Donald and Dorothy

A strong, boyish step was heard coming up the garret stairs: "Who is it? Run, Don, don't let any one come up here!" begged Dorry.

"It's Ed Tyler, – Hold up, Ed!" cried Don, obediently. "I'll be there in a minute." Then hurriedly kissing Dorry, and with a hearty "Cheer up, little sister!" he was gone.

Don's pleasant tone and quick step changed the current of Dorry's thoughts. More than this, a bright beam of sunlight now shone through the dusty window. Sobbing no longer, she carefully wrapped the doll in the same paper and piece of silk that had held it for so many years. As she arose, holding the parcel in her hand, the pink dress and black silk apron on her lap fell to the floor.

A sudden thought came to her. Dorry never could remain sad very long at a time. She hastily opened the parcel again.

"Lie down there, Delia dear," she said, gently placing the doll on the rose-buds of the still open trunk-lid. "Lie down there, till I put on these things. I'm going to take you down to see your uncle!"

"Won't he be astonished though!" murmured Dorry, as, half smiling, half sighing, she took off her dress in great excitement, and put on, first the pink muslin, and then the black silk apron, fastening them at the back as well as she could, with many a laborious twist and turn of her white arms, and with a half-puzzled consciousness that the garments were a perfect fit.

The dress, which was high at the neck, had short sleeves, and was gathered to a belt at the waist. Tying the apron at the back, so that the ends of its black ribbon bow hung down over the full pink skirt, she proceeded to adjust the silk straps that, starting in front at the belt, went over the shoulders and down again at the back.

As she did this, and perceived that each strap was wide on the top and tapered toward the belt, it struck her that the effect must be quite pretty. Bending to take up Delia, she saw, for the first time, among the bits of calico and silk lying in the bottom of the trunk, what proved to be a wide-brimmed straw hat. In another moment it was on her head, and with a quick little laugh, she caught up Delia and ran down the stairs.

Looking neither to right nor left, Dorry sped down the next flight; across the hall, on tiptoe now, and so on to the study door, which stood ajar just enough to admit her slight figure.

Mr. Reed, who sat at the table busily writing, did not even look up when she entered.

"How d'ye do?" she exclaimed, courtesying to her uncle, with the doll in her arms.

He sprang to his feet in amazement.

"Don't be frightened. It's only Dorry. I just wanted to surprise you! See," she continued, as he stood staring wildly at her, "I found all these things up stairs. And look at the dolly!"

By this time the hat had fallen off, and she was shaking her tumbled hair at him in a vehement manner, still holding Delia in her extended arms.

"Good-bye, Ed!" rang out Donald's clear voice from the piazza, and in an instant he was looking through the study window, much surprised to see a quaint little pink figure folded in Uncle George's embrace, while Dorry's voice was calling from somewhere: "Be careful! Be careful! You'll break Delia!"

Ed Tyler, sauntering homeward, met Josie Manning on her way to the Danbys'. "I think Dorry has gone to see Charity Danby," she said, "and I'm going after her. I've been waiting at her house, ever so long."

"I've been at Don's too," said Ed. "Just come from there."

Josie laughed. "As if I didn't know that," she said. "Why, I was in Dorry's room all the time. First I heard Don run up to the garret for something, then you went up after him, and then you both passed down again, and out upon the piazza. I suppose you went to the old carriage-house, as usual, didn't you?"

"Of course we did. We're turning it into a first-class gymnasium. Mr. Reed has given it to Don outright, and I tell you it will be a big thing. Jack's helping us. Don has saved up lots of pocket-money, and Mr. Reed gives him all the lumber he wants. Just you wait. But, by the way, Dorry isn't out. Don told me himself she was rummaging up in the garret."

"Why, that's queer!" was Josie's surprised exclamation. "Then it must have been Dorry who ran down stairs. It couldn't be though; some one, with a hat on and a short-sleeved pink dress, went by like a flash."

"Don't you know Dorry Reed yet?" laughed Ed, "she is always dressing up. Why, one day when I was there, she came into Don's room dressed like an old woman, – cap, crutch, corked wrinkles and all complete; never saw anything like it. What a little witch she is!"

"I think she's an angel!" said Josie, warmly.

"A pretty lively angel!" was Ed's response.

But the tone of admiration was so genuine that it satisfied even Josie Manning.

