mr. john was met at the door on his return by little mary who had been sitting at the window an hour or more, watching for him to come. she had worked off a little of her enthusiasm in packing the basket of provisions, but was still full of eager curiosity and sympathy. grandmamma, too, was very anxious to hear more of the little sufferer at the hospital, and the helpless children of whom little mary had told her. so dr. john was obliged to go over the whole story of berty’s injuries, and her patient endurance of the painful operation and dressing,—of her anxiety for her little ones,—of tim’s touching account of the helpless family, given during their drive,—and, last of all, he was made to describe mrs. flanagan’s house, and the room in the attic, and the poor little orphans themselves.
“but there is one thing,” said dr. john when he had finished his story, and answered every question mary could think of,—“there is one thing for which i cannot account. the child was talking to you, polly, when the stage stopped; was she not? what could have possessed her to dart into the street in such a frantic way, i cannot tell; and the boy seemed quite as much at a loss to account for it as i. what were you saying to her, polly?”
“i don’t remember,” answered mary, thoughtfully,—“oh, yes, i do, too! she had been telling me about the children, you know, and i offered to help her, and then i remembered that i hadn’t my purse; and then i saw you, and i asked if you had found your pocket-book, because i wanted to borrow some money; and then she ran. i know now i thought it was because she didn’t want to take it; and then came the accident and put everything out of my head.”
“but about the pocket-book, john,” said mrs. grey, “i have not heard you say. did you find it, or get any trace of it?”
“not the least. i sent an advertisement to the ‘herald’ and another to the ‘times,’ and[pg 97] stopped the drafts at the bank, and left the description, with the numbers of the checks and a few of the larger notes, at the police-office. i don’t see that i can do any more. it is a large sum, more than i can well afford to lose; but if it is gone i cannot help it. so you need not look so doleful, polly. i shall get along without it somehow.”
“if you would only let me give you some of mine, cousin john. i have so much more than i know what to do with.”
“have you? well, i shall know where to come, then, when i get hard up.”
“i wouldn’t lend him any, if i were you, polly,” said mrs. grey, smiling. “he’ll be sure to lose it, such a careless fellow. i always told you what would come of it, john, sticking your purse in such out-of-the-way places.”
“it was in my breeches-pocket this time, grandma,—just where you taught me to keep it when i was a boy.”
“as if you were anything else now!” said mrs. grey, shaking her head at him; “and i don’t believe you know in the least where it was.”
[pg 98]
“yes, i do,” insisted dr. john, “because i remember it was in the way when i wanted a dime from the bottom of that same pocket for a poor little girl at the crossing, and i took it out—”
“and never put it back again,” interrupted his grandmother. “there, i knew just how it was. you’re not fit to be trusted with a purse at all. you must leave it at home next time with polly and i. we know better than to lay a stuffed pocket-book down upon a stage-seat, as if it was a paper parcel.”
dr. john appeared to pay very little attention to the old lady’s raillery. he was thinking too intently,—trying to remember something, if one might judge by his knitted brows. “yes,” he said, at length, as if he had gotten at it at last,—“yes; i am sure of it. the child at the crossing and this little berty are the same. i thought i had seen her somewhere. and what is more,” he added, interrupting mary’s wondering exclamation,—“what is more, i saw her again at that same crossing when i went down town this morning; and i was feeling for a dime[pg 99] when she dropped her broom and ran off up the street as if the sight of me had frightened her out of her wits. look at me, polly. am i so very ugly? do i look like an ogre to frighten little girls?”
“you are not a bit like an ogre, cousin john,” said polly, patting lovingly the comely face, which bent down to hers. “you are very handsome, and you know it. nobody could be frightened at you, and i’m sure berty wasn’t; but it is very strange.”
“it is more than strange,” said mrs. grey, thoughtfully. “i don’t like the look of it at all. is it possible, john, that the child has your purse?”
“my purse!” cried dr. john, astonished. “surely not; how can you think so?”
“oh, grandmamma!” said polly, indignantly; “that good, poor, innocent little berty! how can you say such cruel things?”
“think a moment, john,” pursued the old lady, giving little heed to mary’s remonstrance. “you are certain you have not seen it since you took it out to give this child the dime?”
[pg 100]
“i certainly have not. i missed it when i put my hand in again to get my fare.”
“and you are sure you had it then?”
“as certain as i can be of anything; for i remember thinking how much trouble you gave me by insisting upon my keeping it in such an inconvenient place.”
“and this child has run away from you twice now in the most unaccountable manner,” the old lady went on; “and if it had been all right, after getting a dime from you once, she would have been certain to wait for another. it is not like these street-children, whatever polly may think, to refuse what is offered to them. it is very sad. i am quite as unwilling to believe it as mary can be; but, if you are certain you had it, and there were no pickpockets in the car, i’m afraid this little berty knows something about the pocket-book. john, i’m very much afraid it’s not all right.”
dr. john started out of another fit of musing as his grandmother ceased speaking, and glanced at mary, who was by this time weeping bitterly over what seemed to her these cruel suspicions of her little favorite.[pg 101] “well, grandma,” said he, with a meaning look at the old lady, “i can’t be at all sure about the pickpockets. i may have had one for my next neighbor, for aught i know; or i may have laid the purse down on the seat, as you said. it would be just like me, i dare say; so we won’t suspect anybody,—we’ll wait and see; and meantime we’ll put the whole matter out of our heads.”
“and you don’t think it’s berty, cousin john?” said mary, drying her tears; “so i may use some of my money for her and for the little ones, and i may hope it is like doing it for him?”
“certainly, polly; how can you doubt it?”
“i was afraid,” said polly, timidly, “if berty was a thief, you know she would not be one of his brethren. do you think it would be the same?”
“just the same, if it is done for his sake.”
“then, cousin john, will you tell me how to help them most?”
“i don’t think you can do much for berty now,” said dr. john; “you will have to leave her to the tender mercy of mrs. gantz and myself; but those little people down there[pg 102] are sadly in need of clothing. they are the oddest-looking little mortals; the girls’ dresses are like patchwork quilts, and as for the boy,—well, i shouldn’t care to have berty for my tailor, poor child. i think the best thing you can do is to get grandma to go with you there in the morning, and find out what they need. i dare say you’ll get rid of all your superfluous cash. i shouldn’t wonder if you had none left by the time i come to want, and then we shall both have to fall back upon grandma.”
so polly soon lost the sad suspicions in a vision of coats and frocks and shoes; but dr. john, through all his kind plans, was tormented by an uncomfortable remembrance of that little package which mrs. gantz had taken from berty’s bosom, and of the telegram which had passed between his little patient and tim. i say uncomfortable; for, though dr. john would have been very glad to find his purse, he would rather have found it anywhere else than in berty’s or tim’s possession.
