Chapter XXX: Owlet Harps Upon Her ’ventures

In the morning, when both awoke almost simultaneously to a new sense of their reunion, the sun was shining through their front windows.

When they arose from bed, Roma would have begun to wash and dress little Owlet, just from the impulse of passionate affection, intensified by the startling loss and sudden recovery of the child; but the changeling, independent and self-reliant as ever, insisted that she both could and would wash and dress her “own self.”

Which she did, making herself, in her cheap calico frock and white apron, look like a rumpled pink and white hollyhock.

Then they went down by the elevator.

George Brown, son of the janitress, was running it.

“Where’s Titus?” inquired Owlet. “He wasn’t here when Mr. Merritt brought me up in it.”

“Titus, dear, has been sick in the hospital, but he is getting well now,” Roma explained.

The elevator touched the basement floor, and they got out.

When they entered the restaurant they found Tom waiting for them.

Owlet left Miss Fronde’s side and made a dash at him.

“Oh, Tom! I am so glad to see you!”

“So am I you, Miss Cafferine—moughty g’ad an’ moughty p’oud! But I doane lib yere now. No mo’ do mammy. She take in washin’, an’ I fetch an’ ca’y out clo’es.”

“How is it, then, that you are here this morning, Tom?” gently inquired Miss Fronde.

“Yo’ see, mist’ess, dey aine no clo’es to ca’y out no mo’. Mammy say as how she aine got no mo’ call to do no mo’ washin’, ’ca’se she’s gwine down to de ole Sarpin’ to serve ’long ob yo’, mammy say. So I ax mammy, mought I come ober yere to wait on yo’ table dis mornin’, an’ mammy say, ‘Yes, it is yo’ duty,’ mammy say. An’ den I yun ober yere an’ ax Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax mought I wait on yo’ table, an’ den I would help him wiv de udders for nuffin, ’ca’se I did wan’ to wait on my own mist’ess and Miss Cafferine. An’ Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax he say I mought, Mr. ’Pollyon did. An’ so yere I is,” said Tom, with a broad grin of satisfaction.

“Thank you, Tom. It was very kind and thoughtful of you to come,” said Miss Fronde, and her words filled the boy’s heart to overflowing with delight.

And he served with zeal and dispatch.

After breakfast Roma took Owlet up to her room, and said:

“Now, my dear, the very first thing we have to do this morning is to go down to Pennsylvania Avenue and get you an outfit.”

Owlet looked down at her common pink calico frock and white apron critically, and said:

“Yes. This was pretty. I liked it very much when Mrs. Annie first gave it to me, but now it is all rumpled up, isn’t it?”

“I should think so,” said Roma, with a smile.

“Well, you see, I wore it all day Monday, and rode in it all day yesterday, and went to sleep in it on the cars, and tumbled about in it on the cushions, I reckon, so now my frock is a sight to behold. Oh! isn’t it, though?”

“Never mind, dear. Cover it with your little coat. That is very decent,” said Roma.

“Yes. You see, woolen things don’t rumple like calico, do they, now?” said Owlet as she drew on the little brown coat and carefully buttoned it up before.

She next put on her little brown hat and gloves, and was ready to go out by the time Miss Fronde got on her own walking jacket, hat and gloves.

They went down together, and out upon the sidewalk.

“Would you like to go and see where Aunt Lucy and Tom live?” Roma asked as they left the house.

“Oh, wouldn’t I though!” Owlet exclaimed.

“Very well, then; we will go.”

They turned around the corner, scrambled though the bramble lot, and reached the piece of woods in which Lucy’s bird nest stood.

“Oh! ain’t it just like a chicken coop?” merrily demanded Owlet.

“Something of the sort,” assented Roma.

They entered the cabin, and found Lucy mending old clothes, and Tom, who had returned from the restaurant, was actually helping her, with needle, thread and thimble.

As soon as Tom saw the visitors he sneaked his work behind his back, with all a boy’s false shame at being caught at woman’s work.

“Mornin’ youn’ mist’ess. Hopes I sees yo’ well, ma’am,” said Lucy, rising and placing two three-legged chairs for her visitors. “How do, Miss Cafferine? Yo’ doane look as peart as yo’ used to did. Been sick?”

“Yes,” said Owlet as she seated herself on a very low stool beside Miss Fronde’s rather larger one. “I should think I had been sick. And I have been away from Lady so long—years and years and years. And I have had ’ventures. Not stories, mind you, like Jack the Giant Killer, and that, because that’s nonsense; but real, bloody-minded ’ventures. No wonder I look bad. Wonder my hair isn’t turned gray. I should have been dead and gone by this time if Mr. William hadn’t found me and fetched me back.”

Lucy, with eyes and mouth both wide open, turned from the child to the lady, and inquired:

“Wot de yittle fing mean, youn’ mist’ess?”

