THE PALACE OF BEAUTY
It was a lovely June afternoon, and an automobile was bowling swiftly
along the Hudson Boulevard, away from the big, noisy city. It was a
large touring-car, and in it were four persons. On the front seat were
a lady and gentleman, the latter of whom was running the car himself,
and in the back were a little girl and a maid. The little girl, to
whom motoring was still a novelty, was looking about her in wide-eyed
interest, and uttering little ejaculations of delight every few seconds.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Higgins?” she cried, turning to the maid. “I
didn’t know there were such beautiful places anywhere near New York,
did you?”
“It’s very pretty, miss,” returned Higgins, guardedly, “but hit hain’t
to be compared with Hengland. You should see Lord Carresford’s hestate.
Hif you could see that, Miss Gretel, you might well call hit beautiful.”
But Gretel did not look convinced.
“I don’t see how any place can be more beautiful than this,” she
maintained. “See that big house on the hill? It looks just like a
castle, doesn’t it? I wonder who lives there?”
“Most likely some of the millionaires,” responded Higgins, who would
have died sooner than admit that anything American could equal her
beloved England. “Hit’s a pretty place, but hit don’t compare with what
I’ve seen hin the old country.”
At that moment the lady in the front seat turned her head with the
announcement--
“We are almost home, Gretel; that is our place on the hill.”
Gretel gave a great gasp of astonishment; speech failed her at that
moment. Even the solid Higgins opened her eyes in surprise, as the car
turned in at a pair of iron gates, and in two minutes more had dashed
up a wide avenue lined with beautiful old trees, and drawn up before
a large stone house with pillars. It was the very house Gretel had
described as “looking like a castle.”
“Well, how do you like it, Gretel?” her brother asked, smiling, as
he sprang out of the car, and came to help Higgins unpack their
belongings.
“It’s the most beautiful place I ever saw,” declared Gretel, finding
her voice at last. “Is this really where you and Barbara live, and am I
going to live here, too?”
“We are going to spend the summer here, at any rate,” Mr. Douane
answered. “I have rented the place for six months.”
“Come in, Gretel,” said her sister-in-law, “I want to show you your
room.” And she led the way into a wide hall hung with pictures.
“I really believe it is a castle,” laughed Gretel, pausing on the
threshold to gaze about her with eager, delighted eyes. “I feel as if I
must be a princess, and you and Percy are the king and queen.”
“Poor little Cinderella,” said Mrs. Douane, and there was a sudden
dimness in her eyes, as she led the way up the wide staircase to the
second floor.
“No, it isn’t a castle, but just a dear old house, filled with
beautiful things. The old lady who owns it was a friend of my mother’s,
and she has let us have the place just as it is. I used to visit here
when I was a little girl, and have always loved the house, so when I
heard that Mrs. Atterbury was going abroad this summer, and wanted to
rent her place, I persuaded Percy to come and look at it, and he was
as much delighted as I was. We have even taken the old servants; two
of them have lived here for more than twenty years and knew me when I
wasn’t as old as you. This is your room, right opposite mine. Come in
and see how you like it.”
“Like it!” cried Gretel, and that was really all she could say just
then. It was such a pretty room, with such lovely old furniture in it,
and the walls were covered with charming prints and engravings. There
were two big windows looking off toward the river, and the mountains
on the opposite shore; and the little white bed, with its dainty
furnishings was truly a joy to behold. But it was not any of these
things which caused Gretel to spring forward, with a little cry. It
was the sight of an old rag doll sitting in solemn state by one of the
windows, and a row of shabby old books on a shelf over the writing-desk.
“They’re my own things, my own precious things!” she cried, snatching
up the rag doll, and hugging it to her heart. “This is my Jemima,
that Father gave me for a Christmas present, when I was only seven,
and there are all my dear, dear books and the German Bible, and
everything.”
“Open the desk and see what is inside,” said Mrs. Douane, smiling.
With trembling hands, Gretel opened one of the drawers in the
writing-desk, and there lay a pile of old letters, tied together with
a piece of faded blue ribbon. Gretel gave one little sob as she caught
them up and kissed them. They were her greatest treasure of all; the
letters from her father.
“Oh, Barbara, how did you get them?” she cried, rapturously. “Percy
said I should have them again, but I didn’t believe I really could.
I was so afraid Mrs. Marsh had thrown them away. She said she hated
keeping old things; they cluttered up drawers and made more trouble in
house-cleaning.”
With a sudden impulse, Mrs. Douane took her little sister in her arms,
and kissed her.
“You dear child,” she said. “Of course Mrs. Marsh did not throw away
your treasures; she would not have dared to do such a thing. Percy
wrote her from Old Point, asking her to keep everything until he could
send for them.”
“Oh, I am so happy,” cried Gretel. “I think I’m the happiest person in
the world. Did Percy go to see Mrs. Marsh?”
“No, he wrote to her, giving the address, and she sent the parcel
at once. Percy also received a note from Miss Marsh, announcing her
engagement to a Mr. Pendleton. She expects to be married this month.”
Gretel looked pleased.
“I’m glad,” she said; “I liked Mr. Pendleton; he was always very kind.
Once when he came to see Ada he brought me some chocolates.”
“Well, I am glad, too, if you are,” laughed Mrs. Douane, “though I
never had the pleasure of meeting Miss Ada. Here comes Higgins, and I
am going to leave you to wash off some of that horrid dust while I get
ready for dinner. Dust is really the only drawback to motoring.”
But Gretel did not think that even dust could be considered a drawback
to such a delightful amusement. She had never been so happy or excited
in her life, and it was rather hard work to stand still and have her
hair brushed and tied with a fresh ribbon, while there was still so
much to see and admire in this beautiful new home. The past month had
been a very pleasant one. Mr. and Mrs. Barlow had been as kind as
possible, and she and the twins had become the best of friends. They
had remained at Old Point until the first of June, and then gone to
Washington for a week on their way north. Gretel had seen the Capitol,
and the White House, and spent one delightful afternoon at Mount
Vernon, wandering about the beautiful old home of General Washington.
They had left Washington only that morning, and on reaching the station
in New York, Gretel had been met by her brother and sister in their new
touring-car. It had been a rather sad parting, for at the last moment,
Geraldine--to everybody’s surprise--had suddenly burst into tears, and
flinging her arms round Gretel’s neck, had positively refused to be
parted from her friend. It was not until Mr. and Mrs. Douane had given
the twins a most urgent invitation to visit Gretel in her new home,
that Geraldine had at last consented to be torn away, and allow Gretel
to depart with her family.
The dinner that evening was another revelation to Gretel. The prettily
decorated table, with a big bowl of roses in the center; the neat,
white-capped maid, who waited on them, and her sister-in-law, looking
lovelier than ever in her white evening dress, all combined to fill the
little girl with wonder and admiration.
“It is a palace, and Percy and Barbara are the prince and princess,”
she told herself. “I’m Cinderella, and I’ve come to live with them,
but oh, how dreadful it would be if it should all come to an end when
the clock strikes twelve.”
“What are you thinking of, Gretel?” her brother asked, noticing the
look of sudden anxiety on the child’s hitherto radiant face.
Gretel laughed and blushed.
“It was very silly,” she said, “but I couldn’t help it. I was thinking
how perfectly wonderful everything was, and then just for a minute I
thought how terrible it would be if it should all come to an end just
as it did with Cinderella when the clock struck twelve.”
Mr. and Mrs. Douane both smiled, and the latter said--
“I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. This little Cinderella
has come home to stay, and we are all going to have a happy summer
together.”
“By the way, Barbara,” said Mr. Douane, “I saw the man about that pony
this morning. I am going to have you learn to ride, Gretel; it’s the
best exercise in the world, and we must have you fat and rosy before
you go to school in the autumn.”
It was a beautiful moonlight night, and after dinner they all went
out on the piazza, and sat watching the boats on the river. It was
so still that they could hear the band on the Albany steamer, as it
passed, and so warm that scarcely a leaf stirred. Gretel would have
liked to linger there for hours, with the two people she loved best in
the world, but at nine o’clock her sister-in-law advised her to go to
bed.
“You have been traveling all day,” she said, “and need a good night’s
rest.”
“I feel so wide awake that I don’t think I can possibly go to sleep,”
said Gretel, rising rather reluctantly, “but I’ll try if you want
me to.” And she kissed her brother and sister good night, and went
up-stairs to her pretty room, where she found the faithful Higgins busy
unpacking.
Gretel had so many things to say to Higgins, that the process of
undressing was a rather lengthy one, but it was over at last, and
Higgins, having seen her charge safely in bed, was preparing to leave
the room, when Gretel called her back.
“Higgins,” she said a little timidly, “I don’t believe you are very
fond of being kissed, are you?”
“I’m not much haddicted to hit,” admitted Higgins, who was fond of
using long words. “In fact, I ’aven’t kissed any one since I said
good-by to my mother hin the hold country. What do you want to know
for, miss?”
“I was thinking that--but perhaps you’d rather not do it,” said Gretel,
evasively. “It’s only that I’m so very happy to-night, I feel as if I
should like to kiss everybody in the world.”
“You mean you would like to kiss me, miss?” There was something like
consternation in Higgins’ voice, but she flushed all over her plain
face, and looked for the moment really quite embarrassed.
“I should like to very much indeed if you wouldn’t mind,” said Gretel,
and as the English woman bent down her face, she threw two soft little
arms round Higgins’ neck, and kissed her heartily.
Higgins did not say anything, but switched out the light very
hurriedly, and Gretel did not see the tears in her eyes, or hear her
murmur softly as she left the room--
“There never was a sweeter child hin this country or the hold one
either.”
It was quite true that Gretel was not sleepy. She was far too happy
and excited to sleep, and she lay for some time, with wide-open eyes,
living over all the delightful events of the day. She had taken the
old rag doll to bed with her, and slipped the packet of her father’s
letters under her pillow. It was so good to know that all her treasures
were safe, and in her own possession once more. She was just beginning
to feel a little sleepy, when her ear caught the sound of a distant
piano, and she started up wide awake again.
