The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Story of the Big Front Door, by Mary F. Leonard.

To the G.N.C.:

We should like to come to your meeting this evening, if you will let us. We have a splendid plan to tell you. Dora thought of it. Send reply by bearer.

Yours truly,
Bess Hazeltine.
Louise Hazeltine.
Dora Warner.

"Of course," said Jim, and as nobody was actively opposed, Carl scribbled, "Come on," on the back of their elegant note.

Within five minutes the girls were established in their midst, quite as if they belonged there.

When the screens were duly admired and their offers of help politely declined, Bess explained the object of their visit.

"We think it would be nice, now that we haven't secrets any more, and because you helped us with the harp man's benefit, for our clubs to be friends and meet together sometimes. Dora has thought of a beautiful plan. Won't you tell about it yourself, Dora?"

"It is nothing very great," she began modestly. "You know in the days of chivalry how all the knights belonged always to some order,—like the Knights Templars in 'Ivanhoe,'—and perhaps there are some now; I don't know."

"There is the Independent Order of Odd Fellows," suggested Will, and Carl added, "Joanna's young man belongs to the Ancient Order of something."

"Then I don't see why we shouldn't have one," Dora went on, laughing. "My idea was to unite our two clubs in an order, and call it the Order of the Big Front Door. We both have the same motto and are trying to help, so it would not be anything really new, except that we could have a badge to remind us, and have meetings together sometimes. The story of the Magic Door put it into my head."

The funny name took the boys' fancy, and the plan of having joint meetings was not altogether objectionable. The story of the Magic Door had to be explained to some of them, and while Bess was doing this Aunt Zélie came in. She was surprised and delighted to see the visitors, and when the new project was told again for her benefit, she thought it a very good one.

"I was trying myself to think of some way of keeping our motto in mind, and now you must let me furnish the badges. The name, Order of the Big Front Door, has given me an idea about them."

CHAPTER XVI.ToC

SILVER KEYS.

"I wonder what they are going to do this afternoon," said little John Armstrong.

He sat in his usual place in the bay-window, with his drawing materials and his books beside him, but the doings of certain girls and boys who constantly passed to and fro interested him more than any story book.

John was twelve years old and had never had a friend of his own age. That sad disease paralysis laid its hand upon him when he was only a baby, so instead of going to school, and running and playing like other children, he sat in a wheeled chair and looked on.

He was not exactly unhappy, for he had a quick, bright mind, and a love of knowledge which made his lessons a pleasure. Everything that love could suggest was lavished upon him by his father and mother, but they did not guess how he longed for the companionship of other children.

They feared the contrast between himself and them would only make him miserable. So in the eighteen months since Dr. Armstrong had been preaching in the church on the corner, John had hardly spoken to a child. The M.Ks. and the G.Ns. never dreamed how eagerly they were watched that winter. Some of them seeing him always at the window fell into the way of nodding to him as they passed.

He knew their names from hearing them call each other, and his favorites were Louise, Ikey, and Jim.

On this particular Saturday afternoon John felt that something unusual was going on. Dora passed with her work-bag, to be met at the Hazeltines' gate by Bess and Louise, and they seemed to have something very interesting to talk about as they crossed the street together.

A moment later Elsie and Constance went up the Brown house walk. This happened every Saturday, but when nearly an hour had gone by Jim Carter appeared. His whistle brought Ikey, and then Carl and Aleck, and they stood talking almost in front of John's window. How he did wish he could hear what they said! Presently they were joined by Will and Fred, and finally by Mrs. Howard, who had a package. Each of the boys apparently offered to carry this for her, but she declined. Then they, too, crossed the street and disappeared within the Brown house.

This was all John saw, except that Louise and Ikey came and sat in the window and seemed to be laughing, but that was not unusual.

It was the first meeting of the Order of the Big Front Door, that was being held at Miss Brown's this afternoon.

As the M.Ks. were still at work on Aunt Sallie's afghan, their meeting was put at half-past two in order to give them an hour and still leave time for the other. When this had passed the knitting was put away and more chairs brought in, for the Brown house sitting-room was not a spacious apartment, and twelve visitors quite filled it.

Much excitement was caused by the box which Aunt Zélie carried, for of course it held the long-expected badges.

"It is good of you to meet here," said Miss Brown, giving the G.Ns. a cordial welcome.

"It is good of you to let us," replied Mrs. Howard. "You belong to the new Order, and must have your badge as well as the rest of us. And now the meeting will please be in order, especially the members on the window-sill.

"The first business before us is the election of a President. The Tellers will please distribute the ballots."

This office was performed by Elsie and Aleck, who also collected and counted the votes, and announced the election of Will Archer. In the same way Bess was made Secretary and Ikey Treasurer. It was decided that the G.Ns. would give up their club once a month for the meeting of the Order, when reports from both clubs would be made. When this business was finished Aunt Zélie took up her box, saying, "The next thing is the distribution of badges; but before I take them out I want to say a word."

"Yes, I am going to preach a little. I want you to remember that these badges are to keep our motto before you. They mean that you promise to be helpers, and that is something more than getting up entertainments as we did for the harp man. It means being good-tempered and kind at home and in school, doing little thoughtful things for people. You remember in the story of the Magic Door it was because they forgot this that the lock grew rusty and useless, so it seemed to me that the most appropriate badge would be this." As she spoke she took from the box a tiny silver key. On close inspection it proved to be a pin so prettily and ingeniously made that anybody might be pleased to wear it. On one side was engraved a part of their motto—"They Helped"—and on the other, the letters O.B.F.D.

"I am afraid I can never be half so good to my neighbors as they are to me," she said, "but I'll try."

"We ought to thank Dora too, for it was her idea," said Carl as the clapping subsided.

"I am glad you are pleased, and I hope they will open some rusty locks," said Aunt Zélie.

"And now, if you please, we'll adjourn into the dining-room," said Miss Brown. "This is a very special occasion, you know," she added, in reply to a grave shake of the head from Mrs. Howard.

They drank success to the new Order in chocolate, and munched crisp little sugar cakes which were cleverly twisted into M's and K's. Mary had long ago become a friend of the children, and this was her contribution to the occasion.

"There is something I should like to suggest," their hostess said as Carl passed the peppermints. "I feel an interest in people who, like myself, can't get about easily, and I have noticed that little lame boy over the way, and I wonder if these silver keys could not open a door of pleasure for him."

"Will suggested it long ago, but our Christmas work put it out of our thoughts," Mrs. Howard replied.

"Let Louise and Ikey go, and I will put up some cakes and peppermints for him," said Miss Brown.

Ikey, though shy when left to himself, was always willing to follow Louise, and they went off together in high spirits, not in the least subdued by Aunt Zélie's remark that she hardly thought she would care for a visit from two such geese.

John was still at his window waiting for the meeting to be over, and laughed at the sight of Louise chasing Ikey around the garden. They seemed to be disputing over something that was done up in a napkin. It ended by the former getting possession, and then, still laughing, they came out of the gate and crossed the street.

John's heart almost stopped beating for a second. Could they be coming to see him? He felt both glad and frightened when the maid announced that some children wanted to see him, but he told her gravely to ask them up. Louise's friendliness was irresistible, and when she came straight to his side holding out her hand and saying, "How do you do, John? We have been having a meeting at Miss Brown's, and she has sent you some sugar cakes. Ikey and I have brought them," John forgot his shyness and felt that she was an old acquaintance. He could not think of much to say, but he smiled cordially at them.

When the cakes were undone it was of course necessary to explain the meaning of so many M's and K's, and this led to an account of the other club, and the Order of the Big Front Door. It was like finding the missing pages of a fascinating story.

"And that is what you were doing this afternoon?" asked John, admiring the little keys. "I did so wonder what was going on when I saw the boys go in."

The visit was a decided success. When Mrs. Armstrong came hurrying in, feeling that she had left John a long time alone, she found him with very bright eyes, eating sugar cakes.

This was only the beginning; it soon became an established thing for one or two of the Order to spend an afternoon each week with the lame boy; and at such times the pleasure was by no means all on one side.

CHAPTER XVII.ToC

A PRISONER.

