“When was it your brother went away, Julie?—how long ago? can you
remember?” the captain asked one day as the little girl paced the deck at
his side, her slender hand in his.
“It is a very long time, monsieur mon oncle,” she answered; and after
thinking, “it is a year.”
“Now try to remember, if you can, something about the place where he
lives. Did he never tell you about it?—did he write no letters?”
“Oh, yes, mon oncle; often to our mother, and for me, one time, a little
letter—all in an envelope by itself. Always I carry it with me. Behold
it!” she said, drawing it from her pocket.
“Ah! a letter!” cried the captain, greatly relieved, “that will help us.”
It was dated six months before, and postmarked “Philadelphia.” Within,
too, was given the name of the street, and even the number of the
residence.
“Ah!” gasped the captain, more relieved than ever.
As soon as the vessel arrived in port, he addressed some lines to
Julie’s brother. But as the days passed and he received no answer, he
went himself to Philadelphia, and to the street and number given in
the letter. No. 210 proved to be a boarding-house, where, indeed, the
person inquired for had stopped a short time. He had, however, gone away
long ago, whither, no one could tell. The captain then inserted in the
newspapers a card asking information concerning his whereabouts. While
waiting a reply, there came orders to sail with a cargo for the West
Indies. (The captain’s was a trading vessel, carrying merchandise from
one country to another.)
What was to be done with little Julie? that was the question. The captain
went finally to a lawyer, told him her story, charged him to make
inquiries for her brother. Then they talked awhile together, and the
lawyer did some writing.
After that the captain took Julie in the cars to a town where lived a
friend of his. Now, his friend, his wife, and their five children were
delighted to see the captain. They always were when he came home from
his voyages. Perhaps it was because he never failed to bring such costly
presents; this time a beautiful gilt harness for the father—or rather for
a pair of fine bays—elegant French silks for the mother, and no end of
toys for the small folks. And when he asked Mrs. Lane if she would, as a
favor, take Julie into her home and care for her until his return (he did
not expect to be gone long, he said), she appeared to be very willing to
do so.
But when it came to bidding “good-bye,” and the child clung to him,
trembling and sobbing, “Oh, mon oncle! mon oncle!” he looked troubled. He
just held her close for a moment, gave her three great sailor kisses that
echoed from cellar to garret, and ran out of the house without a word.
No sooner had the captain’s ship set sail than Mrs. Lane took Julie to an
orphan asylum.
“Send her off somewhere,” she said to the matron. “A home in the West!
that would be the very place for her. Ah, the West! what a glorious place
for little homeless wanderers!”
Riding away alone in her easy carriage, she muttered:
“The _i_dea of his bringing that little vagabond for _me_ to look after!
I don’t care if he _did_ offer to pay her board (of course it wouldn’t
have done to accept). I don’t intend to make my house a harbor for every
little straggler that happens along! and right there with the children,
too! What do I know about her? What does he? Maybe her story is true, and
maybe it isn’t. Those French, they can lie! And then she’d be forever
harassing me about that brother of hers. Ha! she’ll never see _him_
again! those French!... And then he’s taken such a fancy to her!—why,
she calls him ‘Uncle’ already! Just like him to go and spend upon her
the half he owns—educate her, and all that! I won’t have it!... There may
be some trouble over my sending her off?... Well, well, I’ll have some
pretty excuse ready. Time enough to invent it before he gets back.”
(It was thought that the captain would make the little Lanes his heirs,
for they were great favorites with “Uncle Jack.”)