One afternoon, when the interest in the Brown house was still at its height, and before the children had made the acquaintance of their new neighbor, a little girl came slowly up the street carrying a sun-umbrella.
A hush had fallen upon the neighborhood; nobody was to be seen, and the only sound not made by the birds and insects was the far-away click and whirr of a lawn-mower.
She had had a long walk and was tired; a carriage-block under the maple trees offered a pleasant resting place, so, closing her umbrella, she sat down. She had a pair of frank gray eyes and a smile that made you feel at once that she was a cheery little person, accustomed to make the best of things.
"How still it is!" she said to herself. "I wonder if some wicked fairy has put everybody to sleep? I wish I might go into their houses and break the spell. And here comes an enchanted prince," she continued, laughing at the fancy, as a large black cat came across the street in a leisurely, sleepy way.
The gray eyes seemed to inspire his confidence, for the victim of enchantment stopped to rub against her dress.
"Pretty old kitty, you are somebody's pet," she said, softly touching the glossy head.
He could have told her that some one in the neighborhood was awake. In fact, two individuals had invaded the shady spot where he was taking his nap, and persisted in tickling his ears with grass till he was obliged to leave. He did not mention this, however, only arched his back and purred a little, and then, as if he suddenly remembered important business, trotted off through the bars of the gate and up the walk leading to a large house. The observer on the carriage-block thought it the most attractive house she had ever seen. Everything about it told of pleasant times: the tennis net, the hammock under the trees, the broad piazza, and, most of all, the wide front door which seemed to invite her to come in and see what sort of people lived behind it. "I wonder who lives here. I wish I knew. I believe I'll follow the cat and find out," she thought merrily.
At this moment the door opened and two little girls appeared, all in a flutter of dainty blue ruffles. Each carried a cushion, and one had what looked like an atlas under her arm.
"Shall we sit on the porch, Bess?" asked the one with yellow hair.
"Oh, no, Louise, don't you think it will be pleasanter under the chestnut tree?" the brown-haired maiden said; and then they came across the grass and settled themselves under the horse-chestnut, the branches of which met those of the maple tree that cast its shade over the carriage-block. They were quite unconscious of the wistful eyes that watched them as they bent over the atlas, from which Louise took some large sheets of paper.
"How pretty they are! I wish I knew them," the owner of the eyes said to herself. Then, feeling rather shy in the presence of these charming little persons who might look around presently and wonder what she was doing there, she rose and took up her umbrella.
She couldn't help lingering a little, for she wanted very much to know what they were going to do. Standing where she was shielded front their view by a bush that grew in the fence corner, this is what she heard:
"We haven't played the Carletons for ever so long; do begin," urged Louise.
"I think Lucy ought to be married," said Bess; "she is eighteen, you know, and I suppose people are generally married when they are so old as that. Then a wedding will be such fun!"
"Yes, indeed, and she has been engaged to Edwin Graves a long time."
"Well, her father and mother have at last consented, though they wanted her to marry an English earl, who was madly in love with her."
"I am glad I finished the new house in time," said Louise, holding up a drawing which represented the interior of a lofty mansion. "But go on about the earl."
"She met him at the queen's palace, where all the English young ladies were in love with him, but he thought Lucy the most beautiful of all. She did not care for him, though, because she loved Edwin and had promised to marry him. Even though he hadn't so much money, she said she would rather marry a free-born American than any haughty earl."
"That is very interesting," said Louise, admiring the patriotic sentiment, "but do you suppose if she didn't marry Edwin he would die of a broken heart?"
"But she is going to marry him," said Bess, refusing to consider the question.
"And now we will skip the getting ready part and have the wedding. It is a beautiful cloudless night in June, and there are roses everywhere; the house is filled with them."
"I'll put them in while you are telling it," suggested the artist.
Bess assented to this and continued, "Lucy is dressed now, and she is the most beautiful bride anyone ever saw."
"Do you remember Aunt Zélie's wedding?" asked Louise. "Cousin Helen says she was the prettiest bride she ever saw."
"Not very well. I don't remember how she looked, but I think she is the most beautiful person in the world now."
"Oh, yes, so do I!"
The wedding then went on without interruption for a while.
"Lucy is tall and stately, her eyes are blue as the sky, and her hair is long and golden. She speaks very softly, and has the sweetest smile, and she walks like a queen. Her dress is white silk and beautiful lace, with a long, long train, and she wears diamonds and carries a bunch of roses."