"You can take him the last 'St. Nicholas' if you do. I'd rather have you go there than to Dora's or Elsie's, for then I shall not wish so much that I could go with you," answered Bess, who was to spend the afternoon at the dentist's.

Louise found the magazine and then walked as far an the Armstrongs' gate with her sister and Joanna.

Several hours later Bess entered the room where Mrs. Howard was taking off her wraps, and asked, "Do you know where Louise is, Aunt Zélie?"

"Surely she must be in the house; it is nearly dark. Did you have your tooth attended to?"

Bess forgot everything else in the interest of relating her afternoon's experience, but when the story was finished she began again to wonder what had become of Louise.

"I think Carl has just come in—I hear his whistle; perhaps she is with him," said Aunt Zélie. But upon inquiry he had not seen her since lunch.

"Yes, and I have asked Sukey and James, and they have not seen her," Bess replied.

"It is a little strange, for she knows I do not like to have her out late. She was going to John's, wasn't she?"

"I know she went there, for she walked as far as the gate with me. Perhaps some of the boys are there and will bring her home," said Bess.

"We will wait a quarter of an hour, and if she does not come I'll send over to the Armstrongs'," said Mrs. Howard.

The minutes slipped away, but no Louise; and Joanna, who was sent in search of her, returned with the news that she had left there about four o'clock.

"I hardly think she can be lost, but I am worried about her. Joanna, you'd better go to Mrs. Warner's, and, Carl, suppose you run over to Miss Brown's, she may be there," and Aunt Zélie walked to the window and looked out into the darkness. "It is beginning to snow," she said.

Neither Miss Brown nor the Warners had seen Louise, nor had she been heard of at the Morrises', and they were trying to think what to do next when Mr. Hazeltine came in.

"Father, she must be lost, don't you think so?" asked Bess, when matters were explained to him.

"I don't know what to think," he answered. "Louise is not the kind of a child to get lost easily."

"It is too soon to despair, dearie," said Aunt Zélie, as Bess looked ready to cry.

"Suppose we have some dinner, and then if we hear nothing in the meantime, I'll go to the Armstrongs' and try to find a clue to start with," said Mr. Hazeltine.

It was not a cheerful meal, in spite of Aunt Zélie's effort to hide her anxiety and talk of other things. It seemed as if Louise's bright face must appear each minute; but dinner was over and no word of her.

The snow was falling fast when Carl and his father started out. Little John could tell them nothing more than that Louise had been there for an hour, and then said she must go, as there was something she wanted to do. He watched her out of the gate and thought she went home.

"I don't know, my son; yes, I am very much worried. I wish William was not away from home. I think, perhaps, the best thing I can do is to see Roberts." Roberts was a detective, and Carl began to feel that the situation was serious.

There was nothing for Aunt Zélie and Bess to do that long evening but wait and try to be patient. Mr. Hazeltine promised to telephone the moment he discovered the least clue to her whereabouts.

While she and John were playing checkers she overheard Mr. Armstrong talking to his wife about a book which he evidently was very anxious to have, and which he seemed unable to find either at the library or the bookstores.

At the first mention of the title Louise was sure she had seen it on their own library table at home, and remembered hearing her father and uncle discuss it. "I know father will lend it to him," she thought, and was about to say so to Mr. Armstrong, when she recollected that Uncle William had borrowed it.

"I am sure he has finished it," she thought, "and at any rate he has gone to Chicago. I'll go home and ask Aunt Zélie to let me get it." Eager to do this kindness, she ran off as soon as the game was finished.

But everybody was out. James was at work in the cellar; Mandy so occupied with her pantry shelves that she did not know when Louise passed through the kitchen; Sukey had taken Helen and Carie for a walk, and Aunt Zélie was at a lecture. What should she do?

She went up to the star chamber, hoping to find Carl and coax him to go with her, but he was not there. She wanted very much to get that book for Mr. Armstrong. He wished to make use of it in a lecture he expected to give on Monday night, so it was important that he should have it as soon as possible. She knew the way to Uncle William's perfectly, but she and Bess never went so far by themselves.

"I can go all the way on the cars," she said to herself. "Nothing could happen to me, and I can't ask Aunt Zélie when she isn't here." Trying to satisfy her conscience in this way, she found her pocket-book and started out. It happened that she saw nobody she knew as she waited on the corner for the car, feeling very independent.

