Henrietta's Red Coat
FOR a long time after this, Henrietta was neglected and the striped
pocket lay unheeded in the box of pieces, for Stray was the absorbing
interest to both Ruth and Billy. Generous little Billy had declared the
puppy must belong half to Ruth, and, therefore, she always went with
him when, tin pail in hand, he called at the different houses where
the promised scraps were to be collected. Sometimes, the scraps which
the other puppies left were few, but there was always enough for the
not too fastidious appetite of Stray, or, if it seemed a very slim
supper, both Ruth and Billy cheerfully set aside a portion of theirs,
consequently Stray throve and grew apace.
Miss Hester confessed that he was great company for her while the
children were at school, and he came to consider her as close a friend
as Ruth or Billy.
Before winter came on, the major's old overcoat was fashioned into a
warm one for Billy, and for Ruth, Miss Hester contrived comfortable
frocks from her discarded ones. But there was no coat for her, till
one day Ruth discovered Miss Hester bending over an old chest in the
attic. The tiny house held but four rooms below and the attic above.
One end of the attic was curtained off for a room for Billy; the rest
was stored with chests and bandboxes, trunks and old furniture.
It was rather a fearsome place to Ruth, that dark end of the attic,
though she did venture in there once in a while when she was hiding
from Billy. Now, however, Stray could always find her so that it was no
longer any fun to hide there.
Upon this particular day, she had a message from Miss Amanda Beach, and
was in a hurry to deliver it lest she forget it.
"Aunt Hester, Aunt Hester," she called, "where are you?"
An answer came from the dark end of the attic; "Here, child."
Ruth groped her way along the dusky aisles. A spinning wheel's flax
brushed her face; an old leghorn bonnet was set swinging from the
rafters as she felt her way with uplifted hands; a string of dried
peppers, hanging from a beam, caught in her hair. Ruth stood still.
"I don't see you," she said anxiously; the peppers had seemed like
something alive.
"Over here," repeated Miss Hester, standing up, and Ruth saw her figure
dimly in the gloom.
She picked her way along with more assurance as her eyes became
accustomed to the half light.
"Miss Amanda wanted me to be sure to tell you that there is to be a
meeting of the mothers this afternoon at the minister's house and you
mustn't forget to come, she says. You are just the same as a mother,
Billy's and mine, aren't you, Aunt Hester?"
"I hope so," returned Miss Hester groping among the bundles in the
chest before which she was kneeling. "There, this is what I am looking
for."
"Oh, what a cunning little hood," said Ruth picking up a soft cashmere
affair, trimmed with swansdown. "Was it yours when you were a little
girl, Aunt Hester?"
"No, all these things belonged to my little sister Henrietta. They have
been in this chest ever since she died. My mother put them there with
her own hands."
"Oh." Ruth leaned over to look more closely at the neat piles of
garments. Miss Hester sat on the floor and pushed back a lock of hair
which had fallen over her eyes. She was a tall, slender woman with dark
hair, hazel eyes and a sad expression about the mouth.
"Were they all Henrietta's?" asked Ruth with interest. "Aunt Hester, if
you had had a little girl you would have named her Henrietta, wouldn't
you?"
Miss Hester smiled. "Very likely."
"'Most everybody calls me Ruth Brackenbury, don't they? Do you like to
have them call me that, Aunt Hester?"
"Do you?"
"I do, if you do," returned Ruth shyly. Then her thoughts turned to
Miss Amanda and she said again, "You are just the same as our mother,
Billy's and mine, aren't you?"
"I try to be the same as a mother to you."
"Then, Aunt Hester, could I be named Ruth Henrietta Brackenbury, and if
anybody asks my name can I tell them it is that?"
"Why, my dear," Miss Hester arose and hung over her arm the garment she
had taken from the chest, "yes, if you like."
"Would you like?" asked Ruth wistfully.
Miss Hester did not answer at once, but picked her way back to where it
was lighter.
"Try this on," she said holding out a dark red coat trimmed with fur.
Ruth slipped her arms into the sleeves and then softly stroked the fur
trimming.
"It fits perfectly," said Miss Hester, with satisfaction, "so you can
wear it Sunday. I will hang it out in the air to get rid of the smell
of camphor, and to-morrow I will press out the creases."
"For me? For me?" cried Ruth. "Henrietta's coat for me? Oh, Aunt
Hester!"
"Yes, for you, and I think all those little clothes will fit you. It
will save me many stitches and what good are they hoarded away?" she
said half to herself.
Ruth clasped her arms around Miss Hester's waist. "Please kiss me as if
I were Henrietta," she said, "and let me put her name next to mine."
Miss Hester stooped to kiss the quivering lips. "I will ask the
minister about the name," she answered. "I am not sure whether it would
be right, but I'd like it. Yes, I'd like very much for you to have it."
"May I wear the coat down-stairs?" asked Ruth. "Then you won't have to
carry it."
"You may wear it down, then take it off and lay it on my bed."
"Ruth Henrietta Brackenbury," whispered Ruth to herself as she stepped
down the narrow stairs behind Miss Hester, avoiding the plain black
skirt which swept each step in front of her.
