The stentorian2 shout of the colored steward3, so close to Dorothy’s ear, made her jump aside with a little scream. Then as she saw that the boat hands were about to draw the gang plank4 back to the steamer’s deck, she gave another little cry and fairly pushed Alfaretta toward it.
“Never mind hugging me now, girlie, you must go or you’ll be left!”
But the lassie from the mountain only smiled and answered:
“I don’t mind if I am. Look a-here!” and with that she pulled a shabby purse from the front of her blouse and triumphantly5 displayed its contents.
“Oh! Alfy! How’ll you ever get back?”
“Easy as preachin’. I—”
But Dorothy had no further time to waste in argument. Here were Jim Barlow and Monty Stark6 shaking either hand and bidding a hasty good-by, while Molly Breckenridge was fairly dancing up and down in her anxiety lest the lads should also be left on board, as Alfaretta was likely to be.
But they were not. Another second they had bounded down the stairs from the saloon to the lower deck, a workman had obligingly caught Monty by his coat collar and laughingly flung him over the plank to the dock beyond, while Jim’s long legs strode after and made their last leap across a little chasm7 of water.
“Good-by, good-by, good-by!”
Handkerchiefs waved, kisses were tossed across the widening water, the bell rang, the whistle tooted, and Dorothy’s travels had begun. Then as the group of schoolmates watching this departure from the shore grew more indistinct she turned upon her old mountain friend with the astonished question:
“But Alfaretta! Whatever made you do this? What will become of you, alone in that great city of New York?”
“I didn’t say anything about Ne’ York, did I? Should think you’d be glad to have me go along with you a little bit o’ way. Course, I shall get off the boat when it stops to Cornwall landing. And I thought—I thought—Seems if I couldn’t have you go so far away, Dolly. It’s terrible lonesome up-mounting now-a-days. And I—I don’t see why some folks has everything and some hasn’t nothin’!”
There was more grief than grammar in this speech and a few tears sprang to the girl’s eyes. But Alfy boasted that she was not a “crier” and as she heard the stewardess8 announcing: “Tickets, ladies and gentlemen,” she dashed the moisture away and stared at the woman.
After her usual custom, “Fanny” was collecting money from the various passengers and would obligingly procure9 their tickets for those not already provided. As she made her way through the throng10, which on that summer morning crowded the upper deck of the pretty “Mary Powell,” the three young friends watched her with surprised interest.
Apparently11 she took no note of the amount anybody gave her, carrying bills of all dimensions between her fingers and piles of specie on her broad palm.
“How can she tell how much she’s taken from anybody? How can she give them their right change?” wondered Dorothy.
“I give it up! She must be a deal better at arithmetic than I am. I should make the mixedest mess of that business;” answered Molly, equally curious.
“Yet you will see that she makes no mistakes. I’ve been traveling up and down the river on this same boat for many years and I’ve given her all sorts of sums, at times, on purpose to try her. But her memory never fails,” said Miss Greatorex who was in charge of the party. She sat quite calmly with the amount of three fares in her hand but with a most forbidding gaze at Alfaretta.
Who that young person was or why she had thrust herself into their company she did not understand. She had herself but known of this trip on the day before, when Miss Penelope Rhinelander had been obliged to give it up, on account of the extreme illness of a near relative.
However, here she was with her two pupils, whom she taught at the Rhinelander Academy, bound for a summer’s outing in—to her and them—unknown lands. Also, as there may be some who have not hitherto followed the fortunes of Dorothy, it may be well to explain that she was a foundling, left upon the doorstep of a man and wife, in a quiet street in Baltimore. That he had lost his health and his position as a letter-carrier in that city and had removed to his wife’s small farm in the Hudson Highlands. That among their friends there was somebody who had taken an interest in the orphan12 girl and had burdened himself—or herself—with the charge of her education. That she had passed the last school year at the Academy and had been in some most exciting episodes detailed13 in “Dorothy’s Schooling;” and that now, at the beginning of the long vacation, she was traveling with her closest school friend and a teacher, whose life she had been the means of saving at the time of the Academy fire, toward New York; and from thence to Nova Scotia—there to grow strong for another year of study.
Alfaretta Babcock’s home was near to her home upon the mountain; and though unlike, there was a sincere affection between this untaught country girl and the dainty Dorothy, and Alfy had begged a ride in a neighbor’s wagon14 going to Newburgh, that she might bid her friend good by and watch her set sail on what seemed must be the most wonderful of journeys.
She was to have returned home as she had come; but when the steamer was on the point of leaving an impulse had seized her to travel thus herself, if only for the brief distance between this landing and the one nearer her own home. She had a few cents in her purse and hoped they would be enough to pay her fare; and now when they were already moving down the stream and her familiar mountain-top came into view, she made a wild dart15 toward the stewardess, shouting:
“Ma’am, please, ma’am, take mine! I’ve got to get off the next place and—and—I mustn’t be left!”
Fanny picked up the camp-chair Alfy had stumbled over, remarked in a soothing16 voice, “Plenty of time, little gal17, oceans of time, oceans of time,” and glanced at the money so suddenly thrust into her already crowded palm.
“Four cents, little gal? Hardly enough. Fifteen is the regular fare. All you got, sissy? Look and see.”
The tone was kind but the statement sounded like a knell18 in poor Alfaretta’s ears. Thousands of times she had watched the many boats pass up and down the river, but only once had she been upon any and that was a row-boat. It had been the dream of her life to voyage, as she was doing now, far and away beyond those Highlands, that seemed to meet and clasp hands across the mighty19 stream, and see the wonderful world that lay beyond. For the boats always disappeared around that projecting point of rock and forest, and so she knew that the mountains did not meet but merely seemed so to do. Well, of course, she wasn’t to find out about them to-day. She knew that quite well, because her own landing was on this side the “Point” and she could go no further. Indeed, could she now go even so far?
“Fifteen cents! My heart!—I—I—What can I do? Will the captain drop me—in the—river? Will—”
The stewardess was very busy. People were watching her a little anxiously because of her indifferent handling of her money and the tickets she had not hurried to bring; and the sudden terrified clutch at her skirts which Alfy gave set her tripping among the crowded chairs and made her answer, crossly:
“For goodness sake, girl, keep out from under foot! If you haven’t the money go to your friends and get it!”
“Friends! I haven’t got any!” cried Alfaretta, and flung her skirt over her face and herself down upon the nearest seat.
From their own place Molly and Dolly watched this little by-play for a moment, then darted20 forward themselves to see what was the matter.
“Why, Alfy dear, what’s happened? Won’t the woman get your ticket for you? Never mind. I’ll ask her. Maybe she will for me.”
“You needn’t, Dolly girl! There ain’t enough and I’m afraid they’ll drop me off into the water! She—she—”
“Alfy! How silly! Nobody would do such a thing. It would be murder. But you shouldn’t have come unless you had the money and I’ll go ask Miss Greatorex for some. She has our purses in her satchel21, taking care of them for us. Wait a minute. You stay with her, Molly, while I go get it. How much, Alfy?”
The girl began to count upon her fingers:
“Four—that’s what I have and it was meant for candy for the children—five, six—How many more’n four does it take to make fifteen I wonder? I’m so scared I can’t think. And I wish, I—wish—to—goodness—knows I’d ha’ said good-by back there to the dock and not let myself get carried off down river to nobody knows where. If they dassent to drop me off the boat they might keep me here till I paid—”
“Alfaretta Babcock! I certainly am ashamed of you. That’s a hard thing to say, just at parting, but it’s the truth. The idea! First you fancy a decent human being will drown you because you haven’t a little money, and then you can’t reckon fifteen! What would dear Mr. Seth say, after teaching you so faithfully? Never mind. Don’t act so foolish any more and I’ll go get the money.”
This was not so easy as she fancied. The boat was already nearing the next landing where Alfaretta must go ashore, or be carried on to a much greater distance from her home, but it seemed difficult to make Miss Greatorex understand what was wanted and why. The poor lady’s deafness had increased since her fright and exposure at the time of the fire and, now that she had been put into a position of greater trust than ever before, her sense of responsibility weighed heavily upon her. At parting, her principal, Miss Rhinelander, had enjoined22:
“Take particular care of the girls’ finances, Cousin Isobel. It is important that they should learn to be wise in their small expenditures23 so that they may be equally prudent24 when they come to have the handling of larger sums—if that should ever be. Make them give a strict account of everything and check any foolishness at the beginning.”
The subordinate promised. She was a “poor relation” and knew that she was an unpopular teacher with many of the pupils of the fine school, though she had modified her sternness altogether in the case of Dorothy who had saved her from the fire. But the mandate25 of her superior was fresh in her mind. She had been touched by the rarely familiar “Cousin Isobel,” and determined26 to do her duty to the utmost. Yet here was Dorothy already screaming into her deafest ear:
“My purse, please, Miss Greatorex! I want some money right away! Quick, quick, please, or it’ll be too late!”
The girl’s voice was so highly pitched that people around began to stare and some of them to smile. Like most afflicted27 persons the lady was sensitive to the observation of others and now held up her hand in protest against the attention they were attracting.
“Softly, Dorothy. Better write what you wish if you cannot speak more distinctly;” and a small pad with pencil was extended.
But Dorothy did not take them. The satchel upon Miss Greatorex’s lap was open, her own and Molly’s purses lay within. To snatch them both up and rush away was her impulsive28 act and to scamper29 back across the deck, wherever she could find a passage, took but a moment longer. But she was none too soon.
Down below the steward was again crying:
“All aboard what’s goin’! All ashore what ain’t! All who hasn’t got deir tickets, please step right down to de Cap’n’s office and settle.”
While another loud voice ordered:
“Aft gangway for Cornwall! All ashore—all ashore! Aft gangway—all ashore!”
Some were hurrying down the stairs to that “aft gangway,” others speeding up them in equal haste with that excitement which always marks the infrequent traveler, and poor Alfaretta caught the same fever of haste. Without a word of real farewell, now that she had come thus far at so much risk [Pg 18]to speak it, she dashed ahead, slipped on the brass-tipped stair and plunged30 headlong into the space below.
For an instant there was silence even in that busy scene, people halting in their ascent31 and porters turning their skids32 aside with angry exclamations33, lest the trunks they wheeled should fall upon her as she seemed bent34 to fall upon them.
Yet only one thought now possessed35 the terrified girl—escape! She had bumped her head till she was dizzy, but she mustn’t stop for that. Yonder yawned that open space in the deck-rail which they called the “aft gangway” and toward that point she propelled herself regardless of all that impeded36 her way.
Down the plank, out upon the boards of the board dock, into the medley37 of stages and yelling drivers she hurried, very much as James Barlow and Montmorency Stark had done at that other, upper landing. But when she felt the solid quay38 beneath her feet she paused, clapped her hands to her dizzy head and—felt herself grasped in a wild and fierce embrace.
Then both upon that dock and the deck of the outgoing steamer rang a shout of merriment, which made anger take the place of fear as she whirled about in the arms of whoever held her and shook her fist at the boat and its passengers.
“Well! That was a short trip but it was full of incident!” remarked one passenger, near to Molly and Dorothy. They had run to the rail to see what followed Alfy’s disappearance39, and if she were carried away injured. “I saw her come aboard and depart and she managed to get a deal of action into those few minutes. Friend of yours, young ladies?”
They faced about, wondering why this man should speak to them. He looked like a gentleman though a rather shabby one. Montmorency would have termed him “seedy.” His coat had seen better days and his hat, lying on the bench beside him, was worn and discolored, and his thin white hair told that he, also, was old. This made the girls regard him kindly40, for both of them had a reverence41 for age.
More than that, a crutch42 rested against his knee and this made an instant appeal to Dorothy’s sympathy. She had seen nobody with a crutch since she had said farewell to Father John; and now in pity for this other cripple she lingered near answering his many questions most politely.
“Yes, she is a friend. She—I guess she ran away to sail a short distance with us. We shan’t see each other again this summer. She forgot her money. I mean she didn’t have any to forget; and—Sir? What did you ask me to find?”
“To buy a morning paper for me, my dear. You see, being lame43—Did you ever know anybody who was lame?” asked the old man, with a smile.
“Ah! yes. The dearest man in all the world; my father.”
Thereupon Dorothy huddled44 down beside the [Pg 20]stranger and gave a history of her father’s illness, his wonderful patience, and the last effort he was making to regain45 his health.
She did not know that it is often unsafe to talk with unknown people upon a journey; and in any case she would not have feared such a benignant old gentleman as this. She ended her talk with the inquiry46:
“Where will I find the paper, Mr.—Mr.—I mean, sir?”
“Smith my name is. John Smith of Smithville. You’ll find all the papers and books at a news-stand on the lower deck. There’s a candy-stand there, too, such as will interest you two more than the papers, likely;” he answered with another smile.
They started down the stairs leading from the main saloon to the lower part of the boat, and not until they had reached the news-stand did either of them remember that she hadn’t brought her purse nor asked which paper their new acquaintance desired.
“Oh! dear! Wasn’t that silly of us! And we’re almost to West Point, where my cousin Tom’s a cadet! He promised to be on the lookout47 for us, if he could get leave to go to the steamboat landing. I wrote and told him about our trip and he answered right away. He’s Aunt Lucretia’s only child and she adores him. Hasn’t spoiled him though. Papa took care about that! If I go back after our pocket-books I may lose the chance to see him! So provoking! I wish now we hadn’t bothered [Pg 21]ourselves about that old man. If he was able to come aboard the boat and go up those stairs to the deck he was able to buy his own old papers. So there!” cried Molly, stamping her little foot in her vexation.
West Point cadets are given few permissions to leave their Academy for social visits, so that Tom had never been to the Rhinelander school where rules were also so strict that Molly had been but once to see her cousin in his own quarters. Until he went to the Point and she to school in the hill-city a few miles further up the river, they had lived together in her father’s house and were like brother and sister. The disappointment now was great to the loving girl and Dorothy hastened to comfort, by saying:
“Never mind, Molly, you stay right here. See! they’re fixing that gang-plank again, at this very part of the deck. You stand right outside, close against the rail but where you won’t be in the men’s way and, if he’s there, you’ll surely see him.
“I’ll go back and get the purses. Where did you lay them?”
“Hum. I don’t know. I can’t exactly think. You handed me yours, I remember, when you stooped to pick up his crutch he’d knocked down. Ah! Now I know. My hands got so warm and your pocketbook was red and I thought it would stain my new gloves. So I just laid them down on the bench beside him. You’ll find them right there beside him. You can ask him which paper, then, and I say, Dolly Doodles, what right had that hindering old thing to expect us—us—to buy his papers for him? Why didn’t he give us the money, himself? Seems if we’d been sort of—sort of goosies, doesn’t it?”
“Oh! Molly! That’s not nice of you to think about that dear, lame old man! And why he didn’t was, I suppose, because he didn’t think. We don’t always think ourselves, dearie. Never mind. I’ll hurry and be right back.”
“Yes, do—do hurry! I’ve said so much about you in my letters I’m just suffering to have you two meet. Just suffering! Hark! They’re whistling and ringing the bell and we’ll be there in a minute! Do, do hurry—for I believe I see him now—that tall one at the end of the wharf48—Hurry—or, better still—Wait! Wait!”
But long before the excited Molly had finished speaking Dorothy had run up the stairs, along the long passage to the aft deck where she had left her lame acquaintance waiting for her to do his simple errand.
He was not in the spot where she had left him. He was not in the big saloon, or parlor49. He was not upon the forward deck; not yet amid the crowd pressed to the deck’s rail, to watch for whatever might be seen at this historic landing place. Flying to the rail she scanned the few departing passengers and he was not among them. She saw, but scarcely realized that she did, a group of three cadets who had come as near the steamer as the wharf permitted and were gaily50 chattering51 with her chum, during the short stop that was made.
“Could he have fallen overboard? And if he did why did he take our purses with him?” she wondered. Then reflected that it would be a difficult thing to explain this affair to Miss Greatorex; and also that the missing pocket-books contained a full month’s “allowance” for both Molly and herself.
