As the summer progressed, the girls had more than one conference as to
what was to become of Ophelia when they left Onoway House. To let her go
back to her life in the slums was unthinkable. So far, Old Grady had
made no effort to get her back, possibly for the simple reason that she
did not know where the child was. They did not even know whether or not
she had a legal claim on Ophelia. All Ophelia knew about the business
was that Old Grady had taken her from the orphan asylum when she was
seven years old. Where she had lived before she went to the orphan
asylum she could not remember, so she must have been very young when she
came there. They were equally unwilling that she should return to the
asylum.
“If we could only find someone to adopt her,” said Hinpoha. That would
be the best thing, they all agreed, although there was a lingering doubt
in the mind of each one as to whether anyone would want to adopt
Ophelia. Grammar was to her a totally unnecessary accomplishment, and
the amount of slang she knew was unending. By dint of hard labor they
had succeeded in making her say “you” instead of “yer,” and “to” instead
of “ter,” and discard some of her more violent slang phrases, but she
was still obviously a child of the streets and the tenement, and that
life had left its brand upon her. It showed itself constantly in her
speech. They had better success in teaching her table manners, for with
a child’s gift of imitation she soon fell into the ways of those around
her.
But having had so much excitement in her short life she still pined for
it. While the life in the country was pleasant in the extreme it was far
too quiet to suit her and she longed to be back in the crowded tenement
where there was something happening every hour out of the twenty-four;
where people woke to life instead of going to bed when darkness fell and
the lamps were lighted; where street cars clanged and wagons rattled and
fire engines rumbled by; where the harsh voices of newsboys rang out
above the loud conversation of the women on the doorsteps and the
wailing of the babies. The zigging of the grasshoppers and the swishing
of the wind in the Balm of Gilead tree and the murmur of the river had
for her a mournful and desolate sound, and she often covered up her ears
so as not to hear it. When she first came to Onoway House she was so
interested in the new life that it kept her busy all day long finding
out new things; but gradually the novelty wore off. At first she had
been as mischievous as a monkey; always up to some prank or other. She
teased Tom and was teased by him in return; she put burrs in Mr. Bob’s
long ears; she climbed trees and threw things down on the heads of
unsuspecting persons underneath; she startled the girls out of their
wits by lying unseen under the couch in the sitting-room and grabbing
their ankles unexpectedly. Always she was doing something, and always
merry and full of life; so that she made the girls feel that they had
done a fine thing by bringing her to Onoway House.
But of late a change had come over her. She began to droop, and to sit
silent by herself at times. The girls did their best to keep her amused,
but they were very busy with the continual canning, and Betty, who had
more time than the others, did not like her and would not play with her.
So she grew more and more homesick for the big, noisy city and the
playmates of other days. Then had come the time when she was so
sunburned and she had developed the fondness for Sahwah. After that she
was less lonesome, for Sahwah was such a lively person to be attached to
that one had always to be on the lookout for surprises. Sahwah taught
her to swim and dive and ride a bicycle; she had the boys make a swing
for her under the big tree, and Ophelia blossomed once more into
happiness. At Sahwah’s instigation she played more tricks on the other
girls than before.
But Ophelia was a shrewd little person, and she knew that the summer
would come to a close and the girls would not live together any more.
She often heard them discussing their plans. What was to become of her
then? The happy family life at Onoway House stirred in her a desire to
have a home too, and a mother of her own. She began to grow wistful
again and at times her eyes would have a strange far-away look. The
scandals of the streets which were once the breath of life to her and
which she repeated with such relish, began to lose their charm, and she
developed a taste for fairy tales. “Tell me the story about the fairy
godmother,” she would say to Sahwah, and would listen attentively to the
end. “Are you sure I’ve got one somewhere?” she would ask eagerly.
“You surely have,” Sahwah would answer, to satisfy her.
And then, “What _are_ we going to do with Ophelia when the summer is
over?” Sahwah would ask the girls after Ophelia was in bed. And Hinpoha
would think of Aunt Phœbe and knew she would never adopt such a child as
Ophelia was; and Migwan knew that it would be out of the question in her
family; and Sahwah knew that her mother would not let her come and live
with them; and Gladys thought of her delicate mother and sighed. Nyoda
could not make a home for her, because she had none of her own and a
boarding house was no place for a child.
“It’s a shame,” Sahwah would declare vehemently, “that there aren’t
fathers and mothers enough in this world to go round. Here’s Ophelia
will have to go into an institution more than likely, and grow up
without any especial interest being taken in her, while we have had so
much done for us. It isn’t fair.”
“There’s something curious about Ophelia,” said Gladys, musingly. “While
she came from the tenements and is as wild and untrained as any little
street gamin, she has the appearance of a child of a much higher class.
