Dorothy's Triumph

“Well, electricity is a good thing to know, Jim. I wish you every success. Hello – who is this?”

The Judge’s eyes were turned toward a lad who entered the room at that moment. It was Len Haley, attired in a brand new Christmas suit, and looking as spick and span as one could wish.

“Oh, I’d forgotten you didn’t know Len, sir. Surely you’ve heard Molly speak of Len Haley, sir? He’s the boy we rescued from a cruel uncle on our camping trip last summer. Aunt Betty has had him under her wing ever since. This is Molly’s father, Len.”

“Yes, yes,” said the Judge. “So this is Len Haley, the boy who was lost in the woods in the dead of night?” The judge reached out and took Len’s hand. “I am glad to know you, my boy, and to learn that you have found such a fortunate way around your troubles.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Anyone whom Mrs. Betty Calvert stands sponsor for is surely to be envied.”

“I think so too, sir,” said Len, beginning to thaw out under Judge Breckenridge’s good-natured smile.

When Dorothy and Molly came downstairs and joined them, they made a merry party. Molly had changed her traveling dress for a clean frock, and with her hair arranged prettily in the latest mode, made even Jim Barlow “sit up and take notice.” As for the Judge and his gayety, if old in years, he was young in heart, and forgot his infirmities to such an extent that Aunt Betty, entering suddenly, threw up her hands in amazement.

“I knew this trip would make a wonderful improvement in you, Judge,” said she, “but had no idea the change would be effected in so rapid a manner.”

“I just can’t help it, Mrs. Calvert. To see these young folks about me makes me feel young again, which reminds me that I have never been happier than when I once took the boys and girls on a jaunt through the Nova Scotia woods.”

“A jaunt that ended in my giving a house party at Deerhurst,” said Dorothy. “That was after I had learned that I was not a homeless waif, but the great-niece of Mrs. Betty Calvert.”

“It was papa, if you remember, who ran down the clues leading to the discovery that Mrs. Calvert was your relative,” said Molly.

“And I’ll never forget how overjoyed we all were when we knew to whom our girl friend was related,” and the old Judge leaned over and stroked Dorothy’s hand as he spoke.

“Then came my humiliation,” said Aunt Betty in a reminiscent tone. “I was forced to admit to you all that when my nephew’s baby came I was indignant, feeling that I was too old to have a squalling infant forced upon me. Then, better thoughts prevailing, I saw in Dorothy traces of my own family likeness and wanted to keep her. Then I listened to Dinah and Ephraim, and finally took their advice to hunt up a worthy couple unburdened with children of their own, and force the child upon them to be reared in simple, sensible ways. When I found that you had discovered the relationship between us, I did only what my heart had been bidding me do for many years – took Dorothy to my bosom, and into my household where she belonged.”

Dinah came to the door to say that lunch was served, and the party filed into the dining-room to continue the discussion at the table.

On the following morning – the day before Christmas – a great bundle of presents arrived from one of the Baltimore department stores, and was taken upstairs by Ephraim, there to be concealed.

On the night before Christmas, following the time-honored custom, stockings of every size and color were strung up around the big fire-place in the living-room. Those of the Judge, Jim and Len not being large enough, garments of a satisfactory size were generously tendered by Dorothy and Molly. Going late to bed, hoping that old Santa Claus would be good to each of them, the young folks awoke in the morning to find their stockings fairly bulging with good things.

There was a cane and a pocketbook from the Judge to Jim, and wearing apparel running from neckties to shirts from Aunt Betty and the girls. Len came in for a similar lot of presents, his gift from the Judge being a shining five-dollar gold piece, which he declared should go in the savings bank as a foundation of his fortune.

Dorothy and Molly were well remembered, the gifts being both pretty and useful, and running principally to toilet articles and lingerie, while Aunt Betty found great difficulty in lifting her stocking from its peg over the fire-place, so heavy was it.

Early Christmas morning came a belated ’phone message from Herr Deichenberg, accepting on the part of him and Frau Deichenberg, the kind invitation extended by Aunt Betty to gather around the festive Christmas board. It had been necessary to postpone two lessons, the music master said, which accounted for the delay in letting them know.

