DORA.
One afternoon, when the interest in the Brown house was still at its
height, and before the children had made the acquaintance of their new
neighbor, a little girl came slowly up the street carrying a
sun-umbrella.
A hush had fallen upon the neighborhood; nobody was to be seen, and
the only sound not made by the birds and insects was the far-away
click and whirr of a lawn-mower.
She had had a long walk and was tired; a carriage-block under the
maple trees offered a pleasant resting place, so, closing her
umbrella, she sat down. She had a pair of frank gray eyes and a smile
that made you feel at once that she was a cheery little person,
accustomed to make the best of things.
"How still it is!" she said to herself. "I wonder if some wicked fairy
has put everybody to sleep? I wish I might go into their houses and
break the spell. And here comes an enchanted prince," she continued,
laughing at the fancy, as a large black cat came across the street in
a leisurely, sleepy way.
The gray eyes seemed to inspire his confidence, for the victim of
enchantment stopped to rub against her dress.
"Pretty old kitty, you are somebody's pet," she said, softly touching
the glossy head.
He could have told her that some one in the neighborhood was awake. In
fact, two individuals had invaded the shady spot where he was taking
his nap, and persisted in tickling his ears with grass till he was
obliged to leave. He did not mention this, however, only arched his
back and purred a little, and then, as if he suddenly remembered
important business, trotted off through the bars of the gate and up
the walk leading to a large house. The observer on the carriage-block
thought it the most attractive house she had ever seen. Everything
about it told of pleasant times: the tennis net, the hammock under the
trees, the broad piazza, and, most of all, the wide front door which
seemed to invite her to come in and see what sort of people lived
behind it. "I wonder who lives here. I wish I knew. I believe I'll
follow the cat and find out," she thought merrily.
At this moment the door opened and two little girls appeared, all in a
flutter of dainty blue ruffles. Each carried a cushion, and one had
what looked like an atlas under her arm.
"Shall we sit on the porch, Bess?" asked the one with yellow hair.
"Oh, no, Louise, don't you think it will be pleasanter under the
chestnut tree?" the brown-haired maiden said; and then they came
across the grass and settled themselves under the horse-chestnut, the
branches of which met those of the maple tree that cast its shade over
the carriage-block. They were quite unconscious of the wistful eyes
that watched them as they bent over the atlas, from which Louise took
some large sheets of paper.
"How pretty they are! I wish I knew them," the owner of the eyes said
to herself. Then, feeling rather shy in the presence of these charming
little persons who might look around presently and wonder what she was
doing there, she rose and took up her umbrella.
She couldn't help lingering a little, for she wanted very much to know
what they were going to do. Standing where she was shielded front
their view by a bush that grew in the fence corner, this is what she
heard:
"We haven't played the Carletons for ever so long; do begin," urged
Louise.
"I think Lucy ought to be married," said Bess; "she is eighteen, you
know, and I suppose people are generally married when they are so old
as that. Then a wedding will be such fun!"
"Yes, indeed, and she has been engaged to Edwin Graves a long time."
"Well, her father and mother have at last consented, though they
wanted her to marry an English earl, who was madly in love with her."
"I am glad I finished the new house in time," said Louise, holding up
a drawing which represented the interior of a lofty mansion. "But go
on about the earl."
"She met him at the queen's palace, where all the English young ladies
were in love with him, but he thought Lucy the most beautiful of all.
She did not care for him, though, because she loved Edwin and had
promised to marry him. Even though he hadn't so much money, she said
she would rather marry a free-born American than any haughty earl."
"That is very interesting," said Louise, admiring the patriotic
sentiment, "but do you suppose if she didn't marry Edwin he would die
of a broken heart?"
"But she is going to marry him," said Bess, refusing to consider the
question.
"And now we will skip the getting ready part and have the wedding. It
is a beautiful cloudless night in June, and there are roses
everywhere; the house is filled with them."
"I'll put them in while you are telling it," suggested the artist.
Bess assented to this and continued, "Lucy is dressed now, and she is
the most beautiful bride anyone ever saw."
"Do you remember Aunt Zelie's wedding?" asked Louise. "Cousin Helen
says she was the prettiest bride she ever saw."
"Not very well. I don't remember how she looked, but I think she is
the most beautiful person in the world now."
"Oh, yes, so do I!"
The wedding then went on without interruption for a while.
"Lucy is tall and stately, her eyes are blue as the sky, and her hair
is long and golden. She speaks very softly, and has the sweetest
smile, and she walks like a queen. Her dress is white silk and
beautiful lace, with a long, long train, and she wears diamonds and
carries a bunch of roses."
"Now tell about Edwin Graves, Bess."
"Men are a great deal harder to do," said the story-teller with a
sigh.
"Let me, then, for I know exactly how he looks," and, clasping her
hands around her knees and gazing upwards, Louise began: "He is very
tall and grand-looking, his eyes are black, and his voice is very
deep."
At this interesting point Bess exclaimed, "Louise, here comes Uncle
William, and I know he is going to take us driving!"
The listener, who had forgotten everything but the story, came to
herself with a start. "How dreadful of me!" she said, walking away
very rapidly, while the story-tellers ran out of the gate to greet a
tall gentleman who had just driven up.
"I suppose they are sisters," she thought, looking back once more
before she turned the corner.
"How nice it must be to live in a house like that. _Bess_ and
_Louise_; I wonder what their last name is."
Louise was busy with her drawing one morning, comfortably established
in a shady corner of the porch, when her aunt called to her:
"I wish you would keep an eye on Carie while Joanna goes on an errand
for me."
"I will, Aunt Zelie," she responded promptly.
It was not likely her charge would give her much trouble, for Carie
was quite capable of entertaining herself, and was at that moment
promenading back and forth with an old parasol over her head,
pretending she was going to market.
"Don't go on the grass, baby; it is wet," cautioned Louise, by way of
showing her authority, and then returned to the new mansion for the
Carletons upon which she was working. She soon became so absorbed in
this that she forget to look up now and then.
Meanwhile Carie talked busily to herself, gesticulating with one small
forefinger. But after a little she grew tired of filling her basket
with grass and leaves, and stood peeping out through the bars of the
gate. How much more fun it would be to go to the real market where she
had often been with Joanna! She knew perfectly well that she was not
allowed outside by herself, but that did not make it seem any less
attractive. With a cautious glance over her shoulder she softly
pulled the gate open, and in a moment more was flying up the street.
When she reached the corner she turned to the right and slackened her
pace, feeling very important and grown up as she bobbed merrily along
under her parasol.
"Where are you going, little one?" asked a man who passed her.
She gave him a roguish glance as she answered, "To martet."
At the next corner she turned again to the right, safely crossing the
street, but here everything was unfamiliar and she began to feel
timid. Then she suddenly saw a very large dog coming toward her. He
was so large she thought he must be a bear, and, with a frightened
scream, she turned to run, but tripped over her parasol, and fell, a
forlorn little heap, on the sidewalk.
"What is the matter? Are you hurt? You mustn't be afraid of the dog;
he is good, and doesn't bite."
These reassuring words were spoken by a girl of eleven or twelve, who
helped her up and brushed off her dress.
"What a darling you are!" she added, as Carie lifted her big blue
eyes, all swimming in tears, saying, "I fought it was a bear."
"No, indeed; he is only a nice old dog who lives next door to me, so I
know all about him. Now tell me where you are going all alone?"
"I runned away," was the honest answer, "and I dess you better take
me home," she added, looking up confidingly into the pleasant face.
"Then you must tell me what your name is and where you live."
Carie could tell her name, but to the other question could only
answer, "Over there," pointing in the wrong direction with great
assurance. Her companion was puzzled; she felt certain some one was
alarmed at the disappearance of this dainty little midget.
"I'll ask Mrs. West if she knows anybody near here named Hazeltine,"
she said. "Come in and sit on the doorstep till I find out something
about you."
She was back in a moment. "I think I know now, you dear little thing!
It must be that lovely house I saw the other day."
For some minutes after Carie's flight Louise worked on, then
remembering her charge she discovered her absence. She ran to the gate
and looked up and down the street, she searched the garden and the
house, and finally burst in upon Aunt Zelie crying:
"I have lost her! I have lost her!"
The news spread in a moment; nothing else could be thought of till the
lost darling was found.
Carl ran in one direction, Sukey in another, and Bess flew over to ask
if by any chance Miss Brown had seen the runaway. Louise stood on the
porch, the picture of misery.
[Illustration: "A GIRL OF ELEVEN OR TWELVE HELPED HER UP AND
BRUSHED OFF HER CLOTHES."]
"You will never trust me again, _never_" she sobbed as her aunt came
out and stood beside her, looking anxiously up and down.
"I am sure you won't be so careless another time," Aunt Zelie said,
pitying her distress.
At this moment who should turn the corner but the small cause of all
the excitement, chatting away to her new friend, quite unconscious
that she was giving anybody any trouble!
"Why, Carie Hazeltine, where have you been?" cried Louise, drying her
eyes and running to meet her.
"I found her on Chestnut street--a dog had frightened her," her
companion explained, reluctantly releasing the plump hand she held.
"You are a naughty girl," said her sister, taking possession of her.
"You might have been run over, or something dreadful."
"I didn't det run over," Carie insisted indignantly.
"Well, say good-by, and 'thank you for taking care of me.' We are all
very much obliged to you," Louise added, turning to the stranger.
Carie held up her mouth for a kiss, and then allowed herself to be led
away.
"At any rate I know their name is Hazeltine," said Carie's friend to
herself.
The culprit was soon in a fair way to think she had done something
very funny and interesting, people made such a fuss over her, so Aunt
Zelie carried her off to be solemnly reproved.
"I suppose you are going to the party to-morrow, aren't you?" asked
Elsie Morris, a neighbor and friend, who had been helping in the
search.
"Of course," answered Bess. "I am glad you came home in time, Elsie;
Aleck is going to stay in and go with us."
"There are to be fireworks and lanterns and all sorts of things,"
observed Aleck, who lay at his ease in the hammock.
"Yes, I know," said Elsie, "and everybody is to have a--I don't know
what you call it--something to remember the party by. Annie May told
me herself."
"How nice! It will be almost like Christmas," said Louise.
"Not like one of Uncle William's parties, though," put in Carl.
"School begins next week, and three months of pegging before
Christmas," groaned Aleck.
"Come on, then; let's make the most of the time we have," Carl urged
energetically.
It was the afternoon of the next day, and Louise stood before the
mirror critically viewing her sash.
"Why, Joanna! You have made Bess's bows ever so much longer than
mine."
"I can't see what difference that makes," was the rather sharp reply,
for the September day was warm and the task of dressing three restless
young ladies for a party was not conducive to coolness.
"It makes a great deal of difference to us, for we wish to look
exactly alike," said Louise loftily. "And if you are going to do a
thing at all, you ought to do it well; Father says so."
"Dear me! Here comes Ikey, and we are not ready," exclaimed Bess, who
stood at the window.
"You might be if you weren't so particular. I never saw the beat of
your equal," and Joanna whisked Helen's dress over her head.
"The _beat_ of your _equal_," Bess repeated. "What does that mean,
Jo?"
"My patience!" was the only reply to be had from this much-enduring
maid.
"Joanna is cross; I'll get Aunt Zelie to tie my sash," said Louise,
running off, followed by Bess.
Their aunt was in the lower hall with Ikey, who was looking dignified,
if not a trifle stiff, in a new standing collar. Louise decided that
he needed a rose in his buttonhole, and danced away to get one when
her sash had been arranged to her satisfaction.
Though there was more than a year's difference in their ages, Bess and
Louise were exactly the same height, and were sometimes taken for
twins. This delighted them beyond measure, and to help the impression
they wished to be dressed alike, down to the smallest detail.
Though Bess's hair curled prettily she insisted on wearing it in two
braids, because that was the only comfortable fashion in which her
sister's heavy locks could be arranged. Aunt Zelie laughed at them,
but let them have their way.
Carl and Aleck were the last to appear, which Bess thought was very
strange, considering they had no sashes to be tied, or hair to be
curled or braided.
"Now trot along and have the best kind of a time," said Aunt Zelie
after she had inspected them, and given some finishing touches to
their cravats; "I am proud of my girls and boys."
They were a merry party as they started out, waving their good-bys,
Ikey feeling particularly proud to be counted one of her boys. He only
half wanted to go, for, though sociably inclined, he was bashful, but
the girls had promised not to desert him.
Carl affected to hold parties in disdain. "They never do anything
worth while; who cares for 'drop the handkerchief' or dancing?"
When Louise mischievously suggested that he must be going for the
supper, he strolled ahead with an air of lofty scorn.
The occasion was a birthday party, an outdoor affair, and the large
yard was hung with Japanese lanterns ready to light when the sun went
down. As the children came flocking in with their bright faces and gay
ribbons, it was a pretty scene.
