THE UNINVITED GUEST
"Are you good fairies who have strayed away from home?" inquired Tania,
calmly gazing first at Madge and then at Eleanor. She was perfectly
self-possessed and asked her question as though it were the most natural
one in the world.
The two girls stared hard at the child. Was her mind affected, or was she
playing a game with them? Tania seemed not in the least disturbed. "Do go
away now," she urged. "I am all right, but something may happen to you."
"You odd little thing!" laughed Madge. "We are not fairies. We are girls
and we are lost. We are on our way to visit a friend, Mrs. Curtis, who
lives on Seventieth Street near Fifth Avenue. She will be dreadfully
worried about us if we don't hurry on. But what can we do for you? We
can't take you with us, yet you must not go back to that wicked woman."
"Oh, yes, I must," returned Tania cheerfully. "I am not afraid of her.
When the time comes I shall go away."
"But who will take care of you, baby?" asked Eleanor. "Fairies don't live
in big cities like New York. They live only in beautiful green woods and
fields."
The black head nodded wisely. "Good fairies are everywhere," she
declared. "But I can make handfuls of pennies when I like," she continued
boastfully. "Let me show you how you must go on your way."
"You can't possibly know, little girl," replied Madge gently. "It is so
far from here."
However, it was Tania who finally saw the two lost houseboat girls on
board the elevated train that would take them to within a few blocks of
their destination. Tania explained that she knew almost all of New York,
and particularly she liked to wander up and down Fifth Avenue to gaze at
the beautiful palaces. She was not young, she was really dreadfully
old--almost thirteen!
The last look Madge and Eleanor had of Tania the child had apparently
forgotten all about them. She was gazing up in the air, above all the
traffic and roar of New York, with a happy smile on her elfish face.
* * * * *
"My dear children, I wouldn't have had it happen for worlds!" was Mrs.
Curtis's first greeting as she came out from behind the rose-colored
curtains of her drawing room. "Tom has been telephoning me frantically
for the past hour. How did he and the girls miss you? You poor dears, you
must be nearly tired to death after your unpleasant experience."
While Mrs. Curtis was talking she was leading her visitors up a beautiful
carved oak staircase to the floor above. Her house was so handsomely
furnished that Madge and Eleanor were startled at its luxurious
appointments.
Mrs. Curtis brought her guests into a large sleeping room which opened
into another bedroom which was for the use of Phil and Lillian.
Madeleine was to be married the next afternoon at four o 'clock. The
girls had not brought their bridesmaids' dresses along with them, as Mrs.
Curtis had asked to be allowed to present them with their gowns.
It was all that Madge could do not to beg Mrs. Curtis to show them their
frocks. She hoped that their hostess would offer to do so, but during the
rest of the day their time was occupied in seeing Madeleine, her hundreds
of beautiful wedding gifts, meeting Judge Hilliard all over again, and
being introduced to Mrs. Curtis's other guests. The four girls went to
bed at midnight, thinking of their bridesmaids' gowns, but without having
had the chance even to inquire about them.
Mrs. Curtis belonged to the old and infinitely more aristocratic portion
of New York society. She did not belong to the new smart set, which
numbers nearer four thousand, and does so much to make society
ridiculous. Madeleine had asked that she might be married very quietly.
She had never become used to the gay world of fashion after her strange
and unhappy youth. It made the girls and their teacher smile to see what
Mrs. Curtis considered a quiet wedding.
Miss Jenny Ann and her four charges had their coffee and rolls in Madge's
room the next morning at about nine o'clock. Madge peeped out of the
doorway, there were so many odd noises in the hall. The upstairs hall was
a mass of beautiful evergreens. Men were hanging garlands of smilax on
the balusters. The house was heavy with the scent of American Beauty
roses. But there was no sign of Mrs. Curtis or of Madeleine or Tom, and
still no mention of the bridesmaids' costumes for the girls.
Lillian Seldon was looking extremely forlorn. "Suppose Mrs. Curtis has
forgotten our frocks!" she suggested tragically, as Madge came back with
her report of the house's decorations. "She has had such an awful lot to
attend to that she may not have remembered that she offered to give us
our frocks. Won't it be dreadful if Madeleine has to be married without
our being bridesmaids after all?"
"O Lillian! what a dreadful idea!" exclaimed Eleanor.
Even Phyllis looked sober and Miss Jenny Ann looked exceedingly
uncomfortable.
"O, you geese! cheer up!" laughed Madge. "I know Mrs. Curtis would not
disappoint us for worlds. Why, she has all our measures. She couldn't
forget. Oh, dear, does my breakfast gown look all right? There is some
one knocking at our door. It may be that Mrs. Curtis has sent up our
frocks."
"Then open the door, for goodness' sake," begged Eleanor. "Your breakfast
gown is lovely; only at home we called it a wrapper, but then you were
not visiting on Fifth Avenue."
Madge made a saucy little face at Eleanor. Then she saw a group of
persons standing just outside their bedroom door. A man-servant held four
enormous white boxes in his arms; a maid was almost obscured by four
other boxes equally large. Behind her servants stood Mrs. Curtis, smiling
radiantly, while Tom was peeping over his mother's shoulder.
Madge clasped her hands fervently, breathing a quick sigh of relief. "Our
bridesmaids' dresses! I'm too delighted for words."
"Were you thinking about them, dear?" apologized Mrs. Curtis. "I ought to
have sent the frocks to you sooner, but I wanted to bring them myself,
and this is the first moment I have had. You'll let Tom come in to see
them, too, won't you?"
The man-servant departed, but Mrs. Curtis kept the maid to help her lift
out the gowns from the billows of white tissue paper that enfolded them.
She lifted out one dress, Miss Jenny Ann another, and the maid the other
two.
The girls were speechless with pleasure.
Mrs. Curtis, however, was disappointed. Perhaps the girls did not like
the costumes. She had used her own taste without consulting them. Then
she glanced at the little group and was reassured by their radiant
faces.
"O you wonderful fairy godmother!" exclaimed Madge. "Cinderella's dress
at the ball couldn't have been half so lovely!"
Madeleine's wedding was to be in white and green. The bridesmaids' frocks
were of the palest green silk, covered with clouds of white chiffon.
About the bottom of the skirts were bands of pale green satin and the
chiffon was caught here and there with embroidered wreaths of lilies of
the valley. The hats were of white chip, ornamented with white and pale
green plumes.
It was small wonder that four young girls, three of them poor, should
have been awestruck at the thought of appearing in such gowns.
"I shall save mine for my own wedding dress!" exclaimed Eleanor.
"I shall make my debut in mine," insisted Lillian.
"We can't thank you enough," declared Phyllis, a little overcome by so
much grandeur.
Tom was standing in a far corner of the room.
"I would like to suggest that I be allowed to come into this," he
demanded firmly.
"You, Tom?" teased Madge. "You're merely the audience."
Tom took four small square boxes out of his pocket. "Don't you be too
sure, Miss Madge Morton. My future brother-in-law, Judge Robert Hilliard,
has commissioned me to present his gifts to his bridesmaids. Madge shall
be the last person to see in these boxes, just for her unkind treatment
of me."
"All right, Tom," agreed Madge; "I don't think I could stand anything
more just at this instant."
Nevertheless Madge peeped over Phil's shoulder. Judge Hilliard had
presented each one of the houseboat girls with an exquisite little pin,
an enameled model of their houseboat, done in white and blue, the colors
of the "Merry Maid."
* * * * *
The wedding was over. There were still a few guests in the dining room
saying good-bye to Mrs. Curtis and Tom; but Madeleine and Judge Hilliard
had gone. The four girls and Miss Jenny Ann found a resting place in the
beautiful French music room.
Madeleine's wedding presents were in the library, just behind the music
room.
"It was simply perfect, wasn't it, Miss Jenny Ann?" breathed Lillian, as
they drew their chairs together for a talk.
"Madeleine must be perfectly happy," sighed Eleanor sentimentally. "Judge
Hilliard is so good-looking."
"Oh, dear me!" broke in Madge, coming out of a brown study. She was
sitting in a big carved French chair. "I don't see how Madeleine Curtis
could have left her mother and this beautiful home for any man in the
world. I am sure if I had such an own mother I should never leave her,"
finished the little captain.
"Until some one came along whom you loved better," interposed Miss Jenny
Ann.
"That could never be, Miss Jenny Ann," declared Madge stoutly, her blue
eyes wistful. "Why, if my father is alive and I find him, I shall never
leave him for anybody else."
"What's that noise?" demanded Phyllis sharply.
It was after six o'clock and the Curtis home was brilliantly lighted. The
window blinds were all closed. But there was a curious rapping and
scratching at one of the windows that opened into a small side yard.
"It may be one of the servants," suggested Miss Jenny Ann, listening
intently.
"It can't be," rejoined Madge. "No one of them would make such a strange
noise."
"I think I had better call Tom," breathed Eleanor faintly. "It must be a
burglar trying to steal Madeleine's wedding gifts."
Madge shook her head. "Wait, please," she whispered. She ran to the
window. There was the faint scratching noise again! Madge lifted the
shade quickly. Perched on the window sill was the oddest figure that ever
stepped out of the pages of a fairy book. It was impossible to see just
what it was, yet it looked like a little girl. One hand clung to the
window facing, a small nose pressed against the pane.
"Why, it's a child!" exclaimed Miss Jenny Ann in tones of relief. "Open
the window and let her come in."
Madge flung open the window. Light as a thistledown, the unexpected
little visitor landed in the center of the room.
Madge and Eleanor had completely forgotten the elfin child they had met
in the slums of New York City; but now she appeared among them just as
mysteriously as though she were the fairy she pretended to be.
She wore a small red coat that was half a dozen sizes too tiny for her.
Her skirt was patched with odds and ends of bright flowered materials. On
her head perched a cap, a scarlet flower, cut from an odd scrap of old
wall paper. In her hands Tania clasped a ridiculous bundle, done up in a
dirty handkerchief.
"You strange little witch!" exclaimed Madge. "However did you find your
way here? Be very still and good until the lovely lady who owns this
house sees you, then I wouldn't be at all surprised if she gave you some
cake and ice cream before she sends you away."
Tania sat down in the corner still as a mouse. Her thin knees were
hunched close together. She held her poor bundle tightly. Her big black
eyes grew larger and darker with wonder as she had her first glimpse of a
fairyland, outside her own imagination, in the beautiful room and the
group of lovely girls who occupied it.
Mrs. Curtis came in a minute later, followed by a man who had been one of
the guests at the wedding. Madge, Eleanor, and Tania recognized him
instantly. He was the young man who had protected Tania from the blows of
the brutal woman the afternoon before, but Tania did not seem pleased to
see him. Her face flushed hotly, her lips quivered, though she made no
sound.
Mrs. Curtis smiled quizzically. Madge could see that there were tears
behind her smiles. "Who is our latest guest, Madge?" she asked, gazing
kindly at the odd little person.
Tania rose gravely from her place on the floor. "I am a fairy who has
been under the spell of a wicked witch," she asserted with solemnity,
"but now the spell is broken and I've run away from her. I shan't go back
ever any more."
Mrs. Curtis's young man guest took the child firmly by the shoulders.
"What do you mean by coming here to trouble these young ladies?" he
demanded sternly. "I thought I recognized your friends, Mrs. Curtis. They
saved this child yesterday from a punishment she probably well deserved.
She is one of the children in our slum neighborhood that we have not been
able to reach. I will take her back to her home with me at once."
The child's head was high in the air. She caught her breath. Her eyes had
a queer, eerie look in them. "You can't take me back now," she insisted.
"The spell is broken. I shall never see old Sal again."
Madge put her arm about the small witch girl. "Let her stay here just
to-night, Mrs. Curtis, please," begged Madge earnestly. "I wish to find
out something about her. I will look after her and see that she does not
do any harm."
Quite seriously and gently Tania knelt on one knee and kissed Mrs.
Curtis's hand. "Let me stay. I shall be on my way again in the morning,"
she pleaded, "but I am a little afraid of the night."
"My dear child," said Mrs. Curtis, gently drawing the waif to her side,
"you are far too little to be running away from home. You may stay here
to-night, then to-morrow we will see what we can do for you. I won't
trouble you with her to-night, Philip," she added, turning to her guest.
"It will be no trouble," returned Philip Holt blandly. "She lives less
than an hour's ride from here. Her foster mother will be greatly worried
at her absence."
Mrs. Curtis looked hesitatingly at Tania, who had been listening with
alert ears. The child's black eyes took on a look of lively terror.
"Please, please let me stay," she begged, clasping her thin little hands
in anxious appeal.
"Won't you let Tania stay here to-night, Mrs. Curtis?" asked Madge for
the second time. "I am sorry to disagree with Mr. Holt, but I do not
believe that poor little Tania is either lawless or incorrigible. The
woman who claims her is the most cruel, brutal-looking person I ever saw.
I am sure she is not Tania's mother. Let me keep her here to-night, and
to-morrow I will inquire into her case."
"Very well, Madge," said Mrs. Curtis reluctantly. She glanced toward
Philip Holt. His eyes, however, were fixed upon Madge with an expression
of disapproval and dislike. For the first time it occurred to Mrs. Curtis
that Philip Holt might be very disagreeable if thwarted. She immediately
dismissed the thought as unworthy when the young man said smoothly: "I
shall be only too glad to have Miss Morton investigate the child's
record. I am sorry that my word has not been sufficient to convince
her."
Madge made no reply to this thrust. Then an awkward silence ensued. Mrs.
Curtis looked annoyed, Tania triumphant, Madge belligerent, and the other
girls sympathetic. Making a strong effort, Philip Holt controlled his
anger and, extending his hand to Mrs. Curtis, said: "Pray, pardon my
interference. I was prompted to speak merely in your interest. I trust I
shall see you again in the near future. Good night." He bowed coldly to
the young women and took his departure.
"What a disagreeable----" Madge stopped abruptly. Her face flushed. "I
beg your pardon, Mrs. Curtis," she said contritely. "I shouldn't have
spoken my mind aloud."
"I forgive you, my dear," there was a slight tone of constraint in Mrs.
Curtis's voice, "but I am sure if you knew Mr. Holt as I do you would
have an entirely different opinion of him."
"Perhaps I should," returned Madge politely, but in her heart she knew
that she and Philip Holt were destined not to be friends, but bitter
enemies.