HOW LETTIE HAD HER OWN WAY
"I just wish I could do as I've a mind to for once in my life!" said
Lettie Glover crossly, when her mother refused to allow her to carry
out a plan she had made. "I never can do anything I want to," she went
on. "I've heard that stepmothers were horrid, but I believe real
mothers are just as bad!" and she flounced out of the room.
"Letitia!" called her mother sternly, as she was about to slam the
door after her, "come back!"
She turned. "What do you want?" she snapped.
Mrs. Glover was very pale. Lettie had never seen her look so, and in
spite of her anger she was frightened.
"I think you need a lesson, my daughter," she said quietly, speaking
evidently with difficulty, almost in gasps. "I will let you try your
plan; you may do exactly as you choose for twenty-four hours; I shall
not see you again till it is over," and, rising, she went to her own
room, and locked the door.
Lettie stood as if stunned; she remembered, suddenly, what the doctor
had said, that her mother's health was precarious, that she must not
be agitated; and a feeling of dismay rushed over her; but a thought of
what her mother had refused her returned, and she hardened herself
again.
"I don't believe what the old doctor said, anyway," she muttered; "and
I'll have a good time for once! Oh! won't I!" as the thought of what
she would do came over her.
"In the first place," she thought, "of course I'll go on Stella's
moonlight excursion to-night; mother's objections are nonsense. I know
Stella's friends are a little wild; but they're awfully jolly all the
same, and I know we'll have lots of fun--and I do love a sail on the
river. I'll wear my new white dress, too," she went on, as the thought
of her perfect freedom grew upon her; "I don't believe I'll hurt it,
and if it is soiled a little it can be done up before Aunt Joe's party
that mother's so wonderfully particular about."
It was now time to start for school, but she at once decided not to
go. "I'll have a good time for once," she said, "and get rid of that
horrid grammar lesson. Now I'll go over to Stella's and tell her I'm
going;" and she went to her room to get ready.
"I won't wear this old dress," she said scornfully; "for once I'll
dress as I please; mother's so notional about street dress!"
In her own room she threw off the scorned dark school dress and
brought from her clothes-press a new light blue silk, just made for
her to wear on very special occasions. "I'll wear this," she said; "I
shan't hurt it; and I want Stella to see that other folks can have
nice dresses as well as she."
Hurriedly she put on the pretty dress and the ribbons that went with
it. Then, taking off her sensible street shoes, she put on the
delicate ones that belonged to the dress.
Looking at herself in the glass, another thought occurred to her:
"I'll wear my gold beads, too; mother never lets me wear them in the
street, but other folks wear them, and I don't see any use of having
things if you can't wear them."
From a jewel case in her drawer she took a beautiful string of large
gold beads. They had belonged to her grandmother, and had been given
to her because she was named after her, Letitia, though she had
softened it into Lettie, "and little enough, too," she had said, "to
pay for having such an old-fashioned name, when Mildred, or Ethel, or
Eva, or Maude would have been so much prettier."
The beads she clasped around her throat, then she pinned on the little
gold chatelaine watch her mother had given her at Christmas,
and--resolving for once to wear as much jewelry as she liked--she
slipped on to her finger a ring bequeathed to her by her Aunt Letitia.
It was of diamonds; five beautiful stones in a row, worth a great deal
of money, and far too fine for a schoolgirl to wear, her mother said.
Much as she longed to wear it and show it to the girls, she had never
been allowed to do so. "Now," she exultingly thought, "now I'll have
the good of it for once!"
To all this finery she added her best hat, which had just come home
from the milliner's, and taking a pair of fresh white kid gloves in
her hand, which she couldn't put on to cover up that ring, she started
out, feeling more elegant than she had ever felt in her life before.
The way to Stella's was through a corner of the park, and everything
that morning was so fresh and sweet that Lettie lingered as she passed
through. There were not many people there so early in the morning, and
Lettie paid no attention to a rough-looking man she passed, sitting on
a bench and looking as if he had passed the night there. Her way lay
on the border of the wilder and more secluded part of the park, and
her mother had always warned her to avoid this part when she was
alone. She had therefore never penetrated the fascinating little paths
which led among the close-growing trees and bushes, though she had
always longed to do so. Now, on the day of her perfect freedom, the
temptation came up again. She hesitated; her mother's warning recurred
to her.
