Chapter 5

Miss Dorothy was silent for a moment, then she said: "Perhaps we'd better not talk about it, dear, for I don't know the circumstances, and I might not judge correctly, but if it is right that he should come, I think your writing to him will be the surest way of bringing it about the sooner. Shall we write the letter this afternoon?"

"Oh, please."

"Then come to my room in about an hour and we'll try it."

Marian was promptly on hand when the hour arrived, and seated herself in a great twitter before the machine. She began bravely enough: "My dear father," and then she paused, but slowly went on till she had completed half a page of typewritten words. Miss Dorothy did not offer any suggestions, but sat at the other side of the room before her writing-table. At the pause in the clicking of the typewriter she looked up. "Well," she said, "you haven't finished yet, have you?"

"I don't know," responded Marian doubtfully. "Would you mind looking at what I have done?"

Miss Dorothy came over and read the few stiff lines:

"My dear father: I have learned to write upon the typewriter which belongs to my teacher. I hope you are well. I am well and so are the rest of the family. We have very pleasant warm weather at present. I hope you have the same in Berlin. I thought you might be pleased to receive a letter from me, although it is not the first of the year. I go to school now. There are twenty pupils in our room. They are all little girls."

"Oh, dear, dear," exclaimed Miss Dorothy, "is that the way you feel when you are writing? Why, you are talking to your father, remember. Just listen to the way I write to mine." She read from the sheet she held in her hand:

"Dear old daddy: Isn't this gorgeous weather? I wish you and I were off for a real old time tramp this afternoon. How we would talk and turn our hearts inside out to each other. I can see you with your eyes twinkling under that disreputable old hat of yours, and I can feel your polite hand under my independent elbow when there is a stream to jump or a wall to climb, the dear hand that I never need for that sort of help, but which you pretend I do because I am your girl still, if I am big enough to face the world by myself.

"Well, daddy, I have been teaching for more than a week, and haven't had one cry over it. Isn't that courage for you? Not that my pupils are all angels, oh, no, this is not heaven, dear dad, but it is really a very nice place, and there are some dear people here.

"Did you ever happen to meet a Mr. William Hunt and his wife? He is a very good sort, and she is a perfect darling, one of those rare flowers whose fragrance fills the air even on the highway; not one of the hothouse kind that has been forced to bloom out of season, for out of season and in season she is always blooming and shedding forth her sweetness." Miss Dorothy paused.

"Oh, but Miss Dorothy, I could never write like that," exclaimed Marian in an awe-stricken tone.

"Perhaps not just like that, but you can tell him about yourself and about the people you know, Mrs. Hunt, for instance, and your schoolmates, and Tippy and Dippy."

"And you?"

"Yes, and me, if you like."

"Oh, very well, I will try again. I didn't know we ought to write letters like that."

"That is the very kind we should write. I will finish mine while you do yours." So for the next few minutes the tapping of the typewriter drowned the scratching of Miss Dorothy's pen, which flew steadily over her paper.

At last Miss Dorothy looked up. "There," she exclaimed, "I have finished mine. How are you getting on?"

"Oh, much better. I have written ever so much. I am almost at the bottom of the page, and I think you will have to put another sheet in for me, if you will be so good."

"I'll do it with pleasure. May I see what you have written, or would you rather not?"

"Oh, please look. I have told him about school and about you and some of the girls. There is a great deal more I could say, but I will leave out Tippy and Dippy this time."

Miss Dorothy read down the page and at the end she stooped and kissed the child. "You have paid me a lovely compliment, dear," she said. "I am glad you feel that way," for Marian had written: "We have the loveliest teacher in the world. Her name is Miss Dorothy Robbins. She is like Mrs. Hunt, but can understand little girls better, for she is younger and prettier. I love her very much."

At last the letter was finished, folded and addressed, and Miss Dorothy promised to mail it herself. It had been a great undertaking for Marian, who was quite tired out by her afternoon's work, but who was very happy now that it was done, for the very act drew her nearer her father.

She went down that same evening to tell Mrs. Hunt about it. There was neither baking nor pickling going on this time, but she found her friend in her sitting-room, a basket of mending by her side. "You are always busy, aren't you, Auntie Hunt?" said Marian. Mrs. Hunt was called Auntie, by many of her friends.

"Yes, dear, I think most busy people are happy, and I am sure all happy people are busy about something. Well, how goes it up at the brick house?"

"Oh, very well, indeed. What do you think I have been doing to-day?"

"Can't guess. There is one thing I know you have not been doing. I'll wager a sixpence you've not been blackberrying," and Mrs. Hunt laughed.

The color flew into Marian's face. "No, indeed, I haven't been, and I shall not probably ever go again until I'm a grown lady, and can do as I please."

"Do you think all grown-ups do as they please?"

"Why, don't they?"

"Not a bit of it. But there, tell me what is the wonderful thing you have been doing?"

"I have written a letter to papa all by myself, and Miss Dorothy has mailed it. She put the stamp on and took it to the post-office just now with her letters."

"Well, well, well, but won't he be pleased to get it? That's a fine young woman, that Miss Dorothy of yours."

"Isn't she?"

"She is so. She made us a nice visit the other evening. She is a girl after my own heart, none of your vain, self-absorbed young persons, always concerned in her own affairs, but one of the real hearty kind that thinks of others as well as herself, and has her eyes open to what is best in life. I like her."

"And she likes you."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"I wish you could see the kind of letters she writes to her father, but then," Marian added thoughtfully, "he must be the kind of father it is easy to write that way to."

"I'll be bound he is the right kind to have a daughter like that. She has no mother, she tells me. Her aunt keeps house for them, and there is quite a family of children."

"Yes, and Patty is the youngest. She is going to write to me."

"Bless me, how you are blossoming out into a correspondent. Well, don't let it take up so much of your time that you won't be able to drop in as often as usual. There is a little basket of grapes in the pantry; you can take it to your grandma; the pear on top grew for you to eat right now."

Marian needed no second hint, but sought out the fruit and was not long in burying her teeth in the yellow juicy pear, and then because it grew dark early, she hurried away that she might be home "before the dark catches you," said Mrs. Hunt.

_CHAPTER VII_

_Patty's Letter_

One day a few weeks later Marian ran to Miss Dorothy with a letter her grandfather had just brought in, and when her teacher opened it, she saw her smile as she drew a sheet from within the longer letter. "This is for you, Marian," said Miss Dorothy.

"It is from Patty, I know," cried Marian delightedly, and she took the long-wished for letter over to the window while Miss Dorothy turned her attention to her own home news.

Patty's was a nice cordial little note which told about her lessons and her friends, and which said that she hoped Marian and she would soon meet and be very chummy. "I know I shall like you," wrote Patty, "because Dolly says so, and Dolly is nearly always right."

"I think so, too," said Marian aloud. She took much longer to read her letter than Miss Dorothy did to read hers, for she was not very expert in reading written pages. Miss Dorothy had laid down the closely written sheets which she had been holding, and was looking out of the window thoughtfully when Marian at last came to "Your affectionate friend, Patty Robbins."

"It was such a nice letter," she said looking up with a pleased sigh.

"I am very glad you found it so," returned Miss Dorothy with a smile.

"Was yours a nice one?"

"Yes, it is from my father, and he always writes delightful letters. I hope to see him and Patty both on Saturday. Dad has some business in the city, and Patty needs a new coat, so he is going to take her with him. I am to meet them there, for poor dad would never know how to buy a coat. Do you often go to the city, Marian?"

"I never have been but once."

"Really? I was just thinking how nice it would be if you could go with me and meet Patty; then we three could go shopping and have lunch somewhere together."

"Oh, Miss Dorothy!" Such a plan was beyond Marian's wildest dreams. She looked radiant for a moment, then her face fell.

"What is the matter?" asked Miss Dorothy.

"I am afraid grandma will not let me go. I never have been but that once, and then grandma had to go to the dentist; grandpa could not go with her and didn't want her to go alone."

"But what about your clothes and things? Don't you have to go there for them?"

"Grandma never gets me ready-mades. Miss Almira Belt makes everything I wear. Do you suppose she always will do it?"

