The long days dragged by and brought at last the Christmas holidays.
Mrs. Patterson was stronger. She was able to join the shopping
excursion, waiting in the carriage while Miss Drayton came in to get
Anne.
Miss Drayton exclaimed at sight of the pale little face.
"What is the matter with her, Mademoiselle Duroc?" she inquired
anxiously. "She has not been ill? Has she been studying too hard?"
"She studies," answered Mademoiselle; "but she thrived till the month
ago. There is a matter which I must beg leave to discuss with you and
madame your sister."
The little hand which lay in Miss Drayton's twitched and clung tight.
Miss Drayton smiled protectingly at the child, who looked like a
quivering rabbit cowering before hunting dogs. "If it be a matter of
broken rules--or anything unpleasant--let us pass it by, Mademoiselle
Duroc. If you please! This is Christmas, you know."
"The matter is too serious to ignore," protested Mademoiselle.
"If it must be," Miss Drayton yielded reluctantly. "But we must not
spoil our Christmas. And, really, my sister is still too unwell to be
annoyed. After Christmas, if it must be."
"After Christmas, then," Mademoiselle submitted.
Anne threw herself into Mrs. Patterson's arms in an ecstasy of delight.
"I'm so glad that it hurts," she exclaimed. "I'd forgot what good times
there are in the world."
"Let me hold Honey-Sweet. She's too heavy for you," urged Pat.
"No, I thank you," laughed Anne. "She doesn't want to be a William
Tell's child or a Daniel in the lions' den. I was so glad you sent me
word to bring Honey-Sweet, Mrs. Patterson," she continued joyously. "I
wanted to bring her, and it's so much nicer when she's invited."
"I want you to lend her to me a little while," Mrs. Patterson answered.
"I'll not make her a William Tell's child or a Daniel in the lions' den.
I--let me whisper it so she'll not hear--I want to get her a Christmas
present and it is one I can't select in her absence."
They made the round of the shops, gay with Christmas decorations and
thronged with merry shoppers. Anne was full of eager excitement. Mrs.
Patterson gave her a little purse full of shining silver pieces, which
she was to spend as she pleased.
Anne clapped her hands with delight. "I'll buy a present for Elsie," she
said, "and perhaps I'll get something for Miss Morris and Louise."
"I would buy a gift for each of my classmates, if I were you," Mrs.
Patterson suggested. "It is pleasant to remember every one."
"O--oh!" Anne's face clouded. "But if they haven't been nice--"
"Those are the very ones to remember at Christmas time," interrupted
Mrs. Patterson. "Peace and good will! If there is any one who has been
especially un-nice to you, this is such a good time to be specially nice
to that person."
"But I'm not going to forgive Amelia," Anne asserted quietly but
positively.
"Well, well, dearie! we'll not talk about anything disagreeable to-day,"
said Mrs. Patterson. "But do you know, I think it would be fun to give
Amelia the nicest present of all?"
"Mademoiselle Duroc was pretty bad, too," said Anne.
"Then what about a nice present for Mademoiselle?" inquired Mrs.
Patterson. "But just as you like, dear. This is do-as-you-please day
for you and Pat. Now Honey-Sweet and I are going to do a little shopping
alone and then we'll rest and wait for you in the ladies' room."
"I like to do what you say," said Anne, thoughtfully. "Maybe I won't
hate so bad to give them presents if I make a play of it. I'll try."
She counted out her silver pieces and decided on the price of the gifts
that she would choose for each of her teachers and classmates. Then she
shut her eyes and when she opened them she 'made pretend' she was
Mademoiselle Duroc, moving slow and stately like a parade or a
procession, and she chose a stiff little jet-and-gold hair ornament.
Next Anne was Miss Morris. For a minute she puffed out her cheeks and
flapped her arms, imitating the turkey-cock mood. Then she thrust out
her chin, drew down her brows, and hurried along, with her fingers
clenched as if she held a handful of exercises. That was the busy,
hard-working, kind-hearted Miss Morris for whom she selected a
silver-mounted ink-stand. There was an enamelled belt pin for
finery-loving Annette, a gay set of paper dolls for little Bébé, a new
story book for book-loving Madge, a silver stamp-box for Elsie, and for
Amelia a pretty blue silk workbag fitted with needles, thimble, and
scissors. There was a box of bonbons for Louise and for the cross cook a
gay fan which displayed the red, white, and blue of the American
flag,--"for I shouldn't be so cross if I were not so uncomfortable in my
hot, hot kitchen," Anne said, waddling along with arms akimbo, "and I'm
sure I can keep cooler with such a be-yu-tiful fan."
"Now I've bought my duty presents, I'll buy my love ones," announced
Anne, gayly. "I'm going to buy Elsie another present--a big box of
'chocolate creamth'--she does adore them. These three wise monkeys are
for Pat. There isn't anything good enough for dear Mrs. Patterson, but
I'll get her a lovely big bottle of cologne. Don't you peep, Miss
Drayton, while I choose your present," Anne charged, as she tripped
about the shop, selecting at last a pretty silver hat pin.
Miss Drayton laughingly asserted that Anne, chattering away in her
assumed characters, was as good as a play and exclaimed that she had no
idea it was so late and they must go at once to Mrs. Patterson who would
be worn out waiting for them. So Pat was dragged from the display of
sporting goods, and they hurried to the ladies' room where Mrs.
Patterson was resting in an easy chair. She was pale but smiling.
