Elsie Singmaster

THE ORPHANS' COURT

The curious eyes which watched Miss Miflin and the children on the train were multiplied tenfold when they found themselves on the streets of the county seat. Miss Miflin was pretty enough to attract attention anywhere, but she had never before been so frankly stared at. She was well aware that the children in their striped shawls and little sunbonnets and gray home-knit stockings looked strange in a town where for twenty years little girls had been wearing coats and hats.

"Is it a show?" she heard one impertinent boy ask another.

"See here, once," a man exclaimed. "That's the way the little girls looked when I was a boy."

Miss Miflin was the only member of her party who was at all disturbed by the interested residents of the county seat. The tired look was gone from Sarah's face, her eyes sparkled; for a few minutes, in her delight over the strange sights, she forgot her anxiety and fear. Here were the wonderful "electricity cars," which frightened the twins nearly out of their wits.

"Where are then the horses?" they demanded together. "What makes it go? Will it come after us?"

The twins held each other tightly by the hand, their desire to run ahead and their fear of becoming separated from Miss Miflin making their gait very uncertain. Once she and Sarah almost stumbled over them, when they stopped short to contemplate the wonders of the tall Powers Building, in course of erection on the other side of the street.

Miss Miflin was not sorry when the gray walls of the court house appeared before them. She would be glad to get her charges safely within doors.

The twins, however, had stopped again. They had loosened their grasp on each other, and were standing with clasped hands and rapturous gaze.

"What is it?" asked Miss Miflin. Then she followed their glance to a little peanut and candy stand near by.

"Peanuts!" said Louisa Ellen rapturously.

"Candy!" said Ellen Louisa.

There was a shocked "Ach, aren't you ashamed!" from Sarah, and a laugh from Miss Miflin.

"Wait till we go home," she said.

Then, together, she and Sarah pushed open the heavy door of the court house.

They found themselves in a great, empty hall, with many doors on each side. The twins, after a moment's silent contemplation, tried to puzzle out the signs above the doors. "Clerk of the Court" was easy. "District Attorney" and "Prothonotary" were harder.

"Are we going to one of those places?" whispered Louisa Ellen. They had never been to a circus, but they were feeling the same pleasant thrills that a small boy would feel at sight of the closed tents.

"I don't know," answered Miss Miflin, more to herself than to them. "We must see some one."

"Could I go and ask?" inquired Sarah.

"No," answered Miss Miflin. "Are you afraid to wait here a minute with the twins, while I see what I can do?"

At that moment a door at the upper end of the hall opened, and a tall gentleman came toward them. At sight of them his step slackened, and he looked at them curiously. He, too, remembered the little Pennsylvania German schoolhouse to which he had gone as a small boy. He did not wait for Miss Miflin to speak to him.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked courteously.

Miss Miflin looked up into the kindly face.

"Why, yes. But it would take a few minutes to explain, and I don't like to keep you."

"Oh, I shall be glad to help. Only—" The gentleman looked back over his shoulder. The door of the prothonotary's office had opened. In a moment two or three idle young clerks would be in the hall, curious to see the girl whose voice they heard. He opened the nearest door, and stepped back for Miss Miflin and the twins to enter. "Come in here," he said.

The little room into which they went was stiffly furnished in the fashion of fifty years ago, as an ante-room to the judge's private office. It was not often used; the horsehair-covered chairs, set neatly against the wall, and the dark heavy velvet curtains were unworn. To the twins it was a marvelously beautiful place. Miss Miflin and Sarah saw nothing but the kindly face which invited them to tell their story.

"These children are orphans," Miss Miflin began. "Their father was Henry Wenner of Spring Grove township, who died about a month ago. He had been an invalid for some years, and Sarah, the oldest girl, managed the farm."

"Ebert ploughed for me and farmed for the half," explained Sarah. She had taken her sunbonnet off, and her bright eyes looked first at the stranger, then at Miss Miflin. "He would help me yet. I could get good along, if they would only leave me be."

"The father made no will, and no provision for the children, but it was his wish that they stay together."

"And mom said always so too," added Sarah.

"Are there any relatives?" asked the stranger.

"Yes, their mother's brother, Daniel Swartz. He lives on the next farm. But there was never any friendship between the two families while these children's parents lived. Now he has made application to be appointed guardian, and it doesn't seem necessary or right that he should be. He—"

"You see it is this way," said Sarah. "He wanted always the farm. It was once all my gran'pop's farm. He wanted my pop and mom should move away and sell it to him once. Now he won't have it that we keep it like my pop said we should. The twins shall live by Aunt Mena, and Albert and I shall live by him, and we won't have no home any more, and—"

Miss Miflin laid a hand on Sarah's knee.

