In the Bishop's Carriage

by Miriam Michelson

  XVII.

  PHILADELPHIA, January 27.

  Maggie, dear:

  I'm writing to you just before dinner while I wait for Fred. He's downat the box-office looking up advance sales. I tell you, MaggieMonahan, we're strictly in it--we Obermullers. That Broadway hit ofmine has preceded me here, and we've got the town, I suspect, inadvance.

  But I'm not writing to tell you this. I've got something moreinteresting to tell you, my dear old Cruelty chum.

  I want you to pretend to yourself that you see me, Mag, as I came outof the big Chestnut Street store this afternoon, my arms full ofbundles. I must have on that long coat to my heels, of dark, warm red,silk-lined, with the long, incurving back sweep and high chinchillacollar, that Fred ordered made for me the very day we were married. Imust be wearing that jolly little, red-cloth toque caught up on theside with some of the fur.

  Oh, yes, I knew I was more than a year behind the times when I gotthem, but a successful actress wears what she pleases, and the rest ofthe world wears what pleases her, too. Besides, fashions don't mean somuch to you when your husband tells you how becoming--but this hasnothing to do with the Bishop.

  Yes, the Bishop, Mag!

  I had just said, "Nance Olden--" To myself I still speak to me as NancyOlden; it's good for me, Mag; keeps me humble and for ever gratefulthat I'm so happy. "Nance, you'll never be able to carry all thesethings and lift your buful train, too. And there's never a hansomround when it's snowing and--"

  And then I caught sight of the carriage. Yes, Maggie, the same fat,low, comfortable, elegant, sober carriage, wide and well-kept, withrubber-tired wheels. And the two heavy horses, fat and elegant andsober, too, and wide and well-kept. I knew whose it was the minute myeyes lighted on it, and I couldn't--I just couldn't resist it.

  The man on the box-still wide and well-kept--was wide-awake this time.I nodded to him as I slipped in and closed the door after me.

  "I'll wait for the Bishop," I said, with a red-coated assurance thatleft him no alternative but to accept the situation respectfully.

  Oh, dear, dear! It was soft and warm inside as it had been that long,long-ago day. The seat was wide and roomy. The cushions had been doneover--I resented that--but though a different material, they were astill darker plum. And instead of Quo Vadis, the Bishop had beenreading Resurrection.

  I took it up and glanced over it as I sat there; but, you know, Mag,the heavy-weight plays never appealed to me. I don't go in for thetragic--perhaps I saw too much of the real thing when I was little.

  At any rate, it seemed dull to me, and I put it aside and sat thereabsent-mindedly dreaming of a little girl-thief that I knew oncewhen--when the handle of the door turned and the Bishop got in, and wewere off.

  Oh, the little Bishop--the contrast between him and the fat, pompousrig caught me! He seemed littler and leaner than ever, his littlewhite beard scantier, his soft eye kindlier and his soft heart {?}

  "God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, jumping almost out of his neatlittle boots, while he looked sharply over his spectacles.

  What did he see? Just a red-coated ghost dreaming in the corner of hiscarriage. It made him doubt his eyes--his sanity. I don't know whathe'd have done if that warm red ghost hadn't got tired of dreaming andlaughed outright.

  "Daddy," I murmured sleepily.

  Oh, that little ramrod of a bishop! The blood rushed up under hisclear, thin, baby-like skin and he sat up straight and solemn andawful--awful as such a tiny bishop could be.

  "I fear, Miss, you have made a mistake," he said primly.

  I looked at him steadily.

  "You know I haven't," I said gently.

  That took some of the starch out of him, but he eyed me suspiciously.

  "Why don't you ask me where I got the coat, Bishop Van Wagenen?" Isaid, leaning over to him.

  He started. I suppose he'd just that moment remembered my leaving itbehind that day at Mrs. Ramsay's.

  "Lord bless me!" he cried anxiously. "You haven't--you haven't again--"

  "No, I haven't." Ah, Maggie, dear, it was worth a lot to me to be ableto say that "no" to him. "It was given to me. Guess who gave it tome."

  He shook his head.

  "My husband!"

  Maggie Monahan, he didn't even blink. Perhaps in the Bishop's sethusbands are not uncommon, or very likely they don't know what ahusband like Fred Obermuller means.

  "I congratulate you, my child, or--or did it--were you--"

  "Why, I'd never seen Fred Obermuller then," I cried. "Can't you tell adifference, Bishop?" I pleaded. "Don't I look like a--an imposingmarried woman now? Don't I seem a bit--oh, just a bit nicer?"

  His eyes twinkled as he bent to look more closely at me.

