Chapter XIX: A Dawning Hope

The autumn had passed and winter had fairly set in, when one morning, as Betty was toasting her feet at the library fire, Polly came trotting in with her hands behind her.

“I dot somefin’ for oo,” she said. “Pete binged it.”

“What is it?” said Betty, smiling lovingly at her little sister.

“Dess,” answered Polly, demurely.

“Well, I guess it’s a letter,” said Betty, for this performance was gone through nearly every morning.

“It is, it is!” cried Polly, capering with glee; and she gave Betty the letter and then waited for the kiss which was always her fee on such occasions.

But Betty had caught sight of a foreign stamp and an Australian postmark, and even her beloved Polly was forgotten in a moment of such excitement.

It was from Mr. Morris, of course, and Betty eagerly tore it open and read this:

_To Miss Elizabeth McGuire._

MY DEAR BETTY: Yours received duly, and I have done what I could
in the matter. I have looked over your grandfather’s
papers,—all your grandfather’s papers,—and I can find nothing,
absolutely nothing, by which to trace the family connections of
your mother, except one slight allusion. There is an unfinished
letter, evidently begun by your grandfather to some friend, whom
he addresses as “Dear Michael.” In this letter there is a
statement to the effect that Martin McGuire married a Miss
Irving, a daughter of William Irving of Boston. This
information, though vague, very vague, may prove a clue to your
parentage, and may aid you in finding your mother’s relatives. I
hope, I sincerely hope, it will help you, and I will endeavor to
find out more details, more definite data, concerning them.

With kind remembrances to the Van Court family, and best wishes
for your own health and prosperity, I am

Your obedient servant,
JOHN MORRIS.

Betty read this letter over twice, and then she took the mystified Polly on her lap, and said decidedly: “Pollykins, we’re going to have a grandfather.”

“G’an’fader?” inquired Polly.

“Yes. There’s one in the world for us—at least, perhaps there is; and we’re going to find him and bring him here to live with us.”

“Yi, yi!” said Polly, not specially elated at the prospect.

“And, baby,” cried Betty, excitedly, “I’ve just thought of something—oh, something wonderful! Where’s Jack?”

“Jack’s studying” said the little one, confidently, “’cause when I speaked to him he just said, ‘Clear out, Pollypops.’”

Betty gave a long, low whistle, which was their signal when either wanted the other, and in a moment Jack appeared at the door.

“What’s up, Betty?” he said.

“Oh, Jack, I’ve had a letter from Mr. Morris, and he says my mother’s father was a William Irving of Boston; and don’t you know those people that spent the summer with Mr. Ross were named Irving, and they were from Boston, and maybe they’re the ones!”

“And maybe they’re not. Nonsense, Betty; there are plenty of Irvings in Boston.”

“Yes, I know it—but these are the only Boston Irvings we’ve ever heard of, and I’m going to hunt them up first, and if they’re not the ones, I’m going to keep on, if I have to go to every house in Boston to inquire; but first I’m going over to the Van Courts’. Tell Mr. Mixon I won’t be at lessons to-day; I’m too excited to study.”

Then Betty rang for Pete, and asked him to have Dixie put to the cart, and soon she was flying toward Mrs. Van Court’s.

The three Van Court ladies were sitting by their cozy fireside when Betty came dancing in. She greeted the ladies cordially, and, flinging off her coat and hat, she picked up a small footstool, and, holding it in her arms, stood for a moment looking at her three friends. Then, prompted by an instinctive feeling that Mrs. Van Court could do the best for her, she placed the stool beside that lady and sat upon it.

“I want you to help me, ma’am,” she said. “I’ve found out the name of my mother’s people, and I want to search them out, wherever they may be. Will you go with me?”

“Go where, Betty? What are you talking about?” said the lady, somewhat bewildered, but very kindly disposed toward the earnest child who was asking her assistance.

“Well, I’ve had a letter from Mr. Morris, ma’am, and he says my mother’s name was Irving, and my grandfather was William Irving of Boston; and you know, Miss Grace, it was Irvings of Boston who used to spend summers with Mr. Ross, and something in my heart tells me they were my people.”

“But that’s nonsense,” said Miss Margaret; “of course they _might_ be your people, or connections of them, but there’s only about one chance in a thousand that they are.”

“I know it, ma’am, but that’s the chance I’m takin’. And so I want to go down to Mr. Ross’s house again and ask him the Boston address of his Irvings, and then I want to go to Boston and find them. And dear Mrs. Van Court, I want you to go with me.”

Betty’s voice was so wheedlesome, and her little face looked so sweet, that Mrs. Van Court would have felt inclined to go to Australia with her, if she had asked it; so she said:

“Well, we’ll see about it, child, and I’ll help you all I can. But first you must see if you can get the address from Mr. Ross.”

“Yes, ’m. I think I’ll drive down there right off.”

Miss Grace volunteered to go with her, and shortly after the Denniston carriage started on its trip to the old farm-house.

Betty’s hopes were high, and during the drive down she chatted gaily to her companion of her new grandparents, whom she had already begun to love.

“And who do you suppose ‘Lallowet’ can be, Miss Grace?”

“Why, if Mr. and Mrs. Irving are your grandparents, then, as Lallowet is their daughter, she must be your aunt.”

“Yes, ’m, I’m sure she is; and the reason I liked that white silk dress so much is because it belonged to my aunt. Aunt Lallowet—that’s a funny name, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I think it must be a nickname, and I doubt if they called it exactly right.”

But alas for the uncertainty of human hopes! When they reached the old house they found it locked and apparently deserted.

Betty was ready to cry with disappointment, but she bore it bravely, and said:

“Let’s inquire of the neighbors where Mr. Ross has gone.”

The nearest neighbor was half a mile away, and when they reached there they could only learn that Mr. and Mrs. Ross had gone to live with their son in Chicago. Poor little Betty’s fairy-castles crumbled away. But, as she said to Miss Grace on the way home:

“One disappointment isn’t much. I must expect lots of them. And I’m going to find my people in spite of everything.”

Both the Van Court and the Denniston households were much disappointed at the failure of Betty’s first plan for pursuing her search, but they all agreed that it was a plan so unlikely to lead to success that it made little difference. And then each began to think of some way by which William Irving could be found.

Jack was for going to Boston and hunting Irvings systematically by means of the directory. Mr. Van Court said that could be equally well accomplished by staying at home and writing letters. But Betty took no interest at all in “other Irvings”; she felt sure that the Ross Irvings were _her_ Irvings, and that the white silk dress, which she now cherished more lovingly than ever, had once been worn by her own aunt.

One night, after she went to her room, she was looking at the dress, caressing it, and fancying how her aunt had looked in it, when something inside the bodice caught her eye. Then a thought flashed into her mind, and with an exclamation of delight she darted to the couch and grabbed her pillow confidant.

“Pillow,” she whispered to it, “what _do_ you think? I know a way—a _sure_ way to find my Irvings. In that white dress, Pillow, is a belt with the name of the dressmaker in gilt letters; and it’s Mlle. François, and it tells the street and number in Boston, and she can tell me all about Lallowet and her parents. Oh, Pillow, I’ve found her at last! I believe I’ll begin to pack now for my Boston trip.”

And the impetuous child did. And early the next morning Betty announced to the family at Denniston her discovery of the dressmaker’s address, and her determination to go at once to Boston; then she went over to lay her plans before Mrs. Van Court. Her impatience had made her start early, and she found her friends still at the breakfast-table. They were much interested in her news, and Mr. Dick declared she was downright clever and would make a detective yet; he said, too, that whenever Betty and his mother were ready to go to Boston, he would offer himself as their escort.

Mrs. Van Court thought it would be just as well to write to Mlle. François and see if she were still at the same place. But Betty felt sure she could learn more by going there than by writing, and as Mrs. Van Court was acting for Betty’s good, she made no further objections, but said she would be ready to start the next day.