"Now tell about Edwin Graves, Bess."
"Men are a great deal harder to do," said the story-teller with a sigh.
"Let me, then, for I know exactly how he looks," and, clasping her hands around her knees and gazing upwards, Louise began: "He is very tall and grand-looking, his eyes are black, and his voice is very deep."
At this interesting point Bess exclaimed, "Louise, here comes Uncle William, and I know he is going to take us driving!"
The listener, who had forgotten everything but the story, came to herself with a start. "How dreadful of me!" she said, walking away very rapidly, while the story-tellers ran out of the gate to greet a tall gentleman who had just driven up.
"I suppose they are sisters," she thought, looking back once more before she turned the corner.
"How nice it must be to live in a house like that. Bess and Louise; I wonder what their last name is."
Louise was busy with her drawing one morning, comfortably established in a shady corner of the porch, when her aunt called to her:
"I wish you would keep an eye on Carie while Joanna goes on an errand for me."
"I will, Aunt Zélie," she responded promptly.
It was not likely her charge would give her much trouble, for Carie was quite capable of entertaining herself, and was at that moment promenading back and forth with an old parasol over her head, pretending she was going to market.
"Don't go on the grass, baby; it is wet," cautioned Louise, by way of showing her authority, and then returned to the new mansion for the Carletons upon which she was working. She soon became so absorbed in this that she forget to look up now and then.
Meanwhile Carie talked busily to herself, gesticulating with one small forefinger. But after a little she grew tired of filling her basket with grass and leaves, and stood peeping out through the bars of the gate. How much more fun it would be to go to the real market where she had often been with Joanna! She knew perfectly well that she was not allowed outside by herself, but that did not make it seem any less attractive. With a cautious glance over her shoulder she softly pulled the gate open, and in a moment more was flying up the street. When she reached the corner she turned to the right and slackened her pace, feeling very important and grown up as she bobbed merrily along under her parasol.
"Where are you going, little one?" asked a man who passed her.
She gave him a roguish glance as she answered, "To martet."
At the next corner she turned again to the right, safely crossing the street, but here everything was unfamiliar and she began to feel timid. Then she suddenly saw a very large dog coming toward her. He was so large she thought he must be a bear, and, with a frightened scream, she turned to run, but tripped over her parasol, and fell, a forlorn little heap, on the sidewalk.
"What is the matter? Are you hurt? You mustn't be afraid of the dog; he is good, and doesn't bite."
These reassuring words were spoken by a girl of eleven or twelve, who helped her up and brushed off her dress.
"What a darling you are!" she added, as Carie lifted her big blue eyes, all swimming in tears, saying, "I fought it was a bear."
"No, indeed; he is only a nice old dog who lives next door to me, so I know all about him. Now tell me where you are going all alone?"
"I runned away," was the honest answer, "and I dess you better take me home," she added, looking up confidingly into the pleasant face.
"Then you must tell me what your name is and where you live."
Carie could tell her name, but to the other question could only answer, "Over there," pointing in the wrong direction with great assurance. Her companion was puzzled; she felt certain some one was alarmed at the disappearance of this dainty little midget.
"I'll ask Mrs. West if she knows anybody near here named Hazeltine," she said. "Come in and sit on the doorstep till I find out something about you."
She was back in a moment. "I think I know now, you dear little thing! It must be that lovely house I saw the other day."
For some minutes after Carie's flight Louise worked on, then remembering her charge she discovered her absence. She ran to the gate and looked up and down the street, she searched the garden and the house, and finally burst in upon Aunt Zélie crying:
"I have lost her! I have lost her!"
The news spread in a moment; nothing else could be thought of till the lost darling was found.
Carl ran in one direction, Sukey in another, and Bess flew over to ask if by any chance Miss Brown had seen the runaway. Louise stood on the porch, the picture of misery.
"A Girl of Eleven or Twelve helped her up and brushed off her Clothes."
"You will never trust me again, never" she sobbed as her aunt came out and stood beside her, looking anxiously up and down.
"I am sure you won't be so careless another time," Aunt Zélie said, pitying her distress.
At this moment who should turn the corner but the small cause of all the excitement, chatting away to her new friend, quite unconscious that she was giving anybody any trouble!
"Why, Carie Hazeltine, where have you been?" cried Louise, drying her eyes and running to meet her.
"I found her on Chestnut street—a dog had frightened her," her companion explained, reluctantly releasing the plump hand she held.
"You are a naughty girl," said her sister, taking possession of her. "You might have been run over, or something dreadful."
"I didn't det run over," Carie insisted indignantly.
"Well, say good-by, and 'thank you for taking care of me.' We are all very much obliged to you," Louise added, turning to the stranger. Carie held up her mouth for a kiss, and then allowed herself to be led away.
"At any rate I know their name is Hazeltine," said Carie's friend to herself.
The culprit was soon in a fair way to think she had done something very funny and interesting, people made such a fuss over her, so Aunt Zélie carried her off to be solemnly reproved.
"I suppose you are going to the party to-morrow, aren't you?" asked Elsie Morris, a neighbor and friend, who had been helping in the search.
"Of course," answered Bess. "I am glad you came home in time, Elsie; Aleck is going to stay in and go with us."
"There are to be fireworks and lanterns and all sorts of things," observed Aleck, who lay at his ease in the hammock.
"Yes, I know," said Elsie, "and everybody is to have a—I don't know what you call it—something to remember the party by. Annie May told me herself."
"How nice! It will be almost like Christmas," said Louise.
"Not like one of Uncle William's parties, though," put in Carl.
"School begins next week, and three months of pegging before Christmas," groaned Aleck.
"Come on, then; let's make the most of the time we have," Carl urged energetically.
It was the afternoon of the next day, and Louise stood before the mirror critically viewing her sash.
"Why, Joanna! You have made Bess's bows ever so much longer than mine."
"I can't see what difference that makes," was the rather sharp reply, for the September day was warm and the task of dressing three restless young ladies for a party was not conducive to coolness.
"It makes a great deal of difference to us, for we wish to look exactly alike," said Louise loftily. "And if you are going to do a thing at all, you ought to do it well; Father says so."
"Dear me! Here comes Ikey, and we are not ready," exclaimed Bess, who stood at the window.
"You might be if you weren't so particular. I never saw the beat of your equal," and Joanna whisked Helen's dress over her head.
"The beat of your equal," Bess repeated. "What does that mean, Jo?"
"My patience!" was the only reply to be had from this much-enduring maid.
"Joanna is cross; I'll get Aunt Zélie to tie my sash," said Louise, running off, followed by Bess.
Their aunt was in the lower hall with Ikey, who was looking dignified, if not a trifle stiff, in a new standing collar. Louise decided that he needed a rose in his buttonhole, and danced away to get one when her sash had been arranged to her satisfaction.
Though there was more than a year's difference in their ages, Bess and Louise were exactly the same height, and were sometimes taken for twins. This delighted them beyond measure, and to help the impression they wished to be dressed alike, down to the smallest detail.
Though Bess's hair curled prettily she insisted on wearing it in two braids, because that was the only comfortable fashion in which her sister's heavy locks could be arranged. Aunt Zélie laughed at them, but let them have their way.
Carl and Aleck were the last to appear, which Bess thought was very strange, considering they had no sashes to be tied, or hair to be curled or braided.
"Now trot along and have the best kind of a time," said Aunt Zélie after she had inspected them, and given some finishing touches to their cravats; "I am proud of my girls and boys."
They were a merry party as they started out, waving their good-bys, Ikey feeling particularly proud to be counted one of her boys. He only half wanted to go, for, though sociably inclined, he was bashful, but the girls had promised not to desert him.
Carl affected to hold parties in disdain. "They never do anything worth while; who cares for 'drop the handkerchief' or dancing?"
When Louise mischievously suggested that he must be going for the supper, he strolled ahead with an air of lofty scorn.
The occasion was a birthday party, an outdoor affair, and the large yard was hung with Japanese lanterns ready to light when the sun went down. As the children came flocking in with their bright faces and gay ribbons, it was a pretty scene.
There were swings and all sorts of games, and soon everybody was busy having a good time. Even Carl forgot that he did not like parties. But there was one person who seemed to be left out of the fun. Stopping to rest after some lively game, Bess noticed a girl sitting on a bench all by herself. She looked lonely, and Bess felt sorry for her.
"I think I ought to go and speak to her; won't you go with me, Elsie?" she asked.
"No; I'd rather not. I think she is funny-looking."
"But I am afraid she does not know anybody."
"Well, it is not our party; why doesn't Annie May take care of her?" And Elsie smoothed her pink ribbons complacently.
