And the next moment they were gone around the turn.
That was all, but it was enough. What rarer flower was likely to come
the Miser's way, on this or any day?
He stood and looked after them. These two had brought into his grey
life the touch of golden youth. He began to tremble under the force
of a wonderful thought. He sought a bench and sank upon it. It would
be a solution of his problem. He had come out to-day into the spring
sunshine, feeling his burden more than he could bear, for in his pocket
was a letter which put an end to the hope he had long cherished of at
length righting a great wrong.
There must be a way of doing what he wished. The consent of the Candy
Man once gained, that hateful fortune, which through these years had
been slowly crushing him, might become a minister of joy and well being,
might make possible for others those best things of life that he had
missed.
The thought thrilled him. He rose and walked on, back to the pavilion,
where he paused again to rest. There on the step lay the shabby book
with the funny name and the small oval bit cut from the fly leaf,
beneath which was the Candy Man's name, Robert Deane Reynolds.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
_Shows how Mrs. Gerrard Pennington, unhappy and distraught, beseeches
Uncle Bob to help her save Margaret Elisabeth; also how Mr. Gerrard
Pennington comes to the rescue, and how in the end his wife submits
gracefully to the inevitable, which is not so bad after all._
When Mrs. Gerrard Pennington was shown into the room of the Little Red
Chimney, there was nobody there. A chilly wind outside, which dashed
the rain against the windows, only served to call attention to the
pleasantness within. It was indeed an aggressively cheerful room,
entirely out of keeping with Mrs. Pennington's mood. The open piano,
the row of thrifty ferns on the window-sill, the new novel on the table
with a foreign letter between its leaves, and the work basket beside
it--which, by the way, was of sweet grass--all sang the same song to
the accompaniment of the fire's quiet crackle.
The burden of the song was Margaret Elizabeth. You saw her sitting bolt
upright on the sofa, being very intense about something, or lost in
thought, elbows on knees, on the ottoman beside the hearth, or occupied
with that bit of embroidery, her curling lashes almost on her cheek. Oh,
Margaret Elizabeth, how could you? How could you?
Mrs. Pennington, pacing uneasily back and forth, glanced at the music on
the piano rack.
"Oh, stay at home, my heart, and rest,
Home-keeping hearts are happiest,"
it admonished her. In this disarming atmosphere she began to feel
herself the victim of some wretched dream. Yet here in her bag was
Margaret Elizabeth's note, found awaiting her on her return from Chicago
an hour ago.
In it her niece apologised contritely for the inexcusable manner in
which she had spoken, and continued: "It makes me unhappy, dearest
Aunt Eleanor, to think of disappointing you, for you have been the
kindest aunt in the world, but I have discovered in the last few
days what I ought to have known all along, that I cannot marry Mr.
McAllister. The reason is there is some one else. He is neither rich
nor of distinguished family, but there are things that count for more,
at least to me. I shall see you very soon, and explain more fully.
In the meantime think kindly, if you can, of your niece,
MARGARET ELIZABETH."
[Illustration: MRS. GERRARD PENNINGTON]
This as it stood was bad enough, wrecking her dearest hopes at the
moment when they had seemed most secure; but taken in connection with
a story related in artless innocence by her travelling companion of
yesterday, Teddy Brown, to use one of that gentleman's cherished
phrases, it spelled tragedy.
The Reporter had not been bent on mischief. Far from it. He was merely
grappling bravely with the task of being agreeable to the great lady.
Surely it was but natural that in the course of a long conversation the
Candy Man's curious resemblance to Augustus should suggest itself as a
topic; and given a gleam of something like interest in his companion's
eyes, it was easy to continue from bad to worse.
He lived in the same apartment house as Virginia, and from her he
had heard of the Christmas tree, and the Candy Man's presence on the
occasion; also of that old accident on the corner in which the Candy
Man had figured as Miss Bentley's rescuer. No wonder those intuitions
regarding a person who was not Augustus should have risen to torture
Mrs. Pennington. All this circumstantial evidence was very black against
Margaret Elizabeth, seemingly so honest and frank. No wonder Mrs.
Pennington was distraught.
