The Poor Little Rich Girl Page 5

  CHAPTER V

  The crescent of the Drive, never without its pageant; the broad riverthronged with craft; the high forest-fringed precipice and the housesthat could be glimpsed beyond--all these played their part inGwendolyn's pretend-games. She crowded the Drive with the soldiers ofthe General, rank upon rank of marching men whom he reviewed with pride,while his great bronze steed pranced tirelessly; and she, a swordlessJoan of Arc in a three-cornered hat and smartly-tailored habit, prancedclose beside to share all honors from the wide back of her ownmettlesome war-horse.

  As for the river vessels, she took long pretend-journeys uponthem--every detail of which she carefully carried out. The companionsselected were those smiling friends that appeared at neighboringwindows; or she chose hearty, happy laundresses from the roofs; adding,by way of variety, some small, bashful acquaintances made at thedancing-school of Monsieur Tellegen.

  But more often, imagining herself a Princess, and the nursery aprison-tower from the loop-holes of which she viewed the great, freeworld, she liked to people the boats out of stories that Potter had toldher on rare, but happy, occasions. A prosaic down-traveling steamerbecame the wonderful ship of Ulysses, his seamen bound to smokestacksand railing, his prow pointed for the ocean whereinto the River crammedits deep flood. A smaller boat, smoking its way up-stream, changed intothe fabled bark of a man by the name of Jason, and at the bow of thisArgo sat Johnnie Blake, fish-pole over the side, feet dangling, linetrailing, and a silvery trout spinning at the hook. A third boat,smaller still, and driven forward by oars, bore a sad, level-lying,white-clad figure--Elaine, dead through the plotting of cruel servants,and now rowed by the hoary dumb toward a peaceful mooring at the foot ofsome far timbered slope.

  In each of the houses across the wide river, she often established apretend-home. Her father was with her always; her mother, too,--in asilken gown, with a jeweled chaplet on her head. But her household wasalways blissfully free of those whose chief design it was to thwart andterrify her--Miss Royle, Jane, Thomas; her teachers [as a body]; also,Policemen, Doctors and Bears. Old Potter was, of course, thepretend-butler. And Rosa, notwithstanding the fact that she had oncebeen, while at Johnnie Blake's, the herald of a hated bed-time went asmaid.

  Gwendolyn had often secretly coveted the Superintendent's residence inthe Park (so that, instead of straggling along a concrete pavement atrare intervals, held captive by the hand that was in Jane's, she mightalways have the right to race willy-nilly across the grass--chase thetame squirrels to shelter--_even climb a tree_). But more earnestly didshe covet a house beyond the precipice. Were there not trees there? androcks? Without doubt there were Johnnie Blake glades as well--gladesbright with flowers, and green with lacy ferns. For of these gladesGwendolyn had received proof: Following a sprinkle on a cool day, alight west wind brought a butterfly against a pane of the front window.When Gwendolyn raised the sash, the butterfly fluttered in, throwing offa jeweled drop as he came and alighted upon the dull rose and green of aflower in the border of the nursery rug. His wings were flat togetherand he was tipped to one side, like a skiff with tinted sails. But whenthe sails were dry, and parted once more, and sunlight had replacedshower, he launched forth from the pink landing-place of Gwendolyn'spalm--and sped away and away, due west!

  But the view from the _side_ window!

  Beyond the line of step-houses, and beyond the buildings where the maidshung their wash, were roofs. They seemed to touch, to have no streetsbetween them anywhere. They reached as far as Gwendolyn could see. Theywere all heights, all shapes, all varieties as to tops--some beinglevel, others coming to a point at one corner, a few ending in a tower.One tower, which was square, and on the outer-most edge of the roofs,had a clock in its summit. When night settled, a light sprang up behindthe clock--a great, round light that was like a single shining eye.

  She did not know the proper name for all those acres of roof. But Janecalled them Down-Town.