  "You look--you look, my little girl, exactly like the pretty, big-eyed,wheedling-voiced child I wished to have for my own daughter."

  I caught his hand in both of mine.

  "Now, that's like my own, own Bishop!" I cried. Mag--Mag, he wasblushing like a boy, a prim, rather scared little school-boy thatsomehow, yet--oh, I knew he must feel kindly to me! I felt so fond ofhim.

  "You see, Bishop Van Wagenen," I began softly, "I never had a fatherand--"

  "Bless me! But you told me that day you had mistaken me for--for him."

  The baby! I had forgotten what that old Edward told me--that thistrusting soul actually still believed all I'd told him. What was I todo? I tell you, Mag, it's no light thing to get accustomed to tellingthe truth. You never know where it'll lead you. Here was I--just aclever little lie or two and the dear old Bishop would be happy andcontented again. But no; that fatal habit that I've acquired oftelling the truth to Fred and you mastered me--and I fell.

  "You know, Bishop," I said, shutting my eyes and speaking fast to getit over--as I imagine you must, Mag, when you confess to FatherPhelan--"that was all a--a little farce-comedy--the whole business--allof it--every last word of it!"

  "A comedy!"

  I opened my eyes to laugh at him; he was so bewildered.

  "I mean a--a fib; in fact, many of them. I--I was just--it was longago--and I had to make you believe--"

  His soft old eyes looked at me unbelieving. "You don't mean to say youdeliberately lied!"

  Now, that was what I did mean--just what I did mean--but not in thattone of voice.

  But what could I do? I just looked at him and nodded.

  Oh, Maggie, I felt so little and so nasty! I haven't felt like thatsince I left the Cruelty. And I'm not nasty, Maggie, and I'm FredObermuller's wife, and--

  And that put a backbone in me again. Fred Obermuller's wife just won'tlet anybody think worse of her than she can help--from sheer love andpride in that big, clever husband of hers.

  "Now, look here, Bishop Van Wagenen," I broke out, "if I were theabandoned little wretch your eyes accuse me of being I wouldn't be inyour carriage confessing to you this blessed minute when it'd be somuch easier not to. Surely--surely, in your experience you must havemet girls that go wrong--and then go right for ever and ever, Amen.And I'm very right now. But--but it has been hard for me at times. Andat those times--ah, you must know how sincerely I mean it--at thosetimes I used to try to recall the sound of your voice, when you saidyou'd like to take me home with you and keep me. If I had been yourdaughter you'd have had a heart full of loving care for me. And yet, ifI had been, and had known that benevolent fatherhood, I should need itless--so much less than I did the day I begged a prayer from you.But--it's all right now. You don't know--do you?--I'm Nance Olden."

  That made him sit up and stare, I tell you. Even the Bishop had heardof Nancy Olden. But suddenly, unaccountably, there came a queer, sadlook over his face, and his eyes wouldn't meet mine.

  I looked at him puzzled.

  "Tell me what it is," I said.

  "You evidently forget that you have already told me you are the wife ofMr.--Mr. Ober--"

  "Obermuller. Oh, that's all right." I laughed aloud. I was sorelieved. "Of course I
am, and he's my manager, and my playwright, andmy secretary, and--my--my dear, dear boy. There!" I wasn't laughing atthe end of it. I never can laugh when I try to tell what Fred is to me.

  But--funny?--that won him.

  "There! there!" he said, patting me on the shoulder. "Forgive me, mydear. I am indeed glad to know that you are living happily. I haveoften thought of you--"

  "Oh, have you?"

  "Yes--I have even told Mrs. Van Wagenen about you and how I wasattracted to you and believed--ahem!"

  "Oh--oh, have you!" I gave a wriggle as I remembered that Maltese laceMaria wanted and that I--ugh!

  But, luckily, he didn't notice. He had taken my hand and was lookingat me over his spectacles in his dear, fatherly old way.

  "Tell me now, my dear, is there anything that an old clergyman can dofor you? I have an engagement near here and we may not meet again. Ican't hope to find you in my carriage many more times. You arehappy--you are living worthily, child? Pardon me, but the stage--"

  Oh, the gentle courtesy of his manner! I loved his solicitude.Father-hungry girls like us, Maggie, know how to value a thing likethat.

