THE DISPOSAL OF THE PARCEL.
In that little word “Ah!” were expressed hope, relief, eagerness, and
gratitude. The name was that of a well-known financier; one who had the
power of dispensing good or ill to hundreds of other men. It could not
forebode ill to the master of this insignificant home, since he was no
debtor to it; therefore it must denote some blessing. A situation, the
chance to earn a living for these precious ones whom his failure and
his honesty had impoverished. For the first time, at the relief of this
fancy, tears leaped to the bright, clear eyes of this new Joseph Smith,
and unconsciously, it seemed, he clasped his wife’s thin waist with his
strong arm.
“Cheer for us, Kitty, girl. Doubtless this other Joseph Smith needs
an accountant and has heard of my skill that way. I was an expert,
sir, before I went into business for myself and failed, attempting a
commercial line I did not understand,” explained the man, yet losing
his own courage as the explanation went on. He had boasted thus of his
reputation the better to comfort his wife, but he read no encouragement
in the countenance of Mr. Wakeman, which grew more forbidding each
instant.
“Do not mistake, Mr. Smith. My errand is not of the sort which you
appear to expect. My employer--I am myself an expert accountant, and
the only one necessary to our business--my employer does not know of my
present visit. Some days ago he entrusted a private bit of detective
work to me, and I have now, I think, brought it to a finish. Why,
however, may I ask, did you not reply to our advertisement?”
“I have seen none. This,” waving his hand around the bare apartment,
“is hardly the place where the luxury of newspapers may be looked for.
What was the advertisement, if you please?”
Mr. Wakeman explained. Explained, added, itemized, and diffused himself
all over the argument, so to speak, while the faces of his audience
grew more and more tense and disturbed. At length he finished:
“That is the way it stands, sir, you see. Your brother John consigned
this child to my employer, through a mistake in the address. Simply
that. Now an old gentleman and--feeble, I may say”-- Oh! if Uncle Joe
could have heard him! “A feeble old man is not the one to be burdened
with other folks’ relations. When I go back to town, now, I’ll be able
to report that the missing uncle of this waif has been found at last,
and that--Shall I say when you will call to reclaim her?”
Father and mother looked into each other’s eyes, one questioning the
other, and reading in each but the same answer. Then said Joseph Smith,
rightful uncle of our Josephine:
“Spare yourself the trouble, Mr. Wakeman. My brother’s child is our
child, as dear and near. Alas, that I can offer her no better shelter!
but it is a safe one and will be more comfortable. I shall soon get a
situation; I _must_ soon get one. It is impossible that skill shall go
forever unrecognized. In any case the little Josephine must come home
to us. Eh, Kitty, girl?”
She answered him valiantly, seeing through his unusual boastfulness,
who was commonly so modest of his own attainments, and smiling back
upon him with the same undaunted courage he brought to their changed
life. It was taking bread from her own children’s mouths to do what now
she did, yet her step never faltered as she walked across to the little
cupboard and took from some hidden nook, known only to herself, their
last quarter dollar. This she gave to her husband, saying cheerily:
“If you go at once, Joe, you may be home again in time for dinner.
I’d like to be prompt with it for I’ve secured a dress to make for a
woman in the neighborhood and can begin it to-night. Besides, I’m all
impatience to see this little Josephine. Think of it, dear, the child
who was named for you. How little we dreamed she was right here in our
own Baltimore all this time. Go, dear, at once.”
With something like a groan the man caught the brave little creature in
his arms, and was not ashamed to kiss her then and there before this
staring stranger who had brought them this news. Ill or good, which
would it prove? Then he put on his hat and went directly away.
Mr. Wakeman followed more slowly. He did not feel as much elated over
his success as an amateur detective as he fancied he should feel. He
was thinking of many things. Suppose this fellow, who was so down on
his luck, this other unknown, insignificant Joseph Smith, should happen
to take the fancy of the great Joseph Smith, of whom the world of
business stood in such awe, and that magnate should happen to employ
him on certain little matters of his own? Suppose those inquiries were
directed toward his, Mr. Wakeman’s, own accounts, what would follow?
Who could tell? Hmm! Yes, indeed. To prevent any such “happenings”
that might prove unpleasant, it would be as well to make a little
detour around by the office, even though it was after office hours and
business all done for that day. In any case the new-found Uncle Joe,
the real article, was now _en route_ for 1000 Bismarck Avenue, and it
wouldn’t take two to tell the same story. Mr. Wakeman hoped the story
would be told, and that child which had caused him so much trouble well
out of the way before he again met his master. Then would be quite time
enough to look for a reward, such as was due from a multi-millionaire
to his trusted and effective man of affairs.
