Two Little Waifs

  CHAPTER XI.

  WALTER'S TEA-PARTY.

  "They felt very happy and content and went indoors and sat to the table and had their dinner."--_The Almond Tree._

  BROTHERS GRIMM.

  Rosamond and her aunt had a good many commissions to do that afternoon.They had not long before this changed their house, and there were stilla great many pretty things to choose and to buy for the new rooms. Butthough it was pleasant work it was tiring, and it was, too, soexceedingly cold that even in the comfortable carriage with itshot-water bottles and fur rugs, the young girl shivered and said to heraunt she would be glad to be at home again, and to get a nice hot cup oftea.

  "Yes," said her aunt, "and it is getting late. At this time of year thedays seem to close in so suddenly."

  "I'm afraid it is going to be a severe winter. I do so dislike severewinters, Auntie," said Rosamond, who had spent some part of her life ina warm climate.

  "So do I," said her aunt, with a sigh, "it makes everything so muchharder for the poor. I really think it is true that cold is worse toendure than hunger."

  "You are so kind, Auntie dear," said Rosamond. "You really seem as ifyou felt other people's sufferings your own self. I think it is thelittle children I am most sorry for. Perhaps because I have been such aspoilt child myself! I cannot imagine how it would be possible to livethrough what some children have to live through. Above all, unkindnessand neglect. That reminds me----"

  She was going to tell her aunt of the children she had seen at MadameNestor's, and of the sharp way the young woman in the shop had spoken tothem, but just at that moment the carriage turned into the courtyard oftheir house, and the footman sprung down and opened the door.

  "I wonder what put those children in my head just now?" thoughtRosamond, as she followed her aunt slowly up the wide thickly-carpetedstaircase. "I suppose it was talking of the poor people, though theywere not exactly poor."

  But a moment or two later she really felt as if her thoughts had takenshape, or that she was dreaming, when she caught sight of the mostunexpected picture that presented itself to herself and her aunt onopening the door of their pretty "little drawing-room."

  Walter was having a tea-party!]

  The room was brightly lighted, the fire was burning cheerily--not farfrom it stood the low afternoon tea-table covered with a white cloth andheaped up with plates of bread-and-butter and cakes--while the tea-urnsang its pleasant murmur. And the group round the table? That was theastonishing part of it. Walter was having a tea-party!

  For an instant--they had opened the door softly and he was very muchtaken up with his guests--the aunt and niece stood looking on withoutany one's hearing them. Walter was seated in a big arm-chair, andperched on his knee was a very tiny little boy in an English sailordress. He was a pretty fair child, with a bright pink flush on his face,and he seemed exceedingly happy and to be thoroughly enjoying the cup ofhot but mild tea and slice of cake which his host was pressing on him.And on a small chair just opposite sat a pale-faced dark-eyed littlegirl with an anxious look on her face, yet at the same time anexpression of great content. No wonder; she was only seven years old!Fancy the relief it must have been to delicate little Gladys to findherself again in a room like this--to have the comfort of the deliciousfire and the food even, to which she was accustomed--above all, to seeRoger safe and happy; if only it would last!

  "_This_ tea isn't too strong for him, is it, Gladys?" Walter said.

  And Gladys leaning forward examined it with a motherly air, that wasboth pathetic and amusing.

  "No, that's quite right. That's just like what he had it at home."

  The aunt and niece looked at each other.

  "Who _can_ they be?" whispered the aunt; but Rosamond, though she hadscarcely seen the faces of the children in the Rue Verte, seemed to knowby instinct. But before she had time to speak, Walter started up; thewhisper, low as it was, had caught his ear and Gladys's too. She too gotup from her seat and stood facing the ladies, while her cheeks grewstill paler, and the anxious look quite chased away the peacefulsatisfaction from her poor little face.

  "Auntie!" said Walter, and in his voice too there was a little anxiety,not lost on Gladys. For though he knew his aunt to be as kind as any onecould be, still it _was_ a rather "cool" thing, he felt, to have broughtin two small people he had found in the street without knowing anythingwhatever about them, and to be giving them tea in her drawing-room."Auntie," he repeated, "this young lady, Miss Gladys Bertram, and herlittle brother had come to see you, to ask your help. I found themwaiting in the street, the concierge had told them you were out; it wasbitterly cold, and they had come a very long way. I brought them in andgave them tea, as you see."