"I wish I had asked Dora to come with me," she thought; "I shall have to hurry to get hack before dark."

"I want to go to the library just a minute, Bruce," she said to the man who opened the door.

He looked somewhat surprised to see her alone, but made no comment, only replying, "I am afraid it is rather cold there; we are having the furnace cleaned to-day."

"I only want to get a book. I'm not going to stay. And you needn't wait, Bruce. I can let myself out," she said.

The library was at the end of the hall, almost opposite the front door, but somewhat cut off from the rest of the house, as it communicated with no other room.

As Louise entered she pushed the door to behind her. Yes, there was the volume she wanted on the table. Taking it up and turning to go, her eyes fell on the corner where Uncle William kept his story books—books intended for his young guests, which he very much enjoyed reading himself sometimes, and to which he was constantly adding. As there seemed to be some new ones, Louise sat down to examine them, and before she knew it became absorbed. When at length she looked up it was beginning to grow dark.

"Dear me! what will Aunt Zélie say? I must hurry," she exclaimed, and running to the door she stopped in bewilderment, for there wasn't any knob, and yet it was securely latched. She was very much puzzled. For a few minutes it seemed rather funny to be fastened up in Uncle William's library, but when all her attempts to open the door failed it did not seem so much like a joke. She tried pounding on it, but any noise such small hands might make could not be heard twenty feet away. Louise soon realized this; the servants she knew were on the other side of the house and might not come near the library till the next day. She thought of the windows, and tried them one after another, standing on tiptoe on the sill, but she could not move the fastenings. The one that faced the street was too far back for any possibility of attracting the attention of passers-by.

"What shall I do? They won't know what has become of me," she said. She wondered if Bruce would not come to turn on the light in the hall, only to be disappointed again, for when she peeped through the keyhole it was already burning. Again and again she tried to move the latch with a pen-knife, and then with a paper-cutter, but without success.

Then she sat down to think. There was nothing to do but wait. She was a brave little person, but as she saw how dark it was growing and thought of home with all its light and cheer she could not keep the tears out of her eyes.

How foolish she had been, and naughty, too! What right had she to the book? She ought to have asked her father's permission before she thought of going for it. This was all quite clear now.

The room was cold, and outside the wind whistled about the house. The snow had begun to fall so thickly that when she went to the window she could not see the street. It was some comfort to turn on the electric light, but it did not keep her from being cold and tired and hungry. The clock said a quarter past six; in a few minutes more they would be eating dinner at home. Somebody must come; she couldn't stay there all night.

She went to the door again and called "Bruce! Bruce!" till she was tired. Slowly the hands of the clock moved on: seven; half-past; eight. Her excited imagination began to bring to her mind all the stories of burglars she had ever heard. Suppose some one should come to rob the house, knowing the family were away! She was afraid to take her eyes off the door, and much as she longed for release she almost dreaded to see it open. She sat on the floor, pulling a great bear-skin rug over her, and by and by she fell asleep with her head on a chair. Then she dreamed that she was out in a sleigh in a furious snow-storm. Carl was with her and Bruce was driving, and they were chased by wolves. (This was probably suggested by the story she had been reading, which was one of Russian adventure.) The wolves gained upon them, though they seemed to be going like the wind; she felt their hot breath on her face as they climbed over the back of the sleigh. Just as she was being dragged out she thought Carl cried, "There goes Louise!" Then she opened her eyes to find herself on the library floor, with Mr. Caruth and Bruce standing over her, and Dan, the big mastiff, trying to lick her face. The clock on the mantel said half-past ten.

About half an hour earlier Mr. Caruth, going home on a street-car, met an acquaintance who remarked that he had just seen Mr. Hazeltine, who was much worried over the disappearance of his little girl. His informer did not know which of the children it was, or any particulars, and after riding another block Mr. Caruth rang the bell and got off, intending to go hack to the Hazeltines and learn the truth of the matter.