"Well!" exclaimed Donald, noting Dorry's strange costume, as he entered the room, after shouting a second good-by to Ed Tyler.

"Well!" echoed Dorry, freeing herself from her uncle's arms, and with a little jump facing Donald, – "what of it? I thought I'd pay Uncle a visit with my pretty doll-cousin here" (hugging Delia as she spoke), "and he started as if I were a ghost. Didn't you, Uncle?"

"I suppose I did," assented Mr. Reed, with a sad smile. "In fact, Dorry, I may as well admit, that what is fun to you, happened, for once, not to be fun to me."

"But it wasn't fun to me!" cried that astonishing Dorry. "It was – it was – tell him, Don; you know."

There was no need for Don to speak. Dorry's flushed cheeks, shining eyes, and excited manner told their own story; and both her brother and uncle, because they knew her so well; felt quite sure that in a moment Dorothy's own self would have a word to say.

Still folding the dolly to her heart and in both arms, and with the yearning look of a little child, the young girl, without moving from the middle of the room, looked wistfully toward the window, as though she saw outside some one whom she loved, but who could not or would not come to her. Then she stepped toward her uncle, who had seated himself again in the big chair, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, said earnestly:

"Uncle, I've been brought nearer to Aunt Kate to-day than ever in my life before, and the lonely feeling is almost all gone. I found a little old trunk, far back under the rafters, with her doll in it, her clothes and her writing; and now I see how real she was, – not like a dream, as she used to seem, but just one of us. You know what I mean."

"A trunk, Dorry! What? Where?" was all the response Uncle George made, as, hastening from the room, he started for the garret, keeping ahead of the others all the way.

CHAPTER XVII.

DORRY ASKS A QUESTION

Donald and Dorothy followed their uncle closely, though he seemed to have forgotten them; and they were by his side when he reached the little treasure-trove, with its still opened lid.

Paying no attention to their presence, Mr. Reed hurriedly, but with the tenderest touch, took out every article and examined it closely.

When he came to the diary, which Dorry that day had restored unopened to the trunk, he eagerly scanned its pages here and there; then, to the great disappointment of the D's he silently laid it down, as if intending later to take it away with him.

"May we see that, Uncle?" asked Dorry, softly. "Isn't it right for us to read it? We found out it was her diary; but I put it back."

Without replying, Uncle George went on with his examination. Finally, replacing the last article in the trunk, he closed the lid with a hopeless air, and turned toward Dorry, saying:

"Dorothy, where is that doll? It must go back where you found it, and the clothes too."

She handed it to him without a word – all her hope turned to bitterness.

But as he took it, noting her grieved expression, he said:

"Thank you, my dear. You are too old to play with dolls – "

"Oh, Uncle, it is too bad for you to speak so! You know I didn't mean to play with it. It isn't a dolly to me; she's more like – like something with life. But you can shut her up in the dark, if you want to."

"Dorry! Dorry!" said Don, reproachfully. "Don't be so excited."

In a flash of thought, Dorry made up her mind to speak – now or never.

"Uncle!" said she, solemnly, "I am going to ask you a question; and, if it is wrong, I can't help it. What is the reason that you always feel so badly when I speak of Aunt Kate?"

He looked at her in blank surprise for an instant; then, as she still awaited his reply, he echoed her words, "Feel badly when you speak of Aunt Kate! Why, my child, what do you mean?"

"I mean, Uncle dear, that there is a secret in the house; something you have never told Don and me. It's always coming up and making mischief, and I don't think it's right at all. Neither does Don."

"That's so, Uncle," said Donald, emphatically; "we feel sure there is something that gives you trouble. Why not let us share it with you? Remember, we are not little children any longer."

The uncle looked quickly from one to the other, mentally deciding that the children could be told only the facts that were positively known to him; then seating himself on the corner of a large chest, he drew Don and Dorry towards him.

"Yes, my children," he said, in his own hearty way, as if already a load had been taken from his mind, "there is something. It is right that I should tell you, and this is as good a time as any. Put the doll away, Dorry" (he spoke very gently now), "wherever you please, and come down stairs. It is chilly up here – and, by the way, you will catch cold in that thin gown. What have we been thinking of all this while?"

