Dorothy

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  DOROTHY

  BY EVELYN RAYMOND

  NEW YORK HURST & CO., INC. PUBLISHERS

  THE DOROTHY BOOKS

  By EVELYN RAYMOND

  These stories of an American girl by an American author have made"Dorothy" a household synonym for all that is fascinating. Truth andrealism are stamped on every page. The interest never flags, and isofttimes intense. No more happy choice can be made for gift books, sosure are they to win approval and please not only the young in years,but also "grown-ups" who are young in heart and spirit.

  =Dorothy= =Dorothy at Skyrie= =Dorothy's Schooling= =Dorothy's Travels= =Dorothy's House Party= =Dorothy in California= =Dorothy on a Ranch= =Dorothy's House Boat= =Dorothy at Oak Knowe= =Dorothy's Triumph= =Dorothy's Tour=

  COPYRIGHT, 1907, BYTHE PLATT & PECK CO.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. HOW DOROTHY CAME 1

  II. A POSTAL SUBSTITUTE 15

  III. AT JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL 33

  IV. DOROTHY GAINS IN WISDOM 50

  V. DOROTHY ENTERTAINS 68

  VI. DOROTHY GOES UPON AN ERRAND 88

  VII. AN OFFICE SEEKER AND A CLIENT 103

  VIII. TENANTS FOR NO. 77 123

  IX. STRANGE EXPERIENCES 141

  X. THE FLITTING 157

  XI. JIM BARLOW 171

  XII. DOROTHY'S ILLNESS 188

  XIII. THE PLUMBER AND HIS GOSSIP 202

  XIV. THE BITER BIT 219

  XV. THE FLIGHT IN THE NIGHT 238

  XVI. A GOOD SAMARITAN 257

  XVII. A SUNDAY DRIVE 278

  XVIII. CONCLUSION 291

  DOROTHY

  CHAPTER I

  HOW DOROTHY CAME

  One spring morning Mrs. John Chester opened the front door of her littlebrick house and screamed. There, upon the marble step, stood a wickerbaby-wagon with a baby in it; and, having received this peculiargreeting, the baby screamed, too. Then it laughed, Mrs. Chester laughed,and, hearing both the screams and the laughter, postman John Chesterhurriedly set down his cup of coffee and ran to the doorway. In anotherinstant he, also, was laughing. What childless, child-loving man couldhelp doing so, beholding the pretty sight before him?

  For Martha, his wife, had caught the little creature out of the wagonand was ecstatically hugging it, cooing to it, mothering it, asnaturally as if this little one she was tossing up and down were notalmost the first child she had ever so fondled.

  "John! John! O John! _It's meant!_ It's for us! See, see? The littlecard on its coat says: 'My name is Dorothy C. I have come to be yourdaughter.' Our daughter, John Chester! Oh! what a blessed gift!Who--who--can have sent her?"

  Then John Chester stopped laughing and, laying his hand on his wife'sshoulder with a protesting pressure, said:

  "There, little woman, don't go building hopes on such a thing as this.Doubtless, some of the neighbors have left the little one here for ajoke. If the good Lord has sent us no babies of our own it's not likelyHe'd put it into the hearts of others to give us theirs. It'll be calledfor before I get in from my rounds. Well, good-bye. Wish I could stayand play with the kid, but I'm late already. Good-bye."

  As he stooped to kiss her, after his accustomed fashion, his cap touchedthe baby's cheek, pressed so close to Martha's, and with a frown and atwist Miss Dorothy C. put up her tiny hand and knocked it from his head.Then she wrinkled her funny little nose, laughed again, and from thatinstant the letter-carrier became her abject slave.

  As he sped down the street, to take a car for the post-office and themorning mail he must deliver, he saw old Mrs. Cecil's carriage driveslowly around the corner. She was not "Mrs. Cecil" exactly, for therewas more of her name upon her visiting cards: "Mrs. Cecil SomersetCalvert," and she was one of the proudest of old Maryland dames. But shewas called by the shorter title by all sorts and conditions of people.She was on John Chester's route and quite often addressed him as"Johnnie," though Mrs. Martha resented this as being too familiar. Inher own eyes John was the wisest and best man in the world, far too goodto be called "Johnnie" like any schoolboy. The postman himself did notresent it. He resented very little that befell and simply trottedthrough life as he did over his mail-route, with a cheery word and smilefor everybody. Therefore, it was quite characteristic that he shouldgood-naturedly obey Mrs. Cecil's summons to come to her carriage, thatshe had ordered stopped, even though he was just boarding a car and hadno time to waste.

  "Johnnie, what was that I saw in your wife's arms, as I drove by?" shedemanded as he came up.

  "A baby. The cutest ever was. Somebody's playing a joke on us, leavingit on our steps."

  "I shouldn't like that kind of a joke. Whose is it?"

  "I don't know. I'll tell you more when I get round with the mail. Begpardon, please, there comes another car," he replied, still smiling,although he was edging away as fast as he dared, without giving offenseto this quick-tempered old lady.

  "Shall you be fool enough to take the youngster in, if nobody calls forit? What salary do you get?" she continued, ignoring his evidentreluctance to be further delayed.

  He answered hastily, raised his cap, and managed to catch the next car,springing up on the rear platform while it was already in motion andreckoning that he would have to run, instead of trot, if he made up timeand got his morning letters to those who expected them along with theirbreakfast.

  As he disappeared Mrs. Cecil nodded her handsome white head a number oftimes, in satisfaction over something, and remarked to her poodle:

  "Made no mistake. He's a straight man. Well, well, well! The idea ofanybody being simpleton enough to be glad of the care of a squallingbaby!"

  Then she drove home to her own fine house, which stood at the junctionof the broad avenue and the narrow street. As old Ephraim turned hishorses into the spacious grounds a thrill of pride ran through hismistress's heart, while she shouted to her half-deaf coachman:

  "Bellevieu never looked finer that it does this spring, boy."

  To which the gray-headed "boy" echoed:

  "Fine this spring, Miss Betty."

  "Had another offer for the place yesterday, Ephraim."

  "Dat so, Miss Betty? Grandes' place in Baltimo'," responded the other,who had heard but little of what she had said, but guessed sufficientlynear to answer sympathetically. Indeed, he was fully as proud of theancient estate as its present owner, and of the fact that, while hedwelt in the very heart of the southern city, his stables andappointments were quite as roomy as if an open country lay all aboutthem. His "Miss Betty" and he were the last of the "family"; heconsidered Bellevieu as much his as hers; and, from his throne upon theantiquated Calvert carriage, looked with charitable contempt upon thedrivers of less aristocratic vehicles.

  The march of progress had left the mansion and its beautiful groundsuntouched. Entrenched behind her pride and her comfortable bank account,Mrs. Betty Cecil Somerset-Calvert had withstood every assault upon theold place, whether made by private individual or, as yesterday, by thecity authorities, who wished to turn Bellevieu into a park. She hadreplied to the committee that waited upon her:

  "No, gentlemen, thank you. This house was one of the first built in thetown, though it was then what you call nowadays a 'suburban residence.'Each generation has received it intact from the preceding one, andintact it will descend to my heirs. What they will do with it
remains tobe seen. I have the honor to wish you good-bye," she concluded, with hergrandest manner, yet the familiar local salutation of parting.

  The committee felt itself dismissed and bowed itself out; and the oldlady summoned her house-girl to open all the windows and ventilate therooms contaminated by commercial presence. Then she consoled herself andthe poodle with the reflection:

  "We shall be free from any more 'offers' for at least two weeks. Let usenjoy our freedom."

  Yet Mrs. Cecil's pride did not prevent her taking the liveliest interestin her neighbors and their gossip. Having been born and passed all herlife at Bellevieu she knew everything which went on anywhere near it.Ensconced upon her broad piazzas, behind the venerable oaks andevergreens which shaded them, her bright old eyes watched the outerworld with the zest as of youth and utter loneliness. For alone shedwelt in the many-roomed house, that had once been filled by her nowvanished "family," and sometimes found her solitude unbearable. Evenpostman "Johnnie's" thrice-daily visits were a most welcome diversion toher, and lest there should be no mail sufficient to bring him so oftento her door, she subscribed for all sorts of publications that sheseldom opened, in order to have something due at every delivery.

  This morning she was so anxious to see him again that she had herbreakfast served on the piazza, sitting down to wait for it as Ephraimdrove away toward the stable. It was brought to her by Dinah, grumblingas usual:

  "Laws, Miss Betty, you-all shuah do try a body's tempah. It am pufficklyridic'lous de way yo' ca'y on. Off drivin' from pillah to post 'forebreakfast done served, an' you-all not so young an' spry like yo' usedto was. Yeah am dem scrambled aigs done gone hard an' tough, like anigger's skin, an' fust off Ah knows Ah'll have yo' laid up wid dat sameold misery in yo' chist. Why-all cayn't yo' eat yo' breakfast in dehouse, propah, like a Christian, Miss Betty?"

  "Because I don't wish to, Dinah," retorted Mrs. Cecil, exactly as aspoiled child might have done.

  "You-all know how old yo' be, Miss Betty?" demanded the ancient negress,who had been body-servant to her mistress from the earliest youth ofboth and who was still indulged beyond limit in her freedom of speechand action.

  "Yes, Dinah. I am just one year and a day younger than you are. Go tellcook to scramble me some more eggs; and if I prefer driving before toafter breakfast, that doesn't concern you, girl."

