rigmarole which he meant for an explanation. George heard him through in
an unbroken silence, which very much disconcerted the Governor. Then he
rose and said, with a low bow:
"Sir, I decline to accept the commission you offer me, and I think you
must suppose me as empty as the commission itself in proposing it. I
shall also have the honor of surrendering to your Excellency the
commission of Lieutenant-Colonel, which you gave me; and I bid you, sir,
good-morning"--and he was gone.
The Governor looked about him, dazed at finding himself so suddenly
alone.
"What a young fire-eater!" he soliloquized. "But it is the way with
these republicans. They fancy themselves quite as good as anybody the
King can send over here, and the spirit shown by this young game-cock is
just what I might have expected of him."
The Governor tried to dismiss the subject from his mind, but he could
not, and he soon found out that "the young game-cock's" spurs were fully
grown.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
IN THE OLD HERRICK HOUSE.
BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.
CHAPTER VIII.
At the threshold of the library Miss Herrick paused. "I cannot go into
that room, Elizabeth," she said. "How cruel you are to subject me to
this again! Bring the boy to me here, if you are speaking the truth and
he is really in the house."
Elizabeth found her brother at the top of the stairs.
"Come down," she said. "Aunt Caroline wants you."
Without a word he brushed past her and went to the library. He was too
angry to speak. Miss Herrick had seated herself in a high-backed chair,
which had the appearance of being a throne of justice, while she herself
looked sufficiently stern and forbidding to cause the stoutest heart to
quail. Neither she nor her sister gave Valentine the slightest sign of
greeting. The boy might have been an absolute stranger to them.
Miss Herrick motioned to her niece to come to her side, but Elizabeth
did not heed her. She had followed Valentine into the room, and she now
stood beside him.
"What have you to say for yourself?" asked their aunt, after a pause
which to the two culprits seemed hours long.
"Nothing," said Valentine.
"You mean that you have no excuse to offer?"
There was no answer.
"Unless you explain fully why you are here and why you crept into the
house in this underhand manner, I will telegraph at once to your uncle
and aunt. Perhaps they will be able to account for your conduct."
"They don't know anything about it," Val blurted out at last.
"I thought not; but for all that I shall send for them to come. Their
nephew needs looking after, and they should know it."
"This is your fault," cried Valentine, turning upon Elizabeth. "All
would have gone right if you had not been a traitor. I could have gone
off to-morrow morning, and no one would have known anything. Now the
'Q. R. K.' is done for as far as I am concerned, and I am in this scrape
besides."
"Elizabeth did quite the proper thing," said Miss Herrick, "and now I
wish you to explain yourself. I give you five minutes. At the end of
that time, if you have not begun to explain, I will telegraph to your
uncle." She glanced at the clock as she spoke.
"Oh, I suppose there is no help for it," said Valentine. "I've got to
tell you! The 'Q. R. K.' is a secret society at our school, and you have
to be initiated. I have been wanting to belong for ever so long, and
this year I was elected. I had been telling the fellows about this
house, and the queer room no one ever goes into, and how Elizabeth had
the Brady girls there once, and they said that part of my initiation
would be to come on here without any one knowing it, and spend the night
in that room, and get back again the next day. They knew I couldn't do
it, but if I did they would put me on the executive committee, and that
is a big honor for a new member. Of course I thought it would be a lark
to do it, and I was sure I could manage it. Aunt Helen thinks I am
spending the night with one of the fellows. It would have been all right
if Elizabeth hadn't gone back on me. I was to take back a statement from
her that no one had seen me."
The Misses Herrick looked at him in amazement. "Do you mean to say that
such things are customary among school-boys?" asked Miss Rebecca.
"I don't know," returned Valentine, sullenly. "I am only telling you
about our club."
"Do you think, Valentine, that it was the proper thing for you to do,
after you had been a guest in this house and had profited by our
hospitality, to return to your home and gossip of our private affairs?
Of that--that room? And we your own aunts, your father's sisters?"
It was Miss Herrick who asked these questions.
"No," said the boy, "I don't suppose it was. But I didn't gossip; only
girls do that. One day when we were all telling queer stories, I told
this. I never thought at the time, and afterwards when they were
planning my initiation rites one of the fellows remembered it. That is
all."
