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

“Yes, we’ll take him something, Beth. Come and help me prepare it.”

Beth needed no urging. In her heart were all the gifts of hospitality and kindliness. She ran to the closet at Adee’s request and brought out the best currant jelly and a bottle of grape juice. There was cream and all the dainties a good cook may have on hand to tempt a sick man. Then they made their way to the sick man’s house. On the way, they met Sam Houston. It is strange that it always happens so. One’s best intentions are often misunderstood. Adee realized that when she made up her mind to visit at the log house and do what she could to relieve the sufferings of the sick. She was not at all surprised at Sam’s knowing look and sage wagging of the head.

“He’s a pretty good-looking fellow, Liza. I thought he’d take your eye.”

“Did you really think? I’m glad something has put your brain-cells into play, Sam.”

She was vexed with herself the moment she had spoken. Because Sam was narrowminded and misinterpreting her action was no reason why she should be sarcastic. She should have had strength and ability to rise above it.

“I’m sorry I spoke as I did, Beth. Nothing is gained by letting oneself down to that.”

They had come to the hut. Eliza paused at the door. Since she as a child had come there to pick wild blackberries, she had not been so close. She remembered it as a miserable old place. The atmosphere had changed. The low, broad windows, close to the roof, swung outward. The logs formed a wide sill. Here were boxes glorious with blooming flowers. Outside, the logs had been covered with a stain or paint which gave them the appearance of being artistically weathered. The tramp had heard her footsteps and called to her to enter.

The interior was divided into two rooms. Eliza paused on the threshold. The fireplace had a great oak log. The plank floor was hidden with skins. The walls had been washed with something that made them a golden brown. A great table of some dark wood stretched its length near the low windows. There was an alcohol-kettle and chafing-dish of brass. Rough pine shelves of the same restful hue as the walls were filled with books. A violin and bow lay on the table. There were piles of music and magazines everywhere. The master himself was seated in an easy-chair by the fireplace. He arose when Eliza and Beth entered.

“I’m not surprised. I felt that you and Beth would be here the instant you knew of the doctor’s visit. I was tramping through the snow and had an accident, and lay for a while in the snow. That’s left me with a cold and a touch of fever.”

His cheeks were flushed. Eliza bade him go back to his chair.

“I will if you will give me a glass of grape juice at once. You see, Miss Eliza, I know what you have there without my looking in the basket. Better than grape juice even will be a cup of good coffee and a poached egg. I’ll sit here, Miss Eliza, and let you wait upon me. You don’t know how good it is to be waited upon. I’ve never had any of it in my life, and I’ve always wanted it.”

Eliza set about it at once. Beth sat down on a low, rough footstool at the fireplace. The conversation drifted on until the man found himself telling of the foreign cities he had visited. He knew where the Aztecs had set up their civilization; he had watched the crocodiles show their ugly jaws on the banks of the Ganges.

“It must have taken a great deal of money to visit all those places,” Eliza paused in her serving.

“Not when one is a tramp. The country roads, thank heaven, are free, and when one has a good pair of feet – .” His eyes danced merrily as he looked at Eliza, who found herself blushing and turned aside that he might not observe it.

But his expression was neither one of amusement nor merriment, as his eyes followed her movements. She worked so easily and deftly, wholly unconscious that she was doing anything, just as her attitude had been about her story writing.

“I have always longed to travel,” she said at last. “I presume every one has the same longing. I have seen no large cities and I am ashamed to say that I have never seen a steamer. I should dearly love to start out with some good friend and go where I wish and stay until I am ready to leave.”

The man looked down at the log which was just about to break in the middle. “I can read your future and I see that your wish will be fulfilled. I see in the coals all that will transpire.” He spoke so earnestly and kept his eyes on the fire as though he really read something in the embers. Eliza paused in the act of pouring coffee and let her glance follow his.

He paused. “Yes,” exclaimed Eliza eagerly, for she wished him to continue, “Yes.”

“Before the year is out your desire will be realized. I am a true prophet and I read aright. You will see great cities. You will view the wonders of the world. You will be a guest in palaces. You will be feasted and feted everywhere.”

“It sounds beautiful. I only hope it will come true.”

“And I will go with you, Adee!” cried Beth, clapping her hands. “Good, good. We’ll have a perfectly ‘kertish’ time.”

