The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dorothy's Travels, by Evelyn Raymond This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Dorothy's Travels Author: Evelyn Raymond Illustrator: S. Schneider Release Date: May 28, 2008 [EBook #25630] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOROTHY'S TRAVELS *** Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Dorothy’s Travels BY EVELYN RAYMOND Illustrations by S. Schneider A. L. CHATTERTON COMPANY NEW YORK, N. Y. Copyright 1908 BY CHATTERTON-PECK CO. “ALLOW ME! AND HELPED MOLLY UP.” Dorothy’s Travels. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Sailing Down the Hudson 9 II. A Race and Its Ending 24 III. Adrift in the Great City 40 IV. On Board the “Prince” 57 V. Moonlight and Mist on the Sea 73 VI. Safe on Shore 89 VII. Finnan Haddie in a Garden 106 VIII. Dorothy and the Bashful Bugler 124 IX. An Ox-omobile and a Sailboat 142 X. What Befell a “Digby Chicken” 158 XI. In Evangeline Land 171 XII. Sight Seeing Under Difficulties 187 XIII. A Message for the Camp 202 XIV. How Molly Came To Camp 217 XV. Mrs. Calvert Plans an Infair 234 XVI. When Journeys End in Welcome 249 DOROTHY’S TRAVELS CHAPTER I SAILING DOWN THE HUDSON “All aboard—what’s goin’! All ashore—what ain’t!” The stentorian shout of the colored steward, so close to Dorothy’s ear, made her jump aside with a little scream. Then as she saw that the boat hands were about to draw the gang plank back to the steamer’s deck, she gave another little cry and fairly pushed Alfaretta toward it. “Never mind hugging me now, girlie, you must go or you’ll be left!” But the lassie from the mountain only smiled and answered: “I don’t mind if I am. Look a-here!” and with that she pulled a shabby purse from the front of her blouse and triumphantly displayed its contents. “Oh! Alfy! How’ll you ever get back?” “Easy as preachin’. I—” But Dorothy had no further time to waste in argument. Here were Jim Barlow and Monty Stark shaking either hand and bidding a hasty good-by, while Molly Breckenridge was fairly dancing up and down in her anxiety lest the lads should also be left on board, as Alfaretta was likely to be. But they were not. Another second they had bounded down the stairs from the saloon to the lower deck, a workman had obligingly caught Monty by his coat collar and laughingly flung him over the plank to the dock beyond, while Jim’s long legs strode after and made their last leap across a little chasm of water. “Good-by, good-by, good-by!” Handkerchiefs waved, kisses were tossed across the widening water, the bell rang, the whistle tooted, and Dorothy’s travels had begun. Then as the group of schoolmates watching this departure from the shore grew more indistinct she turned upon her old mountain friend with the astonished question: “But Alfaretta! Whatever made you do this? What will become of you, alone in that great city of New York?” “I didn’t say anything about Ne’ York, did I? Should think you’d be glad to have me go along with you a little bit o’ way. Course, I shall get off the boat when it stops to Cornwall landing. And I thought—I thought—Seems if I couldn’t have you go so far away, Dolly. It’s terrible lonesome up-mounting now-a-days. And I—I don’t see why some folks has everything and some hasn’t nothin’!” There was more grief than grammar in this speech and a few tears sprang to the girl’s eyes. But Alfy boasted that she was not a “crier” and as she heard the stewardess announcing: “Tickets, ladies and gentlemen,” she dashed the moisture away and stared at the woman. After her usual custom, “Fanny” was collecting money from the various passengers and would obligingly procure their tickets for those not already provided. As she made her way through the throng, which on that summer morning crowded the upper deck of the pretty “Mary Powell,” the three young friends watched her with surprised interest. Apparently she took no note of the amount anybody gave her, carrying bills of all dimensions between her fingers and piles of specie on her broad palm. “How can she tell how much she’s taken from anybody? How can she give them their right change?” wondered Dorothy. [Pg 9] [Pg 10] [Pg 11] “I give it up! She must be a deal better at arithmetic than I am. I should make the mixedest mess of that business;” answered Molly, equally curious. “Yet you will see that she makes no mistakes. I’ve been traveling up and down the river on this same boat for many years and I’ve given her all sorts of sums, at times, on purpose to try her. But her memory never fails,” said Miss Greatorex who was in charge of the party. She sat quite calmly with the amount of three fares in her hand but with a most forbidding gaze at Alfaretta. Who that young person was or why she had thrust herself into their company she did not understand. She had herself but known of this trip on the day before, when Miss Penelope Rhinelander had been obliged to give it up, on account of the extreme illness of a near relative. However, here she was with her two pupils, whom she taught at the Rhinelander Academy, bound for a summer’s outing in—to her and them—unknown lands. Also, as there may be some who have not hitherto followed the fortunes of Dorothy, it may be well to explain that she was a foundling, left upon the doorstep of a man and wife, in a quiet street in Baltimore. That he had lost his health and his position as a letter- carrier in that city and had removed to his wife’s small farm in the Hudson Highlands. That among their friends there was somebody who had taken an interest in the orphan girl and had burdened himself—or herself—with the charge of her education. That she had passed the last school year at the Academy and had been in some most exciting episodes detailed in “Dorothy’s Schooling;” and that now, at the beginning of the long vacation, she was traveling with her closest school friend and a teacher, whose life she had been the means of saving at the time of the Academy fire, toward New York; and from thence to Nova Scotia—there to grow strong for another year of study. Alfaretta Babcock’s home was near to her home upon the mountain; and though unlike, there was a sincere affection between this untaught country girl and the dainty Dorothy, and Alfy had begged a ride in a neighbor’s wagon going to Newburgh, that she might bid her friend good by and watch her set sail on what seemed must be the most wonderful of journeys. She was to have returned home as she had come; but when the steamer was on the point of leaving an impulse had seized her to travel thus herself, if only for the brief distance between this landing and the one nearer her own home. She had a few cents in her purse and hoped they would be enough to pay her fare; and now when they were already moving down the stream and her familiar mountain-top came into view, she made a wild dart toward the stewardess, shouting: “Ma’am, please, ma’am, take mine! I’ve got to get off the next place and—and—I mustn’t be left!” Fanny picked up the camp-chair Alfy had stumbled over, remarked in a soothing voice, “Plenty of time, little gal, oceans of time, oceans of time,” and glanced at the money so suddenly thrust into her already crowded palm. “Four cents, little gal? Hardly enough. Fifteen is the regular fare. All you got, sissy? Look and see.” The tone was kind but the statement sounded like a knell in poor Alfaretta’s ears. Thousands of times she had watched the many boats pass up and down the river, but only once had she been upon any and that was a row-boat. It had been the dream of her life to voyage, as she was doing now, far and away beyond those Highlands, that seemed to meet and clasp hands across the mighty stream, and see the wonderful world that lay beyond. For the boats always disappeared around that projecting point of rock and forest, and so she knew that the mountains did not meet but merely seemed so to do. Well, of course, she wasn’t to find out about them to-day. She knew that quite well, because her own landing was on this side the “Point” and she could go no further. Indeed, could she now go even so far? “Fifteen cents! My heart!—I—I—What can I do? Will the captain drop me—in the— river? Will—” The stewardess was very busy. People were watching her a little anxiously because of [Pg 12] [Pg 13] [Pg 14] her indifferent handling of her money and the tickets she had not hurried to bring; and the sudden terrified clutch at her skirts which Alfy gave set her tripping among the crowded chairs and made her answer, crossly: “For goodness sake, girl, keep out from under foot! If you haven’t the money go to your friends and get it!” “Friends! I haven’t got any!” cried Alfaretta, and flung her skirt over her face and herself down upon the nearest seat. From their own place Molly and Dolly watched this little by-play for a moment, then darted forward themselves to see what was the matter. “Why, Alfy dear, what’s happened? Won’t the woman get your ticket for you? Never mind. I’ll ask her. Maybe she will for me.” “You needn’t, Dolly girl! There ain’t enough and I’m afraid they’ll drop me off into the water! She—she—” “Alfy! How silly! Nobody would do such a thing. It would be murder. But you shouldn’t have come unless you had the money and I’ll go ask Miss Greatorex for some. She has our purses in her satchel, taking care of them for us. Wait a minute. You stay with her, Molly, while I go get it. How much, Alfy?” The girl began to count upon her fingers: “Four—that’s what I have and it was meant for candy for the children—five, six— How many more’n four does it take to make fifteen I wonder? I’m so scared I can’t think. And I wish, I—wish—to—goodness—knows I’d ha’ said good-by back there to the dock and not let myself get carried off down river to nobody knows where. If they dassent to drop me off the boat they might keep me here till I paid—” “Alfaretta Babcock! I certainly am ashamed of you. That’s a hard thing to say, just at parting, but it’s the truth. The idea! First you fancy a decent human being will drown you because you haven’t a little money, and then you can’t reckon fifteen! What would dear Mr. Seth say, after teaching you so faithfully? Never mind. Don’t act so foolish any more and I’ll go get the money.” This was not so easy as she fancied. The boat was already nearing the next landing where Alfaretta must go ashore, or be carried on to a much greater distance from her home, but it seemed difficult to make Miss Greatorex understand what was wanted and why. The poor lady’s deafness had increased since her fright and exposure at the time of the fire and, now that she had been put into a position of greater trust than ever before, her sense of responsibility weighed heavily upon her. At parting, her principal, Miss Rhinelander, had enjoined: “Take particular care of the girls’ finances, Cousin Isobel. It is important that they should learn to be wise in their small expenditures so that they may be equally prudent when they come to have the handling of larger sums—if that should ever be. Make them give a strict account of everything and check any foolishness at the beginning.” The subordinate promised. She was a “poor relation” and knew that she was an unpopular teacher with many of the pupils of the fine school, though she had modified her sternness altogether in the case of Dorothy who had saved her from the fire. But the mandate of her superior was fresh in her mind. She had been touched by the rarely familiar “Cousin Isobel,” and determined to do her duty to the utmost. Yet here was Dorothy already screaming into her deafest ear: “My purse, please, Miss Greatorex! I want some money right away! Quick, quick, please, or it’ll be too late!” The girl’s voice was so highly pitched that people around began to stare and some of them to smile. Like most afflicted persons the lady was sensitive to the observation of others and now held up her hand in protest against the attention they were attracting. “Softly, Dorothy. Better write what you wish if you cannot speak more distinctly;” and a small pad with pencil was extended. [Pg 15] [Pg 16] [Pg 17] But Dorothy did not take them. The satchel upon Miss Greatorex’s lap was open, her own and Molly’s purses lay within. To snatch them both up and rush away was her impulsive act and to scamper back across the deck, wherever she could find a passage, took but a moment longer. But she was none too soon. Down below the steward was again crying: “All aboard what’s goin’! All ashore what ain’t! All who hasn’t got deir tickets, please step right down to de Cap’n’s office and settle.” While another loud voice ordered: “Aft gangway for Cornwall! All ashore—all ashore! Aft gangway—all ashore!” Some were hurrying down the stairs to that “aft gangway,” others speeding up them in equal haste with that excitement which always marks the infrequent traveler, and poor Alfaretta caught the same fever of haste. Without a word of real farewell, now that she had come thus far at so much risk to speak it, she dashed ahead, slipped on the brass- tipped stair and plunged headlong into the space below. For an instant there was silence even in that busy scene, people halting in their ascent and porters turning their skids aside with angry exclamations, lest the trunks they wheeled should fall upon her as she seemed bent to fall upon them. Yet only one thought now possessed the terrified girl—escape! She had bumped her head till she was dizzy, but she mustn’t stop for that. Yonder yawned that open space in the deck-rail which they called the “aft gangway” and toward that point she propelled herself regardless of all that impeded her way. Down the plank, out upon the boards of the board dock, into the medley of stages and yelling drivers she hurried, very much as James Barlow and Montmorency Stark had done at that other, upper landing. But when she felt the solid quay beneath her feet she paused, clapped her hands to her dizzy head and—felt herself grasped in a wild and fierce embrace. Then both upon that dock and the deck of the outgoing steamer rang a shout of merriment, which made anger take the place of fear as she whirled about in the arms of whoever held her and shook her fist at the boat and its passengers. “Well! That was a short trip but it was full of incident!” remarked one passenger, near to Molly and Dorothy. They had run to the rail to see what followed Alfy’s disappearance, and if she were carried away injured. “I saw her come aboard and depart and she managed to get a deal of action into those few minutes. Friend of yours, young ladies?” They faced about, wondering why this man should speak to them. He looked like a gentleman though a rather shabby one. Montmorency would have termed him “seedy.” His coat had seen better days and his hat, lying on the bench beside him, was worn and discolored, and his thin white hair told that he, also, was old. This made the girls regard him kindly, for both of them had a reverence for age. More than that, a crutch rested against his knee and this made an instant appeal to Dorothy’s sympathy. She had seen nobody with a crutch since she had said farewell to Father John; and now in pity for this other cripple she lingered near answering his many questions most politely. “Yes, she is a friend. She—I guess she ran away to sail a short distance with us. We shan’t see each other again this summer. She forgot her money. I mean she didn’t have any to forget; and—Sir? What did you ask me to find?” “To buy a morning paper for me, my dear. You see, being lame—Did you ever know anybody who was lame?” asked the old man, with a smile. “Ah! yes. The dearest man in all the world; my father.” Thereupon Dorothy huddled down beside the stranger and gave a history of her father’s illness, his wonderful patience, and the last effort he was making to regain his health. [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] She did not know that it is often unsafe to talk with unknown people upon a journey; and in any case she would not have feared such a benignant old gentleman as this. She ended her talk with the inquiry: “Where will I find the paper, Mr.—Mr.—I mean, sir?” “Smith my name is. John Smith of Smithville. You’ll find all the papers and books at a news-stand on the lower deck. There’s a candy-stand there, too, such as will interest you two more than the papers, likely;” he answered with another smile. They started down the stairs leading from the main saloon to the lower part of the boat, and not until they had reached the news-stand did either of them remember that she hadn’t brought her purse nor asked which paper their new acquaintance desired. “Oh! dear! Wasn’t that silly of us! And we’re almost to West Point, where my cousin Tom’s a cadet! He promised to be on the lookout for us, if he could get leave to go to the steamboat landing. I wrote and told him about our trip and he answered right away. He’s Aunt Lucretia’s only child and she adores him. Hasn’t spoiled him though. Papa took care about that! If I go back after our pocket-books I may lose the chance to see him! So provoking! I wish now we hadn’t bothered ourselves