THE ORPHANS' COURT
The curious eyes which watched Miss Miflin and the children on the
train were multiplied tenfold when they found themselves on the streets
of the county seat. Miss Miflin was pretty enough to attract attention
anywhere, but she had never before been so frankly stared at. She
was well aware that the children in their striped shawls and little
sunbonnets and gray home-knit stockings looked strange in a town where
for twenty years little girls had been wearing coats and hats.
"Is it a show?" she heard one impertinent boy ask another.
"See here, once," a man exclaimed. "That's the way the little girls
looked when I was a boy."
Miss Miflin was the only member of her party who was at all disturbed
by the interested residents of the county seat. The tired look was gone
from Sarah's face, her eyes sparkled; for a few minutes, in her delight
over the strange sights, she forgot her anxiety and fear. Here were the
wonderful "electricity cars," which frightened the twins nearly out of
their wits.
"Where are then the horses?" they demanded together. "What makes it go?
Will it come after us?"
The twins held each other tightly by the hand, their desire to run
ahead and their fear of becoming separated from Miss Miflin making
their gait very uncertain. Once she and Sarah almost stumbled over
them, when they stopped short to contemplate the wonders of the tall
Powers Building, in course of erection on the other side of the street.
Miss Miflin was not sorry when the gray walls of the court house
appeared before them. She would be glad to get her charges safely
within doors.
The twins, however, had stopped again. They had loosened their grasp on
each other, and were standing with clasped hands and rapturous gaze.
"What is it?" asked Miss Miflin. Then she followed their glance to a
little peanut and candy stand near by.
"Peanuts!" said Louisa Ellen rapturously.
"Candy!" said Ellen Louisa.
There was a shocked "Ach, aren't you ashamed!" from Sarah, and a laugh
from Miss Miflin.
"Wait till we go home," she said.
Then, together, she and Sarah pushed open the heavy door of the court
house.
They found themselves in a great, empty hall, with many doors on each
side. The twins, after a moment's silent contemplation, tried to puzzle
out the signs above the doors. "Clerk of the Court" was easy. "District
Attorney" and "Prothonotary" were harder.
"Are we going to one of those places?" whispered Louisa Ellen. They
had never been to a circus, but they were feeling the same pleasant
thrills that a small boy would feel at sight of the closed tents.
"I don't know," answered Miss Miflin, more to herself than to them. "We
must see some one."
"Could I go and ask?" inquired Sarah.
"No," answered Miss Miflin. "Are you afraid to wait here a minute with
the twins, while I see what I can do?"
At that moment a door at the upper end of the hall opened, and a tall
gentleman came toward them. At sight of them his step slackened, and he
looked at them curiously. He, too, remembered the little Pennsylvania
German schoolhouse to which he had gone as a small boy. He did not wait
for Miss Miflin to speak to him.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked courteously.
Miss Miflin looked up into the kindly face.
"Why, yes. But it would take a few minutes to explain, and I don't like
to keep you."
"Oh, I shall be glad to help. Only--" The gentleman looked back over
his shoulder. The door of the prothonotary's office had opened. In a
moment two or three idle young clerks would be in the hall, curious to
see the girl whose voice they heard. He opened the nearest door, and
stepped back for Miss Miflin and the twins to enter. "Come in here," he
said.
The little room into which they went was stiffly furnished in the
fashion of fifty years ago, as an ante-room to the judge's private
office. It was not often used; the horsehair-covered chairs, set neatly
against the wall, and the dark heavy velvet curtains were unworn. To
the twins it was a marvelously beautiful place. Miss Miflin and Sarah
saw nothing but the kindly face which invited them to tell their story.
"These children are orphans," Miss Miflin began. "Their father was
Henry Wenner of Spring Grove township, who died about a month ago.
He had been an invalid for some years, and Sarah, the oldest girl,
managed the farm."
"Ebert ploughed for me and farmed for the half," explained Sarah. She
had taken her sunbonnet off, and her bright eyes looked first at the
stranger, then at Miss Miflin. "He would help me yet. I could get good
along, if they would only leave me be."
"The father made no will, and no provision for the children, but it was
his wish that they stay together."
"And mom said always so too," added Sarah.
"Are there any relatives?" asked the stranger.
"Yes, their mother's brother, Daniel Swartz. He lives on the next farm.
But there was never any friendship between the two families while these
children's parents lived. Now he has made application to be appointed
guardian, and it doesn't seem necessary or right that he should be.
He--"
"You see it is this way," said Sarah. "He wanted always the farm. It
was once all my gran'pop's farm. He wanted my pop and mom should move
away and sell it to him once. Now he won't have it that we keep it like
my pop said we should. The twins shall live by Aunt Mena, and Albert
and I shall live by him, and we won't have no home any more, and--"
Miss Miflin laid a hand on Sarah's knee.
"We didn't mean to trouble you with all this," she said gently. "I just
wanted to know what we should do, to whom we should go. I thought that
if Daniel Swartz hadn't been made guardian yet, perhaps there was some
way of stopping it, and you could tell us to what official we should
apply."
"There would have to be a hearing before the judge, and their uncle
would have to be notified, so that he could defend himself," answered
the gentleman slowly. He looked down once more at Sarah and the twins.
"They are pretty young to be looking after themselves," he said.
"I am fifteen years old," said Sarah. "And if they would take the farm
and only leave me raise chickens I can get along."
The stranger's eyes met Miss Miflin's.
"She is a very capable little girl," said Miss Miflin.
Then the twins, who had marveled at the "electricity cars" and the tall
buildings, were still further astonished. The gentleman got up and
crossed the room, and took down a little horn which was hanging against
the wall. Then he began to talk. The twins' mouths opened involuntarily.
"Is this the clerk's office? Can you get Weaver and his client--" He
turned to Sarah. "What did you say the uncle's name is? Swartz? Oh
yes--Can you get Weaver and Swartz here for a hearing this afternoon?
They're in the court-house now? Oh, very well. Yes, right away."
Then the stranger hung up the little horn once more. He smiled at Miss
Miflin and the children.
"Would you mind coming to tell the judge what you have told me?" he
said.
"Will it be in the court-room?" asked Miss Miflin. She grew more and
more poignantly conscious of the strangeness of her errand. But this
stranger was evidently accustomed to court business and he seemed
encouraging.
"Oh no. The sessions of the Orphans' Court are held in the judge's
office. This way." And he opened a door leading into the next room.
Miss Miflin felt Sarah's tight grasp on her arm, and the twins came
close behind. This room was much larger than the one they were leaving.
There was no carpet on the floor, and no attempt at elegant furniture.
At one end was a plain, businesslike desk, and the twenty or thirty
chairs which stood about the room were straight and uncushioned.
To Miss Miflin's distress, almost every chair was occupied. The
stranger frowned a little when he saw the audience. It took a very
short time for the news of an interesting case to spread through the
court-house.
But Miss Miflin's surprise was nothing to be compared to the surprise
of two of the occupants of the wooden chairs. Daniel Swartz's eyes
widened, and Jacob Kalb nudged him visibly.
"It is Sarah and the zwillings," he cried. "Sarah and the zwillings!"
Uncle Daniel had had a moment of severe fright. The lawyer had told him
that they had only to go to the court-house to get the papers. But his
fright passed.
"Pooh, what do I care?" he said. "I have my lawyer, and I paid him
twenty-five dollars already. I am not afraid of no zwillings. Nor yet
no school-teacher," he added under his breath. In Uncle Daniel's mind,
the days of Miss Miflin in the Spring Grove School were numbered.
But the surprises were not yet over. The tall gentleman found places
for Miss Miflin and the children near the desk at the front of the
room. Sarah looked up at him with a mixture of gratitude and alarm.
"Couldn't you stay by us?" she whispered.
The stranger laughed.
"I'm not going away," he answered. Then to the amazement of Miss Miflin
and Sarah and the consternation of Daniel Swartz, he took his place
behind the desk.
"They were already by the judge!" said Uncle Daniel. "It is not fair,
it--"
"I'd advise you to be quiet," said Mr. Weaver curtly.
Sarah seized Miss Miflin's arm.
"Was it--was--it _him_?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Miss Miflin. "It was."
She saw the judge smiling at their surprise, and she felt suddenly that
it was all less of a wild-goose chase than she had feared.
It was comforting, also, that there was about this hearing none of
the formality of a court trial. The judge wore no gown, there was no
prisoners' dock, no loud-voiced crier; it was more like the office of
a country squire. Miss Miflin whispered to the twins to take off their
sunbonnets, and not to speak unless the judge spoke to them.
The clerk of the court read Daniel Swartz's application, and then Mr.
Weaver rose. He had not anticipated any objections, and he was not in
a good humor. He felt that he was wasting his time over an unimportant
case. He said briefly that the children had no natural guardian, except
their uncle Daniel Swartz, an upright, prosperous man, who was willing
to take from his own important business the time necessary to look
after their affairs.
"He is a school-director, a member of the Reformed Church in good
standing, and a prosperous farmer. Could a more suitable person be
found? The oldest of the children is fourteen--"
"I am fifteen," said Sarah.
The men in the court-room smiled, and the lawyer went on as though he
had not heard.
"It will be years before she is of age. How can such a child possibly
look after a farm and bring up three children? They do not _want_ a
guardian; few children would, after having been allowed to run loose
for years. But in their own interest, and in the interest especially
of these younger children, I ask that Daniel Swartz be made their
guardian."
Daniel Swartz looked about complacently, as if challenging those near
him to prove that the lawyer's statements were untrue.
"To-morrow she loses her school," he said to Jacob Kalb.
Then he saw that the judge was speaking to Miss Miflin.
"What is your name?"
"Helen Miflin."
"You are a school-teacher?"
"I teach in the Spring Grove Schoolhouse."
"What interest have you in this case?"
The judge saw that the flush on Miss Miflin's cheek deepened, but he
thought it was only a flush of embarrassment.
"I am fond of these children, and I do not believe the appointment of
Mr. Swartz as guardian is necessary or right."
"Why?"
"Because for years the families have not been friendly, and Mr. Wenner
would never have chosen Mr. Swartz as the guardian of his children, and
because the children do not like him."
"Like me!" exclaimed Daniel Swartz to the lawyer. "What dumb talk! It
makes nothing out if they like me or not."
"You will have to be quiet," answered Mr. Weaver. "It makes a good deal
of difference in the appointment of a guardian."
"Sarah Wenner," said the judge.
"Yes, sir," answered Sarah.
"Why don't you want to live with your uncle, and have him look after
your affairs?"
"Because my mom said we should stay always together. It is not right
that children have no home of their own. And my pop was for three years
sick, and Ebert helped us, and we got good along. He worked for the
half. And I can raise chickens. And the twins are always good for me,
and Albert is always good for me, and Uncle Daniel, he knows I can get
along. Albert is already by him, and he gave him candy till he was sick
and I had to go to cure him. He don't know how to bring up children,
and Aunt 'Lizie don't know. He--he is always after us. And he came for
me in the night to go to Albert, and when I went back in the morning
Jacob Kalb was living there already, and baking pies, and--"
At thought of the morning, the tears came into Sarah's eyes, and her
voice choked. "If he would only l-leave me be."
"That will do," said the judge kindly. He thought that he had never
seen the court-house clerks so quiet. "And you," he said to the twins,
"aren't you willing to be good little girls, and do as Uncle Daniel
wants you to?"
The twins looked up at the judge, then round the room. They were
frightened and puzzled. They thought this kindly gentleman was on their
side, but he had made Sarah cry, and now he wanted them to obey Uncle
Daniel. Then Louisa Ellen put out her hand and nudged Ellen Louisa.
The eyes of the judge and the clerks followed theirs. Uncle Daniel was
smiling at them graciously,--he who usually frowned so crossly. And as
Uncle Daniel smiled, he put his hand into his pocket and drew out two
shining dollars.
To the court-room Uncle Daniel's purpose was evident. The court-room
held its breath. Louisa Ellen's hand tightened on Ellen Louisa's.
"Uncle Daniel is going to give us a dollar!" she said, in tones of such
wonder and amazement that the court-room rocked with mirth.
[Illustration: UNCLE DANIEL SMILED AND DREW OUT TWO SHINING DOLLARS]
"Order!" said the judge, after a long minute.
Then Mr. Weaver knew--though Uncle Daniel did not as yet--that his
cause was lost. Uncle Daniel put the money back into his pocket,
shamefacedly. This would be another score to settle with the twins when
this foolish court business was over. Then he heard that the judge was
speaking.
"Whom would you like to have for your guardian, children?"
Sarah looked up at Miss Miflin. To her the word guardian meant
unpleasant oversight, interference. Must they have a guardian at all?
But Miss Miflin did not seem troubled in the least. What she said was
unpremeditated; she did not realize until after the words were out that
the lawyer's sharp eyes and the judge's kindly eyes were watching her
so closely, nor could she foresee that her face would become a flaming
crimson.
"I don't see why they need a guardian at all," she said. "They have an
older brother."
"Oh," said the judge. "Why, then, was the application made?"
At that moment Jacob Kalb had come finally to the conclusion that he
had been silent long enough.
"He went three years ago already to Alaska," he said. "He will never
come home."
"Oh, he will!" cried little Sarah.
"And if he does come home," went on Jacob Kalb coolly, "what will he
have to say about the school-board money that he took along with him to
Alaska?"
"Oh, for shame!" cried Miss Miflin.
"Yes," answered Jacob. "Stealing is a shame."
"He did _not_ steal!" Miss Miflin's voice shook. She knew they were
watching her curiously; she heard the door open to admit another
inquisitive clerk, who she saw dimly was tall and broad of shoulder,
but she did not care if the whole world were there to hear. "His
father paid the money, and he has never had any chance to defend
himself."
"Stealing is stealing," said Jacob Kalb doggedly.