THE REAL FAIRYLAND
That evening the two cousins on the Warren side came in, Isabel and
Willis Firth. Isabel was just the age of Edith and Willis, older. The
children gave up their hour cheerfully. There was so much to talk
about, and the school was going to have an entertainment--"The Dance
of All Nations."
"I suppose not quite _all_," said Isabel, "though the boys are to give
an Indian dance in costume, and the Dutch dance is in clogs, and oh,
you can't imagine how funny and clumpy it sounds, but it is real
pretty with the aprons and the caps, but the Spanish is beautiful with
castanets. You must all come. Is your friend staying long?"
"I think"--rather hesitatingly, "we will go home next week."
"Oh, that will be too bad, and the dance is to be two weeks from
tomorrow, in the afternoon, in a hall. It will be splendid!"
"I suppose this is the little cousin who came after the fortune,"
said Willis, "isn't it nice to have a fortune left to you?"
"I hardly know"--hesitatingly.
"Oh my! I'd know quick enough," laughed the boy. "Isabel wouldn't it
be fine enough to have ten or twelve thousand left to us? I'd be sure
of going to college."
"The University ought to be good enough for city boys," said Uncle
Warren.
They played authors for a while "because they could talk" Willis said.
Then Aunt Warren played for them to dance. At first Marilla
hesitated.
"Oh, it's only three-step" exclaimed Edith. "I'll show you, and if you
danced at the King's ball----"
She found she could dance easy enough. It was quite delightful. Her
eyes were bright, her cheeks like roses.
Then they tried several other pretty dances, and spiced them with much
laughter. Oh, how gay they were.
"Who was it said something about the King's ball?" asked Willis. "Was
it a make believe?"
"Oh it is the prettiest thing!" replied Edith.
"You see, Cousin Marilla sat alone in the kitchen one night when the
maid had gone out and a fairy godmother came and asked her if she
didn't want to go to the ball. Finding her in the kitchen you see she
took her for Cinderella, and she touched her with her wand--now
Marilla, go on, I couldn't tell it half as delightfully as you do; you
make it so real."
Manila's face had been scarlet at first, for she was almost ashamed of
being a little bound-out girl before these newcomers, but Edith had
started it so beautifully that she smiled at her audience.
"Let's sit on the floor," said Willis. "That's the way they do in
Persia, and Aunt Grace never finds fault with us."
They gathered around the little girl. Even Uncle Warren laid down his
paper and joined the circle. And what an attentive audience!
"Well that's just fine!" ejaculated Willis. "I've never seen just such
a Cinderella, and there wasn't any glass slipper?"
"Don't interrupt," said his sister.
It was all so vivid and Marilla made such pretty gestures with her
hands and swayed her head to and fro, that they could fairly see the
palace, and the banquet was superb with its lights and flowers and
beautiful adornments.
"And couldn't they dance but just one evening with the Prince? That
was rather tough."
"But there was so many knights and the Cinderellas seemed just as
happy. No one was cross."
"Well, that was wonderful! Oh, didn't you hate to wake up?"
"I don't believe I did really wake up, and every night for awhile I
seemed dreaming it over, and I can shut my eyes and see it so plainly.
When things didn't go quite right it was such a pleasure."
"Oh, you're a darling!" cried Isabel. "I just wish the kindergarten
children could hear it told that way. If you were a grown-up girl
they'd pay you for telling stories."
"Aunt Grace can't you bring her around and let mother hear that?"
asked Willis. "My mother is so fat she hates to go out anywhere," to
Marilla. "She thinks it disgraceful! But she's a sweet mother for all
that; and now we must go home. Thank you a hundred times for the
story. When I have my party I shall send for you and dance with you
every other time. You ought to be named Cinderella."
She looked so bright and happy and promised to visit them if Dr.
Richards did not take her home too soon.
But the Hippodrome was beyond any dream. Sometimes she held her breath
with delight until she was fairly tired. Dr. Richards watched the
sweet, changeful face. Yes, she should be all his--why he had never
dreamed of anything half as sweet as the joy of a father.
Sunday afternoon he and Mr. Lorimer came in. The girls had gone to
Sunday School. He laid his plan before the Warrens who were a good
deal surprised.
"As a man grows older he begins to think of a home and the joys
nothing else offers, and a doctor really needs the comfort, the
satisfaction nothing else can give. I've never had a home though I've
dreamed of one, but there must be another person in it. I'm not of the
hermit sort. I want some one to be merry with me and to comfort me
when the skies are dark and lowering."
"Oh, Dr. Richards, you should marry," exclaimed Mrs. Warren,
impetuously.
"I've been so engrossed--and this sort of vision has come to my very
door as it were, and I have let it in. For a few years Marilla will
need watchful care from some one who can understand the weak points. I
should get a nice, motherly woman who would be sweet and tender to
her, companionable as well. For you see she must go to some one for a
home."
"And we would gladly take her in here," said Mrs. Warren. "She has
really won our hearts."
He would do Miss Armitage full justice, at least he thought it so
then. He related her kindness, her generosity, but she had been tender
and sympathetic to many another child he remembered, yet he could not
quite still the one cry he had heard from her.
"Thank you most sincerely," he returned. "I am glad she has found some
relatives who have taken her in in this cordial manner. I want her to
remain warm friends with you all. Of course until I was settled to my
liking her home would be with Miss Armitage and she could come
whenever you would like to have her. A young girl needs friends of her
own kind, whose interests and hopes are similar."
They discussed the matter from more than one point of view. At first
Lorimer had tried to banter him out of the plan, insisting that the
guardianship would be sufficient. There was something in his earnest
desire that touched the heart of the man of wide experience. He
wondered why he could not be as persistent to win the lady! Perhaps
she would follow the child.
She came in radiant and full of joy. It was such a splendid Sunday
School. She could enjoy it thoroughly with no bothering Jack to think
about.
Lorimer made his adieu but the doctor remained. They sang in the
evening. She caught any tune so readily, and a little bird of joy kept
time in her heart. She had only to glance up in the doctor's eyes to
know there was a kindred delight in his.
She spent most of the next morning writing to fairy godmother. There
was so much to say, for everything was so new, so different from her
life hitherto. Oh, she was so glad she did not have to go back to
that! No one had been really unkind or severe with her and she could
recall some tenderness at the last on Aunt Hetty's part, but the death
always made her shudder.
These days of affliction had been so sweet, so engrossing. She had not
dared to love Miss Armitage in this fashion in the beginning. She
loved her deeply, truly, now, and her heart smote her in spite of the
thrill of joy when she thought of Dr. Richard's love, of belonging to
him. Would she leave her for the new love? She had not the courage to
mention it, but there were so many other things to say.
Every day brought something new. They went to the wonderful museum.
She could not take in half, but Dr. Richards said no one could. You
came time and again, all your life, and always found something new.
And there were the Historical Society rooms with their marvellous
collection of birds that enchanted her.
They spent a delightful evening at the Firths, though she decided she
liked Uncle Warren the better. The Firth house was very handsomely
appointed, but it did not have so much the air of home where you
could sit on the arm of the chair and say all manner of childish
things.
Mrs. Firth was very stout, but she had a really pretty face and a
voice that won you with a certain caressing mellowness. Both cheeks
had a deep dimple and a crease went from one to the other that seemed
to define the first chin. She sat in a high backed chair and Marilla
thought she looked like a princess, and her gown made the child think
of the beautiful dresses in the fairy place.
But on Friday Dr. Richards said they _must_ go back to Newton. They
would come again however, there was still a little business to settle.
It was a sad parting, and when Marilla took her seat in the train she
turned her face to the window and surreptitiously wiped away the
tears, though she longed to see fairy godmother.
The hack whirled them to Loraine place. The great trees stood like
sentinels stretching out their bare limbs. The beautiful autumn, had
gone, you noted it more here. Up the stoop--how her heart beat, and
yet somehow she seemed as if she had lived another lifetime.
"Oh dear, dear Marilla," cried Jane with the warmest embrace. "We have
missed you so much, and are so glad to get you back. Why it hasn't
seemed the same house, and everybody has wanted you. Dr. Richards,
that Mrs. McCormick died this morning and Miss Armitage was there
until noon. Five little children left, think of it, she came home and
went straight to bed, but she's had a cup of tea and will be down in a
few minutes."
They entered the parlor. Marilla took off her hat and coat, it was so
warm indoors. She had on a new frock, a curious blue that was very
becoming. Her cheeks were a lovely pink, her eyes full of expectancy.
Miss Armitage came down the back stairway and through the library.
Marilla gave one cry and was in her arms.
No one had won her away, then. During these days she had had many
thoughts about the child's future. She had felt jealous of the new
found relatives and their love, of Dr. Richards' devotion, of the
happy times when she had been counted out. Work had failed to inspire,
evenings had been lonely, dreary. Oh, she would never let her go away
again unless she went with her. She would beseech the law to make the
child hers--
"Oh, fairy godmother!" The charming, joyous tone that showed the
child's certainty of a warm welcome. "It has all been so lovely, but I
wanted you so. I wanted you to see the girls and their father who is
the loveliest, no not _quite_ the loveliest," and her eyes shone with
a tender radiance, the flush made her beautiful. "For, fairy
godmother, I have a father now who will love me and care for me, and I
am filled to the brim with happiness--it is better than the fortune. I
could hardly wait to tell you. Oh, please be glad for my sake."
"A father?" she repeated, in a breathless tremulous sort of way.
"Yes," said Dr. Richards, and there was a strange sort of assurance in
his tone. He seemed to have changed mysteriously--there is a vigor, a
power and withal a sweet satisfaction in his face that gives her a
pang she does not understand.
"Yes," he repeated. "The fortune is all right. I have been made her
guardian, but that did not satisfy me. I have taken out papers of
adoption, she is my child, my little little daughter and she has a
new, legal, lawful name--Marilla Cinderella Richards."
"Oh, oh!" The pathetic cry unnerved him.
"Dear fairy godmother it can't make any difference in my love for you.
I loved you first, you know. I shall always love you, but I want us to
live together and be as happy as they are at the Warrens, and I love
him, my new father, so much. When you have something of your very own
it fills you everywhere like beautiful music. I've been learning how
sweet and dear it can be. Oh, fairy godmother, I want you both. It
would break my heart to lose either of you. Oh, fairy godmother, can't
you love him; can't you, won't you marry him and let us all live
together?"
There was a penetrating sweetness in the pleading, but she saw the red
of surprise mount to the very edge of the man's hair, and almost a
frown settle between the eyes. Her face dropped to the silken soft
head and she felt the child's heart beat tumultuously. To make the two
who loved her happy--to have them for her own----
She reached out her hand--it was her right hand. He caught it and
pressed it to his lips with a fervor that thrilled every pulse of her
being.
It was not the tie of kindred blood, but that divine immortal kindred
of love, and as he clasped his arms about them both they were Father,
Mother and Child.
And so, Marilla had not only the Fairy Godmother, but the Prince as
well.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Modern Cinderella, by Amanda M. Douglas