Meanwhile, wherever her heart might be, Margaret Elizabeth herself
was out. Uncle Bob, coming in, paper in hand, to greet the visitor
cordially, could not imagine where she had gone, and peered around the
room as if after all she might have escaped their notice. If she wasn't
in, he was confident she would be, in the course of a few minutes, which
confidence was not a logical deduction from known facts, but merely an
untrustworthy inference, born of his surprise at finding her out at all.
Placing a chair for Mrs. Pennington, he took one himself and regarded
her genially. Some minutes of polite conversation followed, in the
course of which Mrs. Pennington, concealing her agitation, spoke of her
journey to Chicago in quest of colonial furnishings. Mr. Vandegrift in
his turn brought forward Florida and orange groves.
But Margaret Elizabeth delayed her coming, and Mrs. Pennington could
stand it no longer. "Mr. Vandegrift," she began, after the silence that
followed the last word on oranges, "I regret that my niece is not here,
yet it may be as well to speak to you first. I may say, to make an
appeal to you. You are, I am sure, fond of Margaret Elizabeth." She
played nervously with the fastening of her shopping bag.
Uncle Bob looked at her in surprise, then at the toe of his shoe. "I
think I may safely admit it," he owned, crossing his knees and nodding
his head.
"Then, Mr. Vandegrift, I beseech you, with all the feeling of which I am
capable, to unite with me in saving this misguided girl." At this point
all her intuitions and fears rallied around Mrs. Pennington, and gave a
quiver to her voice.
Uncle Bob was astonished at her tone, and said so.
"I assure you, Mr. Vandegrift, I have her own word for it." She produced
a note from her bag.
"Her word for what?" he asked.
"Why, for--oh, Mr. Vandegrift, let us not waste time in futile fencing.
You must know that Margaret Elizabeth has deceived me; has been guilty
of base ingratitude; has been meeting clandestinely a person--a mere
adventurer. I can scarcely bring myself to say it. My brother Richard's
daughter!" Mrs. Pennington had recourse to her handkerchief.
Uncle Bob uncrossed his knees and sat bolt upright. "Madame," he
exclaimed, "I am sorry for your distress, whatever its cause, but let me
assure you, you are under some grave mistake. My niece has met no one
clandestinely, and is incapable of deceit and treachery."
"Do I understand then that it was with your connivance?"
"I have connived at nothing, Madame, and I know of no adventurer." Uncle
Bob took his penknife from his pocket and tapped on the table with it.
His manner was legal in the extreme. He was enjoying himself.
Mrs. Pennington looked over her handkerchief. "But she says,
herself----"
"Says she has been guilty of deceit and treachery? Has been meeting an
adventurer clandestinely? Pardon me, but this is incredible."
"What is incredible, Uncle Bob?" came a voice from the half-open door,
unmistakably that of the accused. "I'll be there as soon as I get off my
raincoat," it added.
"It is hopeless to try to make you understand," Mrs. Pennington almost
sobbed, the while sounds from the hall indicated that some one beside
Margaret Elizabeth was removing a raincoat. A horrible dread suddenly
smote her, lest it be that person. A sleepless night and her distress
had unnerved her. She felt herself unequal to the encounter.
She glanced about helplessly for a way of escape, but there was none.
"Tell him not to come in. I cannot see him now," she begged tragically
of Uncle Bob, who, honestly mystified now, stood between her and the
door, looking from it to her.
"She says not to come in," he repeated to Margaret Elizabeth's
companion, who was following her in.
"Why, Aunt Eleanor, I didn't know it was you! They told me your train
was late. And oh, what is the matter? What are you crying about? Is it
I?" Margaret Elizabeth, with raindrops on her hair, knelt beside her
aunt and embraced her, pressing a cool cheek against that lady's
fevered one.
Mrs. Pennington, her face hidden in her hands, continued to murmur, "I
cannot see him. I cannot see him."
"In the name of heaven, Eleanor, why can't you see me? Why must I not
come in?" demanded a familiar voice which brought her to with a shock.
"Gerrard!" she cried, in her surprise revealing a sadly tear-stained
countenance.
Uncle Bob beat a retreat into the hall, where he paused, chuckling to
himself.
