THE LAW OF LOVE
The ten days that followed were about the happiest Gretel had ever
spent in her life. There were so many interesting and delightful things
to do, and each day as it passed seemed pleasanter than the one before.
Somewhat to the surprise of their parents, Jerry and Geraldine--who had
very decided likes and dislikes--had taken a great fancy to Gretel,
and the three children were constantly together. Mr. and Mrs. Barlow
were glad to encourage the intimacy, and Gretel was included in all
the pleasures of the twins. But much as she liked the companionship of
her two merry little friends, there was another person in the Barlows’
cottage for whose society she cared a great deal more, and that was
Miss Heath, the pretty young teacher. True to her promise, Miss Heath
was always ready to play, or to speak German; and to hear music and
talk in her dear father’s language were the two greatest pleasures of
Gretel’s life. She was growing to love Miss Heath very dearly, and the
young lady, touched at first by Gretel’s evident admiration for her
playing, soon grew to return the little girl’s affection.
Perhaps Gretel did not enjoy quite as much of her brother’s society as
in the first week of their stay at Old Point, but she did not mind,
for when not with her was he not sure to be either walking or driving
with her dear Miss Heath? Gretel was an unselfish little soul, and she
rejoiced heartily in the knowledge that her new friend was having a
good time as well as herself.
So the bright spring days came and went, and Gretel was very happy. If
it had not been for one thing--one painful memory--she would not have
had a care in the world; but try as she would to forget it, that one
uncomfortable recollection would persist in haunting even her happiest
moments. Sometimes after she had gone to bed at night, she would bury
her face in the pillow, and wonder miserably what Miss Heath would
think if she were ever to learn that her little friend had once stolen
a ticket to fairy-land. Yes, that was what she had done; the more she
thought about it the more certain she became. She had known perfectly
well that it was her duty to return that ticket to the box office, and
yet she had willfully kept it, and used it herself.
“If I only knew the person who lost it were rich, and didn’t mind very
much,” she said to herself over and over again, “it wouldn’t be quite
so dreadful, but it may have belonged to somebody who was poor, and who
loved music just as much as I do.” And then she would try to imagine
how she would have felt if she had bought a ticket to fairy-land and
lost it.
“I’m quite sure I could never have forgiven the person who used it,”
she told herself with conviction.
It was a cold, rainy afternoon in early April, and Gretel and Miss
Heath were alone in the Barlows’ parlor, enjoying an hour of music. Mr.
and Mrs. Barlow had lingered at the hotel after luncheon, and the twins
were up-stairs.
For the first time that day, Miss Heath had succeeded in persuading
Gretel to play for her, and she was much impressed by the child’s
evident talent.
“You play very well indeed, Gretel,” she said. “Your brother must
let you have lessons from a good teacher. Of course you are out of
practice, but you’ll soon pick up what you have lost.”
Gretel’s eyes shone with delight.
“Do you really think I ought to ask Percy to give me anything more?”
she asked a little doubtfully. “It costs a great deal of money to take
music lessons, you know.”
Miss Heath laughed.
“I don’t think you need hesitate,” she said; “I am sure Mr. Douane will
be glad to encourage your talent, and as for the expense, I wouldn’t
worry about that if I were you.”
Gretel looked much relieved.
“I’m very glad you think so,” she said. “Sometimes I can’t help
worrying a little for fear Percy may be spending too much money. Father
was so extravagant, and I’m not used to having so many things.”
“You dear kiddy,” laughed Miss Heath, kissing her; “if you were my
little sister I think I should want to give you everything you wanted
in the world.”
“Oh,” cried Gretel, returning her friend’s kiss with effusion, “how I
wish you were my sister!” At which remark Miss Heath laughed again, and
grew so very pink that Gretel regarded her in some surprise.
“I think to take music lessons would make me happier than anything else
in the world,” she said after a little pause. “I used to dream about
having them when I was at Mrs. Marsh’s, but I never thought my dream
would come true. Oh, Miss Heath dear, did you ever want to hear music
so much that it made you ache all over?”
“Indeed I have,” answered Miss Heath, with ready sympathy; “I have felt
like that more than once during this past year, since my dear father
left me, and I have been alone in the world. I know just what you mean,
Gretel. There have been days when I have felt that I could spend my
last penny for a ticket to the opera.”
