Dorothy on a House Boat Part 3

"O Jim! The three weeks since I saw you seems an age! Isn't it just glorious? I'm so glad!"

With that the impulsive girl threw her arms around the lad's neck and tip-toed upwards to reach his brown cheek with her lips. Only to find her arms unclasped and herself set down with considerable energy.

"Quit that, girlie. Makes me look like a fool!"

"I should think it did. Your face is as red--as red! Aren't you glad to see me, again?" demanded Miss Dorothy, folding her arms and standing firmly before him.

She looked so pretty, so bewitching, that some pa.s.sers-by smiled, at which poor Jim's face turned even a deeper crimson and he picked up his luggage to go forward with the crowd.

"But aren't you glad, Jim?" she again mischievously asked, playfully obstructing his progress.

"Oh! bother! Course. But boys can be glad without such silly kissin'.

I don't know what ails girls, anyway, likin' so to make a feller look ridic'lous."

Dorothy laughed and now marched along beside him, contenting herself by a clasp of his burdened arms.

"Jim, you're a dear. But you're cross. I can always tell when you're that by your 'relapsing into the vernacular,' as I read in Aunt Betty's book. Never mind, Jim, I'm in trouble!"

"Shucks! I'd never dream it!"

They had climbed the iron stairway leading to the street above and were now waiting for a street-car to carry them to Bellvieu. So Jim set down his heavy telescope and light bag of clothing to rest his arms, while old Ephraim approached from the rear. He had gone with his "li'l miss" to meet the newcomer but had kept out of sight until now.

"Howdy, Ma.r.s.e Jim. Howdy."

Then he picked up the bag of books and shrugged his shoulders at its weight. Setting it back on the sidewalk he raised his hand and beckoned small Methuselah, half-hiding behind a pillar of the building. That youngster came tremblingly forward. He was attired in his livery, that he had been forbidden to wear when "off duty," or save when in attendance upon "Miss Betty." But having been so recently promoted to the glory of a uniform he appeared in it whenever possible.

On this trip to the station he had lingered till his grandfather had already boarded the street-car and too late for him to be sent home to change. Now he cowered before Ephraim's frown and fear of what would happen when they two were alone together in the "harness room" of the old stable. On its walls reposed other whips than those used for Mrs.

Calvert's horses.

"Yeah, chile. Tote dem valeeshes home. Doan' yo let no gra.s.s grow, nudder, whiles yo' doin' it. I'll tend to yo' case bimeby. I ain'

gwine fo'get."

Then he put the little fellow aboard the first car that came by, hoisted the luggage after him, and had to join in the mirth the child's appearance afforded--with his scrawny body half-buried beneath the livery "made to grow in."

Jim was laughing, too, yet anxious over the disappearance of his books, and explained to Dorothy:

"That gray telescope's full of Mr. Seth's books. We better get the next car an' follow, else maybe he'll lose 'em."

"He'll not dare. And we're not going home yet. We're going down to the Water Lily. Oh! she's a beauty! and think that we can do just what we like with her! No, not that one! This is our car. It runs away down to the jumping-off place of the city and out to the wharves beyond. Yes, of course, Ephraim will go with us. That's why Metty was brought along. To take your things home and to let Aunt Betty know you had come. O Jim, I'm so worried!"

He looked and laughed his surprise, but she shook her head, and when they were well on their way disclosed her perplexities, that were, indeed, real and serious enough.

"Jim Barlow, Aunt Betty's got to give up Bellvieu--and it's just killing her!"

"Dolly Doodles--what you sayin'?"

It sounded very pleasant to hear that old pet name again and proved that this was the same loving, faithful Jim, even if he did hate kissing. But then he'd always done that.

"I mean just what I say and I'm so glad to have you to talk it over with. I daren't say a word to her about it, of course, and I can't talk to the servants. They get just frantic. Once I said something to Dinah and she went into a fit, nearly. Said she'd tear the house down stone by stone 'scusin' she'd let her 'li'l Miss Betty what was borned yeah be tu'ned outen it.' You see that dear Auntie, in the goodness of her heart, has taken care of a lot of old women and old men, in a big house the family used to own down in the country.

Something or somebody has 'failed' whatever that means and most of Aunt Betty's money has failed too. If she sells Bellvieu, as the 'city' has been urging her to do for ever so long, she'll have enough money left to still take care of her 'old folks' and keep up their Home. If she doesn't--Well there isn't enough to do everything. And, though she doesn't say a word of complaint, it's heart-breaking to see the way she goes around the house and grounds, laying her old white hand on this thing or that in such a loving way--as if she were saying good-bye to it! Then, too, Jim, did you know that poor Mabel Bruce has lost her father? He died very suddenly and her mother has been left real poor. Mabel grieves dreadfully; so, of course, she must be one of our guests on the Water Lily. She won't cheer up Aunt Betty very well, but you must do that. She's very fond of _you_, Jim, Aunt Betty is, and it's just splendid that you're free from Dr. Sterling now and can come to manage our boat. Why, boy, what's the matter? Why do you look so 'sollumcolic?' Didn't you want to come? Aren't you glad that 'Uncle Seth' gave me the 'Water Lily'?"

"No. I didn't want to come. And if Mrs. Betty's so poor, what you doing with a house-boat, anyway?"

Promptly, they fell into such a heated argument that Ephraim felt obliged to interfere and remind his "li'l miss" that she was in a public conveyance and must be more "succ.u.mspec' in yo'

behavesomeness." But she gaily returned that they were now the only pa.s.sengers left in the car and she must make stupid Jim understand--everything.

Finally, she succeeded so far that he knew the facts:

How and why the house-boat had become Dorothy's property; that she had three hundred dollars in money, all her own; and that, instead of putting it in the bank as she had expected, she was going to use it to sail the Water Lily and give some unhappy people a real good time; that Jim was expected to work without wages and must manage the craft for pure love of the folks who sailed in it; that Aunt Betty had said Dorothy might invite whom she chose to be her guests; and that, first and foremost, Mrs. Calvert herself must be made perfectly happy and comfortable.

"Here we are! There she is! That pretty thing all white and gold, with the white flag flying her own sweet name--Water Lily! Doesn't she look exactly like one? Wasn't it a pretty notion to paint the tender green like a real lily 'Pad?' and that cute little row-boat a reddish brown, like an actual 'Stem?' Aren't you glad you came? Aren't we going to be gloriously happy? Does it seem it can be true that it's really, truly ours?" demanded Dorothy, skipping along the pier beside the soberer Jim.

But his face brightened as he drew nearer the beautiful boat and a great pride thrilled him that he was to be in practical charge of her.

"Skipper Jim, the Water Lily. Water Lily, let me introduce you to your Commodore!" cried Dorothy, as they reached the gang-plank and were about to go aboard. Then her expression changed to one of astonishment. Somebody--several somebodies, indeed--had presumed to take possession of the house-boat and were evidently having "afternoon tea" in the main saloon.

The wharf master came out of his office and hastily joined the newcomers. He was evidently annoyed and hastened to explain:

"Son and daughter of Mr. Blank with some of their friends. Come down here while I was off duty and told my helper they had a right to do that. He didn't look for you to come, to-day, and anyway, he'd hardly have stopped them. Sorry. Ah! Elsa! Afraid to stay alone back there?"

A girl, about Dorothy's age, had followed the master and now slipped her hand about his arm. She was very thin and sallow, with eyes that seemed too large for her face, and walked with a painful limp. There was an expression of great timidity on her countenance, so that she shrank half behind her father, though he patted her hand to rea.s.sure her and explained to Dorothy:

"This is my own motherless little girl. She's not very strong and rather nervous. I brought her down here this afternoon to show her your boat, but we haven't been aboard. Those people--they had no right--I regret--"

Dolly, vexatious with the "interlopers," as she considered the party aboard the Water Lily, gave place to a sudden, keen liking for the fragile Elsa. She looked as if she had never had a good time in her life and the more fortunate girl instantly resolved to give her one.

Taking Elsa's other hand in both of hers, she exclaimed:

"Come along with Jim and me and pick out the little stateroom you'll have for your own when we start on our cruise--next Monday morning!

You'll be my guest, won't you? The first one invited."

Elsa's large eyes were lifted in amazed delight; then as quickly dropped, while a fit of violent trembling shook her slight frame. She was so agitated that her equally astonished father put his arm about her to support her, and the look he gave Dorothy was very keen as he said:

"Elsa has always lived alone. She isn't used to the jests of other girls, Miss Calvert."

"Isn't she? But I wasn't jesting. My aunt has given me permission to choose my own guests and I choose Elsa, first, if she will come. Will you, dear?" and again Dolly gave the hand she held an affectionate squeeze. "Come and help us make our little cruise a perfectly delightful one."

Once more the great, dark eyes looked into Dorothy's brown ones and Elsa answered softly: "Ye-es, I'll come. If--if you begin like this--with a poor girl like me--it should be called 'The Cruise of Loving Kindness.' I guess--I know--G.o.d sent you."

Neither Dorothy nor Jim could find anything to say. It was evident that this stranger was different from any of their old companions, and it scarcely needed the father's explanation to convince them that "Elsa is a deeply religious dreamer." Jim hoped that she wouldn't prove a "wet blanket" and was provoked with Dorothy's impulsive invitation; deciding to warn her against any more such as soon as he could get her alone.

Already the lad was feeling as if he, too, were proprietor of this wonderful Water Lily, and carried himself with a masterful air which made Dolly smile, as he now stepped across the little deck into the main cabin.

It was funny, too, to see the "How-dare-you" sort of expression with which he regarded the "impudent" company of youngsters that filled the place, and he was again annoyed by the graciousness with which "Doll"

advanced to meet them. In her place--h.e.l.lo! what was that she was saying?

"Very happy to meet you, Miss Blank--if I am right in the name."

A tall girl, somewhat resembling Helena Montaigne, though with less refinement of appearance, had risen as Dorothy moved forward and stood defiantly awaiting what might happen. Her face turned as pink as her rose-trimmed hat but she still retained her haughty pose, as she stiffly returned: