CHAPTER XI
THE REUNION
After leaving the conductor's house in Asbury Park, Mr. Maynard and Mr.Bryant went to a telephone office, and pursued the plan of calling upevery railroad station along the road between Seacote and New York.
But no good news was the result. It was difficult to get speech with thestation men, and none of them especially remembered seeing a little girlof Marjorie's description get off the train.
"What can we do next?" asked Mr. Maynard, dejectedly; "I can't go homeand sit down to wait for police investigation. I doubt if they couldever find Marjorie. I _must_ do something."
"It seems a formidable undertaking," said Mr. Bryant, "to go to each ofthese way stations; and yet, Ed, I can't think of anything else to do.We have traced her to the train, and on it. She must have left itsomewhere, and we must discover where."
Mr. Maynard looked at his watch.
"Jack," he said, "it is nearly time for that very train to stop here.Let us get on that, and we may get some word of her from the trainmenother than the conductor."
"Good idea! and meanwhile we'll have just time to snatch a sandwichsomewhere; which we'd better do, as you've eaten nothing sincebreakfast."
"Neither have you, old chap; come on."
After a hasty luncheon, the two men boarded at Asbury Park, the sametrain which Marjorie had taken at Seacote the day before. ConductorFischer greeted them, and called his trainmen, one by one, to bequestioned.
"Sure!" said one of them, at last, "I saw that child, or a girl dressedas you describe, get off this train at Newark. She was a plump littlebody, and pretty, but mighty woe-begone lookin'. She was in comp'ny witha big, red-faced man, a common, farmer-lookin' old fellow. It struck mequeer at the time, them two should be mates."
Mr. Maynard's heart sank. This looked like kidnapping. But the knowledgeof where Marjorie had alighted was help of some sort, at least.
After discussing further details of her dress and appearance, Mr.Maynard concluded that it was, indeed, Midget who had left the train atNewark with the strange man, and so he concluded to get off there also.
"We're on the trail, now," said Jack Bryant, cheerily; "we're sure tofind her."
Mr. Maynard, though not quite so hopeful, felt a little encouraged, andimpatiently the two men sprang off the train at Newark. Into the stationthey went and interviewed an attendant there.
"Yep," he replied, "I seen that kid. She was with old Zeb Geary, an' itgot me, what he was doin' with a swell kid like her!"
"Where did they go?" asked Mr. Maynard, eagerly.
"I dunno. Prob'ly he went home. He lives out in the country, and hetakes a little jaunt down to the shore now and then. He's sort ofeccentric,--thinks he can sell his farm stuff to the hotel men, better'nany other market."
"How can I get to his house?"
"Wanter see Zeb, do you? Well, he has his own rig, not very nobby, butsafe. I guess you could get a rig at that stable 'cross the way. An'they can tell you how to go."
"Couldn't I get a motor-car?"
"Likely you could. Go over there and ask the man."
The station attendant had duties, and was not specially interested in astranger's queries, so, having rewarded him, as they thought hedeserved, the two men hastened over to the livery stable.
"Zeb Geary?" said the stable keeper. "Why, yes, he lives five miles outof town. He leaves his old horse here when he goes anywhere on thetrain. It's no ornament to my place, but I keep it for the old fellow.He's a character in his way. Yes, he went out last night and a littlegirl with him."
"Could we get a motor here, to go out there?"
"Right you are! I've good cars and good chauffeurs."
In a few moments, therefore, Mr. Maynard and Mr. Bryant were speedingaway toward Zeb Geary, and, as they hoped, toward Marjorie.
While the car was being made ready, Mr. Maynard had telephoned to Kingthat they had news of Marjorie, and hoped soon to find her. He thoughtbest to relieve the minds of the dear ones at home to this extent, evenif their quest should prove fruitless, after all.
"I can't understand it," said Mr. Maynard, as they flew along thecountry roads. "This Geary person doesn't sound like a kidnapper, yetwhy else would Midget go with him?"
"I'm only afraid it _wasn't_ Marjorie," returned Mr. Bryant. "But weshall soon know."
* * * * *
Marjorie had worked hard all day. Partly because she wanted to proveherself a good worker, and partly because, if she stopped to think, hertroubles seemed greater than she could bear.
But a little after five o'clock everything was done, supper prepared,and the child sat down on the kitchen steps to rest. She was tired, sad,and desolate. The slight excitement of novelty was gone, the bravery andcourage of the morning hours had disappeared, and a great wave ofhomesickness enveloped her very soul. She was too lonely and homesickeven to cry, and she sat, a pathetic, drooped little figure, on the oldtumble-down porch.
She heard the toot of a motor-horn, but it was a familiar sound to her,and she paid no attention to it. Then she heard it again, very near, andlooked up to see her father and Cousin Jack frantically waving, as thecar fairly flew, over many minor obstacles, straight to that kitchendoorway.
