Dorothy at Oak Knowe Part 22

She had altogether forgotten John Gilpin and the accusation she had hurled at him. Nothing now remained in her mind but thoughts of Gwendolyn's rich gifts and indignation against her. Why had she done it? As a sort of payment for Dorothy's a.s.sistance at the Maiden's Bath?

Meeting Miss Muriel in the hall she cried:

"Oh! my dear lady, I am in such trouble! May I talk to you a moment?"

"Certainly, Dorothy. Come this way. Surely there can be nothing further have happened to you, to-day."

Safe in the shelter and privacy of a small cla.s.sroom, Dorothy told her story into wise and loving ears; and to be comforted at once.

"You are all wrong, Dorothy. I am sure that there was no such thought as payment for any deed of yours in poor Gwendolyn's mind. You have been invariably kind to her in every way possible; and until this chance came she had found none in which to show you that she realized this and loved you for it. Why, my dear, if you could have seen her happiness when I told her it was a beautiful thing for her to do, you would certainly have understood her and been glad to give her the chance she was glad to take. It is often harder to accept favors than to bestow them. It takes more grace. Now, dear, let's call that 'ghost laid,' as Dawkins says. Hunt up Gwen, tell her how grateful you are to her for her rich, unselfish gifts, and--do it with a real Dorothy face; not with any hint of offended pride--which is not natural to it!

And go at once, then drop the subject and forget it. We were all so thankful that you chose her this morning without knowing."

Back came the smiles as Miss Muriel hoped to see them, and away sped Dorothy to put the good advice in practice; and five minutes later Gwendolyn was the happiest girl at Oak Knowe, because her gifts had been ascribed to real affection only.

"Now, Gwen, that we've settled _that_, let's go and see what we can do for Robin. Heigho, Winifred! you're just in time to aid a worthy cause--Come on to Lady Princ.i.p.al!"

"Exactly whither I was bound!" waving a letter overhead. "Going a-begging, my dears, if you please!" she returned, clasping Gwen's waist on one side to walk three abreast. A trivial action in itself but delightful to the "Peer," showing that this free-spoken "Commoner"

no longer regarded her as "stand-offish" but "just one of the crowd."

"Begging for what, Win?"

"That's a secret!"

"Pooh! You might as well tell. Secrets always get found out. I've just discovered one--by way of chattering Millikins-Pillikins. Guess it."

"I couldn't, Dolly, I'm too full of my own. As for that child's talk--but half of it has sense."

"So I thought, too, listening to her. But _half did_ have sense and that is--Who do you think gave me my beautiful toboggan things?"

"Why, your Aunt Betty, I suppose, since she does everything else for you," answered Winifred promptly. "Anyhow, don't waste time on guesses--Tell!"

Then she glanced up into Gwendolyn's face and saw how happy it was, and hastily added:

"No, you needn't tell, after all, I know. It was Gwen, here, the big-hearted dear old thing! She's the only girl at Oak Knowe who's rich enough and generous enough to do such a splendid thing."

"Good for you, Win, you guessed right at once!" answered Dolly trying to clap her hands but unable to loosen them from her comrades' clasp.

"Now for yours!"

"Wait till we get to the 'audience chamber'! Come on."

But even yet they were hindered. In the distance, down at the end of the hall, Dorothy caught sight of Mr. Gilpin, evidently just departing from the house. A more dejected figure could scarcely be imagined, nor a more ludicrous one, as he limped toward the entrance, hands on hips and himself bent forward forlornly. Below his rough top-coat which he had discarded on his arrival, hung the tatters of his smock that had been worn to ribbons by his roll down the slide.

n.o.body knew what had become of his own old beaver hat, but a light colored derby, which the _chef_ had loaned him, sat rakishly over one ear, in size too small for the whole top of his bald head.

"Looks as if he had two foreheads!" said Winifred, who couldn't help laughing at his comical appearance, with part of his baldness showing at front and back of the borrowed hat.

Dorothy laughed, too, yet felt a guilty regret at the way she had spoken to him. She had accused him of "trying to kill her" as well as Gwen and little Grace; but he "kill anything"? Wicked, even to say that.

"There goes John Gilpin, and, girls, I must speak to him. Come--I can't let him go that way!"

As his "good foot" crossed the threshold Dorothy's hand was on his shoulder and her voice begging:

"Oh! please, Mr. Gilpin! Do forgive that horrible thing I said! I didn't know, I didn't understand, I didn't mean it--I thought--it looked--Do come back just a minute and let me explain."

The old fellow turned and gazed into her pleading eyes, but at first scarcely heard her.