Mr. Dick went with them, and the three had a delightful trip. The great steamboat of the Fall River line seemed to Betty like a wonderful floating palace, and she began to think that even if her second attempt to find her grandparents should fail, the time would be well spent.

After an early breakfast on the boat, next morning, they took the train for Boston, and on their arrival went to a hotel.

Betty was wild with impatience, and wanted to run at once to the street and number she was so anxious to find; but she had learned to be a polite little girl and consider others’ wishes before her own, and so she waited patiently until Mrs. Van Court, who was wearied with the journey and wanted to rest, proposed that they start out to find Mlle. François.

They found the place without difficulty; but though it was still a modiste’s shop, the sign bore the name of Mme. Villeré instead of Mlle. François.

Betty’s heart sank; but she still hoped to get information of some kind, so they went in.

Mme. Villeré proved to be a voluble little French lady, who answered Betty’s rather incoherent questions with great kindness.

“Mlle. François? Perfectly, but she ees gone. I am her—vat is it?—successor. And do I keep her customers? Oui, mademoiselle, almost all. But Irving? No; I do not know Mme. Irving. Yet stay—we will see ze books—ze old books of Mlle. François.”

And sure enough, when they referred to the carefully indexed accounts left by Mlle. François, they found the name of Mrs. William Irving, 72 Rutherford Place.

“There!” cried Betty, triumphantly, “I knew we’d find it! Oh, can’t we go there right away?”

The little Frenchwoman didn’t quite understand what it was all about, but complimented the ladies in every possible way, and artfully referred to her own superior _modes_ and latest fashions. Betty would willingly have given her an order for a new frock then and there, but she was so excited over the success of her scheme, so far, that it didn’t occur to her.

So, cutting short Mme. Villeré’s voluminous adieus, they started for Rutherford Place.

When they arrived they found that No. 72’s windows showed only dark-green shades, and its front door was boarded up.

“No one lives here, Popinjay,” said Mr. Dick, cheerily, “but don’t let that discourage you. We’re not going to allow Mr. William Irving to escape us so easily as that. We’ll ask the neighbors as to his whereabouts.”

But neither the residents of 70 nor 74 could tell him anything about the people who lived in 72.

“Well,” said Mr. Van Court, after thinking a minute, “we’ll go back to the hotel now, Betty, and then we can lay our further plans.”

So they went back, Betty a little downcast at the apparent difficulties in her path, but still hopeful, and much cheered by Mr. Van Court.

When they reached their hotel the young man announced that he was going on an errand, and would meet his mother and Betty again at dinner-time, and meanwhile they were to go to their rooms and rest. The beautiful appointments of the hotel reminded Betty of her visit to New York and her stay at the hotel there; and she thought how much she had learned since then. And indeed she had. From a bewildered, ignorant child she had changed into an intelligent, well-behaved one; and half instinctively, half by reason of her education, she conducted herself in every way as a little girl of her age should.

At six o’clock Betty and Mrs. Van Court went down to the parlor, and found Mr. Dick awaiting them with a smiling countenance.

“I know you’ve heard some important news,” said Betty, smiling too; “what is it?”

“‘The sky is falling; I must go and tell the king,’” said Mr. Dick, teasingly.

“Well, I am the king,” returned Betty; “tell me all about it.”

“Well, my child, I think we are once again on the trail of your elusive grandparent. I have been interviewing a man in the post-office, and he tells me that Mr. and Mrs. William Irving of 72 Rutherford Place are now sojourning at Lakewood, New Jersey, at a hotel called ‘Laurel-in-the-Pines.’”

“Oh,” said Betty, breathlessly, “when can we start?”

Mrs. Van Court smiled.

“Betty,” she said, “are you a grasshopper? Do you think you can spring across the country at a leap? I will go with you to Lakewood, but I must get my breath before we set off on another wild-goose chase.”

So the next day they let Mrs. Van Court rest while Betty and Mr. Dick went on a sight-seeing tour; and at night they started for New York and thence to Lakewood.