"I don't believe there's a bit of danger," she said to herself;
"mother's so old-fashioned. Girls don't do as they did when she was
young; they can take care of themselves nowadays. I mean to see where
this little path goes; it looks so lovely and cool in there."
She turned into the path. It was charming; birds were singing, flowers
blooming, and she walked on and on, enchanted.
After a little, however, she was struck with the loneliness of the
place, and a thought of her mother's warning made her turn back
towards the more frequented walks. As she turned she found herself
facing the man she had noticed on the bench, and a panic seized her.
She tried to rush past him, but he barred the way. She tried to
scream, but she could not make a sound; and the man spoke.
"No you don't, my fine miss! If you make a noise I'll brain you!" and
he flourished a heavy stick he carried. "If you behave yourself like a
lady," he went on, less roughly, "I'll not hurt you in the least."
"Let me pass!" cried Lettie, white with terror.
"Certainly, miss," said he gruffly, "in one minute; just as soon as
you give me those beads on your neck, and that watch; and if you hand
'em over quietly yourself you'll save me the trouble of gagging you
with this,"--dragging a filthy handkerchief from his pocket,--"and
taking them off myself; 'n I ain't no lady's maid, either," he added
grimly, "'n I might possibly hurt you!"
Frightened half out of her wits, Lettie raised her hand to unclasp her
necklace, when the flash of the diamonds on her finger caught the
sharp eye of the thief.
"Golly," he said, "better 'n I thought! I'll trouble you to slip off
that ring, too."
"Oh, no!" cried Lettie, "I can't!"
"Oh, well! I can take it off myself," he said. "If it's tight I'll
just take finger and all," and he took out and opened a great clasp
knife.
Then Lettie saw the uselessness of protest, and with despair in her
heart she drew off the ring and dropped it into the dirty hand
extended to receive it. Instantly it followed the beads and watch into
his pocket, and he stood aside, leaving the path open for her to pass,
saying, with a horrid grin, "Now you may go, miss, and thank you
kindly for your generosity."
Along that path Lettie flew till she reached one of the main avenues
where people were constantly passing, when she fell into a seat,
wild-eyed, and almost fainting.
"What's the matter?" asked a gruff policeman who came near. "What you
been doing, miss?"
"Oh, go after the thief!" she cried; "I've been robbed."
"Which way did he go?" asked the man, evidently not believing her, the
idea of being robbed in broad daylight, here in the park, appearing to
seem absurd to him.
"Down that path," cried Lettie excitedly, "a great rough man with a
big stick! Oh! do go! he has my gold beads and my diamond ring and"--
Whether the policeman did not care to encounter a rough thief with a
big stick, or whether he really did not believe her, he here
interrupted with:--
"I guess he has your sense, too! I think I better run you in--you'll
do fine for the crazy ward!"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, no!" cried Lettie, this new danger filling her
with terror. "Never mind; let him go, but don't arrest me. It would
kill my mother, and me too!"
"Well, then, don't talk so crazy," said he gruffly. "I don't believe
your story--nor nobody won't, an' if it's true, 'n I should get him,
I'd have to lock you up for a witness. Tell me where you live, 'n I'll
see you safe home."
"Oh, no!" she cried, tears running down her face, "I'll go right home.
My mother is sick, and it would kill her!"
The man was evidently touched by her distress.
"Well, miss, you just walk along, and I'll keep you in sight to see
that no more robbers get after you."
With that she was forced to be contented, and with all the strength
left to her she hurried along the paths towards home, the policeman
following at a little distance and keeping her in sight till she ran
up the steps of her home and disappeared inside.
Lettie ran up to her room, and, locking the door, flung herself on the
bed, where she had a long cry, partly from nervous strain from the
fright she had suffered, and partly for the loss of her treasures.
"I was a fool!" she said bitterly. "Mother always told me it was
unsafe to wear jewelry in the streets and to go into those solitary
paths in the park; but I didn't believe her. I was a fool, and I'm
well paid for it! I'll never tell her--never!
"And I shall never dare to let father know, either," she went on
later; "he'd scour the world to find that man, and I should have to
be locked up as a witness,"--she shuddered,--"I'd rather lose
everything."
A good deal subdued by this experience, she almost decided to give up
the particular thing which had given her her liberty for the day,--the
moonlight sail on the river. But after hours, when she had calmed down
and decided that she would keep her experiences and her losses a
secret from everybody, the thought of the great temptation again
stirred her, and she finally resolved to carry out her plan and go.
