The Girl from Arizona Part 8

Mrs. Graham sat for a long time by her daughter's bedside that night, and they had what Marjorie called "a perfectly Heavenly talk." It was a serious talk, but not a sad one, and when it was over, and Marjorie flung her arms round her mother's neck, and did break down just a little, things did not seem nearly as hopeless as she had expected.

"I don't believe any other girl in the world has such a perfect mother as I have," was Marjorie's last waking thought. "I don't deserve her, and never can, but I'm going to try not to disappoint her any more than I can possibly help. One winter can't last for ever, and when June comes, and I am at home again, how gloriously happy we shall all be!"

CHAPTER VII

MARJORIE WRITES LETTERS

"October 28th, 19--

"MY OWN PRECIOUS MOTHER:

"The first letter must be to you, of course, and the next to Aunt Jessie. Uncle Henry says if I write now I can post my letter when we stop at Albuquerque this afternoon. Oh, Mother darling, was it only this morning that I said good-bye to you all? It seems as if I had been away a month already.

"I am writing this at the desk in the library car, and the train shakes so I am afraid my writing will be worse than ever. Uncle Henry says I shall soon get accustomed to the motion, but just now it makes my head ache, and the car feels very hot and stuffy. I opened the window, but a great many cinders came in, and a lady in the section next to mine asked me to close it again, so I had to.

"I hope Father didn't tell you what a goose I was at the station. I didn't mean to cry so much, but when I thought of you and Aunt Jessie waving good-bye to me from the porch, with such a sorrowful look on both your dear faces, I just couldn't help it. I am going to cheer up right away, though, so please don't worry about me.

"It really was very exciting when the train stopped at Lorton, and Uncle Henry and I got in.

When it began to move, and I realized that I was actually on board, I gave a kind of gasp, and would have liked to scream, if I hadn't been afraid of shocking Uncle Henry. There are not many people on the train, the colored porter says, and Uncle Henry and I both have sections to ourselves.

I thought there would be regular beds to sleep in, but there are not. The porter says they turn the seats into beds at night, and there are curtains to let down. I should think it would be very uncomfortable sleeping so close to other people, but I suppose one gets used to it when one has traveled a good deal. Uncle Henry says Aunt Julia won't travel unless she has a stateroom, but he doesn't object to the sections. I looked into the stateroom in this car, but it didn't look very different from the sections, except that it was larger and there was a place to wash.

"We had lunch at a little table in the dining-car.

It was delicious but my head ached a little, and I wasn't very hungry. Uncle Henry talked politics with a gentleman who sat at the same table with us, but they didn't say much to me, so I looked out of the window, and it was all very interesting. We are in Mexico now, and to-morrow we shall be in Kansas. Kansas makes me think of Undine and Mrs. Hicks. Oh, how I do wonder if Undine will ever remember!

"Uncle Henry says we shall be in Albuquerque in a few minutes, so I must stop writing if I want to post my letter there. Good-night, Mother darling; I will write again to-morrow, and indeed, indeed, I will try to remember all the things you said to me last night, and to be always

"Your own loving "MARJORIE."

"October 28th.

"DARLING AUNT JESSIE:

"I have been a whole night on the train, and when I think of how far away from home we are, I can't help being just a little frightened, though it is all very interesting. I posted Mother's letter at Albuquerque, where the train stopped half an hour.

Uncle Henry and I got out and walked up and down the platform, and, oh, it was good to get a breath of fresh air! I really didn't know that any place could be quite so stuffy as this train. Everybody seems afraid to have the windows open on account of the cinders, but I think I should prefer even cinders to stuffiness. There were some Indians selling blankets and baskets, and a good many people bought things. They crowded round us, and made a good deal of fuss, and I heard one lady say she was afraid of them. Just think of being afraid of poor harmless Indians! I would have liked to tell her how foolish she was, but was afraid Uncle Henry might be displeased. I don't think he is a very friendly person, for he hardly speaks to any of the pa.s.sengers on the train, and last night he told me I talked too much to the black porter, who was making up the sections. Oh, Aunt Jessie, it was so curious to see him turning all the seats into beds, but you have been on a sleeping car, and know all about it.

