University of Virginia Library

12. MR. FREDERICK'S DAUGHTER

Meanwhile, Arabella had to make the acquaintance of another cousin, and to enjoy her last day's outing in the city. After that, she and Mrs. Christie were to take the afternoon train homeward on Saturday, and so be settled before Sunday. At half past ten the following morning an unwonted sight met the eyes of the shop people below, and all the dwellers in that neighborhood. This was the appearance before the door leading to Miss Alicia's quarters of Mr. Frederick Allston's handsome motor car. Mrs. Christie and her sister were much flustered. The former had never, before coming to the city, seen one of these machines, which were still unknown in Kenoosha, and Alicia had only viewed them from afar.

"I thought," said Mr. Frederick, addressing Mrs. Christie, "that you would all enjoy a spin in the park before going home to have a chop with my little girl."

It was a memorable occasion, never to be forgotten by any of the good gentleman's guests. As they frankly declared before starting that they had never been in an automobile in their lives, Mr. Frederick advised them to put on veils, which should prevent their hair from flying and the dust from being troublesome. This wise counsel was followed by the two women, but Arabella could scarcely be persuaded so much as to keep on her hat, so that her brown hair floated in the wind, and as the motor left the city behind and bowled over the smooth roads of the park she simply forgot her manners and yelled with delight, a delight which found an echo in the breast of her good natured uncle and added to his own pleasure. He took particular pains to show every sight, only regretting that nature had austerely withdrawn the bravery of her mid-summer verdure from the trees and withered the grass.

Poor little Miss Alicia felt as if she were dreaming, and enjoyed herself thoroughly, an enjoyment which was considerably marred for Mrs. Christie by her dread of the swiftly moving machine, which she expected might at any moment fly to pieces and precipitate her into space. She bravely repressed an inclination to start at every puff and groan of the motor, every creak of the machinery. She confided to Alicia, and also to her husband and an admiring circle of the neighbors long after, that for her part she guessed she preferred a horse any day, and a good, solid wagon. She didn't hold, she declared, with any of these newfangled inventions.

To Arabella, on the contrary, that drive was pure delight. The automobile is the vehicle by excellence for youth. It comes nearest, perhaps, to a realization of their swift, impetuous longings, their ardor, their hopes ever speeding before, their inexhaustible vitality. Moreover, the sky overhead was deepest blue, the sunshine at its brightest, the autumn air clear and bracing. Like all things earthly, however, that drive came to an end, and the motor stopped before the door of Mr. Frederick's handsome apartments in Madison Avenue. Peering out of the plate glass window, from between the rich silk curtains, Arabella caught sight of a weird, pallid little face, with two eyes of greenish gray, that almost startled her, and at the same moment Mr. Frederick exclaimed, his voice softening and his face growing tender:

"There's my little one looking out for us Poor little mite! Poor little Marion!"

Then he added hastily, as if to prepare the others for the appearance of the child:

"You know, she has never walked. the nurse let her fall when she was an infant."

The tears came into his eyes, and he turned away his head. Arabella felt so sorry for him and for the little girl that a lump rose in her throat. She looked at her own strong, young limbs, and it suddenly occurred to her how much she had to be thankful for in her own excellent health and vitality. She had often secretly lamented that her life was so lonely, and had wondered how other little girls felt who had a home and parents of their own, but here was a child who had many things which she had coveted, and yet was deprived of so much.

She had little time for reflection, as in another moment Mr. Frederick had ushered them in through the portico, all hard wood and polished marble, and the spacious hall, where a shining ebony-colored janitor smiled at him, and into the large, high ceilinged rooms which constituted those handsome ground-floor apartments.

Arabella thought she had never seen any place so absolutely bright and cheerful, except, perhaps, green meadows stretching under the blue sky of heaven on sunshiny days. The floors, also of hard wood and highly polished, were covered with bright colored rugs. The silk curtains were of yellow, to catch every ray of light. Flowering plants stood about in profusion. An orange tree and some blossoming shrubs gave the appearance of a garden or southern grove. The furniture consisted of gold-colored brocade, or of wicker adorned with gay-tinted ribbons. The few but handsome ornaments were all of a cheerful tendency. Pictures of smiling women and children looked from the walls. Mirrors flashed back the various objects displayed within the room, and the large bay window gave an excellent view of the street.

In fact, every detail of a general plan had been carefully considered to create the most cheerful atmosphere possible for the poor, wan, little creature, who sat upon a sofa near the window, propped up with cushions and attended by a negro nurse. The cripple's wan face was aglow with interest and pleasure as she turned towards her father and his guests.