There were swings and all sorts of games, and soon everybody was busy
having a good time. Even Carl forgot that he did not like parties. But
there was one person who seemed to be left out of the fun. Stopping to
rest after some lively game, Bess noticed a girl sitting on a bench
all by herself. She looked lonely, and Bess felt sorry for her.
"I think I ought to go and speak to her; won't you go with me, Elsie?"
she asked.
"No; I'd rather not. I think she is funny-looking."
"But I am afraid she does not know anybody."
"Well, it is not our party; why doesn't Annie May take care of her?"
And Elsie smoothed her pink ribbons complacently.
Bess was shy, and thought she could not go by herself to speak to a
stranger. "I'll wait till I see Louise," she said.
"Who is that girl?" some one asked the little hostess.
"Her name is Dora Warner," was the reply. "Mamma knows her mother.
They haven't lived here long. I have tried to introduce her, but
nobody wants to talk to her, and she doesn't know a single game. I
wish Mamma would come and take care of her."
The stranger sat alone looking on at the merry scene. She felt timid
and unhappy, and had to wink very hard now and then to get rid of a
troublesome mist that found its way to her eyes.
"I am silly I know; I ought not to expect to get acquainted all at
once," she said to herself bravely.
If it had not been for the loneliness she might have enjoyed the fun
going on around her, even though she had no part in it. Such dainty
dresses, such laughing and dancing about, such airs and graces, she
had never before seen! She recognized the charming little girls who
had so taken her fancy a week or two before--sisters, she felt sure,
of that dear little Carie.
"Oh, dear!" she said at last; "I can't help wishing I had not come!"
Not thinking what she was doing, Dora took up a croquet mallet which
had been left on the bench, and began slowly to screw it into the
ground. Just then a boy rushed by hotly chased by another. The one in
pursuit tripped on the mallet and fell headlong on the grass.
"Are you hurt? I am so sorry; I did not mean to do it!" she exclaimed
in dismay.
"No, I am not hurt," he replied, sitting up and rubbing the stains off
his hands with his handkerchief. "How did you come to do it anyhow?"
and he gave her a glimpse of a pair of merry brown eyes, and then went
on polishing his hands.
"I don't know," she answered.
"If it had not been for you I could have caught Aleck."
"I am so sorry," Dora said again, in such a mournful tone that the boy
laughed.
"You needn't think I care! Aleck knows I can catch him. Do you like to
run?"
"I haven't tried it very often lately. I think you could catch me,"
she answered.
"I probably could; as a general thing girls aren't much on running,
but you should see Louise!"
"Who is she?" asked Dora.
"She is my sister; I thought everybody knew Louise."
"I don't know any one," was the reply in a mournful tone.
"Don't you really?" Carl asked, sitting up very straight; "and is that
the reason you are over here by yourself?"
"I know Annie a little, but you see I haven't lived here since I was a
baby. We have been travelling about a good deal, so I haven't had a
chance to know many people. Mamma wanted me to come this afternoon."
There was something exceedingly pleasant in her straightforward
manner.
"I don't care much for parties myself," said Carl, "but if you want to
get acquainted you must not stick in a corner."
"What must I do?" Dora asked, smiling.
"Well, to begin with, you make friends with somebody who knows
somebody else, and so on. It is very easy."
"Then I have begun with you, though I do not know your name."
"Very well, here goes! My name is Carl Hazeltine, the girl over by the
oak tree is my sister Louise, the boy with her is Isaac Ford--the one
who is laughing I mean; next to him is Elsie Morris, and that fellow
coming this way is Aleck Hazeltine, my cousin, and--"
Dora put out her hand appealingly. "I can't possibly remember so many,
and I haven't told you my name. It is Dora Warner."
"We used to have a cat named Dora," Carl remarked gravely, taking a
small round glass from his pocket and composedly surveying his
necktie, "a nice, white, meek little pussy cat."
"I had a dog once, when we were in London, named Carl--o. He was a
curly dog and ever so vain when we tied a ribbon on his collar," was
the prompt response. Then they both laughed merrily, and Carl asked
with friendly interest, "Were you really in London!"
"Yes, we were there last winter."
"Wasn't it great fun?"
"No, for papa was ill, and mamma always with him, so I was lonely."
Something in Dora's tone made Carl notice that her sash was black.