Ruth loved color. Rich clothes and dainty fare likewise appealed to
her. It was bitterness to the proud little soul to feel that she had
been taken from the streets. She envied the little Henrietta who had
been a Brackenbury and who had lived her short life in the fine old
house with white pillars. The child felt that in some way she would
more fairly possess that little sister's inheritance if she could
include Henrietta's name in her own.
Little Ruth gave a fierce loyalty to the mother she had loved so
dearly, and, though she never failed to stand up for her father, and
was ready with excuses whenever Billy or any other assailed him, in her
inmost heart she felt a bitter rage against the man who had left her
and her mother to suffer. She excused him partly because of pride and
partly because she knew her mother would wish it. But, to herself, she
considered that a great injustice had been done and resented bitterly
the fact that those who commended Miss Hester for her great charity,
felt that Ruth and Billy belonged to the same class.
Billy did not care what any one thought. His life had been a hard one
from babyhood. He had never been warm in winter, nor had he had enough
to eat at any time of year. He had been kicked and battered about from
this one to that till he could not tell to whom he really did belong,
so that when he drifted into this haven of peace, he had but one
feeling and that of thankfulness.
With Ruth it was different. She remembered when she had worn pretty
clothes and when a sweet and dainty mother had fed her choice bits
from a well-appointed table, when a tall father had taken her to drive
behind a gray horse. She remembered, too, a pretty house and garden
which had been home to her. She could not recollect how it happened
that all changed, but so it did, and, by degrees, the place she and her
mother called home, became poorer and poorer till a garret under the
eaves of a tall building was their habitation.
When it came to this, there was no father there to see the manner of
it; only a pale and sad mother who wept constantly and who coughed
often as she sat over a table, writing, writing. After a while there
was less to eat, no fire and the cough grew worse. Then they took her
mother away one morning after she had lain for hours very pale and
still. Ruth could not rouse her.
Some one came in and whispered: "She is dead, poor thing."
And then Ruth knew what was the matter. In a turmoil of terror and
grief she had rushed down the steps and out into the street. Her mother
could not be dead. It needed but a doctor to make her well, and it was
a doctor the desperate little child was seeking when she was discovered
by a city missionary, exhausted and weeping and weary with wandering.
At first, she had repelled all advances from Miss Hester, and had no
words even for Billy, but his good nature at last brought a response
and she accepted his companionship, while for Miss Hester there was
springing up a deep affection. She was no longer jealous for the mother
who had become an angel, for she was fading into a sweet and lovely
dream.
She no longer resented the fact that Miss Hester had taken her in from
charity, for she was beginning to realize that something more than cold
duty prompted Miss Hester's kind acts. To-day for the first time she
understood in what light Miss Hester really regarded her, for, could
she have given to any one that she did not love, the clothing of the
long mourned little twin sister, Henrietta?
The child took off the coat, carefully laid it on Miss Hester's bed,
then she fingered it gently. It was lined with soft wadded silk, and
in the little pocket was a folded handkerchief. Ruth drew it out and
silently held it out to Miss Hester.
"You can use that, too," Miss Hester told her.
And Ruth put it back again. It gave her a truer sense of taking
Henrietta's place to know that it was there.
She wore the red coat proudly to church the next Sunday, and though, at
any other time she would have allowed Stray to take such liberties as
pleased him, she spoke to him quite sharply when he attempted to jump
upon her with not too clean paws.
"Proudy," whispered Billy.
Ruth shot him a look of defiance from under her black brows. "You'd be
proud, too, if you had on Henrietta Brackenbury's coat," she said.
"Well, I guess I've got on the major's," returned Billy triumphantly.
"Oh, but it's made over," returned Ruth, as if that settled the
question and made all the difference in the world.
In fact, so complacent was Ruth in her new rig that, a few days later,
her pride had a fall, such a tumbledown as was followed by serious
consequences.
It was when Lucia Field invited her to a party which was strictly
select, it being her birthday. Annie Waite was there as well as Nora
Petty, Angeline McBride and Charlotte Thompson. Ruth was glad to see
them all except Nora and Angeline, for these two had never been very
agreeable to her at school. Once or twice, Nora had made some little
mean remark which Ruth had overheard and which had made her very
angry. She had told Billy about it, but he only laughed. She had not
forgotten, however, and held herself rather loftily when she entered
Lucia's house, clad in the red coat and a fine plaid poplin which had
been Henrietta's.
"Doesn't Ruth look nice?" whispered Annie to Nora.
"So, so," was the reply given with a toss of the head.
"I wonder where she got her clothes," said Angeline. "They are kind of
old-fashioned, but they are awfully pretty."
"She didn't bring 'em with her when she came to town, that's one thing
sure," said Nora behind her hand.
And Angeline giggled.
By this time, Ruth had laid aside her coat and hat in the best bedroom,
and had stepped down the broad stairway into the room where the other
girls were gathered, waiting for the party to begin. Mrs. Field was
there and her cousin, Miss Fannie, a young lady in a blue dress, who
smiled invitingly at each of the girls and said they must have some
games. Then the fun began, and for an hour or more went steadily
forward, Miss Fannie being at the head and front of everything. Then
came simple refreshments; home-made cakes, ice-cream and bonbons.