At ten o’clock Gerald and Aurora arrived. There had been a slight protest on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Blank at the children being away from home for Christmas dinner, but a compromise had been effected by which they were to eat with their parents on New Year’s Day.

With the arrival of Herr and Frau Deichenberg nothing then remained but to serve the dinner. Metty and Ephraim were both pressed into service, and with Chloe and Dinah working like Trojans in the kitchen, the meal was served on scheduled time, and to the entire satisfaction of everyone concerned.

Tale and jest passed around the table, as the members of the Christmas party made merry.

“Christmas comes but once a year,” some one has said, and with this in their minds, trouble was given its conge for the time being, and mirth and gayety reigned supreme.

Herr Deichenberg was asked to tell of the old German customs at Christmas time, which he did in an interesting way. He told of the toymakers of Nuremberg and other cities, and how easily and dexterously they did their work. Then there were many humorous incidents of his own boyhood, which he remembered and told with such success, that he had the entire party roaring with laughter before the meal was half over.

When he had finished, the Judge and Aunt Betty took turns telling of strange and funny incidents that had come under their observation at various Christmas times, and by the time dessert was reached everyone felt at peace with the world.

It was a dinner long to be remembered, and when it was over they all gathered in the living-room, where the Herr was induced to play a number of his favorite pieces, Dorothy’s violin being pressed into service for the occasion.

Dorothy next took her turn with the violin, Herr Deichenberg playing her accompaniments on the piano. Molly, who had not heard her chum play for many months, was astonished at the progress she had made, as was the Judge, and they complimented both master and pupil, after three pieces had been rendered. The players then stopped under protest, promising to play more before the gathering broke up.

Jim sang a bass solo. Gerald also rendered a song, his sweet tenor voice delighting his auditors, after which the old quartette of the mountain camp was formed again and sang familiar pieces in such a manner as to win the heartiest of commendation from all – even that captious critic, Herr Deichenberg.

Aunt Betty was asked to speak one of her girlhood pieces, but begged to be allowed to substitute old Ephraim, who, upon being urged, recited the following verses, remembered since his earliest recollection:

“Sho’ ’nuff, is dat yo’, buddie?
Why, I sca’ce beliebs mah eyes!
Yo’s growed so slendah en so tall,
I like not tuh know yo’ size.
Does yo’ eber hunt de possum —
Climb de ole p’simmon tree?
Like we did in de good ole times
W’en de niggah wasn’t free?
We’d take ole Tige, en den a torch,
Den we’d start out fo’ a spree,
Lots o’ fellers wuz in dat chase,
Erside, mah boy, frum yo’ en me,
After a w’ile ole Tige’d yelp,
Den we’d know dar’s sumpthin’ round,
Er rabbit, coon, er possum, sho’,
Er gittin’ ober de ground.
W’en up de tree de possum run,
Den ole Tige he’d change he tune,
Den wif de torch we’d shine his eyes
Den we’d nab him pretty soon,
We’d break he neck, en build er fire
Den a tater roast, yo’ mind;
Why, bress yo’ heart, dis make me cry,
Nebber mo’ dem times yo’ find.
De Massa’s gone – ole Missus, gone,
En mah ole woman am, too;
I’m laid up now wif rheumatiz,
En mah days am growin’ few.
Ole Tige mos’ blind en crippled up,
So dat he can’t hunt no mo’;
No possums now tuh grease de chops,
Oh, I’s feelin’ mighty po’!”

As Ephraim concluded he made a most elaborate bow, touching his hand to his forelock – or where the forelock should have been.

The old negro’s interested listeners burst into loud applause, and the bow was repeated again and again. The verses had been rendered with considerable feeling and some sense of their poetic value, which, of course, Ephraim had learned from hearing the verses recited by others.

Len Haley, upon being called on for a contribution to the entertainment, spoke the first – and last – piece he had learned during the few short months he had attended school. It was a temperance piece, and if not thoroughly in keeping with the festive occasion, was at least one of the most earnest efforts of the afternoon.

Aurora, who was an elocutionist of no mean merit, rendered Longfellow’s “Hiawatha,” with such realistic touches that Herr Deichenberg sat spellbound through her recital, to spring up and grasp her hand when she had finished.