All this time--so little is our big world--Miss Drayton was hardly a
stone's throw from Anne. She was keeping house for her brother-in-law
who was busy with office work in Washington. Pat was at home, having
entered classes to prepare for George Washington University. It was
strange that Anne and her old friends went to and fro, back and forth,
so near together and yet did not meet. They must have missed one another
sometimes by only a minute or two in a shop or on a street-car or at a
street corner. But week after week passed without bringing them
together.
One morning, as Mr. Patterson was glancing over his newspaper at
breakfast, he uttered an exclamation of surprise. "This is something
you'll want to hear," he said to Miss Drayton--and then he read aloud
an article with these headlines:--
Truth Stranger than Fiction
"Felon Gives himself up
"Returns to take his Punishment."
Mr. Carey Mayo of New York City, who had used funds of the Stuyvesant
Trust Company and had disappeared two years before just as he was about
to be arrested, had surrendered himself to the officers of the law. His
trial was set for an early day. As he had given himself up of his own
free will, it was thought that his sentence would be light.
Fuller explanation came in a letter to Miss Drayton, forwarded by the
consul at Nantes. Mr. Mayo thanked her for her care and goodness to
Anne--the words smote her heart. He had spent these two years at work in
South Africa and had laid aside every possible penny of his earnings in
order to keep his niece from being a burden on strangers. This money he
was putting in a certain New York banking-house for Miss Drayton in
trust for Anne. He requested her to use it to educate Anne and to buy
back the child's old home. It would be better, when Anne was old enough
to understand the matter, to tell her the truth about him. He asked Miss
Drayton to say that his regret, his repentance, were as great as his
sin. He had come to realize that the disgrace was in the deed he had
done and not in its punishment. So, having righted affairs for Anne as
well as he could, he was going to surrender himself to the officers of
the law. He was tired of being followed everywhere by fear of discovery,
tired of being an outcast from his own land and people. The worst hurt
was to think that Anne must some day know that he was in a felon's cell.
Only one course lay open to Miss Drayton, and how painful that was! She
must inform Anne's uncle that she had not taken care of Anne, as he
thought, and that the child had been sent to an orphan asylum, from
which she had wandered away, no one knew where. If only he need not be
told! But he must.
Miss Drayton and Mr. Patterson resolved to go to see Mr. Mayo. But the
proposed journey was never made. A day or two before they were to start,
the newspapers announced that Mr. Carey Mayo had died in the prison to
which he had been committed to await trial. He had heart disease, and
strain and excitement had brought on a fatal attack.
What was to be done about the property left to Miss Drayton in trust for
Anne? Mr. Patterson advised his sister-in-law to let the matter rest for
the present. Anne might be found. Mrs. Marshall wrote that they had a
clew which they were following. A little girl, answering in general the
description of Anne, had been seen near Westcot with a gypsy band. They
would continue the search and never give up hope.
Christmas was now at hand and Miss Drayton, always ready for deeds of
charity, resolved to send holiday gifts and dinners to several poor
families.
Telephoning to the district agent of the Associated Charities, she
obtained the names of some 'deserving poor,' and a crisp, clear December
morning found her driving from one home to another, talking with mothers
and receiving children's messages to Santa Claus. On the ragged edge of
the city, her coachman halted before a little brown house from the porch
of which hung a leafless rose-bush. Miss Drayton consulted the card in
her hand: "John Edward Callahan, wife, and seven children." Two or three
smiling children, not yet of school age, were peeping out of the window
and a woman left her sewing-machine to open the door.
Miss Drayton explained the purpose of her visit. "I understand you have
several children," she said.
"Only seven, lady," said Mrs. Callahan. "Peggy and John Edward and
Elmore and Susie and Lois and Bud and the baby."
"Ah! Only seven! And their ages?"
"Peggy she's near on 'leven and the baby's a year old this last gone
November and the others are scattered 'long between," explained Mrs.
Callahan.
"And what--" Miss Drayton smiled back at Lois and Bud and the
baby--"must I tell Santa Claus to bring you for Christmas, if I happen
to see him?"
"A doll, lady, please," answered Mrs. Callahan, eagerly, "a gre't big
doll--big as that baby--pretty as a picture--open-and-shut eyes--real
hair and curly. Lady, they'd rather have a real elegant doll than
anything in the world."
"Oh, but not the boys," protested Miss Drayton.
"Yessum--boys and girls and pa and me--all of us," insisted Mrs.
Callahan. "Lump us so as to make it splendiferous. Oh, bless you,
'tain't for us. It's for the little girl that lent us the loan of her
doll to get Lois to take her medicine. And the doll got ruint. Miss
Margery--that's the Charity lady--she's awful cross sometimes--said we
shouldn't buy a doll with the wages. But she couldn't fault a present. I
never see a child love a doll like she did that Honey-Sweet."
"Honey-Sweet!" exclaimed Miss Drayton.
"Yessum, lady. Wasn't that a funny name for a doll? It was the purtiest
rag baby I ever see."
"A rag baby, named Honey-Sweet!" repeated Miss Drayton. "Was the little
girl--what was her name?"
"Anne. Anne Hartman. She's niece to Miss Hartman, the head lady of the
Charity."
"Oh!" Could this be her little Anne? Or was there another child named
Anne with another rag doll named Honey-Sweet? Anne Hartman? And her
Anne had no aunt Miss Hartman. It was queer, very queer, and puzzling.
"What kind of looking child is Anne Hartman?" Miss Drayton asked.
"She's a little girl," answered Mrs. Callahan. "Tall as my Peggy, but
slimmer. Not pretty.--Well, I dunno. She's beautiful, times when she's
happy-looking. She's got a perky little nose and long, twinkly eyes.
Molasses-candy-colored hair. And her mouth--Peggy says it's like one of
our red rosebuds when they begin to open."
Ah! Whatever name and kinswoman she had now, that was Anne.
"Where does she live?" inquired Miss Drayton, eagerly.
"At the corner of Fairview Avenue, in the big old house that's turned
into flats. Was the doll too much to ask, lady?" asked Mrs. Callahan, as
Miss Drayton rose to go.
"No, oh, no, indeed! You shall have the doll, and things for all the
children besides," said Miss Drayton. "Good-morning, Mrs. Callahan.
George, drive down Fairview Avenue. Drive fast. I'll tell you where to
stop."
There was no one named Anne Hartman in that building, the janitor
informed her. A little girl named Anne? Perhaps she meant Anne Lewis,
that lived here with her cousin, Miss Dorcas Read. The top apartment.
She was not at home now, he knew. She came from school about two
o'clock. No, her cousin was not at home either. She was a government
clerk and never came in before five.
Miss Drayton would wait. She wished to see the little girl the very
minute that she came in. The janitor invited the lady into his dingy
office but she shook her head. She would wait, if he pleased, in the
pleasant old garden, of which she caught a glimpse through the open
door.
Up and down, down and up, the gravelled walks she paced, restless and
impatient. Suppose there was some mistake. Suppose this Anne Lewis was
not her little Anne. Surely it was time for the child to come from
school. Only one o'clock? Her watch must be wrong. No, it had not
stopped. And the old dial, catching the sunlight through leafless trees,
told the same hour. Drawing her furs about her, Miss Drayton sat down on
a stone bench.
From below, came the street noises,--jangle of cars, rumble of wagons,
clatter and clamor of passers-by. In the old garden, withered leaves
drifted down on the still air or rustled underfoot, bare branches
wavered against the clear blue sky, and purple shadows flickered on the
leaf-strewn walk. How quiet it was! how peaceful! By degrees, the quiet
and the peace crept into Miss Drayton's heart. She was content to wait.
In this good world of ours, everything is sure to come out right in the
end.
And then, in the mellow sunlight, down the box-bordered walk, past the
sun-dial, toward the stone bench, came a little figure.