  "Beg pahdon, Miss Betty, but it do concern. Didn't Ah done go promiseyo' dyin' ma how't Ah't take ca' of you-all what'd nevah no sense totake ca' yo'self? Huh! Yo' put dat shawl closeter 'roun' dem purtyshouldahs o' yo's, whilst I go shame dat cook for sendin' up suchno-'count aigs to my young miss!" And away limped Dinah, the "misery"in her own limbs from her "roomaticals" being very severe.

  Meanwhile, in the little house around the corner, Mrs. John Chester wassuperintending another breakfast which had the delightful zest ofnovelty about it. No sooner had Dorothy C. been taken within doors thanshe espied the table which John-postman had so hastily quitted uponsound of her own laughter and, at once, began to kick and squirm in thehouse mistress's arms with such vigor that the good lady came near todropping her, and exclaimed, in mingled fear and pride:

  "Why, you strong little thing! You're as hard to hold as--as a humaneel! There, there, don't! You've slipped down so far all your clothesare over your head. Are you hungry? Well, well! You shall have all youwant to eat, for once!"

  Then she placed the child on the floor while she filled a tumbler withmilk and offered it; but this was met by disdain and such another swifttoss of the baby arm that the glass flew out of the holder's hand, andits contents deluged the floor.

  Whereupon, Miss Dorothy C. threw herself backward with shrieks whichmight mean anger or delight, but were equally confusing to theorder-loving Mrs. Chester, who cried, in reproof:

  "Oh! you naughty baby! Whoever you belong to should teach you betterthan that! Now, just see. All my nice clean matting splashed with milk,and milk-grease is hard to get out. Now you lie there till I get a pailand cloth--if you hurt yourself I can't help it. John said you were ajoke, but you're no joke to me!"

  Having just finished her spring cleaning and having had, for economy'ssake, to do it all herself, the housewife's tidy soul was doubly tried,and she had a momentary desire to put the baby and her wagon out uponthe street again, to take its chances with somebody else. However, whenshe re-entered with her pail and cloths, she was instantly diverted bythe sight that met her.

  Dorothy C. had managed to pull her coat over her head and in someunknown fashion twist the strings of her bonnet around her throat, in aneffort to remove the objectionable headgear. The result was disaster.The more she pulled the tighter grew that band around her neck and herface was already blue from choking when Mrs. Chester uncovered it andrescued the child from strangling.

  As the lady afterward described the affair to her husband it appearedthat:

  "Seeing that, and her so nigh death, as it were, gave me the terriblestturn! So that, all unknown, down sits I in that puddle of milk ascareless as the little one herself. And I cuddled her up that close, asif I'd comforted lots of babies before, and me a green hand at thebusiness. To see her sweet little lip go quiver-quiver, and her bigbrown eyes fill with tears--Bless you, John! I was crying myself in thejerk of a lamb's tail! Then I got up, slipped off my wet skirt and gother out of her outside things, and there pinned to her dress was thisnote. Read it out again, please, it so sort of puzzles me."

  So the postman read all that they were to learn, for many and many aday, concerning the baby which had come to their home; and this is acopy of that ill-spelled, rudely scrawled document:

  "thee child Is wun Yere an too Munths old hur burthDay is aPrill Furst. til firthur notis Thar will Bee a letur in The posOfis the furst of Everi mounth with Ten doLurs. to Pay." Signed:

  "dorothy's Gardeen hur X mark."

  Now John Chester had been a postman for several years and he had learnedto decipher all sorts of handwriting. Instantly, he recognized that thisscrawl was in a disguised hand, wholly different from that upon the cardpinned to the child's coat, and that the spelling was also incorrectfrom a set purpose. Laying the two bits of writing together he carefullystudied them, and after a few moments' scrutiny declared:

  "The same person wrote both these papers. The first one in a natural,cultivated hand, and a woman's. The second in a would-be-ignorant one,to divert suspicion. But--the writer didn't think it out far enough;else she never would have given the same odd shape to her r's and thattwist to the tails of her y's. It's somebody that knows us, too,likely, though I can't for the life of me guess who. What shall we doabout her? Send her to an Orphanage, ourselves? Or turn her over to thepolice to care for, Martha dear?"

  His face was so grave that, for a moment, she believed him to be inearnest; then that sunny smile which was never long absent from hisfeatures broke over them and in that she read the answer to her owndesire. To whomsoever Dorothy C. belonged, that heartless person hadpassed the innocent baby on to them and they might safely keep her fortheir own.

  Only, knowing the extreme tidiness of his energetic wife, John finallycautioned:

  "Don't settle it too hastily, Martha. By the snap of her brown eyes andthe toss of her yellow head, I foresee there'll be a deal more spilledmilk before we've done with her!"

  "I don't care!" recklessly answered the housewife, "_she's mine_!"