CHAPTER VIII.
EUGENIA JOINS THE SEARCH.
CITY towers rise now in the steam of the bubbling caldron, smoky chimneytops and high roof gardens. The clang and roar and traffic of crowdedstreets jangle through the silver chiming of the magic bells.
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Eugenia Forbes, sitting near an open window in one of the handsomestapartments of the Waldorf-Astoria, heard none of the city's noise, sawnothing of the panorama in the restless streets below. The bell-boy hadjust brought her a letter, and she was reading it aloud to her maid.Patient old Eliot had taken such a deep interest in all that belonged toLloydsboro Valley since their journey to Locust, that it was a pleasureto confide in her. Even if Eugenia had had any one else to confide in,she could have found no one who had her interest at heart more than thissensible, elderly woman, who had taken care of her for so many years.
Eugenia had not gone back to boarding-school as a regular pupil. It hadscarcely seemed worth while, since she was to leave so soon for her tripabroad. But Riverdale Seminary, being in the suburbs, was not such agreat distance from the hotel but that she could go out every morningfor her French lesson. Knowing that she would soon have practical usefor the language, she was doing extra work in French, and taking agreater interest in it than she had ever shown before in any study.
If the three girls who had been her devoted friends the year before hadcome back to Riverdale at the beginning of the term, she would haveinsisted on taking her place in the boarding-hall as a regular pupil, inorder to be with them as long as possible. But the summer vacation hadbrought many changes. The day that Eugenia reached New York on herreturn from the house party, a letter had come saying that Molly Blythewould never be back at the school. There had been an accident on themountain where she had gone to spend the summer with her family. Arunaway team, a wild dash down the mountainside, and the merry picnichad ended in a sad accident. She was lying now in a long, seriousillness that would either leave her a cripple for life, or take her awayin a little while from the devoted family that was nearly distracted bythe thought of losing her.
Kell, still in the Bermudas, was not coming back to school until afterChristmas, and Fay, while she still called Eugenia her dearest, dividedher affections with a blonde girl from Ohio. They had passed the summeron the same island in the St. Lawrence, and Eugenia felt that her placewas taken by this stranger.
With Molly and Kell away, and Fay so changed, Eugenia would have lostall interest in the school, had it not been that she wanted to acquireas much French as possible before going abroad. In most things she wasnot so overbearing and thoughtless in her treatment of poor old Eliot,since her visit to Locust. The ring she wore was a daily reminder of theRoad of the Loving Heart that she was trying to leave behind her ineverybody's memory. But Eliot still found her patience sorely tried attimes. Missing the girls at school, Eugenia was lonely, and wished ahundred times a day that she were back at the house party. Sometimes shegrumbled and moped until the atmosphere around her was as gloomy anddepressing as a London fog.
"Nothing to do is a dreadful complaint," Eliot had said a few momentsbefore the boy brought up the letter. "You break one of thecommandments every day you live, Miss Eugenia."
"How can you say such a thing?" demanded Eugenia, indignantly. "I don'tlie or steal or murder, or do any of those things it says not to."
"It isn't any of the 'thou shalt nots,'" said Eliot, determined to speakher mind, now that she had started. "It is a _shalt_. 'Six days shaltthou labour and do all thy work.' It is plain talk, Miss Eugenia, butthere's nobody else to say it, and I feel that it ought to be said. Morethan three-fourths of your life you are miserable because you are doingnothing but grumbling and trying to kill time. You needn't be unhappy atall if you'd look around you and see some of the world's work lyingaround waiting for just such hands as yours to take hold of it."
"Oh, don't be so preachy!" pouted Eugenia, impatiently.
It was just at this point that the Little Colonel's letter was broughtin, and the sight of the familiar handwriting made Eugenia's facebrighten as if by magic.
"One from Betty, too," she cried, as a second closely written sheetdropped into her lap. Then forgetting her impatience with Eliot'spreaching, she began reading aloud the news from the Cuckoo's Nest. Itwas the same pathetic little tale that had touched the hearts of thebirthday banqueters, circled around the glowing bonfire, and it movedEugenia to pity, just as it had moved all who listened at the littlebrown house.
Eugenia folded up the letters, and slipped them back into the envelope."If I were down there at the Cuckoo's Nest with Lloyd and Betty, therewould be something for me to do. I'd find Molly's sister even if I hadto spend all my year's allowance to employ a detective. Poor, lonesomelittle thing! I've taken a fancy to that girl. Maybe it is on account ofher name being the same as Molly Blythe's. Even for no other reason thanthat I would be glad to help her."
"You don't have to go travelling to find lonely people, Miss Eugenia,"said Eliot, who seemed to have much on her mind that afternoon, and adetermination to share it with Eugenia. "All the aching hearts don'tbelong to little orphans, and some of the loneliest people in the worldtouch elbows with you every day."
"Who, for instance?" demanded Eugenia, unbelievingly. "I never sawthem." Then, without waiting for an answer, she sprang up and glancedinto the mirror, and gave a few hasty touches to her hair and belt."Bring me my hat, Eliot, and get into your bonnet. I'm going out toRiverdale. I'm sure I can find the picture they wrote about somewhere inthe seminary library. They always save the old files of illustratedpapers. I'm wild to see what that picture looks like that Molly madesuch a fuss about, and it will give me some amusement for theafternoon."
Little Miss Gray, the librarian at the Riverdale Seminary, looked up insurprise when Eugenia came rustling into the reading-room an hour later.It was the first time she had been in that term. It was a half-holiday,and up to that time no one had come in all the afternoon. Sitting by thewindow, cataloguing new books, Miss Gray had looked out from time totime, wishing that she, too, could have a half-holiday, and that shecould change places with some of the care-free schoolgirls outside onthe campus. She could see them strolling along the shady avenues by twosand threes and fours, never one alone. The sight made her feel even morelonely than usual. She looked up eagerly at the sound of the approachingfootsteps, glad of any companionship, but shrank back timidly when shesaw who was rustling toward her. Eugenia had always had such asupercilious air in asking for a book, that she disliked to wait on her.
But to-day Eugenia came forward so intent on her errand that she forgotto be haughty, and asked for the old volume of _Harper's Weeklies_ aseagerly as a little girl asking for a picture-book.
"That's the date," she said, handing Miss Gray a slip of paper. "Oh, Ido hope you have it. You see the girls wrote such an interesting accountof the little waif that I'm anxious to have the picture. It will be sonice to know that I'm looking at the same thing they saw in Molly'sroom.
"What a little morsel of misery!" she exclaimed, as Miss Gray opened thevolume. "Isn't it pitiful? I never would have imagined that a real childcould be so forlorn and miserable as this if the girls hadn't writtenabout it. I thought such tales were made up by newspapers and magazines,just for something to write about."
Before she realised that she was taking the little librarian into herconfidence, she was pouring out the story of Molly and Dot as if shewere talking to one of the girls. When she finished Miss Gray turned herhead away, but Eugenia saw two tears splash down on the table.
"Excuse my taking it so much to heart," said Miss Gray, with a smile,as she wiped away the tell-tale drops, "but it seems so real to me thatI couldn't help it. I'm like the little lost sister, you know. Notragged and torn and poverty-stricken like the waif in the picture, forthis position gives me all the comforts of life, but I'm just as muchalone in the world as she. When I am busy I never think of it; butsometimes the thought sweeps over
me like a great overwhelmingwave,--I'm all alone in this big, strange city, only a drop in thebucket, with nobody to care whether I fare ill or well."
Eugenia did not know how to answer. She thought this must be one of thepeople whom Eliot meant, who touched elbows with her every day. Stirredby a great pity and a desire to comfort this gentle-faced little womanwhose big blue eyes were as appealing as a baby's, and whose voice wasas mournful as a dove's, Eugenia stood a moment in awkward silence. Shewished that Betty could be there to say the right thing at the righttime, as she always did, or that, better still, she had Betty's way ofcomforting people. Then a thought came to her like an inspiration.
"Oh, Miss Gray! Maybe if you have so much sympathy for the little lostchild, you'd take an interest in helping me find her. Nobody knowswhere her father took her. He sent word that he had left Louisville, andthere is no telling where he has drifted. They are as likely to be herein New York as anywhere. Maybe if we went around to all the orphanagesand hospitals and free kindergartens we could find some trace of her.Papa won't let me go out in the city alone, and Eliot is such a stickabout going to strange places. She always loses her head and getsflustered and makes a mess of everything. Oh, _would_ you mind going?"
"Any day after four o'clock," exclaimed Miss Gray eagerly, "and onWednesdays the library closes at one."
"We'll begin next Wednesday," said Eugenia. "Come and take lunch with meat the Waldorf, and we can get an early start. Oh, I'll be so muchobliged to you."
Before Miss Gray could say anything more, she had rustled out into thehall where Eliot sat waiting. The little librarian was left to clasp herhands in silent delight over the thought of such a lark as a lunch atthe Waldorf and an afternoon's outing with the wealthiest and mostexclusive girl in the Seminary.
"We are on the track, too," wrote Eugenia to Betty, some time after."Miss Gray and I are playing private detective on the trail of littleDot. We haven't found any trace of her yet, but we're haunting all sortsof places where we think there is any prospect of coming across her. Wehave found plenty of other children who need help, and papa gave me abig check last night to use for a little cripple that we becameinterested in. Miss Gray is lovely. We've been to several thingstogether, a matinee and a concert and an art exhibition. I showed her myring the day she was here to lunch, and told her all about the time whenyou were blind and what you said to me about the Road of the LovingHeart. And she said, 'Tell that blessed little Betty that she has givenme an inspiration for life. Instead of thinking of my own loneliness Ishall begin to think more of other people's and to leave a memory behindme, too, as enduring as Tusitala's.'"
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One other person took the trouble to hunt up an old file of papers, andfind the picture like the one pinned on Molly's wall. That was Mrs.Sherman. The morning that Lloyd's letter came, she happened to bepassing the city library, and went in to ask for it. The sight of thepoor little creature haunted her all morning, and remembering Molly'ssullen face, she longed to do something to give it a happierexpression. That afternoon she went down to an art store to choose apicture for Lloyd to hang in Molly's room beside the pitiful littlenewspaper clipping. It was a picture of the Good Shepherd, carrying inhis arms a little stray lamb that had wandered away from the shelter ofthe sheepfold.
The Little Colonel's Holidays Page 11