"And quite enough. As that room is connected with the greatest sorrow of
my life, you have hurt me more than you can ever realize. You are
cruel."
"Don't say that to Val," said Elizabeth. "After all, Aunt Caroline, it
was really my fault that he got in there. He never would have known
anything about it last year if I had not told him and taken him there,
and I ought not to have let him in this time. I was the one who went to
your desk and got the key and opened the door. He didn't do one of those
things. And you would never have known about it if I had not told. I
think I am the one to be scolded, Aunt Caroline--really, I do."
"You certainly are very much to blame, Elizabeth. I shall punish you by
withdrawing my consent to your taking drawing-lessons. I had supposed
that you had outgrown your prying, curious ways. I see that you are no
more worthy of trust than you used to be."
Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears and her lip trembled. It had been so
hard for her to determine to betray Valentine, and now they were all
against her. He, especially. But the boy, after a long pause, suddenly
spoke:
"Look here, Aunt Caroline! I think you are mighty hard on Elizabeth. I
am as mad as I can be at her for peaching, and I sha'n't forgive her in
a hurry, but you have no right to blame her such a lot. I took her by
surprise, in the first place, and I made her go and get the key and open
the door. Of course she ought not to have told after that was all done,
but still it wasn't her fault that I got in there."
It cost Valentine some effort to say this. It was by no means an easy
matter for him to shoulder the blame, but, as he said afterwards, he
could not stand there and hear his aunt pitching into little Elizabeth,
who had been so ready to make excuses for him. He was rewarded by
Elizabeth's grateful look, which he pretended not to see; and when she
stole her hand into his and squeezed it, he impatiently shook her off.
Valentine departed in disgrace the following day, and the letter which
Miss Herrick wrote to his uncle bore such results that he concluded that
it would be wiser in future to avoid any such initiation rites as those
which had just been attempted.
Elizabeth went to school as usual, but it was with so sad a heart that
even her friend Patsy could not succeed in cheering her. A note was sent
to Mrs. Arnold, which told her that Miss Herrick's niece was not to take
drawing lessons, so that delightful prospect faded away into thin air,
much to the little girl's disappointment.
And the room was closed again, and life in the old Herrick house went on
about as usual, until an event came to pass by which it was again
startled out of its accustomed calm, and which brought a great change
into Elizabeth's existence.
For some weeks Patsy Loring had been planning to give a party. It was to
be on her birthday, which fell on the first day of December. Elizabeth
had never been to a party in her life, and the thought of going to one,
and to one so delightful as Patsy Loring's was sure to be, served to
keep her awake at night and to absorb her mind by day. And then a
present was to be bought, and although her aunts took little interest in
the all-important subject, Elizabeth was allowed to go to Chestnut
Street under the care of the maid, and after much hesitation and the
visiting of many shops, a beautiful silver pencil was selected for Patsy
to use in school.
Twenty times a day did Elizabeth gaze upon it as it lay on green cotton
in a pink box, and at last it was tied up in tissue-paper with a colored
ribbon, and carried to Patsy's house, for the hour for the party had
arrived.
Elizabeth Herrick had grown to be quite a tall girl, and in many
respects she seemed much older than her thirteen years, while in others
she was a mere child.
Her beautiful hair still hung in a shining mass over her shoulders, and
she was simply dressed in a white frock with a broad blue sash about her
waist. Her aunt believed in "dressing children as children," so that she
seemed almost out of place among the very young-ladyfied girls who
assembled at Mis. Loring's on this birthday afternoon.
After supper--for it was a tea party--Patsy's sister took her seat at
the piano, and they all danced. All except Elizabeth. The mere idea of
being asked to dance so terrified her that she fled up stairs to the
little sitting-room, determined to stay there until the evening had worn
away and some one should come to take her home.
She was overcome with disappointment. Even the pencil had not been the
success that she had anticipated, for all the girls had brought presents
to Patsy, and among them had been a pencil which she very much feared
her friend might admire more than the one she had given, although Patsy
had thrown her arms about Elizabeth's neck and declared hers to be the
sweetest in the world.
"There are so many disappointing things," thought Elizabeth, at the age
of the thirteen. "I wonder, if my father were to come home I should be
disappointed about him!"
In the sitting-room she found a lady, who sat by the table, reading the
evening paper. Elizabeth did not see at first who it was, for her face
was hidden, but the lady looked up presently, and, to her surprise, it
proved to be Mrs. Brown, who gave drawing and painting lessons at the
school.