Have you ever noticed how small and perfect her hands and feet are? And
what beautiful almond shaped fingernails she has? And what delicate
features? Have you seen how erectly she carries herself, and how
graceful she is when she dances? In spite of her name, I don’t believe
she is Irish; and I don’t think her people could have been low class.
There’s an indefinable something about her which spells quality.”
“Probably a princess in disguise,” said Sahwah, in a tone of amusement.
“Leave it to Gladys to scent ‘quality.’”
But the others had noticed the same characteristics in Ophelia and were
inclined to agree with Gladys on the subject.
“But what about the strange spot of light hair on her head?” asked
Sahwah. “Would you call that a mark of quality?” But to this there was
no answer. They had never seen or heard of anything like it before. Thus
the summer days slipped by and Onoway House continued to shelter two
homeless orphans, neither of whom knew what the future held in store for
them.
One afternoon when the girls had planned to go for a long walk to the
woods Gladys read in the paper that a balloonist was to make an
ascension over the lake. For some unaccountable reason she took a fancy
that she would like to see the performance. “Oh, Gladys,” said Sahwah,
impatiently, “you’ve seen balloonists before and you’ll see plenty yet;
come with us this afternoon.” But Gladys held out, even while she
wondered to herself why she was so eager to see this not uncommon sight.
Half offended at her, the other girls departed in the direction of the
woods. Gladys climbed high up in the Balm of Gilead tree, from which she
could look over the country for miles around and easily see the lake and
the distant amusement park from which the balloonist was to ascend.
The newspaper said three o’clock, but evidently the performance was
delayed, for although Gladys was on the lookout since before that time
nothing seemed to be happening. To aid her in seeing she took Nakwisi’s
spy glass up into the tree with her, and while she was waiting for the
parachute spectacle she amused herself by focusing the glass on far away
objects on the land and bringing them right before her eyes, as it
seemed. She could look right into the back door of a distant farm house
and see children playing in the doorway and chickens walking up and down
the steps; she could see the men working in the fields; she could see
the yachts out on the lake and the smoky trail of a freight steamer.
Somewhere in the middle of her range of vision were the gleaming rails
of the car tracks. She looked at them idly; they were like long streaks
of light in the sun. She saw two men, evidently tramps, come out of the
bushes along the road and bend over the rails. Somewhere along that
stretch of track there was a derailing switch and it seemed to Gladys
that it was at this point where the men were. Gladys looked at the pair,
suspiciously, for a second and then decided they were track testers. One
had an iron bar in his hand and he seemed to be turning the switch.
Suddenly the other man pointed up the road and then the two jumped
quickly backward into the bushes. Gladys looked in the direction the man
had pointed. Far off down the track she could see the red body of the
“Limited” approaching at a tremendous rate. The stretch of country past
the Centerville Road was flat and even; the track was perfect and there
was no traffic to block the way, and the cars made great speed along
here. Something told Gladys that the men had had no business at the
switch; that they meant to derail and wreck the Limited. Gladys had
learned to think and act quickly since she had become a Camp Fire Girl,
and scarcely had the idea entered her head that the Limited was in
danger, than she conceived the plan of heading it off. Before the car
reached the switch it must pass the Centerville Road. Being the Limited,
it did not stop there. So Gladys planned to run the automobile down the
Centerville Road and flag the car. She flung herself from the tree in
haste, got the machine out of the barn and started down the road with
wide-open throttle.
Trees and fences whirled dizzily by, obscured in the cloud of dust she
was raising. Across the stillness of the fields she could hear the
Limited pounding down the track. A hundred yards from the end of the
road the automobile engine snorted, choked and went dead. Without
waiting to investigate the trouble, Gladys jumped out and proceeded on
foot. Could she make it? She could see the red monster through the
trees, rushing along to certain destruction. With an inward prayer for
the speed of Antelope Boy, the Indian runner, she darted forward like an
arrow from the bow. Breathless and spent she came out on the car track
just a moment ahead of the thundering car, and waved the scarlet
Winnebago banner, which she had snatched from the wall on the way out.
With a quick jamming of the emergency brakes that shook the car from end
to end it came to a standstill just beyond the Centerville Road, and
only fifty feet from the switch.
“What’s the matter?” asked the motorman, coming out.
“Look at the switch!” panted Gladys, sinking down beside the road,
unable to say more.
The motorman looked at the switch. “My God,” he said, mopping his
forehead, “if we’d ever run into that thing going at such a rate there
wouldn’t have been anyone left to tell the tale.”
The passengers were pouring from the car, eager to find out the reason
for the sudden stoppage. “What’s the matter?” was heard on every side.