"We had a very good dinner, which I enjoyed more than lunch, because my head was better, and in the evening we sat on the platform of the observation car, and it was very pleasant. Uncle Henry was kind, and talked to me a good deal--at least it was a good deal for him. I asked him if he wasn't very anxious to get home to see Aunt Julia and Elsie, and he said of course he should be glad to see them, but didn't seem nearly as excited as I am sure Father would be about seeing us if he had been away from us for three whole weeks. I think Elsie must be very busy, for besides going to school, she has music and German lessons in the afternoons, and goes to a dancing cla.s.s. Uncle Henry said he hoped she and I would be good friends, and I told him I was quite sure we should. Imagine a girl not being good friends with her own first cousin! Did you know we are to live in a hotel all winter? Uncle Henry has a house on Madison Avenue, but Aunt Julia is tired of housekeeping, so he has rented it, and taken rooms in a hotel instead. Uncle Henry calls the rooms an apartment, and the name of the hotel is the 'Plaza.' It is on Fifth Avenue, and right opposite the park, which must be very pretty. I should think it would seem very queer to live in a house with a lot of other people, but then the people who live in hotels must have a great many friends.

"At about nine o'clock Uncle Henry said he was sleepy, so we went back to our car, and that was when I talked to the porter while he made up the beds. I thought at first that I should never be able to sleep; the train shook so, and we were going so fast. It was hard work undressing behind the curtain, but I managed somehow, and even had a wash, though I had to hold on to the side of the car with one hand while I washed my face with the other. I did cry a little after I was in bed, but I don't think any one heard. It was my very first night away from home, you know, Aunt Jessie dear, but I tried to remember all the lovely, comforting things you and Mother said to me, and I think I must have been pretty tired, for before I realized I was getting sleepy I was sound asleep, and I never opened my eyes till it was broad daylight.

"To-day we are in Kansas, and it is very flat, and not at all pretty. Uncle Henry says we won't have any more fine scenery till we get to the Hudson.

The train seems stuffier than ever, and I am just pining for fresh air and exercise. We sat on the observation platform for a while this morning, but Uncle Henry didn't like the cinders, and wouldn't let me stay there by myself, so we came back to our car. I don't think traveling on a train is quite as pleasant as I thought it was going to be.

I am sure I should like an automobile better. We saw automobiles at Topeka, where we stopped for ten minutes this morning, and they looked very queer, going all by themselves, without any horses, but I think I should like a ride in one.

Uncle Henry says Aunt Julia is afraid of automobiles, so she still uses a carriage.

"I talked to some people in the observation car--a lady and a little boy, who are going to Chicago--but I think most of the pa.s.sengers on this train are rather unsociable. They don't talk much to each other but just read magazines and newspapers when they are awake, and take naps about every hour. I have watched the two ladies in the section opposite mine, and they have been asleep at least four times to-day. I heard one of them say she never could sleep on a train; wasn't that funny?

"We can post letters from Kansas City, where we are due at half past eight to-night, so I can send this on from there. We get to Chicago to-morrow morning, and have three hours there; won't that be exciting? Oh, I do hope Uncle Henry will take me for a good long walk! I feel as if I could tramp ten miles.

"Good-bye, you precious Auntie! I send a thousand hugs and kisses to everybody. Tell Undine not to forget Roland's sugar--he always has three lumps--and to be sure the kittens in the barn have their milk every night and morning. I am afraid I forgot to tell her about the kittens; there were so many other things to think of. I am so glad you and Mother have Undine; she is such a dear, and I know will try to take my place. I will write to Father and Mother after I have been in Chicago.

"From your own little niece, "MARJORIE."

"October 30th.