"Oh, I'm as warm as toast, Uncle," she replied, at the same time taking her pretty merino dress from the old chair upon which she had thrown it, scarcely an hour ago; "but I suppose it's always better to be on the safe side, as Liddy says."

"Much better," said Uncle, nodding with forced cheerfulness. "Down with you, Dot. We'll join you in a minute."

Dorry, as she left them, saw her uncle stooping low to peer into the far roof-end of the garret, and she had time to place Delia carefully in her treasure-cabinet, put on the warmer dress, and be ready to receive her uncle and Donald before they made their appearance.

"May we be your guests, Dot?" asked Uncle George, at her door.

"Oh, yes, sir; come right in here," was her pleased response, as, with a conflict of curiosity and dread, Dorry gracefully conducted them into her cosey corner.

"It is too pretty and dainty here for our rough masculine tread, eh, Don?" was Mr. Reed's remark, as, with something very like a sigh, he placed himself beside Dorry upon the sofa, while her brother took a seat close by.

"Well," began Dorry, clasping her hands tightly, and trying to feel calm. "We're ready now, Uncle."

"And so am I," said he. "But first of all, I must ask you both not to magnify the importance of what I am going to reveal."

"About Aunt Kate?" interposed Dorry.

"About Aunt Kate. Do not think you have lost her, because she was really – no, I should say not exactly – "

"Oh," urged Dorry, "don't stop so, Uncle! Please do go on!"

"As I was about to say," resumed Mr. Reed, in a tone of mild rebuke at the interruption, "it really never made any difference to me, nor to your father, and it should make no difference to you now. You know," he continued, with some hesitation, "children sometimes are adopted into families; that is to say, they are loved just the same, and cared for just the same, but they are not own children. Do you understand?"

"Understand what, please, Uncle? Did Aunt Kate adopt any one?" asked Dorry.

"No, but my father and mother did; your grandfather and grandmother Reed, you know," said he, looking at the D's in turn, as though he hoped one of them would help him.

"You don't mean, Uncle," almost screamed Dorry, "that it was that – that horrid – "

Donald came to her assistance.

"Was it that man, Uncle?" he asked, quickly. "Ben Buster told me the fellow claimed to be related to us; was he ever adopted by Grandfather Reed?"

"Ugh!" shuddered Dorry.

Very little help poor Uncle George could hope for now from the D's. The only way left was to speak out plainly.

"No, not that man, my children; but Aunt Kate. Aunt Kate was an adopted daughter – an adopted sister; but she was in all other respects one of our family. Never was daughter or sister more truly beloved. When she came to us she was but two years old, an orphan. Grandpa and Grandma Reed had known her parents, and when the little" – here Mr. Reed hastily resolved to say nothing of Eben Slade for the present – "the little girl was left alone in the world, destitute, with no relatives to care for her, my father and mother took her into their home, to bear their name and to be their own dear little daughter.

"When Aunt Kate was old enough, they told her all; but it was her wish that we boys should forget that we were not really her brothers. This was before we came to live in this house.

"Our Nestletown neighbors, never hearing anything of the adoption, naturally supposed that little Kate Reed was our own sister. The secret was known only to our relatives, and one or two old friends, and to Lydia, who was Kate's devoted young nurse and attendant. In fact, we never thought anything about it. To us, as to the world outside, she was Kate Reed – the joy and pride of our home – our sister Kate to the very last. So it really made no serious difference. Don't you see?"

Not a word from either of the listeners.

"Of course, Dorry darling," he said, coaxingly, "this is very strange news to you; but you must meet it bravely, and, as I said before, without giving it undue importance. I wish now that, from the first, you and Donald had been told all this; but indeed your Aunt Kate was always so dear to me that I wished you to consider her, as she considered herself, a relative. It has been my great consolation to think and speak of your father and her as my brother and sister, and to see you, day by day, growing to love and honor her memory as she deserved. Now, do you not understand it all? Don't you see that Aunt Kate is Aunt Kate still?"

"Yes, indeed. I say so, most decidedly," broke forth Donald. "And I am very glad you have told us, Uncle. Aren't you, Dorry?"

Dorry could not speak, but she kissed Uncle George and tried to feel brave.

"Mamma and Aunt Kate were great friends, weren't they?" Donald asked.

"Yes, indeed. Though they became acquainted only a few months before your parents married and departed for Europe, they soon became very fond of each other."

