University of Virginia Library

5. ARABELLA OVERHEARS

Alicia's eyes were aglow with interest. Their expression said more than a whole volley of questions, while Mrs. Christie, settling herself more comfortably in her chair, pursued her narrative.

"Well, everything went on jest the same till a a week ago Tuesday. Then, jest as I was fussin' round with a squash pie I was gettin' into the oven, in comes a little man, sort of smart and dapper lookin'."

Alicia waited breathlessly.

"He walked right into the kitchen, where I was standin' with my hands in the flour, and he began to talk about Arabella. He beat around the bush some, and seemed as if he warn't too anxious to come out with what he had to say, until I up and told him to speak right out. He asked me Arabella's name. 'Christie,' says I. 'She ain't your daughter,' says he. 'No,' says I, 'she ain't.' 'And,' says he, 'her name ain't Christie.'"

"'She hain't got any other that I know of,' says I. 'We're comin' to that,' says he.

"Well, do you know that I felt kind of squeamish when he said them words, for the girl's a good girl, as girls go, and we've got used to her."

Alicia nodded, her eyes full of tears.

"'You got her,' said he, reading out of a notebook which he took from his pocket, 'on the 29th day of October, 18—, from Sister Mary Peter.'

"Well, I had to own up that we did, and the fellow went on reading. He said that they'd got there a description of the clothing that had come with the child, and which were in my keeping except one or two things that the Sisters had kept for the purpose of identifyin' her. When he asked me if I had got them clothes, I made answer that I had them that didn't wear out in the natural course of things. He asked then, cautious like, if I'd got any bit of jewelry, and after hemmin' and hawin' a little I owned that I'd a locket. He wanted to know if there were any marks on it, and at last I told him that there were three, A. R. A., which made me call the girl 'Arabella.' He laughed at that, and then he told me that he had some good news for the girl, and like as not for me, too, and that we'd hear from him in a day or two. I didn't ask him any more questions, for it ain't my way to pry into other folks' consarns."

"And you didn't find out what the good news was?" the little woman inquired, with glistening eyes and bated breath. "Why, the child might be — anybody."

"Well, we found out a good deal more since then," Mrs. Christie declared, shortly, as if the news were not altogether pleasing to her. It seems that the girl's father had married against his father's consent, and both himself and his young wife had died when their baby was only a few months old. The neighbors, not knowing what to do with the infant, sent it off to the Foundling Asylum with the clothes and the locket and some writing, to tell all they knew about the business. Well, the grandfather, when he found he was goin' to die, got sorry for what he'd done, and made a will, leaving a big pile of money to that there child, provided it was still livin' and could be found. Detectives got on to the story, and they traced Arabella to our house, and it seems she's got folks right here in New York, big bugs over on Fifth Avenue."

Alicia drew in her breath sharply. Her face was aglow. All the romance of her nature was up and astir.

"And her name ain't Arabella at all," added Mrs. Christie, "though Arabella I'll call her as long as I have anything to do with her."

"Isn't it wonderful!" cried the little woman. "Isn't it just like stories we read?"

"Well, I don't know as I ever read a story like that," Mrs. Christie dissented. "I ain't much of a reader, anyway, and I don't hold much with stories. Trash, they mostly is."

"And Arabella is really rich? An heiress?"

"Yes, jest about that. She's got a heap of money and a lot of rich relations."

Mrs. Christie relapsed into silence after she had said that, her ordinarily dull face expressive of some powerful emotion.

"And how did you feel when you heard everything?" the sister asked.

"Well, I was kinder set up at first," Mrs. Christie acknowledged. "It was most as if a fortune had been left to myself, and I began to think of things the money might get for me and for the house."

"Oh!" said Alicia, as if she were disappointed.

"Then," continued Mrs. Christie, "I began to remember that she'd got them rich relations, who would most likely take her away, and —" She stopped, staring into the fire, while her sister watched her eagerly.

"I jest wish they wouldn't," she declared.

