Dorothy's Tour

“Take your violin, dear, and hurry. The ’phone is ringing now and I guess that is them. Yes, it is,” said Aunt Betty, answering the call.

“Good-bye, all, for just a little while. You all be early,” called Dorothy, as she left the room.

After a remarkably fine dinner at the Hotel Astor, which the girls enjoyed immensely, they all drove to the Hippodrome. Mr. Ludlow led the girls inside and showed them where they were to sit while they waited for their turn to play or sing. There were many, many people in a large room and Mr. Ludlow told them they were the artists and their friends, but that presently all that were to take part would meet in the room where the girls were. He left them there for a few minutes and went away to find out if they had been given their places on the list. He found their numbers were five and six, Ruth being five. He came back, told the girls this and then left them to themselves till their turns came. They sat still, not saying much but enjoying all the people about them, – some of them seemed to them so queer.

Finally it was Ruth’s turn to sing. Slowly she got up, walked to the entrance and on the stage. She rendered her simple song, “Still vie die Nochte” very well, and amid a volley of applause, left the stage. She could not give an encore so she simply walked to the front again and bowed.

Dorothy, listening, had heard all and was preparing for her task, tuning her violin. Just then Ruth, returning, whispered in her ear, “Good luck,” as she passed her.

Dorothy turned and smiled at her new friend, and then proceeded forward to the stage, violin in hand. One brief glimpse she caught of the crowded house, and she thought she had never seen so many, many people before.

The Hippodrome is very large, the stage being one of the largest in the world, and the seating capacity being many thousands. So you see there were a great number of people there. The house was over-crowded, as naturally every one was interested in the home for blind babies, and the talent of the evening had called forth a very large attendance.

Slowly Dorothy raised her violin and started the initial strain of the melody. The beautiful “Southern Airs” appealed to many, as there were a large number of southerners present that night. Played by the beautiful girl, it made the old go back in memory to days that were the happiest in their lives. They longed for the South; the large plantations, the beautiful gardens, the spacious, old, rambling houses, the darkies playing on their violins in the moonlight, the cabins with the little pickaninies disporting in front – all of these and more dreams floated vividly before them, inspired by the wonderful music.

Then softly, very softly the music fell from the violin, the sweet strains of “Dixie,” when suddenly a piercing shriek, another, still another, rent the air. People turned pale. Some started to rise from their seats. A woman or two fainted.

Then another and more awful shriek, which sounded as if some one was being murdered. The people in their seats hesitated! Was it fire? Was someone being robbed, or murdered, or what? In a single second a great restlessness took possession of them all, tending to make of the crowd an angry mob, and panic a possible result.

Dorothy from her place on the stage for a moment was rooted immovable to the spot. She looked in the direction from which the screams came and saw a man throw up his hands and shriek again. It was the man who played the trombone in the orchestra. He threw his instrument in the air and turned as white as chalk, then stiffened out and began to froth at the mouth.

In a moment she knew that the man had convulsions. She had somewhere seen someone in a similar state. The orchestra had suddenly stopped playing. Out in the audience she saw a sight that terrified her more than she would admit to herself. One thought raced through her brain. She, she alone might – nay must – prevent a panic; people were becoming more excited every moment.

Instinct of some sort made her grasp her violin and raise it. Then she knew what to do. Without accompaniment, in clear, sweet tones she played “America.” Slowly the people rose, rose to pay their respects to their national hymn, patriotism immediately conquering all fear. While she played the poor trombone player was carried out to receive medical attention. All through the three verses of the hymn Dorothy held the audience, and then as she finished and the curtain fell, the house broke out in thunderous applause, for now they realized what this girl had done, what possibilities she had saved them from. So insistent was the applause that Dorothy had to stop in front of the curtain again and again.

CHAPTER IX.

A DREAD CALL IN THE NIGHT

The next day Dorothy was ill as the result of the strain of the previous evening, and when Mr. Ludlow and Ruth called they found her resting on the couch in the living room. Ruth was eager to talk of the happenings of the night before, but Mr. Ludlow restrained her, saying:

“Dorothy, I am very proud of you, and I want to thank you for what you did last night. The morning papers are full of the news of the events of last night, and now every place you go you will be doubly welcomed and given hearty receptions. It was a very good thing for us as it has given you advance press notices, which are superior and more convincing than anything I could put in for you. You will probably get all kinds of letters from people wanting you to play at private concerts, but keep them, my dear, as sometimes they come in very handy, and you never can tell when you can use them.