"Then, Uncle," pursued Donald, "why didn't you know mother too? I should think she would have come here to visit Aunt Kate sometimes."

"As your mother was an only child, living alone with her invalid father, she was unwilling to leave him, and so Aunt Kate visited her instead. I wish it had been different, and that I could speak to you and Dorothy more fully of your mother, whom I rarely saw. We all know that she was good and lovely, but I should like to be able to bring her familiarly to your minds. This old home would be all the dearer, if it could be associated with thoughts of your mother and happy days which she had passed here with Aunt Kate."

At this point Mr. Reed was summoned to his study. A gentleman from town had called to see him on business.

"Keep up a good heart, my girl," he said, tenderly, to Dorry, as he left her, "and as soon as you feel like it, take a run out-of-doors with Donald. The bracing air will drive all sad thoughts away."

Dorry tried to smile pleasantly, as she promised to follow his advice. She even begged Don not to wait any longer, assuring him that she would go out and join him very soon.

"That's a good old Dot," said Don, proudly. "I'll wait for you. Where's your hat?"

"No, you go first, Don. I'll be out soon. I really will."

"All right. Ed's out there again by this time. You'll find us in the gymnasium." And off he ran, well knowing that Dorry's heart was heavy, but believing that the truest kindness and sympathy lay in making as light as possible of Uncle George's revelation; which, in his boyish logic, he felt wasn't so serious a thing after all, if looked at in the right spirit.

Dorothy waited until he was out of sight, and then sat down to think it all over.

The result was that when Liddy chanced to pass through the hall, a few moments later, she was startled by hearing half-suppressed sobs.

According to the custom of the house, which made the cosey corner a sort of refuge for Dorry, the good woman, upon entering at the open door, stood a moment wondering what to do. But as the sound of another little sob came from behind the screen, she called out in a cheery voice:

"May I come in, Miss Dorry dear?"

"Y-yes," was the answer. "Oh, Liddy, is that you? Uncle has told us all about it."

"Sakes alive!" cried Liddy, holding up her hands in dismay – "not told you everything?"

"Yes, he has," insisted Dorry, weeping afresh, as Lydia's manner seemed to give her a new right to consider that an awful fact had been revealed to her. "I know now all about it. I haven't any Aunt Kate at all. I'm a-all alone!"

"For shame, Miss Dorry; how can you talk so? You, with your blessed uncle and your brother, to say nothing of them who have cherished you in their arms from the day you were a helpless baby – for shame, Miss, to say such a thing!"

This was presenting matters in a new light.

"Oh, Liddy, you don't know about it. There's no Aunt K-Kate, anyway," sobbed Dorry, rather relieved at finding herself the subject of a good scolding.

"There isn't, eh? Well, I'd like to know why not!" retorted Lydia, furtively wiping her eyes. "I guess there is. I knew, long before you were born, that she was a dear little adopted girl. But what of that? that doesn't mean she wasn't ever a little girl at all. Don't you know, Miss Dorry, child, that a human being's a human being, and folks care for 'em for what they are? It wasn't just belonging to this or that family made Miss Kate so lovely, – it's what she was herself; and I can certify to her bein' as real as you and me are – if that's all that's wanted."

By this time Dorry, though half-comforted, had buried her face in the sofa-pillow.

"Not that I can't feel for you, poor dear," Liddy continued, gently patting the young girl's shoulder, but speaking more rapidly, "many's the time I've wept tears, just to think of you, longing with all your little heart for a mother. I'm a rough old body, my dove, and what are your dear good uncle and Master Donald but menkind, after all, and it's natural you should pine for Aunty. Ah, I'm afraid it's my doings that you've been thinkin' of her all these days, when, may be, if I'd known your dear mother, which I didn't, – and no blame to me neither, – I wouldn't always have been holding Miss Kate up to you. But she was a darling, was your Aunt Kate, as you know by her picture down stairs – don't you, dear?"

Dorry nodded into the cushion, by way of reply.

Liddy gazed at her a moment in sympathizing silence, and then, in a more cheerful tone, begged her to rouse herself.

"It won't do any good to fret about it, you know, Miss Dorry. Come, now, you'll have the awfulest headache that ever was, if you don't brighten up. When you're in trouble, count your blessings – that's what I always say; and you've a big share of 'em after all, dear. Let me make you a nice warm cup of tea – that'll build you up, Miss Dorry. It always helps me when I – Sakes! what's that?"