  His face had flushed as he spoke, and there was a tone of appeal in hisvoice; he could not _before_ Gladys add what was on his lips: "You arenot vexed with me?"

  "You did quite right, my dear boy," said his aunt heartily. "Rosamondand I are cold and tired too. We should like a cup of tea also, and thenthese little friends of ours will tell us all they have to tell."

  "I have seen them before," added Walter in a lower tone, going nearerhis aunt under pretext of getting her a chair. "You remember thechildren on the Boulevards I told you about the other day? It is they."

  But Gladys, who till then had stood still, gazing at the ladies withoutspeaking, suddenly sprang forward and almost threw herself into"Auntie's" arms.

  "Oh, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed, bursting into tears. "I wasjust thinking perhaps you'd be vexed with _him_," she pointed to Walter,"and he's been so kind, and it _is_ so nice here. Oh, we couldn't, we_couldn't_ go back there!" and clasping her new friend still moreclosely she sobbed as if her overcharged heart would break.

  Auntie and Rosamond soothed her with the kindest words they could find,and then Auntie, who always had her wits about her, reminded Gladys thatthey too were very anxious to have a cup of tea, would she help to pourit out? She evidently knew all about it, whereupon Gladys's sobs andtears stopped as if by magic, and she was again the motherly capablelittle girl they had seen her on entering the room.

  Tea over--before thinking of taking off their bonnets--Auntie andRosamond, and Walter too, made Gladys tell them all she had to tell. Itwas a little difficult to follow at first, for, like a child she mixedup names and events in rather a kaleidoscope fashion. But at last bydint of patience and encouragement and several "beginnings again at thebeginning," they got a clear idea of the whole strange and yet simplestory, all of which that was known to Gladys herself, you, my littlereaders, already know, except the history of the last miserable day inthe Rue Verte, when Anna's temper had got the better of her prudence tosuch an extent as to make Gladys feel they could bear it no longer. Shehad struck them both in her passion that very morning when Francoise wasat the market, and wild with fear, more for Roger than herself, Gladyshad set off to ask help and advice from the only people she knew of inall great Paris who could understand her story.

  "Except _him_," added Gladys, nodding at Walter, "but we didn't knowwhere he lived. I couldn't write to Miss Susan, for I hadn't any paperor envelopes. I thought I'd wait till Mr. 'Dolph came home and that he'dlet me write, but I don't know when he's coming, and I hadn't any money,and if _she_--oh! if she had struck Roger again it might have killedhim. He's so little, you know," and Gladys shuddered.

  There was silence for a few moments. Then Auntie turned to Walter.

  "The first thing to be done, it seems to me, is for you to go to the RueVerte to tell the Nestors--Madame Nestor, that is to say--where theselittle people are. She will be very uneasy, I fear, poor woman."

  "Anna won't tell her, I don't think," said Gladys. "Poor Mrs. Nest--sheis so kind. I shouldn't like her to be unhappy."

  "And," continued the lady, "you must ask for the children's clothes."

  Gladys's eyes glistened.

  "Do you mean, are you going to let us stay here?" she said; "I mean tillto-morrow, perhaps, till Miss Susan can come?"
/>
  "Where else could you go, my dears?" said Auntie kindly.

  "I don't know; I--I thought perhaps you'd get us a little roomsomewhere, and Miss Susan would pay it when she comes. I thought perhapsyou'd send her a tele--, you know what I mean, and perhaps she couldcome for us that way. It's so quick, only it costs a great deal, doesn'tit?"

  Auntie and Rosamond had hard work to prevent themselves laughing at thisqueer idea of Gladys's, but when her mistake was explained to her, shetook it very philosophically.

  "Then do you think I should write to Miss Susan to-day?" said Gladys."_You'll_ help me, won't you?" she added, turning to Rosamond. "I don'tknow very well how to write the address."

  "Of course I will help you, dear," said Rosamond, but her auntinterrupted.

  "I do not think little Gladys need write to-night," she said. "Indeed,perhaps it may be as well for me to write for her to the lady she speaksof. But now, Walter, you had better go off at once, and bring back thechildren's belongings with you. What were you going to say, dear?" forGladys seemed as if she were going to speak.

