OLD NORTH CHURCH
"I am so mixed up in my feelings," said Edna in confidence to Dorothy
when they were seated in the train. "I want awfully to see them all at
home, but yet I hate to leave here."
"I feel exactly that way myself," Dorothy confessed. "But even if we
weren't going to-day we couldn't stay very long, for the house will be
closed next week, and we shouldn't want to stay there alone."
Edna admitted that this was true, and then Jennie came over to sit with
them and they talked of the things they were to see and the places they
were to go in the next two days.
"I think we will go to the Old North Church first," said Mrs. Ramsey
as they left the train. "We will send the baggage to the hotel, then we
will not have to come to this part of the city again."
"Oh, what a funny place," said Jennie, as they took their way through
streets where queer-looking foreigners congregated.
"I think the people are funnier than the place," remarked Edna.
"They are mostly Polish or Russian Jews," Mrs. Ramsey told her. "It
is not the neighborhood it was in Paul Revere's day. Here is the old
church."
The children looked with awe and reverence at the ancient edifice, and,
going inside, were shown some of the Revolutionary relics which were
there on exhibition. Just as they were coming out they met a young man
coming in.
"Hallo!" he cried in surprise.
"Why if it isn't Ben," cried Edna delightedly. "Why Ben Barker how did
you get here?"
"I might ask you the same question," he replied.
"We came by train."
"And I came by boat. I thought it was a shame to be so near this city
and not stop off to see a few things, so I got my friends to let me off
and left the yacht to go on to New York while I should stop here for
couple of days."
"That is just what we are going to do."
"Good! then maybe we can join forces."
"That would suit me nicely," put in Mrs. Ramsey. "My husband will
not be down till to-morrow evening in time to take the train for Fall
River, and meantime I have these three little girls on my hands and no
man to look after us, so if you will come along to see about tickets
and things I should be pleased."
So Ben fell into line to the great satisfaction of all. "Where were you
going next?" he asked.
"As long as it is such a pleasant day I thought we'd better make sure
of Lexington and Concord, and leave the places nearer at hand till
to-morrow. Of course you will want to visit Harvard, and the children
have talked of the glass flowers so much that they must see them. While
you are visiting other points more interesting to you, we will look at
the flowers."
"Then, ho, for Lexington! We must take a subway car, and seek the
'rude bridge' where 'the embattled farmers stood to fire the shot heard
'round the world.'"
The little girls did not quite understand this till Emerson's poem was
explained to them.
"Oh, I do want to see the place where the British general said:
'Disperse, ye rebels,'" cried Dorothy.
"Then we'd better trot right along," said Ben. "You and I will go
ahead, Mrs. Ramsey, and lead the way."
But Jennie wanted to walk with her mother too, and so the other two
little girls dropped behind to pursue their way through the crooked
streets where odd sights met their eyes; queerly dressed women and
children jostled them; at the doors of houses swarthy faces and strange
forms appeared. The shop windows held many things the children had
never seen before, and once or twice they stopped to see what these
very unusual articles could be.
"Do look here, Edna," said Dorothy as they were passing one
particularly foreign looking place. "I must see what those funny things
are," and she turned back, Edna following her.
"We mustn't stop," said Edna, "for we might lose the others."
"Oh, just for a second. They are right ahead and we can't miss them."
But they could not decide what the funny things were and so went on.
"Why, where are Ben and Mrs. Ramsey?" said Edna in alarm. "I saw them a
minute ago."
"They were right ahead of us when we stopped," said Dorothy, hastening
her steps. "They must have turned the corner."
They hurried along as fast as possible, turning the corner and looking
around. But there was no sign of their friends, and after they had gone
a short distance, "we'd better go back," Dorothy said.
They tried to retrace their steps, but it was a very crooked street
with others leading from it, and in their bewilderment they took the
wrong turning, so that in a few minutes they were hopelessly beyond
any possibility of finding their companions. They looked at one another
confronted by a problem.