Bess was shy, and thought she could not go by herself to speak to a stranger. "I'll wait till I see Louise," she said.
"Who is that girl?" some one asked the little hostess.
"Her name is Dora Warner," was the reply. "Mamma knows her mother. They haven't lived here long. I have tried to introduce her, but nobody wants to talk to her, and she doesn't know a single game. I wish Mamma would come and take care of her."
The stranger sat alone looking on at the merry scene. She felt timid and unhappy, and had to wink very hard now and then to get rid of a troublesome mist that found its way to her eyes.
"I am silly I know; I ought not to expect to get acquainted all at once," she said to herself bravely.
If it had not been for the loneliness she might have enjoyed the fun going on around her, even though she had no part in it. Such dainty dresses, such laughing and dancing about, such airs and graces, she had never before seen! She recognized the charming little girls who had so taken her fancy a week or two before—sisters, she felt sure, of that dear little Carie.
"Oh, dear!" she said at last; "I can't help wishing I had not come!"
Not thinking what she was doing, Dora took up a croquet mallet which had been left on the bench, and began slowly to screw it into the ground. Just then a boy rushed by hotly chased by another. The one in pursuit tripped on the mallet and fell headlong on the grass.
"Are you hurt? I am so sorry; I did not mean to do it!" she exclaimed in dismay.
"No, I am not hurt," he replied, sitting up and rubbing the stains off his hands with his handkerchief. "How did you come to do it anyhow?" and he gave her a glimpse of a pair of merry brown eyes, and then went on polishing his hands.
"I don't know," she answered.
"If it had not been for you I could have caught Aleck."
"I am so sorry," Dora said again, in such a mournful tone that the boy laughed.
"You needn't think I care! Aleck knows I can catch him. Do you like to run?"
"I haven't tried it very often lately. I think you could catch me," she answered.
"I probably could; as a general thing girls aren't much on running, but you should see Louise!"
"Who is she?" asked Dora.
"She is my sister; I thought everybody knew Louise."
"I don't know any one," was the reply in a mournful tone.
"Don't you really?" Carl asked, sitting up very straight; "and is that the reason you are over here by yourself?"
"I know Annie a little, but you see I haven't lived here since I was a baby. We have been travelling about a good deal, so I haven't had a chance to know many people. Mamma wanted me to come this afternoon."
There was something exceedingly pleasant in her straightforward manner.
"I don't care much for parties myself," said Carl, "but if you want to get acquainted you must not stick in a corner."
"What must I do?" Dora asked, smiling.
"Well, to begin with, you make friends with somebody who knows somebody else, and so on. It is very easy."
"Then I have begun with you, though I do not know your name."
"Very well, here goes! My name is Carl Hazeltine, the girl over by the oak tree is my sister Louise, the boy with her is Isaac Ford—the one who is laughing I mean; next to him is Elsie Morris, and that fellow coming this way is Aleck Hazeltine, my cousin, and—"
Dora put out her hand appealingly. "I can't possibly remember so many, and I haven't told you my name. It is Dora Warner."
"We used to have a cat named Dora," Carl remarked gravely, taking a small round glass from his pocket and composedly surveying his necktie, "a nice, white, meek little pussy cat."
"I had a dog once, when we were in London, named Carl—o. He was a curly dog and ever so vain when we tied a ribbon on his collar," was the prompt response. Then they both laughed merrily, and Carl asked with friendly interest, "Were you really in London!"
"Yes, we were there last winter."
"Wasn't it great fun?"
"No, for papa was ill, and mamma always with him, so I was lonely."
Something in Dora's tone made Carl notice that her sash was black.
"So I suppose her father is dead," he thought, but could think of nothing to say, and jumping up suddenly was off like a flash.
Dora thought her new acquaintance a funny one, but his friendly manner had made her feel cheerful again.
She saw him coming back presently, accompanied by a little girl with soft dark eyes and a sweet face which she recognized at once.
"This is my sister Bess," he announced.
Bess sat down beside her, saying gravely, "Carl says you don't know anyone. Wouldn't you like to come and play with us? We are going to begin a new game."
Dora was quite ready. "Only I am afraid I shall not know how," she said.
"That won't make the least difference, for we haven't any of us played it before. It is very easy—just throwing bean-bags," and, taking her hand in a friendly clasp, Bess led her toward a gay group that was all in an uproar over some of Aleck's nonsense.
