A Modern Cinderella, Amanda Minnie Douglas [free ereaders .txt] 📗

shanty was a disgrace, the ground valuable. The city was bringing up one of its fine avenues and a syndicate made a proffer for the land. Of course the heirs soon scented this out, and our firm has been trying to settle the estate so the property can be turned into money, and a good deed given. We have found about everybody, I believe, but the mother of this child who is in very direct descent, eluded us a long while."

"And this child is one of the heirs?" in surprise.

"Exactly. Her mother came here after her marriage. The father was killed in some machinery mishap. The mother was in a store, a bakery, I believe, and dying, gave her little girl to the friend she had lived with, and the friend married and went out to Easton. We found she did not take the child with her but put her in this Bethany Home with some important papers. So we want the child and the papers."

"The child was twelve, a year ago September. She was bound-out to some fairly nice people as a little nursemaid. And an heiress!" in a tone of glad surprise.

"Well not to any great extent. There are a good many heirs it seems--ten thousand or so. But we had to know whether she was living or not on account of the title."

His little Cinderella! Truly this was a fairy story. "Oh, are you _quite_ sure?" he said.

"Oh, there's no doubt, if she is the true heir. But the woman at Easton attested a very straight story and knew of the husband's death, though she had not known him personally. The money is on the mother's side, you see, so his death is neither here nor there. And now--can't we go out and interview this place and the keeper?"

"Hardly tonight. The matron is a rather rigid person I believe. We had best tackle her by daylight, and the child is almost in this vicinity. A rather unusual child I think, very sweet natured. Oh, I can't express all my delight. She is the kind of girl that ought to be educated, that should live in an atmosphere of love, and she is not really strong enough to take the rough and tumble of life. Oh, I can't tell you how glad I am." Lorimer surveyed his friend with a rather humorous smile. They had been chums during a summer in Switzerland and Holland, but he had not thought Richards much given to either love or romance.

Then they branched off into old times when both had been rather wasteful. Lorimer was working hard to redeem that youthful extravagance; Dr. Richards cared nothing at all for the moneyed end of life.

He would fain have kept his friend all night but Lorimer had engaged his room at a hotel. They were to meet as soon as possible in the morning.

Bethany Home was quite in the suburbs, reached by a walk after one had left the trolley. The house was a big rambling place to which there had been made several additions. It had been a gift from a benevolently disposed woman, with a small endowment that was occasionally added to. There was quite a spacious garden and an abundance of rose vines.

Yes, Mrs. Johnson was in and they were ushered into a large old fashioned apartment, scrupulously neat and formal. Mrs. Johnson was a somewhat portly woman turned of sixty, whose face had settled into severe lines, and she eyed her visitors rather suspiciously.

"I am Dr. Richards," he began with a softening of the countenance, "and my friend Mr. Lorimer is a lawyer from New York who comes on a matter of business concerning a little girl who was an inmate of the Home until a little over a year ago--Marilla Bond."

"Yes"--in a rather questioning manner.

Lorimer told his story and the surprise in the woman's face was evident.

"What is of most importance is to learn whether there are any papers to substantiate the claim. One has to be careful in the legal matters."

She seemed to consider. "Yes," rather reluctantly. "The person who brought her here gave quite a box of papers and some trinkets to my safe keeping. We take charge of them until the girls are eighteen--then they have served out their time and are legally their own mistresses. Ours is quite a private institution and has no connection with the city, although it has a board of officers, of which I am president. Of course I keep watch over the girls who are bound-out. This Marilla has a very nice place. She was away all summer with the family. One of our managers visited this Mrs. Borden on her return and found everything satisfactory and the child content."

"Could we look over the papers?"

She seemed rather loth to produce them but she could find no excuse. She recalled the fact that she had seen Dr. Richards' name in connection with the Children's Hospital.

Certainly there was enough to substantiate the claim. A marriage certificate, an attestation of the baby's birth, and old Dr. Langdon was still alive, though he had retired from practice. A packet of letters as well, two notices of Mr. Bond's accident and death. Everything was ready for corroboration.

Mr. Lorimer gathered up the important papers. At first Mrs. Johnson rather demurred about his taking them away.

"Why, I would have no object in destroying them. I should not be the gainer by it. And this is the last heir we have to trace. Now we can proceed to a settlement. The syndicate takes more than half the property and pays cash. The remainder can be easily sold. No one seems disposed to demand an extravagant price. You will hear from me before long, and I will return the papers."

