THE WRONG AT HIS DOOR
As the lantern held by Gilbert flashed upon the furry object, 'Lisha,
who was bending over it, jumped back as though he had been shot, crying,
"Good God, Gilbert, it isn't a dog; I reckon it's a child!"
At the same time he gathered up the bundle, and, almost trampling
Gilbert in his haste, strode into the kitchen, where he laid it on the
table.
The outer wrapping was a well-worn buffalo-robe, and from between its
folds a small, white-mittened hand was visible.
For a moment the two men stood side by side, speechless with
astonishment; then Gilbert began to unfold the robe with fingers that
trembled so he could scarcely direct them. Inside the skin was an afghan
of soft wool tied crosswise, while in the depths of this nest lay a
child, wrapped from foot to head in coat and cap of white coney, even
the face being hidden by a knitted Shetland veil. The little form was so
still that Gilbert dreaded to touch it, but 'Lisha, having pulled
himself together, lifted the veil, disclosing softly rounded, pink
cheeks and red lips slightly parted in regular, if rather heavy,
breathing. This action disturbed the sleeper without waking her, for
she relaxed the arm that had been pressed close against her breast, and
from under it a tiny puppy sprawled out, dragging with it a large
handkerchief in which it had been wrapped, as if to make a doll of it.
He was not an aristocrat of the dog world, but one of those waifs that,
decorated with a bit of ribbon, are sold on city street corners for a
dollar, the appeal of their youth, added to the speculative element in
all of us, finding ready purchasers for them.
The puppy, tawny and roughish as to coat, having one ear that stuck up
while the other lopped, and the keenest of eyes, after licking the face
and the long-lashed lids of the child without getting a response,
tumbled to the edge of the table and began wagging his ridiculous rat
tail and making friendly advances to the men. Seeing that even the
puppy's rough caresses did not waken the baby, Gilbert raised one of the
eyelids gently, and then after holding his face close, whispered to
'Lisha: "Just as I thought, she's drugged with paregoric; we'll have to
rouse her even if she is scared of us and makes a time. I well remember
how it was with Marygold when sister Pegrim, not having her glasses,
gave her a large instead of a small spoon of cough syrup by mistake.
I'll wash her face and see if I can't liven her up. Just pull that
rocker over here, 'Lisha, and give me the tin basin of water."
As he talked, Gilbert was undoing the coat and cap from which came the
head of a child of about a year, covered with a mass of hair that lay in
close golden rings, with here and there a tinge of copper, in strange
contrast to the dark lashes and eyebrows.
From the moment his eyes had rested on her, Gilbert had unconsciously
said _she_, for every curve and line was feminine. Yet even with closed
eyes, there was nothing doll-like about her, while there was almost a
suggestion of resolution about the mouth corners.
"Now, precious, wake up and look at the pretty light," crooned Gilbert,
holding her with awkward hands, against his shoulder, so that her head
came above it, yet in a way that no man would have done who had not held
his own child.
Presently, the heavy eyelids drew upward, and then after the
consciousness of light became complete, she looked about the room, gave
a little cry of delight, and held out her hands when she saw the puppy,
rounding her lips into a sound like wow-wow; but as her eyes rested upon
big, ugly 'Lisha, her chin quivered, her cooing voice trailed off into a
heart-broken wail, and she hid her face in Gilbert's neck.
What the confiding touch meant to the lonely man, only he and his Maker
knew. It thrilled him to his finger-tips, awakened life springs that he
believed forever dry, and tears, unknown to him these nine years, became
a possibility, but not while 'Lisha stood there gaping at him with
hanging jaw. In a few moments the wailing stopped, and she began to look
about once more.
"Fetch me a cup of water, 'Lisha; mebbe she's thirsty."
As he turned to carry out Gilbert's directions, the young lady began to
smack her lips and show by her bodily motions that she knew what the
word "thirsty" and a cup in sight promised.
As Gilbert helped to guide it to her mouth with one hand, the corners of
her lips, assisted by a little quiver of the nose, expressed
unmistakable disgust at finding only water.
"Guess she's looking for milk same as kittens do," suggested 'Lisha,
tiptoeing to the table and peering into an empty pitcher. "Great
snakes!" his favorite ejaculation, "I spilled the last drop into my
coffee. The pup wants some, too, I reckon," as the queer little beast,
nose in air and tail wagging furiously, seemed bound to climb up his
trousers leg.
"Of course she does, the lamb!" said Gilbert, holding her from him upon
his knee, the better to look over her. "But where is it to come from?
It's half an hour past midnight and I don't like to wake up the
neighbors," he mused.
"Got a small open kettle?" asked 'Lisha, rummaging in the pantry. "I've
found it; now do you fix up a place for her to sleep while I fetch her
supper," he continued, with the air of one to whom the care of strange
lady babies was an everyday occurrence, when, truth be told, he had
never before come in contact with any young thing more delicate than a
calf or a long-legged colt.
"Don't go to the Bakers'," pleaded Gilbert; "I know they're the nearest,
but Mrs. Baker'll come back with you for sure, and I want time to turn
around before any women folks bear down on me."
"Nope, I'm not going to confide in any female, least it's Brooks's red
cow. I milked for them when the old man broke his leg last fall, 'n' the
cow knows me. It's only a quarter of a mile up the road; cow barn has no
windows on house side; key's kept under a mustard box on the
window-sill. Baker took his gun to Bridgeton Saturday to get her
cleaned. Not a bit of danger, and I'll explain to 'em to-morrow. Back in
no time."
So, jerking out his words with gestures as mysterious as if he were
going to commit a desperate crime, 'Lisha went out through the back
hallway, lest opening the front door should let in too much air.
He had no sooner gone than Gilbert's whole attitude changed. Settling
the little girl comfortably on his knees, he began to scrutinize her
clothing carefully, babbling a string of baby talk that would have been
almost unintelligible to the uninitiated, but that seemed very soothing
and reassuring to the child, who, after wriggling for a few minutes, as
though determined to get to her feet, suddenly discovered Gilbert's
beard, which he had knotted up to get it out of the way of the cooking.
It was fastened with a large shell hairpin that he had probably picked
up in the post-office. Fascinated by this unusual object, she clutched
at it with both hands, gave a crow of delight, and began jerking up and
down on his knee as if riding on a hobby-horse, treating Gilbert's beard
as its mane. Next spying the puppy on the floor, she stiffened herself
and prepared to slide down to him.
"All right," crooned Gilbert. "Let's see if the little lammy can stand?
Yes, but not so very well," he added, as, after taking a single step,
she doubled up and almost sat on the pup.
"Now we'll sit her on the lounge to play with doggy, while daddy gets
her bed fixed."
The word "daddy" slipped from his lips unconsciously, as he pulled the
high-backed sofa out from the wall and propped the child up with some
husk pillows and a comforter. Then he stole across to the bedroom where,
after choosing a key from the chain that was fastened to his pocket, he
unlocked a high chest of drawers still keeping his eye on the lounge and
its occupants.
"She's somewhere about a year, I reckon," he said, talking to himself,
after the fashion of those who are much alone. "She's bigger than
Marygold was at fourteen months, but not so clever on her feet. As for
talking, they're something alike; Marygold only said 'Daddy' and 'Puss,'
and I guess I can piece out some words from what _she_ says when I get
the time. Wow-wow means dog plain enough. I must get her undressed
before 'Lisha comes back; he's all right, but too rough in his ways for
handling a lady baby, and that's what the little one is."
Having taken some clothes from the drawers,--a pair of knitted socks, a
little night-dress of yellow shaker flannel, and a quilted wrapper in
gay-flowered print, all smelling of camphor and their long, pent-up
years in the chest,--he spread them on a chair by the stove to air and
warm.
Meanwhile, the child had nestled back among the pillows and was half
dozing, the puppy clasped tight in her arms. Going once more to the
bedroom, Gilbert stood a moment before the quaint hooded cradle, made up
ready for occupancy from spread to pilch, the cradle from out of which
he himself had gazed alternately at the leaves on the wall paper and the
leaves against the sky, dreaming in knowledge after the manner of
babies. Then lifting the cradle, he carried it into the kitchen,
negotiating the doorway with difficulty, for his burden was heavy and
the rockers wide of angle to prevent the overthrow of the occupant.
Pushing his hand between the sheets and finding them clammy to the
touch, he pulled them off and brought others from the inexhaustible
chest.
Then came the undressing of the lady baby herself, which was done as
dexterously as a woman might, for Gilbert's fingers, used to the
handling of mere specks of machinery, did not fumble with strings,
buttons, or the intricacies of shield pins. Moreover, memory crept into
his finger-tips and guided the almost-forgotten task, even as feet that
once have trodden a daily path, returning to it in the dark, after the
lapse of a lifetime, follow each rise and fall.
Piling the clothes she had worn upon the table, he held the little feet
in his big, rough palm, warming them, rocking gently the while. With a
sleepy friendliness, the child nestled to him; then, twisting as though
something pressed uncomfortably on her flesh, pushing her hand into the
neck of the knitted shirt that Gilbert had left on for extra warmth, she
began tugging at something, looking into his face and patting his hand
as if to ask his help.
"What is it, lammy? A tight string that chokes? Let daddy feel."
Drawing up a chain of intricate links, his fingers closed upon a thin
locket or watch, he could not tell which, as it would not open. He
unfastened the chain and put it with the heap of clothes, as the door
opened and 'Lisha, fairly blue with the cold, some of which rushed in
with him, returned with the milk. The trip from the Brooks farm had
cooled it sufficiently to make it palatable and this time the child took
a long drink, sighing with satisfaction when she paused for breath, with
her four tiny teeth clenched on the thick china cup to prevent its being
taken away.
Then with unmistakable gestures, she asked that the puppy might also
have some. She sat blinking and keeping her eyes open with difficulty
watching until his little elastic stomach began to grow heavy, and
rummaging a bit of carpet into a sort of nest, he settled for the night,
half under the stove. This did not suit the lady baby; she wished to
hold the puppy and began to show a decided bit of temper, until Gilbert,
lifting her from the lounge, carried her on his shoulder to the bedroom,
saying, "Hold crying a minute, lammy, 'til daddy sees what he can find
in the drawer. Yes, I thought it was here;" and the child, hugging a rag
doll flat faced and faded, allowed herself to be tucked into the cradle
without a murmur, and fell into natural sleep, the deep hood of the
cradle completely shutting off the light.
'Lisha gave a sigh of relief that was almost tragic. "She's safe off to
sleep and we ain't dropped her, nor broke her, thank the Lord! Well,
Gilbert, what do you think?" and the giant, spreading his hands behind
him, backed toward the stove.
"Think? Why, I reckon, after Marygold, she's the sweetest little one I
ever set eyes on, and in some ways she's remarkably like her, 'specially
the way she sets her chin,--"
"Great snakes! I don't mean that," snorted 'Lisha. "How do you think she
come here? Who brought her and why? Don't it strike you as anything
unusual that a child of her age, all togged out fine, should be left on
a porch in the middle of a perishing cold night?"
"Of course, of course, 'Lisha, it's unusual, and I reckon that's half
the reason that I've been in a daze ever since; that, and feeling
something warm and small on my knee. Now she's safe and asleep, it's our
duty to investigate and let her people know her whereabouts soon as I've
made up the morning mail. Draw up to the table and we'll find if there's
any marks on her clothes.
"To my thinking, it's a case of kidnapping," Gilbert continued, "either
for money, or perhaps spite. Even parents do queer things to outface
each other sometimes. Oh, you needn't shake your head, I _know_; there's
a chance to see a deal of life in a post-office.
"Whoever was making away with the lady baby likely got scared, or was
sorry for the job, so left her here in a public place where she'd be
soon found."
"Where'd they come from _last_?" persisted 'Lisha, but received no
answer, as Gilbert was examining each garment, fingering them carefully,
inch by inch, and though 'Lisha did likewise, no marks of any sort, not
even an embroidered initial, could they discover.
The large locket of heavily chased gold, the pattern much worn on the
sides, after many efforts at prying, at last flew open, purely by
accident when its secret spring was touched. Within, the picture of a
young woman seemed to look so directly in their faces, that both men
exclaimed. The face was that of a girl of eighteen or nineteen. Dark
brows and lashes guarded large hazel eyes, the nose was a trifle
tip-tilted, and this, together with the parted lips, gave the impression
that she was about to speak, while a very firm chin lent decision to the
youthful roundness of the face. Exquisitely shaded hair, in tints of
gold, copper, and ash, curved back from the broad forehead, and was
loosely braided and coiled about the small head, while resting lightly,
half sidewise on the braids, was a wreath of poppies, not the flaming
oriental flowers that suggest sensuous drowsiness, but delicate,
rosy-flushed blossoms with petals frail as the wings of a night moth.
