That Little Girl of Miss Eliza's: A Story for Young People

by Jean K. Baird

  CHAPTER XVI.

  Spring had passed and summer was at hand before Eliza had her letterfrom Baltimore. It would be impossible to trace baggage from checks tenyears old. All goods were sold after lying unclaimed for a certainlength of time. That was all. Eliza was rather glad than otherwise. Shehad done her duty, satisfied her conscience, and Beth was still hers.

  The same mail bore another letter. Miss Good, the president of theschool, had written her, asking her to be one in the receiving line atthe Club reception which would be held in the parlors of the PointBreeze. The hotel was filled with summer guests, many of whom were clubmembers elsewhere, and the affair was planned that they might meet eachother.

  Eliza's writings were appearing in different periodicals. She knew nothow they got in print. She wrote them merely. The man at the Oliverplace managed the business and brought the checks to her. She had wonquite a little fame and her name had become known over the country. Thiswas the reason that she had been asked to receive in line. Some of theyounger girls were to act as aids. Beth was popular in school. She wasalways sunshiny, and took things as they were without looking fortrouble. She had never felt a distinction of class or clothes andtreated every one with fairness and justice. She and Sally Monroe hadkept up their intimacy. With Helen these made a trio as unlike as couldbe and as companionable and full of life as any one could wish.

  Carrie Laire and Tilly were friends also, but never within the innercircle. Carrie was yet the interrogation point and Tilly the animatedprice list.

  When the letter asking Eliza to assist in receiving and Beth to be oneof the younger set was received, the latter executed a war-danceimmediately and cavorted about like a young lamb.

  "Don't be so frolicsome," cried Eliza. "Really, Beth, you make me thinkof the young goats which we used to watch up on Goat Hill. They alwaysjumped about in just such fashion as you are doing now."

  _She stood as transfixed, her eyes upon Beth's hands._]

  "I'm capricious, Adee. Capra is really Latin for goat. Then if onegambols around like a goat, one is capricious."

  They were both excited and could scarcely eat their evening meal. Therewas so much to talk about.

  "Adee, you must have a beautiful dress. Something soft and shimmery.I'll fix your hair too sweet for anything. I'll put a pink rose in it.I'd get a soft white dress, Adee. You could--couldn't you? You havemoney enough from the stories. Haven't you, Adee?"

  "Yes," slowly, "but a new dress would cost a great deal. Perhaps, I hadbetter write a note and tell them I cannot help receive."

  "No, please do not, Adee. You'll meet the finest people in the world.Carrie Laire's mother buys dresses in Williamsport. The place where theyare sold will change them to make them fit. You could go and buy adress. You could easily get one to fit you. You're just the right sizeto be easily fitted. You could go in one day. I could stay at home. Iwouldn't be afraid. I could ask Sally to come over. But then, maybe, I'dbetter go with you. You couldn't see how it would fit, and I'd tell youperfectly honest. I want you to look perfectly 'scrumptious.' I'm justpositive, Adee, that you'll be the sweetest woman there."

  "Beth, you are a flatterer. You'd make me vain as vain could be, if Ilisten to you. I'll promise you this: if I go to Williamsport, you shallgo with me. I'll consider the matter."

  "It is only ten days, Adee. I would not consider too long. A soft whitedress with a train--"

  Beth sighed with satisfaction. In her mind's eyes she saw Adee lookinglike the Princess in the fairy tale.

  Eliza might not have decided in favor of buying a new gown, had not theman from the Oliver place come in that evening for his customarysupplies. Beth, who could not keep anything to herself when she wasexcited, blurted out immediately that Adee was to help receive and thatSally, Carrie and herself were to be present as aids.

  "I can scarcely wait. It's weeks yet," cried Beth. "I've never been to areally grown-up party. I know it will be simply grand. I wish it wasthis very evening."

  "Nonsense, that would give you no time to get your party togs. They tellme that for such affairs, women 'dike' themselves out as fine aspeacocks. Gowns with trains coming after them like an afterthought,gloves up to the elbow. No, no, Beth, it is well for you that thereception is not tonight. It takes time to prepare one's togs for eventsas big as this will be."

  Eliza, keen as she naturally was, never knew why he had spoken so. Heknew how narrow and hemmed-in her social life had been. He would nothave her go dressed unsuitably and made to feel ill at ease and out ofplace among other women. Eliza accepted it as a random remark butprofited by it nevertheless.

  "We're going to look fine," laughed Beth. "Adee and I have a plan. We'llnot tell you. We'll keep it as a state secret until we burst upon you inall our glory. You'll be overcome. I know you'll say that we look fine."

  "I'll believe that you do; but I'll not be at Shintown to see you. I'mgoing away tomorrow. The boards will go up on the log house again for--Icannot say how long."

  "Going to leave?" Eliza was foolish enough to feel a strange sinking ofthe heart.

  "Isn't this departure rather unexpected?"

  "I always take to the woods and roads when fair weather sets in. Ishould have gone weeks ago. Now some of my old friends have warned methat the time has come to cut loose and show a good pair of heels. Yousee, Miss Eliza, not even a year of happy domesticity can make me breakold habits. I'm starting out to visit old places. New cities have noattraction for me. By daylight, I'll be off."

  He took up his milk-jug and was off. He had not even said good-bye orthanked Eliza for the little kindnesses she had shown him. Yet she feltherself his debtor. He had given her life a new impulse. He had opened anew line of work. Her pen would help her provide for her own old age andeducate Beth. More than that, she found joy in expressing herself. Shehad gone from the beaten path, and had found the glorious possibilitieswhich lay within her own soul, just as they lie in the soul of each one;though some are never discovered.

  When Eliza and Beth went down the slope the following day, neither songnor whistling was heard from the Oliver log house. The windows and doorhad been boarded up. Already the place had an appearance of beingabandoned.

  "It makes me feel queer--sort of lonesome," said Beth. "I wonder ifwe'll ever see him again. I thought he was very nice, Adee. I think Inever met any other man that I liked quite so well. I wish he had notgone. I wish he would come back and live here forever. We'll miss himdreadfully. Don't you wish he'd come back to live here always, Adee?"

  Eliza had stopped to pluck a flower and had nothing at all to say.During the walk to town, Beth did all the talking.

  The time until the reception did pass. To Beth it dragged. It was asthough the little god Time had hung leaden balls on his feet. Bethcounted the nights between. They passed at last. The evening of theWoman's Club reception was at hand. Adee had yielded to Beth and boughta soft white gown of embroidered mull. It was just a little low at theneck and the sleeves ended in soft lace frills, just at the elbow. Bestof all to Beth's way of thinking, there was a little sweep to it. Theruffles of val lace floated about Eliza's feet. Beth had put up her hairso that it was loose about the forehead and in a great coil like a crownupon her head. A pink rose finished it, to Beth's satisfaction.

  When all was completed, the girl stood aside to contemplate her work."You look like a dream, a perfect poem. You'll be the sweetest thingthere, Adee. Oh, I'm glad I belong to you. Put on your gloves. Sallysays to let the tops wrinkle; not to draw them tight. There."

  Beth wore a simple white frock that had been made for the seniorreception. When she had finished dressing, she came to the door ofEliza's room with a little box in her hand.

  "Adee--I'll have no gloves, you know. The girls do not intend to wearthem; but Sally and Helen both wear rings. Don't you think it would beall right if I would wear these?" She opened the box, and taking out therings which she believed belonged to the woman who had been killed whenOld Prince had taken fright, she held them up for Eliza t
o see.

  "They fit me, Adee. I'd dearly love to wear them. They're rather odd,but I think they are prettier than the ones the girls wear. May I wearthem, Adee?"

  Eliza considered. "The only thing against your wearing them is that theymight be lost. You may need them sometime if you ever meet your ownpeople. You know that I have always had a feeling, Beth, that sometimeyou'll find, somewhere, sisters or brothers; perhaps you have a fatherliving."

  "It's strange he did not try to find me. Sometime, I feel, Adee, that noone but my mother wanted me. When she was killed, no one came. If anyone had cared, don't you think they would have hunted for me everywhere.I'd walk from town to town until I dropped from weariness. But no onelooked for me, Adee. I'm to be your girl always and forever, Adee. Noone else ever wanted me, it seems." She smiled up at Eliza. She wasreally very happy and contented. Only a few times had she permittedherself to think that she was without kin of any kind. Sometimes shelonged for her mother. She knew that no one, however kind and lovable,could ever take a mother's place. But she loved Adee dearly, and hadmade up her mind that she would make neither her foster-mother norherself miserable about that which could not be remedied. She stoodlooking at Eliza with an appealing look in her eyes.

  "Well, I presume it really will make no difference. They are your ringsand you are surely old enough now to take care of them. Wear them if youwish, Beth."

  CHAPTER XVII.

  The reception parlors were massed with ferns, palms and roses. The softstrains of an orchestra floated through the rooms. There were men infull dress and women in soft-tinted gowns, moving about like a swarm ofgay butterflies. The receiving line was made up of a dozen women. MissEllis stood at the head, next to her was Mrs. Laurens who was an officerin the National Federation of the Club. Then came Eliza. They had barelytime to take their places before the guests began making their way fromthe dressing-rooms on the floor above. A colored man, in full eveningdress, stood in the doorway and called out the names of those entering.The head of the line shook hands, introduced the person to the next inline, and so each one passed on. There were so many that the namesbecame but a jumble to Eliza. "Dr. James Smith, Mrs. Ellington Roche,Miss Brown," and so on. She smiled, shook hands and handed the guest onto the next. She was performing her duties in a mechanical sort of way,forgetting name and person the instant he had passed before her.Suddenly she started and became very much alert. Mrs. Laurens wasaddressing her personally. "Miss Wells, permit me to introduce Dr.William Barnes Hillis, the scientist. He has asked to be introduced. Iam surprised that you have not met before. Dr. Hillis has been in yourneighborhood for a year, living the life of a hermit in order that hemight finish his new book and win new laurels."

  Eliza extended her hand. Speech failed her. She looked up into thelaughing eyes of the "tramp." He was dressed in conventional eveningdress.

  "Miss Wells, I am delighted to meet you." His smile was radiant. Elizacould not even smile. She stood quite still and looked at him.

  "Beth was right about how fine you would look." He spoke so low that noone else might hear, and then moved along the line.

  The greater number of guests had arrived. There was time for a wordbetween the hostesses. Mrs. Laurens turned to Eliza. "I'm sure you willlike Hillis--I presume I should say Dr. Hillis. He is authority on plantlife and has delved deep into all kindred sciences. He shut himself upsomewhere in the wilds the last year in order to devote his time towriting. He dropped in upon us last night and demanded that I give him acard to the reception. He told me something else. He's going to make atour of the eastern countries. I think he starts early in the fall. He'snot going alone. He told me that the prospective Mrs. Hillis would behere tonight, and defied me to discover her."

  "Yes--how--interesting--romantic." Eliza did not recognize her ownvoice. It was hollow, stilted, false.

  The last guest had been bidden welcome. The hostesses moved from thereception line, and mingled with those they were entertaining.

  In a room adjoining, the young girls were serving fruit punch from aside-table. Helen and Sallie were ladling it from a bowl hidden amongflowers and ferns. Beth and Carrie Laire were hidden amid masses of cutroses. As the guests came to them, they pinned a rose upon them.

  Mrs. Laurens came up with a group of four.

  "Roses presenting roses," said one of the gentlemen as Carrie pinned theflower on his coat. Beth's face had been turned away. She was selectinga fine half-blown rose for Mrs. Laurens. She turned to present it. Herhands with their peculiar old-fashioned rings were brought intoevidence.

  "Will you have a rose?" Mrs. Laurens did not answer. She stood as thoughtransfixed, her eyes upon Beth's hands.

  Suddenly she seized them tight into her own. "Your rings! Your rings!Where did you get them? They are mine. I'd give worlds to know of them.They're mine! They're mine!"

  Her voice rang out clear and strong. Everyone in the great room heard.Poor Beth was frightened so that she could not speak. People camecrowding closer. Eliza and Dr. Hillis, fearing that something hadhappened to Beth, hurried forward. There stood Mrs. Laurens clutchingBeth's hands and crying out, "The rings! The rings are mine. I must knowwhere you got them, child."

  Dr. Hillis was the first to understand. He came to them. "You and Bethcome with me into this little private parlor. We can explain betterthere." Taking them by the arm, he led them away. "Come with us," hesaid to Eliza. She followed. The door closed upon them, and there theexplanation was given.

  Very simple of course it was. Mrs. Laurens was Beth's mother, to besure. It was as clear as could be when one knew it.

  When Beth was a baby, Mrs. Laurens had taken her to Florida where Mr.Laurens had undertaken heavy contracts. She had with her Bena Benson, aSwedish servant who had been with the family for years and who dearlyloved Beth.

  Mr. Laurens was taken ill during the winter and was in the hospital. Afew weeks later, his wife was taken with the same low-running fever. Thephysician forbade their being moved north to their home. The littlechild could not be left in a hotel in a servant's care. There was a riskin staying in the infected region. The only thing to be done was to sendthe child and nurse north to friends.

  Mrs. Laurens wore several rings which had come down to her from hermother's people. She was ill in the hospital. Fearing that the ringsmight be lost, she instructed Bena to take them home with her. AtBaltimore, the Swedish woman had become confused. She asked forinformation as to the best way to "Yamestown," as she called it. Herpronunciation was foreign. Instead of selling her a ticket and checkingher baggage to the right destination, the man in his hurry misunderstoodand sent her hundreds of miles out of her way. She had realized hermistake when the train reached Farwell. She had left the train there andwas walking to the Lehigh station in the hope of returning to Baltimore.

  Weeks had passed before Mr. and Mrs. Laurens heard of her. They were tooill to be conscious of the lapse of time. When they began the search alltrace was lost, even the newspaper accounts had gone astray.

  ----

  So Miss Eliza lost Beth after all. I think not. We can never really losethose we love and those who love us. They are always ours.

  She slipped away, leaving the mother and daughter together. She couldnot face the people in the drawing-room. She slipped into the opencorridor, where the palms hid her from view and the lights were low.Here she stood leaning against the heavy columns which supported theceiling.

  "She was glad--so glad for Beth," she told herself. She repeated itmechanically as though she would force herself to believe that shereally was glad.

  "I'm glad--for Beth. I'm glad for Beth that she has a real mother." Itwas her lips only which said it. How could she go back to the lonelyhouse? How could she sit down to her meals alone? How could she livewithout her little girl?

  She tried bravely to keep back the tears, but they gathered in her eyesand fell down her cheeks. She choked back a sob. She could not reenterthe room and face the people. She would go home alo
ne. Alone--she couldnot do that. She would hang to that pillar all night rather than that.She could not, she would not go home alone.

  "You are troubled, Adee." It was Dr. Hillis who addressed her. Shecontrolled herself and said with what brightness she could, "Nottroubled; lonely. Beth has found her mother. I am glad. That is, I amtrying hard to be glad; but I cannot help the thought that I will bealone."

  "For that matter, so will I. Strange thing about this being alone. Justabout the time one gets used to it, one finds that he simply cannotstand another day of it. I have been alone all my life, but I neverrealized it until the day I was ill and Beth came down to see me."

  He paused. There was nothing at all that Adee could say to this. Silencewas the only thing. Eliza felt that he was looking at her, keenly, butshe did not raise her eyes.

  "You will not be lonely long. You know what I read in the coals. Fallweather is fine for going about abroad; going where you want to and notleaving until you are ready. What do you think, Adee? Could you let metake Beth's place? Will you let the dream in the coals come true?"

  "I'll not let you take Beth's place," she spoke slowly. "You must takeyour own place." She held out her hand. "But I can't possibly be readyvery early in the fall."

  So it ended like a fairy story. Nay, for it was far better than a fairytale. All stories of human life are.

  Beth, or Ermann, as her name really was, divided her time between Elizaand her own mother. It would have been a hard matter to decide which sheloved most.

  The prophecy concerning Adee which Dr. Hillis had read in the embers atthe old Oliver Place came true. He and Adee were married and wentabroad, where he was received with ovations because of the finescientific work he had done. Adee was feted and feasted and entertainedin palaces. Beth was not with her, of course. Strange to relate, Adeewas not lonely. Sometimes her husband would tease her about her "tramp"friends. They would laugh heartily over the matter. All the best thingsof life had come to Adee because she had sacrificed her ease and deniedherself to take care of a helpless little child. She might have sentBeth to a foundling asylum. How narrow, little and petty her life wouldhave always been, had she done this.

  Mrs. Laurens had suffered; but good came through it after all. Afterlosing trace of her own little child she had devoted her money and timeto making happy other motherless children. Through her own suffering,she herself was strengthened and developed, and hundreds of childrenwere made comfortable.

  Beth, or Ermann, finished a college course and then offered her servicesto the Fresh Air Society. She takes charge of babies who are motherless,or whose mothers are not responsible. She realizes what her life mighthave been if Adee had sent her away, and tries to give the little onesin her care the same love and tenderness that she knew.

  So wonderful good came from suffering, because those who suffered werestrong, and fulfilled their duty nobly.

  So ends the tale of Beth, or Ermann, just as you choose to think of her.But in her own thoughts, she thinks of herself as "That little girl ofMiss Liza's," and so the old residents of the valley speak of her.