"So I suppose her father is dead," he thought, but could think of
nothing to say, and jumping up suddenly was off like a flash.
Dora thought her new acquaintance a funny one, but his friendly manner
had made her feel cheerful again.
She saw him coming back presently, accompanied by a little girl with
soft dark eyes and a sweet face which she recognized at once.
"This is my sister Bess," he announced.
Bess sat down beside her, saying gravely, "Carl says you don't know
anyone. Wouldn't you like to come and play with us? We are going to
begin a new game."
Dora was quite ready. "Only I am afraid I shall not know how," she
said.
"That won't make the least difference, for we haven't any of us played
it before. It is very easy--just throwing bean-bags," and, taking her
hand in a friendly clasp, Bess led her toward a gay group that was all
in an uproar over some of Aleck's nonsense.
"Here comes that odd-looking girl," whispered Elsie to Helen. "Just
see what a plain dress she has on!"
"Why, you are the girl who brought our Carie home yesterday, aren't
you?" cried Louise, as Bess introduced Dora.
"Are you really? She has been talking about you all day. Carl, it was
Dora who found Carie," Bess exclaimed delightedly.
From this moment the charmed circle was open to her. Dora could hardly
believe she was not dreaming. To be taken into the midst of all the
fun under the protection of her new friends--to find herself suddenly
popular! What could have seemed more incredible half an hour before?
Louise, who was a born leader, and whose bright face and sunny temper
made her a general favorite, took her in charge, and Dora entered so
heartily into the game, laughing so merrily at her mistakes, that her
companions begun at once to like her.
"Come, Elsie, aren't you going to play?" asked Bess.
"I don't know how," was her reply, in a fretful tone.
"It is perfectly easy," said one of the others.
"Never mind; she doesn't know beans," laughed Aleck, tossing a bag to
Dora.
"I know you are very rude," pouted Elsie.
"Do play," urged Dora, running to her. "I will show you exactly how,"
and half reluctantly she yielded, for she really wanted to play.
Before they were through the game, supper interrupted, and gave them
something else to think about.
Mrs. May, remembering the stranger and coming to look for her,
concluded that she was quite able to take care of herself, for she
seemed to be having an extremely good time.
A good time truly it was, Dora thought, as she sat among her new
friends.
"I am so glad we are acquainted with you," Louise said.
"I am sure I am glad," she answered, "and I do hope I shall see Carie
again sometime. There is one thing I must tell you," she continued.
"The other day I walked by your house, and I was so tired I sat down
on your carriage-block to rest. It was very quiet, and nobody was in
sight, and I was sitting there thinking how very big your front door
was--"
"How did you know it was our house?" asked Bess.
"I didn't then, but presently the door opened and you two came out.
You had on blue dresses, and Louise had a book, and you came and sat
under a tree not very far from me."
"Why, we didn't see you!"
"I know you did not, and, of course, I ought to have gone away,
but"--here Dora's face flushed--"I couldn't help hearing the beginning
of your story, and then I forget what I was doing--it was dreadful; I
want you to know about it--I listened to all you said."
"How funny! And we did not see you! Why, Dora, we don't care a bit, do
we, Bess?"
"I am very glad if you don't. I was so ashamed of myself. I hoped some
day I should know you, but I did not think it would happen so soon,"
and Dora heaved a sigh of relief.
"But isn't it funny that you should have found Carie?" said Bess.
"And then have tripped me up," added Carl, joining them. "It is really
as curious as our getting acquainted with Miss Brown."
"Who is Miss Brown?" asked Elsie.
"She is a person who has lately moved into Nottingham castle," he
replied gravely.
"Robin Hood broke one of her windows," added Aleck.
"What does he mean? I don't understand it at all," fretted Elsie, who
was so easily teased the boys could never resist the temptation.
"Carl is talking nonsense. I will tell you about her sometime," said
Bess.
"Good-by, Dora," said Louise when the happy evening was over and they
were starting home. "I think we ought to be friends because you found
Carie; don't you, Bess?"
Bess certainly thought so, for she had taken a desperate fancy to this
new acquaintance.
"You must come to see me; Helen and all of you," Dora said cordially.
"Mamma, I have had a beautiful time, I am glad I went," she exclaimed,
standing beside her mother's couch a few minutes later. "Does your
head ache? Then I'll wait till to-morrow to tell you about it;" and
she went to bed to dream pleasant dreams.