"I hope not," returned Miss Dorothy gravely, then she laughed as she pictured a grown-up Marian arrayed in frocks of Miss Almira's make. They did very well for a little girl, for they were of good material and neatly made, if old-fashioned in cut.

"Do you think grandma would let me go?" asked Marian, a faint hope dawning within her.

"I shall find out."

"Oh, Miss Dorothy, are you really going to ask her?"

"I certainly am."

"But I am afraid she will say it is too expensive. She doesn't believe in spending money in that way on little girls. She allows me to go to church fairs and such things when they are for a good cause, but she says journeying is not necessary, that it excites me and I am better off at home."

"But you would really like to go," said Miss Dorothy disregarding this last speech.

"It would be the most beautifullest thing that ever happened to me."

"Such a small pleasure," said Miss Dorothy half to herself. "Well, dear, if it is only a question of expense, that shall not stand in the way, I promise you. Fifty cents or so would do it, and that is not a large sum."

Here Marian took alarm. "But, Miss Dorothy, you mustn't pay for me. You must keep your money for Patty and the others. You mustn't spend it on me."

"Mustn't I?" Miss Dorothy looked over at her with a little knowing smile. "Then I won't do it since you are so particular, but I have a scheme of my own and we shall see how it will work out. Are you willing to earn it?"

"Indeed I am; I should like it above all things. I never earned any money for myself, but I have earned some for the heathen."

Miss Dorothy made a little grimace. "Very well, if you are willing to earn your way, you may consider yourself invited to make the journey at your own expense. I guarantee sufficient work to pay for your ticket. I don't suppose you will object to being paid in advance."

Marian looked doubtful. "Well--if----"

"If--if----What an ifer you are. I don't mean all in advance, only a part. Do you agree to that?"

"I don't suppose it would be wrong to agree to that."

"You must have a Puritan conscience," said Miss Dorothy laughing.

"What is that?"

"It is something that is very unhealthy sometimes. I will see that you begin your work to-morrow."

"Do please tell me now what it is."

"No, no, you might back out," Miss Dorothy laughed. "I'll tell you when the time comes. In the meantime your grandma's consent must be had. Perhaps I'd better settle it at once. Will you go with me to ask her?"

Marian hung back. "Oh, if you don't mind," she said, "I'd rather not."

"You're no kind of a soldier. See me walk up to the cannon's mouth." And leaving the room, Miss Dorothy ran lightly down-stairs.

Marian followed slowly, but though she hesitated at the sitting-room door where she heard voices, she did not tarry, but went on down to the lower floor and into the garden where Tippy and Dippy lay asleep in the sunshine. Dippy opened one eye and stretched himself as Marian approached. She picked him up and carried him down to the apple tree.

"I've had a letter from Patty," she told him when she was settled in the crotch of the tree, "and maybe,--it is only maybe,--Dippy, I am going to the city on Saturday. I don't suppose you would care anything about it. I am sure you would much rather stay here and chase grasshoppers, but I want to go so powerfully that I think I shall cry my eyes out if grandma says I can't. I know she wouldn't consent if I asked her, but maybe she will if Miss Dorothy does." She sat still cuddling Dippy who had fallen asleep again. From her point of vantage she could look up and down the street. She had learned not to expect to move the mountain, but the mustard seeds were again in her mind.

Presently she saw Miss Dorothy come out the front door and turn down the street. She crept along the limb on which she sat, leaving Dippy to look out for himself, and gained the wall from which she could look directly down upon the pavement. She must ask Miss Dorothy what success she had had. "Miss Dorothy, Miss Dorothy," she called softly when her teacher came near. Miss Dorothy looked up. "What did she say?" asked Marian.

"She hasn't said yes yet," replied Miss Dorothy. "What are you doing up there?"

"Oh, just nothing but looking around and thinking, about the mustard seed, you know."

"Oh, yes. Very well, I'm about to do the works, so you stay there and exercise the faith, and perhaps between us we'll manage to get this settled to our satisfaction."

"Where are you going?" asked Marian as Miss Dorothy walked on.

"To attend to the works," called back Miss Dorothy mysteriously. "Faith and works, you know."

Marian crawled back again to the crotch of the tree. Dippy had jumped down, not being pleased at having his nap disturbed, so Marian did not go after him but sat looking off at the mountain. "I want to go, oh, Lord, I do want to go," she said wistfully, "and I believe you will let Miss Dorothy manage it, yes, I do." She sat with her eyes fixed upon the mountain for some time, then she gave a long sigh, and changed her position. "I believe I'll go get Patty's letter and read it over again," she said, beginning to climb down the tree.

In a little while she was back again in her old place, letter in hand. She had finished reading it and was looking off down street watching for Miss Dorothy's return when she saw Mrs. Hunt entering the front door; she had come down street this time, instead of up. "She's come to see grandma, I suppose," said Marian. Then a thought flashed across her mind; she wondered if Miss Dorothy's works had anything to do with Mrs. Hunt's coming. To be sure Miss Dorothy was not with her, but neither had she been that other time when Mrs. Hunt had managed so well about the apron. Marian could not resist the temptation of going in to hear what her grandmother and Mrs. Hunt were talking about. She paused at the door of the sitting-room. Mrs. Hunt sat rocking in one of the haircloth rockers, Mrs. Otway in the other.

"Yes," Mrs. Hunt was saying, "Dr. Grimes says she's not likely to be about again soon if she gets over it."

Mrs. Otway looked very grave. "I'm sorry for more reasons than one. Marian needs a new coat, and I had counted on Almira's making it."

It was Miss Belt, then, of whom they were talking. Marian crept softly in and sat down in a corner where she could hear more.

"They think she got it up there at Billing's," Mrs. Hunt went on. "She was sewing there a while ago, and Dr. Grimes says the water on that place isn't fit to drink; they ought to boil it. Like as not that is where she did get it. Typhoid is pretty slow, but she has a good nurse in Hannah, and I don't doubt she'll pull through. Is that you, Marian? Come here, honey."

Marian went to her old friend. "I was telling about Almira Belt's being down with typhoid," said Mrs. Hunt.

"Oh, isn't that too bad?" Marian's sympathies were real. She liked Miss Almira, though she didn't enjoy having her cold scissors snipping around her shoulders, and her bony fingers poking at her when she stood up to be fitted.

"It is too bad," returned Mrs. Hunt, "for her work has to lie by; there's no one else to do it, for her sister Hannah has her hands full."

"I'm truly sorry," said Mrs. Otway shaking her head, "with the winter coming I am afraid it will go hard with them."

"Yes, winter isn't far off," said Mrs. Hunt. "William says he thinks we'll have early snow. We'll all have to keep the Belts in mind, and I guess they'll not suffer. Well, I must be going. I thought you'd want to hear about Almira; you're always so ready to look out for the sick, Maria."

"I certainly shall not let Almira want for anything I can do," returned Mrs. Otway with emphasis. "She has been a good and faithful worker all her days, and I hope her years of usefulness are not ended yet. Thank you for coming to tell us, Salome."

"Well, I knew you'd want to know," repeated Mrs. Hunt. "By the way, Maria, I hear Miss Robbins is going to town on Saturday, and I shouldn't wonder if there'd be something to get for Almira. I don't doubt Miss Robbins would attend to it."

"I am sure she would," returned Mrs. Otway. "She is always very ready to offer her services."

"You like her right well, don't you?" said Mrs. Hunt.

"Very much indeed; we are glad to have her with us."

"That's what I surmised. What was I going to say? Oh, yes, you were remarking that Marian needed a winter coat, and she will need it, cold as it is growing, for I remember you sent her last year's one in the missionary box. Why not let Miss Robbins get one for her in the city? Marian could go along, and she'd be glad of her company. It wouldn't be much trouble if the child were there to fit it on. You could tell her the kind you wanted, and I'll venture to say you'd pay less than for the cloth and making."

"Perhaps that would be a good plan," replied Mrs. Otway, as if it had not been presented before. "I'll see about it when Miss Dorothy comes in."

"Oh, may I go?" Marian breathed softly, but at that moment the door was shut after Mrs. Hunt, and her grandmother did not hear the question, which was just as well, as Marian on second thoughts decided, for if she thought the child wanted to go for a frolic she might withhold her consent. So Marian wisely held her tongue and went out to the garden again.

No more was said upon the subject until the next day and Marian was afraid it was forgotten, but in the afternoon Miss Dorothy called her. "Come in here, young woman, and earn your trip to town."

Marian obeyed with alacrity. Miss Dorothy was seated before her typewriter. "Come here and I will show you what you have to do," she said. "You are to make twenty copies of this little slip. You must make as many as you can upon one sheet of paper, about so far apart. You know now perfectly well how to put in the paper and how to take it out. To-morrow you can make twenty slips more, twenty the day after, making sixty slips in all; you will be paid half a cent for each slip, and eventually you will earn sixty cents, just what a round trip ticket costs. Do you agree?"

"Oh, Miss Dorothy, of course, if you are sure I can do it."

"Of course you can do it, at first slowly, and then, as they are to be all alike, you will be able to do the last with your eyes shut. Now, I'll leave you to go ahead."

"Please----"

"Please what?"

"Wait till I have done one to see if it is all right."

"Very well, that is a small favor to grant."

"And, tell me, am I really to go?"

"The powers that be, have so decreed."

"And I can pay my own way?"

"Yes, that is one of the reasons. Your very wise and astute teacher remarked that it would teach you self-reliance and independence, help to make you resourceful, broaden your experiences. Oh, me! what didn't she argue?"

Marian turned adoring eyes upon her. "And Mrs. Hunt?" she said.

"Did you think she had something to do with it? Well, she did without knowing it, for I was on my way to her house when she came here with the news of Miss Almira's illness, and all unconsciously she did us a good turn by suggesting that you go up to the city with me to get a coat. Wasn't it funny that it should happen that way? I didn't mean about poor Miss Almira; that is anything but funny, but it is strange that Mrs. Hunt should have come around with a piece of news that settled the whole matter. When your grandma told me you were to go, I came near laughing outright, but when I knew the reason I did look concerned, I hope. She said she had been thinking over the matter of your going to the city with me. Would it be too great a task, and would I have time to select a coat for you? No, I said it would be no task at all, for I should be doing the same for my little sister.

"Here I ran against a snag, for your grandmother said that perhaps I could get yours without your being there, for my little sister could be your proxy. 'Oh, but,' I said, 'Patty is short and chubby while Marian is tall and slender. I am afraid I could never select the proper garment unless she were there to try it on.' 'But the expense,' said grandma. 'Sixty cents would do much good in some other direction.' 'Perhaps,' I said, 'I can get a coat for less than the price you have fixed upon, if I get the two together.' She wasn't so sure of that. Then I said, 'I have a little work that I promised a friend of mine to do for her, typewritten slips, which Marian could do perfectly. If I go to the city on Saturday I cannot get them all done as promptly as they should be, but if Marian could help me, I could share the pay and she could then make her own expenses.' At this grandma succumbed, and so, my dear, we are going. Now, I must go, for you will never do twenty slips before dark if I stand talking. That looks very well. Keep on as you have begun and you have nothing to fear."

Left to herself Marian tapped away industriously till just as it was getting too dark to see, she finished her twenty slips and proudly showed them to Miss Dorothy when she came in. The first money she had ever really earned was placed in her hand.

"If you don't get your entire sixty done this week," said Miss Dorothy, "you can hitch some of them on to next week's number, for we agreed to square this matter. So you needn't go to town with the feeling that you haven't earned the trip, whatever happens."

Marian smiled back her reply and ran down to show her precious dime to her grandfather. He actually patted her on the head and called her a good child while her grandmother looked over her spectacles and nodded approval.

The next day the second twenty slips were finished, but the third day only ten were done as Miss Dorothy had to use her typewriter for some school work, yet with only ten remaining of the first sixty, Marian felt that she had no right to feel aggrieved, especially as it had become very easy work. So it was a very happy little girl who went to sleep Friday night to dream of the next day's pleasures.

_CHAPTER VIII_

_A Trip to Town_