Witch Winnie's Mystery, or The Old Oak Cabinet Part 14

Milly has been extravagant and thoughtless; worse than that, she has been underhanded and deceitful in regard to expenditures, but she did not take the money from the cabinet; of that I am positive."

"Have I ever charged her with anything so dreadful?" Winnie asked. "Have I not tried in every way to keep that suspicion from every one? Give me credit for that, at least."

"In words, Winnie; but in your secret thought you have wronged her. I know that you love her with a sort of a fierce, maternal love which makes you want her to be perfect, and which fears the worst and tortures yourself with imaginary impossibilities. I tell you that Milly has learned a very thorough lesson in regard to deception; she will never offend in that way again; and as to this affair of the cabinet, I would as soon suspect you as her."

"Suspect me, then," Winnie cried. "I wish you would. I hoped that Cynthia was going to lead suspicion my way, but it seems she can't do it. I have too good a reputation." And Winnie laughed cynically. "Well, the time may come when you may not think so well of me. Meantime, I thank you with all my heart for believing in Milly."

CHAPTER IX.

"POLO."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

It must not be inferred that our life that winter was all intense and tragical; if it had been so we could not have endured it. There were patches of clear sky, and the sunlight of generous acts glinted through the storm. We had all merry hearts and good digestions, and these bore us up under our troubles with the buoyancy which is so mercifully granted to youth and inexperience. Then, too, our thoughts were not entirely taken up with ourselves and our own affairs. For a few days after this we saw nothing of Mr. Mudge, and our attention was partly diverted to another matter.

One day, earlier in the school year, Mrs. Booth, of the Salvation Army, had addressed Madame's school on the need of work among the poor of New York. One little parable which she gave made a great impression upon us.

I cannot repeat Mrs. Booth's eloquent language, but will give the main points of the story.

"As a young girl," said Mrs. Booth, "I was very selfish and hard-hearted. I did not care for the suffering and anguish of others.

It was not that I was naturally cruel, but I did not think of them at all. I thought and cared only for myself, of parties and dresses, and of having a good time--and this Dead Sea of selfishness was numbing every generous impulse within me. My heart was growing to resemble a certain spring which my mother took me to see when a little child. I remember the walk through the wood beside a little brook which babbled over the stones, and how the light of the sky shone down into its clear amber waters, and the trees and the clouds were reflected in its quiet pools; how long mosses fringed its stones, and water plants made a little forest under its ripples; and how its depths were all alive with tiny fish and happy living creatures seeking their food and sporting among the cresses. But we came presently to a spring quite apart and very different from the brook. The water was deep, and quiet, and clear, but when I looked into it I was struck by a death-like influence, weird and sinister. There were no minnows darting through the depths like silver needles, or craw-fish burrowing in the banks, or water beetles skimming the surface like oarsmen rowing their light wherries. There was no life to be seen anywhere. The very stones had a strange, unnatural look; they were white as marble; no mosses covered them, no water-lilies or algae grew through the deadly water. The very leaves which had fallen into the pool were white and heavy, as though carved in marble. The gra.s.ses which grew downward and dipped into the spring were marble gra.s.ses, more like clumsy branching coral than the delicate bending sprays above the waves.

It was a petrifying spring, and everything dipped in its waters was presently coated with a fine, stony sediment and practically turned to stone.

"So the deadly, petrifying spring of selfishness will turn the heart to stone, and while having the form of life it will be cold and hard and dead."

This was Mrs. Booth's little parable, and while none of our hearts had been dipped in this petrifying spring, it woke us to new desires to do more for the suffering poor.

Something happened a little after this talk, and several weeks previous to the robbery, which gave a direction to our impulses. Milly and I were returning from a shopping excursion one very cold and rainy Sat.u.r.day, when we were approached by a poor girl who was selling pencils on a corner. "They are always useful," I said; "suppose we take some."

"I should perfectly love to," Milly replied, "but I haven't a cent."

The girl had noticed our hesitation and came to us. "Please buy some, young ladies," she said; "I haven't had a thing to eat to-day."

"Then come right along with me," said Milly. "Mother lets me lunch at Sherry's, whenever I am out shopping."

The girl followed us but stopped beneath the awning of the handsome entrance. "That's too fine a place for me, Miss," she said. "Only swells go there. It costs the eyes out of your head just for a clean plate and napkin in there. How much do you s'pose now, a lunch would cost in that there palace?"

"Not more than a dollar," Milly replied cheerfully.