about that old man. If he was able to come aboard the boat and go up those stairs to the deck he was able to buy his own old papers. So there!” cried Molly, stamping her little foot in her vexation. West Point cadets are given few permissions to leave their Academy for social visits, so that Tom had never been to the Rhinelander school where rules were also so strict that Molly had been but once to see her cousin in his own quarters. Until he went to the Point and she to school in the hill-city a few miles further up the river, they had lived together in her father’s house and were like brother and sister. The disappointment now was great to the loving girl and Dorothy hastened to comfort, by saying: “Never mind, Molly, you stay right here. See! they’re fixing that gang-plank again, at this very part of the deck. You stand right outside, close against the rail but where you won’t be in the men’s way and, if he’s there, you’ll surely see him. “I’ll go back and get the purses. Where did you lay them?” “Hum. I don’t know. I can’t exactly think. You handed me yours, I remember, when you stooped to pick up his crutch he’d knocked down. Ah! Now I know. My hands got so warm and your pocketbook was red and I thought it would stain my new gloves. So I just laid them down on the bench beside him. You’ll find them right there beside him. You can ask him which paper, then, and I say, Dolly Doodles, what right had that hindering old thing to expect us—us—to buy his papers for him? Why didn’t he give us the money, himself? Seems if we’d been sort of—sort of goosies, doesn’t it?” “Oh! Molly! That’s not nice of you to think about that dear, lame old man! And why he didn’t was, I suppose, because he didn’t think. We don’t always think ourselves, dearie. Never mind. I’ll hurry and be right back.” “Yes, do—do hurry! I’ve said so much about you in my letters I’m just suffering to have you two meet. Just suffering! Hark! They’re whistling and ringing the bell and we’ll be there in a minute! Do, do hurry—for I believe I see him now—that tall one at the end of the wharf—Hurry—or, better still—Wait! Wait!” But long before the excited Molly had finished speaking Dorothy had run up the stairs, along the long passage to the aft deck where she had left her lame acquaintance waiting for her to do his simple errand. He was not in the spot where she had left him. He was not in the big saloon, or parlor. He was not upon the forward deck; not yet amid the crowd pressed to the deck’s rail, to watch for whatever might be seen at this historic landing place. Flying to the rail she scanned the few departing passengers and he was not among them. She saw, but scarcely realized that she did, a group of three cadets who had come as near the steamer as the wharf permitted and were gaily chattering with her chum, during the short stop that was made. “Could he have fallen overboard? And if he did why did he take our purses with him?” [Pg 21] [Pg 22] [Pg 23] she wondered. Then reflected that it would be a difficult thing to explain this affair to Miss Greatorex; and also that the missing pocket-books contained a full month’s “allowance” for both Molly and herself. CHAPTER II A RACE AND ITS ENDING Dorothy’s search for the missing old man and, to her, the more important missing purses brought her to the lower deck and Molly. The latter was still leaning upon the rail, gazing a little sadly into the water, for the brief glimpse she had had of her cousin Tom had recalled their happy days in their old southern home. There were even a few tears in her bright blue eyes as she raised them toward her friend; but she checked them at once, frightened by the expression of Dorothy’s own. “Why, honey, what’s the matter?” “Our pocket-books are lost!” “Lost? Lost! They can’t be. You mustn’t say so. We can’t, we daren’t lose them. Weren’t they on that bench beside the old man?” demanded Molly. “No, they were not. They were not anywhere—any single where. He wasn’t either.” “Pooh! He must be. He probably wanted to change his seat and was afraid to leave them lying on the bench, lest somebody might be tempted to pick them up. Somebody to whom they didn’t belong, I mean.” “Molly, what shall we do? What will Miss Greatorex say?” “Humph. She’ll probably scream out her disgust as if we were deaf too like herself. That’s the way she always does: when there’s something to be said you don’t want anybody else to hear she just talks her loudest; and when there’s something you’re longing to know she merely whispers. That’s the way all deaf people do, Miss Penelope says. And—you’re the one that lost them, so you’ll be the one to tell her, Dorothy girl.” “Why, child, I don’t see how I lost them any more than you did! I’m sorry as I can be. Sorrier about yours than mine even, though I’d planned so many nice things to do with the money. Five dollars! Think of it! I never before had five whole dollars at a time, never in my life!” said Dolly, mournfully. “Well, what’s the use staying down here and just worrying about the thing? Let’s go and look again for the man. When we find the man we shall find the purses; but— whether he’ll give them back to us is another matter.” “Molly, what a dreadful thing to say! As if you thought he—he stole them, a nice old gentleman like that!” “Pooh! Once my Aunt Lucretia had her little handbag snatched out of her hand, right on Broadway street in New York city. She did so; and all she could remember about the snatcher was that he was a handsome young man with an eyeglass in one eye. A regular dandy he was, if the thief was the fellow who brushed against her so rudely. Anyhow, after he’d brushed, her bag was gone and all her shopping money in it. Papa told her