Dorothy

  CHAPTER II

  A POSTAL SUBSTITUTE

  So long a time had passed that Dorothy C. had grown to be what fatherJohn called "a baker's dozen of years old"; and upon another springmorning, as fair as that when she first came to them, the girl was outupon the marble steps, scrubbing away most vigorously. The task wasknown locally as "doing her front," and if one wishes to be considerablerespectable, in Baltimore, one's "front" must be done every day. OnSaturdays the entire marble facing of the basement must also bepolished; but "pernickity" Mrs. Chester was known to her neighbors assuch a forehanded housekeeper that she had her Saturday's work done onFriday, if this were possible.

  Now this was Friday and chanced to be a school holiday; so Dorothy hadbeen set to the week-end task, which she hated; and therefore she putall the more energy into it, the sooner to have done with it, meanwhilesinging at the top of her voice. Then, when the postman came round thecorner of the block, she paused in her singing to stare at him for onebrief instant. The next she had pitched her voice a few notes higherstill, and it was her song that greeted her father's ears and set himsmiling in his old familiar fashion. Unfortunately, he had not beensmiling when she first perceived him and there had been a little catchin her tones as she resumed her song. Each was trying to deceive theother and each pretending that nothing of the sort was happening.

  "Heigho, my child! At it again, giving the steps a more tombstoneeffect? Well, since it's the fashion--go ahead!"

  "I wish the man, or men, who first thought of putting scrubby-stepsbefore people's houses had them all to clean himself! Hateful oldthing!"

  With a comical gesture of despair she tossed the bit of sponge-stone,with which she had been polishing, into the gutter and calmly seatedherself on the bottom step, "to get her breath." "To get yours, too,father dear," she added, reaching to the postman's hand and gentlydrawing him down beside her. Then, because her stock of patience wasalways small and she could not wait for his news, she demanded: "Well!Did you go? What did he say?"

  "Yes, darling, I went," he answered, in a low tone and casting ananxious glance backward over his shoulder toward the house where Marthamight be near enough to hear. But having replied to one question heignored the rest.

  However, the girl was not to be put off by silence and her whole heartwas in her eyes as she leaned forward and peered into his. He stilltried to evade her, but she was so closely bound up with his life, sheunderstood him so quickly and naturally, that this was difficult; sowhen she commanded in her tender, peremptory way: "Out with it, fathermine, body and bones!" he half-cried, half-groaned:

  "Worse than all the others! _I--am--doomed!_"

  Then he dropped his head on his hands and, regardless of the fact thatthey were on the street, conspicuous to every passer-by, he gave way toa mute despair. Now when a naturally light-hearted person breaks downthe collapse is complete, but Dorothy did not know this nor thatrecovery is commonly very prompt. She was still staring in grievedamazement at her father's bowed head when he again lifted it and flasheda smile into her freshly astonished eyes. Then she laughed aloud, sogreat was her relief, and cried:

  "There, father John! You've been fooling me again! I should have knownyou were teasing and not believed you!"

  But he answered, though still smiling:

  "It's pretty hard to believe the fact, myself. Yet it's true, all thesame. Five different doctors have agreed upon it--which is wonderful, initself; and though I'd much rather not face this kind of a truth Ireckon I'll have to; as well as the next question: What is to become ofus?"

  Dorothy still retained her baby habit of wrinkling her nose when she wasperplexed, and she did so now in an absurd earnestness that amused herfather, even in the midst of his heartache. During her twelve years oflife in the little brick house in Brown Street, she had made a deal oftrouble for the generous couple which had given her a home there, butshe had brought them so much more of happiness that they now believedthey actually could not live without her. As the postman expressed it:

  "Her first act in this house was to spill her milk on its tidy floor.She's been spilling milk all along the route from then till now, andlong may she spill! Martha'd be 'lost' if she didn't have all that careof the troublesome child."

  This sunshiny morning, for the first time since that far-back day whenshe arrived upon his doorstep, the good postman began to contemplate thepossibility of their parting; and many schemes for her future welfarechased themselves through his troubled brain. If he could only spareMartha and Dorothy the unhappiness that had fallen upon himself he wouldask no more of fortune. For a long time they sat there, pondering, tillMartha's voice recalled them to the present:

  "For goodness sake, Dorothy C.! What are you idling like that for?Don't you know I've to go to market and you have the lunch to get? Thenthere's that class picnic of yours, and what on earth will Miss Georgiasay if you don't go this time? Come, come! Get to work. I'm ashamed tohave the neighbors see my marble the way it is, so late in the day. Youthere, too, John? Finished your beat already? Well, you come, too. I'vea mind to take up that dining-room carpet and put down the matting thisvery day. I never was so late in my spring cleaning before, but everytime I say 'carpet' to you, you have an excuse to put me off. I confessI don't understand you, who've always been so handy and kind with myheavy jobs. But come, Dorothy, you needn't laze any longer. It beatsall, the lots of talk you and your father always must have whenever youhappen to get alongside. Come."

