A SECRET
Dolly was very quiet after she reached home. She was greatly puzzled
at the events of the afternoon.
“Of course,” she thought, “Pinkie _couldn’t_ be a fairy. She is just as
much a live little girl as I am. And yet, why should any nice little
girl,—and she surely is a very nice little girl,—want our acquaintance
kept secret?”
Dolly remembered a little girl in Chicago, who loved to have “secrets,”
but they were very simple affairs, usually a new slate pencil, or a
coming birthday party. She had never heard of such a foolish secret as
not telling your name!
And so, the thought _would_ come back; what if Pinkie should be a real
fairy? To be sure, she had always thought fairies were tiny folk, but
she had never seen one, so how could she know?
And Pinkie was so well versed in making a fairies’ dancing ground, and
she appeared so mysteriously,—apparently from nowhere at all! Oh, if it
should be! And then, that would explain the secret part of it,—for
fairies always want to be kept secret. But on the other hand, that pink
kilted dress of starched linen! Fairies always wore gauzy robes, and
carried wands, and had wings. Well, yes, that was the popular notion,
but who had seen them, to know for sure?
These thoughts chased through Dolly’s mind as she sat at the supper
table, and Aunt Rachel soon noticed the child’s absorption.
“What’s the matter, dearie?” she asked; “aren’t you well?”
“Oh, yes, Auntie; I—I was just thinking.”
“I know what’s the matter with Dollums,” said Dick, a little
shamefacedly. “It’s ’cause Jack Fuller and I played leap-frog and things
she didn’t like, and so she went off by herself, and was lonesome. I’m
sorry, Dolly.”
“Why, Dick Dana!” exclaimed his twin; “it wasn’t that a bit! I’m glad
you had fun with Jack, and I didn’t care a spick-speck! I had a lovely
time myself.”
“Where were you, dear?” asked Aunt Abbie.
“In the wood, with my two big dolls,” said Dolly, truthfully, but she
had a strange feeling of dishonesty.
She had never had a secret before; had never told anything except the
_whole_ truth; and the _part_ truth, as she had told it now, troubled
her conscience.
Yet she had promised Pinkie not to tell about her, so whether Pinkie was
fairy or little girl, Dolly felt herself bound by her promise.
“Auntie,” she said, after a pause, “are there really fairies?”
“No, child, of course not. You know there aren’t.”
“Yes, I s’pose so. But if there were any, how big would they be?”
“Don’t ask silly questions, Dolly. There are no such beings as fairies.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Aunt Rachel,” put in Dick. “You know, just because
we’ve never seen any,—that doesn’t prove there aren’t any.”
“But how big would they be, Dick?” persisted Dolly.
“Oh, little bits of things. A dozen of them could dance on a toad-stool,
I expect.”
That settled it in Dolly’s mind. Of course Pinkie wasn’t a fairy then,
for what Dick said was always so.
But Aunt Abbie changed the situation. She had more imagination than Aunt
Rachel, and she idly fell into the discussion.
“I’m not sure of that, Dick,” she said. “I always imagine fairies to be
about our own size. You know Cinderella’s fairy godmother was a grown-up
lady.”
“Oh,” said Dolly, her eyes shining with interest. “Then do you think,
Aunt Abbie, that there could be a little girl fairy, about as big as
me?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so; if there are fairies at all. But I’m not sure
that there are.”
“Would you believe it if you saw one?”
“Yes, if I were awake, and sure I was not dreaming.”
Dolly stared at Aunt Abbie, as if fascinated by her words. Then Pinkie
_might_ be a fairy, after all!
“You’re a queer child, Dolly,” said Aunt Rachel, looking at the little
girl’s perplexed face. “And when you find your fairies, don’t bring them
in the house, for there’s no knowing what tricks they may cut up.
They’re said to be mischievous little people.”
“Of course they’re little,” argued Dick. “I think you’re mistaken about
Cinderella’s godmother, Aunt Abbie. I think she was a little mite of a
lady.”
“Perhaps so, Dicky. I’m not much of an authority on fairy lore, I’ll
admit.”
And then, somehow, the matter was dropped, and nothing more was said
about fairies or their probable size.
But a little later, when the twins were alone in their playroom, Dolly
reopened the subject.
“Dick,” she began, “why do you think fairies must be little?”
“Dolly, what’s the matter with you and your fairies? Why are you
bothering so much about ’em all of a sudden?”
“Oh, nothing; I just want to know.”
“It isn’t nothing! Have you been seeing fairies, or what? You’ve got to
tell me all about it.”
“I can’t, Dick.”
“You can’t? Why not, I’d like to know! We never have secrets from each
other. You know we don’t.”
“But I can’t tell you about this. I promised.”
“Well, unpromise then! Who’d you promise?”
“I can’t tell you that either.”
“Look here, Dolly Dana, who could you promise not to tell me anything?
Was it Pat or Michael?”
“No.”
“Then who was it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Pooh, what a silly! Why, Dolly, we’re twins,—we always have to tell
each other everything.”
“I know it, Dick, and I want to tell you, awful, but you know yourself
it’s wrong to break a promise.”
“Well, you might tell me who you promised it to.”
“That’s part of the secret.”
“Oho, it _is_ a secret, is it? Well, Dolly Dana, if you’ve got a secret
from _me_, you can keep it,—_I_ don’t care!”
This was too much for Dolly’s loyal little twin-heart.
“I don’t want to keep it, Dick; I want to tell you! But I promised her I
wouldn’t, so what can I do?”
“Get her to let you off your promise. I s’pose it’s Hannah or Delia.”
“Maybe I can do that,” and Dolly’s face looked a little brighter.
“Well, do; and don’t talk any more about it, till you can tell me all of
it, whatever it is. Dolly, it isn’t anything wrong, is it?”
“No; I don’t see how it can be wrong.”
“Then let up on it, till you’re ready to talk square. _I_ never had a
secret from _you_.”
“I know it; and I’ll never have one from you again!”
So peace was restored, and Dolly said no more about fairies. But after
she was tucked up in her own little white bed that night, she lay awake
in the darkness for a long time, trying to puzzle it all out. One minute
it would seem too absurd to think a little girl was a fairy; the next
minute, it would seem just as absurd for a little girl to appear in the
woods like that, and refuse to tell her name, and insist that their
acquaintance be kept a secret! _That_ was exactly what a fairy would do!
So, after reasoning round and round in a circle, Dolly fell asleep, and
dreamed that she was a fairy herself, with a pink linen dress, and a
pair of wings and a golden wand.
The next afternoon Jack Fuller was again at Dana Dene to play with Dick,
and again Dolly trotted off to the woods. She found Pinkie sitting on a
flat stone, waiting for her. The same pink linen frock, the same straw
hat, with pink rosettes on it, and the same sweet-faced, curly-haired
Pinkie. Dolly was _so_ glad to see her, and fairy or mortal, she already
loved her better than any little girl she had ever known.
But Pinkie was not so gay and merry as yesterday. She looked troubled,
and Dolly’s sensitive little heart knew it at once.
“Come on,” she said, taking hold of Pinkie’s hand; “let’s play.”
“All right,” said Pinkie, “I’ve brought my own dolls, this time.”
And sure enough, there were two dolls as big and beautiful as Arabella
and Araminta. Pinkie said her dolls’ names were Baby Belle and Baby
Bess, and, as it seemed the most natural thing to do, they began to play
tea-party at once.
But Dolly wanted, first, to settle the matter of the secret.
“Pinkie,” she said, “you’re a really, truly little girl, aren’t you?”
“’Course I am,” said Pinkie, smiling. “I just said I was a fairy for
fun.”
“Yes; I know it. But I want you to let me tell about you at home. It’s
silly to make a secret of it.”
“Well, tell ’em, I don’t care. I’m not coming here to play any more,
anyway.”
Now Dolly looked dismayed. “Why not?” she asked, and went on without
waiting for an answer. “I won’t tell my aunts, if you don’t want me to,
but I must tell my brother Dick. He’s my twin, and we never have secrets
from each other. Why, here he comes now!”
Running toward them across the field, they saw the two boys.
“Is that your brother with Jack Fuller?” asked Pinkie, and with this
recognition of Jack, Dolly’s last faint hope that Pinkie _might_ be a
fairy, vanished.
“Yes; I wonder what they want.”
The boys had really come in search of Dolly.
Dick had felt himself rather selfish to play with Jack, while Dolly had
only her dolls for company, so he had proposed that they go and find
her, and then all play together some games that she would like. Jack had
agreed willingly enough, so they made for the woods, whither Dick had
seen Dolly go, wheeling her two big dolls.
“Hello, Phyllis Middleton,” cried Jack, as he spied Pinkie. “What are
you doing here?”
The secret was out!
Dolly felt a blank pall of despair fall over her heart. Pinkie, then,
was Phyllis Middleton, the daughter of the Middletons whom Aunt Rachel
detested, and would have no dealings with! Indeed, Dolly had been
forbidden to speak to any of the Middletons. And then, as Dolly’s
thoughts flew rapidly on, she realised that Pinkie had known all this,
and that was why she said if Dolly knew her name they couldn’t play
together any more!
Poor Dolly! Not only to lose her new-made friend, but to learn that the
friend was really a naughty little girl, who had deliberately done
wrong.
“Hello, Jack!” said Phyllis. “I know I ought not to come here, and I’m
not coming again.”
“Well,” said Dick, throwing himself down on the ground; “is this your
secret, Dollums?”
“Yes,” said Dolly, almost ready to cry. “This is my Pinkie, and I love
her, and now she’s the little girl Aunt Rachel said we couldn’t play
with.”
“Why not?” cried Dick, who had forgotten the Middleton ban.
Phyllis took up the story.
“I don’t know the beginning of it,” she said; “but my mother, and Miss
Rachel Dana don’t like each other, and won’t go to each other’s houses.
And when I heard a little girl had come here to live, I wanted to come
over, but mother wouldn’t let me.”
“And Aunt Rachel forbade me to go to your house, too,” put in Dolly. “I
think it’s awful for grown-up ladies to get mad like that.”
“They’ve been mad for lots of years,” said Jack Fuller. “I’ve heard my
mother talk about it to the other ladies. They call it the
Dana-Middleton feud.”
“What was it about?” asked Dick.
“Nobody knows,” replied Jack. “At least, none of us children. Of course,
when there weren’t any children at the Dana house, we didn’t care
anything about it; but now, it’s pretty if you two can’t play with the
Middletons! Why, they go to our parties and our school and our Sunday
school, and our picnics and everything! I guess Miss Dana and Mrs.
Middleton’ll have to make up now.”
“They won’t,” said Phyllis, mournfully. “I heard mother and father
talking about it. And they said I mustn’t come over here, or speak to
Dolly or anything. And then, yesterday, I did come over here to the
wood,—it’s right next to our last orchard,—and Dolly and I had such
fun, I thought I’d come every day, and not tell anybody. But after I
went to bed last night, I thought about it, and I know it’s wrong; so
I’m not going to do it any more. I just came to-day to tell Dolly so.
And after I go home, I’m going to confess to mother about it.”
Phyllis’s eyes were full of tears, and as she finished speaking, and
Dolly’s arms went round her, both girls cried in their mutual
affliction.
The boys were highly indignant at the whole situation.
“It’s a shame!” cried Dick. “If Aunt Rachel wants to be mad at Mrs.
Middleton, let her; but I don’t see why they shouldn’t let Phyllis and
Dolly be friends. Have you got any brothers, Phyllis?”
“Only a little one, six years old,” was the reply. “There’s just the two
of us.”
“And you live just next house to us,” went on Dick. “You and Dolly could
have lovely times together. I’m going to ask Aunt Rachel myself if you
two can’t be friends.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” said Phyllis, wiping her eyes. “She wouldn’t
give in, and, even if she did, my mother wouldn’t.”
“Well, I’m going to try it, anyway,” stoutly persisted Dick. “It can’t
do any harm, and if Aunt Rachel _should_ give in, she might persuade
your mother, you know.”
Phyllis looked a little hopeful at this, but Dolly said:
“Aunt Rachel won’t let me play with you; I know it. She has said so a
dozen times, and she’s awful stubborn. But I’m glad you told, Pinkie,
’cause it wouldn’t have been right for us to play together and not
tell.”
“No, I know it,” agreed Phyllis. “I would have told you yesterday, only
it was so funny when you thought I was a fairy! I thought I’d pretend I
was one, and that would take away the wrong. But it didn’t, and when I
thought all about it, I knew we couldn’t keep on that way.”
The Dana twins were conscientious children, and they were both glad when
Phyllis talked like this; for it had been a shock to Dolly to discover
Pinkie’s deceit, and she felt relieved to learn that it was only
impulsive and quickly repented of. But this didn’t alter the sad fact
that the two little girls could not be playmates.
“It’s just horrid!” said Dolly, her tears welling up afresh. “We could
have such lovely times together! Playing dolls, and tea-parties, and
everything. I think Aunt Rachel is mean!”
“I think so, too,” said Jack Fuller, “and I do believe you could coax
her into letting you two girls play together, even if the grown-up
ladies don’t make up.”
“Maybe we could,” said Dick, hopefully, but Phyllis shook her head.
“Mother wouldn’t, even if Miss Dana did,” she repeated. “I was a naughty
girl to come here at all. I wish I hadn’t; then I wouldn’t have known
how nice Dolly was.”
Again the little girls wept, and the boys looked at them helplessly.
“Well, anyway,” said Dick, at last, “I’m going home to have a try at it.
I’m going straight to Aunt Rachel and tell her all about it. It may make
a difference, now that you girls really have met.”
“All right,” said Phyllis, but she showed no hope of Dick’s success.
“I say,” exclaimed Jack, “let’s all go! I mean, let’s take Phyllis, and
all go to Miss Rachel and ask her about it. If she sees the two girls
crying to beat the band, it may soften her some.”
It seemed a daring proposition, but the twins approved of it.
“Oh, do,” cried Dolly, eagerly. “Come on, Pinkie, let’s go right now.”
“I can’t,” said Pinkie, firmly. “Mother told me never to go to Miss
Dana’s house for anything at all.”
No amount of coaxing would prevail, and matters seemed at a deadlock,
until Dick exclaimed:
“Then you stay here, and I’ll go get Auntie Rachel and make her come out
here right now.”
“It won’t do any good,” moaned Phyllis.
“I know, about your mother. But maybe, if Miss Rachel gives in first,
she can persuade your mother.”
“Maybe,” said Phyllis, worn out with the conflict. “Go on if you want
to.”
And Dick went.