"What shall we do?" at last said Edna in a weak voice.
With one consent they stood still and looked around as if hoping to see
a familiar face, but here was a denser crowd of foreigners and only the
dark eyes of Russians and Poles met theirs.
"I don't like it a bit here," said Dorothy as a hideous old woman
leered down at them.
"Neither do I," quavered Edna. "I think we'd better ask our way back to
the church and start from there."
They accosted the first person they saw, who happened to be a young
girl, but at their question she shook her head. "No unnystan," she
replied.
The next one questioned nodded and began to jabber something in a
foreign language, so it was the children's turn to say, "No unnystan."
The next of whom they inquired the way spoke brokenly, but said he
would put them on the right track, and under his guidance they managed
to reach the church, and here they met a man in clerical dress who
looked down at them with a smile. "Did you come to see the old church?"
he asked. "I am going in, and perhaps you would like to come with me."
"We have been here once this morning," Dorothy told him, "but we have
lost our friends and don't know which way to go."
"Where were they going?"
"Why, I don't know, I think to the subway."
"Oh, that is easy to find. I will call a policeman and he will take you
along and show you." He looked up and down the street and finally saw a
policeman in the distance, and he was coming toward them.
"There he is," said the man. "Just wait till he comes up. I say, Mike,"
he called to the policeman, "just show these little girls the way to
the subway, won't you? They have turned the wrong way and are out of
their bearings." He smiled down on the children, lifted his hat and
passed into the church, leaving the children with the policeman.
"Which way was you going?" asked the policeman pleasantly.
"We were going to Lexington," Edna told him.
"Then I'll go with you to the end of my beat and pass you along, so's
you'll get on at the right place."
They walked quietly along wondering a little, as passers-by looked at
them curiously, if it was supposed they were under arrest. They felt a
good deal worried, but had a vague idea that the others would wait for
them at the subway, wherever that might be.
True to his word the policeman turned them over to another of his order
when they had reached the end of his beat, and this one piloted them
safely to the entrance of the subway. They had said so confidently that
they were going to Lexington that neither man questioned, but that they
knew the way once they had reached the proper station.
They descended the steps with some misgivings, for if Mrs. Ramsey
and Ben were not there what was to be done next? They had never been
in the subway before for Mrs. Ramsey had wanted them to see the city
streets when they had visited the city in the summer, and had taken a
taxicab to go up town. Mr. Ramsey had done the same when they arrived
on their journey in his company. A most bewildering place they found
this same subway to be, full of people rushing for trains, noisy from
the whizzing of cars from out of cavernous dark places and departing
into equally unknown darkness. It seemed terrible to the two little
girls and they were on the verge of tears. Impossible to find anyone in
such a place as this. Best to get out of it as speedily as they could.
The roaring of passing trains was so confusing, the jostling of the
crowd was so unpleasant that the children held fast to one another and
hurried up the steps and into the open air.
"Oh, dear," sighed Edna.
"Oh, dear," echoed Dorothy. "Wasn't it terrible? I felt as if I were
having a dreadful nightmare."
"I felt as if my head had been taken off and they were rolling it up
and down the car tracks." This relieved the tension a little and they
both laughed. "Now what are we going to do?" said Dorothy.
They stood on the sidewalk looking this way and that, uncertain what
would be the best move. Presently a lady who had just come out of the
subway, paused and looked at them. "Have you lost anything, little
girls?" she asked kindly.
"We've lost our way and our friends," Edna told her.
"My, my, that is a great deal to lose. Where do you want to go?"
"We were going to Lexington, but it was so awful down there," Edna
nodded toward the door through which they had just come, "and we would
not go back for the world."
The lady smiled. "But what about your friends? Do they live in
Lexington?"
"Oh, no, we are all staying at the Parker House. We went to see the
Old North Church, and we were going to Lexington and Concord, all of
us, but somehow we got separated from them, and we couldn't find them
anywhere."
"We knew they were coming to the subway, for Ben said so," Dorothy
chimed in, "and we thought we might find them there. A policeman showed
us the way."
"That was like looking for a needle in a haystack," said the lady, "for
you didn't know which of the subway stations they meant, did you? There
are a great many, you know."
"We didn't know, for we never went down there before. We thought the
subway was just one station, like the one we came into from the shore."
"Oh, I see. Well, I am a stranger in town too, that is, I don't live
here, although I know Boston pretty well. I am staying at the Parker
House, and as it isn't so very far from here, I think your best plan
will be to go to the Parker House with me and wait there. I am sure
your friends will think that is what you would be likely to do, and
will make inquiries there before starting up an alarm for you."
"Oh, do you think they would do that? Do you mean they would ring bells
or anything?" Dorothy asked with a vague idea of what might be done in
the case of lost children.
"They mightn't ring bells," said their friend with a smile, "but they
would notify all the police stations."
Edna nodded. "That's what papa did when I was lost. I wasn't really
lost, only I was afraid of the cattle and I went up the steps so fast I
fell and Mrs. Porter lived there; she was a friend of mine, you know."
Dorothy had heard all about this adventure before, and their new friend
did not press inquiries. She felt sure the children would be anxiously
looked for and that it was best to get them to their hotel as soon as
could be.
It gave the two little girls a great sense of security to enter the
place from which they had departed that morning, and they were heartily
glad to reach the building. They found out that their kind acquaintance
was named Mrs. Cox, and that she was from Washington. She told the
clerk, at the desk, that if Mrs. Ramsey or any of her party came in or
telephoned inquiries, that they were to be told instantly the little
girls were there.
"I am always getting lost, it seems to me," said Edna plaintively, "and
yet I am never really lost, or I wasn't before this time, only people
will keep thinking I am. You know, Dorothy, I was perfectly safe at
the bungalow when Louis thought I was lost, and I was perfectly safe at
Mrs. Porter's when papa and mamma thought I was lost."
"And you are perfectly safe now when Mrs. Ramsey thinks you are
lost," added Dorothy in a somewhat aggrieved tone. She felt a little
conscience-stricken, knowing she was to blame in this instance, for it
was she who insisted upon stopping to look in at the shop window.
They had not very long to wait, for from their place in the reception
room, where Mrs. Cox told them it would be best to sit, they presently
saw Ben hurrying along, a worried look on his face. The two children
sprang out. "Here we are," they cried.
Ben rushed over and grabbed them both. "You young lunatics," he
exclaimed, "don't you know better than to get yourselves lost in a city
like Boston?"
"We didn't mean to, Ben," said Dorothy meekly.
"You didn't mean to," mimicked Ben in a mocking voice. "Well, you have
scared us nearly to death, if that is any consolation to you."
"Where are Mrs. Ramsey and Jennie?" asked Edna, fearing one or
the other might be in hysterics for Ben's manner was anything but
reassuring.
"They are in a cab trying to follow you up. Mrs. Ramsey said she would
go over the ground we had just left when we missed you, and in the
meantime I was to come here, if by any chance you had sense enough to
come straight back to the hotel."
The children looked at each other with rather abashed faces, for they
had not had sense enough to do that, and might not have thought of it
but for Mrs. Cox.
"Before you give an account of yourselves," Ben went on, "I must
telephone to Mrs. Ramsey and relieve her mind. We agreed that I was
to do that and settled on a drug store where she would go to get any
message I might have." He rushed off, leaving the little girls feeling
very guilty. After all that Mrs. Ramsey had done for them to give her
so much uneasiness, struck them both as being very heartless.
"I wish that old window was in the bottom of the sea before I ever
stopped to look in," presently said Dorothy vindictively.