  There was a hasty exchange of glances between father and child; then shesprang up, laughing, and as if it were part of her fun held out her handto the postman and pulled him to his feet. But it was not fun; it wasmost painful, serious earnest. He could hardly have risen without heraid, and she had noticed, what his wife had not, that, for a long timenow, he had never taken a seat without it was near a table, or someother firm object by which he could support himself in rising. Now, ashe loosed her hand and climbed the steps, he kept his gaze fixed uponthose same troublesome feet and caught hold of the brass hand-rail,which it was the housewife's pride and Dorothy's despair to keeppolished to brilliancy.

  Once within the house, Martha returned to the subject of the carpetlifting and again he put her off; but this time her suspicion that allwas not right had been aroused and, laying her hand upon his shoulder,she demanded in a tone sharpened by sudden anxiety:

  "John Chester, what is the matter with you?"

  He started, staggered by her touch, light as it was, and sank into achair; then knowing that the truth must out sometime, almost hurled itat her--though smiling to think how little she would, at first,comprehend:

  "Oh! nothing but '_ataxy locomotor_.'"

  "But--_what_? Don't tease. I'm in earnest, and a hurry."

  "So am I. In deadly earnest. I'm afflicted with '_ataxy locomotor_,' or_locomotor ataxia_. It's come to stay. To change our whole lives."

  She hadn't the slightest idea what he meant, as he had surmised would bethe case, but something in his tone frightened her, though she answeredwith a mirthful affectation:

  "Humph! I'm glad it's something so respectable!"

  Then she turned away, made ready to go to market, and soon left with herbasket on her arm. But she carried a now heavy heart within her. She hadseen that underneath her husband's jesting manner lay some tragic truth;and in her preoccupied state, she bought recklessly of things she shouldnot and went home without those which were needful. So that once backthere, she had to dispatch Dorothy marketward again, while she herselfprepared the simple lunch that served till their evening dinner whichall enjoyed the more in the leisure of the day's work done. And now, inthe absence of the child they both so loved, husband and wife at lengthdiscussed the trouble that had befallen.

  "Do you mean, John, that you are losing the use of your feet? What inthe world will a postman do without his sound feet and as sound a pairof legs above them?" demanded the anxious housemistress, still unable toaccept the dreadful fact.

  "Nothing. I can't be a postma
n any longer. I must resign my position atonce. I've kept it longer than I should. I haven't done justice tomyself or the office in hanging on as I have. But----"

  "How long have you known about it?"

  "For several months I've noticed that my feet felt queer, but it's onlybeen a few weeks since they became so uncontrollable. I've not been ableto walk without keeping my eyes fixed on my toes. My legs have a wilddesire to fly out at right angles to my body and--Face it, little woman,face it! You have a cripple on your hands for as long as he may live."

  "I haven't! You shan't be a--a cripple!" protested the impulsivehousewife, whose greatest griefs, heretofore, had been simple domesticones which shrank to nothingness before this real calamity. Then shebowed her head on her arms and let the tears fall fast. This served torelieve the tension of her nerves, and when she again lifted her headher face was calm as sad, while she made him tell her all the details ofhis trouble. He had been to the best specialists in the city. That veryday he had consulted the last, whom he had hoped might possibly help himand whose fee had staggered him by its size.

  "How long has Dorothy known this?" asked Martha, with a tinge ofjealousy.

  "Almost from the beginning. It was quite natural that she should, forshe has so often run alongside me on my routes--going to and fromschool. Besides, you know, she has the very sharpest eyes in the world.Little escapes them. _Nothing_ escapes which concerns us whom she lovesso dearly. It was her notion that you shouldn't be told till it wasnecessary, but it fell in with my own ideas. I--I think, though I neverheard of anybody else doing such a thing, that I'll have her go alongwith me this afternoon, when I make my--my last rounds. I confess thatsince that doctor's word, to-day, I've lost all my courage and my powerto walk half-decently. Decently? It hasn't been that for a long time, soif you can spare her I'll have her go."

  "Of course I can spare her. She was to go to a class picnic, anyway, butshe'd rather go with you. Now, I'll to work; and, maybe, I can think away out of our trouble. I--I can't bear it, John! You, a cripple forlife! It can't be true--it shall not be true. But--if it has tobe,--well, you've worked for me all these years and it's a prettyhow-de-do if I can't work for you in turn. Now, lie down on the loungetill it's time to go to the office again, and I'll tackle my kitchenfloor."

  For the first time he allowed her to help him across the room and toplace him comfortably on the lounge, and she suddenly remembered howoften, during the past few weeks, she had seen Dorothy do this very samething. She had laughed at it as a foolish fondness in the girl, but nowshe offered the assistance with a bitter heartache.

  Dorothy came back and was overjoyed at the changed program for herholiday afternoon. All along she had longed to go with the postman, tohelp him, but had not been permitted. Now it was not only a relief thather mother knew their secret and that they could talk it over together,but she had formed a scheme by which she believed everything could go onvery much as before.

  So with a cane in one hand and his other resting on her shoulder, JohnChester made his last "delivery." Fortunately, the late mail of the daywas always small and the stops, therefore, infrequent. Most of these,too, were at houses fronting directly on the street, so that the postmancould support himself against the end of the steps while Dorothy ran upthem and handed in the letters.