  Gladys's face grew red.

  "Anna said once that she would sell our big trunk and all our bestclothes--I mean she said Mrs. Nest would--to get money for all we hadcost them. But I'm sure Mrs. Nest wouldn't. And when Papa comes he'llpay everything."

  The elder lady looked at Walter.

  "Try and bring away everything with you," she said. "Take Louis, so thathe may help to carry out the boxes. Do your best anyway."

  It turned out easier than Auntie had feared, for Walter found AdolpheNestor already returned, and in a state of frantic anxiety about thechildren. Knowing that they could not be in better hands than those inwhich they had placed themselves, he was only too thankful to let themremain there, and gave Walter all the information he could about Mr. andMrs. Marton, who had confided the children to his mother's care.

  "She can tell you all about the family better than I," he said. "I thinkeven she has the address of Madame Marton's mother, where her cousin wasso long nurse. Oh, they are in every way most respectable, and indeedone can see by the children themselves that they are littlegentlepeople. There must be something sadly amiss for the father not tohave come for them. I fear even that he is perhaps dead."

  Then he went on to tell Walter that he had told Anna he could no longerkeep her in his employment, and that all was at an end with her.

  "And indeed," he said, his round face getting very red, "I think no manwould be happy with a wife with such a temper," in which Walter, who ateighteen considered himself very wise, cordially agreed.

  Adolphe had not told his mother of the children's flight, for she wasstill very feverish and excitable; but he said she would be relieved toknow where they had found refuge. And then he gave Walter the Englishmoney which Mr. Marton had left for their use, and which his mother hadkept unbroken.

  Walter took it, though reluctantly, but he saw that it would have hurtAdolphe to refuse it; and he also reflected that there were other waysin which the Nestors could be rewarded for their kindness. And so heleft the Rue Verte with all the children's belongings safely piled onthe top of the cab, and with a much more friendly feeling to theupholsterer than he had expected to have, promising to let him know theresult of the inquiries his aunt intended immediately to set on foot;and also assuring him that they should not leave Paris without coming tosay good-bye to him and his kind old mother.

  When the two tired but happy little people were safely in bed thatnight, their three new friends sat round the fire to have a good talkabout them.

  "It is a very strange affair, really," said Walter. "I'm more than halfinclined to agree with Nestor that the father must be dead."

  "But even then," said Auntie, "the friends in England who had charge ofthem would have known it, and would have sent to inquire about them."

  "That 'Miss Susan,' as they call her, seems to me to have thought ofnothing but the easiest way to get rid of them," said Rosamondindignantly. "She should never have let them start without a letter or atelegram of Captain Bertram's being actually in Paris, and, as far as Ican make out from little Gladys, she had not got that--only of hisarrival at Marseilles and his _intention_ of coming."

  "Did Gladys mention Marseilles? Does she know where it is?" askedWalter.

  "Yes, she said the old lady whom they were very fond of showed it to heron the map, and explained that it was the town in France 'at which thebig ships from India stopped,' Gladys is quite clear about all that. Sheis a very clever child in some ways, though in others she seems almost ababy."

  "Nothing about her would surprise me after her managing to find her wayhere," said Auntie. "Just fancy her leading that baby, Roger, all theway here from the Rue Verte!"

  "Do you know how she did?" said Rosamond. "She tore a little piece ofpaper off the edge of a newspaper and wrote the address, 'Avenue Gerard9,' on it with an end of pencil she found lying about; and she showedthis bit of paper to anybody 'kind-looking' whom they met, and thus shegot directed. Was it not a good idea? She said if she had _asked_ theway the French people would not have understood her speaking."

  "Then what do you decide to do, Auntie?" said Walter. "Shall I telegraphin the morning to this Miss Susan, or will you write?"

  Auntie hesitated.

  "_I_ don't see how you can do either with much chance of it reachingher," said Rosamond. "Gladys, you know, said she was going to bemarried."

  "Well, supposing in the first place," said Auntie, "we were to telegraphto the principal hotels at Marseilles and ask if Captain Bertram isthere--it would do no harm--it is just possible that by some mistake heis all this time under the belief that the children are still inEngland."