The two men did not analyze the face that looked frankly into theirs,
they only knew that it was beautiful. Presently, the light caught upon
the inside of the cover of the locket showing, imperfectly, letters
engraved thereon.
"Get me my watch-glass from the work bench," said Gilbert, his hands
trembling with expectation. But this revealed only a single word and
date,--"Poppea--1850."
"Poppea! what's that, a place?" asked 'Lisha, turning the locket this
way and that in the hope of finding more.
"It's a woman's name if I remember rightly, and I think I've met it in
Mr. Plutarch's book or some history. The wife of one of the Cæsars or
some one of importance. I'll look it up to-morrow. Anyway, the picture
is done on ivory like the one of Miss Felton's mother that she wears in
a brooch. Some said it was only made of tea-cup china, so one day, when
she was waiting for me to weigh a package, I made bold to ask, and she
said, 'No, Mr. Gilbert, it is painted on ivory and is a work of art.' So
I judged only the well-to-do can lay claim to this sort, which carries
out what I say, as I did before, the lady baby has been kidnapped. Now
lets us turn in. You go in my room and I'll take the shake-down on the
lounge and keep a watch on the lady baby."
'Lisha, pulling himself stiffly to his feet to obey, stumbled over the
corner of the buffalo-robe that had been pushed under the table and
remained unnoticed.
"I wonder if this thing has anything to tell on the subject," he said,
spreading it wrong side up on the floor and scrutinizing the patched and
faded lining slowly.
"Look here, Gilbert! Just look at that patch there in the northeast
corner, that piece of felt with moon and star figgers on it! 'Long about
Christmas, Dr. Morewood was up at the farm in a sleigh from the stable
at Westboro, his own being in the shop for new irons. He'd throwd the
robe over his horse, and it slipping off, it got trampled, so he asked
mother to take a stitch in it. But the hole being big, she threw in a
hasty patch made from the end of an old table cover that had been in our
setting room since I was knee high to a toad. What you're looking at is
that patch."
"You'd reckon the party that brought the child had a team from Beers's
stable then," said Gilbert, now all eagerness. "If so, why didn't we
hear the rumble of it on the ice, and how would they account for the
robe when they got back?"
"As for the team, it might have been a sleigh with hushed bells; we
fellows up our way often fix them like that when we want to take the
girls out riding on the sly and the old folks asleep. As for their going
back, yer running on too fast; that's to be found to-morrow. That we've
got a clew right here's enough for you now. One o'clock! Great snakes!
it's to-morrow right now, and me due up home to milk at six and you to
pack up the first mail down. Say, Gilbert, don't you want me to stop at
Mis' Pegrim's as I go up and hustle her down for the day until this
child business is settled up? You'll have your hands overflowin', what
with her and it and all the people that'll be in ponderin' and
advisin'."
"Well," replied Gilbert, his hands working nervously, as he twisted and
untwisted the long beard from which the lady baby had pulled the pin,
"under the circumstances, I guess it'll be best, and I'd be obliged if
you'd hook up and fetch her yourself. 'Tisn't necessary for her to stop
and talk to every fence post on the way, either. As to the locket,
that's most likely _her_ mother's picture; we'll keep quiet about it,
lest, being valuable, it's wrongly claimed."
Soon comfortable snores sounded from the inner room. Gilbert, wrapping a
quilt about him, lay down upon the lounge without undressing. Sleep
would not come; instead, scenes and people of long ago flitted through
the room as across a stage; the wind from chimney, keyholes, and
window-sash supplying speech. Presently the light of the old moon, that
would loiter in the west until after sunrise, crept in the window
through the geraniums and reaching out long fingers toward the cradle,
seemed to Gilbert's burning eyes to draw it from him. Getting up, he
looked at the child, rosy with sleep, still clasping Marygold's faded
doll, turned the cradle once more into the shadow, and kneeling by it
with his arms clasped over the hood, half thought, half whispered, "I
can't tell how or why, only that a child is here, but if to make up for
my home-staying, as he wrote, this is that other wrong for me to right
at my own door,--I thank Thee, Lord!" Then quickening the dying fire,
Gilbert finished his vigil before it in Mary's rocking-chair.