  It was different at Bellevieu, which chanced to be the end of that trip,and the long path from the gateway to the mansion looked so formidableto father John that he bade Dorothy go in alone with the pouch, emptiednow of all matter save that addressed to Mrs. Cecil.

  She sped away, leaving him leaning against the stone pillar of theeagle-gate--so called because each column guarding the entrance wastopped by a massive bronze eagle--and waved a smiling farewell to him asshe disappeared beneath the trees bordering the driveway.

  As usual, Mrs. Cecil was on her piazza, wrapped in shawls and protectedby her hooded beach-chair from any possible wind that might blow. Oldthough she was, her eyes were almost as brown and bright as Dorothy'sown, and they opened in surprise at the appearance of this novelmail-carrier.

  "How-d'ye-do, Mrs. Cecil? Here's such a lot of letters and papers allfor you!" cried Dorothy, bowing, as she swept her hand through the pouchwhich she had slung over her shoulder in the most official manner."Where shall I put them? I reckon there are too many for your lap."

  "What--who--Where's Johnnie?" demanded the lady, leaning forward andfirst smiling, then frowning upon the girl.

  "Oh! he--he's at the gate," she answered, and was about to explain whyhe had not come himself. Then a sudden remembrance of how closely he hadguarded his secret, even from her mother, closed her lips, leaving theother to infer what she chose; and who promptly exclaimed:

  "Well, of all things! Do you know, does he know, that between you thelaw is broken? Nobody, except a regularly sworn employee has a right totouch the United States mail. How dare he send you? Huh! If I do my dutyas a good citizen I shall report him at once. This single breach offaith may cost him his place, even though he has been in the service solong."

  Mrs. Cecil's manner was harsher than her thought. For some time she hadobserved that "Johnnie" looked ill and was far less active than of oldand she had intended that very afternoon to offer him a kindness. Shewould send him and his wife away on a long vacation, wherever they choseto go, till he could recover his health. She would pay all his expenses,including a substitute's salary. Even more generous than all, she wouldinvite that girl, Dorothy C., whom they had so foolishly adopted, topass the interval of their absence at Bellevieu. She dreaded theinfliction of such a visit. She always had insisted that she hatedchildren--but--Well, it was to be hoped the postman would have senseenough to speedily recuperate and take Dorothy off her hands. In anycase, she must be gotten rid of before it was time for Mrs. Cecilherself to seek recreation at her summer home in the Hudson highlands.

  Now her mood suddenly changed. She had desired to befriend the postmanbut, if he had taken it into his hands to befriend himself, it was quiteanother matter. Let him! Why should she bother with anybody in such adifferent state of life? Disappointment, at having her prospectivekindness returned upon her thus, made her sharply say:

  "It takes all kinds of fools to fill a world, and I'm sorry to findJohnnie one of them. Don't stare! It's rude, with such big eyes asyours. Drop the mail. Carriers shouldn't loiter--that's another crime.Your father must come himself next time, else----"

  She seemed to leave some dire threat unspoken and again Dorothy was justready to tell this strange old lady, whom the postman had often called"wise," the truth of the trouble that had come to him; when around thecorner of the house dashed Peter and Ponce, the two Great Dane dogswhich Mrs. Cecil kept as a menace to intruders. They had just beenloosed for their evening exercise and, wild with delight, were hurryingto their mistress on her broad porch.

  At the sight of their onrush Dorothy caught up the pouch she had droppedand started to retreat--too late! The animals were upon her, had knockedher downward and backward, striking her head against the boards and, forthe moment, stunning her. But they had been more playful than viciousand were promptly restrained by Mrs. Cecil's own hand upon theircollars; while the brief confusion of the girl's startled thoughts asquickly cleared and she leaped to her feet, furiously angry andindignant.

  "Oh! the horrid beasts! How dare you--anybody--keep such dangerouscreatures? I'll tell my father! He'll--he'll--" tears choked her furtherspeech and, still suspiciously eyeing the Danes, she was edgingcautiously down the steps when she felt herself stopped.

  Mrs. Cecil had loosed her hold of Peter to lay her hand upon the girl'sshoulder and she was saying, kindly but sternly:

  "They are not dangerous but playful. They attack nobody upon whom theyare not 'set.' It was an accident; and if any further apology isnecessary it is from a little girl to the old gentlewoman--for aninsolent suspicion. Now go. The dogs will not follow you."

  Dorothy did not see how she had done wrong, yet she felt like a culpritdismissed as she lifted
the pouch she had again dropped and startedgateward, still keeping a wary eye upon the beautiful dogs, now lyingbeside their mistress in her beach-chair.

  As she neared the entrance she cried:

  "Here I am at last, father! I didn't mean to stay so long but thatdreadful old woman--Why, father, father! Where are you, dearest father?"

  He was nowhere to be seen. Nor anybody, either on the broad avenue orthe narrow street around the corner; and when she came breathlessly tothe dear home in which she hoped to find him it was empty.