  "That's not likely," said Walter; "no one would stay on at a hotel inMarseilles all this time for no reason--three weeks, it must be. Butit's not a bad idea to telegraph there first."

  "Gladys would be so pleased if it proved not to be necessary to send to'Miss Susan' at all," said Rosamond, who seemed to have obtained thelittle girl's full confidence.

  "Well, we shall see," said Auntie. "In the meantime the children aresafe, and I hope happy."

  "Mr. and Mrs. Marton must be in India by this time," said Walter."_They_ don't seem to have been to blame in the least--they did the bestthey could. It might be as well to write to them if we had theiraddress."

  "Perhaps old Madame Nestor may have it," said Rosamond. "The maid--herniece or cousin, whichever it is--may have left it with her."

  "We can ask," said Auntie. "But it would take a good while to hear fromIndia, and very likely they would have very little to tell, for there isone thing that strikes me," she went on thoughtfully, "which is, the_Martons_ cannot have thought there was anything wrong when they got toMarseilles, otherwise they would have written or telegraphed to the RueVerte, and certainly to the friends in England."

  She looked up as if to read in the faces of her two young companions howthis struck them.

  "That's true," said Walter.

  "But it only adds to the mystery," said Rosamond.

  "Supposing," said Walter, "that the address has been lost--that of theNestors, I mean--and that all this time Captain Bertram is hunting upand down Paris for his children?"

  "That does not seem to me likely," said Auntie. "He would havetelegraphed back to England."

  "Where it wouldn't have been known, Rosamond," said Walter. "Rather toMr. Marton in India."

  "If he had _his_ address," said Walter again.

  "Well, anyway _that_ could be got in England," said Auntie, a littleimpatiently. "No, no, Walter, it can't be that. Why, supposing CaptainBertram were here looking for his children, the _police_ could havefound them for him in a couple of days. No; I very much fear there ismore wrong than a mere mistake. Poor little dears--they still seem tohave such unbounded faith in 'Papa's coming.' I only trust no harm hascome over him, poor man."

  Walter telegraphed the next morning in his aunt's name to the twoprincipal hotels at Marseilles, to inquire i
f Captain Bertram was or hadbeen there. From one came back the answer, "No such name known." Fromthe other the information that Captain Bertram had not yet returned fromNice, and that letters and his luggage were waiting for him at thehotel.

  "Just read this, aunt," he said, hurrying into the drawing-room, andAuntie did so. Then she looked up.

  "It is as I feared, I feel sure," she said. "Walter, you must go to Niceyourself, and make inquiries."

  "I shall start to-night," said the young fellow readily.

  "Stay a moment," said Auntie again. "We have the _Times_ advertisementsfor the last few days; it may be as well to look over them."

  "And the Saturday papers, with all the births, marriages, and deaths ofthe week put in at once," said Rosamond. "You take the _Times_," sheadded to her brother, going to a side-table where all the papers werelying in a pile, "and I'll look through the others."

  For a few moments there was silence in the room. Gladys and Roger werevery happy with some of their toys, which they had been allowed tounpack in the dining-room. "Bertram, Bertram, no, I see nothing. Andthere's no advertisement for two lost cherubs in the agony columnseither," said Walter.

  Suddenly Rosamond gave a little exclamation.

  "Have you found anything?" asked Auntie.

  "Nothing about Captain Bertram," she replied. "But I think this must bethe old lady they lived with. 'Alicia, widow of the late Major-GeneralLacy,' etc., etc., 'at Market-Lilford on the 16th November, aged 69.' Iam sure it is she, for Gladys's second name is 'Alicia,' and she told meit was 'after Mrs. Lacy.'"

  "Poor old lady--she must have been very kind and good. That may explain'Miss Susan's' apparent indifference. It was fully a fortnight ago, yousee."

  "Must I tell Gladys?" said Rosamond.

  "Not yet, I think," said Auntie. "We may have worse to tell her, poorchild."

  "I don't know that it _would_ be worse," said the young girl. "Theycan't remember their father."

  "Still, they have always been looking forward to his coming. If it endsin _good_ news, it will make them--Gladys especially--very happy."

  "As for Roger, perfect happiness is already his," said Rosamond. "Heasks no more than weak tea and bread-and-butter, Gladys always at hand,a good fire, and nobody to scold him."