After they had settled that and left the lady, Lorimer said--

"Now let us interview this Doctor Langdon."

He was a somewhat feeble, white haired old man but received them very graciously and was much interested in the story. Turning to his book he refreshed his memory. Yes, there was the birth of the child. The mother he put down as rather delicate. A note some time after substantiated the accident and death of the father. He was very willing to give an affidavit. "You've been a tremendous help to me, Al," said Mr. Lorimer, "estates that have to be settled this way are an enormous bother, and thanks are poor pay," laughing.

"I believe I shall demand something more. The child will need a guardian. She has several warm friends here, I'm not willing to lose sight of her. So I shall ask that office."

"Well--why not? Some one must act until she is of age. Yes, I'll remember. I'm glad you spoke of it. I'll be up again. Indeed I'm quite curious to see how she takes her fortune."

So the friends parted. Dr. Richards made several calls, stopped for some lunch, found a number of patients awaiting him and a message that had come from Miss Armitage, who wished to see him at once. She had had quite an eventful morning as well. Some vague presentiment had haunted her about Marilla and after disposing of a few business calls she hurried around to Arch street.

Mrs. Borden answered the door.

"Oh, Miss Armitage! We're so full of trouble! Aunt Hetty has just died and Marilla--oh, I don't know what will become of the child!"

"She is not ill?" in a tone of anxiety.

"Well, come in and sit down and let me tell you. They thought the first part of the night the poor old lady was dropping off quietly. Then toward morning she seemed to rally, and kept calling for Marilla. John had been up there most of the time and he said bring the child up. We didn't suppose she was really conscious. So Marilla went up. It was daylight, and just as soon as she went to the bedside the poor old lady held out both hands, and Mrs. Holmes said she really smiled, and then a horrible thing happened, like a fit, and her mouth all curled up and her eyes rolled up to the whites and Marilla screamed and fainted and the old lady was dead in a minute, and then the child fainted several times and they put her in her own bed--we'd had her down stairs. What did your doctor say about her last summer? Dr. Baker said her heart was weak. Now I think they oughtn't have sent a girl out from the Home who had any such thing the matter with her. She had it real easy, sitting on the floor playing with the babies. And we never let her carry them up and down stairs or put anything hard on her, and now you know they run all over and are very little trouble. They have always been such good babies, but if she is going to faint at every little thing she won't be much good. Mr. Borden has gone for that other girl and to attend to the necessary business. There will be the funeral and we shall have to take in some of the folks, I know. Mrs. Holmes will stay right along until we are straight again, but, it's asking a good deal I admit," and she paused.

"Yes, let me take her." Miss Armitage had come primed with several arguments, but she saw they would not be needed.

"Of course the shock was awful. Mrs. Holmes said she wasn't surprised, for Marilla was just going to clasp the outstretched hands, but the old lady came back to her natural looks and I'm so glad; but of course Marilla will be haunted by the sight--"

"Yes, and you will have so much on your hands. Do you think she could walk that far or shall I order a hack?"

"Oh, she came down to the nursery and Bridget brought her up some breakfast. There's the undertaker--"

"I'll go up to the nursery," said Miss Armitage.

A very wan little girl was pillowed upon the lounge. Jack had been sent to school without hearing of the happening. Violet was marching up and down ringing a little bell and saying "Go to door, Illa, go to door." Pansy was leaning over her with a book crying authoritatively--"Read to me, read to me."

Miss Armitage lifted Pansy down but she started to climb up again. The lady sat down in the place and drew Marilla's head to her bosom and let the child cry there.

"Illa can't read to you now," she said. "Poor Illa's sick."

"'Tain't your Illa," said the child obstinately.

"My dear," Miss Armitage began soothingly, kissing the tremulous lips, "you are going home with me. It has been dreadful I know, but you must try to forget it. Jane will be glad to have you and Dr. Richards will comfort you. Don't you remember what a nice time we had last summer? There dear--little Cinderella."

Marina smiled faintly through her tears.

"Oh, I am so glad. It was so sudden you know, and when she stretched out her hands."

"She must have known you, and after all it was sweet to be remembered then. Are you very weak? But I'm afraid you couldn't walk to Loraine place."

"I'm so--so shaky--"

Aunt Florence entered the room and snatched the bell from Violet. "You must not make such a noise," she declared. "Oh Miss Armitage, you are always shocked by a death, aren't you? And poor Aunt Hetty has been dying the last week, though the