Dorothy Dainty at the Mountains Part 19

"Well, I shan't give them to you!" said Floretta, rudely. "You aren't Mrs. Fenton."

"But I've been helping her to hunt for them. She has some letters she wants to read, and she can't till she has her gla.s.ses," insisted Nancy.

"Then let her come for them!" cried Floretta, when a quiet voice spoke.

"Very well, I _have_ come for them," it said, and there in the doorway stood Mrs. Fenton.

The silly maids who had laughed so loudly, now hastily disappeared in the kitchen.

Floretta dropped the gla.s.ses upon the table, and then, wholly ashamed, crawled under it, where Mrs. Fenton's sharp eyes might not look at her.

Mrs. Fenton took the gla.s.ses, and without another word, swept from the room.

Nancy, waiting in the hall, crept softly toward her, and gently laid her hand on the lady's arm.

"I'm _so_ sorry she did that. I wish I could have got the gla.s.ses from her, and brought them to you before you came to find them. Then you needn't have known how naughty,--" Nancy caught her breath.

"Never mind that, Nancy. Remember, as _I_ shall, that _you_ were not the naughty, disgusting child," said Mrs. Fenton, and she turned, with her letters and gla.s.ses in her hand, and went up the long stairway to her room.

It was nearly time to dress for dinner, which was always served promptly at six.

Mrs. Dainty with Dorothy, and Aunt Charlotte with Nancy hastened to their rooms, to freshen their toilettes, and Nancy realized that there would not be time to tell Aunt Charlotte all about the unpleasant happening.

"I've something to tell you, but I'll have to wait till we've plenty of time," she said.

Aunt Charlotte, tying the soft, blue ribbon into the brown curls, looked into the mirror before which they were standing, and smiled at the thoughtful face.

"Will it keep until then, dear?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," said Nancy, "I only tell it to you because I love to tell you everything."

"Dear child," said Aunt Charlotte, "I bless the day that you, as a little waif, were taken in by Mrs. Dainty, and that I was asked to come and care for you. I could not love you more if you were my own little girl."

"I never saw my own mamma; she died when I was a baby," said Nancy, "so, because you love me, you seem like my very own."

Gentle Aunt Charlotte's eyes were wet with happy tears, as she hooked the pretty, white muslin frock, with its slip of light blue, and tied the soft blue belt.

"Your shoes must be changed, Nancy," she said. "You know how particular Mrs. Dainty is about the matter of shoes and stockings. They must match the frock."

"Oh, yes," said Nancy, "and with this one she said: 'Wear blue stockings and bronze slippers,' so I will."

She found the blue hose and the pretty bronze slippers, then, with elfin grace, she caught the edge of her skirt, and with rosy, bare feet, tripped across the floor in a graceful, gliding step, crying:

"Look, Aunt Charlotte, look! This pretty step Bonfanti taught me."

Aunt Charlotte did look, and as she watched the pretty child, and saw her joy in dancing, she marvelled that little Nancy could smile as she danced, remembering all that she had been taught, while apparently forgetting all the unhappy months upon the stage.

She thought of poor little Nancy, forced to dance, night after night, to support her old Uncle Steve, who was too lazy to support himself.

She thought of the time that the little pitiful note from Nancy had reached them, and, together, she and Mrs. Dainty had found the child, and brought her safely home.

She did not speak of all this. Nancy's happy little heart should never be reminded of sad days that were past.

Now her life was filled with bright sunshine, the sunshine of love, and it was reflected in her happy face.

A gong rang out a silvery note.

"Oh, my shoes!" cried Nancy, with a peal of merry laughter. "I wanted to show you those pretty steps, and I forgot all about dinner."

It was the work of but a few seconds for Nancy to draw on the light blue hose, and even less time to put on the pretty slippers. She ran to the mirror, and courtesied, took a few tripping steps, smiling at her reflection, and then hastened to the hall to join Dorothy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHE TOOK A FEW TRIPPING STEPS, SMILING AT HER REFLECTION.--_Page 176._]

"All ready," cried Nancy, springing to her feet, to follow Dorothy.

A pretty pair they made as with arms about each other's waist, they tripped along the hall.

Fair, blue-eyed Dorothy Dainty was very lovely in a pale pink frock with soft frillings of fine lace. Her stockings were of the same shade, and her shoes were white. Mrs. Dainty in dark blue satin, and Aunt Charlotte in pearl color made, with the two children, a pleasing group.

In the lower hall they met Mrs. Paxton with Floretta, the former wearing a gown of purple satin, while Floretta wore a frock of scarlet silk.

Mrs. Fenton, pa.s.sing, on her way to the dining-room, looked sharply at the two groups, and _did_ she look amused when her eyes rested upon Mrs. Paxton, and her small daughter? Dorothy noticed the look, and turned to her mamma.

Mrs. Dainty read the question in Dorothy's eyes, and ever so slightly, shook her head, and they pa.s.sed into the dining-room.

The next morning, when the mail was distributed, there was great excitement, because every one had so many letters.

"See mine!" cried Flossie Barnet. "Everybody see mine! It looks like boy's writing. See it!"

"If some very young man wrote it, he might not be delighted to have it so freely exhibited, Flossie," said Uncle Harry, with a laugh.

"Oh, why should he care?" she asked in surprise. "Who do you s'pose wrote it? Guess, Uncle Harry!"

"Well, now let me think," said Uncle Harry, covering his eyes with his hand, then peeping through his fingers.

"There's a small boy at home, who glories in the name of Reginald Merton Deane. Open the letter, dear, and if I guessed right, you can give me a prize, and if I'm wrong, I'll give you one."

Flossie studied the address for a moment, then she opened the letter, and laughed with delight.

"I'll have to give you the prize, but why did he think to write to me?"

Dear little Flossie had never seemed aware that small Reginald preferred her to any of his friends. Even when she was so little that she could not p.r.o.nounce his name, and called him "Weginald," he thought her the dearest of all his playmates. And this was his letter:

"DEAR FLOSSIE:

"I miss you so much that I'm going to write, and tell you all the news.