THE LOCKET.
The next morning, quite late, for it was nearly ten o'clock, Aunt
Betty and the two girls arose. The hotel people had arranged to have
the breakfasts sent up to all the unfortunate ones, and otherwise made
them as comfortable as possible.
The trio breakfasted and Aunt Betty suggested, "Dorothy, dear, I think
it would be a wise idea to telephone over to the hotel and find out if
any of our things were left unharmed by the fire, and ask, too, if we
might come back there now."
"Yes, Aunt Betty," answered Dorothy, as she started for the 'phone.
She talked over the wire for several minutes, then returning to her
aunt and Alfy said, "They say that some of our things have not been
spoiled at all, but that the rooms are a complete wreck, because the
firemen broke all the windows when they stopped the fire at that
point. We have been given a suite on the second floor, and all the
things which belong to us have been moved down there."
"Ah," interrupted Alfy. "I am so glad there are some things left. I
was afraid we would have to go about all day in blankets and look like
Indian squaws."
"No, indeed," answered Dorothy. "They are going to send us in our
coats, so that we can get to the carriage that they have placed at the
disposal of the guests and be driven right to the door."
"They have certainly tried to be as considerate as possible to all
their guests," said Mrs. Calvert.
"Here," said Dorothy, answering a loud knock at the door, "here are
our coats now."
"Come, let us see what we have left, for I feel sure that we will have
to hurry and get more clothes for you girls if we have to start for
Washington very soon," rejoined Mrs. Calvert.
They all slipped on their outer garments, and very quickly were
carried downstairs by the elevator. They hurried into their carriage
and very soon were located in their new suite of rooms.
"Oh, just look, Aunt Betty!" exclaimed Dorothy. "See, the trunks we
packed last night with all our good things are all right. The water
never leaked through at all."
"That saves us a good deal of trouble and expense, doesn't it? I
certainly thought that all three of us would have to be fitted out
entirely again. I am very, very glad that we were so fortunate,"
answered Aunt Betty.
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Alfy. "Oh, dear, just see! Isn't it too bad that
I didn't stay home and pack instead of going to church with Jim last
night. All I have in my trunk is the two white dresses you made me at
Bellevieu before we started on the trip, and my raincoat. Oh! Oh! Oh!
And I forgot all about it. I intended to show it to you right away as
soon as I reached Bellevieu. I begged Ma Babcock so for it, and then
to think I clean forgot it! Ah, she will be so disappointed to know I
forgot it."
"Why, Alfy child," remonstrated Aunt Betty. "What are you talking
about? There now, calm yourself and tell me."
"It's this," replied Alfy, holding up a piece of linen about a foot
square, "this sampler. I found it in an old box in the closet of the
spare room Ma had fixed up in the barn, when I was searching for my
raincoat just before I left home. Ma said a school friend, a little
Baltimore girl who was 'up Mounting' summering, and who fell ill and
stayed all winter and went to school with Ma, made it for her." And
Alfy handed the square of linen to Mrs. Calvert. Aunt Betty took it up
and carefully examined it while Dorothy looked over her shoulder and
tried to see it too.
"Why," exclaimed Mrs. Calvert, "this is beautiful work! Just
beautiful! And what is the name? Dorothy dear, will you see if you can
find my glasses? I put them in my work bag, which I put in the tray of
the trunk. Yes, way down in the right hand corner."
Dorothy crossed over to the trunk and immediately found the desired
bag, and opening it took out the glasses. "Here they are, Aunt Betty,"
she said, handing them to her.
Aunt Betty put the glasses on and proceeded carefully to examine the
sampler.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I have it now! The name is in this corner, and
as far as I can make it out is 'Hannah.' 'Hannah' something. 'Morrow.'
Maybe that's it."
"Let me see," interrupted Dorothy, "maybe I can make it out. I think
the first letter is 'W,' not 'M,'" and turning to Alfy, "what did Ma
Babcock say about the name?"
"Ma said that it was Hannah somebody, and that she was a poor sickly
girl. She lived in Baltimore and married a man who did not treat her
well, and died shortly after. I forget what she said her last name
was. But she said she married a man whose name was 'Halley' or
'Haley,'" answered Alfy.
"Oh, Aunt Betty, I have it!" exclaimed Dorothy joyously. "I have it!
It's 'Woodrow,' 'W-o-o-d-r-o-w, Woodrow.'"
"Yes, that's it. I recollect, now, ma saying, 'Hannah Woodrow,'"
chimed in Alfy.
"I wonder," said Aunt Betty, slowly, for she had been thinking, "I
wonder if it could be? You see, little Lem, Lem Haley, had no mother
or father, and just lived with his uncle, who abused him terribly. It
was he we found that night in the forest when we were camping. Do you
think it could be possible that this sampler was made by his mother?
Poor, unfortunate woman."
"Maybe we have some clue to work on now," said Dorothy. "Wouldn't it
be odd if it was his mother who made this sampler? She could sew well
if it was, for there are many hard and difficult stitches in that."
"And," added Alfy, "Ma said she was a rich girl; her folks had lots of
money, 'cause she dressed so nicely. And they paid Grandma Brown good
board, so ma said."
"May I have the sampler, Alfy?" asked Mrs. Calvert.
"Yes, indeed," answered Alfy. "Ma Babcock said for me to give it to
you, as maybe you would be interested in it."
"I am going to take it to my lawyer and see what he says about it. You
say you think that Mrs. Haley, or Hannah Woodrow, is dead?" added Aunt
Betty.
"Yes, ma said that she had not heard from her in so long that she was
sure that the poor unfortunate lady was dead," answered Alfaretta.
"I have felt all along that there was some dreadful catastrophe or
mystery about little Lem. His uncle was such a hard, cruel man, and
little Lem knew very little or nothing about his early life or
parents. All that he knew was that he was bound out to this harsh and
cruel man whom he called uncle, and made to work very hard, too hard,
indeed, for a child, for his board," remarked Aunt Betty.
"I do hope we can find out something about his people. He is such a
good boy, and now he goes to school and he is such an apt pupil,"
added Dorothy.
"Come now, we must dress and arrange our things and see what we need.
You girls please dress as quickly as possible and each make out a list
of what you have lost. In that way I can tell at a glance what is
needed, and we can go shopping this afternoon. I will also send Jim to
my lawyer with a note, and this sampler," remarked Aunt Betty. And
they all hurried away to dress.
Aunt Betty, finishing first, rang for Jim. Jim came to her and she
said, "Jim, here is a sampler that Ma Babcock had and let Alfy bring
to me. It was made by a girl named Hannah Woodrow, who married a man
named Haley, who was cruel to her. It is supposed that the unfortunate
woman died. The girl was a Baltimore girl who spent a year with Mrs.
Babcock's mother and attended school with Ma Babcock. She is thought
to have been rich. I wonder if in any way she could have been related
to little Lem Haley. We must try to trace up all facts and get to the
bottom of things. I have written a letter, and I thought you would not
mind taking it and the sampler to my lawyer."
"Where is it?" asked Jim. "I will go gladly."
"You go to Mr. Van Zandt, at 115 Broadway," replied Mrs. Calvert.
"Give him the package and the letter and tell him I am going out of
town to-morrow at noon to Washington, and that I will send him a
complete route list later on as soon as all our plans are made."
"All right," answered Jim, taking the package and putting the letter
into his coat pocket. "I will not be back directly, if that makes no
difference to you. I have a little shopping I should like to do this
afternoon." So saying, Jim left on his errand.
At Mrs. Calvert's suggestion the girls began making out a list of
things that were missing so that they could replace them that
afternoon if possible.
Suddenly Dorothy rushed into the room where Aunt Betty was quietly
seated reading and trying to collect her nerves that she said had been
shattered by the experiences of the night before.
"Aunt Betty, dear Aunt Betty, I can't find my locket!" she cried.
"Alfy and I have hunted all over. We searched everything before we
came to you with the news. We didn't want to bother you till we were
sure that we hadn't merely mislaid it."
"Are you sure, dear, you have looked all over everything you have?"
questioned Aunt Betty.
"Yes, and there is no trace of it anywhere," replied the girl. "And
it's the only locket I have and has the pictures of mother and father
in it. The only pictures we have of them."
"Well, dear, don't let's give up hope yet. Let me go with you and
look," answered her aunt.
"Dear Aunt Betty, I am sure it isn't in there. I always wear it. You
know I do. Ever since you gave it to me it has been my most cherished
possession," bewailed Dorothy.
"No, it isn't anywhere in there," said Alfy, decidedly, walking into
the room at that moment. "I, myself, have searched everywhere, and you
know how thorough I am, Mrs. Calvert."
"Maybe it's upstairs in our old rooms," suggested Aunt Betty. "They
might have mislaid it."
"I will ring for a maid and then Alfy and I will go up with her and
look," answered Dorothy, immediately acting on the suggestion.
"It must be up there, dear, as everything else came down safely, and
all my jewelry is intact," added Mrs. Calvert.
"I do hope it is. It has given me such a scare," rejoined Alfy.
"Come along, Alfy; we are going up now," said Dorothy, as the maid
appeared in answer to her summons.
"We'll be right down, Aunt Betty." And with that the girls departed.
In a few moments they came back, and by just glancing at them Aunt
Betty knew that the quest had failed.
"No, it is nowhere there," said Dorothy sadly, "nowhere there."
"Ring for the manager, dear, and I will see him and see what he
suggests doing. The locket is of no value to anyone else. Its main
value is in the pictures. I am very sorry I have no other copy of
them. I have a picture of your father when he was younger, a mere boy
at our Baltimore home, Bellevieu, but I never had another picture of
your mother, dear," said Aunt Betty.
The manager came now in response to their call, and Aunt Betty told
him of the loss of the locket, and wherein its value lay. He was very
sorry indeed to hear of the loss, but felt hopeful that he could
restore the locket to them in the course of an hour or two.
Dorothy turned to Aunt Betty as the manager left the room, and flung
herself weeping into her lap.
"Dear, dear child," soothed Aunt Betty, "don't be foolish, dear. There
are still hopes of its being found."
"But they are the only pictures I ever had of them," bemoaned the
little girl. The dear old lady took the young girl in her arms and
comforted her with hopeful suggestion and loving words of
encouragement.