CHAPTER XIII
DECORATION DAY
THE big Decoration Day parade has long become a thing of the past, but in the days when the Winslows were children it was looked upon as one of the principal events of year. All the State militia came to New York for the occasion, and the West Point cadets turned out in full force. For days beforehand people poured into the city, and hotels and boarding-houses were crowded to their utmost capacity. The line of march was down Fifth Avenue from Central Park to Fourteenth Street, and by eight o’clock in the morning the street was thronged with eager sightseers.
The Winslows’ house was not on Fifth Avenue, and as Grandma would not allow the children to stand in the street, their only hope of seeing the big parade was the possibility that some one of Grandma’s friends might invite them to her house.
“Mrs. Livingston Leroy asked us last year,” Dulcie reminded her sisters. “Perhaps she may again.”
“Oh, I hope she will!” cried Molly. “Maud and I couldn’t go last year, and I do love to see the soldiers, and hear the bands. Don’t you hope we can go, Daisy?”
“Yes,” answered Daisy, but she did not speak with much enthusiasm.
Poor Daisy was not quite her usual cheerful self in those days. She went about with such a strange, absent-minded air that Aunt Kate declared she must be half asleep, and Miss Hammond completely lost her patience, and pronounced her “a very stupid little girl.” Dulcie and Molly were very gentle with her, but even they had little in the way of comfort to offer. Nearly a week had passed since the sending of that letter to Chicago, and as yet no word had been received in reply.
“I don’t see how she dared do it,” Molly said to Dulcie, when the two were alone together. “I wouldn’t have done such a thing for the world, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” agreed Dulcie. “And to think it should have been Daisy of all people! She never did a bold thing like that before, and she isn’t nearly as likely to get into scrapes as the rest of us.”
“She’s afraid to go and see Miss Polly,” said Molly. “She hasn’t been since she sent the letter. I don’t wonder she’s afraid. I should be, too, if I had done such an awful thing as write and tell a lady’s brother something she’d been keeping a secret from him for three years.”
It was Maud who, on the evening before Decoration Day, at last brought the glad tidings to the nursery that a note had come from Mrs. Livingston Leroy, inviting the whole family to watch the procession from her windows on Fifth Avenue.
“She said all the family, but Grandma says only two of us can go,” finished Maud, ruefully. “Shall we have to draw lots?”
“No,” said Dulcie, though her face had fallen at the news. “You and Molly must go, of course; Daisy and I went last year.”
Maud gave a little skip of delight, but Molly looked grave.
“I hate doing things without you and Daisy,” she said. “Don’t you think Grandma may change her mind and let us all go?”
“Grandma never changes her mind,” affirmed Dulcie, which was, indeed, quite true.
Mrs. Winslow told them all of the invitation, and added that she would take two of the little girls with her, but that as to taking four children out of one household, the idea was not to be considered for a moment.
“Mrs. Livingston Leroy seems to be a very kind lady,” ventured Molly. “Do you think she would mind very much if we all went?”
“I should mind,” returned Grandma, grimly, “and that is more to the point. You may decide among yourselves which are to go, and which remain at home.”
There was nothing more to be said, and the next morning, soon after breakfast, Dulcie and Daisy watched their two younger sisters depart for the scene of festivities, accompanied by those two stern guardians, Grandma and Aunt Kate.
“What shall we do this morning?” inquired Dulcie, turning away from the parlor window with a sigh. “The nursery is being cleaned, so we can’t go up there. Shall we stay here or go out on the sidewalk?”
“I don’t care,” said Daisy, listlessly. “Dulcie, have you any idea how long it takes for a letter to go to Chicago?”
Dulcie shook her head.
“I think it must take some time,” she said, “but not nearly so long as it takes one to go to California. I wrote to Uncle Stephen nearly a month ago, and I haven’t had any answer yet. I’m sure he’ll answer, because I asked him that very important question, about whether he’s really going to marry Miss Leslie. I asked him please to answer as soon as possible, because if he is going to marry her, we wanted to begin making the wedding presents.”
“Don’t letters sometimes get lost?” Daisy inquired, anxiously.
“I suppose they do, but not often. I heard that minister friend of Aunt Kate’s say the United States Mail was a very remarkable institution. I think it would be rather nice to go out for a while. We might see some of the soldiers marching up-town to join in the parade.”
Daisy acquiesced languidly, and, having procured their hats, the two little girls went out to walk slowly up and down the block. It was a very hot morning, and after half an hour of this monotonous exercise, even Dulcie’s spirits began to flag.