“She was stolen from me while we were at Goblin Hall, and she has been very ill. But she was brought back to me, safe and well, last night. We will not talk any more about it at present, Lucy.”

“All yight, youn’ mist’ess, ef yo’ say so, we won’t. But, oh, the williany ob some people on dis yeth! Ef eber I cotch my eye on dat lowlife trash, whoeber it was wot don’ it—umph-humphe!—dere’ll be a foot yace or a fun’al. Now min’!”

“Well, Lucy, I only come to let Catherine see your little house, and now we must go. Good-by,” said Miss Fronde, rising.

“Good-by, youn’ mist’ess. Me an’ Tom’ll be ready to go ’long ob yo’ any time now.”

“I shall not go before next week; but in the meantime you may want to make purchases before you go. Take this on account, for you and him,” said Miss Fronde, and she put a twenty-dollar note in Lucy’s hand.

“Oh! thanky, youn’ mist’ess! Thanky, ma’am! Lor’! dis is twice mo’ money’n ebber I had ’fo’ in all de days ob my pilg’imidge,” said Lucy, courtesying between every sentence.

“I gwine to come to wait on yo’ at dinner time, mist’ess. I gwine to come wait on yo’ table ebbery time w’ile yo’ stay inter dat house. Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax say how I may. Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax moughty ’bligin’ colored gemman, Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax am,” said Tom, smiling in delight.

“Well, I fink ’Pollyon Syphax mought be ’bligin’ on such ’casions. Yo’ doin’ his work fo’ him, an’ me a gibbin’ Sa’ Ann Syphax my own house, wot me an’ yo’ knock togedder wiv our own han’s out’n de ole camp lumber, an’ all de stools an’ de fings as we made ourse’ves! An’ all a f’ee gif’! I des yeckon how ’Pollyon Syphax mought be ’bligin’.”

Roma left Lucy holding forth on the Syphax indebtedness, and with a smiling nod turned away from the cabin.

She led Owlet back across the bramble lot and down the street to the northern starting point of the Fourteenth Street cars, found one empty, and got into it with her.

They rode all the way down to the southern terminus, corner of F Street, where they got out.

Roma, leading her protégée, walked across to the avenue, and down it to a well-known emporium of ready-made clothing.

They entered this establishment, which was a perfect treasury of necessary, useful and beautiful articles of wearing apparel for women and children of all ages and conditions.

It required but a short time to select from such stores a sufficient outfit for the child.

Having ordered her purchases to be sent to her address, Roma took Owlet to the Children’s Hospital, to see Titus Blair.

The lad was quite overjoyed to see so soon again the lady who had promised to take him to the seaside, and with her the little playmate whom he had known at the Wesleyan Flats.

“She used to ride up and down in the elevator with me a great many times a day, ma’am. It was almost the onliest amoosement she had, afore yo’ took her in han’, poor little thing!” Titus explained, looking fondly at the child.

“I know,” said Miss Fronde.

Owlet seated herself beside the invalid boy, and said:

“Titus, I have got such lots and lots and lots to tell you! Not such stories like Cinderella, because them’s all lies, you know; but real, awful ’ventures with a wicked man, who was not possessed of a grain of common sense, and stole children away and made them go dead! Yes, and about horrid old women who smell enough to knock you down, and tell you such lies! Oh! I’ve got lots of ’ventures to tell you, Titus.”

The boy stared first at the child and then at the lady.

“Yes, Titus,” she said, “little Catherine was stolen from Goblin Hall, but you see we have got her back, safe and well. Now do not let us talk about it any more to-day. It is not good for either of you. The doctor says you can go to the seaside any time with me now.”

“Oh! can I, ma’am? Oh! won’t that be just glorious!”

“I hope it will do you good. I expect to leave on next Saturday. Have you clothes enough, my boy? Or have you lost them during your illness?”

“I have some underclo’es here, ma’am, an’ this suit wot I’m a-wearin’ ob now; an’ I’ve got a Sunday suit in my ole garret loft at the Vesleyan, ma’am,” said the boy, with some pride in his poor wardrobe.

“Yes, I know you had very nice clothes when you ran the elevator. You were always very neat.”

“Had to be, ma’am, an’ it took ’mos’ all my wages fo’ to keep me so; but ef I hadn’t been I’d ’a’ lost my place, sure as a gun.”

“Have you any money left, my boy?”

“Just a dollar ’n eighty cents, ma’am, an’ I’m thinkin’ as I ought to pay that to the hospital, ma’am. It aine much to offer ’em fo’ all dey don’ fo’ me, but it’s ev’ry cen’ I have, an’ I think I ought ter offer it ter ’em. What do yo’ think, ma’am?”