"Because of the things?" the little woman asked in a low voice; then, impulsively laying her hand on her sister's arm, "Surely not on account of the things?"

"No," replied Mrs. Christie, "though it's natural that I'd hanker after them. But it ain't that, Alicia. It ain't that."

Alicia brightened up.

"It's kind o' lonesome down to the old place now. Silas Christie's beginnin' to put on the old man and he never was very lively at the best of times, and I ain't as young as I used to be, and I hate strangers 'round. Arabella, she's a good girl, and I'm fond of her, and I don't want to see her go away. So there."

She ended up defiantly, her rugged face working, and a sudden burst of tears — the first she had shed in many years — shaking her stony composure as a storm shakes the trees of the woods.

Alicia watched her in silence, wiping away sympathetic tears from her own eyes, and when the outburst of grief had spent itself she threw two little arms around her big sister's neck.

"I always knew you had a kind heart, Catherine," she said, "though you never were one to show your feelings."

And as Catherine Christie wiped her eyes and sniffled, striving by every means to regain her composure, and as Alicia smiled through her tears like the sun through a snow mist, and gulped and tried to speak, and gulped again, neither of the two was aware that that little scene had had a spectator, who was likewise an auditor.

Arabella, waking suddenly, bewildered by her strange surroundings, got out of bed in her long, white night dress, with her brown hair in a towsled mass on top of her head, and stole into the adjoining room. There she clearly perceived the two women sitting before the fire, and as she gradually began to realize who they were and where she was, she caught the sound of her own name. Almost involuntarily she stood, a fascinated listener, hearing with wonder and amazement the strange tale concerning her which Mrs. Christie unfolded. Until that moment, she vaguely knew that she had fallen heir to some money left by somebody, and had not at all realized that with the fortune she had come into possession of rich relations.

Her astonishment gave place to awe when she beheld the most wondrous sight of all — Mrs. Christie crying, and the little woman wiping sympathetic tears from her own eyes. Hitherto she had always believed that grown people never cried, and least of all, Mrs. Christie. Moreover, the sight touched a new and strange chord in her own kindly and generous nature, and she was deeply touched to hear the woman say that she would be lonesome for her, Arabella. For her, too, those tears were falling.

It marked a new era in her life, and the impression thus made upon her she never lost. She felt for the first time that someone really cared, and this knowledge had an important influence upon her future course of action. She did not, however, let the others know of her presence, but crept back to bed. There her attention was divided between the strange and unaccustomed noises without and the thrilling story she had heard. She repeated over and over to herself, as she lay awake, "I won't go to any rich relations. No, I won't. I'll stay with her, if she wants me."

And so resolving, she fell asleep, only to be awakened, next time, by the flood of morning sunshine which came streaming into her room through the chintz curtains. She thought for a moment she was dreaming, so oddly did the strange medley of noises, induced by the bustle of the thoroughfare, intensified now with the coming of day, break upon her ears. Amongst them all, however, she presently heard Alicia's chirping voice in the adjoining room, exclaiming: "Oh, sister, let the child sleep as long as she can. It will do her good, after the fatigue of the journey."

To which the curt, dry tones of Mrs. Christie responded:

"Alicia, you'd spoil Arabella in jest about a week. Why, she ain't never slept after six o'clock in her life."

Then Arabella remembered everything, and lost no time in getting up and dressing as quickly as possible. She went out into the dining room, where she was presently regaled with some of that delicious beverage now known to her as coffee, golden brown and piping hot, some buttered toast and crisp bacon. The little woman waited upon her as if she had been a princess, and solely from the goodness of her own heart, and in her delight at having a guest. These attentions were prompted by no other motive. A word here, a little act there, added to the comfort of both visitors, but especially to that of the little girl. Never in her life before, nor in her many after vicissitudes, did Arabella enjoy a more delightful experience than during her stay in those quarters over a shop, within a stone's throw of noisy, over-crowded Third Avenue.