it served her right. That to carry a purse, or a bag, that way was a temptation to any rogue who happened to pass by. He said the snatcher was smarter than Auntie and he hoped it would teach her a lesson. Aunt Lu thought Papa was almost as horrid as the thief; and what will either of them say to us for being so careless?” “I suppose we’ll have to tell them!” reflected Dorothy, in sad perplexity. “Course we will. Aren’t they both to meet us at the steamer? Aren’t they going with us all the way to Halifax? Why, I should want to tell the very first thing. How else would I get any more money?” [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] “I don’t know, I’m sure. Lucky you! As for me there’s nobody to replace my five dollars, so far as I know.” “Oh! come on. Don’t let’s stand moping. I’ll tell you. Let’s begin right here at this spot. You go one side this lower place, all along that passage beside the engine-rooms and things and I’ll go the other. Then if we don’t see him anywhere here we’ll meet at the foot of the stairs and search the upper floor just the same way. Out on both ends of the boat, poke into closets and barber-shop and captain’s office—everywhere there is a chance a man, a passenger man, might be.” It seemed a fine scheme and they promptly separated to put it into execution. But when they met at the foot of the stairway, leading to the upper saloon, neither had any success to report. Nor did they meet with any better fortune when they had made a prolonged examination of the whole steamer, even climbing to the hurricane deck and questioning the officer upon the bridge. As they slowly descended to the place where Miss Greatorex awaited them, alarmed by their absence and equally afraid to move from the spot lest somebody else should confiscate their three comfortable camp-chairs and, possibly, their hand luggage, Dorothy suggested: “Let’s write it. That’ll save other people, strangers, from hearing. Miss G. always carries a pad and pencil with her and I’ll do it myself, since you think I’m most to blame. But I’m afraid even my writing won’t stop her talking when she finds out! Oh! dear! I wish Alfy Babcock had never come on this boat! Then I shouldn’t have gone to watch her and seen him.” “Huh! I don’t think it’s quite fair to blame poor Alfy for our own fault. We’d no business to be so careless, either one of us. I had a bright notion that maybe that stewardess or some official had picked up the pocket-books, so I asked every single one of them, big and little, black and white, and not a soul knew a thing about it. No, Dolly Doodles, the blame’s our own and—the man’s,” said Molly, with conviction. Miss Greatorex was vastly relieved to see her charges returning to her side. She had become anxious over their prolonged absence and in her nervousness had imagined all sorts of accidents which might have befallen them. Yet the same nervousness had prevented her questioning any employee of the steamer, who had come near, she shrinking from the observation this would attract to her deafness. Therefore, it was with a much brighter smile than ordinary that she welcomed the truants, and was disappointed to have her greeting so dejectedly returned. “I began to worry over you, my dears, I cannot call either of you really mischievous, yet I hope you won’t leave me in suspense so long again. Anywhere, so that you are in my sight all of the time, you are free to move about. But—Why, my dears! What has happened to make you so sober?” It certainly was vexing, when the lady was making such extra effort to be agreeable and to adapt herself to young people’s ideas, to have these efforts so disregarded; and it was a strange thing that Dorothy should without permission take the notebook and pencil from her teacher’s lap and begin to write. Miss Isobel had set forth upon her travels with the firm intention of making notes about everything along the way and it disturbed her methodical soul to have anybody else “messing” with this neat little record. It was only a trifle better that the girl should have turned to the very back of the book and chosen a fly leaf there to scribble on. Scribbling it seemed, so rapidly was it done, and after a brief time the book was returned to its owner and she silently requested to examine what had been written in it. This is what she read: “We’ve lost our pocket-books. Or, maybe, I lost them both. We’ve lost the man, too. He was a little, shiny old man, with a fringe of white hair around his head. When he put his hat on he had two foreheads under its rim, one before and one behind. His coat was shiny. His hat was shiny and had a hole in it. He—he seemed to shine all over, especially in his smile. That was perfectly lovely. Have you seen him? Because if you know where he is I’d like to ask him for our purses. That is if he has them as Molly [Pg 27] [Pg 28] [Pg 29] and, maybe, I think. Else how could we buy his paper for him without any money and how can we give him the paper if he—isn’t?” Poor Dorothy fancied that she had made everything most explicit yet, at the same time, very gently broken the news of the lost purses. She was unprepared for the expression of confusion that settled upon Miss Greatorex’s austere features as she read this communication once, then more carefully a second time. Leaning forward, eagerly observant of “how she’ll take it” Molly perceived that Dorothy’s explanation hadn’t been sufficient; or else that it had not dawned upon Miss Isobel’s comprehension that her girls had really been so careless, that the loss was genuine. As the lady looked up, after this second reading, with a question but no anger in her expression, the observer exclaimed: “Dolly, I don’t believe