“I guess we may as well go in,” she decided. “All the soldiers must be in the procession by this time, and I’d rather read than stay out here any longer. I got a very interesting book from the library yesterday. It’s called ‘Violet, or Through Cross to Crown.’ I’ll read it aloud to you if you like.”
“All right,” said Daisy, and accordingly they turned their steps in a homeward direction.
They had just reached their own steps when a cab drew up before the house next door, and for some unaccountable reason, Daisy’s heart suddenly began to beat very fast indeed.
“Look, Dulcie,” she whispered, grasping her sister’s arm; “there’s a gentleman getting out, and there’s a lady inside, with a baby in her lap.”
“Well, what of it?” inquired Dulcie in surprise. “They’ve probably come to see somebody in the boarding-house. You don’t mean to think——” She paused in sudden excitement.
“I don’t know,” said Daisy, who was beginning to tremble. “I couldn’t see the gentleman’s face, he went up the steps so fast, but—but it might be; it really might.”
By this time they had reached the top of their own steps, and Dulcie had rung the door-bell.
“I don’t see how we can possibly find out,” she said, as they stood waiting for Mary to let them in. “Oh, see, he’s coming down again; he must have made a mistake in the house.”
Daisy leaned forward eagerly, in the hope of getting a glimpse of the stranger’s face, and at that moment Mary opened the door.
“Well, ain’t you coming in?” she inquired, rather impatiently, for both children appeared completely absorbed in the actions of a strange young man, who was speaking to a lady in a cab. The street was very quiet, and the little girls could hear every word he said.
“It’s that house,” the young man was saying, and as he spoke, he glanced directly up at the Winslows’ front door. “Will you get out, or shall I make some inquiries first?”
“We may as well all get out,” the lady answered, and the next moment the baby had been transferred from its mother to its father, and a very pretty bright-faced young woman had stepped out of the cab.
“Well, what’s the matter?” demanded Mary, still more impatiently. “If you don’t want to come in, what did you bring me all the way down-stairs to answer the bell for?”
“They’re coming up here,” gasped Daisy, “and it is—oh, Dulcie, I’m sure it is.”
“Is the name of one of these little girls Daisy Winslow?” inquired the young man, as he came up the steps, and though his voice was kind, and his face very pleasant, Daisy shrank behind her sister, in a fit of uncontrollable shyness and embarrassment. So it was Dulcie who answered the question.
“Yes, sir,” she faltered, “that is, at least—I am Dulcie Winslow. Do you want to speak to my sister Daisy?”
“I do very much indeed. May we come in? My name is Oliver, and I think you know my sister, who lives next door.”
Just how it all happened Dulcie and Daisy could never clearly recall, but in a very short space of time, they had gone into the house, passed the astonished Mary, and were seated in the parlor; the baby, once more restored to her mother’s lap, gazing about her, with an air of serene content, and uttering little crows and gurgles of satisfaction. Daisy’s first impulse had been to escape, but on second thought she decided that it would be cowardly to leave Dulcie alone, to take the consequences of whatever might be in store for them, so she stayed where she was, and, after all, there was nothing very alarming in the young man’s few words of explanation.
“I received a letter a few days ago,” he began, as soon as they were all seated, and Mary, still very much puzzled, and not at all sure of the wisdom of admitting strangers in the absence of Mrs. Winslow and her daughter, had closed the front door. “It was signed Daisy Winslow, and the writer said she was a little girl who lived next door to my sister Miss Oliver.”
“I wrote it,” said Daisy, desperately. “Are you Miss Polly’s brother?”
“Yes, I am,” the young man answered, and he held out his hand with such a kind, friendly smile, that all Daisy’s fears melted away on the instant.
“I want to thank you for telling me what you did in that letter, but I must ask a few more questions before seeing my sister. That is why we came here first. This is my wife, Mrs. Oliver.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve brought her,” cried Daisy, joyfully, “and the baby, too. Miss Polly will be so happy to see you all. She’s got your pictures, and she’s told us so much about you, and—and—oh, I am so glad, so glad!” Suddenly Daisy’s over-strained nerves gave way, and she began to cry.
It was Mrs. Oliver who drew the trembling child down beside her on the sofa, and soothed and comforted her while her husband questioned Dulcie. The letter had been a great shock to him, he said; he had never dreamed that his sister was not perfectly well. Could Dulcie give him any particulars of the case? And Dulcie, only too glad to tell him dear Miss Polly’s story, told all she knew of the little cripple’s courage and unselfishness. The story lost nothing in the telling, and before it was finished Mrs. Oliver was crying softly, and there were tears in her husband’s eyes as well.
“She’s the dearest, loveliest person,” finished Dulcie, with a catch in her voice, and Daisy added pleadingly:
“You’re not angry with her, are you, Mr. Oliver?”