“But for the present you must rest, that is, to-day and to-morrow. Tuesday we start on the noon train for Washington, so be prepared and on time. Ruth has much packing to do likewise, so we will go now and leave you to yourself.”

“Oh, can’t I stay and talk?” interrupted Ruth eagerly. “There are so many things I want to talk to Dorothy about.”

“No. I guess you had better go home and pack up. You know I want you to go to church to-night. There is to be a musical service at St. Bartholomew’s that I want you to hear,” added Mr. Ludlow.

“Can’t we all go?” questioned Ruth.

“I think Dorothy is better off home, here,” rejoined Aunt Betty. “She had better stay here and rest, just for to-day. Then you see, she has to pack and shop a little to-morrow.”

“I would like to go,” Alfy chimed in. “I just love church music, it is so grand, so very impressive and kind of awe inspiring.”

“All right,” answered Mr. Ludlow, “suppose you do. You can bring Jim with you, if he would care to come.”

“I know I should enjoy the services very much,” responded Jim, not very enthusiastically, but so long as he couldn’t be with Dorothy he could sit there and think of her, and Alfy was so anxious to go it would be unkind to refuse.

“Well, you two meet us there,” said Mr. Ludlow, and turning to Ruth, “Come along, my dear.”

“Good-bye, all,” said Ruth, and they departed.

Dorothy and Aunt Betty stayed home as arranged, while Jim and Alfy attended church, returning to the hotel just as Aunt Betty and Dorothy were about to retire.

“Oh, Dorothy,” exclaimed Alfy, eagerly, “you ought to have gone, you missed such a lot. The music was so beautiful. I just know that an organ has locked up in those big pipes the finest music in the world. It’s so solemn and impressive it most made me cry.”

“But you forget the wonderful singing,” interrupted Jim. “They had a full choir, and the voices of so many young boys sounded like the voices of angels. And as they played the recessional and marched out, the singing grew softer and softer, and sounded as if it were coming from Heaven indeed.”

Dorothy did not say anything at this, but looked at Jim earnestly.

“I am glad you enjoyed the services. Yes, the Episcopal services, I do think, are the most impressive of all denominations,” said Aunt Betty.

“Did you see Ruth and Mr. Ludlow?” asked Dorothy, turning to Alfy. She was afraid to look at Jim for fear of seeing something in his eyes she felt she had no right at that time to see.

“Yes, we met them in time, and they both wished to be remembered to you and Aunt Betty, and hoped you were feeling rested now,” answered Alfy.

“Come, let’s go to bed now, dears,” said Aunt Betty. “We all have to do a lot to-morrow and must get up real early.” With that they all retired to rest till the morrow. That at least was their expectation, but soon there was to materialize a different aspect to affairs. New York, even at night, is a noisy place, so it is little wonder that when the cries of “Fire,” “Fire,” rent the air, few heard and the few who did hear paid not much attention.

But when someone knocked on Mrs. Calvert’s door with a terrific thud, and yelled, “Fire! Fire! All out! Use stairs to the left!” all three, Aunt Betty, Dorothy and Alfy, were out of their beds with unhesitating promptness, and remarkably scared at that.

“Fire! Fire!” rang through the air, and they could hear the bell-boys thump, thump, thump on each door.

“Put on your slippers and kimona and come at once!” commanded Aunt Betty, suiting actions to her words. “Come, Alfy, Dorothy, this way out!”

Very quickly, indeed, the girls, too bewildered to do much else but obey orders, followed close by, Alfy picking up her hat and a few other articles as she ran through her room.

“This way, ladies,” called the bell-boy. “This way. No danger, only it’s best to get out. Use this stair.”

Aunt Betty and the girls quickly gained the stairs, and ran down as fast as they could, one after the other. On reaching the main floor they heard the call of another attendant. “All step outside and across the street.” So they followed quietly on and outside till they stood on the opposite side of the street.

There were assembled a couple of hundred people, mainly guests of the hotel, most of them more or less asleep and very scantily clothed in garments hastily assumed. Some of the women and children were sobbing, and most of them shivering. Looking up at the hotel, Dorothy tried to locate just where the fire was. She finally discovered a little flame and smoke curling up from the wing of the hotel, not where their rooms were, but far above, near the top floors. Quickly she ran her eye down and counted the floors, finding that the fire was on the tenth and eleventh floors.