She was a very beautiful woman, and Elizabeth had always admired her in
secret, and had longed more than ever to be allowed to take lessons of
her. They had never exchanged a word, however, for Mrs. Brown was at the
school merely during the hours of her lessons, and knew only those girls
who were in her classes, but she recognized Elizabeth's face to-night,
and smiled kindly at the little girl when she saw her.
"You are one of Miss Garner's pupils, are you not?" she said, with the
lovely light in her eyes that won the heart of every girl to whom she
spoke. "I think I have seen you there, although you are not in my
class."
"No," said Elizabeth, "I am not in your class, though I do wish I could
be. I love drawing."
"Perhaps another year you may be allowed to study."
"I am afraid not," replied Elizabeth, sadly; "my aunt does not approve
of my learning it. I don't know why. She said once that I might, but I
was dreadfully bad--so naughty that she had to punish me by not letting
me learn to draw and paint, and I do love it so!"
"I am sorry," said Mrs. Brown; "but you do not look as if you could be
dreadfully bad."
"Oh, but I am!" replied the little girl, earnestly. "I am terribly
curious, for one thing, but I don't think I should be if there were not
so many mysteries in our house. Don't you hate mysteries?"
"They are not agreeable things, certainly. Tell me what your name is. I
feel sure we shall be friends, and you remind me of some one whom I used
to know."
"Oh, do you think so?" cried Elizabeth, going to her side. "I do love
friends, and this is the first year I ever had any. My name is Elizabeth
Herrick."
"Elizabeth Herrick!" repeated Mrs. Brown, in a low, startled voice.
"Where--where do you live?"
"I live in Fourth Street. With my two aunts. What is the matter, Mrs.
Brown? Don't you feel well?"
"Yes, dear. It was only a momentary shock. I--I sometimes have them. You
live with your aunts, you say? How many aunts have you?"
"Two--Aunt Caroline and Aunt Rebecca."
"And did you never have any other?"
"No, not here in Philadelphia. There was never any one else in our
family but my father."
"So they have not told her!" murmured Mrs. Brown, but so low that
Elizabeth could not quite catch the words. Then with an effort she
continued, "And your father! Where is he?"
"He is abroad. He has never lived at home since my mother died, and that
was when I was a baby, so I have never seen him."
"Ah, poor Edward!" said Mrs. Brown.
"Why, Mrs. Brown, do you know him? That is exactly what Aunt Caroline
always calls him. Do you know my father?"
"What did I say?" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, hurriedly. "I must have been
thinking of--at least, I used to know your father, it is true. But don't
ask me any more, my child; and perhaps it would be as well not to
mention to your aunts that--that you have seen me."
"Another mystery!" cried Elizabeth. "Oh, dear me, I do hate them!"
"My child," said Mrs. Brown, taking the little girl's hands in her own
and looking tenderly into the great brown eyes, "I do not ask you to
hide anything on my account. Say just what you think best. And I hope I
shall see more of you, Elizabeth. Perhaps some day you can come to see
me with Patsy. My home is in the country, and I am merely spending the
night with Mrs. Loring, who is an old friend whom I have not seen in
some years. She only discovered to-day that I was at the school, and she
begged me to stay with her to-night. I am sitting here waiting for her
to come to me. And now I want you to kiss me, Elizabeth, for already I
love you dearly."
Elizabeth threw her arms about her new friend.
"You are the most beautiful lady in the world," she whispered. "And I
wish you were my mother or my aunt."
They were interrupted by a maid who came to say that the carriage had
been sent for Miss Elizabeth Herrick, and that she must hurry. Her aunts
wanted her at once.
"I wonder why," said Elizabeth, discontentedly, as she glanced at the
clock. "Aunt Caroline told me I could stay until nine o'clock, and it is
only eight now. And I was just beginning to enjoy the party."
"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Brown; "it is very nice that you happened
to come up here and find me, and I shall look forward to seeing you
again soon. Perhaps after a time you may be allowed to take
drawing-lessons. I am so glad you love it, Elizabeth"--kissing her
again--"and I am more glad still that you like me even a tiny bit!"
"Like you!" cried Elizabeth. "I love you. I adore you!"
