD TO OAK KNOWE 9
II. UNFORTUNATE BEGINNINGS 24
III. PEERS AND COMMONS 39
IV. THE GILPINS HAVE A PARTY 55
V. THE FRIGHT OF MILLIKINS-PILLIKINS 69
VI. AT THE FALL OF THE MAIDEN'S BATH 85
VII. ALL HALLOW EVE FESTIVITIES 102
VIII. PEER AND COMMONER 117
IX. THE NIGHT THAT FOLLOWED 133
X. OPEN CONFESSION IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL 148
XI. WHAT CAME WITH THE SNOW AND ICE 164
XII. JOHN GILPIN JOINS THE SPORT 182
XIII. A BAD DAY FOR JOHN GILPIN 193
XIV. EXPLANATIONS ARE IN ORDER 206
XV. MRS. JARLEY ENTERTAINS 221
XVI. A PERPLEXING PROBLEM OF LIFE 232
XVII. COMMENCEMENT; AND CONCLUSION 249
DOROTHY AT OAK KNOWE
CHAPTER I
ON THE ROAD TO OAK KNOWE
"This way for the Queen!"
"Here you are for the Duke of Connaught! Right this way!"
"Want the Metropole, Miss?"
"Room there, stupid! She's from the States--any fool could see that!
I'm from your hotel, little lady, the American. Your luggage, Miss,
allow me?"
If Dorothy's hands hadn't been too full, she would have clapped them
over her ears, to drown the cries of the hackmen who swarmed about her
as she stepped from the train at the railway station in Toronto. As it
was, she clung desperately to her bag and shawlstrap, which the man
from the American hotel seemed bound to seize, whether or no.
But her heart sank and it was a forlorn little girl, indeed, who
looked anxiously around seeking some face on which might be a smile of
welcome. But nobody paid any attention to her, except the obstreperous
hackmen, and in a sudden fright she let fall the tears she had so
bravely kept back until then. It had been a long and lonely journey,
but she had been assured that she would be promptly met and cared for
when it ended. Now, amid all the throng of travelers and those who
awaited them, not one was looking for a "dark haired girl in navy
blue" and the tears fell faster as she cried aloud:
"Oh! what shall I do! What shall I do!"
Even the hackmen had forsaken her in pursuit of other, more promising
patrons. The short autumn day was at its close and in the growing
darkness her fright increased and her usual common sense left her.
But, as she spoke, a hand was laid upon her shoulder and a rather
gruff voice demanded:
"Why, little stranger, what's a-troublin' ye?"
Dorothy winked her tears away and looked up into the face of an old
man, whose gray beard swept his breast while his head was entirely
bald. He wore a long blue smock, carried an ox-goad in one hand and a
canvas bag in the other. He looked as kind as he was homely and
Dorothy answered quickly:
"I'm lost, I guess. Or forgotten, and that's just as bad! I--I--"
"Lost? Right here in this town? Well, that couldn't hardly be. Though
I own it's a biggish place. But if you be, I'll see to it that you get
found again, immediate. First start--who be ye?"
"I'm Dorothy Calvert, from Baltimore. I came to the Oak Knowe School
for Girls. Somebody was to meet me. Nobody has and--and--I don't know
what to do."
John Gilpin whistled and exclaimed:
"No! Never! I saw at a glance you was no Cannuck! The little maids
we raise in our Province have redder cheeks 'an yours. An' we don't
let 'em go traversin' round the universe without their mothers or
leastways nurses to look after 'em. But bless my soul, you've fell
into safe hands. I know old Oak Knowe well. No better school in the
whole Empire nor that. Moresomever, there's been some miscarry betwixt
your folks and the Lady Principal or she'd never let you come to this
pass. But my road lies same as yours. I'll just step-an'-fetch my oxen
and head 'em straight for home. We'll get to the School in next to no
time. Leastways, betwixt now and bedding-bell--they ring it about
half-past nine."
"Is it so far? Why, it must be hours till then!"
At the cheerful sound of this old teamster's voice Dorothy forgot her
fear. She didn't stop to reflect that she should have waited quietly
in the station till somebody called for her, nor that she might have
telephoned to her teachers to announce her arrival. All she realized
was that here was a friend in need and that he was a quaintly
interesting person.