Suddenly it came to her that her priceless violin, her precious Cremona, was back there in their rooms on the seventh floor. Suddenly she slipped away from Aunt Betty and started toward the building. Swiftly she made her way through the crowd, and very quietly passed the firemen and bell-boys who stood about the entrance to the burning building. In a second she was past them, and on her way up the long stairs as she knew that the elevators were not running, and would not take her up if they were. She felt sure that she could get to the room and return with safety without being missed.

In the meantime, Jim, who had not awakened at the first alarm, almost frantic at not being able to discover Aunt Betty and the girls, was wandering in and out of the crowd, scanning the faces of everyone very carefully, trying vainly to find the ones he loved best in all this wide, wide world. Suddenly a hand grasped his arm and a voice said, “Jim, Jim, we have been looking for you. Where have you been?” and Jim turned and saw it was Aunt Betty that spoke.

“What do you think of the fire?” she continued. “Do you think it is going to be real serious?”

“No. But one can hardly tell. I should judge that with the capable fire service that New York has, so fully equipped and strictly up-to-date, that they could get it under entire control with possible danger to only a couple of floors,” answered Jim.

“Then, maybe our floor will not be burned at all?” inquired Alfy.

“I hope not,” answered Aunt Betty.

Just then Jim turned to look at the girl, for she stood directly in back of Aunt Betty, and catching sight of her he laughed outright. “Why, Alfy, what have you there?” he exclaimed.

A funny sight, indeed, was Alfy, her little bedroom slippers of red just peeping out from under her bright pink kimona which she had slipped on over her night dress, and a bright red hat in her hand.

“My hat,” answered Alfy. “My best new hat. I saw it lying on the table so I picked it up as I passed. I couldn’t bear to think of losing it. It’s my favorite color and here it is.” She placed the hat on her head and laughed as she did so. Aunt Betty turned and laughed, too, and so did many of the people around them.

The girl looked funny indeed with the kimona and the hat. Her long, abundant growth of hair was braided down her back in two huge braids tied at the ends with blue hair ribbons which had long been discarded from day use. The red hat topping all looked as if the fire itself was there in their midst.

“Great heavens!” exclaimed Aunt Betty, suddenly. “Where is Dorothy? Where is she?” Whereat faintness overcame her, and she dropped helpless upon the sidewalk. Jim caught and held her in his young strong arms, and carried her over to a chair that had been brought out of the hotel. Here he put her in the care of a young matron, who had kindly offered assistance, and was aiding Alfy. Being sure that she was safe and well cared for, he quickly began to look for Dorothy. In a few seconds he ran through the crowd, his heart sinking, as he could not locate her anywhere.

Then he thought she might have gone back to the burning building. The thought of her, the girl he loved, up there in that dangerous place nearly drove him frantic. Quickly he rushed past the fire lines, yelling to the policemen who would have delayed him perhaps, when every moment was precious. He must find her. His Dorothy must be saved.

“There is someone in there I must save!” he shouted to those he passed.

He hurried on and ran into the building. First he went toward the elevator, but seeing no one there, turned and ran for the stairs. Quickly he mounted them quickly – indeed he ran! Up those seven long flights of stairs he went with an energy he never called forth before. As he neared their floor he saw that the fire had in some few places broken through to the seventh floor, and realized that he could go no higher, and had but a few moments more.

“Dorothy! Dorothy!” he called out. He thought he heard a very faint answer from her and rushed madly onward. He could not see, and was choked by the thickening smoke. Finding his way into the bath room he opened the window, then he picked up two large towels and hastily wet them with cold water. One of those he wrapped about his head, and then he called again. She answered faintly, and then he found the girl, her precious violin in her hands. She choked with the smoke, and was all out of breath from her long race up the many flights of stairs.

“Jim,” she sobbed. “I just had to get this. I couldn’t leave my violin up here,” and fell into his arms.

“Come girl,” said Jim, sternly. “Here, put this around your face, so,” and he carefully adjusted the wet towel he had provided for the purpose.

“Now, follow me, and give me your hand.”

Just outside the doors the smoke was very dense.

“Lay down and creep!” ordered Jim, “and give me your violin.”