"MY OWN PRECIOUS FATHER AND MOTHER:

"This letter is for you both, and Aunt Jessie must have a share in it, too, because it is the last I shall be able to write on the train.

"I didn't write at all yesterday, it was such an exciting day! We got to Chicago at about noon, and, oh, what a big, noisy, wonderful place it is!

I know I could never describe it if I tried for a week, so I will just tell you what we did. It was raining, which was a great disappointment to me, but Uncle Henry didn't seem to mind. He said we would take a taxi and go to the 'Blackstone' for lunch. I had no idea what a taxi was, but didn't like to ask and when Uncle Henry called one what do you suppose it was? One of those wonderful automobiles! I was a tiny bit scared when we first got in, but when we started, and went rushing through those crowded, noisy streets, I just loved it.

"It didn't take us long to get to the 'Blackstone,' which is an enormous hotel, looking out on the lake. The lake is wonderful; I never saw so much water before, and though the fog was thick, and we couldn't see very far, I should have liked to stand and look at it for a long time, but Uncle Henry said we must hurry. I never saw such a wonderful place as the dining-room at the 'Blackstone.' There were quant.i.ties of little tables, and men waiters to bring you what you wanted. I thought the bill of fare on the train was long enough to satisfy any one, but the one at the 'Blackstone' was simply endless. Uncle Henry told me to choose what I wanted, but there were so many things I couldn't possibly choose, so he ordered a nice lunch, and all the time we were eating music was playing in a gallery overhead.

"After lunch Uncle Henry took another taxi, and told the driver to show us the city. It was all very interesting, but so noisy and confusing that I got very tired looking at so many things at once, and I was really rather glad when Uncle Henry said it was time to go back to the station.

"This train is called the 'Chicago Special,' and is even grander than the one we were on before. It goes very fast, but doesn't swing so much, because the road-bed is smoother, Uncle Henry says. I was so tired last night that I went to bed right after dinner, and never woke once till morning. We are due in New York this afternoon, and Uncle Henry says I had better post my letter in Albany, because after we leave there he wants me to see the Hudson, which I believe is very beautiful. So good-bye, you dear precious people! Oh, how anxious I am for my first letters from home! Don't forget to tell me about every single little thing that happens. I am thinking of you all every minute, and if I were going to any other people but Aunt Julia and Elsie I would be so unhappy.

But of course going to one's own aunt and cousin is very different from being with strangers, and Uncle Henry is really very kind. Oh, I do wonder if Elsie is as much excited about meeting me as I am about meeting her!

"Uncle Henry says we shall be in Albany in ten minutes, so good-bye again, with oceans of love from

"YOUR OWN MARJORIE."

CHAPTER VIII

AUNT JULIA AND ELSIE

"ELSIE, my dear child, do you know what time it is? Nearly half past five, and you haven't started to dress. Your father will be so annoyed if you are not ready when he arrives."

Mrs. Carleton, a small, fair woman, with a rather worried, fretful expression, paused in the doorway of her daughter's room, and regarded the delinquent with anxiety not unmixed with dismay. Elsie, arrayed in a pink kimono, was lying comfortably on the sofa, deep in the pages of an interesting story-book. At her mother's words she threw down her book, and rose with a yawn. She was a tall girl with dark eyes and hair, and she would have been decidedly pretty if she too had not looked rather cross.

"Is it really so late?" she said, indifferently. "Why didn't Hortense call me? I had no idea what time it was."

"But you ought to have known, dear," Mrs. Carleton protested gently. "I don't suppose Hortense knew you wanted to be called, but I will ring for her at once. You will hurry, won't you, darling? What excuse can I possibly make to your father if he asks for you and finds you are not ready?"

"Oh, don't worry, Mamma. You know papa only scolds because he thinks it his duty; he doesn't really care. Besides, the train will probably be late; those Western trains always are."

Mrs. Carleton rang the bell for the maid, whose room was in a different part of the hotel, and went to the closet in quest of her daughter's evening dress.