V.
WHERE IS DOROTHY?
While the world looked like fairy-land, glistening, sparkling in the glowing sunshine, the city children came. They were whisked away to the different homes amid the jingling of sleigh bells, each person preferring the long way round.
Then followed days of joyous happenings. It was Christmas weather, and there was snow enough for all the wonderful plans for winter games. The grown people as well as the children entered into the festivities and good times reigned supreme.
Dorothy and Lois twinkled about like sunbeams.
Father was kept busy answering questions and telling over and over again Christmas stories, traditions and legends.
Lois and Dorothy had admired again each gift and hidden them for the Santa Claus hunt on Christmas day.
Dorothy whispered to father in one ear and Lois whispered in the other, until father was certain the whispers were tangled in the middle of his head. Timothy said the house was so full of secrets, he expected to step on them.
Jeanie locked the school-room door and put the key in her pocket, and though everyone had approached her on the subject, no one was any the wiser.
The doctor flew in to talk to Jeanie and flew out again with such an air of importance that Jeanie looked thoughtfully after him.
The candy pull was over and had been a great success, each child spending the afternoon in sticky ecstasy.
“Isn’t it wonderful how many lovely things happen every day?” said Dorothy to Timothy, who was sitting with a little girl on each knee, demanding to be told things.
“It will be Christmas day in three days, Dorothy, and your birthday.”
“And I play it’s mine,” Lois interrupted Timothy, “because I don’t really know, and sailor Tom said he thought I must have been born about December.”
“Why not?” said Timothy; “and some day you will know. Just because ships are lost, there is no rhyme nor reason in talking about people being lost; meantime, there are two Christmas candles shining here.”
“Doctor says he is going to have Maddie for his Christmas candle; doesn’t she look like a real one in her white dress and that hair?” Dorothy enthused.
“She does,” Timothy admitted. “She will no doubt shine in more ways than one. She may need some snuffing; candles get into the way of sputtering if they are not well cared for.” A pause, while the black and blond heads rested contentedly against Timothy’s broad shoulder.
“Do you think, Timothy,” and the blond head lifted, “I am beginning to shine a little clearer, the way mother dear would want me to?”
“You do indeed, sweetheart,” and Timothy’s eyes were very soft just then. “You see, a happy, laughing little girl, who is always sharing her joy, is very like a clear light, a twinkling star—one feels better just to know she is there.”
“Tell something about me,” demanded Lois.
“It’s a good little candle,” and Timothy dropped a kiss on the glossy black head. “It burns more steadily every day. Seems to me,” thoughtfully, “I have heard no crying for some time; tears have such a way of extinguishing the light.
“But it’s Christmas secrets I’m waiting to hear,” said Timothy, all animation, and while they assured him they could not tell anything, confided to him all the important secrets.
Hand in hand they took him through the house, showing him the exact spot where each treasure was to be found. Up into the tower they climbed to see the candles to be lighted Christmas eve. “Lois’ shines out over the land, and mine shines out over the sea,” said Dorothy.
For a time they stood looking out over the white world. “We will have more snow,” said Timothy, as they turned to go, and the children greeted the announcement with joy.
“Timothy, will you play snowball with us this afternoon? The children will be here about one o’clock, and we want to make a snow man.”
“Well,” said Timothy, “just let me catch anyone so much as thinking of playing without me!”
It was voted the very best afternoon’s fun. There seemed to be as many grown people as children. Everyone played with zest, all were boys and girls together. The snow man looked as if he would walk away.
Timothy and the doctor chose sides, and then followed a snowball match that would be remembered for many a day by old and young.
“It’s snowing! It’s snowing!” chanted Maddie, and the children took up the cry.
“Looks like a big storm,” said father, and while the children shouted and danced in the fast falling snow, the sleighs were brought out and preparations for getting home were quickly made.
Down the long winding driveway, through the gate, the merry party went to the music of the silver bells and happy laughter; while after them, throwing a last snowball, trooped Lois, Dorothy, Timothy, Maddie, Mr. Douglas, Jeanie and the doctor.
Faster and faster whirled the snow, until the sleighing party was lost to sight and those on foot turned back. Everybody hurried away, the doctor and Maddie went home, father and Timothy remembered things that must be done, Jeanie to see about dry clothing for the children.
Half an hour later, Lois ran into the library calling, “Dorothy!”
“She has not been here,” said Mr. Douglas, and Lois went to Jeanie. It soon became apparent that Dorothy was not in the house. No one could remember just when they had seen her last.
“She is so taken up with Maddie, she may have gone on with the doctor,” suggested a maid.
But no, she had not. It was discovered that Rings was also missing.
“It is not like Dorothy to go anywhere unless I know,” said Jeanie, looking white and troubled.
“It is an exciting time,” Mr. Douglas excused; “she probably got into one of the sleighs.” But after everyone had been telephoned to and still no trace, serious alarm took possession of them.
By eight o’clock it was known throughout the place that Dorothy Douglas was missing. Men left their warm firesides and breasted the wild storm.
Mr. Douglas never rested, seeming with brain, heart and hand to accomplish the work of two men.
Timothy was everywhere, advising, encouraging, hoping.
Lights burned all night in the windows of rich and poor alike.
Mothers looked often at their sleeping children, and prayed for the little one lost in the storm.
The doctor, tireless, was directing someone, somewhere throughout all the anxious hours. With frightened, sobbing little Lois in his arms, he had walked the floor, soothing, comforting, until she forgot her fears and slept.
Fires were kept up, hot blankets in readiness, steaming drinks and food for the exhausted searchers were always ready.
Everywhere people listened, longed, prayed for the signal agreed upon, the ringing of the church bells that would tell them Dorothy Douglas was safe.