"Here comes that odd-looking girl," whispered Elsie to Helen. "Just see what a plain dress she has on!"
"Why, you are the girl who brought our Carie home yesterday, aren't you?" cried Louise, as Bess introduced Dora.
"Are you really? She has been talking about you all day. Carl, it was Dora who found Carie," Bess exclaimed delightedly.
From this moment the charmed circle was open to her. Dora could hardly believe she was not dreaming. To be taken into the midst of all the fun under the protection of her new friends—to find herself suddenly popular! What could have seemed more incredible half an hour before? Louise, who was a born leader, and whose bright face and sunny temper made her a general favorite, took her in charge, and Dora entered so heartily into the game, laughing so merrily at her mistakes, that her companions begun at once to like her.
"Come, Elsie, aren't you going to play?" asked Bess.
"I don't know how," was her reply, in a fretful tone.
"It is perfectly easy," said one of the others.
"Never mind; she doesn't know beans," laughed Aleck, tossing a bag to Dora.
"I know you are very rude," pouted Elsie.
"Do play," urged Dora, running to her. "I will show you exactly how," and half reluctantly she yielded, for she really wanted to play. Before they were through the game, supper interrupted, and gave them something else to think about.
Mrs. May, remembering the stranger and coming to look for her, concluded that she was quite able to take care of herself, for she seemed to be having an extremely good time.
A good time truly it was, Dora thought, as she sat among her new friends.
"I am so glad we are acquainted with you," Louise said.
"I am sure I am glad," she answered, "and I do hope I shall see Carie again sometime. There is one thing I must tell you," she continued. "The other day I walked by your house, and I was so tired I sat down on your carriage-block to rest. It was very quiet, and nobody was in sight, and I was sitting there thinking how very big your front door was—"
"How did you know it was our house?" asked Bess.
"I didn't then, but presently the door opened and you two came out. You had on blue dresses, and Louise had a book, and you came and sat under a tree not very far from me."
"Why, we didn't see you!"
"I know you did not, and, of course, I ought to have gone away, but"—here Dora's face flushed—"I couldn't help hearing the beginning of your story, and then I forget what I was doing—it was dreadful; I want you to know about it—I listened to all you said."
"How funny! And we did not see you! Why, Dora, we don't care a bit, do we, Bess?"
"I am very glad if you don't. I was so ashamed of myself. I hoped some day I should know you, but I did not think it would happen so soon," and Dora heaved a sigh of relief.
"But isn't it funny that you should have found Carie?" said Bess.
"And then have tripped me up," added Carl, joining them. "It is really as curious as our getting acquainted with Miss Brown."
"Who is Miss Brown?" asked Elsie.
"She is a person who has lately moved into Nottingham castle," he replied gravely.
"Robin Hood broke one of her windows," added Aleck.
"What does he mean? I don't understand it at all," fretted Elsie, who was so easily teased the boys could never resist the temptation.
"Carl is talking nonsense. I will tell you about her sometime," said Bess.
"Good-by, Dora," said Louise when the happy evening was over and they were starting home. "I think we ought to be friends because you found Carie; don't you, Bess?"
Bess certainly thought so, for she had taken a desperate fancy to this new acquaintance.
"You must come to see me; Helen and all of you," Dora said cordially.
"Mamma, I have had a beautiful time, I am glad I went," she exclaimed, standing beside her mother's couch a few minutes later. "Does your head ache? Then I'll wait till to-morrow to tell you about it;" and she went to bed to dream pleasant dreams.
When the children reached home that evening they found Aunt Marcia and Uncle William in the library.
Carie, too, was there, bent on an investigation of her uncle's pocket, from which she had just brought to light in triumph a chocolate mouse.
"Now, baby dear, you must go to bed, mammy is waiting for you," said Aunt Zélie.
"Let me find one uzzer one," pleaded Carie, depositing her prize on her uncle's knee, and continuing the search.
"Of course you have had a 'perfectly lovely' time," said Uncle William as the party-goers entered.
"Indeed we have," answered Louise, establishing herself on an arm of her father's chair. "And we've found the nicest girl," she added.
"I found her," said Carl.
"She is the girl who brought Carie home yesterday, and we like her very much," explained Bess.
"Annie May hasn't any politeness; she didn't introduce her to more than one or two people. Think of being at a big party like that and not knowing anyone!"
