This, please remember, is Wednesday next. So at half-past two o'clock
our little Sophie was bathed and brushed and clothed in fine linen, and
put in charge of a trusty orphan, with anxious instructions to keep her
clean.
At three-thirty to the minute--never have I known a human being so
disconcertingly businesslike as J. F. Bretland--an automobile of
expensive foreign design rolled up to the steps of this imposing
château. A square-shouldered, square-jawed personage, with a chopped-off
mustache and a manner that inclines one to hurry, presented himself
three minutes later at my library door. He greeted me briskly as "Miss
McKosh." I gently corrected him, and he changed to "Miss McKim." I
indicated my most soothing armchair, and invited him to take some light
refreshment after his journey. He accepted a glass of water (I admire a
temperate parent), and evinced an impatient desire to be done with the
business. So I rang the bell and ordered the little Sophie to be brought
down.
"Hold on, Miss McGee!" said he to me. "I'd rather see her in her own
environment. I will go with you to the playroom or corral or wherever
you keep your youngsters."
So I led him to the nursery, where thirteen or fourteen mites in gingham
rompers were tumbling about on mattresses on the floor. Sophie, alone
in the glory of feminine petticoats, was ensconced in the blue-ginghamed
arms of a very bored orphan. She was squirming and fighting to get down,
and her feminine petticoats were tightly wound about her neck. I took
her in my arms, smoothed her clothes, wiped her nose, and invited her to
look at the gentleman.
That child's whole future hung upon five minutes of sunniness, and
instead of a single smile, she WHINED!
Mr. Bretland shook her hand in a very gingerly fashion and chirruped to
her as you might to a pup. Sophie took not the slightest notice of him,
but turned her back, and buried her face in my neck. He shrugged his
shoulders, supposed that they could take her on trial. She might suit
his wife; he himself didn't want one, anyway. And we turned to go out.
Then who should come toddling straight across his path but that little
sunbeam Allegra! Exactly in front of him she staggered, threw her arms
about like a windmill, and plumped down on all fours. He hopped aside
with great agility to avoid stepping on her, and then picked her up and
set her on her feet. She clasped her arms about his leg, and looked up
at him with a gurgling laugh.
"Daddy! Frow baby up!"
He is the first man, barring the doctor, whom the child has seen for
weeks, and evidently he resembles somewhat her almost forgotten father.
J. F. Bretland picked her up and tossed her in the air as handily as
though it were a daily occurrence, while she ecstatically shrieked her
delight. Then when he showed signs of lowering her, she grasped him by
an ear and a nose, and drummed a tattoo on his stomach with both feet.
No one could ever accuse Allegra of lacking vitality!
J. F. disentangled himself from her endearments, and emerged, rumpled as
to hair, but with a firm-set jaw. He set her on her feet, but retained
her little doubled-up fist.
"This is the kid for me," he said. "I don't believe I need to look any
further."
I explained that we couldn't separate little Allegra from her brothers;
but the more I objected, the stubborner his jaw became. We went back to
the library, and argued about it for half an hour.
He liked her heredity, he liked her looks, he liked her spirit, he liked
HER. If he was going to have a daughter foisted on him, he wanted one
with some ginger. He'd be hanged if he'd take that other whimpering
little thing. It wasn't natural. But if I gave him Allegra, he would
bring her up as his own child, and see that she was provided for for the
rest of her life. Did I have any right to cut her out from all that just
for a lot of sentimental nonsense? The family was already broken up; the
best I could do for them now was to provide for them individually. "Take
all three," said I, quite brazenly.
But, no, he couldn't consider that; his wife was an invalid, and one
child was all that she could manage.
Well, I was in a dreadful quandary. It seemed such a chance for the
child, and yet it did seem so cruel to separate her from those two
adoring little brothers. I knew that if the Bretlands adopted her
legally, they would do their best to break all ties with the past, and
the child was still so tiny she would forget her brothers as quickly as
she had her father.
Then I thought about you, Judy, and of how bitter you have always been
because, when that family wanted to adopt you, the asylum wouldn't let
you go. You have always said that you might have had a home, too, like
other children, but that Mrs. Lippett stole it away from you. Was I
perhaps stealing little Allegra's home from her? With the two boys it
would be different; they could be educated and turned out to shift for
themselves. But to a girl a home like this would mean everything. Ever
since baby Allegra came to us, she has seemed to me just such another
child as baby Judy must have been. She has ability and spirit. We must
somehow furnish her with opportunity. She, too, deserves her share
of the world's beauty and good--as much as nature has fitted her to
appreciate. And could any asylum ever give her that? I stood and thought
and thought while Mr. Bretland impatiently paced the floor.
"You have those boys down and let me talk to them," Mr. Bretland
insisted. "If they have a spark of generosity, they'll be glad to let
her go."
I sent for them, but my heart was a solid lump of lead. They were still
missing their father; it seemed merciless to snatch away that darling
baby sister, too.
They came hand in hand, sturdy, fine little chaps, and stood solemnly at
attention, with big, wondering eyes fixed on the strange gentleman.
"Come here, boys. I want to talk to you." He took each by a hand. "In
the house I live in we haven't any little baby, so my wife and I
decided to come here, where there are so many babies without fathers and
mothers, and take one home to be ours. She will have a beautiful house
to live in, and lots of toys to play with, and she will be happy all her
life--much happier than she could ever be here. I know that you will be
very glad to hear that I have chosen your little sister."
"And won't we ever see her any more?" asked Clifford.
"Oh, yes, sometimes."
Clifford looked from me to Mr. Bretland, and two big tears began rolling
down his cheeks. He jerked his hand away and came and hurled himself
into my arms.
"Don't let him have her! Please! Please! Send him away!"
"Take them all!" I begged.
But he's a hard man.
"I didn't come for an entire asylum," said he, shortly.
By this time Don was sobbing on the other side. And then who should
inject himself into the hubbub but Dr. MacRae, with baby Allegra in his
arms!
I introduced them, and explained. Mr. Bretland reached for the baby, and
Sandy held her tight.
"Quite impossible," said Sandy, shortly. "Miss McBride will tell you
that it's one of the rules of this institution never to separate a
family."
"Miss McBride has already decided," said J. F. B., stiffly. "We have
fully discussed the question."
"You must be mistaken," said Sandy, becoming his Scotchest, and turning
to me. "You surely had no intention of performing any such cruelty as
this?"
Here was the decision of Solomon all over again, with two of the
stubbornest men that the good Lord ever made wresting poor little
Allegra limb from limb.
I despatched the three chicks back to the nursery and returned to the
fray. We argued loud and hotly, until finally J. F. B. echoed my own
frequent query of the last five months: "Who is the head of this asylum,
the superintendent or the visiting physician?"
I was furious with the doctor for placing me in such a position before
that man, but I couldn't quarrel with him in public; so I had ultimately
to tell Mr. Bretland with finality and flatness, that Allegra was out of
the question. Would he not reconsider Sophie?
No, he'd be darned if he'd reconsider Sophie. Allegra or nobody. He
hoped that I realized that I had weakly allowed the child's entire
future to be ruined. And with that parting shot he backed to the door.
"Miss MacRae, Dr. McBride, good afternoon." He achieved two formal bows
and withdrew.
And the moment the door closed Sandy and I fought it out. He said that
any person who claimed to have any modern, humane views on the subject
of child-care ought to be ashamed to have considered for even a moment
the question of breaking up such a family. And I accused him of keeping
her for the purely selfish reason that he was fond of the child and
didn't wish to lose her.
(And that, I believe, is the truth.) Oh, we had the battle of our
career, and he finally took himself off with a stiffness and politeness
that excelled J. F. B.'s.
Between the two of them I feel as limp as though I'd been run through
our new mangling machine. And then Betsy came home, and reviled me for
throwing away the choicest family we have ever discovered!
So this is the end of our week of feverish activity; and both Sophie and
Allegra are, after all, to be institution children. Oh dear! oh dear!
Please remove Sandy from the staff, and send me, instead, a German, a
Frenchman, a Chinaman, if you choose--anything but a Scotchman.
Yours wearily,