"Marjorie!" cried Mr. Maynard, leaping out before the wheels had fairlystopped turning, and in another instant she was folded in that dear oldembrace.
"Oh, Father, Father!" she cried, hysterically clinging to him, "take mehome, take me home!"
"Of course I will, darling," said Mr. Maynard's quivering voice, as heheld her close and stroked her hair with trembling fingers. "That's whatwe've come for. Here's Cousin Jack, too."
And then Midget felt more kisses on her forehead, and a hearty pat onher back, as a voice, not quite steady, but determinedly cheerful,said: "Brace up now, Mehitabel, we want you to go riding with us."
Marjorie looked up, with a sudden smile, and then again buried her faceon her father's shoulder and almost strangled him as she flung her armsround his neck. Then she drew his head down, while she whispered faintlyin his ear. Three times she had to repeat the words before he couldcatch them:
"Are you my father?" he heard at last. The fear flashed back upon himthat Midget's mind was affected, but he only held her close to him, andsaid, gently, "Yes, Marjorie darling, my own little girl," and the quietassurance of his tone seemed to content her.
"Wal, wal! an' who be you, sir?" exclaimed a gruff voice, and Mr.Maynard looked up to see Zeb Geary approaching from the barn.
"You are Mr. Geary, I'm sure," said Cousin Jack, advancing; "we havecome for this little girl."
"Wal, I'm right down glad on't! I jest knew that purty child had a homeand friends, though she vowed she hadn't."
"And you've been kind to her, and we want to thank you! And this is Mrs.Geary?"
"Yep, that's Sary. Come out here, Mother, and see what's goin' on."
Out of shyness, Mrs. Geary had watched proceedings from the kitchenwindow, but fortified by her husband's presence, she appeared in thedoorway.
"They've been so good to me, Father," said Marjorie, still nestling inhis sheltering arms.
"Wal, we jest done what we could," said Mrs. Geary. "I knowed thatJessiky belonged to fine people, but she didn't want to tell us nothin',so we didn't pester her."
"And we ain't askin' nothin' from you, neither," spoke up Zeb. "She's asweet, purty child, an' as good as they make 'em. An' when she wants totell you all about it, she will. As fer us,--we've no call to know."
"Now, that's well said!" exclaimed Mr. Bryant, holding out his hand tothe old man. "And, for the present, we're going to take you at yourword. If you agree, we're going to take this little girl right off withus, because her mother is anxiously awaiting news of her safety. Andperhaps, sometime later, we'll explain matters fully to you. Meantime, Ihope you'll permit us to leave with you a little expression of ourappreciation of your real kindness to our darling, and our gratitude ather recovery."
A
few whispered words passed between the two gentlemen, and then, aftera moment's manipulation of his fountain pen and checkbook, Mr. Bryanthanded to old Zeb Geary a slip of paper that took his breath away.
"I can't rightly thank you, sir," he said, brokenly; "I done no more'nmy duty; but if so be's you feel to give me this, I kin only say, Blessye fer yer goodness to them that has need!"
"That's all right, Mr. Geary," said Cousin Jack, touched by the oldman's emotion; "and now, Ed, let's be going."
Mrs. Geary brought Marjorie's hat and her little purse, and in anothermoment they were flying along the country road toward Newark.
Marjorie said nothing at all, but cuddled into her father's arm, and nowand then drew long, deep sighs, as if still troubled.
But he only held her closer, and murmured words of endearment, leavingher undisturbed by questions about her strange conduct.
In Newark they telephoned the joyful news to Mrs. Maynard, and then tookthe first train to Seacote.
All through the two-hour ride, Marjorie slept peacefully, with herfather's arm protectingly round her.
The two men said little, being too thankful that their quest wassuccessfully ended.
"But I think her mind is all right," whispered Mr. Maynard, as Mr.Bryant leaned over from the seat behind. "She has some kind of a crazynotion in her head,--but when she's thoroughly rested and wide awake, wecan straighten it all out."
The Maynards' motor was waiting at Seacote station, and after a fewmoments' ride, Marjorie was again in the presence of her own dearpeople.
"Mother, _Mother_!" she cried, in a strange, uncertain voice, and flewto the outstretched arms awaiting her.
Though unnerved herself, Mrs. Maynard clasped her daughter close andsoothed the poor, quivering child.
"_Are_ you my mother?" wailed Marjorie, in agonized tones; "_are_ you?"
"Yes, my child, _yes_!" and there was no doubting that mother-voice.
"Then why,--_why_ did you tell Mrs. Corey I was a findling?"
"Tell Mrs. Corey _what_?"
"Why, when I was practising, you were talking to her, and I heard youtell her that you took me from an asylum when I was a baby,--and that Ididn't really belong to you and Father?"
"Oh, Marjorie! Oh, my baby!" and dropping into the nearest armchair,with Marjorie in her lap, Mrs. Maynard laughed and cried together.
"Oh, Ed," she exclaimed, looking at her husband, "it's thosetheatricals! Listen, Marjorie, darling. Our Dramatic Club is going togive a play called 'The Stepmother,' and Mrs. Corey and I were learningour parts. That's what you heard!"
"Truly, mother?"
"Truly, of course, you little goosie-girl! And so you ran away?"
"Yes; I couldn't stay here if I wasn't your little girl,--andFather's,--and King's sister,--and all. And you said I was differentfrom your own children and,----"
"There, there, darling, it's all right now. And we'll hear the rest ofyour story to-morrow. Now, we're going to have some supper, and thentuck you in your own little bed where you belong. Have you had yoursupper?"
"No,--but I set the table," and Marjorie began to smile at therecollection of the Geary kitchen. "You see, Mother, I've beenmaid-of-all-work."
"And now you've come back to be maid-of-all-play, as usual," broke inCousin Jack, who didn't want the conversation to take a serious turn,for all present were under stress of suppressed emotion.
"I say, Mops, you ought to have known better," was King's brotherlycomment, but he pulled off her black hair-ribbons in the old,comforting way, and Midget grinned at him.
"Let's dispense with these trappings of woe," said Cousin Jack, droppingthe black ribbons in a convenient waste-basket.
So Midget went out to supper without any ribbons, her mop of curlstumbling all over her head and hanging down her shoulders.
"My, but I'm hungry!" she said, as she saw once again her own hometable, with its pretty appointments and appetizing food.
"You bet you are!" said King, appreciatively; "tell us what you had toeat in the rural district."
"Boiled beef," said Midget, smiling; "and gingerbread and turnips!"
"Not so awful worse," commented King.
"No? Well, s'pose you try it once! I like these croquettes and Saratogapotatoes a whole heap better!"
"Well, I 'spect I do, too. I say, Mops, I'm glad you didn't break yourword to come out and play,--at least, not intentionally."
"No, I never break my word. But I guess if you thought you didn't haveany father or mother or brother or sister, you'd forget all about goingout to play, too."
"I haven't any brother," said King, looking very sad and forlorn.
"I'll be a brother to you," declared Cousin Jack, promptly; "you behavedlike a man, last night, old fellow,--and I'm proud to claim you as a manand a brother."
"Pooh, I didn't do anything," said King, modestly.
"Yes, you did," said his mother. "You were fine, my son. And I nevercould have lived through to-day without you, either."
"Dear old Kingsy-wingsy!" said Midget, looking at him with shining eyes.And then,--for it was their long-established custom,--she tweaked hisWindsor scarf untied.
As this was a mark of deep affection, King only grinned at her andretied it, with an ease and grace born of long practice.
"Well, Mehitabel," said Cousin Jack, "I always said you were a child whocould do the most unexpected things. Here you've been and turned thiswhole house upside down and had us all nearly crazy,--and here you areback again as smiling as a basket of chips. And yet you did nothing forwhich any one could blame you!"
"Indeed they _can't_ blame her!" spoke up Mrs. Maynard; "the childthought I was talking to Mrs. Corey, instead of reading my part in theplay. Marjorie sha'n't be blamed a bit!"
"That's just what I said," repeated Cousin Jack, smiling at themother's quick defense of her child; "why, if anybody told me I wasa,--what do you call it?--a findling,--I'd run away, too!"
"Don't run away," said Cousin Ethel, laughing. "I'd have to run withyou, or you'd get lost for keeps. And I'd rather stay here. But I thinkwe must be starting for Bryant Bower, and leave this reunited family toget along for awhile without our tender care."
"But don't think we don't realize how much we are indebted to you," saidMr. Maynard, earnestly, for the two good friends in need had beenfriends indeed to the distracted parents.
"Well, you can have a set of resolutions engrossed and framed for us,"said Cousin Jack, "or, better yet, you can give me a dollar bill, infull of all accounts. By the way, Mehitabel, it's lucky you came homefrom your little jaunt in time for your birthday. I incidentally learnedthat it will be here soon, and we're going to have a celebration thatwill take the roof right off this house!"
"All right, Cousin Jack; I'm ready for anything, now that I know I'vegot a father and mother."
"And a brother," supplemented King, "and _such_ a brother!" He rolledhis eyes as if in ecstasy at the thought of his own perfections, andMarjorie lovingly pinched his arm.
"And a couple of sisters," added Cousin Ethel; "I like to speak up forthe absent."
"Yes, and two dearest, darlingest cousins," said Marjorie, gleefully."Oh, I think I've got the loveliest bunch of people in the wholeworld!"