The man shook his head. “As I read the signs, you will not be with Adee. I cannot read your future; but you will not be with Adee – not all the time.”

“I should not like to go alone,” said Adee, “I’m very much afraid that would not be pleasant. Could you not read another story in the coals, and let Beth be my companion?”

“I cannot change it. It is written there. To be frank, I would not do so if I could. No fear that you will be lonely. You will not wish Beth with you when you start on the journey, for your companion will be dearer to you than even Beth is.”

“Impossible. Beth is – ” Eliza had turned and looked at the man as she spoke. Words failed her. Something, she knew not what, kept her from saying that Beth would always be the dearest one to her.

The subject was getting too personal to please her. She turned from the two at the fireside and poured the coffee and brought it to the sick man. She did not raise her eyes. She did not look at him. The silence was constrained. Even Beth, who could not understand many things, felt that.

“Why is every one suddenly glum,” she cried at last. “Talking and laughing one minute and then as quiet as mice. I’ll tell you this, though. Nothing will keep me away from Adee. If she goes abroad to see strange sights, I’ll go too.”

“No, I think not.” He shook his head dubiously.

“It’s beyond my power to change what I have read. You could not go, Beth. A little bit of a girl as you are. You would not be able to stand it. It will be a sort of ‘tramp’ trip.” He laughed and looked toward Eliza, who was drawing on her great coat. “Come, Beth, it is time to move homeward,” she said.

CHAPTER XVI

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

The same mail bore another letter. Miss Good, the president of the school, had written her, asking her to be one in the receiving line at the Club reception which would be held in the parlors of the Point Breeze. The hotel was filled with summer guests, many of whom were club members elsewhere, and the affair was planned that they might meet each other.

Eliza’s writings were appearing in different periodicals. She knew not how they got in print. She wrote them merely. The man at the Oliver place managed the business and brought the checks to her. She had won quite a little fame and her name had become known over the country. This was the reason that she had been asked to receive in line. Some of the younger girls were to act as aids. Beth was popular in school. She was always sunshiny, and took things as they were without looking for trouble. She had never felt a distinction of class or clothes and treated every one with fairness and justice. She and Sally Monroe had kept up their intimacy. With Helen these made a trio as unlike as could be and as companionable and full of life as any one could wish.

Carrie Laire and Tilly were friends also, but never within the inner circle. Carrie was yet the interrogation point and Tilly the animated price list.

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

“Don’t be so frolicsome,” cried Eliza. “Really, Beth, you make me think of the young goats which we used to watch up on Goat Hill. They always jumped about in just such fashion as you are doing now.”

“I’m capricious, Adee. Capra is really Latin for goat. Then if one gambols around like a goat, one is capricious.”

They were both excited and could scarcely eat their evening meal. There was 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 have money enough from the stories. Haven’t you, Adee?”

“Yes,” slowly, “but a new dress would cost a great deal. Perhaps, I had better 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 they are sold will change them to make them fit. You could go and buy a dress. You could easily get one to fit you. You’re just the right size to be easily fitted. You could go in one day. I could stay at home. I wouldn’t be afraid. I could ask Sally to come over. But then, maybe, I’d better go with you. You couldn’t see how it would fit, and I’d tell you perfectly honest. I want you to look perfectly ‘scrumptious.’ I’m just positive, Adee, that you’ll be the sweetest woman there.”

“Beth, you are a flatterer. You’d make me vain as vain could be, if I listen to you. I’ll promise you this: if I go to Williamsport, you shall go with me. I’ll consider the matter.”

“It is only ten days, Adee. I would not consider too long. A soft white dress with a train – ”

Beth sighed with satisfaction. In her mind’s eyes she saw Adee looking like the Princess in the fairy tale.

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

“I can scarcely wait. It’s weeks yet,” cried Beth. “I’ve never been to a really grown-up party. I know it will be simply grand. I wish it was this very evening.”

“Nonsense, that would give you no time to get your party togs. They tell me that for such affairs, women ‘dike’ themselves out as fine as peacocks. Gowns with trains coming after them like an afterthought, gloves up to the elbow. No, no, Beth, it is well for you that the reception is not tonight. It takes time to prepare one’s togs for events as big as this will be.”

Eliza, keen as she naturally was, never knew why he had spoken so. He knew how narrow and hemmed-in her social life had been. He would not have her go dressed unsuitably and made to feel ill at ease and out of place among other women. Eliza accepted it as a random remark but profited by it nevertheless.