  At all times they were fascinating. Of a winter's day the snow whitenedthem into beauty. The rain washed them with its slanting down-pour tilltheir metal sheeting glistened as brightly as the sides of the General'shorse. The sea-fog, advanced by the wind, blotted out all but thenearest, wrapped these in torn shrouds, and heaped itself about thedun-breathed chimneys like the smoke of a hundred fires.

  She loved the roofs far more than Drive or River or wooded expanse; morebecause they meant so much--and that without her having to do muchpretending. For across them, in some building which no one had everpointed out to her, in a street through which she had never driven, washer father's office!

  She herself often selected the building he was in, placing him first inone great structure, then in another. Whenever a new one rose, as itoften did, there she promptly moved his office. Once for a whole week heworked directly under the great glowing eye of the clock.

  Just now she was standing at the side window of the nursery looking awayacross the roofs. The fat old gentleman at the gray-haired house wassponging off the rubber-plant, and waving the long green leaves at herin greeting. Gwendolyn feigned not to see. Her lips were firmly set. Ascarlet spot of determination burned round either dimple. Her gray eyessmouldered darkly--with a purpose that was unswerving.

  "I'm just going down there!" she said aloud.

  _Rustle! Rustle! Rustle!_

  It was Miss Royle, entering. Though Saturday was yet two days away, thegoverness was preparing to go out for the afternoon, and was busilyengaged in drawing on her gloves, her glance alternating between hertask and the time-piece on the school-room mantel.

  "Gwendolyn dear," said she, "you can have such a _lovely_ longpretend-game between now and supper, _can't_ you?"

  Gwendolyn moved her head up and down in slow assent. Doing so, sherubbed the tip of her nose against the smooth glass. The glass was cool.She liked the feel of it.

  "You can travel!" enthused Miss Royle. "And _where_ do you think you'llgo?"

  The gray eyes were searching the tiers of windows in a distant granitepile. "Oh, Asia, I guess," answered Gwendolyn, indifferently. (She hadlately reviewed the latter part of her geography.)

  "Asia? Fine! And how will you travel, darling? In your sweet car?"

  A pause. Miss Royle was habitually honeyed in speech and full ofsuggestions when she was setting out thus. She deceived no one. Yet--itwas just as well to humor her.

  "Oh, I'll ride a musk-ox. Or"--picking at random from the fauna of theworld--"or a llama, or a'--a' el'phunt." She rubbed her nose so hardagainst the glass that it gave out a squeaking sound.

  "Then off you go!" and, _Rustle! Rustle! Rustle!_

  Gwendolyn whirled. This was the moment, if ever, to make her wishknown--to assert her will. With a running patter of slippers, she cutoff Miss Royle's progress.

  "That tall building 'way, 'way down on the sky," she panted.

  "Yes, dear?"--with a simper.

  "Is _that_ where my father is?"

  The smirk went. Miss Royle stared down. "Er--why?" she asked.

  "'Cause"--the other's look was met squarely--"'cause I'm going downthere to see him."

  "Ah!" breathed the governess.

  "I'm going to-day," went on Gwendolyn, passionately. "I want to!" Herlips trembled. "There's something--"

  "Something you want to tell him, dear?"--purringly.

  Confusion followed boldness. Gwendolyn dropped her chin, and made replywith an inarticulate murmur.

  "Hm!" coughed Miss Royle. (Her _hms_ invariably prepared the way forimportant pronouncements.)

  Gwendolyn waited--for all the familiar arguments: I can't let you gountil you're sent for, dear; Your papa doesn't want to be bothered; and,This is probably his busy day.

  Instead, "Has anyone ever told you about that street, Gwennie?"

  "No,"--still with lowered glance.

  "Well, I wouldn't go down into it if _I_ were you." The tone was full ofhidden meaning.

  There was a moment's pause. Then, "Why _not?_" asked Gwendolyn, backagainst the door. The question
was put as a challenge. She did notexpect an answer.

  An answer came, however. "Well, I'll tell you: The street is fullof--bears."