you’ve told her all. Give me the book, please, Miss G. and I’ll see what it says.” Then after a rapid perusal of the message Molly turned upon her chum with an amused indignation: “You’ve said more about your ‘shiny old man’ with his adorable smile than our own trouble. Here, I’ll write and I guess there won’t be any mistake this time.” So she also possessed herself of the cherished notebook and made her own brief entry: — “We laid our purses down on a bench and a man stole them. The same man D. described. Now somebody must have stolen him ’cause he isn’t on the boat.” “Laid your purses down on a bench and left them there?” demanded Miss Greatorex in her most excited tones. Tones so loud that all the passengers sitting near turned their heads to look and listen; thereby calling attention to the two blushing girls, in a manner most unpleasant. All they could do to avert this audible upbraiding was to point to the notebook and mutely beg that she would do her scolding by that silent channel. Not she, however. Never in all the years of her drudgery of teaching had she felt her responsibility so great as now. To be entrusted with the charge of Miss Rhinelander’s most indulged pupils—all the school knew that—had, at first seemed a burden, and next a most delightful honor. But, after all, they were just like other girls. Just as careless, just as disrespectful and annoying; for the sensitive old gentlewoman had considered the use of her notebook a presumption and their long absence from her side a proof that they were inconsiderate. However, these were mere matters of sentiment, but the loss of ten good dollars was a calamity. “Well, young ladies, all I have to say, and you may note that it is my final word, is: Those pocket-books must be found. You cannot leave this steamer until they are. I have promised especial care over your expenditures and I shall do my duty. I am now going to read my history of Hendrik Hudson. While I am reading you can seek your purses. We have still a long time before reaching New York and the better you employ it the better for—all of us.” Every syllable was as distinctly uttered as if she were dictating to a secretary, but she ignored all the curious glances turned her way and resumed her reading with an air of great dignity. Molly and Dolly exchanged dismayed glances; then giggled, perceiving amused expressions upon the faces of many travelers near them. The whole affair began to seem more absurd than serious, and, finally, unable to longer restrain their rather hysterical mirth, they rose and walked away arm in arm. But they did no more searching. Had they not already looked everywhere? Besides, as Molly declared: “We’re more apt to see that man somewhere if we sit right still in one place. Papa told me that was the way to do, if I were ever lost anywhere. I was once, in a big store in New York, but I remembered, I sat right down by the door and just waited and prayed [Pg 30] [Pg 31] [Pg 32] all the time that Auntie Lu would come and find me there. I was a little tacker then, not bigger’n anything. And she came. I don’t know how much the praying did ’cause all I knew then was ‘Now I lay me;’ or how much the waiting. Anyhow she found me. So, maybe, if we keep still as still, the ‘shiny man’ will get around past us sometime. He’s the lost one in the case, isn’t he? And did you ever see how restless the people all do seem? I guess they’re tired of the long sail and anxious to be off the boat.” “I guess so, too. Let’s do something to pass the time. Count how many girls and women we can see in white shirt-waists—seems if it had rained them, seems if! Or how many people go trapesing up and down the deck. Make up stories about them, too, if you like, and fit names to them. I always do give a name to anybody I see and don’t know. Let’s call that nice looking man yonder ‘Graysie.’ He’s all in gray clothes, hat, gloves, tie, and everything. There’s another might be what Monty’d say was a ‘hayseed.’ I think that’s not a nice name, though, but just call him ‘Green Fields.’ He’s surely come from some farm up the river and looks as if he were enjoying every minute of this sail. I’m beginning to enjoy it too, now; only I’m getting dreadfully hungry. If I had my purse I think I’d go down to that stand in the corner and buy us some sandwiches;” said Dorothy, in response. Cried Molly, indignantly: “Don’t talk about sandwiches to a poor, starving girl! Sailing does make a body ravenous, just ravenous, even though we did have a ‘vacation-breakfast’ with something besides cereals and milk. When Miss Rhinelander does ‘treat’ us she does it thoroughly. But, what shall you order when we get to New York and meet Papa and Auntie Lu? You know we’re all to dine at a big hotel, for the Nova Scotia boat doesn’t sail till two o’clock. Two o’clock sharp! Not a minute before nor a minute after, Papa says; and he goes out to that country every year. Sometimes in the hunting season and now just to camp out and fish and get—get fat, I tell him. It’s dreadful wearing to be a Judge. Judge of the Supreme Court. That’s what my father is. He’s a bank president, too, and has lots to do with other people’s money. But he’s something to do with a railway besides, and all these things and his taking care of Aunt Lucretia’s ‘property’ wears him out. She hasn’t any property, really, except the little tumble-down house where she and Papa were born. Papa says it isn’t worth the cost of powder to blow it up; but Auntie loves it and makes more fuss over it than Papa does over all his own things.” “A Judge is a man that can send a person to jail or not, isn’t he?” “Worse than that! He can send one to the gallows or the electric chair—if he has to. That’s the wearing part; having to be ‘just’ when he just longs to be ‘generous.’ If it wasn’t that he has the same power to set a person free, too, I guess he’d give up Judging. If he could. I don’t know about such things. What I do know is that he and some other Judges and some more bankers and such men have the greatest fun ever, summer times. They hunt up old clothes and wear them right in the woods. Auntie says she doesn’t know where they find such duds ’cause they certainly never owned them at any other time. Then they sleep on the ground, and cook over a fire they make themselves, and fish and tell stories. ‘Just loaf’ Papa says, and to hear him tell makes me sorrier than ever I’m not a boy. If I were I could go too. But a girl—Pshaw! Girls can’t do a single thing that’s worth while, seems to me!” “I’m afraid I shall be afraid of a real Judge, Molly. I’m afraid I—” “The idea! You’ll forget all those ‘afraids’ the minute you see my darling father! But you didn’t say what you’d order for your dinner.” “How can I order anything if I haven’t the money to pay for it? Or does that all go in with the expenses of the whole trip, that Miss Greatorex has to take care of?” asked Dorothy, who was in real ignorance of some most practical matters, having merely been told that she was to take this journey under Miss Greatorex’s charge. “I don’t know what goes in or out; but I do know that my father wouldn’t let ladies pay for their dinners when he was along. A pretty kind of a gentleman that would be! And Judge Schuyler Breckenridge is a Perfect Gentleman, I want you to understand,” answered Molly, proudly. [Pg 33] [Pg 34] [Pg 35] “So is my Father John,” said Dorothy with equal decision; and for a few minutes there was silence while each loyal daughter reflected upon the astonishing merits of their respective fathers. Afterward they interested themselves in watching the people near them; so that it was with some surprise they heard “Diamond,” the steward, announcing: “New Yawk! Twenty-third street landin’! Fo’wa’d gangway fo’ Twen-ty—thir-d-st-r- e-et!!” Then followed a little scurry as they sought Miss Greatorex to inquire if this were where they would leave the boat. However she said not; that they were to remain on board until the steamer landed at Desbrosses street, lower down the city. There she had been informed that Judge Breckenridge and Mrs. Hungerford would meet them. After dining together they would cross the city to the other East River and take the steamer for Yarmouth. It was all very simple and yet very exciting. Both Miss Isobel and her pupils had “read up” on Nova Scotia and felt as if the short ocean trip would land them in a foreign country. Whether the entire vacation should be passed in that Province or they to travel further afield had not yet been decided. However, New York was sufficiently exciting, even to Molly who had been there many times, and far more so to Dorothy, who had passed through it but once. They could scarcely keep their feet from dancing as they gathered with the rest of the downtown passengers to await the landing of the “Powell” and their going ashore. “See! See! Papa! Darling Auntie Lu! There they are, there they are!” almost shrieked Molly, frantically waving her handkerchief to somebody on the wharf. There were many answering wavings of handkerchiefs from expectant friends to those still on board, and Dorothy peered eagerly among them trying to decide which was the pair to whom her chum belonged. Turning her head to beg information on this point she suddenly perceived her “shiny old man.” He was on the edge of the crowding passengers, holding back and yet apparently in haste to get forward, by watching for little breaks in the ranks and dodging swiftly through them. His crutch was under his arm, he was not using it. His hat-brim had been lowered over his face, his coat collar pulled high about his ears and securely buttoned. There was none of that benign appearance about him now which had so won Dorothy’s sympathetic heart and if he were lame he admirably disguised the fact. It was her chance! In another moment he would have left the boat and she would miss him. She would run up to him and ask him if he remembered about the purses— Quick, quick! He must have forgotten— He was going. Everybody was going. She kept her eyes fixed upon him, unmindful of the fact that somebody else was crowding her apart from Molly and Miss Greatorex, or that, as the throng pressed outward, they were getting further and further away. The “shiny man” wasn’t three feet ahead of her when they at last gained the gang- plank and surged forward to the wharf. She could almost touch his shoulder—she would in a minute—she was gaining— No she wasn’t! He had slipped aside and was hurrying away with the agility of youth! It couldn’t be the cripple and yet—there was the point of his crutch sticking out behind! Well, she reckoned she could run as fast as he did and she promptly set out to try! It was a strange race in a strange place. West street in New York is a very crowded, dirty thoroughfare. An endless, unbroken line of drays, beer-wagons, vehicles of every sort, moves up one side and down the other of the hurrying street cars which claim the centre roadway. The pavement is always slippery with slime, the air always full of hoarse shouts, cries and distracting whistles. Car bells jangle, policemen yell their warnings to unwary foot passengers, hackmen screech their demands for patronage, and hurrying crowds move to and fro between the ferries and the city. A place that speedily set Dorothy’s nerves a-tingle with fear, yet never once diverted her from her purpose. [Pg 36] [Pg 37] [Pg 38] As she had once