“We’re going to look fine,” laughed Beth. “Adee and I have a plan. We’ll not tell you. We’ll keep it as a state secret until we burst upon you in all 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’m going away tomorrow. The boards will go up on the log house again for – I cannot say how long.”

“Going to leave?” Eliza was foolish enough to feel a strange sinking of the heart.

“Isn’t this departure rather unexpected?”

“I always take to the woods and roads when fair weather sets in. I should have gone weeks ago. Now some of my old friends have warned me that the time has come to cut loose and show a good pair of heels. You see, Miss Eliza, not even a year of happy domesticity can make me break old habits. I’m starting out to visit old places. New cities have no attraction for me. By daylight, I’ll be off.”

He took up his milk-jug and was off. He had not even said good-bye or thanked Eliza for the little kindnesses she had shown him. Yet she felt herself his debtor. He had given her life a new impulse. He had opened a new line of work. Her pen would help her provide for her own old age and educate Beth. More than that, she found joy in expressing herself. She had gone from the beaten path, and had found the glorious possibilities which 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 song nor whistling was heard from the Oliver log house. The windows and door had been boarded up. Already the place had an appearance of being abandoned.

“It makes me feel queer – sort of lonesome,” said Beth. “I wonder if we’ll ever see him again. I thought he was very nice, Adee. I think I never met any other man that I liked quite so well. I wish he had not gone. I wish he would come back and live here forever. We’ll miss him dreadfully. 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 as though the little god Time had hung leaden balls on his feet. Beth counted the nights between. They passed at last. The evening of the Woman’s Club reception was at hand. Adee had yielded to Beth and bought a soft white gown of embroidered mull. It was just a little low at the neck and the sleeves ended in soft lace frills, just at the elbow. Best of all to Beth’s way of thinking, there was a little sweep to it. The ruffles of val lace floated about Eliza’s feet. Beth had put up her hair so that it was loose about the forehead and in a great coil like a crown upon 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 thing there, Adee. Oh, I’m glad I belong to you. Put on your gloves. Sally says to let the tops wrinkle; not to draw them tight. There.”

Beth wore a simple white frock that had been made for the senior reception. When she had finished dressing, she came to the door of Eliza’s room with a little box in her hand.

“Adee – I’ll have no gloves, you know. The girls do not intend to wear them; but Sally and Helen both wear rings. Don’t you think it would be all right if I would wear these?” She opened the box, and taking out the rings which she believed belonged to the woman who had been killed when Old Prince had taken fright, she held them up for Eliza to 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 wear them, Adee?”

Eliza considered. “The only thing against your wearing them is that they might be lost. You may need them sometime if you ever meet your own people. You know that I have always had a feeling, Beth, that sometime you’ll find, somewhere, sisters or brothers; perhaps you have a father living.”

“It’s strange he did not try to find me. Sometime, I feel, Adee, that no one but my mother wanted me. When she was killed, no one came. If any one 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 one looked for me, Adee. I’m to be your girl always and forever, Adee. No one else ever wanted me, it seems.” She smiled up at Eliza. She was really very happy and contented. Only a few times had she permitted herself to think that she was without kin of any kind. Sometimes she longed 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 had made up her mind that she would make neither her foster-mother nor herself miserable about that which could not be remedied. She stood looking at Eliza with an appealing look in her eyes.

“Well, I presume it really will make no difference. They are your rings and you are surely old enough now to take care of them. Wear them if you wish, Beth.”

CHAPTER XVII

The reception parlors were massed with ferns, palms and roses. The soft strains of an orchestra floated through the rooms. There were men in full dress and women in soft-tinted gowns, moving about like a swarm of gay butterflies. The receiving line was made up of a dozen women. Miss Ellis stood at the head, next to her was Mrs. Laurens who was an officer in the National Federation of the Club. Then came Eliza. They had barely time to take their places before the guests began making their way from the dressing-rooms on the floor above. A colored man, in full evening dress, 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 in line, and so each one passed on. There were so many that the names became but a jumble to Eliza. “Dr. James Smith, Mrs. Ellington Roche, Miss Brown,” and so on. She smiled, shook hands and handed the guest on to 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 was addressing her personally. “Miss Wells, permit me to introduce Dr. William Barnes Hillis, the scientist. He has asked to be introduced. I am surprised that you have not met before. Dr. Hillis has been in your neighborhood for a year, living the life of a hermit in order that he might finish his new book and win new laurels.”