"Glory!" exclaimed the girl, "if you mean to lay out as much as that on me, why ten cents will get me all I want to eat at a bakery on Third Avenue, and I'll take the balance home to the children."

"That is just where the awkwardness of papa's way of doing comes in,"

Milly said to me. "You see," she explained to the girl, "I've spent all my money to-day, but I can have a lunch charged here."

Still the girl hesitated. "I'm not fit," she said, looking at her dripping, ragged clothes. We were sheltered from view by the awning, and in an instant Milly had taken off her handsome London-made mackintosh and had thrown it around the girl. "There, that covers you all up," she said, "and your hat isn't so very bad."

It was a tarpaulin, and, though a little frayed at the edges, its glazed surface had shed the rain and it was not conspicuously shabby.

We pa.s.sed into the ladies' restaurant and seated ourselves at one of the little tables. Milly took up a menu and looked it over critically.

"Now I am going to order a very sensible, plain luncheon," she announced. "No frills, but something hot and nourishing. We will begin with soup. Papa would approve of that. He is always provoked when I cut the soup. Green turtle? Yes, waiter, three plates of green turtle soup."

"Please excuse me," I interrupted. "I do not care for anything."

"No? Well, two plates. I usually loathe turtle soup, but I'm determined to be sensible and have a solid lunch. Some way, I don't know why, I'm not very hungry this afternoon."

"Perhaps the ice-cream soda we had at Huyler's has taken away your appet.i.te," I suggested.

The soup was brought and Milly sipped a little daintily, as she afterward said merely to keep her guest company. The guest devoured it ravenously; she had evidently never tasted anything so delicious; but perhaps plain beef-stew would have seemed as good, for her feast was seasoned with that most appetizing of sauces--hunger.

"What will you have next?" Milly asked politely, as the waiter removed their plates.

"Whatever you take, Miss," the girl replied. "I ain't particular. I guess anything here's good enough for me."

"I declare I don't feel as if I could worry down another morsel," Milly answered. "There is nothing so surfeiting as green turtle. It makes me almost sick to think of crabs or birds, or even shrimp salad. Let's skip all that, and take the desert. Waiter, bring us two ices. Which flavor do you prefer?" she asked of the pencil vender, and again the bewildered girl left the choice to her hostess.

"Strawberry, mousse, and chocolate are too cloying," Milly remarked meditatively. "Bring us lemon water ice and pistache. Don't you just dote on pistache?"

"I never ate any, Miss."

"Then I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to something new.

You'll be sure to like it."

The girl did like it. She ate every morsel. Possibly something more solid would have proved as satisfying, but Milly was pleased with her evident appreciation.

"Why don't you eat the macaroons? Don't you like them? Would you rather have kisses?"

"If you please Miss, might I take them home to the children?"

"Yes, I suppose so. It isn't exactly good form to put things in your pocket, but they will be charged for just the same, even if we leave them, so take them, quick, now that the waiter is not looking."

Although the waiter was not watching us, some one else was. A faultlessly dressed gentleman approached at this juncture and greeted Milly in an impressive manner.

"Why, Mr. Van Silver!" she exclaimed, a little fluttered by the unexpected meeting. "I haven't seen you since last summer at Narragansett Pier."

"And whose fault is that?" Mr. Van Silver asked plaintively. "If young ladies will shut themselves up in convents, and never send their adoring friends any invitation to a four o'clock tea or a reception or even a school examination or a prayer meeting, where they might catch a glimpse of them, it is the poor adorer's misfortune, and not his fault, if he is forgotten. Won't you introduce me to your friends?"

"Certainly. Tib, this is Mr. Van Silver. Mr. Van Silver, allow me to present you to Tib--I mean to Miss Smith. I can't introduce you to the other young lady, because I don't know her name."

We had all risen and the last remark was made _sotto voce_. As we left the building Mr. Van Silver sheltered Milly with his umbrella and the waif followed with me. "Come with us to Madame's," I had said, "and perhaps we can do something for you."

As we walked on together Milly and Mr. Van Silver carried on a lively conversation, part of which I overheard, and the remainder Milly reported afterward. She first told him of how we had met our new acquaintance, and he seemed much interested.

"And so you have just given her a very solid and sensible lunch, consisting of green turtle soup and ice cream." He laughed a low, gurgling laugh and appeared infinitely amused.

"And macaroons," Milly added; "she has at least five macaroons in her pocket for the children."