"It's likely," she said to herself, "that I'll never have another
chance to do as I like,--not for years, anyway,--and I'll have the
good of this one." Having come to this decision, Lettie found herself
hungry, for she had been too excited to take any luncheon at the usual
hour. She accordingly went down to the pantry where the cook had
spread out the morning's baking; there was a goodly array of pies and
cakes and other good things cooling on the shelves, and Lettie thought
herself in great luck.
"Now I'll have a good lunch," she said to herself, "and no bread and
butter, either! I hate bread and butter!"
She helped herself to several little cakes which cook made
particularly nice, and with them she ate part of a jar of marmalade
which she opened for the purpose; next she took a tart or two, and
then turned her attention to the row of pies on another shelf. Looking
them over carefully, she chose her favorite, a custard pie. "Now I
won't eat any old crust, as mother makes me," she said. So she took a
spoon and began on the contents of the pie, thus demolishing, I regret
to say, a whole pie. Then, calmly dipping into a pan of milk, taking
cream and all, she drank a glass of that, and, feeling fully
satisfied, she left the pantry, and returned to her room to prepare
for the evening.
"I guess I'll wear this silk dress after all," she said to herself,
for she was invited to stay all night with Stella after the sail.
"I'll have to come home through the streets in the morning, and if the
white one gets soiled it won't look very nice; and besides, I want
mother to see that I can take care of my clothes myself."
So, wearing her pretty silk dress and delicate shoes, and carrying
another pair of gloves,--for she had lost the white ones in the
excitement of the morning,--she started out, leaving word with the
servants that she should stay with Stella all night.
She reached the house safely, and was warmly welcomed by Stella, and
in the excitement of planning and talking over the sail of the evening
she almost forgot, for a time, the unpleasant affair of the morning.
"It's a pity you wore that pretty new dress," said Stella, who was
clad in a sailor suit of dark wool, for the boating; "I'm afraid
you'll spoil it,--a boat's a dirty place."
"I guess I shan't hurt it," said Lettie.
"I wish you'd wear one of my woolen suits," said Stella; "I hate to
see a pretty dress spoiled, and that couldn't be hurt."
"No, indeed!" said Lettie; "I couldn't wear any one's dress, and if
that gets spoiled--why, I'll have to get another," she added proudly,
though she knew in her heart that her mother could not afford another,
that season.
"Well," said Stella, "you must of course do as you choose."
The boating party consisted, besides Stella and Lettie, and Stella's
cousin Maud, of Stella's brother and two of his friends. These two
young men it was to whom Lettie's mother had objected. They were
rather wild fellows, sons of rich men, and not obliged to do anything,
given up to sports and rather noisy pranks in the city. They were
intimate with Stella's brother, who was one of their kind also.
The moon rose about nine o'clock that evening, and at that hour the
gay party took their way to the little boathouse, where they embarked
in a small sailboat which was waiting for them.
The young men understood the management of a boat, and for a time all
went well. They talked and laughed and sang, and enjoyed the moonlight
and the rapid motion, and Lettie thought she never had such a lovely
time in her life.
After awhile the spirit of teasing began to show itself among the
boys. They liked to frighten the girls, as thoughtless boys often do,
and after such harmless pranks as spattering water over them, to hear
their little screams of protest, they fell to the more dangerous, but
very common, play of rocking the boat, threatening to upset it.
The girls, resolved not to be frightened, for a long time did not cry
out, and this drew the boys on to greater exertions, determined to
make them scream and beg. At last the thing happened that so often
does happen to reckless boys,--a sudden puff of wind caught the sail,
the boat lurched, and in a moment the whole party were struggling in
the water.
Thoroughly frightened now, the boys, who could all swim, at first
struck out for the shore, which was at some distance. Then, recalled
to their senses by the cries of the girls, two of them turned back to
their aid. Whether they would have reached the shore with their
frightened and unmanageable burdens is uncertain, but, a tugboat
happening to come along, they were all picked up and carried to a dock
a mile or more below.
There, after waiting a half hour, drenched and chilled all through,
while the boys tried in vain to get a carriage,--for by this time it
was very late,--the party took a street car, which carried them up
town, but not near Stella's, and they had to wait another half hour at
a crossing for another car.
It was two o'clock in the morning before Lettie, with Stella and her
brother, reached the house, a wretched, draggled-looking, and very
cross party, all without hats,--for these had been lost in the
river,--and Lettie, her fine silk dress a ruin, her delicate shoes a
shapeless mass from which the water squirted as she walked.
By breakfast time Lettie, who was a delicate girl, was in a high
fever, and the doctor, who was hastily called in, decided that she was
threatened with pneumonia. Lettie's mother was notified, and hurried
down, and, bundled up in many wraps, Lettie was conveyed in an
ambulance to her home and her own bed, where she remained for weeks,
battling for her life, delirious much of the time, and living over in
fancy the horrors of the day she had had her own way.
Some weeks later, after her recovery, her mother, one morning, said
quietly, "Lettie, let us count up the cost of your doing as you
liked."
Lettie trembled, but her mother went on.
"There's your dress and hat and shoes ruined and lost in the
river--consequently the loss of your visit to your Aunt Joe; there's
your illness, which deprived you of the school-closing festivities;
and the doctor's bill, which took all the money I had saved for our
trip to the seashore this summer."
She was going on, but Lettie, now thoroughly penitent, suddenly
resolved to make a clean breast of all her losses, and have the thing
over.
"Oh, mother!" she cried, burying her face in her mother's lap, "that
isn't all my losses; I must tell you, I can't bear it any longer
alone," and then with sobs and tears she told the dismal story of the
robbery.
"Lettie," said her mother, "I knew all that the very day it happened.
After you had gone to Stella's the policeman came to the house to see
if you had told him the truth. When he told me what you had said I
went to your room and discovered the loss."
"Oh, mother!" cried Lettie, "I'll never--never"--
"If I had not learned it then," went on her mother, "I should have
known it later, for in your delirium you talked of nothing else; you
went over that fearful scene constantly. I feared it would really
affect your reason."
"Oh, mother!" cried Lettie, "you never told me!"
"We will not speak of it again," said her mother; "I think you have
learned your lesson."
* * * * *
"Do you think it ended well, Kristy?" asked her mother as she finished
the story.
"Well," said Kristy hesitating, "I suppose it was a good thing for her
to find out that her mother was right,--but wasn't it horrid for her
to lose all those beautiful things!"
"It was a costly lesson," said Mrs. Crawford; "but I think it was much
needed--she was a willful girl."
Just at that moment the door opened and Uncle Tom entered.
"Well," he said, "how did Kristy get through the rainy day that
spoiled her picnic?"
"In the usual way," answered Mrs. Crawford.
"Levying on everybody for stories?" asked Uncle Tom.
"Yes," said Kristy; "and I've had the loveliest ones"--
"Kristy," said Uncle Tom, "I want to give you a birthday present, but
knowing your preference for stories, I did not venture to offer you
anything else. So, happening to hear a specially interesting one
to-day, I have persuaded the relater to come and tell it to you."
Mrs. Crawford looked up in surprise. "Tom," she said doubtingly, "what
new pranks are you up to now? You're almost as young as Kristy
herself."
Uncle Tom tried to look very meek, but there was a twinkle in his eye
which did not look meek at all.
"Please, sister mine," he began, "our niece Katherine--otherwise
Kate--has just got back from San Francisco, or what is left of it. She
went through the earthquake and the fire, lost all her goods and
chattels, and found a baby, which she has brought home. She is in the
hall waiting to be received."
Before the last words were spoken Mrs. Crawford had risen and hurried
into the hall, where, sure enough, the refugee from San Francisco, a
girl about fourteen years old, sat smiling, with a pretty little girl
of perhaps two years in her lap.
"Uncle Tom wanted me to make my visit to you to-night," she said,
after she had been warmly welcomed and taken into the sitting-room,
"as a present to Kristy, who is as fond of stories as ever, I hear."
"Indeed she is!" said Mrs. Crawford, "and in this case we shall all
be very much interested to hear your adventures. It must have been a
fearful experience."
"It was," said Kate; "but now that it is over I think that I, at
least, have gained more than I lost, because I found this baby--though
what I shall do with her I don't know yet. Of course I have tried my
best to find her parents, for, if living, they must be nearly crazy
about her."
"Surely they must," said Mrs. Crawford; "she is a darling."
"Well!" interrupted Uncle Tom, looking at his watch, "time is passing;
is Kristy to have her story?"
With a smile at his pretended anxiety, Kate began.