Gretel gave a little start, and caught her friend’s hand eagerly, but
before she could speak, a figure passed in front of the window, and
Miss Heath rose hastily, exclaiming:
“Here comes Mr. Douane; run and open the door for him, Gretel.”
Mr. Douane had come to take Miss Heath to a concert, which was to be
given that afternoon by the Hampton colored students; Gretel had a
momentary hope that she might be included in the party, but nothing was
said on the subject, and she had already noticed that Percy seemed to
like to keep Miss Heath to himself.
“The storm is getting worse,” Mr. Douane remarked, warming his hands at
the fire, while Miss Heath went away to put on her things. “I am sorry
for the people going by the boat to-night; the wind is rising, and I
think we are in for a stiff gale.”
Gretel went and stood beside her brother on the rug, and he put his arm
round her, and looked down very kindly into her flushed, happy little
face. She was hoping that Miss Heath might mention the music lessons to
him that afternoon, but did not quite dare broach the subject herself.
“What are you going to do this afternoon, Pussy?” Mr. Douane asked.
“She is going to stay with the twins and keep them out of mischief,”
said Miss Heath, returning at that moment, in hat and waterproof. “Mr.
and Mrs. Barlow are going to a tea at the colonel’s house, and the
children are to be left to themselves. Mrs. Barlow appears to have
perfect confidence in them, but I confess I don’t feel quite so sure of
their keeping out of mischief. I always feel quite safe, however, when
Gretel is with them, for she has a level little head on her shoulders.”
Gretel watched her brother and Miss Heath from the window until they
were out of sight, and then went up-stairs in quest of Jerry and
Geraldine. She found them sitting on the sofa in the temporary nursery,
and, somewhat to her surprise, neither of their faces brightened at
sight of their friend and comrade.
“We thought you’d gone home,” remarked Geraldine; “you didn’t tell us
you were going to stay.”
Gretel was a little offended, but she remembered that the twins were
only ten, and tried to make allowances.
“I did mean to go home,” she explained pleasantly, “but Miss Heath
asked me to stay. She’s gone to a concert at Hampton with Percy, and
your father and mother are going to a tea. It’s raining too hard to go
out, so I thought we might play something in the house, or else read
aloud. I’d love to read some more about ‘Dave Porter.’”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you can’t stay,” said Geraldine, with
decision. “We don’t want any company this afternoon, do we, Jerry?”
Jerry reddened, and looked very uncomfortable. As a rule, he was more
polite than his sister, and he was, moreover, very fond of Gretel.
“Couldn’t we tell her about it?” he suggested rather timidly.
“Of course not,” returned Geraldine, indignantly. “You really are a
dreadful silly, Jerry. Gretel’s all right, and we like her, but she
can’t expect to be in all our secrets. Miss Heath is all right, too,
but we don’t want her around except at lessons. She understands, and
doesn’t get mad about it.”
“I’m not mad,” protested Gretel, reddening; “I don’t want to stay if
you don’t want me. I’ll go home and read; I’ve got a very interesting
book that Percy bought for me this morning.” And Gretel turned away,
and ran quickly down-stairs, not wishing to let the twins see how
really hurt she was.
“I wouldn’t have minded if they had asked me nicely to go home,” she
said to herself, as she hurried back to the hotel through the wind and
rain. “Geraldine is terribly rude sometimes. I think Mrs. Barlow might
teach her children to be a little more polite.”
She found Higgins sewing by the window in her room. At the entrance of
the little girl, the maid looked up with a smile.
“I’m glad you’ve come ’ome,” she said; “it’s a hawful hafternoon, and
the storm’s getting worse hevery minute.”
Gretel came over to the window, and looked out. The usually quiet bay
seemed transformed into a seething turmoil of waves and foam.
“The Baltimore boat is getting up steam,” she remarked with interest;
“I don’t suppose many people will go on her to-night.”
“Well, I pity them that does,” returned Higgins, solemnly; “I’ve been
in a storm at sea, and know the danger.”
“Were you shipwrecked?” inquired Gretel, eagerly. “The twins have been
reading a most exciting book about a shipwreck.”
“No, we wasn’t, but we hexpected to be hevery minute,” answered
Higgins. “It was a hexperience folks don’t forget when they’ve once ’ad
it. Where’s Mr. Douane this afternoon?”
“Gone to Hampton to a concert with Miss Heath. Miss Heath asked me to
stay with Jerry and Geraldine, but they don’t want me. They told me to
go home.”
“Indeed! but what can one hexpect from children brought up as they are,
let run wild from morning till night. ’Ow a sweet young lady like that
Miss ’Eath can put up with them beats me, but it won’t be for long, I’m
thinking; there’s something in the wind.”
“What’s in the wind?” Gretel asked, as a severer gust than usual
rattled the windows.
“Never you mind; it ain’t a subject as young ladies of your age
should talk about. I know what’s proper for young ladies, ’aving
lived in the best families of the Henglish haristocracy. When I was
at Sir Cecil Marlow’s--where I lived two years before going to Lord
Carresford’s--’er ladyship was very particular that Miss Sylvia and
Miss Muriel should never ’ear anything in the way of gossip, and quite
right she was, too. The knowingness of these Hamerican children is
enough to make your blood run cold sometimes. There never was two
sweeter or better brought up young ladies that Miss Sylvia and Miss
Muriel.” And Higgins launched forth into a long story about these two
paragons of the British aristocracy, which was so interesting that
Gretel forgot to wonder what was “in the wind,” and why she was not to
know about it.
Higgins now proved a most interesting companion. It is always
interesting to hear about people who live in castles, with parks and
hunting-lodges thrown in, and in listening to the English woman’s
stories, the afternoon slipped away very pleasantly. By and by,
however, Higgins went down-stairs to her tea, and then Gretel noticed
for the first time how the wind was howling, and the rain dashing
against the window panes.
“The storm is getting worse, just as Percy thought it would,” she said
to herself, with a comfortable feeling of satisfaction at being safely
indoors; “I’m glad nobody I know is going on the boat to-night.”
She went to the window, and stood looking out at the wild landscape of
sea and rain. The pier was almost deserted, but the Baltimore night
boat was evidently preparing to start on her journey. A few passengers,
chiefly men, were going on board, but there was none of the usual
crowd and bustle of departure, which Gretel had enjoyed watching on
other evenings, for the windows of her room commanded a fine view of
the pier, and all the arriving and departing steamers. She thought of
what Higgins had said about ship-wrecks, and gave a little involuntary
shiver.
Just then her attention was caught by something so astonishing that
she uttered a little cry of dismay, and, regardless of wind and rain,
hastily threw up the window, and leaned out. Along the pier, battling
against the storm, came two resolute little figures; a small boy and a
small girl. They had no umbrella, but were evidently dressed for rainy
weather, and the boy was carrying a brown paper parcel under his arm.
“Jerry--Geraldine!” shrieked Gretel, leaning as far out of the window
as she could, and shouting at the top of her voice; “where are you
going? Come back; come right back this minute.”
But the noise of the wind drowned Gretel’s voice, and at that moment
she saw her two little friends calmly cross the gang-plank, and
disappear from view on board the Baltimore steamer.
So that was the secret; that was why the twins had sent her home! They
had deliberately planned to run away, and take this trip on the boat.
She remembered several mysterious hints, which had passed unheeded at
the time. The twins had been planning an adventure. But they must be
stopped; they must be brought back before the boat started. Gretel
did not know just what time it was, but she knew that the boat left
at five, and felt sure it could not be far from that hour. If it had
been a clear night she would not have been so much frightened, knowing
that Jerry and Geraldine were capable of taking care of themselves
under most circumstances, but in this dreadful storm--oh, she must do
something; she must stop them before it was too late.
Hastily snatching her waterproof from the wardrobe, Gretel opened the
door, and, without even waiting to close the window, ran at full speed
down the long corridor to the stairs. Most of the hotel guests were
in their rooms at that hour, and the few people she met did not appear
to pay much attention to the child, as she flew down-stairs, across
the covered piazza, and out onto the pier. A gust of wind nearly took
her off her feet, and the sudden dash of rain in her face took away
her breath, but she pushed resolutely on. Had not Miss Heath said she
always felt the twins were safe when she was with them? Surely, oh,
surely, she would be able to persuade them to give up their adventure,
and go back before the boat started.