On his way to take the down-town car he passed Mr. William Hazeltine's house. He noticed that only a dim light burned in the hall, and recalled the fact that they were out of town, but happening to glance in the direction of the library he was surprised to see it brilliantly illuminated. Hesitating for a moment, he turned and went up the steps. "I'll take occasion to ask Bruce if he knows anything about one of the children getting lost," he said to himself.

After some minutes the door was opened by the sleepy-looking man, who was not disposed to be quite amiable. In reply to Mr. Caruth's question he said he knew nothing about it.

"Well, see here, Bruce, what does that light in the library mean? Mr. and Mrs. Hazeltine are both away, aren't they?"

The man looked at him in surprise, and said there wasn't any light in the library.

"Just come out here, then, and tell me what you call this," and Mr. Caruth led the way to the corner of the house.

"I haven't been near the library since morning, sir," the astonished man exclaimed.

"They are all away but the cook, and she went to bed an hour ago. There was a man here attending to some locks, but he left about noon."

"It can't be burglars, for they wouldn't leave the blinds open. We must look into this," said Mr. Caruth, as they entered the house.

The dog had followed Bruce to the door, and under his protection they entered the library.

A more unexpected sight could hardly have met their gaze—Louise fast asleep on the floor, with the bear-skin partly covering her!

Dan's cold nose aroused her, and she started up with wide-open, bewildered eyes.

"Don't be frightened, it is only Dan," said Mr. Caruth, lifting her into a chair. "Get wide awake and then tell us why you are spending the night here. I am afraid from what I hear that they are worried about you at home."

"I'm awake now and I must go. You will take me, won't you?" said Louise, rising and pushing back her hair, and looking about for her hat. "I did not mean to stay here," she added, "but I couldn't get out—there isn't any knob on the door."

Bruce, who had been standing open-mouthed, turned at this to examine the door, and sure enough there was a knob on the outside, but not on the inside. He could not explain why it had been left so; he only knew that the man who came to make some change in the door-knobs had said that something was wrong and he could not finish the work till the next day.

A long ring at the hell startled Mrs. Howard, and aroused Bess from a troubled doze on the sofa. They ran into the hall just as Joanna, who was on the watch, opened the door with a scream of delight.

"Louise! Louise! Where have you been? Where did you find her, Mr. Caruth?" Bess laughed and cried at the same time, and Aunt Zélie was almost as bad. Louise was hugged and kissed and asked the same questions over and over again, because it was impossible to take in anything more than the glad fact that she was found.

In the midst of it Carl rushed in, exclaiming, "We can't find a trace of her, and Roberts says—"

"The next time you want a detective you'd better employ me," remarked Mr. Caruth calmly.

CHAPTER XVIII.ToC

SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS.

Louise's adventure resulted in a cold that came near being pneumonia, and kept her housed for more than a week. As she paid so dearly for her thoughtlessness, no one had the heart to scold her; indeed, she received an unusual amount of petting.

Mr. Hazeltine did suggest that the next time she wished to help one of her neighbors it might be as well to count the cost, and her meek "Yes, Father," showed that she saw her mistake.

"I wonder what will happen next," said Carl one day, a week later, speaking from the depths of the wardrobe, where he was rummaging.

"Nothing, I hope," remarked Bess, who sat in the window with Louise, supervising a new mansion for the Carletons.

"Nothing really nice has happened since Aunt Zélie gave us our silver keys," said Louise. "There is the postman; I am going to see if he has anything for us," and putting aside her papers she ran downstairs.

She and the postman were great friends, and always had some merry words to exchange when they met.

"Thank you, but they aren't for me. They are for my aunt. You must bring me one for myself."

"Dot is too bad, I vill haf one for you next time." He trotted off, and Louise carried the letters in and laid them on the library table, as Aunt Zélie was not at home, and then went back to her drawing. Just before dark Mrs. Howard came in, bringing Cousin Helen with her to spend the night. The children were delighted at this, for it meant a merry evening if nobody came to call. The one provoking thing about Cousin Helen was that she had so many friends.

"Now we can sit around the fire after dinner and tell stories," she said, putting away her papers in an old checker-board.

Their cousin, like their aunt, was generally willing to do what the children wished, so they made a sociable group in the library after dinner.

"Let's play something first," suggested Miss Hazeltine, taking possession of the sleepy-hollow chair.

"Thank you, miss, I am not such a sleepy-head as you think," said her cousin, with pretended indignation.

It was not till some one had a thought rhyming with "better" that Louise was reminded of the letters the postman left.

"Yes, just a note to say he will be at home to-morrow at three. I don't know this writing," opening the other.

"Why, it is from Miss Lyons, Aunt Mary's companion!" she exclaimed, looking at the signature.

"Nothing really serious. Aunt Mary fell and broke her ankle, and will have to stay in bed for several weeks; but the trouble is Miss Lyons's brother is very ill and she has to go to him."

"So that is it? And she wants some one to take her place for a while, I suppose. I'd go in a minute if Father and Mother were not away."

"Of course you could not go, Helen. I am the one. Frank will be at home, and Sukey is here to take care of the children. I wish I had had this sooner; I must telegraph to Miss Lyons that I will take the nine o'clock train to-morrow."

While she was speaking the children were silent from astonishment, but a wail arose presently.

"If you put on such long faces when she is only going sixty miles away for a few weeks, what would you do if she should go away to live?" asked Cousin Helen.

"Oh, no, not dreadful at all!" and Aunt Zélie laughed at the doleful faces. "You can help, all of you, by being cheerful. And think what nice letters you can write me!"

"Think of your wishing that something would happen!" said Bess reproachfully to her brother as they went upstairs.

It was very forlorn next morning to say good-by, knowing that when they came from school Aunt Zélie would not be there; but they remembered their promise and tried to be cheerful. How the rest of the day passed Bess told in a letter written that evening:

Dear Aunt Zélie: You have been gone ten hours. Carl counted it up, and we miss you very much. Father has come home, so that is one comfort. He is reading the paper now. It was lonely at lunch with only us, but Nannie came over with a note from Miss Brown asking us to come and take five o'clock tea, Carie and all. We had a good time. Miss Brown told stories and showed us some funny old things that belonged to her aunt. There was some jewelry that Louise and I would like to have to play Queen Mary in. Carl liked an old "Pilgrim's Progress" that was printed more than a hundred years ago, but Ikey said he would rather have a new one.

Carie was good as could be, and we had tea out of the little cups. We are grateful to Miss Brown. I think she was being a good neighbor, don't you? Father says it is bedtime, so good-night, dear Aunt Zélie.

From your loving nieces,
Bess and Louise.

Dear Aunt Zélie: I have not written before because there was nothing of interest to tell you. We are getting on very well, though I think Joanna is too bossy, and mammy is nearly as bad. But we have been pretty good on the whole. Cousin Helen was not going to let Aleck stay Friday night, for fear he would cut up, but Father said, "Nonsense!" so he came. We had a better time at the club than we expected. The boys were dreadfully sorry you were not there. Our screens are coming on finely, though Ikey pasted a dragon on upside-down. Will read the last chapter of "The Talisman" aloud while we worked. Then Father came up and was as jolly as could be. He advised us to read the "Life of Washington" next, and we decided to begin it next week. Father is coming up again if he can. The O.B.F.D. will meet next week, so we can't have the club; I forgot. Some of us will write you about it. I hope Miss Lyons's brother will soon be well and Aunt Mary too. Good-by,

Your devoted nephew,
William Carleton Hazeltine.

A week or two later Aunt Zélie received two long letters in the same envelope, from her nieces:

Dear Auntie: We have so much to tell you that we are going to divide it between us. Aunt Marcia has just been here and has asked Father to let Helen go with her to Florida. Isn't that lovely? Uncle William said he wished he could take us all, but I don't believe Aunt Marcia does. Louise and I wish we could go. Aleck wants Helen to bring him an alligator. Another thing we have to tell you is that Louise went to hear Patti sing, with Mr. Caruth. He was going to take Cousin Helen, but she was sick, so he came and asked Louise if she would go instead. Aunt Marcia said it was a great compliment to such a little girl, and that she must wear her white silk dress. I couldn't help wanting to go, because we always go together, and she was sorry too. Mr. Caruth brought her some flowers just as if she was a young lady, and I heard him tell Father she was a beautiful child. She had a lovely time, but she was sleepy next day. Now Louise is going to tell you about the meeting of the Order.