"What's what, Liddy?" said Dorry, languidly raising her head from the pillow. "Oh, that's – that's her– that's Aunt Kate's frock and apron. Yes, and here's something else. Here's Delia – I'll show her to you."

And so saying, she rose and stepped toward the cabinet.

"Show me Delia! Merciful heavens," cried Liddy, "has the child lost her senses?"

But the sight of the doll reassured her.

"Oh, that's Delia, is it?" she asked, still wondering; "well, where in the world did it come from?"

Dorry told her all about the discovery of the little trunk that had been hidden in the garret so many years.

"Oh, those miserable house-cleaners!" was Liddy's wrathful comment. "Only to think of it! We had 'em workin' up there when you twins were too little to spare me, and I've never felt easy about it since, nor trusted any one but myself to clean that garret. To think of their pushin' things in, 'way out of sight and sound like that!"

This practical digression had a good effect on Dorry. Rousing herself to make the effort, she bathed her face, smoothed her hair, and seizing her hat and shawl, started with a sigh to fulfil her promise to Donald.

And all this time, Liddy sat stroking and folding the little pink dress and black apron.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE GYMNASIUM

When Dorry reached the "gymnasium," as Ed and Don called it, she could not help smiling at the grand title they had given prematurely to a very unpromising-looking place.

The building had been a fine carriage-house in its day, but of late it had been used mainly by Jack, as a sort of store-house for old barrels, boxes, wheels, worn-out implements, and odds and ends of various kinds. Its respectable exterior had saved it from being pulled down when the new carriage-house was built. Besides Jack's appropriation of a portion of the building, Donald had planked off one end for his own special purposes, – first as a printing-office, later as a carpenter's shop, – and Dorothy had planted vines, which in summer surrounded its big window with graceful foliage; and so it had come to be looked upon as the special property of Jack and the D's.

Consequently, when Donald asked Mr. Reed to allow him to sell or send away the rubbish, and, with the proceeds of the sale of the old iron, added to his own saved-up pocket money, to turn the place into a gymnasium, his uncle not only gave free consent, but offered to let him have help and material, in case the young man should fall short of funds – as he most undoubtedly would.

The project was but a few days old at the time of the house-picnic, but being a vigorous little project, with life in its veins, it grew and prospered finely. Sailor Jack entered heartily into the work – the more so as his gallant fancy conceived the idea of some day setting up near by a sort of ship's-rigging with shrouds and "ratlines," in which to give the boys lessons, and occasionally disport himself, by way of relief, when his sea-longing should become too much for him. Plans and consultations soon were the order of the day, and Dorry, becoming interested, learned more about pulleys, ropes, ladders, beams, strength of timber, and such things, than any other girl in the village.

The building was kept moderately warm by an old stove, which Jack had set up two years before, when Don and Dorry had the printing-press fever (which, by the way, had broken out in the form of a tiny, short-lived newspaper, called The Nestletown Boom), and day after day the boys spent every odd moment of daylight there, assisted in many ways by Dorothy. But perhaps more efficient help was rendered by Jack, when he could spare the time from his horses, and by the village carpenter, when that worthy would deign to keep his engagements.

Besides, Uncle George had agreed that the new tutor should not begin with his pupils until after the Christmas holidays, now close at hand.

Under this hearty co-operation, the work prospered wonderfully.

Pretty soon, boys who came to jeer remained to try the horizontal bar, or the "horse," or the ladder that stretched invitingly overhead from one end of the building to the other. By special suggestion, Don's and Dorry's Christmas gifts from Uncle were a flying-course, a swinging-bar, and a spring-board. Jack and Don carted load after load of sawdust from the lumber-mill – to soften the deck in case of a slip from the rigging, as Jack explained to Lydia – and presto! the gymnasium was in full operation.

All of which explains why Josie Manning and Dorothy Reed bought dark-blue flannel, and sent to town for the latest pattern for gymnasium dresses; why Don and Ed soon exasperated them by comfortably purchasing suits ready made; why Dorry's cheeks grew rosier; why Uncle was pleased; why Jack was proud; and why Lydia was morally sure the D's would break their precious necks, if somebody didn't put a stop to it.