"'Tis a matter of some miles, lassie, and my old oxen are no electric
tram. Slow and sure's their motto and what's an hour, more or less, in
a little girl's lifetime? You got a box?"
Dorothy glanced at the rug and magazine, tightly strapped together,
and at the handbag she had set down upon the platform and replied:
"No, Mr.--I don't know your name yet--I haven't now. I had one, but I
ate the lunch out of it and tossed it from the car window."
The old man stared as if she had spoken nonsense, but informed her:
"Gilpin's my name. John Gilpin; but my dame says I'm no descendant of
him that took that famous ride as is in the story books. I'm too slow,
Dame says. But is all your clothes in that satchel?"
It was Dorothy's turn to stare and to laugh.
"Oh! no, indeed! They're in my trunk. Here is my check. Number 70777.
I put that down in my little notebook, though it's easy to remember."
"Humph! I've heard that in the States they call a box a 'trunk,'
same's if it was an elephant. Well, give me the check. I'll just
step-an'-fetch it and we'll be jogging."
Mr. Gilpin took the check and lumbered away, dragging one leg stiffly
as if he could not bend the knee, while Dorothy's spirits rose as she
watched him. After all, this was a real adventure; and when it was
over and she was safe at her fine school, she could write all about it
to the friends at home. Thinking about them, she forgot how long John
Gilpin tarried and roused from her reverie with a start when his
hearty voice, guiding his oxen, came around the corner of the station.
"Here we be, lassie! Ever ride in an ox-cart? Ever see a neater yoke
o' cattle? That's an unco big box for a small maid to own and hefty,
to boot. Step right in, for it's gathering clouds, I see, and we can't
have that tidy dress of yours get spoiled while it's new."
It was easy to "step in" to the low-hung vehicle and Dorothy nestled
against her new friend on his spring-seat forward; all the back part
of the wagon being filled with empty barrels and her own trunk.
It had been some sort of holiday in the city and the streets were gay
with flags and bunting, causing Dorothy to exclaim:
"Why, it's just like Halifax, that time Earl Grey was coming! It's
just as English as that was--even more so, for I don't see Old Glory
anywhere, and there I did."
Old John turned his bare, bald head toward her and demanded:
"What do you know about Halifax? Or the Governor General? I thought
you was United States."
"So I am, so I am! But people may travel once in a while, mayn't they?
I can tell you lots about Halifax, even though I was there but a
little while. That was on a vacation journey and it was delight-ful!"
Then, finding the farmer so interested, Dorothy eagerly recited the
story of her "Travels" and their happy ending at her rightful home at
Deerhurst and in the love of her Great-Aunt Betty.
"Sounds like a story book, now don't it! And to think after all
that the old lady should be willin' to despatch you up here to our
Province, just to get a mite of education. Should ha' thought there'd
be institooshuns of learning nigher hand 'an Oak Knowe, where she
could ha' clapped eyes on ye, now and again. She--"
"Oh! don't misjudge my darling aunt! She hated to have me come as
badly as I hated to leave her; but, though I've never been really ill,
she fancied that this climate would make me very, very strong.
Besides, the minister who founded Oak Knowe--he was a bishop, I
believe--was one of her girlhood friends, and so she chose it for
that, too. Anyway, to her who has traveled so much, Canada and
Maryland seem but a little way apart."
"That's right, lassie. That's right. Be loyal to your friends, whether
they be right or wrong. An' talk about travel, there beant many
corners of this earth that I haven't took a glance at. I've not always
been a farmer, though you mightn't think it now."
They had passed out of the city streets into the open country, the
oxen swaying and pacing sedately along, as if it mattered nothing how
late they might reach home. To pass the time, Dorothy asked the old
man to talk about his own travels, and he promptly answered:
"In course, and obleeged for anybody to care to listen. Dame has heard
my yarns so often, she scoffs 'em; but I've seen a power o' things in
my day, a power o' things. I was born in Lunnon, raised in Glasgo',
run away to Liverpool and shipped afore the mast. From sailor I turned
soldier under Chinese Gordon--Ah! the man he wus! Miner, constable, me
Lord's butler, then his cook, and now, at the fag end of my days,
settled down to be my Dame's right-hand-man. She was a likely widow,
coming from England to take up land here, and I met her aboard ship,
last time I crossed seas. Didn't take us long to strike a bargain. She
needed a man to till her farm; I needed a good woman to mend me and do
for me, for I was that tired of rovin'--my hearties! We get along
well. We get along prime. I do the talking and her does the thinking.
She's that uncommon thing--a silent woman. Like to hear how I come
nigh-hand to death along of a devil fish? Want to feel your hair
rise on end and your arms get reg'lar goose-fleshy? Makes me nigh
get that way myself, every time I recall--Whist! If that ain't
thunder I'm a-dreamin', sure! Thunder this season of the year! Now
that's fair ridic'lous. But mentionin' devil fish, yon comes one
them red go-devils, Dame calls 'em, as squawkin', blazing-eyed
automobeelyers--comin' this minute. No marvel natur' gets topsy-turvy
with them wild things ramsaging round. But, quick, lassie! Do your
young eyes see something or somebody lying beyond in the middle of the
road?"
The old man checked his garrulous tongue to rise and peer into the
darkness, while Dorothy sprang to her feet beside him, straining her
own eyes to follow his pointing finger.
"There is, there is! Looks like a man or boy or bicycle or something
and that horrid car is coming right toward it! Make 'em stop! Holloa!
Loud, loud, for they don't see him! they'll run over him--he'll be
killed!"
But still the gay occupants of the car observed nothing; till at
last a fiercer shriek from Dorothy sounded above their laughter and
instantly hushed it, while the driver of the machine looked curiously
at the cart which the wise oxen, perceiving their own danger, had
drawn out of harm on the roadside. But the stop had been too late.
Though the motor was swerved aside, it had already collided with the
objects in its path, and it was in a terrified silence that the
merrymakers descended from it.
But even old John had been quicker than they and was now bending above
the lad crushed beneath the forward wheels of this hated "go-devil."
"Oh! my poor lad! Oh! my sunny Robin!" he groaned: then in a fury of
anger at the great machine, tried his strength to lift it from its
victim.
Fortunately there were several men in the party, and the car well
equipped against mischance, and so it was swiftly forced away, while
the farmer again stooped over the motionless lad beneath and tenderly
raised him in his arms. For a moment the group gathered about the pair
believed that the boy was dead; then a low moan from his white lips
mingled with the lamentations of John Gilpin and brought relief to
everyone.
Again came flashes of lightning and the growls of thunder, and the
owner of the car exclaimed:
"Lay the boy in the motor and we'll get him to a hospital at once.
Maybe he isn't so badly hurt as seems. Pile up the cushions, somebody,
and give him to me, old man. I'm stronger than you and better used to
sick folks. Doctor Winston is my name."
"The more shame to you then for what you've done this night!" hotly
retorted old John, clasping his burden the closer and moving slowly
toward his own humble cart.
"Idiot! Don't put him in that shaky wagon. Delay may cost his life.
Hospital's the place and the car is swiftest!" cried another of the
gentlemen, indignantly. "Of course we'll see to it that he has the
best of care with no expense spared."
As if he had not heard, old John still moved away, quietly ordering
Dorothy:
"Undo that shawl of yours. Roll them barrels out of the wagon. Take
off your jacket and make a piller of it. Spread the shawl out and
cover him with part of it whilst I lay him down. Poor little Robin!
The 'only son of his mother and she was a widow.'"
Dorothy was glad to obey this strange old man who had been so genial
and was now so stern, and it relieved her distress to be doing
something to help. But as she tried to roll the barrels out, a hand
fell on her arm and the doctor said:
"I'll do that, Miss. They're too heavy for you. I wish you'd persuade
your grandfather to trust me with this poor boy. It would be so much
better."
"He isn't my grandfather. I don't know him--I mean he was taking me--"
But her words fell upon deaf ears, apparently. Having sent the empty
barrels flying where they would, the doctor had now taken the pile of
cushions somebody had brought him and arranged them on the wagon
bottom. Next he calmly relieved John Gilpin of the injured boy and
laid him gently down. Shaking out Dorothy's thick steamer rug, her
"shawl," he carefully covered Robin and, sitting down beside him,
ordered:
"Drive on, farmer! Chauffeur, follow with the car. Lady Jane, the
medicine case. To the nearest house at once."
There was no resisting the firm authority of the physician and John
Gilpin climbed meekly to his seat and at his urgent "gee-ho" the oxen
started onward at a steady gait. But despite his anxiety there was a
satisfaction in their owner's mind that the "nearest house" would be
his own and that it would be his capable "Dame" who would care for
Robin and not a hospital nurse.
