The Spectacle Man Part 23

THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE GOLDEN DOORWAY.

It was evident, Mr. Morrison said, that he and his wife could not get away too soon to please his aunt, and this was true for two reasons.

Mrs. Richards wished her nephew to meet his old friends under her roof--there would be less talk; and before their return the six months'

lease on the flat would have expired and they would naturally come to her for a while at least. She also wanted Frances all to herself. The great house would be another place with the sound of a child's voice to charm away its loneliness.

She spent much time and thought in plans for her little niece's entertainment, which were quite unnecessary, for Frances was as happy as a lark, and found the hours brimful of amus.e.m.e.nt. To hear Caroline tell of her father when he was little Jack; to go shopping or driving with Aunt Frances; to romp with the fox terrier in the garden which the crocuses and hyacinths were making beautiful; and then, when the day was almost over, to rest in the depths of some great chair and look up at the girl in the golden doorway,--this was unalloyed happiness.

One Friday they drove to the house of the Spectacle Man and carried Emma away to stay till Monday. How she ever came to let her go Mrs. Bond couldn't understand; she believed she was bewitched. Emma, however, had a blissful holiday, and before it was over she found courage to ask Frances a question.

"Do you like me as much as you used to, Frances?" she said.

"What makes you ask such a funny question? Of course I do."

"I thought maybe you wouldn't care so much now."

"Why not?" insisted Frances, greatly puzzled.

Emma thought of quoting her mother's proverb about birds of a feather, the application of which she did not exactly understand; but she only said, "Oh, because you are rich, I suppose."

"But I'm not rich,--any richer than I ever was."

"Your aunt is."

"But why should that make me not like you? I don't like you to think such a thing about me," and Frances looked aggrieved.

"I didn't really think it, only--sometimes it does make a difference, you know," Emma said.

"Well, it won't to me, for I shall always like you, Emma," was Frances'

rea.s.suring reply, and Emma was satisfied.

Among other pleasant things, Frances and her aunt were arranging a little surprise for Mr. Morrison's birthday, which was to be celebrated by a dinner to which a number of cousins and old family friends were asked.

The travellers, who returned the night before, found a very happy little girl waiting for them in the carriage at the station.

"I have the loveliest secret, father, but you are not to know it till your birthday!" She couldn't help telling this much, but all his teasing could not extract any more; and, as it was not mentioned again, Mr.

Morrison forgot it.

The next evening he dressed early, and went to the library to write a letter, and when it was finished he fell into a pleasant revery. He thought of his struggles and disappointments, and of the bright future that seemed to be opening before him. The little girl smiled down upon him in the twilight, and he recalled his old dream.

It was surely a most living portrait. This little maiden, painted nearly seventy years ago, looked as if about to speak. Was she laughing at him still? would she presently come down? Surely he was dreaming, for there she stood on the rug beside him! He could see the pattern of the rich lace that fell from the neck of her quaint brocaded gown.

She came nearer, and he watched her, almost afraid to breathe; it was, he thought, a most interesting illusion. He put out his hand, expecting the vision to vanish, when, instead of thin air, his fingers closed upon a round arm of real flesh and blood, and a laughing voice exclaimed, "Why, father, I thought you were asleep!"

"Wink! is it really you?" he said, pulling her down on his knee. "I thought the girl in the golden doorway had come down once more. Where did you get this dress?"

"This is the secret, father. Aunt Frances found it among my great-grandmother's things. It was made for the picture, and was copied from another portrait that the little girl's father liked. It almost fitted me. Do you really think I look like her?"

"Indeed you do, Wink; it is wonderful."

Frances leaned her head on his shoulder, and looked up at her great-grandmother in great content.

"Do you know, Wink," said her father, presently, "I believe my old dream has come true, and at last I have caught the girl in the golden doorway."

"How nice!" cried Frances, "for that puts me into the story. You will have to write a sequel to it, father. Jack never guessed the girl would turn out to be his own daughter, did he?"

"He certainly did not," answered Mr. Morrison, laughing.

They were pleasing themselves with these fancies when lights and Mrs.

Morrison, in her pretty evening gown, appearing together, put an end to them. Some minutes later Mrs. Richards walked in upon a charming family group. Life was becoming very full and sweet to her, and she looked very handsome and happy. She felt proud of her children, most of all of that graceful little person in the old brocade who ran to meet her.

"Auntie, what do you think? We have found the sequel to 'The Girl in the Golden Doorway.' The dream has come true: Jack has caught her, and she turns out to be me." Frances made a courtesy, laughing merrily.

"There is some more to it," she added. "Father, can't you tell it?"

"Tell it yourself, Wink," was the smiling reply, and three pairs of eyes watched her fondly as she stood, a finger on her lips, an intent expression on her face.

"Oh, yes! I remember. And together they are going to explore the House of the Golden Doorway, and find out all its secrets."

Mrs. Richards took the rosy face between her hands. "You have opened the golden door to me, too, my darling," she said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.

"THE DUCKS AND THE GEESE THEY ALL SWIM OVER."

"Out of a song the story grew, Just how it happened n.o.body knew, But, song and story, it all came true.

"Out of sight till time of need The story lay hid like a little seed; And then it grew that all might read--

"Might read and learn--however gray The clouds may hang, or how dark the day, That love and courage can find the way."

No one suspected the Spectacle Man of poetical aspirations until Miss Moore one day picked up these verses from the hall floor. "Dear me, what are we all coming to!" she exclaimed. "Here is Lillian the strong-minded going to be married, the Morrisons have found a fairy G.o.dmother, and now Mr. Clark has taken to verse! If I were not so commonplace I'd expect something to happen to me."

Things were happening; there was no doubt about that.

Soon after her nephew's return, Mrs. Richards made Mr. Clark an offer for his house which he thought it wise to accept, and by the time summer was fairly begun it was rapidly disappearing in a cloud of dust and mortar to make room for a five-story office building.

Frances could not be reconciled to this, nor was she the only one who felt sad at sight of yawning vacancy where the dignified old mansion had stood. The feelings of the optician were mixed; he was fond of the place, but its sale solved some of the difficulties that had weighed upon him, and when Mrs. Bond took a small house farther out, where there were trees and a garden for the General to play in, he furnished two rooms for himself, and, after the first wrench of leaving, he and Peterkin found it very comfortable. His show-cases and other fixtures were moved to a shop not far from the old one.

Before this, however, something even more interesting had occurred.

As Mr. Carter had only six weeks' leave, he and Lillian decided to have a quiet wedding the last of April, making a short visit at his home on their way West.

"I am very much alone in the world, and there are no people I care more to have at my wedding than you and Mary," Lillian said to Mrs. Morrison; "and it is easier and simpler to have it here."