“I think you are quite right, and you might offer it to the hospital,” said Miss Fronde, who was much too wise to discourage a boy in his impulse of justice or generosity, from any mistaken kindness to him.

“Mrs. Brown has got it keepin’ fo’ me. Will yo’ please ask her to send it ter me, so I kin give it ter ’em?”

“Certainly; and I will send it over by Tom this afternoon,” Roma replied. Then, wishing to test the boy further, she inquired:

“If you pay all your savings away, Titus, what will you do when you get well?”

“Go to work, ma’am. An’ I should do that anyways, whether I had any tin or no,” promptly replied the lad.

“But perhaps you might not be able to get work.”

“Oh, yes, I should, ma’am. I never was out’n it till I got sick. Ef I can’t get one sort o’ work I can get anudder. Yo’ see, ma’am, I can turn my han’ to ’mos’ anythin’ in the way o’ plain, hard work,” said the lad, with sublime self-reliance, and with unconscious heroism.

“Oh-h-h! Ain’t he possessed of common sense!” exclaimed Owlet in a rapture of admiration.

“I quite agree with you, my little owl,” said Roma as she arose to take leave of the boy, repeating her promise to send Tom with his money in the afternoon.

“Thanky, ma’am. I’ll be awful glad to see old Tom! I haven’t seen him since I have been in de hospital. I reckon Tom was too bashful to come an’ see me, ’mong so many strangers.”

“Very likely; but he will be glad to come when he has the excuse of being sent on an errand,” said Miss Fronde.

Before Roma left the hospital she spoke to both nurse and doctor, telling them that as she had permission to do so, she should take Titus Blair away on some evening, so as to have him ready to go with her party the next week.

When they reached Miss Fronde’s apartments at the Wesleyan they found that Owlet’s new outfit had arrived.

Owlet dressed herself in a seal-brown cashmere frock, trimmed with satin of the same color, and went down with her lady to dinner.

They found Tom there, waiting to serve them.

When the dishes of the first course had been placed upon the table Roma said:

“Tom, I wish to send you on an errand this afternoon, to take something to Titus Blair, at the Children’s Hospital.”

“All yight, mist’ess,” said the boy, with a bow. “I’ll be yeady to go ’mediately arter dinner. I be moughty p’oud to go see po’ Titus.”

Half an hour later Roma got the sick boy’s little purse from Mrs. Brown and gave it to Tom to take to its owner.

“You may tell Titus that you are going to the Isle of Storms with us, Tom. I forgot to do so,” said Miss Fronde.

“Oh, mist’ess, I doane like to do dat,” replied the boy.

“But why?”

“’Ca’se it make po’ sick Titus feel so bad ’ca’se he can’t go, too.”

“But Titus is going with us.”

“Oh, Lor’, mist’ess! yo’ doane say so? Oh, aine I glad!”

“Yes. Now run away, or it will be too late for you to get admission to the hospital.”

Tom only waited until he reached the sidewalk before he turned a somersault for joy, stood on his head, and kicked, toppled over, picked himself up, and ran, leaping and dancing, to the corner of Fourteenth Street, to take the car for the Children’s Hospital.

That afternoon Roma found her first opportunity of questioning Owlet. She heard every detail of her abduction from Goblin Hall, her journey, and her sojourn in New York, that the child knew, and, much more than any one else, had been able to draw from her.

All Miss Fronde’s worst suspicions were confirmed, and she resolved to defend little Owlet against Hanson, even if she should have to do so in the courts of justice, as the child’s “best friend.” She also emphasized her resolution to take the orphan to Scotland with her, and to bring her, if possible, to the acquaintance of that austere ancestress of whom poor Marguerite Nouvellini had spoken with so much awe. She had written three letters to that great lady, but had received no answers.

All the remainder of that week Roma spent in making her purchases and other preparations for the sanitorium; in doing all of which she was advised and assisted by Dr. Washburn.

By Tuesday evening all these goods had been packed and shipped on board the _John Gordon_, bound from the port of Georgetown to Norfolk and New York, and taking in the Isle of Storms, with other points, in its course.

She had also engaged passage for herself and friends on the same comfortable little boat.

The events of the voyage will be chronicled in the third and last of this series, under the title of “TO HIS FATE,” published in cloth binding, uniform with this volume.

THE END

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Good Fiction Worth Reading.

A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest.

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GARTHOWEN. A story of a Welsh Homestead. By Allen Raine. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.

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DARNLEY. A Romance of the times of Henry VIII. and Cardinal Wolsey. By G.P.R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.

In point of publication, “Darnley” is that work by Mr. James which
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GUY FAWKES, A Romance of the Gunpowder Treason, By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.

The “Gunpowder Plot” was a modest attempt to blow up Parliament, the
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WINDSOR CASTLE. A Historical Romance of the Reign of Henry VIII., Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.