He took the violin and forced Dorothy down and beside him so that their heads would be close to the floor. As you doubtless know, smoke rises, and the place freest from smoke would be the lowest possible one. Thus they crept until they reached the stair.

“Stand up, now,” commanded Jim, “and take the violin again.” Then he took her in his arms and rapidly made his way down, till they had passed the zone of danger. Here for one brief moment he held the girl in his arms, murmuring lowly, “Thank God, darling, you are safe now.”

Then they quickly made their way to the place where he had left Aunt Betty and Alfy.

There sat Mrs. Calvert, pale but calm. On seeing her, Dorothy rushed into her aunt’s arms, and explained, “Dear Aunt Betty, I just went back after my violin. I couldn’t let it stay in there and get burned. And Jim came after me and saved me.”

“Dear, dear child, don’t you know how foolish that was to do? Why you are far more precious to me than any violin, no matter how priceless it may be.”

Just then they heard a voice calling the crowd to attention. It was the manager of the hotel, making an announcement. He told the people that while the firemen had the fire well in control, it was considered safest for none of the guests to return to their rooms until the morning, when it would be entirely safe. The Hotel Breslin, he informed them, would accommodate them for the night, and was but a few doors away.

The people began to follow his instructions at once, and the clerks at the Hotel Breslin were soon very busy apportioning rooms to them. All were very shortly trying to overcome their worries sufficiently to enable them to regain the sleep they had lost.

The fire had been caused by the carelessness of some of the servants of the hotel in dropping lighted matches on the floor, the servants’ apartments being in the top of the building. It was therefore hoped that little damage had been done to the property of the guests.

CHAPTER X.

THE LOCKET

The next morning, quite late, for it was nearly ten o’clock, Aunt Betty and the two girls arose. The hotel people had arranged to have the breakfasts sent up to all the unfortunate ones, and otherwise made them as comfortable as possible.

The trio breakfasted and Aunt Betty suggested, “Dorothy, dear, I think it would be a wise idea to telephone over to the hotel and find out if any of our things were left unharmed by the fire, and ask, too, if we might come back there now.”

“Yes, Aunt Betty,” answered Dorothy, as she started for the ’phone. She talked over the wire for several minutes, then returning to her aunt and Alfy said, “They say that some of our things have not been spoiled at all, but that the rooms are a complete wreck, because the firemen broke all the windows when they stopped the fire at that point. We have been given a suite on the second floor, and all the things which belong to us have been moved down there.”

“Ah,” interrupted Alfy. “I am so glad there are some things left. I was afraid we would have to go about all day in blankets and look like Indian squaws.”

“No, indeed,” answered Dorothy. “They are going to send us in our coats, so that we can get to the carriage that they have placed at the disposal of the guests and be driven right to the door.”

“They have certainly tried to be as considerate as possible to all their guests,” said Mrs. Calvert.

“Here,” said Dorothy, answering a loud knock at the door, “here are our coats now.”

“Come, let us see what we have left, for I feel sure that we will have to hurry and get more clothes for you girls if we have to start for Washington very soon,” rejoined Mrs. Calvert.

They all slipped on their outer garments, and very quickly were carried downstairs by the elevator. They hurried into their carriage and very soon were located in their new suite of rooms.

“Oh, just look, Aunt Betty!” exclaimed Dorothy. “See, the trunks we packed last night with all our good things are all right. The water never leaked through at all.”

“That saves us a good deal of trouble and expense, doesn’t it? I certainly thought that all three of us would have to be fitted out entirely again. I am very, very glad that we were so fortunate,” answered Aunt Betty.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Alfy. “Oh, dear, just see! Isn’t it too bad that I didn’t stay home and pack instead of going to church with Jim last night. All I have in my trunk is the two white dresses you made me at Bellevieu before we started on the trip, and my raincoat. Oh! Oh! Oh! And I forgot all about it. I intended to show it to you right away as soon as I reached Bellevieu. I begged Ma Babcock so for it, and then to think I clean forgot it! Ah, she will be so disappointed to know I forgot it.”

“Why, Alfy child,” remonstrated Aunt Betty. “What are you talking about? There now, calm yourself and tell me.”