And then she ran to put on her coat and hat, for her aunt's message had
been imperative, and she dared not linger.
She was driven quickly home, and when the door was opened for her the
man told her that her aunts were in the library and wished to see her at
once. Wondering, she ran up stairs, and, drawing aside the portière, she
entered the room. It was more brightly lighted than usual, and her eyes
fell upon a group of people who were sitting at the farther end of it,
beyond the big library table.
Her two aunts were there, and a gentleman whose back was turned to her.
A strange feeling came over Elizabeth. Who was this gentleman? Why had
they sent for her? Was the longing of years to be fulfilled at last?
They did not see her at first, not until she had slowly advanced and was
very near them. Then Miss Herrick discovered her.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "you are here! Edward, this is Elizabeth."
The gentleman turned quickly and rose to his feet. "So this is
Elizabeth!" he repeated. "My child, do you know who I am?"
"Yes!" she cried, with a sob in her voice, "you are my father, at last,
at last!"
* * * * *
It was half an hour later, and Elizabeth was even yet unable to realize
that her father was actually here, in the same room with her, touching
her, stroking her hair. She had drawn a footstool to the side of his
chair, and sat holding his hand in both of hers, and looking up into his
face.
He seemed older than she had thought, for the photograph of him that she
had was taken long ago when he was first married. His eyes were sad now,
and his hair and mustache were quite gray, while his face was browned
with exposure to the sun, for he had travelled widely.
"And so you are glad to see me, Elizabeth?" he said.
[Illustration: "GLAD? WHY, YOU ARE MY FATHER!"]
"Glad? Why, you are my father!"
And the look in Elizabeth's eyes and the tone of her voice showed that
these words conveyed all that could be said.
"Poor little girl, I have neglected you."
"Elizabeth can scarcely be said to have been neglected," put in Miss
Herrick, somewhat stiffly.
"Oh no, Aunt Caroline, you have been very good to take care of me so
long, and I have given you so much trouble; but you are not my father,
and I have wanted him so much."
"And what do you think was the means of bringing me home at last,
Elizabeth?"
"I don't know, father."
Mr. Herrick released her hand for a moment, and took from his pocket a
leather case. Carefully put away in the innermost compartment was a
letter. The envelope was covered with postmarks, and it had the
appearance of having journeyed to many places.
"Do you remember this letter that you wrote me more than a year ago?" he
asked. "It reached me only the day before I sailed, and until it came,
Elizabeth, I had no intention of sailing for many years to come. It has
followed me about from place to place, and has been mislaid and sent
astray, until at last it found me. When I read it, Elizabeth, I believe
I realized for the first time that I had a daughter, and that I ought to
come home to her."
"Oh, father! did that letter really bring you at last? I knew it would,
for it is what I have prayed for every night and morning ever since I
wrote it; but you were so long in coming that I had almost begun to give
up hoping."
"May I see the letter?" asked Miss Herrick.
"No," said her brother. "I don't think any one shall ever read this
letter but my daughter and myself." Which made Elizabeth sigh with
satisfaction.
There was a short pause, and then she summoned courage to ask a
question--one of the utmost importance, and the asking of which cost her
a great effort. She rose from her stool and stood in front of her
father, her hands clasped behind her and tightly locked.
"Father," she said, timidly.
"What is it, my darling?"
"I want you to look at me very, very hard. Do you think--you--can--bear
the sight of me?"
"My child, what on earth do you mean? You are the most beautiful sight
in the world to me."
He put his arms around her and drew her down to his knee. Elizabeth hid
her face on his shoulder and cried with relief.
It was indeed a happy Elizabeth who went to bed that night, and the next
morning when she awoke and remembered that her father was actually in
the house, she was obliged to pinch herself to make sure that it was not
all a dream.
When she went down to breakfast there he was, waiting to kiss her for
good-morning, and Elizabeth felt that she was at last like other girls
with a father to love her, and she should soon have a brother also, for
Valentine had already been sent for, and would hereafter make his home
with them in the house which their father intended to buy.
Elizabeth rather dreaded Val's coming, for she feared that he had not
yet forgiven her for telling their aunt of his previous visit; but when
he arrived, a few days later, she found that he was ready to acknowledge
that his sister had done right, and that it was he who had been in the
wrong.
