Letty and the Twins
CHAPTER XX
OLD SCENES AGAIN
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty came out to Sunnycrest on the followingMonday, as they had been invited to do, and every one spent a happyweek. Letty was radiant to meet again some one who had seen and knownher mother, and urged Mrs. Baker, Jr., to tell Mrs. Hartwell-Joneseverything she could remember about the sweet, sad-faced gentlewoman whohad trained her little daughter so carefully and lovingly.
There were long, long talks among the grown-ups, and both grandmotherand the mother of the twins were confident that Mrs. Hartwell-Jones haddone wisely in making Letty her own little girl.
Letty had asked permission to renew only one tie of her past life.
“You have told Mrs. Drake already,” she said to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones,“and I should like all my other friends to know, if I could reach them.There was dear Miss Reese. She was so good to me and my mother onewinter, and then I never heard from her again, nor her cousin, ClaraMarkham. Indeed, I’ve even forgotten what Miss Reese’s married name is.I have always thought of her as Miss Reese.
“Then there was Mrs. Goldberg at Willow Grove. She was awfullygood-hearted although she was so fat and homely and dressed so badly.But she and Mr. Goldberg went out to California just before—before mymother died. Mr. Goldberg wanted Ben to go out to California with him,but Ben couldn’t leave mother and me. Perhaps if he had gone——” Lettystopped and her eyes filled with tears. “Perhaps that horrible accidentwouldn’t have happened!”
“Hush, dear Letty—dear little girl,” whispered Mrs. Hartwell-Jonestenderly. “An accident is always likely to happen in such a life—sofilled with risks and dangers. And think how very much more terrible itwould have been if it had happened far off—away from you.”
Letty was soon comforted and dried her eyes with a little sigh.
“But there is one person I can tell my happiness to,” she said afterrather a long silence, “if I may? It is Emma Haines, the little girl Itold you about that lived next door when we had rooms in South FrontStreet. I should so like her to know! May I write to her? She lives inNew Jersey now, she and her mother and Tottie. Such a cunning babyTottie was.”
“By all means write to her at once,” consented Mrs. Hartwell-Jonescordially. “And when we get settled at home in town, you may invite herover to see you, if you like.”
Letty would have liked to take Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s “at once”literally. Indeed, she had already jumped up from her stool and crossedto the writing-desk, when Christopher appeared at the open door andbeckoned to her eagerly. The little conversation had taken place in Mrs.Hartwell-Jones’s room at Sunnycrest, and Christopher’s interruption wasnot a surprise, as the twins gave Letty very little time to herself.
After Letty had run off to join the children, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones satlost in thought, considering seriously an idea that had come to her thatmorning, suggested by the letter she had received from her lawyer.Presently she went to consult Grandmother Baker, as she generally didupon nearly all matters nowadays. She found her in her own room, goingover the week’s mending.
“Mrs. Baker, I am thinking of taking a short journey,” she began. “Butyou are busy, I see. I am afraid I shall disturb you.”
Grandmother hastened to assure her that she was not interrupting.
“Indeed, it will help me very much to be talked to,” she replied. “Itwill help me to keep my mind off the terrific size of the holes in Kit’sstockings. Just look at this!” And she held up a long brown stockingwith a great gaping tear in the knee. “You say you think of taking ashort journey,” she exclaimed in surprise. “You don’t think of leavingus before the end of your visit, I hope?” she added anxiously.
“Only for two days, if you will excuse us. I think of taking Letty withme. But I would like your opinion; whether you think it would please andinterest Letty, or only distress her with sad memories.”
Mrs. Baker looked up curiously.
“I am thinking of going down to Philadelphia for a day,” explained Mrs.Hartwell-Jones. “There are certain records that my lawyer wishes to lookup, concerning Letty’s baptism and the exact date of her father’s death.I should like, too, to call on the minister, if we can find him, inwhose parish Mrs. Grey lived at that time.
“And I thought possibly it might interest Letty to revisit some of theplaces where she used to live. Or do you think it might rouse sadmemories in the child’s heart and make her unhappy? Do you think itwould be a hard experience?”
“It might sadden the dear child a bit for the moment,” answeredgrandmother; “but the sadness cannot last long, remembering what thefuture holds for her, and I think it would be very good for her, Mrs.Hartwell-Jones, to go over the old scenes and impress them upon hermind, since her life from now on is to be so very different.”
“I am glad you agree with me, Mrs. Baker. Then, since that is settled,will it interfere with your plans in any way to have us go tomorrow?”
Mrs. Baker smiled.
“Not with me, dear Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. Choose your own time andconvenience. But I am afraid the children will raise a very dreadfuloutcry.”
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones smiled too, in recollection of all the mysteriouswhisperings and private interviews that had been going on among thechildren.
“I think they can spare Letty for two days,” she laughed. “We shall beback the day after, you know.”
Letty received the news of the proposed journey with mingled feelings.How odd it would seem to go back to Philadelphia, to revive the scenesand memories of the old life, which seemed gone forever.
Letty was afraid it might make her unhappy to visit again the placeswhere she had lived with her dear, dear mother. She said nothing of allthis to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, and tried her best not to let her see thatshe felt it, but entered into plans very eagerly and drove Punch andJudy into the village after the noonday dinner to get time-tables.
It was discovered that the only convenient train to Philadelphia passedthrough Hammersmith in the afternoon, not reaching Philadelphia untilafter dark. And the return trip must be taken even later in the day.
“Of course we can do nothing the evening we reach there,” said Mrs.Hartwell-Jones, “but it will give us nearly a whole day before startingback, which is all the time I shall need.
“But we shall arrive at Hammersmith very late in the evening, Mr.Baker,” she added. “Don’t you think it would be better for Letty and meto stop overnight at our own rooms in the village? It will take Joshuaand the horses out so late, to come to meet us.”
“Indeed, no. Josh won’t mind a little evening jaunt. We may all come,for the matter of that, for the sake of a moonlight ride.”
And so Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty started off. It was all verystrange and odd to Letty. She could not get used to the parlor-car. Shehad traveled a good deal in her time, during her three years with Mr.Drake’s circus, but never, of course, in such comfort and luxury. It waslike living in a different world.
Philadelphia, too, was like a completely different city. It was quitedark when they arrived and the confusion and brilliance of the big, busystation quite overwhelmed Letty. The streets were totally unfamiliar.She had been in that part of the city very seldom and never at night.The comfort and delightful motion of the taxicab charmed her and shebecame completely absorbed in watching the register, illumined by a tinyelectric light.
“What does it make you think of, dear?” asked Mrs. Hartwell-Jones as thetaxicab was steered smoothly and dexterously in and out of the stream oftraffic.
“Oh, I don’t know. It is all so mysterious, this going along and alongwithout anything to take us,” replied Letty. “But then, after all, itisn’t so very different from a trolley-car, is it, except that there areno tracks. Ah, the thing has dropped again! What do you suppose makesit? You say the man does not push it,” and she studied the metre withpuzzled eyes.
The ride was very short and the hotel at which they stopped verymagnificent. A meal was served to them in their own room, for it wa
s toolate to dress and go down-stairs to the restaurant; and after it wasover, Letty spent the hour until bedtime at the open window, watchingthe rushing stream of people pour by below, in carriages or motors andon foot, ascending or descending from trolley-cars and entering orleaving the big hotel. All the while she asked herself over and over:
“Is this Philadelphia? Is this really Philadelphia where I used tolive?”
Her sense of strangeness and bewilderment did not leave her nextmorning, for Mr. Shoemaker, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s lawyer, having comeover from New York by appointment to join them, the three took anothertaxicab and drove out to West Philadelphia. This part of the city waseven stranger to Letty than the portion about the station, for she hadbeen only a baby, too young to remember any impressions, when hermother, Ben and she had moved down-town; and she had never revisitedthat part of the city at all.
She did not understand exactly what was the errand upon which Mrs.Hartwell-Jones and the lawyer were bent, and while they consulted hugebooks and parish registers, she wandered about the yard of the bigcollege where her father had been a teacher, looking up at the highbuildings with their rows and rows of windows, and thinking how jolly itmust be to be a boy and go to college.
“But there are girls’ colleges, too,” she reflected. “Perhaps Mrs.Hartwell-Jones will let me go to one when I am old enough—or knowenough. Oh, dear, I am sorry I am so far behind other girls in myclasses. I mean to work terribly hard. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones has helped mea lot this summer and perhaps it won’t matter so much, my being behind,at a private school.”
When Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Mr. Shoemaker joined Letty, a kind-facedold clergyman accompanied them, who patted Letty on the cheek andexclaimed:
“Bless me, is this the baby? How time does fly, to be sure. You are afortunate little lady, Letitia. Good-morning, all of you.”
After luncheon at the hotel, Mr. Shoemaker talked business with Mrs.Hartwell-Jones for half an hour or so, then departed again for New York.Mrs. Hartwell-Jones ordered still another taxicab.
“We have over two hours before our train leaves, dear, and so suppose wedrive about to the different places you know about. Would you like to?Do you remember the street and number where your Miss Reese used tolive?”
Letty gave the address, which was quite near by, and as they drove pastthe house she related again, with eager interest, the exciting tale ofthe fire. Then they were driven down Chestnut Street and Letty’s eyesshone as they passed the shops she recollected having visited with MissReese on the memorable Christmas shopping expedition.
“Is this where you had your first taste of ice-cream soda-water?” askedMrs. Hartwell-Jones as the cab stopped in front of a large candy shop.“Then we must have some now, for old times’ sake. And let us take a boxof candy back to the twins.”
They did a good deal of shopping, of one sort or another, and then Mrs.Hartwell-Jones gave the chauffeur a direction that made him stare. Itbrought the tears to Letty’s eyes suddenly and a great lump to herthroat.
Far down-town they drove, out of the range of stylishly equippedcarriages and motor cars; out of the range of big shops and smoothstreets. The pavement grew rougher and dirtier, the houses and smallshops that lined the street, shabbier and shabbier.
Letty leaned forward out of the carriage window, her eyes large,curious, almost frightened, fixed on each familiar spot as it waspassed. She clasped her hands tightly together and drew her breath inshort, audible inspirations.
“Ah, there is the house, there it is!” she exclaimed at length, and Mrs.Hartwell-Jones gave the signal to stop.
The cab came to a halt at the curb, the motor continuing to throb withan even, businesslike regularity.
The little motor inside Letty’s small body was throbbing too, wildly,now fast and now slow, as she gazed at the shabby, dingy house that hadbeen her home. It looked shabbier and dingier than ever, and there wereneither fresh muslin curtains nor blooming plants at the third-storyfront windows where her mother used to sit and sew.
No familiar faces were to be seen. Several people went in and out of thefront door, turning to stare curiously at the lady and little girlsitting in the motor car. But Letty had never seen any of them before.There were children playing on the door-step next door, but they werenot Emma Haines nor Tottie. It all seemed completely changed.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Letty.
Then she turned and threw herself into Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’soutstretched arms.
“My mother, my mother!” she sobbed. “How I want my mother!”
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones soothed her as best she could, wondering the whileif she had done wrong to bring back the old associations.
“I know it is hard, dear little girl,” she whispered, “but I think someday you will be glad we came. It will help to fix the picture in yourmind. It keeps our memories fresher and more precious, you know, if wehave the pictures of their surroundings clearly in our mind.
“Take one last look, dear, and then we shall go. I pray I may be able tokeep you as good and happy as your dear mother did, my precious littleLetty!”
The cab moved slowly, with increasing speed, away from the dingy street,back to the gay, prosperous part of the city; back to the life that wasto be Letty’s henceforth.
The child’s sobs soon ceased and she drew back from the comfortingshoulder. But she still clung to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s hand for solace,and there were tears in the brown eyes that tried bravely to smile.
“You are so good to me!” she exclaimed. “My mother would be so gratefulto you if she knew!”
“She does know, up in heaven. I am sure she does, Letty, dear. And weshall both do our best to keep good and happy, shall we not? for thatwould please her best.
“And Letty dear, while we are on the subject, may I speak aboutsomething else regarding you and me? What do you want to call me, child?Have you thought about it at all? You know you can’t go on calling meMrs. Hartwell-Jones,” she added with a little laugh, to aid Letty’sembarrassment. “How would ‘Aunt Mary’ do?”
Letty looked up shyly.
“I think that would be perfectly beautiful!” she ejaculated with a happysigh. “If it is what you would like?” she added hastily.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones would have liked a sweeter, more intimate title, butshe guessed that Letty would find it too hard to confer the beloved nameof mother upon any one else; so she accepted the other and they wereboth satisfied and contented.
“‘Aunt Mary,’” whispered Letty again and again. “It is a beautiful nameand just like yourself, Mrs. Hart—I mean Aunt Mary,” she addedtremulously.