"That is not a proper way in which to speak of your hostess, my son," said Mr. Hazeltine.
"How did you happen to get acquainted with her?" asked Aunt Zélie, smiling at Carl's vehemence.
"Auntie, it was the funniest thing you ever heard of!" Louise exclaimed. "She tripped him up with a croquet mallet!"
"She must have been desperate," remarked her father, pulling one of the long braids that hung over her shoulder.
"She did not mean to do it—it was when I was running after Aleck—and she was very sorry. Then I found she didn't know anybody, so I went for Bess, and she had a good time after that," Carl explained briefly.
"She has lived in London, and different places abroad," Bess added.
"May we go to see her, auntie? We told her we would if you'd let us."
"Louise, you should never promise to visit people till you know something about them," said Aunt Marcia reprovingly.
"Her name is Dora Warner, and she boards with her mother at Mrs. West's on Chestnut street, and her father is dead. I think we know a good deal about her, Aunt Marcia," Bess said demurely.
"I am going to see her, and take her a chocolate mouse," Carie suddenly announced, having been a silent listener while she captured a handful of mice.
"I want to know what it is you like so much about your new friend," said Uncle William.
"What do you think of her, Helen?" his wife asked of the little girl, sitting so quietly beside her.
"Oh, I like her, Aunt Marcia, ever so much. She asked me to come to see her, and she is older than Bess."
"There is no nonsense about her," said Carl.
"I think it is hard to tell why you like people." Bess twisted her handkerchief meditatively. "She isn't exactly pretty, but she is pleasant and polite—"
"Yes, and she is ready to do anything, and doesn't think about her clothes," Carl interposed.
"Boys think about their clothes as well as girls," said Louise. "I know lots of girls who don't think about their clothes."
"So do I—some who have no regard whatever for them," said Aunt Zélie, laughing.
"Do you know I like the description they give of Dora," remarked Mr. William Hazeltine, after the children had left the room.
"I never knew Carl to be so warm in the praise of a new acquaintance," said his brother. "You will have to let them go to see her, Zélie."
"Pray, do not be rash; find out who they are first," begged Mrs. Hazeltine.
"I can't help thinking," said her husband, "that this little girl may be the daughter of my old friend Dick Warner; you remember him, Frank? He died about a year ago, somewhere abroad. As bright and sweet-tempered a fellow as ever lived! I must look into it."
Uncle William usually had his own way about things, for the reason that no other way was so pleasant. No one could resist his bright face and cordial manner. He carried around with him an atmosphere of such hearty goodwill that it was next to impossible to be cross or gloomy in his presence. People sometimes wondered how he happened to marry Mrs. Hazeltine, but the reason was plain enough to him. He regarded her with the greatest admiration, feeling that a harum-scarum fellow like himself was most fortunate in having such a wife to keep him straight. He was very proud and fond of her, and quite blind to what others called her managing propensities. Sometimes, indeed, he wondered how she could be so severe in her judgment of the children, but then someone must be firm. And though she was often annoyed by his friendliness with all sorts of odd people, and wished William would draw the line somewhere, she always ended by saying leniently that he would never be anything but a boy.
He had a warm love for children. No matter how ragged and forlorn they might be, they interested him. The newsboys and bootblacks felt that he was their friend, and many were the treats they received at his hand. By his young relatives and their many friends he was looked upon as a sort of every-day Santa Claus. One of his peculiarities was a love for surprising people. He sent mysterious parcels, left candy about in unexpected places, or took the children out for a walk, and then whisked them off on some delightful excursion.
Promptness was another of Uncle William's good qualities. Having determined to make inquiries about his old friend, he did it at once, and so it happened that Dora and her mother were called down to the parlor one day to see a tall gentleman with kindly dark eyes and iron-gray hair, who won them at once by his simple, cordial manner.
Mrs. Warner was a thoroughly saddened woman since the death of her husband, but even she could not resist his friendliness, and Dora was altogether captivated.
The children were surprised and delighted when they heard that their uncle had been to see the Warners, and that Dora was really the daughter of his old friend.
"So of course we ought to be friends with her," Bess remarked, as though it was a solemn duty rather than a pleasure.
Aunt Zélie allowed them to go to see her at once, and invite her to spend the next day with them.
"Don't things happen beautifully, Mamma?" Dora said gayly, as she dressed that morning. "To think that I really know Bess and Louise, and am going to see them!"