The morning after Mr. Herrick's return the father and daughter had a
long conversation, and Elizabeth was able to ask him about the subjects
which most interested her. One question related to her drawing-lessons,
which her father readily promised that she should take. The other was in
regard to the mystery of the locked door.
"It was your aunt's room, my child," said Mr. Herrick.
"But which aunt, father--Aunt Caroline or Aunt Rebecca?"
"Your aunt Mildred."
"But who was she? I never heard of her."
"You have never heard of your aunt Mildred? Is it possible?"
And then he told her of his beautiful younger sister who, years before,
when she was but twenty, had left home to become a trained nurse in a
hospital. Miss Herrick, who was devotedly fond of her, and who had
expected her to make a brilliant marriage, had bitterly opposed this
course.
"They were equally obstinate," said Mr. Herrick, "and neither one would
give up. It was not that it was a disgraceful thing for Mildred to
do--far from it. She had a longing to do some good in the world, and it
suited her fancy to try to do it in that way. In a year or two she would
probably have come back. But Caroline told her she must make her choice
then and there--if she left her it was to be forever; and Mildred chose
to go. Your aunt Caroline never forgave her for this, and her room has
been closed and padlocked ever since, and her name is never mentioned.
It is a sad story, Elizabeth, and I think your aunt has made a mistake;
but it is not for me to judge her, I who have neglected my children all
these years. We Herricks are all more or less peculiar."
Elizabeth told her father of the letters in the closed room, and from
one of them Mr. Herrick learned that his sister had married an artist by
the name of Brown. A second letter told that he had died within a year
of their marriage, that her money was almost gone, and that she was now
obliged to support herself.
Mr. Herrick reproached his sister Caroline for not having forwarded
these letters to him, and although Miss Herrick tried to defend herself,
she knew in her heart that she had done very wrong, and she longed to
make amends to the Mildred whom she had once loved so dearly. But she
gave no outward sign of this change of feeling.
Mr. Herrick determined to lose no further time in looking for Mildred,
but he wished, first of all, to settle Elizabeth comfortably at school
in regard to her drawing-lessons, which seemed to be so near her heart.
That very morning, therefore, he went with her to Mrs. Arnold's, and
asked to see the teacher of drawing and painting. Mrs. Arnold left the
room to send her to the parlor, and the father and daughter were left
alone together.
Presently there was a faint sound on the stairs, a rustle in the hall.
The door was opened and Mrs. Brown came in. Mr. Herrick, attracted by
the slight sound of her entrance, turned, and their eyes met. For a
moment he was speechless, and there was a silence in the room.
"Mildred!" he said, starting forward, "have I found you here?"
"Edward, at last you have come!"
The three returned to Fourth Street together, and Mr. Herrick and his
sister waited in the parlor while Elizabeth went to her aunts. She found
them in the library.
"Aunt Caroline," said she, standing in front of her, "whom do you love
best in the world?"
Her aunt looked at her for a moment without speaking. Then she said,
"You, Elizabeth, I think."
"No, there is some one else. Some one you used to love and who loved
you, and she is here now, in this very house. Come, Aunt Caroline and
Aunt Rebecca, come down and see her."
And she took the hand of each.
And so it was Elizabeth who in the end brought them together. It was she
who unlocked the door.
THE END.
THE VOYAGE OF THE "RATTLETRAP."
BY HAYDEN CARRUTH.
XI.
"You're a miserable, sneaking, treacherous old equine scoundrel!" cried
Jack, shaking his fist violently at Old Blacky. "You knew you were
making us come the wrong road."
Old Blacky answered never a word, but turned, hit the wagon tongue a
kick, and joined the other horses.
"Well, close down the front and let's talk this thing over," said Jack.
"In the first place, we are snowed in."
"In the second place," said I, "we may stay snowed in a week."
"I don't think we're prepared for _that_," said Ollie, very solemnly.
"Let's see," went on Jack. "There are two sacks of ground feed under
Ollie's bed. By putting the horses on rather short rations, that ought
to last pretty nearly or quite a week. But for hay we're not so well
provided. There's one big bundle under the wagon, if Blacky hasn't eaten
it up. The pony won't need any, because she knows how to paw down to the
dry grass. The others don't know how to do this, and the hay will last
them, after a fashion, for about three days."
"Perhaps by that time the pony will have taught them how to paw," I
said.