  "You know," I said slowly, "the thing that keeps a woman straight and aman faithful is not a matter of bricks and mortar nor ways of thinkingnor habits of living. It's something finer and stronger than these.It's the magic taboo of her love for him and his for her that makesthem--sacred. With that to guard them--why--"

  "Yes, yes," he patted my hand softly. "Still, the old see the dangersof an environment that a young and impulsive woman like you, my dear,might be blind to. Your associates--"

  "My associates? Oh, you've heard about Beryl Blackburn.Well--she's--she's just Beryl, you know. She wasn't made to live anydifferent. Some people steal and some drink and some gamble and some...Well, Beryl belongs to the last class. She doesn't pretend to bebetter than she is. And, just between you and me, Bishop, I've morerespect for a girl of that kind than for Grace Weston, whose husband ismy leading man, you know. Why, she pulls the wool over his eyes andmakes him the laughing-stock of the company. I can't stand her anymore than I can Marie Avon, who's never without two strings--"

  All at once I stopped. But wasn't it like me to spoil it all bybubbling over? I tell you, Maggie, too much truth isn't good for theBishop's set;--they don't know how to digest it.

  I was afraid that I'd lost him, for he spoke with a stately littleprimness as the carriage just then came to a stop; I had been sointerested talking that I hadn't noticed where we were driving.

  "Ah, here we are!" he said. "I must ask you to excuse me, Miss--ah,Mrs.--that is--there's a public meeting of the Society for thePrevention of Cruelty to Children this afternoon that I must attend.Good-by, then--"

  "Oh, are you bound for the Cruelty, too?" I asked. "Why, so am I.And--yes--yes--that's the Cruelty!"

  The Cruelty stands just where it did, Mag, when you and I first saw it;most things do in Philadelphia, you know. There's the same prim,official straight up-and-downness about the brick front. The stepsdon't look so steep now and the building's not so high, perhaps becauseof a skyscraper or two that've gone up since. But it chills yourblood, Maggie darlin', just as it always did, to think what it standsfor. Not man's inhumanity to man, but women's cruelty to children!Maggie, think of it, if you can, as though this were the first timeyou'd heard of such a thing! Would you believe it?

  I waked from that to find myself marching up the stairs behind theBishop's rigid little back. Oh, it was stiff and uncompromising!Beryl Blackburn did that for me. Poor, pretty, pagan Beryl!

  My coming with the Bishop--we seemed to come together, anyway--made thepeople think he'd brought me, so I must be just all right. I had theman bring in the toys I'd got out in the carriage, and I handed themover to the matron, saying:

  "They're for the children. I want them to have them all and now,please, to do whatever they want with them. There'll always be others.I'm going to send them right along, if you'll let me, so that those wholeave can take something of their very own with them--something thatnever belonged to anybody else but just themselves, you understand.It's terrible, don't you know, to be a deserted child or a torturedchild or a crippled child and have nothing to do but sit up in thatbare, clean little room upstairs with a lot of other strangelings--andjust think on the cruelty that's brought you here and the cruelty youmay get into when you leave here. If I'd had a doll--if Mag had onlyhad a set of dishes or a little tin kitchen--if the boy with the gougedeye could have had a set of tools--oh, can't you understand--"

  I became conscious then that the matron--a new one, Mag, ours isgone--was staring at me, and that the people stood around listening asthough I'd gone mad.

  Who came to my rescue? Why, the Bishop, like the manly little fellowhe is. He forgave me even Beryl in that moment.

  "It's Nance Olden, ladies," he said, with a dignified little wave ofhis hand that served for an introduction. "She begins her Philadelphiaengagement to-night in And the Greatest of These."

  Oh, I'm used to it now, Maggie, but I do like it. All the lady-swellsbuzzed about me, and there Nance stood preening herself and crowingsoftly till--till from among the bunch of millinery one of them steppedup to me. She had a big smooth face with plenty of chins. Her hairwas white and her nose was curved and she rustled in silk and--

  It was Mrs. Dowager Diamonds, alias Henrietta, alias Mrs. Edward Ramsay!

  "Clever! My, how clever!" she exclaimed, as though the sob in my voicethat I couldn't control had been a bit of acting.

  She was feeling for her glasses. When she got them and hooked them onher nose and got a good look at me--why, she just dropped them with asmash upon the desk.

  I looked for a minute from her to the Bishop.

  "I remember you very well, Mrs. Ramsay. I hope you haven't forgottenme. I've often wanted to thank you for your kindness," I said slowly,while she as slowly recovered. "I think you'll be glad to know that Iam thoroughly well-cured. Shall I tell Mrs. Ramsay how, Bishop?"

  I put it square up to him. And he met it like the little man heis--perhaps, too, my bit of charity to the Cruelty children had pleasedhim.

  "I don't think it will be necessary, Miss Olden," he said gently. "Ican do that for you at some future time."

  And I could have hugged him; but I didn't dare.