“It’s Barbara!” she cried joyfully. “Oh, what a beautiful ending to the
day to hear Barbara play before I go to sleep.”
She had no idea of doing anything wrong, or even unusual, as she sprang
out of bed, and hastily putting on her wrapper and bath slippers--which
Higgins had left on a chair by the bedside--opened the door, and stole
softly out into the hall. In the old studio days she had often sat up
till midnight while her father and his friends played and sang. Yes,
Barbara was playing, and eager to get as near as possible to the music
she loved, Gretel went on to the head of the stairs. The drawing-room
door was directly opposite the staircase, and Gretel could hear every
note as distinctly as if she had been in the room. With a little
sigh of utter content, she sat down on the top stair, intending to
enjoy another sensation of bliss before going back to bed again. The
moonlight streaming in through the hall window, fell across the little
figure in the blue flannel wrapper, and rested softly on the child’s
rapt face.
Mrs. Douane finished the nocturne she was playing, and in the pause
which followed, Gretel heard her brother say--
“Play something from Wagner.”
“I’ll play The Swan Song from ‘Lohengrin,’” his wife answered, and
after turning over some music, she began a melody Gretel knew, and
which set the child’s heart to beating fast, while the hot color rushed
up into her cheeks. How well she remembered it all; the crowded opera
house; the beautiful scene; the great orchestra, and the clear tenor
voice of Lohengrin, singing the farewell to his beloved swan. Then the
coming out into the cold, windy street and the shame and remorse that
followed.
Suddenly the music stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Mr. Douane asked, in surprise; “have you forgotten
it?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten it,” his wife answered, with something between
a sob and a laugh, “but I can’t play it to-night; my heart is too full.
I haven’t played Lohengrin since--why I don’t believe I ever told you
about my tragic experience last winter.”
“You have told me of experiences which seemed to me sufficiently
tragic, but what is this particular one?”
“I suppose I was foolish to take it as seriously as I did,” said Mrs.
Douane. “It really wasn’t as tragic as many other things, but it came
at a time when I had just about reached the end of my tether, and you
know it is always the last straw that breaks the camel’s back. It was
in March, and I was about as blue and discouraged as any one well
could be. I had been hungering for a little music for once, but never
felt I could spare the money for a ticket to a concert. Then one day
I happened to see in the paper that they were giving ‘Lohengrin’ at
the Saturday matinée that week, and the temptation proved too great
to be resisted. I struggled with my economical scruples for two days,
and then on Friday afternoon, I let scruples go to the winds, went to
the opera house, and bought a ticket for the balcony. It cost me three
dollars, and I knew I hadn’t a dollar to waste on frivolities, but it
was my one dissipation of the winter.
“I hurried home with my treasure, feeling like a naughty child, who has
stolen a piece of cake, and then what do you suppose I discovered?”
“What?” inquired Mr. Douane, as his wife paused dramatically, and
Gretel, on the stairs, held her breath, and leaned forward to catch
every word.
“I had lost my ticket,” said Mrs. Douane, solemnly.
“Lost your ticket?” repeated her husband; “how did it happen--where did
you put it?”
“In my purse, I thought, but it must have dropped out, for I found the
clasp unfastened. I really don’t think I ever had quite such a shock in
my life. I rushed back to the opera house, hoping the ticket might have
been picked up and returned to the box office, but of course it was of
no use. It was a very windy day, and the envelope may have been blown
away, nobody knows where. There was nothing to be done but go home and
bear the disappointment as well as I could.”
“Poor little girl,” said Mr. Douane, tenderly, “I can imagine what
it meant to you. I should like to find the fellow who picked up that
ticket, and give him a piece of my mind. Any one should have known that
the proper thing to do was to return it to the box office. Did you go
back again? It might have been returned later, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I tried twice more before giving up all hope. Unfortunately,
I did not remember the number of my seat, and the man at the box office
assured me there was no hope. Whoever found the ticket must have used
it, but perhaps it was never picked up at all. I think I was about as
unhappy that night as any girl could be, but you know the old saying,
‘The darkest hour is always just before dawn.’ It was the very next day
that Mrs. Barlow’s letter came, asking me to go to Old Point, and it
was only a week later that you and I met; so I ought not to complain,
ought I?”
“Well, perhaps not, but I still maintain that I should like to find the
person who picked up that ticket. It was a confoundedly dishonest trick
not to have handed it in at the box office.”
Mr. Douane said a good deal more, but that was all Gretel heard. As
silently as it had come, the little figure on the stairs rose and
slipped away. The child’s face was very white, and her eyes were big
and frightened. When she reached her own room, she closed the door
softly, and sank down in a little heap on the bed. She was trembling
all over.
“It was Barbara’s ticket to fairy-land, and I stole it,” she whispered.
“Percy said it was a confoundedly dishonest thing to do. Barbara loves
‘Lohengrin’ as much as I do, and she was poor, too. I knew I had been
wicked, but I never knew I’d really been dishonest. I love Barbara
better than any one in the world, and I stole her ticket to fairy-land!”
Poor little repentant Cinderella! Her happy day was over; the clock had
struck twelve.