"Certainly it is I. Who should it be?" said her husband, taking a seat
beside her. "Why are you making such a sight of yourself, my dear? When
I telephoned out to know if you had arrived, they said you had and had
gone out again immediately, no one knew where. I came out to talk over
some business with William Knight, and when I was leaving I saw your car
over here, and thought I'd join you; but if my presence is unbearable,
I will withdraw." Mr. Pennington smiled at Margaret Elizabeth.
"Don't be silly, please, I have had a most trying day. I don't expect
you to understand."
Mrs. Pennington was recovering her poise. There was something
irresistibly steadying in her husband's matter-of-fact statement, and in
the sight of her niece sitting back on her heels and looking up at her
with lovely, solicitous eyes. Treachery and deceit became meaningless
terms in such connection.
"You haven't given us a chance to understand, Eleanor. What is the
trouble?" Mr. Pennington demanded.
"Uncle Gerry, I am afraid it is I," said Margaret Elizabeth, picking up
the note from the floor where it had fallen. "I am sorry, you know I am,
that I can't do as she wishes, but you understand that I can't. Tell
her, please, that I did honestly try to think I could, but it wasn't of
any use."
"Oh, come now, Eleanor, if that is it, of course we wanted Margaret
Elizabeth up at the Park; but the young people of this generation like
to manage their own affairs, as we did before them." Mr. Pennington
looked quizzically at his niece. "She's been getting up a bit of
melodrama for our benefit, that's all. If you will pardon the
suggestion, my dear, I think possibly it is you who do not understand."
Margaret Elizabeth, rising from her lowly position, threw him a kiss
over her aunt's head.
"How can I be expected to, with everything shrouded in mystery?" cried
Mrs. Pennington. "Why have I never heard of this person before? Why was
I left to be told dreadful things by a reporter?"
"A reporter!" cried Margaret Elizabeth, in her turn aghast.
"Nonsense! If you heard anything dreadful you know Margaret Elizabeth
well enough to know it was not true. But how in the world could a
reporter have got hold of it?"
"You speak so confidently, Gerrard, tell me, what do you know about this
man?" Mrs. Pennington looked from her niece to her husband. "Margaret
Elizabeth seems to have completely won you to her side," she added.
"It is really a very strange story, Eleanor, and to begin at the end of
it, we have quite sufficient evidence, in my opinion, to prove that he
is the son of my old comrade, Robert Waite."
Mrs. Pennington fixed surprised eyes upon her husband. Margaret
Elizabeth sat down and folded her hands in her lap.
"You recall how Rob disappeared, without a word to any of his friends?
It was not till some years after the general's death that I had the
least clue to it; then William Knight came to me to know if I could
give any help in tracing him. He owned that there had been some trouble
between General Waite and Robert, and that the latter had been unjustly
treated. I couldn't give him any assistance, and I never discussed it
with him again. Knight was always close-mouthed, and it was only the
other day that I learned what the trouble was. It seems the general
suspected his nephew of taking a large sum of money from the safe in his
library. It was one of those cases of complete circumstantial evidence.
Rob was known to have lost money on the races. He was the only one
beside the general himself who had access to the safe, and who knew that
this money, several thousand dollars, was there at this time. That is,
so it was supposed.
"Knowing them both, one can easily understand the outcome. Robert
disappeared, and a few years later, when the general died, he left his
fortune to William Knight, his wife's nephew. Then after some little
time the real thief turned up. I won't go into that, further than to
say that it was through a deathbed confession to a priest. Since then
Knight has been searching far and wide for some trace of Robert, only
to receive last week the evidence of his death twenty-five years ago.
And now comes the strange part of the story. The very day on which
he received this news, Knight came by chance upon a book which he
recognised as once the property of Robert Waite. The owner's name was
cut from the fly leaf, but below it was written the name of a young
man whose acquaintance he had made last winter, Robert Deane Reynolds.
Deane was Rob's middle name, so naturally it led to an investigation."
Mr. Pennington looked over at Margaret Elizabeth. "Have I told a
straight story?" he asked.
"There were letters, you know," she prompted.
"Oh, yes. This young man had letters which I could have identified
anywhere."
Mrs. Pennington was interested. She asked questions. That absurd story
about a Candy Wagon was untrue then? But how had Margaret Elizabeth met
this person? She still referred to him as a person. And somehow the
united efforts of Margaret Elizabeth and Mr. Pennington failed to clear
up the mystery, though they did their best.
Even if the Candy Wagon episode was to be regarded as humorous, though
it did not present itself in that light to Mrs. Pennington, how could
Margaret Elizabeth have asked a Candy Man to her Christmas tree?
"But you see, by that time I knew he wasn't real, Aunt Eleanor, and
anyway--"
"Now go slow, Margaret Elizabeth," cautioned her uncle. "At heart you
are a confounded little socialist, but take my advice and keep it to
yourself." He was thinking of what she had said to him only the day
before: "You see, Uncle Gerry, you can't have everything. You have
to choose. And while I like bigness and richness, I like Little Red
Chimneys and what they stand for, best. I want to be on speaking terms
with both ends, you see."
"It is odd," Mr. Pennington went on, "the tricks heredity plays, and
that this young man and Augustus McAllister should both hark back to a
common ancestor for their general characteristics of build and feature.
I was struck with the resemblance, myself."
"It was what first attracted me," owned Margaret Elizabeth demurely.
The name of Augustus still had painful associations for Mrs. Pennington.
She rose. "Really we must be going," she said. At some future time she
felt she might be able to meet Mr. Reynolds or Waite, or whatever his
name was, with equanimity, but now she was thankful to hear he had gone
back to Chicago for some papers.
She received Margaret Elizabeth's farewell embrace languidly. "Since
there is such weight of authority in your favour, and matters have
developed so strangely, there is nothing for me to say. I dislike
mystery, and prefer to have things go on regularly and according to
precedent. It is your welfare I have at heart."
Mr. Pennington's good-by was different.
"I don't wonder you like it down here, Margaret Elizabeth--this room,
you know," he said.
As they drove homeward Mrs. Pennington was engaged in mentally
reconstructing affairs. "Of course," she heard herself saying, "it was
a disappointment to me, but romantic girls are not to be controlled by
common-sense aunts, and really it might be worse." And she remarked
aloud: "The fact that he is a nephew of General Waite means something."
"That's so," assented her husband. "Something like half a million.
Old Knight is determined to hand it all over." He smiled to himself,
then added: "He came to see me--the young man, I mean. I liked him.
He suggested Rob a little without resembling him. Very gentlemanly;
nice eyes."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
_In which the Fairy Godmother Society is again mentioned, among other
things_.
"But it is really embarrassing when I had made up my mind to marry a
poor Candy Man to have it turn out so. I rather liked defying common
sense," said Margaret Elizabeth.
The Candy Man had made a hurried journey to Chicago, and was back before
the rain was over, and while it was still cold enough for a fire, so
that his old dream of sometime sitting by the Little Red Chimney's
hearth was coming true. Margaret Elizabeth in the blue dress, by
request, though she declared it wasn't fit to be seen, occupied the
ottoman, her elbows on her knees, the firelight playing in her bright
hair.
"It is the way it happens in fairy-tales," urged the Candy Man. "And I
really couldn't help it."
"Of course you are right," she agreed. "As Virginia's story runs, 'He
turned into a prince, and because Violetta had been true to him through
thick and thin, he made her a princess.' Anyhow, Candy Man, I'm glad I
chose you before your good fortune came."
"It was an extremely venturesome thing to do, Girl of All Others, as
I have told you before, though immensely flattering to me. I have to
take the money, there is no way out of it. I believe it would break our
Miser's heart if I refused. Do you know what he was proposing to do
before he found the book?"
"What?" asked Margaret Elizabeth.
"To adopt me. You see we had come to be pretty good friends last
winter, and I think he suspected from the start that I had rather lofty
aspirations for a Candy Man. In a Little Red Chimney direction--you
understand?"
"Perfectly--go on."
"Well, he saw us in the park----"
"And his suspicions were confirmed, I suppose," put in Margaret
Elizabeth, coolly.
"Exactly. And knowing from what I had told him previously that I had
my fortune to seek, it occurred to him that as the channel he had been
hoping for had been closed, the next best thing would be to make it
possible for two young persons to----"
"The dear old Miser!" interrupted Margaret Elizabeth. "But why is he so
unwilling to use the money himself? It is honestly his."