Her mother smiled sadly; she was glad her daughter had found such pleasant friends, for she knew that their quiet life was making her old for her years.
So Dora, in a flutter of delight, found herself following in the footsteps of the black cat, up the walk leading to the Big Front Door. And there on the porch, stretched at his ease, was that gentleman himself, apparently waiting for her, for he rose to meet her, and arched his back, and purred with great friendliness.
Then the door opened and she was inside, but before she could look around her, three little girls came flying down the stairs and laid violent hands upon her. Talking very fast, and quite breathless with laughing, they took her up to the dainty room—all blue and white—which Bess and Louise called theirs, where she took off her hat. Next she had to be presented to Aunt Zélie, from whom she received a welcome which made her feel at home from that minute. And then to the star chamber, where they found Carl, who was very glad indeed to see Dora again. One morning was really too short for all there was to be said and seen.
Dora was interested in everything: stamp albums, photographs, dolls, and most of all in the story books.
"You must take 'The Adventures of Robin Hood' home with you," Carl insisted when he found she had not read it, and then the others began to press their favorites upon her until she was quite overwhelmed.
She must look over at the Brown house garden, and hear about their new neighbor, and about Ikey Ford, and how tiresome his grandmother was. These confidences were interrupted by Carie, who walked in, eager to see the girl who had found her, and other attractions faded before the delight of holding this dainty bit of humanity on her lap. Nothing could be so charming, Dora thought, as she kissed the rosy cheeks and soft hair, and listened to her funny chatter; for Carie, who was not given to showing favors indiscriminately, treated her with unusual graciousness, bestowing chocolate mice with a lavish hand.
"You ought to be the best children in the world, for you have everything," Dora said as they went down to lunch.
"Oh, we are!" modestly replied Carl.
When this was over she was taken into a large room full of books and beautiful things, among them two portraits. One of these was of a white-haired man whose eyes seemed to smile at her as Bess said, "This is Grandfather;" the other face had something about it so like Bess's own that her low-toned explanation, "This is Mamma," was not needed.
After all, they had not quite everything.
When Carl went over to see Ikey about something, they seized the opportunity to play the Carletons, it being a game that the masculine mind scorned. They sat under the same chestnut tree, and the black cat joined them, and was formally introduced to Dora as Mr. Smith. Everything was quiet in the neighborhood, somebody was cutting the grass not far away, and it really might have been mistaken for that afternoon two weeks ago, except that the girl who was then on the carriage-block was now in the garden. To make the resemblance complete, who should drive up but Uncle William, calling to know if anybody wanted to go to the country.
The Carletons were promptly consigned to the seclusion of the atlas, while the romancers ran for their hats.
It was almost dark when Dora was set down at her own door, merry and rosy.
"Good-by! and do ask your mother to let you go to our school," her friends called, waving their handkerchiefs as they turned the corner. That happy day settled it. Dora and the Hazeltines became fast friends. Everybody liked her, the grown people as well as the children. Even Aunt Marcia pronounced her a most well-behaved little girl, and hoped Bess and Louise would profit by her example. Carl claimed the credit of having discovered her, and Carie always referred to her as "My Dora."
When Miss Brown said of the Big Front Door that it made her cheerful simply to look at it, she had no idea, nor had anyone else, how much was going to grow out of it.
First of all was the story Uncle William told one stormy Sunday evening before the wood fire in the library.
It had been a trying day to the children, with the rain coming steadily down, their father away, and Aunt Zélie sick with a cold. Perhaps it was not to be wondered at that by afternoon they had grown "cantankerous," as Sukey expressed it, and that something very like quarrelling had gone on in the star chamber.
This was all forgotten when the early tea was over, and they gathered around the fire with Uncle William in father's arm-chair.
The shadows were dark in the corners of the room, but the soft wavering light gilded everything within reach, touching Grandfather's portrait with its gentle magic, till he himself seemed to be standing there, smiling and about to speak. The young faces turned to Uncle William were full of quiet content.
"Do you know what Miss Brown has named our house?" Bess asked. "She calls it the house with the Big Front Door."
"That is a very good name and reminds me of a story."
"Oh, please tell it," they all begged, and so without preface Uncle William begun:
"Once upon a time a man built a house. He selected the materials with greatest care, and watched every brick, stone, and beam used in its construction, that everything might be strong and good. But it was to the front door that he gave most thought. This was of oak after a design of his own, and was wide and massive, with hinges of wrought-iron and a dragon's-head knocker. Some of his neighbors admired it, others found fault with it, objecting that it was out of proportion and too large for a dwelling-house. But after a while they discovered that it was more than an ordinary door. There was some magic about it; it shed a radiance over the whole neighborhood. People when they were perplexed would look towards it, and presently their doubts would fade away. Those who were despondent or sorrowful were cheered and comforted by the sight of it. In stormy weather it was like a small neighborhood sun. And no one rejoiced more than its owner in the strange power of the door, for he had a heart full of love and goodwill, and he and his children were constantly doing kindnesses to their neighbors. They were a happy family too among themselves, and the reason seemed to be because they lived in the radiance of the magic door.
"At length, to the sorrow of his friends, this good man died. In his parting instructions to his children he warned them that the door might sometime lose its power, and if its hinges should ever become rusty, or its lock hard to turn, he directed them to a certain iron box where they would find a key which, if used according to the directions attached, would soon restore it. This made little or no impression upon them at the time, for, since the oldest of them could remember, the door had been always the same, and it seemed improbable that it would ever change. They missed their father sadly, but for a time continued to live as they had when he was with them. However, as the months passed, all unconsciously at first they began to neglect their duties; to forget the acts of neighborly kindness they had once been so glad to perform; and saddest of all, they fell to quarrelling among themselves. Then one day they could not open the door, try as they would. Rust was discovered thick upon its hinges, and while they were wondering how this could have happened, some one brought word that complaint was general in the neighborhood that the door had lost its magic power. The children looked at one another in dismay, till one remembered the iron box and went in search of it. When it was found and opened in the midst of the family there was in it simply an ordinary key with a card tied to it, and on the card were written these words: 'They helped every one his neighbor.'
"They were for a time at a loss to understand, when one wiser than the rest spoke: 'Do you not see,' he said, 'that it was the spirit of helpfulness that made our home happy, and gave our door its strange power? We have neglected our father's teaching; have been selfish and unloving, and so are no longer a blessing to ourselves or others.'
"Each felt in his heart that this was true, and with one accord they made up their quarrels; one went to visit a sick neighbor, another carried a coat to a poor man and food to his children, and in various ways they tried to begin over again, and live as their father had lived. Then happiness returned to their home, the key slipped easily into the lock, the door opened wide once more, and gradually regained its old power. So not only were they happy themselves, but they kept alive the memory of their father, whose name was loved and honored by all who came within the radiance of the magic door."
There was silence for a few minutes; then Bess asked, "Was Grandfather the man who built the house?"
Uncle William smiled.
"You must find the moral for yourselves, but I acknowledge that Miss Brown put the idea into my head."
"And you told it because we were cross this afternoon, I know," said Louise wisely.
"Suppose Miss Brown could tell when we are bad just by looking at the door!" Carl suggested, laughing.
"It would be dreadful," said Bess soberly.
"But it isn't true about our door, is it?" Helen asked.
"Of course not, goosie," replied her brother.
"Put it the other way, and suppose that Miss Brown could tell when you are kind and unselfish, that would not be dreadful," said their uncle. "And I forgot to say," he added, "that the key in the story is warranted to work like magic anywhere. It was a favorite text of your grandfather's. When this house was built I was a little boy, hardly as old as Helen, but I remember distinctly the first time I went through it. I was very much delighted, and came running down the steps, calling, 'Oh, father, what a nice house this is!' and he replied, 'I am glad you like it, William. It is only a house now, but we are going to try to make it a home.' I don't think I quite understood what he meant till long afterwards, though he went on to explain that a home is a place where love, obedience, and helpfulness grow, and are stored up as the water is stored in Quarry Hill reservoir, to find its way out into the world after a while, carrying comfort and cheer.
"Your grandfather did all he could to make this house a real home while he lived, and now the responsibility rests upon you."
"I truly mean to remember the key, and try to be a helper," said Bess, finding and marking the text in her own Bible, at Uncle William's suggestion. "I like that part about the radiance of the magic door," she added.
"It is easy enough to talk about it, but it's not so easy to be good," said Carl with emphasis.
"We are not here to do easy things, and, as Bess says, we can all try," Uncle William replied, "and now we have had a sermon, let us have some music before I go."
"Let's tell Dora about the magic door; perhaps she would like to help!" said Louise, as she and Bess went upstairs to bed.