“Angry,” repeated Miss Polly’s brother huskily, “no, indeed, how could I be? God bless her. It has been a wretched mistake, that’s all, and I am very much to blame for not having come to see her long before this, and found out for myself how matters were. I think we can go now, Helen; there doesn’t seem to be any more to hear.”
But Mrs. Oliver looked a little doubtful.
“Don’t you think she ought to be prepared first?” she suggested. “The shock of seeing us so unexpectedly might be bad for her, if she is not strong.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Tom Oliver admitted. “I was so anxious to see the dear little woman that for the moment I forgot everything else. We had better see Miss Collins, and get her to break the news.”
“Miss Collins has gone away,” said Dulcie. “Her sister was ill, and she went to take care of her. A Mrs. Brown is keeping the house while she’s away, and I don’t think she knows Miss Polly very well.”
Mr. Oliver looked a good deal perplexed.
“What shall we do?” he inquired of his wife. “I suppose we had better see this Mrs. Brown, at any rate.”
Mrs. Oliver glanced doubtfully from her husband to the two little girls.
“Do you think you could do it?” she asked. “You have both been very kind to Miss Polly, and I know she loves you.”
“I think we could,” said Dulcie. “I’ve read about breaking news to people, and I know you mustn’t do it too suddenly. Oh, Mrs. Oliver, may Daisy and I tell Miss Polly?”
“I think you may,” said Mrs. Oliver, smiling. “I am sure they can be trusted, Tom.”
Mr. Oliver nodded, and they all rose. It was then that Mary, who had remained in the background, an interested spectator of the whole scene, stepped forward with a word of protest.
“Where are you all going?” she inquired, suspiciously. “You children can’t go running off with people you don’t know. Your grandma would be very angry.”
“We’re only going next door to see Mr. Oliver’s sister,” Dulcie explained. “We know her very well, and we often go to see her, so it’s all right.” And without further explanation, she pushed past the still unconvinced Mary, and two minutes later was ringing the door-bell of the boarding-house next door.
The door was opened by a maid, who looked more than a little surprised at the sight of so many visitors, but when Mr. Oliver gave his name, and added that he had come to see his sister, the woman’s face brightened perceptibly.
“The Lord be praised!” she ejaculated. “Miss Polly’ll be that glad to see you. I’ll run right up, and tell her you’re here.” She was already half-way up the first flight of stairs, when Mr. Oliver called her back.
“I think we will let these little girls go up first,” he said. “I am afraid the shock of seeing us without any preparation might be too much for my sister. I hear she has not been well lately.”
Maggie—for it was the faithful Maggie—looked rather disappointed, but was forced to submit. And then Daisy had an inspiration.
“Couldn’t we take the baby?” she asked, eagerly, appealing to Mrs. Oliver. “Miss Polly loves babies. One of the boarders brought her little nephew to see her once, and she enjoyed it so much. We wouldn’t tell her whose baby it was, just at first, you know. It would be just like doing a thing in a book.”
Mrs. Oliver glanced at her husband.
“I think baby would be good,” she said, “but how about carrying her up-stairs?”
“I’ll tell you what you might do,” broke in Maggie, who was almost as much excited as the children themselves. “The room next Miss Polly’s is vacant just now. You might all come up, and you and the gentleman wait there, while the children take the baby in.”
This suggestion was eagerly adopted, and the whole party proceeded up-stairs. As they climbed flight after flight, the little girls noticed that Miss Polly’s brother grew very grave and silent, and when they reached the top floor, he gave the baby to Dulcie, without a word. There was a moment of breathless anxiety lest baby Oliver should spoil everything by beginning to cry, but she was—as her mother frequently informed her friends—a remarkably amiable child and although she looked a little surprised at being transferred from her father’s arms to those of a stranger, she made no protest, and the next moment had seized one of Dulcie’s long braids, with a crow of delight.
How the children’s hearts beat, as they knocked at Miss Polly’s door, and turned the handle, in answer to her gentle “Come in.” The invalid was not in bed, but in her wheel-chair, engaged in darning stockings, but at sight of her little visitors, and the baby in Dulcie’s arms, she dropped her stocking, with a little cry of surprise and pleasure.
“A baby! how adorable! Oh, my dears, where did it come from? Whose baby is it?”
“She belongs to some people we know,” faltered Dulcie. “We asked if we might bring her to see you. We knew you loved babies.”
“Indeed I do love them. What a little beauty. Do you think she would be frightened if you gave her to me, just for a minute?”
“I don’t think she would,” said Dulcie; “she let me take her, and she doesn’t seem shy.”
Miss Polly held out her arms, and Dulcie put the smiling, crowing baby into them, and with a little cooing sound the invalid cuddled the child to her heart.
“Oh, the darling,” she murmured, “the precious little darling! That’s right, put your head down on my shoulder. You know I love babies, don’t you? What is her name, Dulcie?”
“Her name is—is Mary,” gasped Dulcie, who was finding considerable difficulty in keeping the tremor out of her voice.
“Mary,” repeated Miss Polly, softly; “that is my little niece’s name, but they call her Polly.”
“They call this one Polly, too,” said Daisy, coming to her sister’s relief, “at least we think they do. We don’t know her father and mother very well. We never saw them till this morning.”
Daisy was very much embarrassed, but Miss Polly was too much absorbed in the baby to notice anything unusual in her manner.
“Look at her dimples,” she cried, admiringly, “and her hair is going to curl beautifully when she is a little older.”
“She likes you; she’s patting your cheek,” cried Daisy, joyfully. “Oh, Miss Polly dear, wouldn’t you love to have her all the time—to live in the same house, I mean?”
Miss Polly smiled rather sadly.
“I should never be lonely,” she said, “but I am afraid I shouldn’t be of much use. What should I do if the baby cried and wanted something to eat?”
“Oh, but her mother would be there to take care of her,” explained Daisy. “She’s got such a pretty mother, Miss Polly. I’m quite sure you would love the baby’s mother.”
“I am sure I should,” Miss Polly agreed. “Perhaps you will bring her to see me some time. Is she visiting you?”
“No,” said Daisy, “she’s—she’s come to see somebody who lives in this house. The baby’s father has come too. They stopped at our house first, because they wanted to ask some questions about—about the lady they’ve come to see. Oh, Miss Polly dear, please don’t look so white and queer; you—you scare us.”
It was true that Miss Polly had grown very white, but there was a wonderful light in her eyes, and she held the baby tight.
“Where are they?” she questioned tremulously. “I think I am beginning to understand, but, oh, my dears, how——”
Miss Polly did not finish her sentence, for at that moment Dulcie—who had been standing by the door—suddenly threw it open.
“It’s all right, Mr. Oliver,” she cried. “Miss Polly has guessed who you are, and she loves the baby.” And without waiting for anything more, she darted away, closely followed by Daisy.
Maggie was waiting for them in the lower hall, ready to ask innumerable questions, but she waited in vain, and when, at the end of half an hour, she ventured up-stairs, to listen outside Miss Polly’s door, there was no sound of children’s voices to be heard. There were other voices, though; Miss Polly’s with a ring of gladness in it that Maggie had never heard before, and her brother’s, low and full of tenderness. The pretty sister-in-law spoke, too, and once the baby crowed, but where were the children? Maggie was so puzzled that at last she could not endure the suspense any longer, and knocked softly at the closed door.
“Excuse me, Miss Polly,” she apologized, when Mr. Oliver had opened the door, “but can you tell me where the little girls from next door are?”
“They must have gone home,” Miss Polly answered. “They left here some time ago.”
“They never came down-stairs,” Maggie objected. “I’ve been waiting in the front hall all the time. I think they must be hiding somewhere.”
Miss Polly laughed her old merry laugh, that nobody in the boarding-house had heard in months.
“They are not hiding,” she said. “They have probably gone home through the mysterious door in the wall.”
Dulcie and Daisy were very happy as they made their way, for the last time, through the familiar housemaid’s closet, to their own trunk-room, but their troubles were not yet over. In the excitement of the moment they had quite forgotten the important fact that Mary was cleaning the nursery. Now it happened that at the very moment when the two little figures emerged from the trunk-room, Mary had gone out into the hall, and the sight that met her eyes was so astonishing that, as she afterwards expressed it to Bridget, “she nearly dropped down stone dead on the spot.” Explanations followed, and Mary was made acquainted with the famous door in the wall.
“Grandpa had it cut through when his brother lived here,” Dulcie explained. “They were both writers, and they had their studies up here on the top floor. The door was so they could go from one study to the other without having to go down-stairs. We’ve known about it for a long time, but we couldn’t tell, because we were afraid Grandma would fasten it, and then we couldn’t go to see poor Miss Polly. But now we don’t care whether Grandma fastens the door or not, because of course Miss Polly’s brother will take her home with him, and we won’t want to go in next door any more.”
Mary looked down thoughtfully at the two flushed little faces.
“If Mrs. Winslow finds out there’ll be a fuss,” she remarked. “Maybe I can fasten the door myself; I see there’s a bolt.”
“You mean you won’t tell Grandma?” cried Dulcie, scarcely able to believe in their good fortune.
Mary did not answer, but going to the door, she seized the heavy bolt, and with one turn of her strong fingers, fastened it securely.
“There,” she said, “I guess that’s safe enough. Nobody can get in here from the other side, anyway. I can’t see there’s any call to say any more about it. I’ve heard of that poor lady next door, and I guess it’s a good thing you went to cheer her up once in a while. I’m glad her brother’s come to look after her.”
So Grandma was not told of the door that had remained unfastened for so many years, and when Molly and Maud returned, they were regaled with such a wonderfully exciting story of the morning’s happenings, as fairly took away their breath, and caused them to almost forget to describe the parade.
“It’s just exactly like a book thing,” Molly declared, “breaking the news to Miss Polly and all, but I wish you hadn’t run away so quick. It would be so interesting to know what they all did.”
Daisy blushed.
“We couldn’t have stayed,” she said. “It was all so sort of solemn, you know, and beautiful. Perhaps we can go in again this afternoon—not through the door in the wall, that’s bolted—but when we are out for our walk. We can find out how Miss Polly is then, and you must see that adorable baby.”
When the four little girls presented themselves at the invalid’s door that afternoon, they found a very different Miss Polly from the one they had left a few hours earlier. There was a bright color in her cheeks, and a light in the eyes that had looked so sad and wistful of late. Miss Polly was alone, for her brother and sister-in-law had gone away to the hotel, where they were to pass the night.
“Tom is coming to see me again this evening,” she told them, and in her voice was a ring of wonderful new happiness. “Oh, children, I can’t help feeling as if it must be a dream, and that I shall wake up after a while. I have dreamed of this before, but I never believed it would come true.”
“Then—then you’re not very angry,” whispered Daisy, nestling close to her friend. “I was so afraid you would never forgive me for writing that letter. Dulcie and Molly thought I ought not to have done it, but, oh, Miss Polly dear, I couldn’t help it. You were so unhappy that day, and you said it was your pride, and—and——”
“My dear little girl,” interrupted Miss Polly, putting her arm round her tenderly, “I couldn’t possibly be angry with any one to-day, much less with some one who has been the means of bringing me this great joy. I would not advise you to make a practice of trying to arrange your friends’ affairs, but in this case it has turned out all right.”
Daisy grew scarlet, and hid her burning face on Miss Polly’s shoulder.
“I’ll never do such a thing again,” she promised. “Oh, Miss Polly, I’ve been so worried ever since I wrote that letter. It was such a relief when your brother came, and I knew he wasn’t going to be angry.”
“No, dear, he wasn’t angry,” Miss Polly answered softly. “It is all very wonderful. Think of it, children, Tom and Helen really want me to come and live with them. Helen came all the way from Chicago with Tom, to tell me herself how much she wanted me. Tom can’t be away long, so we are starting the day after to-morrow. Miss Collins will be back to-night, and I know she will understand, and be glad.”
Dulcie sighed.
“We shall miss you very much,” she said, “but we can write to each other, and it will be lovely to think of you in that pretty little house you used to tell us about. Papa is coming home soon, and he says we are to have a home of our own, just as we had before Mamma died, so perhaps we won’t be here next winter either.”
“I am so glad,” said Miss Polly. “I shall never forget my dear little neighbors, and all they did to make me happy.” She laid her hand lovingly on Daisy’s head as she spoke.
“Grandma never found out about the door,” said Molly, “and now it’s bolted, so nobody can use it any more. We wrote Papa about it, but we haven’t had any answer yet; it takes such a long time for a letter to come from China. Miss Leslie thought it was all right, though. I wish you could know Miss Leslie, she’s so sweet and dear. We tell her about everything, and she answers all our letters. We hope she’s going to marry Uncle Stephen, but we’re not sure. Dulcie’s written to ask him, but he hasn’t answered yet.”
Miss Polly smiled.
“You all seem very fond of writing letters,” she said. “I hope you will write to me often, for I shall be interested in everything you do.”
“I think this has been one of the happiest days we ever had,” remarked Dulcie, that evening, when they were all in the nursery, preparing for bed.
“It’s been lovely,” agreed Daisy, “but there’s going to be a happier one still, and that will be the day Papa comes home. I wish we could tell Lizzie about everything, she’d be so interested, and perhaps we shall see her when we go to the country, for Mary says her husband keeps the grocery store at Glenwood, and that’s only five miles from us.”
“And just think, Grandma and Aunt Kate never even heard of Miss Polly,” reflected Molly. “They might be just as happy as we are to-night, if they only took a little interest in other things besides missionaries.”