"Mr. Brown said that a lady--oh! oh! it's you!"
"Dear little Anne! dear little Anne!" She was clasped in the arms--dear,
cuddly arms!--of her friend.
What laughter, tears, and chatter there were!
"But we must go home," said Miss Drayton, presently. "Pat will be there
now. We'll come back to see your cousin."
As they entered the hall, they heard from above the click-click of
dumb-bells. Miss Drayton put her finger on Anne's lips, and they tiptoed
into the cozy sitting-room.
Then Miss Drayton called in an offhand way: "Pat, oh, Pat! There's a
child in the sitting-room that wants to see you."
"Who is he?"
His aunt did not seem to hear. Anyway, she did not answer. Pat,
whistling ragtime, sauntered into the sitting-room.
Anne flew into his arms.
"Why, what--" and then he realized that it was Anne. Anne! He gave her a
bear's hug and danced about the room, holding her high in his arms. Miss
Drayton laughed till tears came.
"Where did you come from? How did you get here? Did Aunt Sarah find you?
Does dad know you've come? When--"
"There, there, Pat! Not more than three questions at a time, please,"
interrupted his aunt. "And you're not leaving Anne breath to answer
one."
How much there was to ask and to tell! Anne gave an account of her
wanderings. Pat told how they had searched for her, how grieved the
asylum people and the Marshall family were at not being able to find
her. "Why, there's that little chap Dunlop. He asked if you had any jam
for your supper--and I told him 'No'--and he wouldn't touch it--said he
didn't want it, if Anne didn't have any."
"Dunlop! Dunlop did that!"
"He and his small brother weep a little weep every time your name is
mentioned."
"Oh, Pat! Why, I never thought they'd care so much," said Anne. "I miss
them. But I was afraid to write to them. I didn't want to go back there.
Can they make me go back, if I write and tell them where I am?"
"No, indeed," answered Miss Drayton.
"Bet your life they can't," said Pat. "You're coming to live with us.
Isn't she, Aunt Sarah?"
"I'm so glad! I'm so glad!" Anne was radiant. "I love Cousin Dorcas,"
she hastened to explain. "She's just as kind to me as can be and she's
awful good. But--she's one of the good people you don't want to live
with. She has nerves, you know, and so many troubles. And her arms
aren't cuddly. Not like yours, Miss Drayton. I think she likes me--a
cousin-like, you know,--but I'm sure she'll be glad not to have me live
with her. She hasn't much money and I cost so much. Shoes are the worst.
I wear them out so fast."
"You can wear out all you want to now,--shoes and everything. And give
Cousin Dorcas some, too," said Pat.
While they were chattering away, a measured step was heard in the hall.
"There's father," said Pat. "Oh, dad, we've found Anne," he called.
"Here she is."
Mr. Patterson hurried into the room. Anne rose timidly to shake hands,
and was caught in a hearty embrace. "Welcome, little one! Welcome home,"
said Mr. Patterson.
"Hooray! hooray for the star-spangled banner!" Pat shouted so loud that
the cook and both the maid-servants came running to see what was the
matter. Whereupon Mr. Patterson told them that they were to have the
Christmas turkey that day and the best dinner they could prepare on
such short notice, to celebrate Miss Anne's coming home.
"We want your cousin to join us," said Miss Drayton. "Has she a
telephone?"
"We use Miss Margery's," replied Anne. "Please, do you mind--would you
ask Miss Margery, too?"
"Of course, dear. We shall be happy to have her. Before dinner let's
write some little letters--really we ought--to let your other friends
know that we've found you."
"Bully Mrs. Collins," said Pat.
"And poor Miss Farlow," added Miss Drayton.
"Don't forget our friend 'Lop," suggested Mr. Patterson.
"And--it's far away and long ago--" said Anne, "but I want Mademoiselle
Duroc to know and to tell the girls, if any of the old ones are there,
that you know about the jewels and it's all right."