"Why, 'tis the little maid! hersel' that was cryin' that night on the big railway platform. The night that Robin lad was anigh kilt.

Something's mixed up in me head. What's it, la.s.sie, you want?"

"I want your forgiveness, Mr. Gilpin. When I saw Gracie on the floor and the broken pot beside her I thought--you'd--you'd tried--and account of your sled hitting Gwen and me--Do come in and rest. You're worse hurt than anybody thought, I'm afraid. There, there, that's right. Come back and rest till the team goes into town for the Sat.u.r.day night's supplies. It always goes you know, and Michael will get the driver to drop you at your own door. I'm sure he will."

Obediently, he allowed her to lead him back into the hall and to seat him on the settle beside the radiator. The warmth of that and the comfort of three sympathetic girls soon restored his wandering wits and he was as ready to talk as they to listen.

"You do forgive, don't you, dear old John?"

"Sure, la.s.sie, there's nought about forgiveness, uther side. It was a bit misunderstandin' was all. The wee woman a-pleadin' for treats out of pocket, and me thinkin' hard o' Robin, for coaxin' an old man to make a fool of hissel'. Me feeling that minute as if 'twas all his fault and thinking I'd cherished a snake, a reptile, in my buzzum, and sayin' it out loud, likes I have a bad habit of doing.

"Silly I was, not remembering how't a child takes all things literal.

Ha, ha, ha! To think it! When I scalded mysel' with the hot tea the bairnie should fancy I yelled at a sarpent's bite! Sure, I could split my sides a-laughin' but for the hurt I gave her. How is she doin', la.s.s? I've waited this long spell for someone to pa.s.s by and give me the word, but n.o.body has. Leastwise, them that pa.s.ses has no mind for old John in his dumps."

"Why, Mr. Gilpin, she wasn't hurt at all; and it's just as you said.

She thought you had a real snake in your clothes and it had bitten you. She's all right now, right as can be; and so will you be as soon as you get home and into your wife's good care. She--"

"Ah, my Dorothy! 'Tis she I dread. Not a word'll she say, like enough, but the look she will give to my silly face--Hmm. She's a rare silent woman is my Dame, but she can do a power o' thinkin'."

"Yes, she can, and the first thing she'll think is how glad she is to have her husband back again, safe and sound."

"Aye, but Dorothy, hark ye! I'm safe, I'll grant ye that; but--sound?

'Tis different letters spells that word. Sound? I'll no' be that for weeks to come!" and the poor fellow, who certainly had been badly bruised and lucky to have escaped broken bones, sighed profoundly.

Winifred had an inspiration.

"Speaking of Robins, suppose we write her a round-robin letter? Right here and now, on the back of this letter of Father's? It's a grand good letter for me and we'll write so nicely of you, Mr. John, that it'll be a good one for her, too."

"Will ye? A real letter explainin' about the accident, when the la.s.sie's toboggan got in our way and we got that mixed 'twas nigh the death of the lot? Dame'd be proud enough to get that letter. Sure, I believe 'twould set her thinkin' of other things, and she'll be liker to overlook my foolishness."

They all laughed at the crafty manner in which he s.h.i.+pped his responsibility for the accident from his shoulders to theirs; but Winifred plumped herself down on the settle beside him and, using it for a desk, concocted an amusing story of the whole day's happenings.

The other girls had less of the gift of writing, but each added a few words and signed her name with a flourish. Altogether it was a wonderful doc.u.ment, so the farmer thought, as Winifred tore that half-sheet from her father's letter, folded it in a fantastic way and gave it him.

Indeed, he was so pleased with it and so anxious to get it into his wife's hands that, after turning it over and about, in admiration of the "true lover's knot" into which Win had folded it, he rose to go away. All his stiffness was forgotten, he almost neglected to drag his lame foot, he firmly declined to stay for supper or any ride with the Oak Knowe team, so completely had the kindness of the three girls cured him.

"A letter for the Dame! Sure she'll be the proud woman the night, and maybe she'll think I'd more sense after all. I don't mind she'd ary letter come before since we was married. Good night, young ladies.

Tell the bit woman 't next time there'll be nuts in me pockets, all right, and no fear for her o' more snakes. Good-by."

They watched him down the path, fairly strutting in his pride over the note which a mere whim on Winifred's part had suggested, and Dorothy exclaimed:

"What a dear, simple old soul he is! That a tiny thing like that could make so happy. I believe he was more delighted with that half-sheet of your paper than you are with your father's other half."

Winifred caught the others about the waist and whirled them indoors again, first gleefully kissing her father's bit of writing and asking: