When Edward W---- got home that night he found two angry girls up to
meet him. His sisters, Flotie and Anna, their dark eyes flashing, each
with an “extra” in her hand, met him as he entered the sitting-room in
his usual quiet way.
“So! So, Master Ned! you think you can keep a secret from us, don’t
you?” cried Flotie, shaking the paper in his face.
“Yes; we asked you if the ‘G. E. L.’ who was wanted to go to a dying
mother wasn’t your Hattie Butler, and here she turns out a heroine on a
Boston steamer. Oh, you hypocrite! you knew all about her going all the
time.”
“Yes, I’ll wager a box of gloves you did,” said Flotie.
“Now, own up, and we’ll forgive you,” said Anna, in a coaxing tone.
“What do you want me to own up, sis?”
“That G. E. L. and Hattie Butler are one and the same,” said Flotie.
“You needn’t deny it, for we’re sure of it.”
“Well, if it will make you any happier, let it go so.”
“And that you knew she was going on that very boat,” added Anna.
“If that will set your mind any more at ease, I knew it.”
“Then why didn’t you tell us last night?” said Flotie, and her big
black eyes fairly snapped.
“And why did you leave it just to chance for us to find it out? We saw
you buy an extra, and call a cab, and drive off like mad up town, and
we each got one; and so you see you are caught, Master Edward.”
“So it appears. Have you done with your catechism? If so I’ll go to my
room and prepare for rest.”
“We’re not done yet,” said Flotie. “What name do the initials G. E. L.
stand for?”
“I do not know.”
“Brother Edward, that fib will never do. If you know a part of her
secret you know all.”
“You are very much mistaken, my sister. I know but little, very little,
of Miss Butler or her life beyond the bindery, and the little I do know
she has given me confidentially, and so it will be kept.”
“Very well, sir. Good-night. You can go to bed without your kiss.”
“The punishment is severe, sister dear, but I submit.”
And Edward marched away to his room smiling, while his sisters pouted,
yet wanted to call him back for the kiss of affection which never was
forgotten when they were about to separate for the night.
The next morning Mr. W---- rose unusually early, took his coffee and a
slice of toast, and left the house on his way to the bindery before his
sisters were up.
He bought a paper at the nearest news-stand, and while riding down
town in a street car read a long and well-written narrative of a
sub-editor’s experience in a storm.
The heroism of Miss Hattie Butler, and the modesty which made her
refuse to be interviewed or in any way recompensed for what she
had done, was commented on in brilliant terms. She had done this
incalculable service, and then completely withdrawn from notice, and no
one knew whither she had gone.
“It was so like her.”
That was all Mr. W---- said. But in it he paid her the highest
compliment.
He found, on his arrival at the bindery, all who had come, the foreman
and a good part of the hands, in a great state of excitement.
They had all seen either the extras of the day before, or got the
morning papers. And the question among them all was, was the Hattie
Butler alluded to the one who worked in the bindery. None of them, not
even the foreman, had known of her leaving town, for Mr. W----, on
Saturday night, had not thought it necessary to speak of it, and would
not have done so now, except to his foreman, but for the questions of
his work-people.
But now, with a pride he had no wish to control, he told them it was
their Hattie Butler--that she had been suddenly called away to the
bedside of a sick relative in Boston, and that she was on the boat when
she played the heroine so grandly.
It was a wonder to see how proud those poor shop-workers felt. That one
of their own class, as they regarded her, should suddenly become so
famous, seemed like an individual triumph to each of them.
“Is Mr. Edward W---- here?” cried a messenger-boy, rushing up to
the door. “Here’s a dispatch from Boston--marked private and very
important!”