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[Illustration: {Cover: Witch Winnie
The Story of a King's Daughter
Elizabeth W. Champney}]
WITCH WINNIE.
[Illustration: {Woman lowers basket
from window to three men waiting
below.}]
WITCH WINNIE
THE STORY OF A "KING'S DAUGHTER"
BY
ELIZABETH W. CHAMPNEY
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1889, by
WHITE AND ALLEN
Copyright, 1891, by
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
THE BURR PRINTING HOUSE
New York
_DEDICATED TO_
MY LITTLE WITCH MARIE.
Where she's been the sunshine lingers,
She's my witch and she's my mouse;
She has helpful, fairy fingers,
Busy keeper of the house.
She is tricksy and she's elfish;
Sure no plague could e'er be worse;
She is thoughtful and unselfish,
She's my gentle angel-nurse.
All their jokes the brownies lend her,
She's a merry, mischief thing;
But her heart is very tender--
She's a Daughter of the King.
Yes, there's something nice about her,
And I'll love her till my death;
No, I could not do without her--
I'm her ma, Elizabeth.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION, 9
I. BOARDING-SCHOOL SCRAPES, 11
II. GUINEVERE'S GOWN, 30
III. THE PRINCESS, 50
IV. COURT LIFE, 63
V. LITTLE PRINCE DEL PARADISO, 79
VI. MRS. HETTERMAN THROWS LIGHT ON THE MYSTERY, 90
VII. WINNIE'S CONFESSION, 109
VIII. THE ELDER BROTHER AND MRS. HALSEY'S STRANGE STORY, 123
IX. THE KING'S DAUGHTERS AND THE VENETIAN FETE, 139
X. THE LANDLORD OF RICKETT'S COURT, 162
XI. THE GUESTS OF THE ELDER BROTHER, 189
XII. WITH THE DYNAMITERS, 212
XIII. THE KING'S DAUGHTERS IN THE COUNTRY, 225
XIV. OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY, 246
XV. THE ESTATES DEL PARADISO, 302
INTRODUCTION.
It is but just to explain that, while all of the characters introduced
in this little story are purely imaginary, the founding of the Home of
the Elder Brother was suggested by the work of some real children,
younger than Madame's pupils, who gave a little fair, and, helped by
charitable people, instituted a lovely charity, the Messiah Home for
Little Children, at 4 Rutherford Place, New York City. This Home still
opens its doors to the children of working-women, and is helped by
different circles of King's Daughters, some of whom have adopted
children to clothe. It is a beautiful work, founded by children for
children, and it is hoped that others all over the land will join in it,
and that the work may broaden until no such dens as Rickett's Court will
remain in our fair city or country.
E. W. C.
WITCH WINNIE.
CHAPTER I.
BOARDING-SCHOOL SCRAPES.
[Illustration: {Drawing of Winnie.}]
We never had any until Witch Winnie came to room in our corner.
We had the reputation of being the best behaved set at Madame's, a
little bit self-conscious too, and proud of our propriety. Perhaps this
was the reason that we were nicknamed the "Amen Corner," though the
girls pretended it was because the initials of our names, spelled
downward, like an acrostic--
_A_delaide Armstrong,
_M_illy Roseveldt,
_E_mma Jane Anton,
_N_ellie Smith--
formed the word _amen_. But certainly the name would not have clung to
us as it did if the other girls had not recognized its fitness in our
forming a sanctimonious little clique who echoed Madame's sentiments,
and were real Pharisees in minding the rules about study-hours, and
whispering, and having our lights out in time, and the other lesser
matters of the law which the girls in the "Hornets' Nest," Witch
Winnie's set, disregarded with impunity.
And verily we had our reward, for Madame trusted us, and gave us the
best set of rooms in the great stone corner tower, overlooking the park,
quite away from the espial of the corridor teacher. They had been
intended for an infirmary, but as no one was ever sick at Madame's, she
grew tired of keeping them unoccupied, and assigned them to us.
Sometimes the other girls annoyed us by making calls in study-hours, and
we virtuously displayed a placard on our door bearing the inscription,
"Particularly Engaged." It caught Witch Winnie's eye, as she strolled
along the hall, and she scribbled beneath it,
"The girls of the Amen Corner
Would have us all to know
That they're _engaged_, each one engaged--
Particularly so."[A]
[A] This incident is borrowed from an actual occurrence.
We hardly knew whether to be amused or vexed at this sally of Witch
Winnie's. We acknowledged that it was bright, but we deplored her
wildness, and had no idea how much we should love her in time to come.
After all, our reputation as model pupils had a very slender foundation.
It rested chiefly on Emma Jane's preternatural conscientiousness. The
night that the cadet band serenaded our school, some of the pupils,
presumably the girls in the "Hornets' Nest," threw out bouquets to the
performers. Rumor said that when Madame heard of this she was greatly
shocked.
"I don't see how she can punish them for it," said Adelaide; "there's
nothing in the rules about not giving flowers to young men. Still, it
was a dreadful thing to do, and Madame is ingenious enough to twist the
rules some way, so as to 'make the punishment fit the crime.' I am glad
the Amen Corner is guiltless."
Then we marched into chapel on tiptoe with excitement to see Madame
wreak vengeance on the wrong-doers. Witch Winnie sat behind me, and
turning, I saw that she looked pale, but resolute.
Madame rose in awful dignity, her wiry curls, which Milly said reminded
her of spiral bed-springs, bristled ominously.
"Young ladies," she exclaimed, in a sharp tone of command, "you may all
rise." We rose.
"If you turn to the printed rules of this institution," she continued,
"you will find under Section VII. the following paragraph--'Pupils are
not allowed to disfigure the lawn by _throwing from the windows_ any
bits of paper, hair, apple-parings, peanut shells, or waste material _of
any kind_. Scrap-baskets are provided for the reception of such matter,
and any pupil throwing _anything from her window upon the school
grounds_ will be regarded as having committed a misdemeanor.'"
An impressive silence followed, in which Witch Winnie gave a sigh of
relief, and whispered to Cynthia Vaughn, "We're all right; we didn't
disfigure her precious lawn. The bouquets never touched the ground. I
lowered them, with a string, in my scrap-basket (just where she says we
ought to have put them), and the drum-major took them out and
distributed them to the other boys."
"Young ladies," Madame continued, in tones of triumph, "those of you who
have not broken this rule within the past week may sit down."
We all sat down--all but Emma Jane Anton, who remained in conspicuous
discomfort. Adelaide pulled her by the basque, "Sit down!" she
whispered; "Madame doesn't mean you."
Emma Jane stood like a martyr while Madame regarded her through her
lorgnette with astonishment depicted on every feature.
"If you committed this infringement of the rules at any time other than
last evening you may sit down."
Emma Jane remained standing.
"Then," said Madame, drawing herself up frigidly, "Miss Anton, you may
explain: what was it you threw out?"
"Madame," replied Emma Jane, "the window was open--we were listening to
the music--and a bat flew in; and, Madame, he would not stay in the
waste-paper basket, and so, Madame, I threw him out."
Every one laughed; discipline was forgotten for the moment, until Madame
rapped smartly on the desk and called for order. She complimented Emma
Jane highly on her conscientiousness, but she looked provoked with her
all the same, while Witch Winnie, who was stuffing her handkerchief into
her mouth, nearly went into convulsions.
After the sketch which I have endeavored to give of Witch Winnie, and
the position which she occupied at Madame's, I trust that we, as
self-respecting pupils, will not be too severely blamed when I confess
that we received, with great disfavor, Madame's announcement that Winnie
was henceforth to room in the Amen Corner.
The bedrooms at Madame's boarding-school were clustered in little groups
around study-parlors, five girls forming a family. For a long time there
had been only four in our set. Emma Jane Anton, who preferred to room
alone, had the little single bedroom; Adelaide and Milly were chums;
while I, Nellie Smith, familiarly nicknamed Tib, had luxuriated so long
in the large corner chamber that I had almost forgotten that Madame
told me, at the outset, that I must hold myself in readiness to receive
a room-mate at any time.
Adelaide Armstrong was the daughter of a railroad magnate. She had been
brought up in the West, but, though she had traveled much, and had seen
a great deal of society, her education had not been entirely neglected.
She had studied a great deal in a desultory way, and contested the head
of the class with Emma Jane Anton, who was a "regular dig," and had
prepared for college in the Boston public schools.
It was really surprising how Adelaide had picked up so much. She had
studied Latin with a priest in New Mexico, and had profited by two years
at a lonely post on the confines of Canada, where her father had been
interested in the fur trade, to become proficient in French. Strikingly
handsome, a brunette with brilliant complexion and Andalusian eyes,
energetic and spirited, she was popular both with her instructors and
her classmates.
Milly Roseveldt was her exact contrast--a milky-complexioned little
blonde, shy and sweet; she was also a trifle dull. Adelaide translated
her Latin, and worked out her problems, and I wrote her compositions,
while Milly rewarded us with largesses of love and confectionery, for
she was the most generous as well as the most affectionate of girls. Her
father, a wealthy New York banker, placed large sums of money at her
disposal, and Milly deluged her friends with gifts of flowers and
bonbons. It seemed very natural to me that Adelaide and Milly should be
sworn friends; but my admittance into the sacred circle was a mystery to
me, and to a number of aspiring girls who asserted that I was nobody in
particular, and who envied me my place in my friends' affection. My
presence in the school itself was almost as great a wonder. My father
was a Long Island farmer. We opened our house to city boarders during
the summer, and one season Miss Sartoris, the teacher in Art at
Madame's, boarded with us. I had taken drawing lessons at the Academy,
and Miss Sartoris took me out sketching with her. I worked like a
beaver, and was never so happy in my life. I delighted Miss Sartoris,
who wakened mother's ambition by telling her that I was the most
talented pupil she had ever had. More than this: we three induced good,
easy-going, generous father to let me go back to the city with Miss
Sartoris as a pupil at Madame's. My wardrobe was meagre, but not
countrified, for I possessed a natural sense of color and a quick
faculty for imitation. I had seen plenty of city people at Scup Haven,
and my few dresses, I fancied, would pass muster anywhere. I was a fair
scholar, and took the lead in the studio. I was not brilliant and
stylish like Adelaide, or rich and pretty like Milly, but they liked me,
and I liked myself the better for the consciousness that there must be
something nice about me which attracted them. I believe now that it was
an absence of self-consciousness and selfishness on my part, and my
hearty admiration and devotion to them. Adelaide called me, playfully,
"the great American Appreciator."
It was just before the theatricals given by our literary society that an
incident occurred which showed me how much they really thought of me. We
three were arranging the stage; I was touching up the scenery, and Milly
holding the tacks for Adelaide, who was looping the drapery, when we
overheard the conversation of a group of girls on the other side of the
curtain.
Cynthia Vaughn was the first to speak.
"I think Adelaide Armstrong is perfectly splendid!"
"So do I," said another; and there was a chorus of confused voices
exclaiming, "So stylish!" "Perfectly elegant!" "The handsomest girl in
school!"
Adelaide left her work and placed her hand on the curtain, but Milly
threw her arms impulsively around her. "Let us hear what they will say,"
she whispered; "when they are through we can pull the cord, and all bow
thanks."
By this time other voices were chanting Milly's praises, and Adelaide
turned reluctantly away, remarking, "Well, if you enjoy that sort of
thing, you are welcome to it. I should not be surprised, by the way they
are loading it on, if they knew we were here."
They did not know it, for at that instant Cynthia Vaughn spoke up again,
"I don't see what they find to admire in that pokey Lib Smith."
"I should think Milly would be ashamed to be seen with her," said
another; "her dresses always remind me of a chicken with its head
through a hole in a salt-bag."
Adelaide sprang forward with flashing eyes to confront the speaker, but
this time it was I who held her back. "Let them say their say," I
whispered, hoarsely, while Milly cowered, trembling. "I believe her
mother makes her dresses at home," said Witch Winnie; "and, as she can't
have Tib to try them on, she fits them on her grandfather."
There was a hearty laugh at this sally, and another added: "I don't see
how Adelaide can endure her, she is so stingy. Have you noticed that the
girls place a fresh bouquet at her plate every morning? and I never
could find out that she ever gave either of them so much as a single
flower."
