The people turned out to be refugees from the settlement about the
sacked German Mission at Dehkhargan near Tabriz, Christianized
Persians, such stupid villagers that they had never thought or had been
incapable of reporting their find to the police, so ignorant that they
knew nothing of rewards or advertisements, such simple-hearted folk
that they had shared their narrow quarters and scanty fare with the
unknown waif their grandfather had found wandering alone, after dark,
months before.
Amy, when we had leisure to ask questions and hear her experiences,
declared they had treated her as they treated their own children. She
could give no description of her kidnappers except that the woman had
on a hat with roses in it and the man had a little yellow mustache. She
could not tell how long they had kept her nor why they had left her to
wander in the streets at night.
It needed no common language, far less any legal proof, to convince
Amy’s hosts that she belonged to us. I had a pocket full of Christmas
money, new five and ten dollar gold pieces and bright silver quarters
for the servants and children. I filled the old grandfather’s hands
and plainly overwhelmed him. They all jabbered at us, blessings, if I
judged the tone right. I tried to tell the young woman we should see
them again in a day or two and I gave her a card to make sure.
I told the cabman to stop the first taxicab he should see empty. In the
hansom we hugged Amy alternately and hugged each other.
Once in the taxicab we were home in half an hour; more, much more than
half an hour late. Helen whisked Amy in by the servants’ door and flew
upstairs with her by the back way. I faced a perturbed and anxious
parlorful of interrogative relatives and in-laws.
“You’ll know before many minutes,” I said, “why we were both out and
are in late. Helen will want to surprise you and I’ll say nothing to
spoil the effect.”
Nothing I could have said would have spoiled the effect because they
would not have believed me. As it was Helen came in sooner than I could
have thought possible, looking her best and accurately playing the
formal hostess with a feeble attempt at a surprise in store.
The dinner was a great success, with much laughter and high spirits,
everybody carried away by Helen’s sallies and everybody amazed that she
could be so gay.
“I cannot understand,” Paul’s wife whispered to me, “how she can ever
get through the party. It would kill me in her place.”
“It won’t kill her,” I said confidently. “You may be sure of that.”
The children had arrived to the number of more than thirty and only the
inevitably late Amstelhuysens had not come. Helen announced that she
would not wait for them.
“The tree is lighted,” she said. “We’ll have the doors thrown open and
go in.”
We were all gathered in the front parlor. The twins panted in at
the last instant. The grown-ups were pulling motto-crackers and the
children were throwing confetti. The doors opened, the tree filled all
the back of the room. The candles blazed and twinkled. And in front of
it, in a simple little white dress, with a fairy’s wand in her hand,
tipped with a silver star, clean, healthy-looking and full of spirits
was Amy, the fairy of the hour.
1909