Pondering thus, Mr. Wakeman rode back to town in a livery hack, while
the impecunious uncle of the little Californian rode thither in a
democratic street car. The faster the car sped the more impatient the
improvident young man became. He wondered if his twin’s little daughter
could be half as pretty and interesting as his own small people. He
was glad he had never once written John or Helen anything about his
business troubles. They supposed him to be doing uncommonly well and
living in comfort, if not in luxury. Well, if this young Josephine
were of the same good stock as her father a little poverty and
privation in her youth wouldn’t hurt her; and where, search the wide
world over, could any child find a sweeter, better foster-mother than
his own Kitty?
When he arrived at Bismarck Avenue, things were already happening there
which were out of the ordinary, to say the least. Among the day’s
mail had come several letters to one Miss Desire Parkinson Smith,
care of Mr. Joseph Smith. These letters had been handed to the master
along with his own, and had caused him surprise amounting almost to
consternation.
“Desire Parkinson! Desire Parkinson! And Smith! The combination is
remarkable, if nothing more, Peter,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, suh, Massa Joe. Yes, suh,” returned the also startled negro.
“Do you see these letters?” asked the master.
“Yes, sir,” said the butler.
“Notice the superscription. Ever been any others with the same?”
“Yes, suh, heaps. Most all of them comes to Miss Kimono. Though some is
just plain Miss Smith.”
“Hmm! Hmm! This is--this is--disturbing,” admitted Mr. Smith.
Uncle Joe dropped into deep thought and sat so long in profound quiet
that Josephine, playing on the carpet near by, folded her hands and
watched him anxiously. She had grown to love his stern old face, that
was never stern to her, with all the fervor of her affectionate heart;
and presently she could not refrain from tiptoeing to him and laying
her soft fingers tentatively upon his arm. He looked up at her, smiled,
and murmured, more to himself than to her:
“Strange, strange. I’ve noticed something, a familiar trick of manner,
something unforgotten from boyhood, Aunt Sophronia-- Little Josephine,
where is your--your nurse?”
“In the sitting-room with Mrs. Merriman, Uncle Joe. Shall I call her?”
she answered.
“If you will, dear. I’d like to speak with her a moment,” said he.
The ladies were deep in the intricacies of a new lace pattern, and
though Miss Kimono rose obediently to the summons Josephine delivered,
Mrs. Merriman for once forgot the requirements of etiquette and
followed without invitation. But Mr. Smith was now too excited to
notice this, and so it happened that one of the old gentlewoman’s
wishes was gratified without anybody’s connivance. “May I be there to
see,” she had said, and here she was.
“Miss Smith, what is your Christian name?” demanded the master of the
house.
“Desire Parkinson, Mr. Smith,” glancing toward the letters lying on his
table, replied the nurse. They flung their brief remarks at each other,
as though they were tossing balls, thus:
HE: “That is an uncommon name, Miss--Smith.”
SHE: “As uncommon, I suppose, as our mutual surname is common.”
HE: “Were you named for anybody in especial?”
SHE: “For a very dear lady in especial. For my mother’s twin sister.”
HE: “She was a Parkinson?”
SHE: “She was a Parkinson.”
HE: “She married a Smith?”
SHE: “She married a Smith, of Virginia. So did my mother another Smith,
of another State. The world is full of them, Mr. Smith. We shall never
be lonely because of a dearth of our patronymic.” The lady was smiling
in great amusement, and, it is possible, the amusement was tinctured by
a spice of malice.
HE: “What was your mother’s Christian name, if I may ask?”
SHE: “Surely you may ask, and I will answer to the best of my ability.
Her name was Sophronia.”
HE: “Then you and I are--are”--
SHE: “Bear up, Mr. Smith, we are first cousins.”
HE: “You--you knew this before?”
SHE: “I’ve known it ever since our branch of the family began fighting
you to recover their portion of the old family estates in--Virginia!”
The excitement of the moment, so long anticipated by her and undreamed
of by him, was tinging her cheeks with a little color which made her,
for the time being, nearly as handsome as he was and that brought
out with distinctness a strong family likeness. This resemblance
was swiftly detected by little Josephine, who caught a hand of each
exclaiming:
“Why, you’re just the same as one another, my darling Kimono and my
precious Uncle Joe! We’re all folks together? We’re all the same Smith
folks together!”
Upon this tableau the portières parted, and the dignified voice of
Peter obtruded the announcement:
“Mr. Joseph Smith.”
Utter silence for an instant, then Josephine dropped the hands she was
clasping and bounded toward the newcomer, almost screaming her delight:
“Papa! Papa! Papa!”
“My little Joe! John’s one baby daughter! My precious little namesake!”
The mislaid uncle had been found! That truth was evident in the
spontaneous recognition of him, by his likeness so strong to his twin,
that even the daughter had confounded the pair. A moment later, though,
the child had perceived her own mistake and was regarding him more
shyly, from the safe refuge of the old Uncle Joe’s knee, which had long
since learned to adjust itself to the convenience of small maidens.
Something prompted Mrs. Merriman and Miss Kimono to withdraw from
a scene they dreaded might be painful, and they thoughtfully
took Josephine away with them. They knew, far better than she,
how wonderfully she had grown into the lonely heart of the aged
millionaire, whose money was so powerless to buy for him what this
other, younger Joseph was so rich in. It were kinder and wiser to leave
the two uncles alone, and face to face to adjust their complicated
affairs as best they might.
Nobody need have feared, though. When folk are honest-minded, and love
a common object, such as little Josephine, matters are soon arranged.
In half an hour the conference was over, and the child ran back into
the library to find the two Uncle Joes standing before its window and
looking across the pretty square--where the crocuses were peeping
through the tender grass and no sign of snow remained--toward a small
house on its sunny northeastern corner.
The child slipped in between the two and caught a hand of both, while
for an instant each diverted his gaze to her sweet face and smiled upon
her. Then began again the deep, well-beloved tones of the old Uncle Joe:
“There, Joseph, that’s the house. It’s empty. I bought it on a
speculation, and fitted it up well. It’s completely furnished, and so
nicely I wouldn’t let it to every tenant who’s applied. That will go
with the position, in addition to the salary. I’ve been dissatisfied
with Mr. Wakeman this long time. He’s too officious, too grasping, too
eager. I’m thankful he found you, and will pay him well for it. But
that ends his service to me. I’ll give him an advance of wages and
shake him. You can enter upon your duties--to-morrow, if you like. I’ll
send out a van or two to move in your effects.”
The new Uncle Joe held up his hand.
“Unnecessary, dear Mr. Smith. Our effects could easily be brought in on
a pushcart;” yet saying this the man’s smile was neither less bright
nor more ashamed. Why should he be ashamed? He had gone down in one
battle with the world, but he was up again and ready for another.
The answer, somehow, pleased the elder man. He liked simplicity, and
he liked frankness. Josephine’s new uncle possessed both these, with
an added cheerfulness which communicated itself to all who met him.
He was, or had been, as ready to take his brother’s charge upon his
hands in his penury as he now seemed to be in his suddenly acquired
prosperity.
Looking across the square at the home offered him, his eye kindled and
his cheek glowed. His figure that had stooped somewhat from the wasted
strength due insufficient food became erect, and his whole bearing
assumed a military poise that was so fondly familiar to the little
Californian.
“Oh, my, Uncle Joe! My dear, sweet, new Uncle Joe! You’re more and
more like my papa all the time. If you had on his gray, bright-buttony
soldier clothes, and his lovely red sash, you would be a regular
Company F--er! wouldn’t you? I wish mamma was here, and papa and Doctor
Mack and funny big Bridget!”
“So they all shall be some day, Josephine. But first you’ll have to get
acquainted with Tom, Dick, Harry, and Penelope, and the sweetest Aunt
Kitty that ever the sun shone on,” he answered heartily.
Josephine’s brown eyes opened in astonishment, and she said, with a
deprecating look at the old Uncle Joe:
“I’d like to, if you’d like me to, but he--this one--_he_’d not like
me to. He said, he told Michael, that lovely red-headed Michael, that
I couldn’t hob-nob--whatever that is--with any Tom, Dick, or Harry who
was in the square. Didn’t you, Uncle Joe?”
It pleased the old gentleman that she still retained her familiar name
for him, and he lifted her tenderly to his breast, replying:
“Yes, little lassie, I did; but that was before I knew these were real
children who were coming to live in my house yonder. Such boys as are
brought up by this gentleman, and your own cousins--why, of course,
it’s different.”
From her safe place within the first uncle’s arms, she questioned the
younger man:
“Have you got all those to your house, Uncle Joe?”