“You’ve got that girl to thank,” said the motorman, moving back toward
his vestibule, “that you’re not lying in a heap of kindling wood.”
Gladys, much abashed and still hardly able to breathe, laid her head on
her knee and sobbed from sheer nervousness and relief.
“Gladys!” suddenly said a voice above the murmurings of the throng of
passengers.
Gladys raised her head. “Papa!” she cried, staggering to her feet. “Were
you on that car?”
Another figure detached itself from the crowd and hastened forward.
“Mother!” cried Gladys. “Oh, if I hadn’t been able to stop it—” and at
the horror of the idea her strength deserted her and she slipped quietly
to the ground at her parents’ feet.
When she came to the car had gone on and she was lying in the grass by
the roadside with her head in her mother’s lap. “Cheer up, you’re all
right,” said her mother a little unsteadily, smiling down at her. Gladys
now became aware of two other figures that were standing in the road.
“Aunt Beatrice!” she cried. “And Uncle Lynn! What are you doing here?”
“We all came out to surprise you,” said her father. “We got back from
the West last night; sooner than we expected, and decided we would run
out without any warning and see what kind of farmers you were. The
automobile is being overhauled so we came on the interurban. We didn’t
know it didn’t stop at your road.”
Then, Gladys suddenly remembered her own disabled car standing in the
road, and they all moved toward it. With a little tinkering it
condescended to run and they were soon at Onoway House, telling the
exciting tale to Mrs. Gardiner, who held up her hands in horror at the
thought of the fate which the newcomers had so narrowly escaped. Aunt
Beatrice, not being strong, was much agitated, and developed a
palpitation of the heart, and had to lie in the hammock on the porch and
be doctored, so Gladys had her hands full until the girls came back.
They were much surprised at the houseful of company and very glad to see
Mr. and Mrs. Evans, who were very good friends of the Winnebagos indeed.
They looked with interest when Aunt Beatrice was introduced, for they
all remembered the tragic story Gladys had told them about the loss of
her baby in the hotel fire. Aunt Beatrice felt well enough to get up
then and acknowledge the introductions with a sweet but infinitely sad
smile that went straight to their hearts, and brought tears to the eyes
of the soft-hearted Hinpoha.
Ophelia came in last, having loitered on the lawn to play with Pointer
and Mr. Bob. She had taken off her hat and was swinging it around in her
hand when she came up on the porch. “And this is the little sister of
the Winnebagos,” said Nyoda, drawing her forward. Aunt Beatrice looked
down at the dust-streaked little face, with her sad smile, but her eyes
rested there only an instant. She was gazing as if fascinated at the
strange ring of light hair on her head. She became very pale and her
eyes widened until they seemed to be the biggest part of her face.
“Lynn!” she gasped in a choking voice, “Lynn! Look!” and she sank on the
floor unconscious. “It can’t be! It can’t be!” she kept saying faintly
when they revived her. “Beatrice died in the fire. But Beatrice had that
ring of light hair on her head! It can’t be! But there never were two
such birthmarks!”
What a hubbub arose when this startling possibility was uttered!
Ophelia, the lost Beatrice? Could it possibly be true? Uncle Lynn lost
no time in finding out. Taking Ophelia with him he hunted up Old Grady.
She knew nothing more save that she had gotten her from an orphan
asylum, which she named. At the asylum he learned what he wanted to
know. The superintendent remembered about Ophelia on account of the
strange ring of light hair. The child had been brought to the
institution when she was about a year old. There was a babies’
dispensary in connection with the place, and into this a weak, haggard
girl of about eighteen had staggered one day carrying a baby. The baby
was sick and she begged them to make it well. While she sat waiting for
the nurse to look at the baby the girl collapsed. She died in a charity
hospital a few days later. On her death-bed she confessed that she had
run away from a large hotel with the baby which had been left in her
care, intending to hide it and get money from the parents for its
recovery. But she feared this would lead her into trouble and left town
with the child and never troubled the parents as she had intended, and
kept the baby with her until it fell sick, when she had become
frightened and sought the dispensary. She apparently never knew that the
hotel had burned and covered up the traces of her flight. The baby was
kept at the orphan asylum and named Ophelia. Her last name had never
been known. Thence Old Grady had adopted her, but her right could be
taken away from her as it was clear that she was no fit person to have
the child.
“It’s just like a fairy tale!” said Hinpoha, when it was established
beyond a doubt that the abused street waif Gladys had brought home in
the goodness of her heart was her own cousin.
“Didn’t I tell you you’d find your fairy godmother if you only waited
long enough?” said Sahwah. And Ophelia, from the depths of her mother’s
arms, nodded rapturously.