The glowing golden October weather had given place to several lowering days. Furnaces and grates were started up, and overcoats brought out, and pedestrians hurried along. Even children did not stop to play, for now a cold drizzle had set in.

It was very warm and cheery in Miss Armitage’s library. There was a fire in the grate, a pot of beautiful red carnations on one stand, a great vase of roses on the other, and a dainty tea table set out with Wedgewood. Thursday afternoon she was always at home. From some cause there had been very few in. Jane came and put two big lumps of cannel coal on the fire and said a few words, then went to answer the ring at the door; it was Dr. Richards.

“I’m glad to see you,” she said. “Will you please light a burner or two?”

“Oh, no, let us sit in this mysterious light and watch the blaze leaping over and around 213 those black hillocks. Have you been busy today?”

“Not very. Some days I don’t feel in a working humor. I had only two calls this afternoon. Will you have a cup of tea?”

“Yes; when have you been to the Bordens?”

“Yesterday.”

“And how are the invalids?”

“Mrs. Vanderveer is sinking in a comatose state; she doesn’t suffer, which is a great blessing toward the last. As for Marilla”—she made a pause.

“Well—” inquiringly.

“I’m not satisfied, she has such a blue, tired look. But she is about as usual. Dr. Richards, I want her.”

Something in the tone touched him. It seemed the cry of motherhood.

“Well, wouldn’t they give her up?”

“I really think they would; a friend came to see if they did not want her nursemaid, a nice well trained girl of twenty; an excellent seamstress. She is going to California. Mrs. Borden told me this as we were down in the hall. Dr. Baker said something about the child’s health that rather startled her. But 214 before we could have any discussion another visitor called. She thinks Marilla doesn’t have anything much to do; but the babies are a constant care. They want to be entertained every minute of the time. Violet is developing quite a temper and slaps her little nurse. All her mother said was ‘Violet, that’s naughty.’ But you should have seen Pansy speak some Mother Goose rhymes. Marilla had been training her. The gestures, the roll of the eyes, the coquettish turn of the head was the daintiest thing you ever saw. Then she repeated—‘Where are you going, my pretty maid?’ and she had a little milk pail on her arm, and she managed to keep the two parts wonderfully distinct—it was remarkable in a child not three years old, and when she said—‘Then I won’t marry you, my pretty maid’ and answered so pertly—‘Nobody asked you, sir, she said,’ it would have done credit to an exhibition. Her mother sprang up and kissed her rapturously, crying—‘Isn’t she the dearest and sweetest thing and the smartest! Think of her learning that and acting it off so completely, and not three years old! She is smarter than Violet’—and then Violet set up 215 such a howl! Her mother pacified her by saying Marilla should tell her a piece, and after several efforts Cinderella did induce her to say by a great deal of prompting ‘Milkman, Milkman, where have you been?’ Think of the wear on the child’s nerves, and she looked so tired. I really couldn’t stand it a moment longer. They think she has nothing to do but just amuse those two strong irrepressible children who climb over her and torment her in every fashion. I can’t stand it. I hardly slept last night thinking of it.”

“Can’t you bring her over for a visit?”

“I thought of proposing that. If I could persuade her to transfer the child to me—”

“But if she gets another nurse?”

“Yes, I must try. The strain on her is too great, and now for almost a week she has not been out of the house; Mrs. Borden bewails it for the childrens’ sake. She thinks only of them with a mother’s selfishness, and she doesn’t give Marilla credit for these pretty ways or their intelligence. She is just their nurse girl. It is a cruel waste of the child’s gifts.”

“I’d like to see Dr. Baker; most of all I’d like to see Marilla, but it wouldn’t be etiquette to call.” 216

“I’ll go tomorrow with courage enough to have a gentle talk or a straight out one,” said Miss Armitage resolutely. “We try to save other lives, why not this one? And this one is dear to me. It has so much of promise in it, and life gets lonely sometimes.”

He longed to come into it, but he kept his promise. Until she made some sign he must be content with friendship. He rose abruptly and said he must be going. She did not detain him.

It was raining a-softly now and he hurried along. His office was in a little ell part in a rather inviting looking house, and he took his meals with the tenant. The office boy was on the lookout for him, it was time he went home.

“There’s a gentleman in there waiting for you,” he said with his good-night.

The gentleman was comfortably ensconced in the Morris chair, smoking a cigar. Doctor Richards took a second look.

“Why, Lorimer!” he exclaimed. “Where have you dropped from? I haven’t seen you in an age—but I’m glad, old fellow; I was feeling rather down; I should have had a gay presentiment.” 217

“Remembering old times when we were both bloated aristocrats, favorites with the gods.”

“And are now earning daily bread,” laughed the doctor. “At least I am and trying to help suffering humanity. Isn’t that neatly put?”

“I don’t know whether I can claim all that; now and then I get some poor fellow’s affairs out of a snarl and make him pay for it, and one end of something has drifted here to Newton and I’m after that, but I thought I’d hunt you up first. I’ve been here a good half hour.”

“And supper is ready in the house. Then we will have a good hour before any one drops in. Come in,” and he opened a side door into a hall.

There were three persons at the table, an elderly couple and a woman in the thirties. They made Mr. Lorimer cordially welcome and the supper was inviting. The guest asked some questions about Newton which was a quiet rather old fashioned town quite set in its ways.

Afterward they settled themselves comfortably in the office.

“I’ve come to hunt up some one—do you 218 know anything about a Bethany Home for orphans, girls, I believe.”

Dr. Richards roused from his lazy position. “Yes, I know about it, though I never been on the staff. Why?”

“I want to learn about a child placed there four or five years ago. Let me see,” referring to a memorandum, “name, Marilla Bond; mother and father died in this town.”

“Marilla Bond. Yes. I know the child. What of her?”

“I’ll begin at the very first. Hardly two years ago Peter Schermerhorn died at the age of ninety-eight. He was the black sheep of an otherwise respectable family, went off and spent his portion in riotous living, afterward bought a tract of ground above Harlem, turned hermit, raised geese and ducks and pigs, married and had three daughters and they in turn married, glad, I suppose, to get away from the penurious living. So it went on. He had to give up the pigs and geese, did a little gardening and two years ago died without a will. Oddly enough he had kept a family record which has been of great service to us. The old shanty was a disgrace, the ground valuable. 219 The city was bringing up one of its fine avenues and a syndicate made a proffer for the land. Of course the heirs soon scented this out, and our firm has been trying to settle the estate so the property can be turned into money, and a good deed given. We have found about everybody, I believe, but the mother of this child who is in very direct descent, eluded us a long while.”

“And this child is one of the heirs?” in surprise.

“Exactly. Her mother came here after her marriage. The father was killed in some machinery mishap. The mother was in a store, a bakery, I believe, and dying, gave her little girl to the friend she had lived with, and the friend married and went out to Easton. We found she did not take the child with her but put her in this Bethany Home with some important papers. So we want the child and the papers.”

“The child was twelve, a year ago September. She was bound-out to some fairly nice people as a little nursemaid. And an heiress!” in a tone of glad surprise.

“Well not to any great extent. There are a 220 good many heirs it seems—ten thousand or so. But we had to know whether she was living or not on account of the title.”

His little Cinderella! Truly this was a fairy story. “Oh, are you quite sure?” he said.

“Oh, there’s no doubt, if she is the true heir. But the woman at Easton attested a very straight story and knew of the husband’s death, though she had not known him personally. The money is on the mother’s side, you see, so his death is neither here nor there. And now—can’t we go out and interview this place and the keeper?”

“Hardly tonight. The matron is a rather rigid person I believe. We had best tackle her by daylight, and the child is almost in this vicinity. A rather unusual child I think, very sweet natured. Oh, I can’t express all my delight. She is the kind of girl that ought to be educated, that should live in an atmosphere of love, and she is not really strong enough to take the rough and tumble of life. Oh, I can’t tell you how glad I am.” Lorimer surveyed his friend with a rather humorous smile. They had been chums during a summer in Switzerland 221 and Holland, but he had not thought Richards much given to either love or romance.