followed poor Peter Piper in a mad race over the fields, “just for fun,” so now she followed her “shiny man,” to regain her lost property. She had become convinced that he had it. He looked, at last, exactly like a person who would rob little girls of their last five dollars! Their own whole monthly allowance and a most liberal one. “But he shall not keep it! He—shall—not!” cried Dorothy aloud, and redoubling her speed, if that were possible. He darted between wagons where the horses’ noses of the hinder one touched the tail- boards of the forward; so did she. He bobbed under drays; so did she. He seemed bent upon nothing but escape; she upon nothing but pursuit and capture. She believed that he must have seen her though she had not caught him turning once around to look her way. They had cleared the street; they were upon the further sidewalk; a policeman was screaming a “halt” to her but she paid no attention. In that medley of sounds one harsh cry more or less was of small account. What was of account, the only thing that now remained clear in her eager brain was the fact that the fugitive had—turned a corner! A corner leading into a street at right angles with this broad one, a street somewhat narrower, a fraction quieter, and even dirtier. She followed; she also flashed around that dingy, saloon-infested corner, bounded forward, breathless and exultant, because surely she could come up to him here. Then she paused for just one breath, dashed her hand across her straining eyes, and peered ahead. The “shiny man” had disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up; and there Dorothy stood alone in the most unsavory of alleys, with a sudden, dreadful realization of the fact that—she was lost. CHAPTER III ADRIFT IN THE GREAT CITY “My darling! My darling!” cried Judge Breckenridge, clasping his daughter close to his breast, then holding her off at arm’s length, the better to scan her beloved face and to observe the changes a few months of absence had wrought. “My darling Molly! More like the other Molly than ever! Now my vacation has indeed begun!” “Papa, Papa! You sweetest, dearest, beautifullest Papa ever lived! How good it is to see you! And, yes Auntie Lu, you’re dear too; but a body’s father—Why, he’s her father and nobody like him, nobody!” In her enthusiastic greeting of and by her relatives Molly forgot everything and everybody else. She had crossed the gang-plank as swiftly as the people crowding behind and before her would permit, her feet restlessly dancing up and down in the limited space; and now that she was upon the solid wharf to which the steamer was moored she bore them along with her by an arm linked to each, eager to be free of that throng and in some quiet spot where she could perch upon her father’s knee and talk, talk, talk! Had any of the trio thought about it for a moment they would have observed Miss Greatorex lingering close to the plank and staring at everyone who crossed it, searching for Dorothy. “Strange! She certainly was right here a minute ago! I thought she had gone off the boat ahead of me, but she couldn’t have done so, for she’s nowhere in sight;” she murmured to herself. When all had crossed and still Dorothy did not appear, the anxious teacher returned to the boat and renewed her search there: asking of all the employees she met if they had seen her missing charge. But one of them had noticed the girl at all; that was a workman who had helped to drag the gang-plank into place upon the wharf and against [Pg 39] [Pg 40] [Pg 41] whom Dorothy had rudely dashed in her pursuit of the “shiny man.” He remembered her excited manner, her swift apology to himself for the accident, and her frantic rush across the wharf. He had looked after her with curiosity and had remarked to a bystander: “That little passenger is afraid she’ll get left! Maybe she doesn’t know we lie alongside this dock till mid-afternoon.” Then he had gone about his own affairs and dismissed her from his mind till, thus recalled by Miss Greatorex’s question, he wished he had watched her more closely. He was afraid she might have been hurt among the heavy wagons moving about, and that was the poor comfort which he expressed to the now thoroughly frightened lady. Meanwhile the Breckenridge party had crossed the street, under conveyance of a waiting policeman, and had paused upon the further curb while Molly explained: “Miss Greatorex is dreadful slow, Papa dear. But she’ll be here in a minute. She’s sure to be and Dolly with her. Oh! she is the very sweetest, dearest, bravest girl I ever knew! If I had a sister I should want her to be exactly like Dorothy. I wonder what does keep them! And I’m so hungry, so terribly hungry and we lost our purses— couldn’t be she’d linger to search for them again when we’ve already ransacked the whole boat! Why, Papa, look! Miss Greatorex is on the boat again, herself. Running, fairly running around the deck and acting as if she, too, had lost something. How queer that is!” Both the gentleman and lady now fixed their attention upon the teacher, until that moment unknown to them. She certainly was conducting herself in a strange, half- bewildered manner and the Judge realized that there was something wrong. Bidding his sister and child: “Stay right here on this corner. Don’t leave it. I’ll step back to the steamer and see what’s amiss;” and to the hackman he had summoned, he added: “Keep your rig right on the spot and an eye upon these fares! I’ll be back in a minute.” “ARE YOU A POLICEMAN?” Dorothy’s Travels. But he wasn’t. When he did come, after Mrs. Hungerford and Molly had had ample time to grow anxious themselves, it was with a woe-begone Miss Greatorex upon his [Pg 42] [Pg 43]