"I'm like you, Anne," she said; "I had forgotten what good times there
are in the world. Before we go to luncheon, I want to know if
Honey-Sweet's mother approves of her. I told you that her hair would
grow, you know. See!" She untied the strings and took off Honey-Sweet's
cap. Instead of a bald head with a few painted ringlets, there were wavy
golden locks of real hair. It is no use to try to express Anne's
delight. She couldn't do it herself. She laughed and cried and hugged
first Honey-Sweet, then Mrs. Patterson, then both together.
A soft wet snow was falling, and amid its whiteness and the glittering
lights and the merry bustle of the holiday crowds, the carriage turned
homeward. After such a happy day, nothing could ever be so bad again, it
seemed to Anne, as she kissed her friends good-by and ran
light-heartedly up the steps.
The gift-giving and gift-receiving and merry-making of the Christmas
holidays brought Anne back into the circle of her schoolmates. But her
troubles were not over. One afternoon early in the new year, Mrs.
Patterson and Miss Drayton came for the promised interview with
Mademoiselle Duroc. She showed them the purse and jewels discovered in
Anne's possession, and told them the whole story. Mrs. Patterson and
Miss Drayton were amazed. They had never before seen any of the
articles. Miss Drayton had packed Anne's trunk on the steamer and had
unpacked and repacked it at the Liverpool hotel and she was sure that
the things were not in the child's baggage. Two of the rings were of
considerable value. The locket was handsome and looked like an heirloom.
"The child does not know whose portrait it contains,--that she
confesses," said Mademoiselle Duroc. "And there is the money--the gold
piece."
Perplexed as she was, Mrs. Patterson's faith was unshaken in the child
who had always seemed so straightforward and honorable. Miss Drayton
wanted to believe in Anne, but she remembered the uncle whose story they
had not told Mademoiselle; after all, they knew little of the child;
nothing of her family, except that her uncle had used his employer's
money and had fled from justice. Was the taint of dishonesty in her
blood? For all her candid appearance, Anne had been keeping a secret.
But perhaps there was some explanation which she would make to her
friends, though she had withheld it from Mademoiselle Duroc.
Anne was summoned and came tripping into the room. Her face clouded when
she saw the jewels in Mademoiselle Duroc's hand and the grave,
questioning faces of her friends.
"Don't ask me about those, please, dear Mrs. Patterson," she entreated.
"I can't tell you anything now. I'll tell you all about it then."
"Then? when?" asked Miss Drayton.
"Wh-when we get to Nantes--if ever we do go there," sobbed Anne.
"What nonsense is this, Anne?" inquired Miss Drayton. "Of course you
must explain the matter. Did you have these things on shipboard?"
"No, Miss Drayton."
"Where did you get them?"
The child did not answer.
"Whose are these things, Anne?" asked Miss Drayton, more sternly.
"Mine, mine, mine!" cried Anne. "Indeed, I'll tell you all about them
when we get to Nantes."
"Anne! What do you mean? Nantes! What has Nantes to do with it? You are
making my sister ill. See how pale she is!--Emily, dear Emily, don't
look so troubled. If only I had taken the matter up with you alone,
Mademoiselle Duroc!"
"I wish I could tell. I do wish I could," moaned Anne.
Entreaty and command were in vain.
"We shall have to let the matter rest for the present," said Miss
Drayton, at last. "It has overtaxed my sister's strength."
"Never mind me," protested Mrs. Patterson. "I am troubled only for the
child's sake. Oh, there must be some reasonable, right explanation of it
all!"
"I hope so," said Miss Drayton, hopelessly.
Mademoiselle Duroc had taken no part in the conversation with Anne. Now
she spoke: "Permit me to suggest that I prefer not to retain charge of a
pupil that has the secrets and mysteries. Will madame be so good--"
"No, no, Mademoiselle Duroc!" interrupted Miss Drayton. "You will--you
must--do us the favor to keep the child for the present, until my sister
is stronger--until we are able to make other arrangements."
There was a pause. Then Mademoiselle said inquiringly, "These jewels,
you will take charge of them?"
"No, oh, no!" said Miss Drayton, hastily. "Something may turn up--there
may be some claimant--but she insists they are hers.--Oh, dear! oh,
dear!--We will come back, Mademoiselle, when my sister is better and we
will discuss the matter again."
But week after week passed without bringing the promised visit. Instead,
Anne received kind but brief and worried notes from Miss Drayton,
enclosing the weekly pocket money. Now and then, there was a picture
post-card from Mrs. Patterson, with a loving message to Anne or two or
three lines to Honey-Sweet. The invalid was not improving. In fact, she
was growing worse. So the days wore on till February.
One crisp frosty morning found Mrs. Patterson lying on a couch beside
her window. In the foreground was a park-like expanse with trees showing
their graceful branching in exquisite tracery against the clear blue
sky. Beyond lay Paris, its red and gray roofs showing among the bare
trees, with domes, spires, and gilded crosses cresting the irregular
line.
"The view here is beautiful, is it not?" said Miss Drayton.
Mrs. Patterson did not move her eyes from the horizon line. "I was
thinking of home," she said. "How beautiful it is there these February
mornings! Our noble rows of elms and oaks and maples! Up the avenue, the
domes of the Capitol and the Library are shining against the gray or
gold or rosy sky. And there is the monument pointing heavenward. Oh, the
broad streets, the merry, busy throngs of our own people! I should like
to see it all again. Sarah, let us go home. I want--to be there--my last
days."
Miss Drayton's eyes filled with tears, but she kept her voice steady:
"It shall be as you wish, sister. We will go home," she said.
Leaving Pat and Anne at school, they made the home-going voyage, and
Mrs. Patterson spent her last weeks in her beloved homeland.