Your devoted niece,
Elizabeth Hazeltine.

Darling Aunt Zélie: Bess says I must tell you about the O.B.F.D. It met yesterday afternoon. We trimmed the star chamber with our flags, and Carl cut some big letters out of gilt paper,—O.B.F.D.'s I mean,—and put them on the wall. Everybody came, and we had a nice time. Carl made a speech of welcome; and Jim played on the banjo, and then we had reports. We each wrote on a piece of paper how we were trying to help, and Will read them. We didn't put our names, because Bess said it would seem as if we were proud of ourselves. Connie said some poetry and Aleck sang a funny song. Ikey and Will both had to pay fines. We are each going to pay ten cents a month and give the money to the Children's Hospital. When we thought it was all over Jim got up and said he had a present for us, and what do you think it was? Our motto painted in colors. Father says it is illuminated, and little John did it. Jim had it framed. We hung it on the wall, and we think perhaps we will ask John to belong to the Order. I liked Patti very much, but I wished Bess could go.

With a great many kisses and lots of love,
Louise Hazeltine.

CHAPTER XIX.ToC

AUNT SUKEY'S STORY.

"It is a whole month since Aunt Zélie went away, and nearly a week since we had a letter. I wonder if Miss Lyons's brother is not well yet;" Bess sighed, for time was beginning to drag.

"Suppose Miss Lyons couldn't go back at all, would your aunt have to stay?" asked Dora, who had come in to spend the afternoon.

"Dear, no! Aunt Mary would have to get another companion; Aunt Zélie belongs to us," answered Carl, who sat on the floor showing Carie pictures.

There was one supposed to represent the drowning of Pharaoh and his host which interested her deeply, and her brother made it even more thrilling by singing in an explosive manner one of Sukey's songs:

"What are you boys going to do this afternoon? Don't you want to play something?" asked Bess.

"Never mind; little girls mustn't ask questions," responded Carl paternally, as he and Ikey left the room. A moment later he returned to call through the half-opened door, "I know something I'm not going to tell."

"Perhaps Mandy will let us make some candy; let's ask her, and not tell the boys," Louise suggested.

So while Joanna carried Carie off for a walk the others went down to the kitchen.

It was a large, bright room, and it was Mandy's pride to keep it shining. Aunt Sukey sat by one of the windows with the mending basket beside her, and the presiding genius stood at the spotless table rolling out croquettes.

"Mandy, we are so lonely without Auntie! mayn't we make some candy to amuse us?" Louise put on her most coaxing expression.

"The kitchen ain't the place for young ladies to get their dresses dirty in, and their fingers burned," said Sukey severely.

"I don't think anyone could get dirty in this kitchen," Dora added in honest admiration.

This compliment pleased Mandy, and furthermore it was her kitchen, so she said good-naturedly, "You can make all the candy you want, so long as you get through before dinner-time."

With this permission the sugar and molasses were soon simmering in a saucepan, sending forth a pleasant fragrance.

When it was well begun Bess sat down by Sukey, saying, "Now tell us a story, mammy."

"Oh, go 'long, I tole you all my stories long ago! You all's getting too big for stories. Looks like it was just yesterday that Miss Zélie was askin', 'Mammy, tell me a story,' same as you."

"There never was a child as good-looking from first to last. Louise favors her, and it looks like I forget sometimes that it ain't Miss Zélie; but pretty is as pretty does, that's the truth, and she was pretty in manners as well as face."

"Go on and tell us about her," begged Louise, for though they had heard it all many times there was nothing they liked so well to listen to. Nor was there anything Sukey liked so well to tell, so as she sorted and turned and rolled the stockings in a leisurely way, she began.

The sunshine came in at the window and rested on Louise's bright head and Dora's dark one, as they sat together in the same chair. Bess's seat was an upturned earthen jar, and the same sunlight fell on her small folded hands and on the brown wrinkled ones at work with the stockings.

"Well, you know how Miss Zélie's ma died when she wasn't as big as little Carie, and the last thing she said to me was, 'Sukey, you mind my baby.' Miss Elizabeth always set great store by me, and I 'lowed that freedom or nothin' could take me from old Master's family. It was powerful lonesome in this big house in those days. Your grandpa took your grandma's death mighty hard, and he had to travel a good deal for his health, so Miss Zélie didn't have any one to look after her but Mr. William and me. Mr. Frank, your pa, was away at college. Then Mr. William got married. Miss Marcia is a good woman and kind-hearted, but she ain't any gift at managin' children, and that's the truth. Miss Zélie was a smart, lively child with a temper of her own, and if I do say it she would have had a hard time if it had not been for her old mammy. When she was ten years old Mr. Frank—he had been home from college a year—come to me and says, 'Sukey, I'm goin' to be married.'

"I didn't know whether to be glad or sorry, but I wished him good luck, an' he went back up North for his wife."

"I remember how Miss Zélie come to me, and says she, 'Mammy, do you think she will love me?'

"About that time Miss Marcia took it into her head to go to Europe. She said something about taking Miss Zélie along, but I up an' tole her that where my child went I went too, an' she 'lowed she didn't want me.

"It was the prettiest kind of a day when they came home, and we was out on the porch watchin' for them. They drove up presently with your grandpa, and Miss Elinor she came up the walk ahead of Mr. Frank, smiling as sweet us could be, an' she says, 'So this is my little sister.' I knew that minute they'd be friends.

"Your ma was dreadful fond of children, and she made a great pet of Miss Zélie, and she was as happy as a bird."

"Isn't it interesting to think of Aunt Zélie being a little girl?" said Bess; "but go on, Sukey, and tell about when Carl was born."

"Well, it did seem like she was just too happy when the baby came. He was a fine child, and Miss Elinor said Miss Zélie might name him. Well, she and your grandpa would sit and argue about that name, and after I don't know how long they settled on William Carleton. That was the name of Miss Elinor's only brother, and William was old Master's name too. Mr. Carl used to come down right often, and he and Miss Zélie was great friends, though he was eight years older. Well, when—"

Just at this moment the kitchen door opened; the children had their backs to it, but Sukey sat facing it, and her story came to a sudden stop. Bess, turning to look, was clasped from behind. Could it possibly be? Yes, it certainly was Aunt Zélie herself.

"This very minute. I wrote to Frank that I would be home to-morrow, and then found that I could get off to-day."

The candy was almost forgotten in the delight at Aunt Zélie's return, and would have been spoiled if Mandy had not taken it in hand.

When the traveller went to change her dress Louise had a little triumph over Carl which pleased her exceedingly.

Going up to the star chamber, she called, "Well, I have found out your secret, Mr. Carl. It is that Auntie is coming home to-morrow."

"Never mind, I told you I'd find out," and she ran away without giving him a chance to ask any more questions.

An hour later, when the boys came downstairs, there was Aunt Zélie looking as if she had never, never been away, and the girls quite consumed with delight at their surprise.

"Louise, that was mean!" Carl cried. "How long have you been here, I'd like to know?" with one of his bearlike hugs.

"I did not mean to be mean, really, and you and Ikey can have all the candy you want," said Louise generously.

Mrs. Howard had certainly no reason to doubt her popularity. The news of her arrival spread, and the next day in the afternoon she held an impromptu reception.

One after another the boys and girls dropped in, till the whole eleven were there. The first to arrive was Jim, with a great bunch of roses, at which extravagance Aunt Zélie shook her head, though she could not help appreciating their beauty and Jim's thoughtfulness.

Ikey wished that he could do magnificent things like that,—he sometimes dreamed of it,—but alas! he was in a chronically penniless state. He had nothing for her but a message from his mother, but when he screwed up sufficient courage to deliver it it seemed to please her as much as the roses. The message was: "Thank Mrs. Howard for being so good to my boy. Some day I hope to see her and tell her how I love her for it." Ikey's heart fairly glowed when Aunt Zélie said that it was only a pleasure to be good to such a nice boy.

"It is so nice to have Aunt Zélie back, I am almost glad she went," Bess was heard to say.

And that lady herself thought that such a welcome quite made up for the four rather lonely weeks in the country with her invalid aunt.