Meanwhile Dorothy seemed forgotten both by the people who had returned
to their car and Mr. Gilpin; so, fearing that she would be left alone
by the roadside, she sprang upon the end of the cart and sat there,
her feet dangling over its edge.
Now, indeed, her adventure was proving anything but amusing. What
would Aunt Betty think of her heedless action? Or her dear guardian,
Seth Winters, the "learned Blacksmith," wisest of men, whom the reader
of this series will recall in "Dorothy's Schooling." Would she ever
reach Oak Knowe, and how would this escapade be regarded there?
Into her troubled thoughts now broke a sound of pain, that drove
everything save pity from her mind. The rain was now falling fast and
drenching her new clothes, but her anxiety was only that the injured
boy should not get wet and she was glad that her rug was so thick and
warm. It had been a parting gift from her "House-Boat" guests and held
almost sacred as a memento of their happy trip together.
But now the oxen were turning into a lane. She could dimly see the
hedgerows on either side, that now and then the lightning flashes
showed more plainly; and, after a time, something big and white
seemed to block their way. A moment more and the white obstruction
proved to be a cottage with a lamp shining through its window. Then
a door opened and a woman's voice called cheerily:
"Welcome home, my man! You're late the night. Met you up with any
trouble? Didn't the apples sell well?"
"More trouble than you dream, Dame, and I've fetched it for you to
share. Light the bedroom to once. 'Tis the dead--or dyin'--is here."
Without a word the woman turned away, moving heavily because of her
great size, and an inner door opened, showing a comfortable bed, its
covers already invitingly spread back. Lighting more candles the dame
stood quietly aside, waiting her unexpected guest.
The doctor brought the boy in, still wrapped in the rug and, tossing
that to the floor, gently laid him down. John followed close behind,
announcing:
"'Tis Robin, Dame, our bonny Robin of the Glen. The heart of the
mother will break. He--"
"Help here. Hot water, please. More light. An old sheet for bandages.
Don't dally. Undress him, Lady Jane."
"But, doctor, I'm afraid!" objected that lady who, partly from
curiosity, partly to avoid the rain, had followed the physician into
the house.
Indeed, all the motoring party had now swarmed into the kitchen,
intending to be quiet yet really chattering noisily, and some of them
sniffing covetously the odors from a great pot of soup, steaming away
on the stove. But nobody was quite ready to respond to the doctor's
appeals for help, even Mrs. Gilpin being confused and stupid before
these strangers who had taken possession of her home.
As for old John, he could simply stand and stare at the unconscious
lad on the bed, too dazed and grieved to be of any use whatever.
Not so Dorothy, who had entered with the rest and who noticed Dr.
Winston's impatience--who knew that a hospital was where his patient
should be and not this ill-equipped cottage. Throwing off her dripping
jacket, she cried:
"I'll help."
A teakettle was singing beside the soup-pot on the stove and a dishpan
was hanging near. To empty the kettle into the pan and to carry it to
the chair beside the bed was an instant's task. Then, seizing the
upper sheet and using her teeth for scissors, she swiftly tore it into
strips; and by this time the dame had regained her own presence of
mind.
Without troubling to ask who Dorothy was or how she came to be there,
she now took charge of things, saying:
"You'll find clean towels in that chest of drawers. Fetch the doctor a
pile. Shears are yon in that work-basket. You're spry on your feet as
I can't be, but I do know how to take the clothes off this poor Robin.
My, what's this he clenches so tight in hand? One of them telegraph
letters 'tis his errand to deliver. All over the countryside the
laddie rode on his wheel to earn the bit money would pay his mother's
rent. Brave, bonny lad that he was!"
Gently releasing the telegram from his fingers, Mrs. Gilpin held it up
for the doctor to see.
"For Oak Knowe. Open it, little girl, and read if it's important."
She obeyed, but her voice trembled as she read. It was the belated
message that announced her own coming and the hour of her arrival. It
explained why she had not been met at the station, but she felt both
shocked and guilty as she exclaimed:
"Oh! it is my fault! It's all my fault that he is killed! Just about
me it happened! What shall I do--what shall I do?"
"Stop that sort of talk and see how your dead boy stares at you! Look
well, Robin, you see a real live Yankee girl!"