"We didn't mean to trouble you with all this," she said gently. "I just wanted to know what we should do, to whom we should go. I thought that if Daniel Swartz hadn't been made guardian yet, perhaps there was some way of stopping it, and you could tell us to what official we should apply."

"There would have to be a hearing before the judge, and their uncle would have to be notified, so that he could defend himself," answered the gentleman slowly. He looked down once more at Sarah and the twins. "They are pretty young to be looking after themselves," he said.

"I am fifteen years old," said Sarah. "And if they would take the farm and only leave me raise chickens I can get along."

The stranger's eyes met Miss Miflin's.

"She is a very capable little girl," said Miss Miflin.

Then the twins, who had marveled at the "electricity cars" and the tall buildings, were still further astonished. The gentleman got up and crossed the room, and took down a little horn which was hanging against the wall. Then he began to talk. The twins' mouths opened involuntarily.

"Is this the clerk's office? Can you get Weaver and his client—" He turned to Sarah. "What did you say the uncle's name is? Swartz? Oh yes—Can you get Weaver and Swartz here for a hearing this afternoon? They're in the court-house now? Oh, very well. Yes, right away."

Then the stranger hung up the little horn once more. He smiled at Miss Miflin and the children.

"Would you mind coming to tell the judge what you have told me?" he said.

"Will it be in the court-room?" asked Miss Miflin. She grew more and more poignantly conscious of the strangeness of her errand. But this stranger was evidently accustomed to court business and he seemed encouraging.

"Oh no. The sessions of the Orphans' Court are held in the judge's office. This way." And he opened a door leading into the next room.

Miss Miflin felt Sarah's tight grasp on her arm, and the twins came close behind. This room was much larger than the one they were leaving. There was no carpet on the floor, and no attempt at elegant furniture. At one end was a plain, businesslike desk, and the twenty or thirty chairs which stood about the room were straight and uncushioned.

To Miss Miflin's distress, almost every chair was occupied. The stranger frowned a little when he saw the audience. It took a very short time for the news of an interesting case to spread through the court-house.

But Miss Miflin's surprise was nothing to be compared to the surprise of two of the occupants of the wooden chairs. Daniel Swartz's eyes widened, and Jacob Kalb nudged him visibly.

"It is Sarah and the zwillings," he cried. "Sarah and the zwillings!"

Uncle Daniel had had a moment of severe fright. The lawyer had told him that they had only to go to the court-house to get the papers. But his fright passed.

"Pooh, what do I care?" he said. "I have my lawyer, and I paid him twenty-five dollars already. I am not afraid of no zwillings. Nor yet no school-teacher," he added under his breath. In Uncle Daniel's mind, the days of Miss Miflin in the Spring Grove School were numbered.

But the surprises were not yet over. The tall gentleman found places for Miss Miflin and the children near the desk at the front of the room. Sarah looked up at him with a mixture of gratitude and alarm.

"Couldn't you stay by us?" she whispered.

The stranger laughed.

"I'm not going away," he answered. Then to the amazement of Miss Miflin and Sarah and the consternation of Daniel Swartz, he took his place behind the desk.

"They were already by the judge!" said Uncle Daniel. "It is not fair, it—"

"I'd advise you to be quiet," said Mr. Weaver curtly.

Sarah seized Miss Miflin's arm.

"Was it—was—it him?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Miss Miflin. "It was."

She saw the judge smiling at their surprise, and she felt suddenly that it was all less of a wild-goose chase than she had feared.

It was comforting, also, that there was about this hearing none of the formality of a court trial. The judge wore no gown, there was no prisoners' dock, no loud-voiced crier; it was more like the office of a country squire. Miss Miflin whispered to the twins to take off their sunbonnets, and not to speak unless the judge spoke to them.

The clerk of the court read Daniel Swartz's application, and then Mr. Weaver rose. He had not anticipated any objections, and he was not in a good humor. He felt that he was wasting his time over an unimportant case. He said briefly that the children had no natural guardian, except their uncle Daniel Swartz, an upright, prosperous man, who was willing to take from his own important business the time necessary to look after their affairs.

"He is a school-director, a member of the Reformed Church in good standing, and a prosperous farmer. Could a more suitable person be found? The oldest of the children is fourteen—"

"I am fifteen," said Sarah.

The men in the court-room smiled, and the lawyer went on as though he had not heard.