Eliza extended her hand. Speech failed her. She looked up into the laughing eyes of the “tramp.” He was dressed in conventional evening dress.

“Miss Wells, I am delighted to meet you.” His smile was radiant. Eliza could 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 no one else might hear, and then moved along the line.

The greater number of guests had arrived. There was time for a word between the hostesses. Mrs. Laurens turned to Eliza. “I’m sure you will like Hillis – I presume I should say Dr. Hillis. He is authority on plant life and has delved deep into all kindred sciences. He shut himself up somewhere in the wilds the last year in order to devote his time to writing. He dropped in upon us last night and demanded that I give him a card to the reception. He told me something else. He’s going to make a tour of the eastern countries. I think he starts early in the fall. He’s not going alone. He told me that the prospective Mrs. Hillis would be here tonight, and defied me to discover her.”

“Yes – how – interesting – romantic.” Eliza did not recognize her own voice. It was hollow, stilted, false.

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

In a room adjoining, the young girls were serving fruit punch from a side-table. Helen and Sallie were ladling it from a bowl hidden among flowers and ferns. Beth and Carrie Laire were hidden amid masses of cut roses. 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 the flower on his coat. Beth’s face had been turned away. She was selecting a fine half-blown rose for Mrs. Laurens. She turned to present it. Her hands with their peculiar old-fashioned rings were brought into evidence.

“Will you have a rose?” Mrs. Laurens did not answer. She stood as though transfixed, 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 came crowding closer. Eliza and Dr. Hillis, fearing that something had happened to Beth, hurried forward. There stood Mrs. Laurens clutching Beth’s hands and crying out, “The rings! The rings are mine. I must know where you got them, child.”

Dr. Hillis was the first to understand. He came to them. “You and Beth come with me into this little private parlor. We can explain better there.” Taking them by the arm, he led them away. “Come with us,” he said to Eliza. She followed. The door closed upon them, and there the explanation was given.

Very simple of course it was. Mrs. Laurens was Beth’s mother, to be sure. 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, a Swedish servant who had been with the family for years and who dearly loved Beth.

Mr. Laurens was taken ill during the winter and was in the hospital. A few weeks later, his wife was taken with the same low-running fever. The physician forbade their being moved north to their home. The little child could not be left in a hotel in a servant’s care. There was a risk in staying in the infected region. The only thing to be done was to send the child and nurse north to friends.

Mrs. Laurens wore several rings which had come down to her from her mother’s people. She was ill in the hospital. Fearing that the rings might be lost, she instructed Bena to take them home with her. At Baltimore, the Swedish woman had become confused. She asked for information as to the best way to “Yamestown,” as she called it. Her pronunciation was foreign. Instead of selling her a ticket and checking her baggage to the right destination, the man in his hurry misunderstood and sent her hundreds of miles out of her way. She had realized her mistake when the train reached Farwell. She had left the train there and was 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 too ill to be conscious of the lapse of time. When they began the search all trace was lost, even the newspaper accounts had gone astray.

—

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

She slipped away, leaving the mother and daughter together. She could not face the people in the drawing-room. She slipped into the open corridor, where the palms hid her from view and the lights were low. Here she stood leaning against the heavy columns which supported the ceiling.

“She was glad – so glad for Beth,” she told herself. She repeated it mechanically as though she would force herself to believe that she really was glad.

“I’m glad – for Beth. I’m glad for Beth that she has a real mother.” It was her lips only which said it. How could she go back to the lonely house? How could she sit down to her meals alone? How could she live without her little girl?

She tried bravely to keep back the tears, but they gathered in her eyes and fell down her cheeks. She choked back a sob. She could not reenter the room and face the people. She would go home alone. Alone – she could not 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. She controlled herself and said with what brightness she could, “Not troubled; lonely. Beth has found her mother. I am glad. That is, I am trying hard to be glad; but I cannot help the thought that I will be alone.”

“For that matter, so will I. Strange thing about this being alone. Just about the time one gets used to it, one finds that he simply cannot stand another day of it. I have been alone all my life, but I never realized 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. Silence was the only thing. Eliza felt that he was looking at her, keenly, but she did not raise her eyes.