"I may not fully understand, but I think from things he has said, that
as a boy he was jealous of my father. This feeling would naturally make
him, when it came to the test, not unwilling to believe in his guilt.
Then, being reticent and introspective, he magnified all this a
thousandfold when the truth came out, and he realised he had profited by
the unjust suspicion. By dwelling upon it he came to feel as if he had
actually obtained the money himself by unfair means. But I am convinced
that if he did encourage his uncle to believe in my father's guilt, it
was because he firmly believed it himself. Never since the facts were
known has he regarded the money as his, and not until he had almost
exhausted his own means in the effort to trace the rightful owner, as
he regarded him, did he use a penny of it."
"It is so touching to see his surprise and gratitude that I do not feel
resentful toward him," added the Candy Man. "His joy at handing over
this fortune is wonderful. He already looks a different man."
"We must make it up to him in some way," said Margaret Elizabeth. "I
mean for all these lonely years. Speaking of money, I'll tell you what
I have been thinking. When we build our house, as I suppose we shall
some day, when we come back from our search for the Archæologist----"
"By all means. That is one mitigating circumstance. We can build a
house," responded the Candy Man.
"Well, as I was going to say, we must have a Little Red Chimney. The
house will be broad and low," she extended her arms, "and with wings;
I love wings. One of them shall have a Little Red Chimney all its own.
It shall stand for our ideals. If we should be tempted to a sort of life
that separates us from our fellows, it will remind us, you, that you
once sat in a Candy Wagon, me, that I fell in love with a Candy Man. And
I'll tell you what, speaking of the Miser. Don't you remember? It was he
you meant that day when we were talking about the Fairy Godmother
Society, and----"
Of course the Candy Man remembered.
"Then, let's organise and make him chief agent while we are gone. I know
of a number of things to be done."
"So do I," said the Candy Man. "There is my fellow lodger, the one I
told you about, a teacher in the High School. He needs a real change
this summer, he and his wife."
"Oh, I am sure we can work it out," cried Margaret Elizabeth.
"I am sure we can," he assented.
"You see it will begin where organised charity leaves off, of necessity.
Also where that can't possibly penetrate, and it will be singularly
free, because secret."
"Again you sound like the minutes of the first meeting," said the Candy
Man.
"Margaret Elizabeth!"
It was Uncle Bob's voice at the door. "I hate to disturb you, but that
old bore at the club wants your father's address."
"You aren't disturbing. Come in and hear about the Fairy Godmother
Society."
"You don't mean really?" Uncle Bob stood before the hearth and looked
from his niece to the Candy Man.
"Indeed we do," she answered. "You see we have ten times as much money
as we thought we had. So why not?"
"Quite correct, as we thought we hadn't any," murmured the Candy Man.
Uncle Bob rubbed his hands in delight. "I told Prue you'd do something
of the sort; that you wouldn't just settle down to be ordinary rich
people. But Prue says riches bring caution."
Margaret Elizabeth, going to her desk for the address, laughed. "We
aren't going to forget our humble beginning," she said; "and we'll act
quickly before we are inured to our new estate."
"But then, you know, there is another side to it," her uncle interposed,
in a sudden access of prudence. "You must consider the matter carefully
with an eye to the future. For instance now, there may be heirs."
A silence fell. The fire crackled, and the clock ticked with unusual
distinctness. Then Margaret Elizabeth spoke.
"Here's the address," she said. "I'll put it in your pocket, where you
can't forget it." And as she tucked it in, she added, stoutly, with a
lovely deepening of the colour in her cheek: "If there are, Uncle Bob,
they will be fairy god-brothers and sisters, so it will be all right."
It was after the door had closed upon Uncle Bob, and Margaret Elizabeth
was back on her low seat again, that the Candy Man left his chair and
sat on the rug beside her. "Girl of All Others, is there any one else
in the world as happy as I?" he asked.
Margaret Elizabeth smiled at him with eyes that answered the question
before she spoke. Then she said, slipping her hand into his, "One
other."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Little Red Chimney, by Mary Finley Leonard