Adelaide nearly writhed herself from my grasp, but I held her tightly.
"Milly," she gasped, "are you a coward, to stand there and hear our
friend reviled so? Can't you stop them?"
The blood surged into Milly's pale cheeks, and she sprang before the
curtain. "Girls," she cried, "how can you talk so? Nellie Smith is our
dearest friend. She is not one bit stingy; she gives us more than we
have ever given her. Because she does not parade her presents on the
breakfast-table is no reason that she has not given me lots and lots of
things, and no girl can consider herself my friend who talks so about
our darling Tib."
Here Milly broke down in tears, and Witch Winnie exclaimed, "Good for
you, Milly Roseveldt; I didn't know you had so much spunk!" But at this
point we all fled to the Amen Corner, and bolted the door, refusing to
admit Witch Winnie, who impulsively shouted her apologies through the
keyhole.
"Oh, Milly!" I cried, "what made you tell a lie for me? I never gave you
a thing." And I might have added, "How could I, when my allowance for
spending-money is hardly sufficient to keep me in slate-pencils?"
But Milly stopped my mouth with kisses, and pointed to sundry original
works of art with which I had decorated her apartment, and declared,
besides, that helping her on that last horrid composition was a greater
gift than all the roses in Le Moult's greenhouse.
So we of the Amen Corner disliked Witch Winnie and loved each other, all
but Emma Jane Anton. We could not be said to exactly love her; we
tolerated her in our midst, in spite of her uncongenial nature, because
we took pride in her eminent respectability, and in the higher average
of reputation for creditable scholarship and exemplary behavior which
she gave to our corner. But love her! We might as well have tried to
love an iceberg.
Witch Winnie arrived on Adelaide's birthday, and was a most unwelcome
birthday present. Emma Jane Anton had obtained permission for us to
celebrate the occasion by sitting up an hour later that evening. Milly
had ordered a form of ice-cream and a birthday-cake from Mazetti's, and
we had invited in a half-dozen friends to share the treat. As a damper
on this beautiful fete, Madame had called us into her private study that
afternoon, and had told us that she had decided to assign Witch Winnie
as my room-mate. She did not scruple to tell us her reasons for doing
so. Winnie (according to Madame) was the head-centre of a wild set of
"ne'er-do-weels" who roomed in the top of the house, "a perfect hornets'
nest under the eaves," Madame said. Madame felt that if the queen hornet
was taken away, the rest would be more amenable to discipline, and that
Winnie, placed among such proper and well-behaved girls as we were,
would herself feel our beneficial influence.
"I think," said Madame, "that if you knew Winnie's history you would
understand her better. Her parents were both very talented and highly
imaginative people. Her father is a playwright of reputation, who
married a very lovely young actress who had sustained the leading part
in several of his plays. They were tenderly attached to each other. Mrs.
De Witt had great dramatic talent; she made it the study of her life to
realize his conceptions, and succeeded to his perfect satisfaction. She
said that she so lived in her part that frequently she forgot her own
personality, while Mr. De Witt was always cudgeling his brains to invent
new plots, situations, and characters for his wife. Mrs. De Witt died
when Winnie was but three years of age. The child has lived with
different relatives, and has been spoiled and neglected by turns, but
never quite understood. I have studied her carefully, and think I see in
her a combination of both parents. She has her father's highly organized
imaginative nature, but instead of constructing plots for plays, it
develops itself in plots for scrapes. She delights in dramatic
situations, and is a natural and unconscious actress. Her father hopes
that she may never adopt the stage as her profession, for it was that
life of mental and physical strain which killed Winnie's mother.
Something remarkable in organization or in action the girl will
certainly be, and as she takes her color, like a chameleon, from her
surroundings, or, rather, her cue from the other actors, I have great
hopes for your influence over her."
Madame's confidences made little impression upon our prejudice. We
listened in silence, and, returning to our rooms, held an indignation
meeting, in which Emma Jane led. Adelaide, who ought to have sympathized
with the neglected orphan, for she had lost her own mother when a little
girl, and who did find in this fact a bond of fellow-feeling later on,
now ignored all her claim for pity, and chose to feel that we were all
grossly insulted. Milly pitied me the enforced companionship, several of
us were in tears, and in the midst of it all Witch Winnie appeared. The
clatter of voices sank to sudden silence, and the new-comer, looking
from face to face, instantly understood the situation.
"If you feel half as badly as I do, girls," she said, with a merry
laugh, "I'm sorry for you; I wouldn't intrude on you in this way if I
could help it. Madame tells me you are to have a spread to-night, and
have invited your particular friends. It's too bad she wouldn't let me
put off moving till to-morrow morning. I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll
sit in the recitation-room and cram for examination until the party is
over. Of course you don't want me, a perfect stranger to your friends;
it isn't to be supposed you would."
Emma Jane Anton looked relieved. "We provided for a limited number," she
explained; "if we had known that we were to have the honor of your
company--"
But Adelaide interrupted her instantly. "Sit in that dismal
recitation-room while I am having my birthday party! Indeed you shall do
nothing of the sort!" while Milly came gallantly to the rescue, assuring
her that she had ordered more ice-cream than they could possibly
consume, and I did the best I could to make Winnie believe that she was
welcome.
The girls appeared _en masse_ as soon as the bell struck for the close
of evening study-hour--congratulations were offered to Adelaide, and
Winnie was introduced. All made extravagant efforts to be gay and
sociable, but there was a certain constraint, a forced quality, in it
all, which had for its reason something beyond the fact of an unwelcome
addition to the Corner: the refreshments had not arrived. Mazetti had
forgotten to send them. There stood the study-table neatly spread with a
table-cloth borrowed from the steward's department, and set with
saucers, spoons, and plates, all disappointingly empty.
Adelaide tried to carry off the situation as an immense joke. Milly
alternated between hope and despair, fancying each noise of wheels the
confectioner's cart. The guests showed their disappointment plainly,
some confessing that they had slighted the evening prunes and rice in
anticipation of this treat. And I heard Cynthia Vaughn whisper that it
was a very cheap way to give a party--to pretend that there had been a
mistake. At this juncture I suddenly noticed that Witch Winnie had
disappeared.
A few moments later a loud knocking, or kicking, for it was evidently
bestowed with feet instead of hands, was heard at the door. "Let me in,
girls!" cried Witch Winnie's voice--"let me in, quick! before Madame
catches me." We opened the door, and Witch Winnie burst in, and sat
laughing on the floor; from her dress, which had been gathered up in
her hands, and had served as a market-basket, rolled a quantity of paper
bags and parcels--lemons, bottles of olives, sugar, mixed pickles,
crackers, sardines, macaroons, nuts, raisins, candy, etc., etc.
"Help yourselves, girls," she chuckled. "We'll have the spread, after
all. I have been around the corner and bought out Mr. Beeny's little
grocery." Then broke in a chorus of voices--
"How did you ever get out of the house?"
"Was Cerberus asleep?" (Cerberus was our nickname for the janitor.)
"How very sweet of you!"
"But how extravagant!"
"O girls! these pickled limes are too lovely for anything."
Adelaide appeared with her ewer. "I'll make the lemonade," she said, and
began rolling the lemons with Milly's curling-stick, while Emma Jane
Anton manipulated the can-opener with energy and success. Each girl flew
to her room for her tooth-mug, and we drank Witch Winnie's health in
brimming bumpers of lemonade.
"How did you ever manage it?" Milly asked again.
"I climbed down the fire-escape." Witch Winnie giggled.
"But you had to drop twelve feet onto the sidewalk!"
"What of that? I've done it in the gymnasium from the trapeze many a
time."
"But you never came back that way?"
"Hardly. I rang the basement bell, and when Cerberus said he'd tell
Madame, I made him a present of three packages of cigarettes and some
Limburger cheese, and I am quite certain that he will never say a word."
Witch Winnie's generosity and good-fellowship had won the day. From that
moment we took her into our hearts.
The ice-cream which Milly had ordered arrived the next day, but we were
all too ill to touch it; we had feasted without restraint on our new
chum's bountiful but somewhat heterogeneous repast, and were paying the
penalty with rousing headaches, but in our fiercest pangs we were still
ready to declare that if there ever was a trump it was Witch Winnie.