“It’s this,” replied Alfy, holding up a piece of linen about a foot square, “this sampler. I found it in an old box in the closet of the spare room Ma had fixed up in the barn, when I was searching for my raincoat just before I left home. Ma said a school friend, a little Baltimore girl who was ‘up Mounting’ summering, and who fell ill and stayed all winter and went to school with Ma, made it for her.” And Alfy handed the square of linen to Mrs. Calvert. Aunt Betty took it up and carefully examined it while Dorothy looked over her shoulder and tried to see it too.

“Why,” exclaimed Mrs. Calvert, “this is beautiful work! Just beautiful! And what is the name? Dorothy dear, will you see if you can find my glasses? I put them in my work bag, which I put in the tray of the trunk. Yes, way down in the right hand corner.”

Dorothy crossed over to the trunk and immediately found the desired bag, and opening it took out the glasses. “Here they are, Aunt Betty,” she said, handing them to her.

Aunt Betty put the glasses on and proceeded carefully to examine the sampler.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I have it now! The name is in this corner, and as far as I can make it out is ‘Hannah.’ ‘Hannah’ something. ‘Morrow.’ Maybe that’s it.”

“Let me see,” interrupted Dorothy, “maybe I can make it out. I think the first letter is ‘W,’ not ‘M,’” and turning to Alfy, “what did Ma Babcock say about the name?”

“Ma said that it was Hannah somebody, and that she was a poor sickly girl. She lived in Baltimore and married a man who did not treat her well, and died shortly after. I forget what she said her last name was. But she said she married a man whose name was ‘Halley’ or ‘Haley,’” answered Alfy.

“Oh, Aunt Betty, I have it!” exclaimed Dorothy joyously. “I have it! It’s ‘Woodrow,’ ‘W-o-o-d-r-o-w, Woodrow.’”

“Yes, that’s it. I recollect, now, ma saying, ‘Hannah Woodrow,’” chimed in Alfy.

“I wonder,” said Aunt Betty, slowly, for she had been thinking, “I wonder if it could be? You see, little Lem, Lem Haley, had no mother or father, and just lived with his uncle, who abused him terribly. It was he we found that night in the forest when we were camping. Do you think it could be possible that this sampler was made by his mother? Poor, unfortunate woman.”

“Maybe we have some clue to work on now,” said Dorothy. “Wouldn’t it be odd if it was his mother who made this sampler? She could sew well if it was, for there are many hard and difficult stitches in that.”

“And,” added Alfy, “Ma said she was a rich girl; her folks had lots of money, ’cause she dressed so nicely. And they paid Grandma Brown good board, so ma said.”

“May I have the sampler, Alfy?” asked Mrs. Calvert.

“Yes, indeed,” answered Alfy. “Ma Babcock said for me to give it to you, as maybe you would be interested in it.”

“I am going to take it to my lawyer and see what he says about it. You say you think that Mrs. Haley, or Hannah Woodrow, is dead?” added Aunt Betty.

“Yes, ma said that she had not heard from her in so long that she was sure that the poor unfortunate lady was dead,” answered Alfaretta.

“I have felt all along that there was some dreadful catastrophe or mystery about little Lem. His uncle was such a hard, cruel man, and little Lem knew very little or nothing about his early life or parents. All that he knew was that he was bound out to this harsh and cruel man whom he called uncle, and made to work very hard, too hard, indeed, for a child, for his board,” remarked Aunt Betty.

“I do hope we can find out something about his people. He is such a good boy, and now he goes to school and he is such an apt pupil,” added Dorothy.

“Come now, we must dress and arrange our things and see what we need. You girls please dress as quickly as possible and each make out a list of what you have lost. In that way I can tell at a glance what is needed, and we can go shopping this afternoon. I will also send Jim to my lawyer with a note, and this sampler,” remarked Aunt Betty. And they all hurried away to dress.

Aunt Betty, finishing first, rang for Jim. Jim came to her and she said, “Jim, here is a sampler that Ma Babcock had and let Alfy bring to me. It was made by a girl named Hannah Woodrow, who married a man named Haley, who was cruel to her. It is supposed that the unfortunate woman died. The girl was a Baltimore girl who spent a year with Mrs. Babcock’s mother and attended school with Ma Babcock. She is thought to have been rich. I wonder if in any way she could have been related to little Lem Haley. We must try to trace up all facts and get to the bottom of things. I have written a letter, and I thought you would not mind taking it and the sampler to my lawyer.”