It was so slippery crossing the gang-plank that Gretel almost fell, but
a strong hand caught her, and a good-natured voice remarked--
“You’re in a mighty hurry, Missie; the boat don’t start for five
minutes yet.”
“Five minutes!” panted Gretel; “oh, I must hurry.” And before the
astonished steward could ask any questions, she had fled up the stairs
to the saloon.
But where were the twins? That was the question. They were nowhere to
be seen in the saloon, and Gretel’s heart sank. Suppose she failed
to find them before those five precious minutes were up; what should
she do? She never thought of her own danger of being carried off;
her one desire was to rescue her two little friends before it was too
late. There were very few passengers on board that day, for many who
had intended taking the trip had changed their plans on account of the
storm. The saloon was practically deserted, and Gretel met no one as
she hurried along, calling eagerly, “Jerry, Geraldine; oh, children,
where are you?”
But this time her voice was not drowned by the gale, and suddenly the
door of one of the staterooms was opened a very little way, and a
laughing, mischievous face peeped out.
With a bound Gretel reached the door; pushed it farther open, and
forced her way in.
“Come back,” she cried authoritatively; “come back this minute; the
boat’s going to start. Oh, how could you do such a dreadful thing?”
But Jerry and Geraldine did not come back; on the contrary, they
retreated to the furthest corner of the stateroom.
“We’re going to Baltimore,” announced Jerry; “we’re stowaways. Come in
and shut the door.”
“Oh, how can you be so silly?” cried Gretel, actually stamping her
foot in her impatience; “you know perfectly well you can’t go off to
Baltimore by yourselves. Besides, it’s an awful storm; the boat may be
wrecked.”
But if Gretel hoped to frighten the twins by this dreadful possibility,
she was much mistaken.
“Shipwrecked!” cried Jerry, with a little skip of delight; “oh, goody,
that would be the best of all! Come in and shut the door; if anybody
sees us we can’t be stowaways.”
“But you can’t be stowaways, you know you can’t. I never heard of
anything so ridiculous. Oh, children, do come quick; there’s the
whistle.”
“But we don’t intend to come back,” said Geraldine, tranquilly. She had
seated herself on the lower berth, and taken off her hat and raincoat.
“Don’t you understand we’re doing it on purpose? We’ve brought some
supper with us in a parcel, and we’re going to have a wonderful time.
We told you we were going on the boat some time.”
“But think how frightened everybody will be,” urged Gretel, trying
a new tack. “You don’t want to frighten your mother and Miss Heath,
and--and every one, do you? They won’t have any idea where you are.”
“Oh, yes, they will,” Geraldine reassured her; “we left a letter
telling them all about it. Jerry wrote it, but I made it up. It was
such a lovely letter; just like one in a book we read, that a boy
wrote his mother when he was running away to sea. Mother says we’ve
got to learn things by experience, and how can we learn about boats
unless we go on one? They made us come all the way from New York in a
horrid train, and we’ve got to go home that way, too, because Mother
doesn’t like boats. So if we don’t go by ourselves we shall never know
what boats are like. We’re going to be stowaways, and stay in here for
quite a long time, and then we shall let ourselves be discovered, and
everybody will be so interested, the way they are in stories. They’ll
give us lots of good things to eat, and make up a purse for us, but
we’re so clean they won’t need to give us a bath.”
Gretel clasped her hands in despair.
“But think how seasick you’ll be,” she hazarded as a last resource,
“and how you’ll be punished when you get home.”
“Pooh!” sniffed Geraldine, contemptuously; “we’re Mind Cures; Mind
Cures never get seasick. It’s only sillies like you that bother about
such things.”
“We shan’t be punished either,” chimed in Jerry; “we’re never punished
now, not since Mother began bringing us up by the Law of Love. She’ll
only talk to us, and we don’t mind that much. Besides, she said we had
to learn things by experience. There’s somebody coming; I’ve got to
shut the door.”
And before the horrified Gretel could interpose, or even utter another
word of protest, Jerry had closed the door, locked it, and put the key
in his pocket. And at that very moment the second whistle sounded, and
the steamer began to move.