"It will be years before she is of age. How can such a child possibly look after a farm and bring up three children? They do not want a guardian; few children would, after having been allowed to run loose for years. But in their own interest, and in the interest especially of these younger children, I ask that Daniel Swartz be made their guardian."

Daniel Swartz looked about complacently, as if challenging those near him to prove that the lawyer's statements were untrue.

"To-morrow she loses her school," he said to Jacob Kalb.

Then he saw that the judge was speaking to Miss Miflin.

"What is your name?"

"Helen Miflin."

"You are a school-teacher?"

"I teach in the Spring Grove Schoolhouse."

"What interest have you in this case?"

The judge saw that the flush on Miss Miflin's cheek deepened, but he thought it was only a flush of embarrassment.

"I am fond of these children, and I do not believe the appointment of Mr. Swartz as guardian is necessary or right."

"Why?"

"Because for years the families have not been friendly, and Mr. Wenner would never have chosen Mr. Swartz as the guardian of his children, and because the children do not like him."

"Like me!" exclaimed Daniel Swartz to the lawyer. "What dumb talk! It makes nothing out if they like me or not."

"You will have to be quiet," answered Mr. Weaver. "It makes a good deal of difference in the appointment of a guardian."

"Sarah Wenner," said the judge.

"Yes, sir," answered Sarah.

"Why don't you want to live with your uncle, and have him look after your affairs?"

"Because my mom said we should stay always together. It is not right that children have no home of their own. And my pop was for three years sick, and Ebert helped us, and we got good along. He worked for the half. And I can raise chickens. And the twins are always good for me, and Albert is always good for me, and Uncle Daniel, he knows I can get along. Albert is already by him, and he gave him candy till he was sick and I had to go to cure him. He don't know how to bring up children, and Aunt 'Lizie don't know. He—he is always after us. And he came for me in the night to go to Albert, and when I went back in the morning Jacob Kalb was living there already, and baking pies, and—"

At thought of the morning, the tears came into Sarah's eyes, and her voice choked. "If he would only l-leave me be."

"That will do," said the judge kindly. He thought that he had never seen the court-house clerks so quiet. "And you," he said to the twins, "aren't you willing to be good little girls, and do as Uncle Daniel wants you to?"

The twins looked up at the judge, then round the room. They were frightened and puzzled. They thought this kindly gentleman was on their side, but he had made Sarah cry, and now he wanted them to obey Uncle Daniel. Then Louisa Ellen put out her hand and nudged Ellen Louisa.

The eyes of the judge and the clerks followed theirs. Uncle Daniel was smiling at them graciously,—he who usually frowned so crossly. And as Uncle Daniel smiled, he put his hand into his pocket and drew out two shining dollars.

To the court-room Uncle Daniel's purpose was evident. The court-room held its breath. Louisa Ellen's hand tightened on Ellen Louisa's.

"Uncle Daniel is going to give us a dollar!" she said, in tones of such wonder and amazement that the court-room rocked with mirth.

"Order!" said the judge, after a long minute.

Then Mr. Weaver knew—though Uncle Daniel did not as yet—that his cause was lost. Uncle Daniel put the money back into his pocket, shamefacedly. This would be another score to settle with the twins when this foolish court business was over. Then he heard that the judge was speaking.

"Whom would you like to have for your guardian, children?"

Sarah looked up at Miss Miflin. To her the word guardian meant unpleasant oversight, interference. Must they have a guardian at all? But Miss Miflin did not seem troubled in the least. What she said was unpremeditated; she did not realize until after the words were out that the lawyer's sharp eyes and the judge's kindly eyes were watching her so closely, nor could she foresee that her face would become a flaming crimson.

"I don't see why they need a guardian at all," she said. "They have an older brother."

"Oh," said the judge. "Why, then, was the application made?"

At that moment Jacob Kalb had come finally to the conclusion that he had been silent long enough.

"He went three years ago already to Alaska," he said. "He will never come home."

"Oh, he will!" cried little Sarah.

"And if he does come home," went on Jacob Kalb coolly, "what will he have to say about the school-board money that he took along with him to Alaska?"

"Oh, for shame!" cried Miss Miflin.

"Yes," answered Jacob. "Stealing is a shame."

"He did not steal!" Miss Miflin's voice shook. She knew they were watching her curiously; she heard the door open to admit another inquisitive clerk, who she saw dimly was tall and broad of shoulder, but she did not care if the whole world were there to hear. "His father paid the money, and he has never had any chance to defend himself."

"Stealing is stealing," said Jacob Kalb doggedly.