Then they branched off into old times when both had been rather wasteful. Lorimer was working hard to redeem that youthful extravagance; Dr. Richards cared nothing at all for the moneyed end of life.

He would fain have kept his friend all night but Lorimer had engaged his room at a hotel. They were to meet as soon as possible in the morning.

Bethany Home was quite in the suburbs, reached by a walk after one had left the trolley. The house was a big rambling place to which there had been made several additions. It had been a gift from a benevolently disposed woman, with a small endowment that was occasionally added to. There was quite a spacious garden and an abundance of rose vines.

Yes, Mrs. Johnson was in and they were ushered into a large old fashioned apartment, scrupulously neat and formal. Mrs. Johnson was a somewhat portly woman turned of sixty, whose face had settled into severe lines, and she eyed her visitors rather suspiciously. 222

“I am Dr. Richards,” he began with a softening of the countenance, “and my friend Mr. Lorimer is a lawyer from New York who comes on a matter of business concerning a little girl who was an inmate of the Home until a little over a year ago—Marilla Bond.”

“Yes”—in a rather questioning manner.

Lorimer told his story and the surprise in the woman’s face was evident.

“What is of most importance is to learn whether there are any papers to substantiate the claim. One has to be careful in the legal matters.”

She seemed to consider. “Yes,” rather reluctantly. “The person who brought her here gave quite a box of papers and some trinkets to my safe keeping. We take charge of them until the girls are eighteen—then they have served out their time and are legally their own mistresses. Ours is quite a private institution and has no connection with the city, although it has a board of officers, of which I am president. Of course I keep watch over the girls who are bound-out. This Marilla has a very nice place. She was away all summer with the family. One of our managers 223 visited this Mrs. Borden on her return and found everything satisfactory and the child content.”

“Could we look over the papers?”

She seemed rather loth to produce them but she could find no excuse. She recalled the fact that she had seen Dr. Richards’ name in connection with the Children’s Hospital.

Certainly there was enough to substantiate the claim. A marriage certificate, an attestation of the baby’s birth, and old Dr. Langdon was still alive, though he had retired from practice. A packet of letters as well, two notices of Mr. Bond’s accident and death. Everything was ready for corroboration.

Mr. Lorimer gathered up the important papers. At first Mrs. Johnson rather demurred about his taking them away.

“Why, I would have no object in destroying them. I should not be the gainer by it. And this is the last heir we have to trace. Now we can proceed to a settlement. The syndicate takes more than half the property and pays cash. The remainder can be easily sold. No one seems disposed to demand an extravagant price. You will hear from me before long, and I will return the papers.” 224

After they had settled that and left the lady, Lorimer said—

“Now let us interview this Doctor Langdon.”

He was a somewhat feeble, white haired old man but received them very graciously and was much interested in the story. Turning to his book he refreshed his memory. Yes, there was the birth of the child. The mother he put down as rather delicate. A note some time after substantiated the accident and death of the father. He was very willing to give an affidavit. “You’ve been a tremendous help to me, Al,” said Mr. Lorimer, “estates that have to be settled this way are an enormous bother, and thanks are poor pay,” laughing.

“I believe I shall demand something more. The child will need a guardian. She has several warm friends here, I’m not willing to lose sight of her. So I shall ask that office.”

“Well—why not? Some one must act until she is of age. Yes, I’ll remember. I’m glad you spoke of it. I’ll be up again. Indeed I’m quite curious to see how she takes her fortune.”

So the friends parted. Dr. Richards made 225 several calls, stopped for some lunch, found a number of patients awaiting him and a message that had come from Miss Armitage, who wished to see him at once. She had had quite an eventful morning as well. Some vague presentiment had haunted her about Marilla and after disposing of a few business calls she hurried around to Arch street.

Mrs. Borden answered the door.

“Oh, Miss Armitage! We’re so full of trouble! Aunt Hetty has just died and Marilla—oh, I don’t know what will become of the child!”

“She is not ill?” in a tone of anxiety.

“Well, come in and sit down and let me tell you. They thought the first part of the night the poor old lady was dropping off quietly. Then toward morning she seemed to rally, and kept calling for Marilla. John had been up there most of the time and he said bring the child up. We didn’t suppose she was really conscious. So Marilla went up. It was daylight, and just as soon as she went to the bedside the poor old lady held out both hands, and Mrs. Holmes said she really smiled, and then a horrible thing happened, like a fit, and her 226 mouth all curled up and her eyes rolled up to the whites and Marilla screamed and fainted and the old lady was dead in a minute, and then the child fainted several times and they put her in her own bed—we’d had her down stairs. What did your doctor say about her last summer? Dr. Baker said her heart was weak. Now I think they oughtn’t have sent a girl out from the Home who had any such thing the matter with her. She had it real easy, sitting on the floor playing with the babies. And we never let her carry them up and down stairs or put anything hard on her, and now you know they run all over and are very little trouble. They have always been such good babies, but if she is going to faint at every little thing she won’t be much good. Mr. Borden has gone for that other girl and to attend to the necessary business. There will be the funeral and we shall have to take in some of the folks, I know. Mrs. Holmes will stay right along until we are straight again, but, it’s asking a good deal I admit,” and she paused.

“Yes, let me take her.” Miss Armitage had 227 come primed with several arguments, but she saw they would not be needed.

“Of course the shock was awful. Mrs. Holmes said she wasn’t surprised, for Marilla was just going to clasp the outstretched hands, but the old lady came back to her natural looks and I’m so glad; but of course Marilla will be haunted by the sight—”

“Yes, and you will have so much on your hands. Do you think she could walk that far or shall I order a hack?”

“Oh, she came down to the nursery and Bridget brought her up some breakfast. There’s the undertaker—”

“I’ll go up to the nursery,” said Miss Armitage.

A very wan little girl was pillowed upon the lounge. Jack had been sent to school without hearing of the happening. Violet was marching up and down ringing a little bell and saying “Go to door, Illa, go to door.” Pansy was leaning over her with a book crying authoritatively—“Read to me, read to me.”

Miss Armitage lifted Pansy down but she started to climb up again. The lady sat down 228 in the place and drew Marilla’s head to her bosom and let the child cry there.

“Illa can’t read to you now,” she said. “Poor Illa’s sick.”

“’Tain’t your Illa,” said the child obstinately.

“My dear,” Miss Armitage began soothingly, kissing the tremulous lips, “you are going home with me. It has been dreadful I know, but you must try to forget it. Jane will be glad to have you and Dr. Richards will comfort you. Don’t you remember what a nice time we had last summer? There dear—little Cinderella.”

Marina smiled faintly through her tears.

“Oh, I am so glad. It was so sudden you know, and when she stretched out her hands.”

“She must have known you, and after all it was sweet to be remembered then. Are you very weak? But I’m afraid you couldn’t walk to Loraine place.”

“I’m so—so shaky—”

Aunt Florence entered the room and snatched the bell from Violet. “You must not make such a noise,” she declared. “Oh Miss Armitage, you are always shocked by a death, 229 aren’t you? And poor Aunt Hetty has been dying the last week, though the doctor said she did not really suffer. But she’s past eighty and that’s a good long life. I do wonder if she really knew she was calling for Marilla, and the poor child has had a bad time. How good of you to offer to take her for awhile. Funerals are so dismal to a child.”

“I think I had better have a cab,” said the guest. “Will you kindly telephone for one?”

Miss Borden assented. Then she brought a frock for Marilla, and between them they had her dressed. Violet tumbled her box of blocks on the floor and began kicking them around.

“Oh, dear! When you want quiet, children are always the worst! When that new girl comes she shall take them out in their carriage and we will have peace for a little while.”

Mr. Borden entered at that moment with a very pleasant-faced young woman.

“Come through in my room,” said Miss Borden, “and you can watch for the cab.” She shut the door between, but the babies burst into a howl and she went back to pacify them. 230

“Oh, I do feel better,” exclaimed Marilla, and her eyes lightened up, “but no one seems to know just what to do to amuse the babies, I’ve grown so used to it.”

“They must get along without you for awhile. It is a pity they couldn’t be sent away as well.”

The cab came presently. Mr. Borden almost carried Marilla down stairs. “Now get good and rested,” he said. “It will be a sad time. Death always is.”

Oh, how delightful the beautiful house was! They went through to the library where the grate fire had been kindled and Marilla drew a long, happy breath. Why she felt almost well. Jane brought her some hot milk and presently spread a dainty little luncheon on the library table. They had quite a cheerful time and it seemed as if she improved every moment.

Dr. Richards thought he would never get through with the office patients this afternoon and he was impatient to know what had happened. As for his own experiences they must be kept to himself for some time. Indeed he almost felt as if it was a dream. He had seen 231 Marilla only three times since her return. First she had gone to the office to report to him and let him see what the seaside had done for her, then the episode of measles had kept her indoors as well as the babies. He had met her twice with her precious freight, and even on Sundays she had not found time to go to Miss Armitage.

She told the story over to save the child’s nerves. “And so the poor old lady has gone. Yet I think it hardly fair for you to have to wait upon her so much.”

“Oh then Mrs. Holmes came and she was very nice. But as soon as I came in with the babies she went out for her walk and Aunt Hetty wanted me to read to her. She liked so to have me read, and somehow she seemed gentler and quite sweet like after she was so poorly. I liked it better than being so much with the children. They were growing so big and strong and wanted to keep tumbling over me. It made me so tired sometimes.”

“Marilla is never going back there,” Dr. Richards said decisively. “She isn’t strong enough for a nurse girl.”

“No, she is not going back. I went out 232 awhile ago to see that Mrs. Johnson, but she thought the place an excellent one, and that it was a bad thing to change girls about, making them dissatisfied everywhere, but I meant to bide my time, and find an opportunity. Now I think they will be willing to give her up as they have a grown-up woman. She came while I was there. Dr. Baker told them Marilla had a weak heart, and I think it startled them. They have no idea how hard she has been worked.”

Oh, he longed to tell her of Marilla’s good fortune. Somehow they must manage to share the child between them. She had the lovely home and the mother heart, and he wanted a home with a sweet little girl in it.

At Arch street there was a good deal of confusion. Cousins and nieces who had called only at rare intervals on Mrs. Vanderveer were most attentive, suddenly. They did wonder between themselves if Aunt Hetty was going to leave all her money to John Borden!

The new nurse, Lizzie by name, was really a great comfort. She took up the babies in the morning, bathed and dressed them and gave them their breakfast. They still took 233 their midday nap but she managed to introduce some discipline, yet she was not harsh. Master Jack stood a little in awe of her. She was a good seamstress also.

So passed the three days and they brought Aunt Hetty down in the parlor and put her in a fine casket, keeping the doors shut until the hour for service. Mrs. Seymour had the nurse bring the children in her house. So they said prayers reverently, sang some lovely parting hymns and laid her away, her long life on earth finished.

The relatives were asked to meet at Mr. Borden’s office the next day at ten to hear the will read.

Was ever any will satisfactory where property was divided up into small gifts? Five hundred dollars to this one and to that one, three hundred apiece to some others. Jack, Jr., had five hundred, the babies, three hundred, and Marilla Bond, three hundred.

“It was very nice of her in a way,” said Mrs. Borden, “but I think one hundred dollars would have been remembrance enough for the little waiting on she did, and I find Lizzie is of much more service than she was. Of course 234 she costs more. I shall go out to the Home some day and give her up on account of her health. Miss Armitage might as well take her. She’ll make a nice little waitress maid. And now that the house is clear I feel that we needn’t economize so closely. You and John get your five hundred with the rest, and she gave me her diamond ear rings after we came back in the summer. It was smart in her not to have John make her will, so none of them can say he persuaded her. Well, now we can settle ourselves to the next thing.”