  Gwendolyn caught her hands together in a nervous grasp. All her life shehad heard about bears--and never any good of them. According to MissRoyle and Jane, these dread animals--who existed in all colors, and innearly all climes--made it their special office to eat up little girlswho disobeyed. She knew where several of the beasts were harbored--incages at the Zoo, from where they sallied at the summons of outragednurses and governesses.

  But as to their being Down-Town--!

  She lifted a face tense with earnestness "Is it _true?_" she askedhoarsely.

  "My dear," said Miss Royle, gently reproving, "ask _any_body."

  Gwendolyn reflected. Thomas was freely given to exaggeration. Jane, attimes, resorted to bald falsehood. But Gwendolyn had never found reasonto doubt Miss Royle.

  She moved aside.

  The governess turned to the school-room mirror to take a peep at herpoke, and slung the chain of her hand-bag across her arm. Then, "I'll behome early," she said pleasantly. And went out by the door leading intothe nursery.

  Bears!

  Gwendolyn stood bewildered. Oh, _why_ were the Zoo bears in her father'sstreet? Did it mean that he was in danger?

  The thought sent her toward the nursery door. As she went she glancedback over a shoulder uneasily.

  Close to the door she paused. Miss Royle was not yet gone, for there wasa faint rustling in the next room. And Gwendolyn could hear the quick_shoo-ish, shoo-ish, shoo-ish_ of her whispering, like the low purl ofJohnnie Blake's trout-stream.

  Presently, silence.

  Gwendolyn went in.

  She found Jane standing in the center of the room, mouth puckeredsoberly, reddish eyes winking with disquiet, apprehension in the veryset of her heavy shoulders.

  The sight halted Gwendolyn, and filled her with misgivings. Had _Jane_just heard?

  When it came time to prepare for the afternoon motor-ride, Gwendolyntested the matter--yet without repeating Miss Royle's dire statement.

  "Let's go past where my fath-er's office is to-day," she proposed. Andtried to smile.

  Jane was tucking a small hand through a coat-sleeve. "Well, dearie," sheanswered, with a sigh and a shake of her red head, "you couldn't hire_me_ to go into that street. And I wouldn't like to see _you_ go."

  Gwendolyn paled. "Bears?" she asked. "_Truly?_"

  Jane made big eyes. Then turning the slender little figure carefullyabout, "Gwendolyn, lovie, _Jane_ thinks you'd better give the idear up."

  So it was true! Jane--who was happiest when standing in opposition toothers; who was certain to differ if a difference was possible--Janehad borne it out!

  Moreover, she was frightened! For Gwendolyn was leaning against thenurse. And she could feel her shaking!

  Oh, how one terrible thing followed another!

  Gwendolyn felt utterly cast down. And the ride in the swift-flying caronly increased her dejection. For she did not even have theentertainment afforded by Thomas's enlivening company. He stayed besidethe chauffeur--as he had, indeed, ever since the memorable feast ofpeanuts--and avoided turning his haughty black head. Jane was morose.Now and then, for no apparent reason, she sniffled.

  Gwendolyn's mind was occupied by a terrifying series of pictures thatMiss Royle's declaration called up. The central figure of each picturewas her father, his safety threatened. Arrived home, she resolved uponstill another course of action. She was forced to give up visiting herfather at his office. But she would steal down to the grown-up part ofthe house--at a time _other_ than the dinner-hour--that very night!

  Evening fell, and she was not asked to appear in the great dining-room.That strengthened her determination. However, to give a hint of it wouldbe folly. So, while Miss Royle picked at a chop and tittered overcopious draughts of tea, and Thomas chattered unrebuked, she ate hersupper in silence.

  Ordinarily she rebelled at being undressed. She was not sleepy. Or shewanted to watch the Drive. Or she did not believe it was seven--therewas something wrong with the clock. But supper over, and seven o'clockon the strike, she went willingly to bed.

  When Gwendolyn was under the covers, and all the shades were down, Janestepped into the school-room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Shesnapped on the lights above the school-room table. Then Gwendolyn heardthe crackling of a news-paper.

  She lay thinking. Why had she not been asked to the great dining-room?At seven her father--if all were well--should be sitting down to hisdinner. But was he ill to-night? or hurt?

  A half-hour dragged past. Jane left her paper and tiptoed into thenursery. Gwendolyn did not speak or move. When the nurse approached thebed and looked down, Gwendolyn shut her eyes.

  Jane tiptoed out, closing the door behind her. A moment later Gwendolynheard another door open and shut, then the rumble of a man's deepvoice, and the shriller tones of a woman.

  The chorus of indistinct voices made Gwendolyn sleepy. She found hereyelids drooping in spite of herself. That would never do! To keepherself awake, she got up cautiously, put on her slippers anddressing-gown, stole to the front window, climbed upon the long seat,and drew aside the shade--softly.

  The night was moonless. Clouds hid the stars. The street lamps disclosedthe crescent of the Drive only dimly. Beyond the Drive the riverstretched like a smooth wide ribbon of black satin. It undulated gently.Upon the dark water of the farther edge a procession of lights laid afringe of gold.

  There were other lights--where, beyond the precipice, stood the foresthouses; where moored boats rocked at a landing-place up-stream; and onboats that were plying past. A few lights made star-spots on thecliff-side.

  But most brilliant of all were those forming the monster letters ofwords. These words Gwendolyn did not pronounce. For Miss Royle, whenevershe chanced to look out and see them, said "Shameful!" or "What adisgrace!" or "Abominable!" And Gwendolyn guessed that the words werewicked.

  As she knelt, peering out, sounds from city and river came up to her.There was the distant roll of street-cars, the warning; _honk! honk!_ ofan automobile, the scream of a tug; and lesser sounds--feet upon thesidewalk under the window, low laughter from the dim, tree-shaded walk.

  She wondered about her father.

  Suddenly there rose to her window a long-drawn cry. She recognizedit--the high-keyed, monotonous cry of a man who often hurried past witha bundle of newspapers under his arm. Now it startled her. It filled herwith foreboding.

  "Uxtra! Uxtra! A-a-all about the lubble-lubble-lubble in ump Street!"

  Street! _What_ street? Gwendolyn strained her ears to catch the words.What if it were the street where her fath--

  "Uxtra! Uxtra!" cried the voice again. It was nearer, yet the words wereno clearer. "A-a-all about the lubble-lubble-lubble in ump Street!"

  He passed. His cry died in the distance. Gwendolyn let the window-shadego back into place very gently. To prepare properly for her tripdownstairs meant running the risk of discovery. She tiptoed noiselesslyto the school-room door. There she listened. Thomas's deep voice wasstill rumbling on. Punctuating it regularly was a sniffle. And thekey-hole showed a spot of glinting red--Jane's hair.

  Gwendolyn left the school-room door for the one opening on the hall.

  In the hall were shaded lights. Light streamed up the bronze shaft.Gwendolyn put her face against the scrolls and peered down. The cage wasfar below. And all was still.

  The stairs wound their carpeted length before her. She slipped from onestep to another warily, one hand on the polished banisters to steadyherself, the other carrying her slippers. At the next floor she stoppedbefore crossing the hall--to peer back over a shoulder, to peer aheaddown the second flight.

  Outside the high carved door of the library she stopped and put on theslippers. And she could not forbear wishing that she knew which wasreally her best foot, so that she might put it forward. But there was notime for conjectures. She bore down with both hands on the hug
e knob,and pressed her light weight against the panels. The heavy door swungopen. She stole in.

  The library had three windows that looked upon the side street. Thesewindows were all set together, the middle one being built out fartherthan the other two, so as to form an embrasure. Over against thesewindows, in the shallow bow they formed, was a desk, of dark wood, andglass-topped. It was scattered with papers and books. Before it sat herfather.

