Nina Rhoades

“ As for Lizzie, chief cause of all the trouble, she had been driven home by her husband, a very sad and depressed Lizzie, for every one had blamed her for telling the children a piece of news which Mrs. Winslow had strictly forbidden every member of the household to mention. So the children had sat on the piazza in the twilight, after tea, Molly and Maud with their heads on their elder sisters’ laps, and nobody had talked much. There really did not seem anything to say, and it had been a relief to them all when bedtime came. ”

“ THE FOUR LITTLE WINSLOWS THEY all lived in the big front room on the top floor of Grandpa Winslow’s old-fashioned house near Washington Square. They had lived there for so long that Molly and Maud—who were only nine and seven—could not remember ever having lived anywhere else. But Dulcie—who was nearly twelve—and Daisy—who was ten and a half—had dim memories of a very different home—a home that was always bright and happy, and in which the grim figures of Grandma Winslow and her daughter, Aunt Kate, played no part. ”

“ I think sometimes Grandma just tries to be disagreeable.”
“I don’t think we ought to say such things,” said Daisy, gravely. “You know what Papa told us about being loyal.”
“Well, we don’t have to be loyal to Grandma when we’re all by ourselves,” retorted Molly. “It’s hard enough to remember when we’re with people, like Uncle Stephen and Miss Leslie. We can say what we like to each other, and it’s a great comfort.”
“Don’t argue, children,” reproved Dulcie, in her elder sister tone. “I’ve thought it over a lot, and I’ve decided that it really is our duty to go and call on the singing lady.” ”

“ Miss Leslie said she wouldn’t mind in the least, and by that time Mary had opened the front door, in answer to Uncle Stephen’s ring, and the good-byes had to be said.
“I feel just the way I’m sure Cinderella must have felt when she got back from the ball,” remarked Dulcie, throwing herself wearily on the nursery sofa. “That’s the only trouble about having good times; everything seems so dull when they’re over.” ”

“ If Papa were here, I know he would have bought me a new one, but Grandma doesn’t care how shabby our things are.”
“Oh, it isn’t so very spotty, and perhaps nobody will notice,” said Daisy, hopefully. “Don’t let’s think about anything that isn’t pleasant to-day. Isn’t it fortunate the sun has come out? If it had kept on raining, Grandma would have made us all wear our old clothes, and that would have been a great deal worse than just a few spots on one hat.”
“Yes, but it isn’t your hat,” objected Dulcie. “Yours looks almost as good as new, and Molly’s and Maud’s are all right, too.” ”

“ There was no one to be seen, but as they approached the house, the sound of a piano could be distinctly heard.
“Somebody’s practising exercises,” whispered Dulcie. “Perhaps it’s the lady of the house.”
[249] “There’s a doll’s carriage on the piazza,” said Daisy, “so there must be a little girl.”
“I’m glad,” said Dulcie, with a great effort to speak cheerfully. “If the people have a little girl of their own, it may make them kinder to other little girls. I’ve been thinking about our names. I don’t want to change them any more than I can help; it doesn’t seem quite honest. ”

“ But though Paul was pale, he was resolute. Not once did his courage fail, and when his turn came, he swallowed the disagreeable dose without a murmur.
“I had no idea I should grow so fond of Paul,” remarked Dulcie to Daisy, when they were all in bed. “I’m glad we told him about Miss Polly. I know she loved hearing him sing.”
“Paul is a very nice boy,” agreed Daisy, “but I’m afraid he doesn’t always tell the truth. That thing about the telephone couldn’t possibly be true.”
“It was just a story,” said Dulcie, indulgently. “People often make up stories just for fun. ”

“ Dulcie and Daisy looked doubtful, but Molly pleaded, and in the end the others consented, after exacting a promise from Paul not to laugh, and never to let the grown-ups know how silly they had been.
“We pretend this is the parlor,” said Molly. “We are all dressed in party dresses. Mine is pink silk, with white dotted muslin over it. There’s an imaginary piano over there by the window, and a man is playing dance music on it. Dulcie stands here by the door, and shakes hands with people when they come in. I announce their names, and everybody brings her a present. ”

“ Once Mamma read me about little Paul Dombey, and I cried so much I had a headache.”
“I wish we had a mamma,” said Daisy, with a sigh. “Children are never burdens to their mothers. I think yours must be nice; you talk so much about her.”
“She’s the loveliest lady in the world. She’s so good that everybody loves her. Haven’t you ever heard about her?”
“No, I don’t think we have,” Daisy admitted reluctantly. “You see, we don’t know very many people. What’s your mamma’s name?”
[256] “Mrs. Richard B. Thorne, and I am Barbara Muriel Thorne.”
“Oh, what a beautiful name!” cried Dulcie. ”

“ Grandma isn’t our real grandmother; she’s only a step, and steps are never any good. Even Aunt Kate isn’t our real aunt, because Grandpa was only her stepfather.”
“Steps are pretty bad,” remarked Dulcie, “but the worst of all is a stepmother, and, thank goodness, we haven’t got that. If I thought we were ever going to have a stepmother, I’d—I’d do something awful.”
“What would you do?” inquired Molly, eagerly. ”

“ Daisy laughed, but in a moment she was grave again.
“I wish Grandma would believe us,” she said. “We don’t tell stories, but she thinks we do, and it makes Dulcie so angry. We try to remember that she’s an old lady, and that we are only her step-grandchildren, anyway, but it is a little hard sometimes, especially when we know she doesn’t like having us stay with her. Paul heard his mother say we were an incumbrance. Dulcie looked up that word in the dictionary, and it means the same thing as being a burden.” ”

“ Daisy, who was not very strong, suffered more than the others, and became so pale and languid that even Grandma noticed it, and administered a most disagreeable tonic three times a day, which made the approach of meal-times a veritable nightmare to the child. The tonic helped Daisy’s appetite, but did not cure the headaches, and the little girl spent more than one hot afternoon lying on the nursery sofa, while Dulcie or Molly sponged her forehead with cold water drawn from the tap in the bath-room. ”

“ The children had become quite accustomed to visiting their neighbor by this time, and the mysterious door in the wall had lost some of its original fascination. Still, there was always a certain thrill of excitement in turning the handle, and the sudden plunge into the housemaid’s closet next door. Daisy’s heart beat rather fast, as she groped her way amid brooms and dust-pans, and stepped out into the lighted hall. Outside Miss Polly’s door she paused for a moment, to make sure the little cripple was alone. ”

“ Miss Polly seldom came to the door now, and this afternoon she was not even in her wheel-chair, but lying upon her bed, reading her Bible. But her greeting was as hearty as ever, and she buried her face in the bunch of syringa, with a little cry of delight.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, joyfully, “you don’t know what a pleasure you have brought me. It is so odd; I was dreaming last night of my old home in Vermont, and I could see the syringa-bush that grew by the parsonage gate. It was all so real that when I woke it seemed as if I must have really been there. ”

“ She never lets us talk to people she doesn’t know.”
“You promised you wouldn’t tell Grandma, and I know the singing lady wouldn’t be angry. You’ve got to do it, Molly, or else maybe I’ll die and go to heaven.”
Molly hesitated. It would certainly be a thrilling experience to go uninvited, and without even ringing the door-bell, into the house next door, that mysterious boarding-house, upon whose occupants Grandma and Aunt Kate looked down from their height of social superiority. Molly loved adventure, and yet—what would Grandma say? Would even Dulcie and Daisy altogether approve? ”

“ We’ll stop at the first house we like the looks of, and ring the door-bell and ask for work. Of course they may not want us at the first one, but we’ll keep right on asking till we find some one who wants some little girls to help with the housework. People often do take little girls, you know. You remember the girl who used to take the Van Arsdale baby out; I’m sure she wasn’t much older than I am. We won’t give our real names; people in books never give their real names when they run away from home. Don’t you think it’s a wonderful plan?”
“No, I don’t,” declared Daisy. ”

“ We’ll leave a note, of course—people in books always leave notes—and when we are settled, we’ll let people know where we are. We’ve got to do something, Daisy, we really have. We can’t go on being burdens, and incum—I can’t remember the rest of the word, but you know what Paul told us he heard his mother say we were. It’s a dreadful thing to feel you are a burden, and I just can’t bear it any longer.” And Dulcie burst into such a passionate fit of crying that poor, trembling Daisy was at her wits’ end to comfort her. ”

“ If you’re too tired to write, I’ll write for you, and you can tell me what to say. Oh, Miss Polly dear, please, please!”
But for once Miss Polly did not heed her little neighbor. She had buried her face in the pillow, and was sobbing as if her heart would break.
[187] “It’s all my pride, my foolish, wicked pride,” she moaned. “I can’t bear to be a burden. I cannot bear to have Tom know how I have failed. He didn’t want me to come to New York by myself. ”

“ Miss Polly smiled rather sadly.
“I am afraid not,” she said. “A carriage would be different, but carriages cost money, you know.”
“I wish we had a carriage,” said Daisy, regretfully. “We’d take you out every day if we had. Papa had a horse and carriage when we lived in Danby, before Mamma died, but that was a long time ago. We don’t mind not having one ourselves, because we like the stages and the elevated just as well, but it would be lovely to take you to Central Park.” ”

“ At this awful suggestion both little girls began to cry.
“I—I thought he would be proud of us,” sobbed Dulcie. “I wouldn’t make Papa unhappy for the whole world.”
“There, there, dear, don’t cry; I knew you wouldn’t.” And Mrs. Thorne put a kind arm round the trembling child. “You thought you were doing something very fine, and now you are going to do something much finer, by going home again, and showing your papa that you trust him, and feel sure he would not do anything to make you unhappy. As for the stepmother; all stepmothers are not wicked. ”

“ Grandma says I’m a disgrace to the family, and she’s going to write Papa about it.”
“Papa won’t believe her, I know he won’t,” protested Molly. “Besides, we can write to him too, and tell what really happened. I think you were very brave to fight that boy when he was hurting Paul.”
“It was a terribly unladylike thing to do,” said Dulcie. “I don’t wonder Grandma was ashamed. Young ladies don’t fight street boys, and I’m nearly twelve. I promised Papa to take care of you all, and set a good example. And instead of that, I got you into a horrid scrape, and Paul too.” ”

“ They always remember something, you know, even if it’s happened when they were very little.”
“Let’s make up some more about her,” said Molly. “Come and sit close to the register, it’s so nice and warm. It’s nicer to talk about things like that when you’re very comfortable.”
“All right,” agreed Dulcie, and they all four gathered round the register, where the hot air from the furnace puffed in their faces.
“You begin, Dulcie,” commanded Daisy. “You make up so much better than we do. Tell what’s going to happen when she gets home to-night.” ”

“ Dulcie’s heart beat rather fast, and Molly was conscious of a little thrill of excitement, as they approached the small crossing-sweeper.
“She’s rather dirty,” whispered Molly. “I thought stolen children were always very clean.”
“Not always,” Dulcie reassured her. “They can’t help being dirty sometimes, when there isn’t any place to wash. She’d be very pretty if her face was clean, and her hair wasn’t so tangled.”
As the three children paused at the crossing, “the stolen child” looked up and held out a small dirty hand. ”