"Oh, papa," she cried, "you were so long away! Wasn't he, nurse? And I was so anxious to see my new cousin!"

"Well, here she is, at last," Mr. Frederick answered, bending over her tenderly. "And I am so sorry, darling, if you found the time long."

"Oh, it doesn't matter, dear," Marion answered, stroking his face with her thin little hand. "I shouldn't be so impatient."

Arabella felt the tears come into her eyes as she took that small, wasted hand, and stood looking down from the height of her own strength and vitality.

"Why are you crying?" asked Marion, fixing her solemn eyes upon Arabella's face. "I hope you didn't get hurt, or anything."

"Oh, no!" cried Arabella, brushing away the tears. "It was lovely out, and I never was in one of them cars before."

"Neither was I," declared Marion. "They say it would jolt me too much. For you see I am a cripple, and can't even walk. But I go out in the carriage."

Arabella could find no words to say, she felt so very sorry, and Mr. Frederick relieved the pause by bringing Mrs. Christie and her sister forward. Mrs. Christie shook hands stiffly with the little girl, but Miss Alicia, moved by an impulse of pity which leveled all distinctions, stooped and kissed her. Marion stroked her cheek and seemed pleased.

"You've got such pretty white curls," she said. "Are you the little girl's mamma?"

"No, my dear," answered Miss Alicia, "she has got no mamma."

"Poor little girl," exclaimed Marion, "I have none, either, but perhaps she has got a papa."

Miss Alicia shook her head.

"Oh, what does she do?" cried the cripple, in a voice of real emotion. "Arabella, I am so sorry for you."

Mr. Frederick once more made a diversion by sending the negro mammy to assist the two women and Arabella in taking off their wraps, which that functionary did with the kindly effusion of her race. This done, luncheon was served, Marion being carried by her father into the dining room and placed beside Arabella, at the beautifully appointed table. That apartment, fairly flooded with sunshine, was quite as cheerful as the other, and the repast was a delightful one. There was not an atom of formality, so that the guests felt at their ease immediately. Everybody laughing and chatting as they enjoyed the well-cooked and appetizing viands. Arabella, in particular, had brought in a ravenous appetite from the park, so that she was almost ashamed of eating so very much, especially as Marion scarcely took anything at all.

The luncheon over, she went off with Marion and the negro nurse to the playroom, where were every conceivable kind of books and toys. They had a glorious time playing together, and the nurse told them stories, and they talked, the eager, speculative talk in which children indulge, embracing past, present and future. They had very soon confided to each other every detail of their history. Arabella, after what Mrs. Christie had said, did not actually invite Marion to come to Kenoosha; but she threw out vague hints, hoping that matters might in some way be arranged, and feeling quite sure that neither Mr. Frederick nor his daughter would mind very much if the paint were worn off or the carpets threadbare. She even decided in her own mind upon a very sunny and cheerful room in the homestead, which might be got ready for Marion, if Mr. Christie would consent. And Silas, as Arabella knew, was not an inhospitable man, and would most likely welcome these people who had been kind to his wife. Arguing thus, with the shrewd and precocious wisdom which circumstances had given her, she felt quite hopeful that her desire in this case might be fulfilled.

Marion's imagination immediately took fire at the thought of cool, shady woods, meadows and lanes, where wild flowers grew in abundance, though, as she said, pathetically, somebody else would have to pick them for her, and bushes loaded with berries and a lake, whereon boats were constantly plying. Marion had quite made up her mind to visit Kenoosha the next summer, and only deplored that so many months must intervene. And she said so to her father.

"You must come and visit us," declared Mrs. Christie, charmed at the hospitable reception she had met with in that delightful household, "you and your father, too, if you won't mind our plain, homely ways."

"I think you will be almost certain to see us in Kenoosha this summer," agreed Mr. Frederick, reserving to himself the option of accepting or declining the proffered hospitality, as circumstances might dictate, "and I know Marion will begin to count the days from this time on."

Always, when the three got back to Miss Alicia's flat, they were like birds flying homeward to a nest, glad of the quiet after the roar and bustle of the thoroughfares, the strange sights and sounds. That evening, however, Arabella could talk of nothing but Marion. She had begun to like and to feel friendly with her other cousins, but she had taken little Marion into her inmost heart, whence she was never to be dislodged. And Marion felt towards the newly arrived relative as she had never felt towards any of those others whom, brought up as she was herself, she had known all her life. Arabella seemed to bring with her the freshness and breeziness of the country, the marked individuality and the power of sympathy, so often born of adversity. Her intelligence had been quickened by circumstances, her views of life were new; even her speech was original. And because of these things she proved attractive to many, and straightway won this particular cousin's affection and consequently that of the father.