Edna made no reply. She knew that it was not the fault of the window,
but of their own curiosity and heedlessness. They should have kept
directly behind their friends, she well knew. Her mother had told her
times enough that it was cowardly to blame inanimate objects for things
which we were to blame for ourselves, and Aunt Elizabeth went further
and said no one but a person without any wits would abuse a senseless
thing for what was his own thoughtlessness or carelessness.
But she was spared moralizing upon this to Dorothy, for Ben returned
saying that Mrs. Ramsey would be here in a few moments and that the
expedition to Lexington and Concord would be given up for the day, as
it was too late now to undertake so long a trip. He was quite grumpy
about it and the little girls were most unhappy at being under his
displeasure, for Ben was usually the sunniest of persons and rarely
gave them a cross look. He did not stay to talk to them now, but went
to the door to meet Mrs. Ramsey when she should return and the children
sat one at either end of the sofa, silent and downcast.
Mrs. Cox had not waited for further developments once she had seen that
her charges were safe, and had gone out again. After what was a long
time to the two culprits they saw Mrs. Ramsey and Ben approaching with
Jennie. At sight of them Edna could no longer restrain her tears, but
burst into a noiseless fit of weeping, and Dorothy, seeing this, began
to do the same.
This was too much for Ben. He was very fond of his little cousin
and hated to see her cry. "Here, here," he cried, "don't do that.
Why, Ande, you are safe now. What's the use of crying when it's all
over?" He sat down beside her and began to wipe away the tears. "I
say, Mrs. Ramsey," he went on, looking up, "it is really my fault as
much as theirs. In that thickly settled part of the city, among all
those crooked streets, I ought to have kept a better lookout for these
children, and we don't know yet how it happened, anyhow. I haven't even
asked them. They may have been knocked down or anything else may have
happened for all we know."
The two felt that this was very generous of Ben, and their tears flowed
less plentifully. Mrs. Ramsey drew up a chair and said in a pleasant,
confidential tone, "Now tell us all about it. How did it happen?"
The children faltered out an explanation in which the queer things
in the shop-window, the hideous old woman, the man at the church and
the subway all figured. Once or twice Mrs. Ramsey repressed a smile,
though for the most part she listened very soberly. At the close of the
narrative she turned to Ben. "It is just as you said; we ought to have
kept better watch upon them. One of us should have walked with them
instead of leaving them to follow alone."
Ben nodded. "That's just what I think. Now, chicks, dry your eyes. We
are going to have an early lunch and go somewhere, to see the glass
flowers, very likely."
"Yes," put in Jennie, "please don't cry any more, girls. It makes me
so miserable to see you. I might have done the same thing if I had been
with you."
Thus comforted, the girls dried their eyes and followed Jennie and Mrs.
Ramsey upstairs to bathe their faces and get ready for lunch. It was
too bad to have lost a whole morning, but there could be a great deal
crowded into an afternoon, and, by the time the glass flowers had been
found, peace reigned and everyone was happy.
There was a drive around the beautiful parkway that evening and a visit
to the splendid library that night. "We shall have to leave Plymouth
Rock till another year," Mrs. Ramsey remarked as they set out for their
trip the next morning. "I think you will enjoy Lexington and Concord
more than a rather longer journey by water as you have just come from
the seashore." This time there was no delay and there was plenty of time
to visit the old battle-field, to see the brown house where dear Louisa
Alcott used to live, to hunt up Emerson's home and the spot endeared by
memories of Hawthorne. Ben was intensely interested in it all and told
the girls many things which made them understand much better what they
were seeing.
They must return in time to meet Mr. Ramsey at the Parker House, and
to get ready for their journey home, but there was a chance to walk
through the botanical gardens and the Commons, to look across at the
gilded dome of the State House, and to see the church where the great
Phillips Brooks had preached.
It was hard to part with Jennie and her mother, but the thought of
home and the dear ones there was too happy an anticipation to cause any
tears to be shed, and the little girls went off with a memory of Boston
marred only by that unfortunate shop window in the foreign quarter.