Ruth was just thinking that she had never had a better time in her
life, when Lucia came forward with a birthday book which her cousin
Fannie had given her.
"Now, before you go," she said, "I want you all to write your names in
my birthday book."
Ruth's color came and went as she stood waiting her turn.
Nora looked at her, nudged Angeline and giggled. She knew it was an
awkward moment for Ruth, though Lucia had not dreamed of such a thing.
She really was very fond of Ruth, and admired her much more than she
did Nora.
Annie and Charlotte had bent themselves to their task. Annie's was a
crooked scrawl slanting unevenly across the page opposite March 12.
Charlotte's signature was very black and round.
"Now it is your turn," said Miss Fannie to Ruth. "When is your
birthday, dear?"
"November the fifteenth," said Ruth weakly.
"Oh," exclaimed Nora, "how do you know?"
Ruth bit her lip, then she made answer: "It is written in my mother's
Bible."
"Of course," said Miss Fannie. "Right here, dear. You have a nice
quotation, too."
Ruth hesitated, dipped her pen in the ink and then wrote quite firmly:
Ruth Henrietta Brackenbury.
"Oh, oh," cried Nora, looking over her shoulder, "see what she has
written. Her name isn't Brackenbury at all, Miss Fannie. People call
her that, but her name isn't that at all."
"It is, it is," cried Ruth, her eyes flashing, "and the Henrietta is
for Aunt Hester's little sister; she said so."
Miss Fannie, who did not know Ruth's history, looked puzzled. "Why do
you say it isn't her name, Nora?" she asked.
"Why because it isn't. Everybody knows Miss Brackenbury took her from
charity; she took her out of the streets. My mother was at the meeting
when the letter came about her and Billy Beatty, and she said she
didn't see how Miss Brackenbury could be willing to take in any one she
didn't know anything about. She wouldn't let me play with her at first,
and I don't think she ought to be allowed to call herself something she
is not."
But before the speech was ended, Ruth had rushed up-stairs, with
hurried, trembling fingers had put on her hat and coat and, without
stopping for a word with any one, had flown out of the house and up the
street, the tears running down her cheeks and her heart beating with a
fierce resentment.
Miss Hester was not at home when she arrived at the door, and she was
obliged to go around the back way, take the key from its hiding-place
under the door-mat, and let herself in.
An hour later Miss Hester found her alone in the dark, lying prone on
the floor, sobbing broken-heartedly.
"Why, my poor little girl, what is the matter?" she said lifting her
up. "What has happened? Are you hurt? Has anything happened to Billy or
Stray?"
"No, no," replied Ruth between sobs; "it's only me."
"Only you? But only you are very important to your Aunt Hester. I'll
take off my things and then you must come in where it is warm and tell
me all about it."
Ruth's room was heated from Miss Hester's where a wood stove supplied
the heat night and morning. Now that the weather had grown colder, Miss
Hester sat in the living-room or the kitchen, for she must save fuel.
It was not long before Ruth's tears were dried, as with head nestled on
Miss Hester's shoulder, she sat in her lap and told her story.
"It was very unkind of Nora," Miss Hester said.
"I s'pose she thought I wanted to be deceitful, and she always likes to
tell on people. She's always telling on the girls at school the least
little thing they do. She didn't like it 'cause the girls said my coat
was pretty. She asked me where I got it and I told her you gave it to
me, and she said she wondered how you could afford to give me anything
as good as that. She began to say something else but Lucia hushed her
up. Oh, Aunt Hester, was I deceitful? I am your little girl now; you
said so."
"Yes, dear, you are my own little girl. You love Aunt Hester a little
bit, don't you?"
"I love you, oh, I do love you, but—but you don't want me to forget
mother, do you?"
"A thousand times no. Remember your dear mother to your dying day."
"She's an angel now," returned Ruth, "and I can't tell her I love her,
but I can tell you and I want to stay with you forever 'n' ever and be
called Ruth Henrietta Brackenbury."
"And so you shall. I must see Dr. Peaslee," she added musingly, "and
Squire Field; they'll know how I must make it legal."
She put on her hat that very evening and went out, leaving Billy and
Ruth to study their lessons.
When she came back Dr. Peaslee was with her. He brought a pocketful of
roasted chestnuts for the children and told them such funny stories
that they went laughing to bed.
Sometime later came an important looking envelope through the mail.
Ruth brought it in. "Such a great big letter, Aunt Hester."
Miss Hester took it, opened it and looked over the contents. Then she
called Ruth to her. "Ruth Henrietta Brackenbury," she said taking the
child's face between her two hands, "that is your real name now and no
one can dispute it. You shall never change it unless," she added with a
little twist of a smile, "you should get married some day."
"But I never shall," returned Ruth soberly, "for I shall always want my
name to same as yours. Is it really, really mine?"
"It is really yours in law, and you are my own little girl in the eyes
of the law exactly the same as you would be any mother's."
"Oh, I am so glad, so glad," said Ruth.
Then they sat and hugged each other very tight till Billy came in with
the wood.