“Oh!” cried Alice, springing up from the piano-stool. “But, Mary, I have
not told you that he was the identical man who lifted me up the other
day when I fell in the street.”
“You don’t tell me so!”
“Yes, indeed, the very man; and, strangest of all, he seemed to know
something about us, or at least about Lucy and Mr. Whacker.” And she
related the strange doings and sayings of the Unknown just previous to
the close of his interview with Laura.
“How very provoking,” cried Mary, impatiently, “that I should have been
prevented from dining with you girls by the arrival of that stupid old
cousin William, as mother will persist in calling him, though, in my
opinion, he is about as nearly related to us as the man in the moon!
Pshaw!” And she stamped her foot.
“Yes, indeed, I am too sorry. Why, Mary, it would have done”—and her
irrepressible eyes began to twinkle—“for a scene in that novel which—”
“Now, Alice—” began Mary, reddening.
“Which I am thinking of writing,” continued Alice, innocently. “Why,
what’s the matter?”
“Oh!”
“Is Mary writing a novel?” asked Lucy, with eager interest; for she
remembered that she had been always regarded as the genius of the
school.
“I spoke of the novel which _I_ was writing,” persisted Alice.
“Yes, but—”
“It is a maxim of the common law, Miss Lucy,” remarked the learned
counsel, with ponderous gravity, “that all shall be held innocent till
proven guilty. But should novel-writing ever be made (as seems
inevitable) a statutory offence, I hold it as probable that this ruling
will be reversed, and the presumption of the law adjudged, in the
present state of literature, to lie the other way,—in plain English,
that the _onus probandi innocentiam_ would be held to rest upon the
prisoner at the bar.”
The two other girls laughed, but Mary rewarded my diversion in her
support with a grateful smile.
“To think I should have missed it!”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Come over and dine with us to-morrow, and you
will have a chance of seeing him.”
“How is that?” asked Mary, with dancing eyes.
“Why, he has promised to bring Laura some candy to-morrow evening, and
we can all have another look at him.”
“Oh, I wonder if he will come?” cried Mary, despondingly.
“I have no doubt of it, for he seems in some strange way as much
interested in us as we in him. At any rate, you will dine with us. Mr.
Whacker will of course do likewise.”
The reader will please imagine the dinner in question over, the three
young ladies eagerly watching, up and down the street, through the slats
of the closed Venetian blinds, while Mrs. Carter and myself, too
dignified to manifest our curiosity so clearly, held ourselves in the
rear as a sort of reserve. Laura, our little decoy, was trotting,
meanwhile, from room to room, singing and babbling; having, in fact,
entirely forgotten the Stranger and his promise. It had been decided in
a council of war not to remind her of it till our man was seen
approaching, when she was to be sent out in a casual way to intercept
him.
“Gracious, here he is!” exclaimed all three of the girls at once. “Where
is Laura?”
“Laura! Laura! Laura!” cried Alice, in a suppressed voice. “Mother! Mr.
Whacker! somebody bring Laura, please.”
It appears that the Unknown, instead of making his approach by way of
Leigh Street, as we somehow expected, had suddenly turned into that
thoroughfare from the cross-street. The girls from their position
commanded a view of this cross-street for some distance, looking towards
the south, as the Carters’ residence was but one remove from the corner.
Strange to say, however, the gentleman emerged into Leigh Street from
the north, as though returning from a walk in the country, and thus came
upon the girls without warning. The reserves, forgetting their dignity,
scampered off in their search for Laura. She, meanwhile, ignorant of her
importance, was sitting in the back yard, building mounds upon a pile of
sand that lay there, and before she could be found the stranger had
passed. He turned and looked back several times, and when he reached the
end of the block he stopped, and, turning, looked for some time in our
direction. Meanwhile, I, having secured the little truant, was hurrying
to the front, while Mrs. Carter, plump and jovial soul, was not far
behind me.
“Make haste! make haste!” cried Alice, who, with Mary, had in her
impatience found her way into the hall. “Make haste, or he will be gone.
Come, Laura, the gentleman with the candy is out there. There, quick!”
she added, with a little push; and Laura trotted out with pleased
alacrity.
“Too late!” sighed Lucy from behind the shutters, where she had been
placed for purposes of safe observation. “Too late! he has moved on.”