  The moment her eyes fell upon him she realized that she had not come anytoo soon. For his shoulders were bent as from a great weight. His headwas bowed. His face was covered by his hands.

  She went forward swiftly. When she was between the desk and the windowsshe stopped, but did not speak. She kept her gray eyes on thoseshielding hands.

  Presently he sighed, straightened on his chair, and looked at her.

  For one instant Gwendolyn did not move--though her heart beat so wildlythat it stirred the lace ruffles of her dressing-gown. Then, rememberingdancing instructions, she curtsied.

  A smile softened the stern lines of her father's mouth. It traveled uphis cheeks in little ripples, and half shut his tired eyes. He put out ahand.

  "Why, hello, daughter," he said wearily, but fondly.

  She felt an almost uncontrollable desire to throw out her arms to him,to clasp his neck, to cry, "Oh, daddy! daddy! I don't want them to hurtyou!" But she conquered it, her underlip in her teeth, and put a smallhand in his outstretched one gravely.

  "I--I heard the man calling," she began timidly. "And I--I thought maybethe bears down in your street--"

  "Ah, the bears!" He gave a bitter laugh.

  So Miss Royle had told the truth! The hand in his tightened its hold."Have the bears ever frightened _you?_" she asked, her voice trembling.

  He did not answer at once, but put his head on one side and looked ather--for a full half-minute. Then he nodded. "Yes," he said; "yes,dear,--once or twice."

  She had planned to spy out at least a strap of the harness he wore; toexamine closely what sort of candles, if any, he burned in the seclusionof the library. Now she forgot to do either; could not have seen if shehad tried. For her eyes were swimming, blinding her.

  She swayed nearer him. "If--if you'd take Thomas along on your car," shesuggested chokingly. "He hunted el'phunts once, and--and _I_ don't needhim."

  Her father rose. He was not looking at her--but away, beyond the bowedwindows, though the shades of these were drawn, the hangings were inplace. And, "No!" he said hoarsely; "not yet! I'm not through fightingthem _yet!_"

  "Daddy!" Fear for him wrung the cry from her.

  His eyes fell to her upturned face. And as if he saw the terror there,he knelt, suddenly all concern. "Who told you about the bears,Gwendolyn?"--with a note of displeasure.

  "Miss Royle."

  "That was wrong--she shouldn't have done it. There are things a littlegirl can't understand." His eyes were on a level with her brimming ones.

  The next moment--"Gwendolyn! _Gwen_dolyn! Oh, where's that child!" Thevoice was Jane's. She was pounding her way down the stairs.

  Before Gwendolyn could put a finger to his lips to plead for silence,"Here, Jane," he called, and stood up once more.

  Jane came in, puffing with her haste. "Oh, thank you, sir," she cried."It give me _such_ a turn, her stealin' off like that! Madam doesn'tlike her to be up late, as she well knows. And I'll be blamed for this,sir, though I take pains to follow out Madam's orders exact," She seizedGwendolyn.

  Gwendolyn, eyes dry now, and defiant, pulled back with all the strengthof her slender arm. "Oh, fath-er!" she plead. "Oh, _please_, I don'twant to go!"

  "Why! Why! Why!" It was reproval; but tender reproval, mixed with mildamazement.

  "Oh, I want to tell you something," cried Gwendolyn. "Let me stay just a_minute_."

  "That's just the way she acts, sir, whenever it's bed-time," mournedJane.

  He leaned to lift Gwendolyn's chin gently. "Father thinks she'd bettergo now," he said quietly. "And she's not to worry her blessed baby headany more." Then he kissed her.

  The kiss, the knowledge that strife was futile, the sadness ofparting--these brought the great sobs. She went without resisting, butstumbling a little; the back of one hand was laid against her streamingeyes.

  Half a flight up the stairs, Jane turned her right about at a bend. Thenshe dropped the hand to look over the banisters. And through a blur oftears saw her father watching after her, his shoulders against thelibrary door.

  He threw a kiss.

  Then another bend of the staircase hid his upturned face.