“Yes, little girl. Will you come and live with them when we all move to
that pretty house on the corner?” he responded.
Her arm went around her first friend’s neck, and he now didn’t fret in
the least because it rumpled his fresh linen, as she cuddled her cheek
against his, and asked:
“Who’ll live here with you in this big house, first Uncle Joe?”
“Oh, I suppose my colored ‘boys’ only; as before you came,” was his
low-toned answer.
“Nobody else?” she continued, in tones equally low.
He sighed: “Who else could, lassie?”
“Why, me! He’s got so many, and it’s only across the square. And Red
Kimono, who’s your own cousin, you know. Shall we?”
“If you will, darling,” answered the old man, with moistened eyes.
“Then when papa and mamma come back from that far off red-pickley
country maybe they’d be glad to stay, too. Can’t ’lectrickellers find
places to earn money in this Baltimore, Uncle Joe?”
“Be sure that your Uncle Joe and I will find your electrician a fine
place, little one; and we’ll call Red Kimono by her real name, Cousin
Desire, because she was my mother’s twin sister’s child; and we’ll
send for big Bridget to wait upon this real Tom, Dick, and Harry
combination of youngsters; and--anything you like!” he answered, so
gleefully that even Peter scarcely recognized him.
“Will you? Will you? Oh, I love you--I love you! I love you both, both.
But isn’t it the twiniest kind of world ever was! Papa and Uncle Joe
are twins; and your mamma and Red Kimono’s mamma were twins; and Tom
and Dick are twins; and big Bridget’s folks are twins; and--Oh, oh,
there’s my darling, red-headed Michael going by! I must call him in, I
truly must! Won’t he be the gladdest boy ever lived, to know all about
my new cousins that I never saw coming to live and play with us in the
square? He hasn’t any child to his house and you haven’t any child but
me to yours, Uncle Joe; and the line-fence is down; so nothing’s to
hinder Michael and me making another pair of twins, is there?”
Nobody prevented the child’s movement to bring in her first
child-friend in that strange city to which she had come, and presently
entered the jolly lad, flushed and breathless and a trifle unkempt,
as was his habit, but with such a manly bearing and such a world of
good-fellowship beaming from his freckled face, that the new Uncle Joe
instantly rejoiced in the prospect of such a comrade for his own small
lads.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith and--Mr. Smith; and is it all just as she
says?” demanded the small gentleman from Virginia. “Has the little
‘Express Parcel’ really found her right uncle at last? ’Cause it’s just
like a ’Rabian Night’s story, seems to me, and girls--well, girls, you
know, they--they’re sometimes silly, ’cept Josephine, maybe.” Then, as
if a sudden fear attacked him he turned upon her, firmly admonishing
her to remember: “If I’m to be your twin, as you say, you’ve got to
have no nonsense in it. If I say ‘go in’ when there’s a lot of boys out
in the square you’ll have to mind, ’cause they don’t always act polite,
you see. Oh, bother! It’s all boys, anyway, isn’t it! I wish there was
another girl, to even up”--
“Why, Michael Merriman!” cried Josephine, interrupting her playmate’s
long speech. “There is another girl! You forget--how _could_ you
forget--_Penelope!_”
At which the new Uncle Joe threw back his handsome head and laughed
as he had not laughed in many a day; for in fancy he could see Miss
Penelope, aged seven months, helping “Cousin Josephine” to maintain
the dignity of their mutual girlhood, as against a square full of
rollicking lads.
Presently everybody was laughing, for happiness is delightfully
infectious, and always even more “catching” than the measles. Grandma
Merriman and Cousin Desire, who had come quietly into the room; the
three black “boys” in the hall outside; the two Uncle Joes and Michael;
and most heartily, most musically of all, the little San Diegan, who
for very joy could not keep still, but went skipping and flying about
the room, like a bewilderingly lovely butterfly, demanding between
whiles of the person nearest:
“Oh, isn’t it beautiful, beautiful? Aren’t you glad I was a wrong
‘parcel,’ and came to this wrong, splendid, old Uncle Joe?”
“I am,” answered that gentleman, with sweet solemnity; “since your
coming has showed me how to deal justly, and love mercy, and find
happiness in my barren wealth. God bless you, little ‘Parcel’!”
“Amen, and amen!” echoed the other Uncle Joe, as he went softly and
swiftly out, to carry the good news to those whom he loved.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Alternate or archaic spelling has been retained from the original.