  We had tea there in the Board rooms. Oh, Mag, remember how we used topeep into those awful, imposing Board rooms! Remember how strange andresentful you felt--like a poor little red-haired nigger up at theblock--when you were brought in there to be shown to the woman who'dcalled to adopt you!

  It was all so strange that I had to keep talking to keep from dreaming.I was talking away to the matron and the Bishop about the play-room I'mgoing to fit up out of that bare little place upstairs. Perhaps thesame child doesn't stay there very long, but there'll always bechildren to fill it--more's the cruel pity!

  Then the Bishop and I climbed up there to see it and plan about it.But I couldn't really see it, Mag, nor the poor, white-faced, wise-eyedlittle waifs that have succeeded us, for the tears in my eyes and theache at my heart and the queer trick the place has of being peopledwith you and me, and the boy with the gouged eye, and the cripple, andthe rest.

  He put his gentle thin old arm about my shoulders for a moment when hesaw what was the matter with me. Oh, he understands, my Bishop! Andthen we turned to go downstairs.

  "Oh--I want--I want to do something for them," I cried. "I want to dosomething that counts, that's got a heart in it, that knows! You knew,didn't you, it was true--what I said downstairs? I was--I am a Crueltygirl. Help me to help others like me."

  "My dear," he said, very stately and sweet, "I'll be proud to be yourassistant. You've a kind, true heart and--"

  And just at that minute, as I was preceding him down the narrow steps,a girl in a red coat trimmed with chinchilla and in a red toque withsome of the same fur blocked our way as she was coming up.

  We looked at each ot
her. You've seen two peacocks spread their tailsand strut as they pass each other? Well, the peacock coming up wasn'tin it with the one going down. Her coat wasn't so fine, nor so heavy,nor so newly, smartly cut. Her toque wasn't so big nor so saucy, andthe fur on it--not to mention that the descending peacock was abrunette and ... well, Mag, I had my day. Miss Evelyn Kingdon paid meback in that minute for all the envy I've spent on that pretty rig ofhers.

  She didn't recognize me, of course, even though the two red coats wereso near, as she stopped to let me pass, that they kissed like sisters,ere they parted. But, Mag, Nancy Olden never got haughty that therewasn't a fall waiting for her. Back of Miss Kingdon stood Mrs.Kingdon--still Mrs. Kingdon, thanks to Nance Olden--and behind her, atthe foot of the steps, was a frail little old-fashioned bundle of blacksatin and old lace. I lost my breath when the Bishop hailed his wife.

  "Maria," he said--some men say their wives' first names all the yearsof their lives as they said them on their wedding-day--"I want you tomeet Miss Olden--Nance Olden, the comedian. She's the girl I wantedfor my daughter--you'll remember, it's more than a year ago now since Ibegan to talk about her?"

  I held my breath while I waited for her answer. But her poor,short-sighted eyes rested on my hot face without a sign.

  "It's an old joke among us," she said pleasantly, "about the Bishop'sdaughter."

  We stood there and chatted, and the Bishop turned away to speak to Mrs.Kingdon. Then I seized my chance.

  "I've heard, Mrs. Van Wagenen," I said softly and oh, as nicely as Icould, "of your fondness for lace. We are going abroad in the spring,my husband and I, to Malta, among other places. Can't I get you apiece there as a souvenir of the Bishop's kindness to me?"

  Her little lace-mittened, parchment-like hands clasped and unclaspedwith an almost childish eagerness.

  "Oh, thank you, thank you very much; but if you would give the same sumto charity--"

  "I will," I laughed. She couldn't guess how glad I was to do thisthing. "And I'll spend just as much on your lace and be so happy ifyou'll accept it."

  I promised Henrietta a box for to-night, Maggie, and one to Mrs.Kingdon. The Dowager told me she'd love to come, though her husband isout of town, unfortunately, she said.

  "But you'll come with me, won't you, Bishop?" she said, turning to him."And you, Mrs. Van?"

  The Bishop blushed. Was he thinking of Beryl, I wonder. But I didn'thear his answer, for it was at that moment that I caught Fred's voice.He had told me he was going to call for me. I think he fancied thatthe old Cruelty would depress me--as dreams of it have, you know; andhe wanted to come and carry me away from it, just as at night, whenI've waked shivering and moaning, I've felt his dear arms lifting meout of the black night-memory of it.

  But it was anything but a doleful Nance he found and hurried down thesnowy steps out to a hansom and off to rehearsal. For the Bishop hadsaid to me, "God bless you, child," when he shook hands with both of usat parting, and the very Cruelty seemed to smile a grim benediction, aswe drove off together, on Fred and

  NANCY O.