UNCLE WILLIAM.
When the children reached home that evening they found Aunt Marcia and
Uncle William in the library.
Carie, too, was there, bent on an investigation of her uncle's pocket,
from which she had just brought to light in triumph a chocolate mouse.
"Now, baby dear, you must go to bed, mammy is waiting for you," said
Aunt Zelie.
"Let me find one uzzer one," pleaded Carie, depositing her prize on
her uncle's knee, and continuing the search.
"Of course you have had a 'perfectly lovely' time," said Uncle William
as the party-goers entered.
"Indeed we have," answered Louise, establishing herself on an arm of
her father's chair. "And we've found the nicest girl," she added.
"I found her," said Carl.
"She is the girl who brought Carie home yesterday, and we like her
very much," explained Bess.
"Annie May hasn't any politeness; she didn't introduce her to more
than one or two people. Think of being at a big party like that and
not knowing anyone!"
"That is not a proper way in which to speak of your hostess, my son,"
said Mr. Hazeltine.
"How did you happen to get acquainted with her?" asked Aunt Zelie,
smiling at Carl's vehemence.
"Auntie, it was the funniest thing you ever heard of!" Louise
exclaimed. "She tripped him up with a croquet mallet!"
"She must have been desperate," remarked her father, pulling one of
the long braids that hung over her shoulder.
"She did not mean to do it--it was when I was running after Aleck--and
she was very sorry. Then I found she didn't know anybody, so I went
for Bess, and she had a good time after that," Carl explained briefly.
"She has lived in London, and different places abroad," Bess added.
"May we go to see her, auntie? We told her we would if you'd let us."
"Louise, you should never promise to visit people till you know
something about them," said Aunt Marcia reprovingly.
"Her name is Dora Warner, and she boards with her mother at Mrs.
West's on Chestnut street, and her father is dead. I think we know a
good deal about her, Aunt Marcia," Bess said demurely.
"I am going to see her, and take her a chocolate mouse," Carie
suddenly announced, having been a silent listener while she captured a
handful of mice.
"I want to know what it is you like so much about your new friend,"
said Uncle William.
"What do you think of her, Helen?" his wife asked of the little girl,
sitting so quietly beside her.
"Oh, I like her, Aunt Marcia, ever so much. She asked _me_ to come to
see her, and she is older than Bess."
"There is no nonsense about her," said Carl.
"I think it is hard to tell why you like people." Bess twisted her
handkerchief meditatively. "She isn't exactly pretty, but she is
pleasant and polite--"
"Yes, and she is ready to do anything, and doesn't think about her
clothes," Carl interposed.
"Boys think about their clothes as well as girls," said Louise. "I
know lots of girls who don't think about their clothes."
"So do I--some who have no regard whatever for them," said Aunt Zelie,
laughing.
"Do you know I like the description they give of Dora," remarked Mr.
William Hazeltine, after the children had left the room.
"I never knew Carl to be so warm in the praise of a new acquaintance,"
said his brother. "You will have to let them go to see her, Zelie."
"Pray, do not be rash; find out who they are first," begged Mrs.
Hazeltine.
"I can't help thinking," said her husband, "that this little girl may
be the daughter of my old friend Dick Warner; you remember him, Frank?
He died about a year ago, somewhere abroad. As bright and
sweet-tempered a fellow as ever lived! I must look into it."
Uncle William usually had his own way about things, for the reason
that no other way was so pleasant. No one could resist his bright face
and cordial manner. He carried around with him an atmosphere of such
hearty goodwill that it was next to impossible to be cross or gloomy
in his presence. People sometimes wondered how he happened to marry
Mrs. Hazeltine, but the reason was plain enough to him. He regarded
her with the greatest admiration, feeling that a harum-scarum fellow
like himself was most fortunate in having such a wife to keep him
straight. He was very proud and fond of her, and quite blind to what
others called her managing propensities. Sometimes, indeed, he
wondered how she could be so severe in her judgment of the children,
but then someone must be firm. And though she was often annoyed by his
friendliness with all sorts of odd people, and wished William would
draw the line somewhere, she always ended by saying leniently that he
would never be anything but a boy.
He had a warm love for children. No matter how ragged and forlorn they
might be, they interested him. The newsboys and bootblacks felt that
he was their friend, and many were the treats they received at his
hand. By his young relatives and their many friends he was looked upon
as a sort of every-day Santa Claus. One of his peculiarities was a
love for surprising people. He sent mysterious parcels, left candy
about in unexpected places, or took the children out for a walk, and
then whisked them off on some delightful excursion.
Promptness was another of Uncle William's good qualities. Having
determined to make inquiries about his old friend, he did it at once,
and so it happened that Dora and her mother were called down to the
parlor one day to see a tall gentleman with kindly dark eyes and
iron-gray hair, who won them at once by his simple, cordial manner.
Mrs. Warner was a thoroughly saddened woman since the death of her
husband, but even she could not resist his friendliness, and Dora was
altogether captivated.
The children were surprised and delighted when they heard that their
uncle had been to see the Warners, and that Dora was really the
daughter of his old friend.
"So of course we _ought_ to be friends with her," Bess remarked, as
though it was a solemn duty rather than a pleasure.
Aunt Zelie allowed them to go to see her at once, and invite her to
spend the next day with them.
"Don't things happen beautifully, Mamma?" Dora said gayly, as she
dressed that morning. "To think that I really know Bess and Louise,
and am going to see them!"
Her mother smiled sadly; she was glad her daughter had found such
pleasant friends, for she knew that their quiet life was making her
old for her years.
So Dora, in a flutter of delight, found herself following in the
footsteps of the black cat, up the walk leading to the Big Front Door.
And there on the porch, stretched at his ease, was that gentleman
himself, apparently waiting for her, for he rose to meet her, and
arched his back, and purred with great friendliness.
Then the door opened and she was inside, but before she could look
around her, three little girls came flying down the stairs and laid
violent hands upon her. Talking very fast, and quite breathless with
laughing, they took her up to the dainty room--all blue and
white--which Bess and Louise called theirs, where she took off her
hat. Next she had to be presented to Aunt Zelie, from whom she
received a welcome which made her feel at home from that minute. And
then to the star chamber, where they found Carl, who was very glad
indeed to see Dora again. One morning was really too short for all
there was to be said and seen.
Dora was interested in everything: stamp albums, photographs, dolls,
and most of all in the story books.
"You must take 'The Adventures of Robin Hood' home with you," Carl
insisted when he found she had not read it, and then the others began
to press their favorites upon her until she was quite overwhelmed.
She must look over at the Brown house garden, and hear about their new
neighbor, and about Ikey Ford, and how tiresome his grandmother was.
These confidences were interrupted by Carie, who walked in, eager to
see the girl who had found her, and other attractions faded before the
delight of holding this dainty bit of humanity on her lap. Nothing
could be so charming, Dora thought, as she kissed the rosy cheeks and
soft hair, and listened to her funny chatter; for Carie, who was not
given to showing favors indiscriminately, treated her with unusual
graciousness, bestowing chocolate mice with a lavish hand.
"You ought to be the best children in the world, for you have
everything," Dora said as they went down to lunch.
"Oh, we are!" modestly replied Carl.
When this was over she was taken into a large room full of books and
beautiful things, among them two portraits. One of these was of a
white-haired man whose eyes seemed to smile at her as Bess said, "This
is Grandfather;" the other face had something about it so like Bess's
own that her low-toned explanation, "This is Mamma," was not needed.
After all, they had not quite everything.
When Carl went over to see Ikey about something, they seized the
opportunity to play the Carletons, it being a game that the masculine
mind scorned. They sat under the same chestnut tree, and the black cat
joined them, and was formally introduced to Dora as Mr. Smith.
Everything was quiet in the neighborhood, somebody was cutting the
grass not far away, and it really might have been mistaken for that
afternoon two weeks ago, except that the girl who was then on the
carriage-block was now in the garden. To make the resemblance
complete, who should drive up but Uncle William, calling to know if
anybody wanted to go to the country.
The Carletons were promptly consigned to the seclusion of the atlas,
while the romancers ran for their hats.
It was almost dark when Dora was set down at her own door, merry and
rosy.
"Good-by! and do ask your mother to let you go to our school," her
friends called, waving their handkerchiefs as they turned the corner.
That happy day settled it. Dora and the Hazeltines became fast
friends. Everybody liked her, the grown people as well as the
children. Even Aunt Marcia pronounced her a most well-behaved little
girl, and hoped Bess and Louise would profit by her example. Carl
claimed the credit of having discovered her, and Carie always referred
to her as "My Dora."